#we are reaching three years now since this nightmare begins | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

satorusugurugurl · 5 months ago

Text

I Think He Knows: (Chapter Eight)

Summary: When your novel takes off and becomes a best seller, doors of opportunities open for you. You can work on the series you have dreamed about all your life. And you’re also given the chance to stay in a tiny cottage in Europe for two years to help with inspiration! Your best friend, Geto Suguru, shatters at the news. How could he tell you how he feels when you leave him? His opportunity appears right before him when you confess that your editor thinks a change of scenery will help with your not-so-steamy romance scenes. They’re lacking a particular spice because you’re a virgin. So, Suguru does what any best friend would do. He offers to teach you how things work. Will you cross that line as friends? Or will you both say goodbye?

Pairing: Geto Suguru x FAB!Reader

Word Count: 4,759

Warning: nightmares, mentions of character death, panic attack, night terror, blood, PTSD, suvivor guilt Language, suggestiveness, grinding, neck kisses, dry humping,

A/N: oh man!! We have three parts left after this update, maybe two. Still plotting out the last chapters!!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven

Suguru knew something was wrong with you. Something was up the second you both boarded your plane as you mindlessly stared at your computer screen. He wanted to believe that maybe something happened with your agent or you were stuck doing rewrites, but his anxiety told him you were beginning to regret your decision to come with him. He didn’t want to hold you back if staying in Tokyo with something you wanted to do. He wanted you to follow your dreams.

He just needed to figure out how to bring it up.

However, that seemed like a terrible way to start this trip. He should be elated, jumping with joy over the fact that he spent time with you. You were going to be living together for the next four months. It would be if there were any time to tell you how he felt now. If he could muster up the courage to do that, he would follow his friend's advice, preferably today or tonight, once you guys got to your condo.

Suguru was going to tell you how he felt finally. He was going to be upfront and honest. He didn’t want to be your friend anymore. He would much rather be your boyfriend if you would accept him.

If he continued to beat around the bush, there was a chance he would lose you. That was something he could not afford to do. Losing you would be like losing part of his soul.

For now, he just needed to keep things lighthearted and stress-free. Which would be easier if you weren’t mindlessly staring at your computer screen. Your eyes were slightly swollen, and your manicured nails tapped against the side of your laptop as the word seemed to evade you, seeing you were so lost in thought.

Without thinking, Suguru reached over and gently grabbed your hand, holding it tight, drawing you out of your fantasy world and back into reality. Your tired, swollen eyes glanced down at your conjoined hands, and for the first time since you boarded the plane, you smiled. It wasn’t the fake smile that you had put on since you both sat down. No, this was your genuine, honest smile.

Which made his whole heart sing.

“You okay?” Suguru asked as you pulled your headphones up to listen to him.

“Oh yeah, I have a nasty case of writer's block. I hope going to the beach when we get there will help.”

Hearing you speak so freely about the issues you were having lifted some of the tension on Suguru’s shoulders. Knowing that you were just stuck in writer's block and not regretting your decision to join him, he slumped back against his chair as his fingers slowly interlaced with yours. He was afraid if he moved any faster, you would disappear.

“I’m sorry, having a blockage like that sucks. Is there anything I can do to help?”

A flush crept across your cheekbones and over the bridge of your nose. “H-Here?” The shushed, almost reprimanding tone of your voice had your best friend smirking. “W-We’re in public! And people would catch us.” Suguru gave your hand another reassuring squeeze.

“I didn't mean like that. Is there anything I could do to help you get through your writer's block?”

“Oh,” your flush deepened in color, “right, yeah, you didn’t mean us fucking in the bathroom.”

Fucking?

You hadn’t noticed the word you had used, but your best friend did. None of your sessions thus far had gone farther than touching and dry humping. So, for you to outwardly say something like that, it was entirely out of left field. Suguru’s cheek flushed a rosey shade as you continued to ramble on about how there were no planes in your fantasy world, and you didn’t see how that would help with your writer's block but profusely thankful for his offer.

Fucking?

That word had been something he was familiar with countless times before. He had had his share of partners in the past, but you were different. You weren’t just some girl. You were his best friend, and you deserve the absolute best. Fucking, was something he never wanted to do with you. No, Suguru wanted to make love with you.

Love. Making love. That sounded so much better than fucking. Making love sounded like something you were so deserving of.

“Suguru?” Your free hand reached forward, touching his forehead with the back of your hand. “Are you okay? You look a little flushed.”

“Oh, yeah, I uh—it’s just a bit warm in here.” it sounds like a bullshit excuse because it is a bullshit excuse.

You just softly grin, dropping your hand down to cup his face. The gentle touch alleviates all the stress and thoughts continuously forming in Subaru’s mind. He finds himself in the back of your hand, leaning into your touch. Everything would be okay as long as he had you by his side.

He could return to Okinawa and paint a mural of a girl he had failed. He might be able to go back to the street where she had died eventually. And he would tell you how he felt.

All because you were with him.

Even though you were by his side, he found himself shaking as he looked out at the ocean as the taxi drove you both to the condo you would call Home for the next four months. Thoughts of Riko and Gojo playing with sea cucumbers on the beach and enjoying soba noodles at a restaurant just up the shoreline, there were a lot of memories in this place, ones that had been fueling his nightmares for years.

Before those dark thoughts could dig their claws into his arms, pulling him under, you leaned your body against his back, peering out the window with him. “Whoa, look at those waves!” Your breath fans against his cheek before you press your face against his. “We should go for a walk tonight once we’re all settled in!” As he had thought on the plane, you were doing exactly what he knew—making this whole excursion easier for him to process.

“Yeah, a walk sounds nice.”

Anything involving you sounds nice. The remainder of the ride to the condo is quiet. A peaceful, calm, serene, until you're dropped off at the condo building. That relaxed, tranquil feeling is replaced with a sense of excitement, especially when you both walk inside.

The condo was a one-bedroom, one-bath, one-bath condominium with a living room, kitchen, and balcony. What made it even better was that it was fully furnished with all the necessary furniture and necessities. Making it a perfect home away from home for the next few months. Suguru stepped inside, holding the door open for you, watching your eyes sparkle as you kicked your sandals off, running across the polished wood flooring. You made a beeline for the balcony window, your back straightened before your world around to face him as he shut the door.

“Suguru! We’re super close to the beach! We should go for that walk later tonight!”

The excitement planted across your face and thick in your voice had Suguru’s heart fluttering. “Yeah, weekend. I have to call the aquarium first and let them know we made it.”

“Hell yeah! I’ll go start unpacking!”

Suguru chuckled, watching as you carried all the bags to the bedroom. He quickly called his employer. Much like he thought this time in Okinawa would involve a lot of working and less playing. The aquarium Director wanted to stop in the office to discuss what they wanted and where the mural would be. They had also been kind enough to purchase all the supplies for him. Paints, brushes, ladders, everything he could want or need would be provided.

The director wanted Suguru to take the rest of the day off to settle in before you came in the next day, which was great—having a day off. Which meant he would be able to spend it with you. Maybe if things went right tonight, he could finally tell you how he felt because he was getting tired of hiding behind some bullshit excuse to ‘help’ you with your book.

“Hey,” Suguru tapped his knuckles against the door frame as he shoved his phone into his pocket. “So the aquarium said that we could—” When he enters the room, you glance up from your phone, and Suguru can see tears swelling in your eyes. His heart drops into his stomach as you quickly wipe at the falling tears. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m okay!”

“Please don’t lie to me.”

The talent of his voice leaves no room for arguments, which she’s anticipating you giving him. “Sugu.” But instead of arguing with him, you smile, blushing yourself off the bed before grabbing his hand. “I was just reading a fan someone wrote about Oaklynn and Ilsan!” You swallow hard, whiter as you squeeze his hand tight. “But what were you say about the aquarium?” Suguru knows there's more than just some fanfic behind your tears, but if you keep pushing, he’s afraid he’ll ruin the first night in the condo with you.

“They said we could take today to settle in.”

You both head to the store to get groceries to cook dinner together. The whole time, Suguru watches you with weary eyes. Knowing you guys were out and about, you seemed fine, but he also knew you. You were pretty talented at putting on a mask behind your genuine emotions. He signs that if you’re not doing better by the following day, he will bring it up again and confront you about what was happening.

The next day, you’re okay, and the following day and the day after that. He’s happy to see your smiling face with no traces of tears in them. He wishes his face mirrored yours. Instead of worrying about you, he’s beginning to worry more about himself. It’s not that being with you makes him sad or that living together for the last week hasn’t been what he has always dreamed about. Being with you was a dream come true. Waking up next to you, cooking meals with you, taking an evening stroll on the beach, and being with you were the best part of returning to Okinawa.

But it was the flashbacks he wasn’t loving.

Images of Riko on the beach, running down the sidewalk. Enjoying her life to the fullest, not knowing this would be the last trip she would ever take because of him.

The second night in the condo was when the nightmare started up again. The same ones he’d been having for years. Riko in the aquarium, the blue hue of the lights around turning red before he was lying down on the street, staring into her lifeless eyes, while her blood-stained mouth told him it was his fault. He hadn’t been fast enough and pushed you out of the way. He had chosen one over the other; those toxic thoughts were the source of the nightmares plaguing him. That also had him stirring in his sleep next to you.

You had been struggling to fall asleep. You and Suguru had been in Okinawa for a week, and you still hadn’t been able to break the news about the cottage to him. That was why you were so upset when you arrived and had been crying a week prior. Eventually, you knew you would have to come clean about it, but you couldn’t do that right now, not when he needed you.

Not wanting to linger on those thoughts any longer, you were about to turn onto your other side when Suguru gasped, yelling your name as he sat up in bed.

“Sugu?!”? You sat up with him, watching his chest. His eyes are brimming with tears. “Hey, I’m right here.” Very gently, you grabbed his thigh, squeezing him, grounding him. “I’m right here with you.”

Suguru breathed heavily and yanked your hand to his chest, holding it there as if he was afraid he would vanish if you didn’t touch him. Scooted towards him, sitting on your knees, watching the adrenaline coursing through his veins slowly settle down. His muscles relaxed, and he watched as the pulse in his throat slowed down. Once he calms down, you lean closer, copying your hand against his cheek.

Leaned into his lips against the palm of your hand. “Sorry.” He pressed another gentle kiss. “Did I wake you?” Shame and embarrassment clouded his eyes as they roamed over your face.

“No, I was already awake.” That seems to make his shoulders relax more. “Were you having a nightmare about me?”

“How did you—?”

“You screamed my name.”

Suguru averts his gaze, biting down on his bottom lip. “Sorry, I—I—uhm—“ your hand leaves his face quickly, grabbing his hand again and squeezing it.

“Talk to me, please.”

Suguru never went into details about his nightmares with you. He only talked about it with his therapist and had mentioned them to Gojo one night when he had been drinking. His therapist had said that it was his conscience. The guilt of what had happened was eating away at him. After increasing his meds, he had encouraged Suguru to talk to his friends about the nightmares, but he had never had the urge to.

Right this second, as he sat down in bed with you. Countless times, you had woken up alone, having to deal with the pain, fear, and memories in the dead of night. Now, it was different. You were with him held. This was why you had agreed to come with him to Okinawa. Even if the nightmares revolved around you, want to talk to anybody else about it

“I have nightmares about the accident over and over again. And it’s not just about Riko—it’s about you too.” Suguru went into details, telling you about the aquarium, Riko, and the street where she had died. In that dream, he described how Riko always blamed him for pushing you out of the way of the moving car. The entire time, you were silent, taking in his words, holding his hand, caressing the back of his knuckles with your thumb. You would give him a gentle, reassuring squeeze whenever his voice would crack or his gaze would linger on the sheets for too long.

You had known his nightmares were terrible, but you never knew how bad they were. Suguru had to suffer with them constantly. Of course, he would have insomnia! But there was one thing about the dreams that didn't make sense.

“Suguru, why do you think you pushed me out of the way?”

Your best friend blinked slowly, looking up from the bed to focus on your face. “Huh?” Confusion was etched into your features. “Be—because I did?” Suguru’s face contorted with confusion as you quickly moved forward, cupping his face in your hands.

“You didn't.” When he says nothing, you feel like your stomach is crawling up your throat. “Oh my god, Suguru, all these years, you seriously thought you had picked me over Riko?” His eyes go wide, and a mixture of relief and confusion swirls in the pit of his stomach. “Suguru, honey, I was across the street. Satoru stole my boba, so I chased him.”

“I—I don't remember that—”

“Of course you don't.” You stroked his cheeks with your thumbs. “You were crossing with Riko when the car lost control.” Images of that day flashed through Suguru’s mind. Him walking in front of Riko, grinning back at her on a perfect sunny day. “The second you saw the car coming, you turned around to grab her—” Your eyes watered as you could feel the heat creeping into his cheeks. “You wrapped her in your arms, shielding her. But her head hit the crib when you guys hit the ground.”

Hearing you tell him the truth, the details of what happened, brings the memories back. They were fuzzy and distorted, like a television during a horrible thunderstorm, but he could see the picture. You pouted, jumping up and down across the street as Satoru held your boba above his head. You were right; you were nowhere near him when the car lost control. It had just been him, Riko, and Kuroi.

He remembered the screaming and yelling as he heard the blaring car horn. Jumping into action, he grabbed Riko, pulling her into his chest, with his back towards the car. The hit hurt, but he tucked his body as he and Riko took the hit, slamming against the street hard. Everything hurt, and his ears had been ringing, but what mattered the most was that he and Riko were okay.

At least, that's what he had thought until he felt the warmth of spreading blood pooling beneath them.

The room felt like it was spinning as everything hit him at once. He hadn't pushed you out of the way. He tried to save Riko! He had shielded her. He didn't choose you over her.

“I—I tried to save her.”

“Yes, and it wasn't your fault that she passed. You did everything in your power to save her.” you brushed your thumbs over his flushed cheeks, watching as tears streamed down them. “It wasn't your fault.”

That truth, in a way, had set him free. Well, part of him, at least. That night, he lay there with you, watching you sleep, remembering how you screamed his name after he was hit, how you were the first person running towards him as soon as traffic stopped. You had been sobbing, stroking his hair back, holding his hand; you had been the one, holding his hand, sitting in the chair next to his hospital bed.

You, god, it was always you. How was it even possible for him to fall even deeper in love with you? He had to tell you how he felt, but he couldn't just blurt it out; he needed it to be perfect.

A week passed, and you were dragged down the sidewalk, grinning up at your best friend, who was holding your hand as tightly as he could. He was talking you to the aquarium to show you his work on the mural so far, which had been a vast improvement since he always dreaded going. But since last week, he seemed to be doing a bit better.

Just because he had realized that the accident itself was not his fault didn't mean he was going to heal overnight miraculously. It was more like he was a glass of dark water, and you had turned the faucet on, allowing clean water to start flowing in. Over time, the dark water would become more transparent and clearer. Riko and everything that happened here in Okinawa will always be part of Suguru, but thinking about it would be less painful over time.

“Come on, this way!” he grinned, pulling you through the halls and leading you to the area he’d been hired to work on.“I can’t wait to show you.”

“Okay! Okay!” You giggle, gripping his hand tighter as you enter the main aquarium you had been to when you were seventeen on your class trip.

The room had a certain blue hue as blue whales and other fish swam in the tanks around you. A wall on one side of the room had been zoned off with plastic covers, hiding what was going on behind the scenes. Suguru pulled the plastic cover back for you, and as you stepped inside. The second you’re both behind the fronted cover, Suguru turns on a light and points it to the wall.

There in all its well-sketched glory are Riko and the whales. You walk along the wall, fingers gently grazing over her sketched-out form, following the sketch. The wall had to be half a kilometer long, and seeing Suguru’s art on a wall like this was surreal. The pencil work was excellent to see it painted—you stopped in your tracks, taking in the wall.

It wasn’t just Riko, not anymore.

All your friends were there: Gojo, Shoko, Nanami, Haibara, Suguru, and you. Each of your friends was spread out, mixed in with different people, each other except for you and Suguru. The two of you were standing near each other. Seeing you on the wall near your best friend, depicting both of you grinning at each other, made your heart race.

God, you wanted to be with him so bad. You wanted to be more than friends. Especially now, seeing what he had drawn made you realize how badly you wanted to be his girlfriend.

“What do you think?” Suguru asked as he joined your side, his hand rubbing against the back of his neck. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

“Yeah? The aquarium staff seem to like it, too.” His fingers trace over the pencil markings on the wall. “I can’t remember the last time I had been so excited about doing a piece like this.” You watch with bated breath as Suguru runs his thumb over your drawing on the wall. “I have a pretty amazing muse and friend to thank for pushing me.”

Friend.

You swallow hard, clenching your hands tight. Tonight, you would finally take Yuki’s advice and show him how you felt about him. You could do this!

While those thoughts were in your mind, you ran through different scenarios. Suguru was thinking about his plans. Tonight was the night he was going to tell you how he felt. He’s going to sit down with you and have an honest conversation about how much you meant to him. he wasn’t going to allow this façade to continue. Now was the time for honesty.

Honestly, it ended up with you kissing each other the second you made it back to the condo. Your hands tangled in his dark hair, and you kissed him with no remorse while he reciprocated with gentler kisses. You kicked the door shut, moaning into his mouth while he locked the door. You pushed him inside, turning into the bedroom, where you shoved him against the bed.

“Wh-whoa—“ he chuckled nervously, pushing himself on his elbows. “What’s gotten into you—mmhm!” You straddled his hip, kissing him harder, rocking eagerly against his crotch with whimpers and whines. Suguru groaned, hands twitching as he resisted the urge to grab your hips and rock you faster against him. “Y-You break that writer's bl—ahh fuck.”

“Mhmm.” Your pussy twitches against the hardening bulge in his pants. “Mmm~.” Gentle kisses are planted down Suguru’s neck, over and over, down to the collar of his shirt, where your teeth nip at.

“Princess—we should—“

“Shh, just relax.” You pull back, tugging your shirt over your head and throwing it to the ground before you do the same to Suguru.

Fuck, it was hard to relax with you being so seductive. Your perfect, beautiful body rocks and rolls against him, leaving Suguru wholly enamored by how gorgeous you look on top of him. His shaky hands gently grab your hips holding them, and you try with all of your might to rock against his cock.

You fight against his hold; you need him to know how much you care about him. You wanted to be more than just friends. Showing him how you felt was going to be your best bet. What better way to tell him you want to be more than friends than sleeping with him? If it worked for Yuki, surely it would work for you.

Reaching around your back, you unclasp your bra, allowing the flimsy fabric to fall to the bed, revealing your bare tits. They jiggle with each roll of your hips against his. You can feel his fingers digging into your hips before you slowly trail up the sides of your body. His fingers caress over your sensitive skin before inching further and further up until they cup your breasts.

As his hands gently massage them, your head rocks back while you rut your hips faster against his jeans. His cock throbs hard at your sensual rocking while his thumbs gently rub circles over your nipples, and his fingers knead at your sweet soft breasts. Out of all of the sessions you two had shared, this was by far the most sensual one. This felt real and raw.

Suguru felt it, too, as did how hot and heavy things were getting. He could feel how wet you were through your panties that hid underneath your floral skirt. He could see it in your face, the way your skin flushed, and your eyes rolled back as your hands gripped his pectoral muscles for support as you rolled your hips harder against his throbbing cock. That’s when he knew this wasn’t about your research; this was you taking control, taking what you wanted. He would’ve been happy for you to do that any other time.

But he didn’t want to be a one-time thing.

“Princess.” He began watching as you sat back on the heels of your feet, unbuckling his belt, the clanking of the metal deafening. “Princess.”

“It’s okay,” you pull the zipper to his jeans, tugging them down to his thighs.

“Hey—” his boxers are pulled down.

“Shh—” The Floral skirt is the next to go, flying across the room before your panties join it.

“Hey.”

“Sugu—”

“I can’t do this!”

He shouted, sitting up completely and staring at your naked body as your eyes widened with shock. Did Suguru not want to take this further? Was all of this to help you with your book, like really help you, nothing more than that?

Your chest heaves as your hands cover your breasts while you quickly slide off of his lap. Embarrassment, shame, and Amy of other emotions settle in your heart and stomach as his words repeatedly replay in your mind. This is not what you had anticipated when you sent your plan in motion. You thought that maybe deep down inside, he felt the same way you did.

Your eyes and the inside of your nose begin to burn with tears that you’re trying hard to hold back. What were you even supposed to say in a moment like this? What was the proper etiquette for being turned down by your best friend you had fallen in love with over the years? The only thing you could think was to collect your clothes and leave.

Before you even have a chance to jump off the bed and grab your panties to slide back on, Suguru pulls you back into his arms. Your bare chest is pressed firmly against his. The sudden reconnection of your body makes you inhale sharply as his hands slowly down your back.

“I can’t hook up with you.”

“Yeah, you made that clear, Sugu—“

“Stop!” One of his hands rests against the smell of your back while the other grabs you by the back of your head, pressing your forehead firmly against his. “I can’t just hook up with you because I love you!”

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3

INHK Tag List (TO BE ADDED AGE MUST BE IN BIO)

@lemonintrovert01 @spankmydepression @renttheannihilator @witchbybirth @missmuffinr @lialia3945 @theobsidianempress @aquasan29 @toffeebrat @aussiemeerkat @chimichangagirl @zoroisminty @spankmydepression @em-aizawa @gojosimp26 @moonlightazriel @candy-s72 @makingtimemine @strflp @angel-academia @xocandyy

186 notes · View notes

in1-nutshell · 8 months ago

Note

Uh hi, this my first ever resquest, and i'm sorry if things don't make sense, english is not my first language.

Could i get tfp bot buddy who has shadow powers(like can turn into one and use them as portals), has the appearance of nightmares and is close to Ultra Magnus(dunno if is platonic, familial or romantic)?

They kinda been living as Ultra Magnus shadow since forever and help him on missions,tasks or just anything, but in one of their missions, the decepticons maneged to reallyyy hurt buddy and buddy, not wanting to die, retreated to Ultra Magnus shadow and went into stasis to heal but Ultra Magnus didn't knew that and thought that buddy had perished.

Only now on earth did buddy finally wakes up.

Could i get reactions from the team or something like that if not, that's okay :) also love your writing

Magnus was so close to having a spark attack when he saw Buddy pop out of his shadow the first time they used their powers, that's for sure.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy with shadow manipulation and being Ultra Magnus's Amica Endura

SFW, Platonic, Cybertronain reader

TFP

Buddy met Magnus through Optimus.

He introduced them to Magnus during the earlier years of the war as his Second in Command.

Magnus just thought he was getting to know another coworker.

A couple missions later, several late-night conversations and some free time later they become Amica Endura.

“You know you never did tell HOW you became Amica with Commander shoulder pads over there. Was it a bet you loss?”--Wheeljack

“No bets were lost Wheeljack. We became Amica out of our own choice and free will. Nothing else to do with it.”--Buddy

“Sure…”--Wheeljack

Buddy loves to prank Magnus with their shadow powers.

Magnus does not find this funny… but he does find it a bit endearing after a while.

Being an Outlier was rare to find in this world.

Even rarer to find after the war broke out.

So many had been the first ones targeted at the beginning of the war there were barely anymore left.

It was a risk putting Buddy in the Wrecker’s, but so far it brought greater success to the unit than any point in their formation.

“Freeze Autobot scum!”—Random Decepticon

Buddy putting their servo in the air almost mockingly.

“There’s three of you and one of me… what ever shall I do?”--Buddy

Buddy’s servos start glowing a bit.

“Have you met my Amica?”--Buddy

“Why would we—”—Random Con

SLAM!

Magnus takes out the three mechs after appearing from behind thanks to Buddy’s shadow powers.

“That was brutal!”--Buddy

Magnus fixes his blaster a bit.

“I hate when you put yourself in these situations.”--Magnus

“Its in the job description Mags.”--Buddy

“Buddy we’ve been over this.”--Magnus

“And we’ve been over this too.”--Buddy

“…”--Magnus

“…”--Buddy

“First one that takes out five Cons has to buy the other a drink.”--Buddy

“If you insist.”--Magnus

Buddy has defiantly used their powers to get Magnus to sneak up on unsuspecting troops.

Magnus is always there for Buddy when they overexert themselves and need someone to watch over their back.

One trip left Buddy badly injured.

They saw Magnus’s backside as he was trying to find them in the rubble of the exploding base.

They tried to call for him, but they could barely keep their optics open.

His shadow was the closest thing they could reach so they snuck into his shadow.

With a quick nap, their wounds would get healed in no time.

Magnus thought that Buddy had died in the explosion after coming back to the base for regrouping.

He checked all other places they set rendezvous points and in none of the places did he even find a trace of Buddy.

Magnus could see it in the optics of his Wrecker’s that the war was about to turn bloodier than it was now that Buddy was gone.

Hopefully things would get better…

Hope was the last thing they had.

Timeskip to Magnus being on Earth…

Buddy finally feels ready to get out of the shadow.

Yeah, it took a while to finally get healed, but they are sure they are ready now.

By their calculations they missed about a couple weeks in the war. Things couldn’t have changed that much.

Magnus is arguing with Wheeljack when Bulkhead sees something wrong with Magnus’s shadow.

“Hey guys, shadows aren’t supposed to do that right?”--Bulkhead

Miko looks from the perch.

“Wow! Wheeljack made Magnus so mad his shadow gained sentience!”--Miko

In a blink there is a bot laying on the floor rubbing their helm.

“Urgh! Never doing that again… hey Mags when did we get better lighting—Mags?”--Buddy

Ultra Magnus stares at Buddy with wide optics.

“By the Allspark! Buddy is that you?!”—Wheeljack

“Who’s that?”--Miko

Buddy moves their helm a bit and spots Wheeljack.

“Wheeljack? I thought you left cycles ago—Hey!”--Buddy

Bulkhead scoops Buddy from behind giving them a crushing hug.

“Bulkhead!? I thought you left to team Prime? Magnus? Magnus what’s going on?”—Buddy

“Seriously who’s that?”--Miko

Magnus remains still just staring at Buddy like a ghost.

Buddy gets out of Bulkhead’s grip stumbling a bit until they reach their Amica with a worried look on their face.

“Mags? Are you okay?”--Buddy

“I…I thought you had perished in the explosion. I looked everywhere…”--Magnus

Buddy scratches their helm a bit.

“Yeah, I got injured pretty badly back there. Your shadow was the closest thing I could reach and… well…”--Buddy

“So, this entire time you’ve been in Ultra Magnus’s shadow?”--Wheeljack

Buddy furies their optics a bit.

“You’re making this sound like I was gone for millennia. I was just gone for a couple of weeks most.”—Buddy

Magnus gives them a sad smile.

“…You never were good at your calculations Buddy.”--Magnus

Magnus puts a servo on his Amica’s shoulder.

“Mags?”--Buddy

“Mags?”--Miko

Buddy finally looks over at Miko.

“Who’s this?”--Buddy

“I’m Miko! Welcome to Earth!”--Miko

Buddy’s optics widen.

“How long was I in there!?”—Buddy

Optimus walks into the room with some of the reports.

“Ultra Magnus where—Buddy?”--Optimus

“WHY IS PRIME SO BIG!?”--Buddy

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #tfp #tfp x reader #tfp x platonic reader #tfp ultra magnus #tfp ultra magnus x platonic reader

207 notes · View notes

youwouldntdownloadapizza · 10 months ago

Text

The Gates of Jackson | Joel Miller x F!Reader | Chapter 2 - Patrol

masterlist | ao3 | follow @youwouldntdownloadapizza and turn on notifications for updates

You showed up at the gates of Jackson with hands covered in blood and no memory of how you got there. That was two years ago. Since then, you've become Maria's right-hand woman and the person in charge of Jackson's logistical backend. Patrol schedules, inventory—all your purview. When a patrol gone wrong forces you to get to know Joel, memories of your past begin resurfacing—along with their consequences.

previous | next

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+, minors DNI

word count: 1.0k

tags: no use of y/n, eventual smut, no beta we die like sarah, jackson era, other additional tags to be added, slow burn, ellie needs a hug, joel lives, good parent joel, reader-insert, reader insert, forced proximity, only one bed trope, nightmares, childbirth, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, soft joel, cuddling & snuggling, fluff, masturbation, pining, joel falls first, possibly demisexual reader (tbd), ptsd, ptsd flashbacks, panic attacks, amnesia, sexual braiding

chapter warnings: childbirth (mentioned)

chapter summary: A detour finds you and Joel lost in the woods and in need of shelter for the night.

Chapter 2 - Patrol

It was foggy today. Cold and foggy. You resented the low visibility, but Joel didn’t seem to mind. He followed behind you on Chestnut, an older mare named for her lovely, dark coat. While you focused on the trail, he watched the trees. Even if infected were rare out here, he wasn’t about to be caught off guard.

You made it about four miles before dust began to mix with the fog, making you cough until you pulled your shirt over your mouth and nose to block out the debris.

“Rockslide,” you called back to Joel, the sound of pebbles still clattering to the ground confirming your assessment. “We need to find an alternate route. I usually send patrols up this way three times a week, but no one’s come up this way since last Thursday. It’s overdue for a checkup.”

Joel was unfazed. “The river narrows to a stream about a mile back. We can cross over, loop around.”

You nodded, “Lead the way, Miller.”

Letting Joel lead was a mistake. Between the detour and the fog, you were hopelessly, utterly lost.

“If we die out here, I’m gonna kill you,” you told him, your annoyance beginning to slip towards downright anger.

“We’re not gonna die out here, Doe. Calm down.”

“We need to find high ground—figure out where we are, get above all this fog,” you said.

Luckily, you were headed uphill. But uphill didn’t last. Just as the fog began to thin, you reached a lake. Beside it stood a cabin, one you hadn’t seen on your patrols before.

The siding had once been painted a bright, cheery yellow, but time and the elements had stripped away much of the color. There were no signs of life, no broken windows. It had probably been abandoned long before the outbreak. Either that, or occupied by people who knew how to keep a low profile.

You eyed Joel, and with a sharp nod, he dismounted. You tied the horses just inside the treeline and approached, slowly and quietly climbing the stairs to the enclosed porch.

You squatted down to pull out your lock pick, but before you could even retrieve it, Joel was winding up to kick the door down. You stopped him with a gentle hand on his thigh. He looked down at you, eyes wide, and you answered his unspoken question by raising your lock pick.

You made quick work of the lock, standing to push the door open. You motioned for Joel to head inside, but he opted to hold the door for you instead. “After you, ma’am.”

You were tempted to roll your eyes at that, but honestly, you kind of liked it. You led the way, clicking on your flashlight to investigate.

It wasn’t untouched, like you had initially suspected. There were signs of past occupants between the outbreak and now, but whoever it was hadn’t stayed long. The cabinets were still mostly stocked, though none of the cans were of your preferred variety. The curtains were drawn and dusty, having been left that way for some time. You opened them, letting in a dull beam of late-afternoon light. It glinted off liquor bottles strewn across the carpet by the couch.

“Looks like somebody hunkered down here for a bender,” Joel said, toeing a half-empty bottle with his boot.

“You got all that from liquor bottles and a carpet covered in dried vomit? Very observant, Miller,” you teased, taking a seat on an old barstool.

“I’m surprised they didn’t start breaking shit.”

“Not every drunk’s a violent one, Joel. Some of them just get sad. Or horny.”

“Or both.”

You huffed at that. He wasn’t wrong. You were stretching your neck when Joel made the call.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “We should settle in here for the night.”

“That’s not–” you started, before realizing he was probably right. If you kept going, you’d likely end up going in circles, just getting more lost than you already were. And even with all the floor vomit, that couch looked comfy. “Fine,” you sighed. “Get a fire going, figure out some food. I’m gonna head up to the roof, see if I can get a radio signal.”

Joel nodded, setting his pack down by the fireplace. You climbed the ladder up to the small loft space, looking for roof access. There was a small skylight, and with luck, it pushed open.

You crawled out onto the roof, leaning back against a weathered gable. You could just barely get a signal on your long-range radio.

“Doe to base camp, come in,” you spoke into the mouthpiece.

“Copy, Doe. This is Mike at the main gate. Over,” a voice crackled through the speaker.

“Joel and I hit a rockslide along the Mountain View lodge trail earlier. We took a detour and got lost in all the fog. We’re at a cabin near some lake up here. Looks like we’re gonna be stuck here for the night. Over.”

“But you’re alright otherwise? No injuries or anything? Over.”

“Fine, Mike. We’re fine. Should probably get a group out this way soon, though. The place is well-stocked, practically untouched. We’ll probably be back sometime tomorrow afternoon, assuming this fog clears and we can get our bearings. Over.”

“Copy that, Doe. All good over here.”

“Copy. Over and out.”

“Over and out.”

You scrubbed a hand over your face, your bones heavy with exhaustion. It had been a very long day.

“Soup’s on!” Joel called up from the living room.

“Be right there!”

You gathered your things, starting your haphazard slide back toward the skylight when a thought hit you.

“Hey, Mike?” you asked into the radio.

“Yeah?”

“How’s Maria?”

You waited anxiously for his reply. Childbirth had never been without its risks, but in the apocalypse, it was easy for things to go wrong.

“She’s good,” Mike said, “Delivery went smoothly.”

Good, you thought, letting out a sigh of relief. That’s good.

The radio crackled back on, and Mike added one last detail to his report.

“It’s a girl.”

previous | next

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller series #joel miller fic #the last of us #tlou #joel x reader #joel x you #no use of y/n #joel miller x f!reader #jackson era #joel lives #ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction

114 notes · View notes

earthpleasures · 8 months ago

Text

OCEAN EYES !

Steve Rogers x fem!wife!avenger!reader

Summary: ever since downfall of Avengers, your marriage was in shambles. A certain event ripped off the final thread between you and Steve. However, can you be mended?

Warnings: ANGST / swearing, misunderstandings, poor communication, miscarriage, slight alcoholism, self harm, nightmares, reader and steve love each other but they're stupid.

Word Count: 1.4k

Note: events take place three months after 'avengers: infinity war'.

dividers by: @benkeibear

"you really know how to make me cry

when you gimme those ocean eyes"

- ocean eyes by billie eilish.

The night was cold, the wind blowing through the open windows of the house. Ghosts of last year remained inside the walls as Steve feared. With a grunt, he rubbed his face. Even with all the breeze, he was sweating. Damned nightmares.

His hand involuntarily reached to the other side of the sheets, searching for that familiar warmth. Her side of the bed was cold, she must have been up for long enough. He sat up and threw the black duvet off his body. No matter how many times they tried to sleep with windows closed, neither of them could blink. Past haunted present.

Balcony door was ajar, choked sobs being heard from there. He sighed as he stood up and took her cardigan off the nightstand. His steps were heavy, unsure of how to trespass walls she created around them. It's been a long time since they had a proper conversation.

Taking a deep, cold breath into his lungs, he pushed the ajar door, meeting a similar image. Her knees were pulled against her chest on the couch, her cheek pressing against them. An empty bottle of whiskey stood unashamed next to her. He scrunched his nose. Smell of whiskey wasn't the best, especially when it came to his wife.

Tears kept rolling down her cheeks, moonlight illuminating her tired face. Dried tears have been replaced with new, wet ones. She was so drawn to her world of ruins that Steve's footsteps didn't even alert her senses. He cleaned his throat to make his presence known, earning a slow headlift from her. Her swollen eyes were all red from crying.

"What did we talk about drinking at late hours?" He couldn't help but be wary of her behavior. Avengers were his world, but when his world fell into void, all left was ruins. Ruins of his life and marriage. Once an inseparable couple, now barely spoke to each other besides arguing.

"Go to sleep, Steve. It's a late hour to argue." After hours of silence, her voice came out hoarse. A few coughs helped her to clean her throat. "I don't need your pity." She said with the pain-filled undertone in her voice, something only Steve would hear.

"You don't need my pity, Y/n. You need me." His words only fueled the anger that crept her features. "Oh, really Captain? Where were you when I fell into hell in that hospital? Let me tell you, you were in another country, trying your best to avoid me. Maybe you even wished for me to perish." Her drunk words stung like venomous needles, making Steve fix his stance.

"I didn't escape from you. We were on a mission and-"

"AND WHAT? ARE THE FUCKING MISSIONS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR WIFE?" Her sudden outburst caused Steve to frown. "It's nothing like that, you're being dramatic right now." A sarcastic laugh escaped her throat. "Dramatic? I lost my baby, Steve. I didn't even get to hold my child before I lost her. And to remind you, she was your daughter too."

Moments of silence went on and went on. Neither of them spoke, no one taking a step to lower the barriers between them. When she buried her head to her knees, Steve remembered the soft cardigan he was holding from the very beginning of their argument. He bit his lips, not wanting to say one more word to her. Throwing the soft fabric on the table next to her, he slammed the door behind him and went to bed.

Now his side of the bed was cold too.

She was running, running, and running again. Brown-haired boy smiled at her from a distance, waving his hand cluelessly. He wasn't aware of the danger waiting for him. "Peter! Peter!" Her own screams were ripping her skin. Boy didn't react to her agony or cries.

When she finally reached her destination, her body fell to the floor. Before she could reach him, smile on his face dusted away. Gray dusts flowed through her fingers.

"Y/n, wake up!" The sudden shock of being shaken made her open her eyes. Steve's worried face was in front of him. Everything was a nightmare again. Universe kept rubbing the fact she couldn't protect the kid to her face. She let him kiss her forehead and press her against his warm chest. Throughout everything that happened, every fight occurred between them, he was still her safe space, the only place she could walk into with her eyes closed. "It's okay, I am here... I am here..." The whispers against her hair began to show their effects, smoothing the fast beating of her heart.

She clumsily threw her robe over her back and wore her slippers, making her way to the bathroom. A bath was what she needed most at this time. Looking into those blue eyes she once loved so much was now nothing short of torture. Of course, Steve didn't blame her for The Snap. However, a part of her dusted away with all of the people disappeared. Whenever she looked into his eyes, failure looked back at her.

She slowly took off her robe and pajama. The process made her hiss in actual pain, fabric rutting against wounds left from her last panic attack. She didn't know why or how, her hands always found their way to her belly when she had one of her attacks, itching to feel her baby again. The baby she never achieved to embrace.

Her fingers traced shapes on the scars, scratches and stitch marks all over her stomach. Running faucet filled the bathtub with hot water. She didn't mind the burns on her skin, stepping into the vapors. Her skin writhed, as she sank into the water, scratches burned and itched. She laid her head back on cold tiles. Punishment was a given for failed ones, she deserved this.

“Y/n, I am- oh god!” Steve's panicked voice tore her thoughts away. His rushed steps were what she focused on. Strong arms pulled her out of the water. After coming out of hot water, her body shivered with cold air caressing her. “What the hell were you doing!?” Steve exclaimed as he turned the cold water on, easing the hot sensation.

Scratches on her body gained his attention. “Y/n. What are these?” Ah, one more failure. Steve finally discovered the scratches. “Nothing.” Her tone stood neutral, not giving away anything.

“Look at my eyes. Are you harming yourself?” She shook her head to say no. But Steve wasn't stupid and he knew his wife well enough to understand when she lied to him. “Love… You should've told me.” After months of separation, and emotional distance, the goddamn wall finally cracked. Maybe that was what was needed in their relationship. Fear of losing.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. The world was finally spinning on her way. Steve cupped her cheeks gently. “Look at me, darling. No matter what happens between us, you're still my wife. I am still your husband. Come to me, because in this world, only we can mend each other.” Her lips trembled as tears began to fill her eyes.

“I am sorry, Steve. For not listening to you, for bursting out of nowhere. You are right. We have only each other left.” He nodded as his thumb brushed her cheek, wiping the tears away. He hooked his arms under her waist and knees, picking her up.

After laying her down, he opened their emergency drawer and took out the burn cream. With slow motions, he circled the cream on the red pitches of her skin. “I know you don't think I cared about our daughter, but I did. As much as you did. Sleepless nights held me captive after losing her. I couldn't come to the hospital because I had no way back.” He kissed her knees, fingers massaging her thighs as if he tended to heal her. “I am so sorry, my love. I shouldn't have left you in the dark alone. I should've stood next to you.”

She looked at his eyes. The very ocean blues she loved. She still loved them. They were not at a point of no return. Her smile was real this time, not an effort to push him away. “We can fix everything and start all over again, right?” He closed her eyes and kissed her softly, it made her feel loved. “Yes, yes we can.”

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #mcu #captain america #the avengers #steve rogers fanfiction #angst with a happy ending #marvel #chris evans

60 notes · View notes

kittyt-hexxed · 2 years ago

Text

A Place for You - Part One

Post Santa Barbara!Ellie x Ex-Firefly!POC!Reader

I’ve had this in the works since January. I wanted to post it when the first episode of the HBO series came out. But uh… it didn’t happen because this ended up waayy longer than planned. This photo was taken in TLOU2 Photomode by @kevinphotomode!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Warnings: Post-TLOU2, Apocalyptic Racism (young Reader), Racial Killing (young Reader’s parents), PTSD, Flashbacks, Trauma, Nightmares, Talks about Violent Murders, Past revenge Murder, Grief, Deadly Infection of Limbs, Prothetic Limbs, Dissociation, Heavy Depression, Low Self-Worth (Ellie), Reader lives on a Homestead, First Kiss (young Reader), Childhood crush, First time, Fingering

Summary: You weren’t expecting to see Ellie on your porch after six years - nor her passing out shortly after. You nurse her back to health from the verge of death, and the two of you bond through your shared traumas… and memories.

~ Late Fall of the Year 2039 ~

You hum as you begin cutting into the deer, carefully maneuvering your knife so you don’t puncture any organs. The soft thunk from the blood dropping into the bucket steadily gets louder the bigger you make the incision. A woof has you pausing and smiling at your dog who decides to sit at your heels. You reach down to pat Scout’s head before turning your attention back to the deer. You��d be able to quarter it and bag it once all the organs are out.

“We’ll be eating really well this fall, Scout. We got lucky with this one. It should last us until the spring.” You talk to him, “That means the next one should hold us over for spring, and you might get a new blanket.” An excited woof is your response, making you giggle. Soon, with practiced ease, the organs are removed and all the excess blood is in the bucket.

“Okay, Scout.” You pick up the bucket and he takes it from your hand, “Take this to the drop-off, and be careful.” Scout turns and heads off into the woods to your usual disposal site. The smell of the blood and guts attracted the infected so your family made a trap point to focus on them. You’d head out there once the meat was safely stored to torch any that wandered in.

By the time Scout returns with the clean bucket, you’ve removed the legs and head from the deer. The two of you finish up your routine with you removing the meat while Scout ran the inedible pieces to the drop. Now was time to make the trip back to the house, so you loaded up and headed back to your meadow. ‘I’ll have to check on the chickens and make sure there are no entries into their coup. I’ve got to keep them warm and the predators out.’ You remind yourself. ‘Then, it’s checking over the house and making sure nothing will get too cold.’ Suddenly, Scout starts barking, jolting you out of your thoughts as he takes off running toward the house.

“Scout!” You shout and run after him, pulling your shotgun from your bag. ‘Ah, hell! I hope it’s just a false alarm!’ The last time he reacted like this, some infected had managed to get inside from a busted area in the fence. A tree had collapsed during a storm, attracting the few in the forest, and you had to spend a few days fixing it. You grit your teeth, lifting your gun as you round the corner of the house. It’s been a while since you’ve had to use it on a human, but that didn’t mean you would hesitate with it.

The sound of Scout’s barks mixes with what sounds like… laughter? Your eyes widen when you see a woman standing on your porch, trying to calm down Scout as he jumps up and licks her face. You watch in shock, slowly lowering your gun as you listen to the laughter while trying to process the sight. The woman looks up at you, her face showing relief as a tired smile makes its way across her lips. It takes a moment, but you realize that you met this woman a few years ago when the two of you were much smaller.

“So um… I’m Ellie. Like Joel said.” Ellie reintroduces herself to you. You glance at your parents who are walking inside with Joel before you turn back to her with a grin.

“Hi, Ellie! I’m Y/n!” You greet her, lifting your clippers to show her, “Do you want to come up to my room with me? I have some books we can go through!”

“What kind of books?” Ellie raises an eyebrow.

“Ah, space-”

“Space?!” Ellie shouts and then her face goes red, “I-I mean- Space? That’s cool. I like space.” You gasp, grab her hand, and start dragging her to your room.

“Oh my god, that’s fucking amazing!” You squeal, “I actually have a telescope we can look through if you end up staying the night! Have you ever looked through one before? It’s so cool. My dad had found one for me last year…” You ramble to Ellie the whole way.

“Ellie?” You blurt out in shock, hurrying to put the safety back on your gun. You grin at her, suddenly feeling happy about the unexpected company. It’s been just you and Scout for way too long.

“Hey, Y/n.” Ellie says before her eyes roll back and she faints, falling onto your deck with a loud thud.

“ELLIE?!” You shriek, flinging your gun to the ground as you sprint to her. Scout freaks out as you hurriedly drop down and feel for her pulse. The firm beat only calms you down slightly before you open the front door and pick her up. You rush to the guest room, kicking the door open to place her on the bed. Mindlessly, you’re yanking at her clothes and taking off all the layers so you can inspect her for any bites. You pause as you’re removing her jacket, seeing her left hand bandaged and clearly missing parts of her fingers. You take a moment to unwind the bandages and a soft gasp leaves your lips. ‘It’s infected. I’ll check that after I confirm she’s not bitten.’ You shake your head and get back to work. You find no bite marks, only a tattoo on her arm along with dozens of scars all over her. You knew she’d be annoyed that you stripped her, but you didn’t have a choice. Finally, you press your hand to her forehead and hiss in aggravation. ‘She’s running a fever.’ You sigh, carefully picking up her injured hand. ‘It’s likely because of this infection.’ You examine the wound, noting that it must’ve reopened at some point as there are signs of old stitches.

Scout noisily comes into the room, making you glance at him and see him dragging a backpack that you assume to be Ellie’s. You put Ellie’s hand down and take it from him, patting him on the head before placing it on the desk. Your eyes linger on the numerous weapons sticking out of it, wondering when she learned to use a bow and arrow. ‘She had quite a few the last time she and Joel came by, but this is my first time seeing them up close.’ You sigh and look back to the woman passed out in your bed. ‘What happened to you?’ You frown.

“Alright, Scout. Why don’t we get back to work, huh boy? I have a feeling Ellie will be asleep for a while. Once I get the meat stored, I’ll work on helping her through this infection.” You look down at him. Scout whines, pawing at his face before pointing to Ellie. You give him a soft smile, reaching down to ruffle his fur. He liked Ellie when she came by last time, so it was nice to see him caring for her.

“You watch her for me, then. I’ll get this sorted out.” You motion to the meat, making him woof happily before he jumps onto the edge of the bed and lays down next to her.

It was two weeks before Ellie woke up. The first few days were the worst, keeping her from falling into a coma and injecting her with antibiotics. You wiped her body down with cold water from the river in an effort to break her fever. Once her fever broke, you were able to relax a little but she was still fighting off death. Her rest was fitful, causing Scout to come to fetch you more than a few times out of worry. You left him in charge of her since you couldn’t be at her side. She’d open her eyes and deliriously mumble things to you before falling asleep again. You alternated between tea, water, and soup, briefly waking her up to get her to drink them. Ellie was barely conscious, even when you fed her and it worried you. While you went around and prepared for the winter months, she stayed at the front of your mind the whole time.

You were in the middle of chopping firewood when Scout came sprinting out to you, barking like a madman, before sprinting back into the house. You followed after him, racking up your axe along the way and stumbling up the steps as you hurried to remove your boots. Your pulse is racing and you’re fearing the worst. She had been getting better, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t come back overnight. Ellie’s voice is horribly broken and raspy as you hear her talk to Scout, and you lean in the doorway as he rolls all over her.

“You’re awake.” You exhale in relief, seeing the energy in her movements as she looks up at you, “I was so worried when you collapsed.” You walk into the room, grab the glass of water on the dresser and take a seat at the edge of the bed. You help her take the first few swallows, gently wiping away a drop of water from her chin.

“...I’m sorry.” Ellie sighs, accepting the glass from you, “I didn’t know if I’d make it here if I’m honest.” She lifts the glass to her mouth and you watch for any shakiness. Her hand trembles slightly, so you keep your hand up to support her.

“You had a horrible infection in your fingers that traveled into your body. You went septic, Ellie.” You frown and cross your arms, “You’re lucky I know how to treat that. What happened?” That question makes her pause and she slowly lowers the glass with a heavy sigh. You turn to her, bringing your legs up to tuck them under you. She’s quiet for a moment, staring at the water as she chews at her lip.

“You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry for asking.” You place a hand on her leg, “It seems like it’s something heavy.”

“No. I- Fuck.” Ellie groans, running a hand through her hair, “Joel’s dead. Murdered.” She says suddenly, recoiling at her news. ‘Murdered?!’ You straighten up in alarm.

“I chased after his murderer, leaving the little family I had behind, and long story short… I couldn’t do it.” Ellie fiddles with her bandages, “Kill her, that is. I was so close to it, but in the end, I couldn’t do it. She uh… bit my fingers off in the fight.” She lifts her hand, flashing you an awkward smile at you before dropping her hand into her lap.

“Ellie. I-” You flounder for the right words, in complete disbelief, “-I’m so sorry.” You wrap your arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug that she stiffens up in. When you go to pull away, she relaxes into your arms and hugs you back. She tightens her grip on you and starts sobbing as she buries her face into your neck. You feel your heart break as her tears run down your neck, and you shift around so she’s sitting on your lap while she cries. You practically cradle Ellie in your lap, letting her cry as you try to comfort her. She tearfully rambles about everything that happened as she tried to get to your home, unloading on you in her distraught state and leaving you speechless. You were the only person Ellie could go to… Scout had jumped up and laid his head on her leg, letting her shakily play with his fur. By the end of it, she fell asleep. You take a deep breath, laying her down as you try to process what was said, and Scout wedges between you two with a whine.

“I know, bud.” You stroke his fur, wiping tears from your own eyes, “I didn’t expect that either, but it makes sense why she showed up in such a horrible condition.” You sigh and glance at the sleeping woman next to you. ‘She looks so peaceful after going through all of that.’ You delicately wipe the tear tracks from her face and go to get out of bed. Scout whines, gently grabbing your wrist in his mouth and making you pause.

“Scout…” You sigh and he whines again, tugging you back toward the bed. You glance at the door, thinking about all of the things you need to do, but Scout insists. ‘Winter won’t be here for a month. I can rest for a day. Besides, I’m ahead of schedule.’

“Okay, okay.” You laugh softly, getting back into the bed and laying down, “...Happy?” You raise an eyebrow at him. He woofs and licks your face, making you giggle and push his snout away. You lay there and pet him, accidentally falling asleep in the process.

You feel warm when you wake up. Warm, comfortable, and… stuck? You open your eyes, confusedly looking to your left, and come face to face with Ellie. You blink sleepily, your mind taking more than a few seconds to catch up to the situation. You let out a squeak, feeling your face heat up as her breath fans across your cheek. ‘I-I’m in Ellie’s arms.’ You shift ever so slightly and you’re well aware of the complicated position you’re in. Her arms are tight around your waist, one of yours is tucked under her head while the other is across her waist. Your legs were intertwined and the two of you were practically chest to chest. ‘How did we get into this position?’ You swallow, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. ‘There’s no way I can get out of this without waking her.’

Your heart drops when you notice that Ellie’s eyelids are fluttering. ‘No. No. No! Don’t wake up now!’ You panic and do the only thing that comes to mind… you shut your eyes. You feel her grip on your waist tighten, a sharp intake of breath following shortly after.

“Shit.” Ellie whispers, “How the fuck…?” There’s a pause before she’s shifting, trying to untangle herself from you. Except, that’s not possible without waking you up. She stops after a few seconds and lets out a deep sigh.

“…Y/n.” Ellie says quietly, “…Y/n, wake up.” She shakes you slightly with her free hand. You slowly open your eyes as she continues to shake you. The blush on your face is back the moment you meet her green eyes.

“Morning.” Ellie says sheepishly, her cheeks turning pink, “We’re um… a little tangled.”

“R-Right.” You stutter and the two of you work together to get yourselves separated. It takes a minute, your legs being the issue but you manage to get free.

“Sorry, Scout begged me to lay down after you fell asleep. I didn’t plan on falling asleep next to you.” You fidget with your flannel sleeve, glancing at the dog looking at you from his doggy bed. ‘You sneaky mutt. When did you bring your dog bed in here?!’

“It’s okay.” Ellie sighs, “Um, can I get something to eat? I’m starving.”

“Oh! Yes, of course! You can jump into the shower and I’ll leave a change of clothes on your bed for you. The towels are in the closet.” You perk up, immediately heading to the door, “You’re okay with eggs and bread for breakfast?”

“Eggs and bread?” Ellie blinks.

“We have a patch of…” You pause at the surprised look on her face, “Eggs and bread it is.” You flash her a smile and leave the room. The first thing you do is grab her a change of clothes and place the neatly folded pile on the bed. You can hear the water running and you frown, wondering just how long it took for her to get to you on foot. ‘She came all the way from California.’ You head out to the chicken coup and gather up the eggs, happy that you have enough for a big meal. You practically skip into the kitchen and get to work chopping up some vegetables.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Ellie says from behind you, making you pause. You turn to her and smile, seeing that she looks a lot better now that she was able to get cleaned up. ‘Wait.’ Your eyes flick down to your waist, seeing the black and white shirt on Ellie. ‘When did she get my flannel?’

“Can you get the bacon out and chop it up?” You point to the freezer, “It’s in a labeled ziplock bag.”

“You have bacon?” Ellie gasps, darting to the freezer and you turn back to your vegetables. ‘Did I accidentally leave it on the bed?’

“My mom was in the process of making improvements the first time you came by. Now I have pigs, chickens, a dairy cow, and a few goats. Bacon is for rare occasions, but I think you being here calls for it.” You place the vegetables into the hot frying pan and Ellie takes your place at the cutting board.

“I’m not that special.” Ellie chuckles, taking out some of the bacon and cutting it up, “I met you once when we were kids.” You can’t help but watch how skillfully she uses the knife, moving quickly and precisely. The pop of the oil in the pan snaps you out of your staring.

“You’re a friend I haven’t seen in years.” You roll your eyes, glancing at her, “Yes. Yes, you are that special.” You and Ellie briefly make eye contact and you smile as you look away. ‘Either way, she looks good with it on.’

“Why?” Ellie gives you a curious look.

“You were the first kid my age my parents let me play with. When any other Firefly kid came through I had to stay away from them. They never told me why… just said it was for my safety.” Ellie was more than the first kid you played with. She was your first crush and first kiss.

“So the few days Joel and I stayed…”

“Were the best days of my life.” You smile at her, making her eyes widen. You stare at each other for a bit before you clear your throat and go back to your tasks.

“Do you want me to toss them in like this?” Ellie lifts the cutting board. You glance at the chopped-up pieces and nod your head. She dumps them into the pan and it’s not long before the bacon is sizzling. You head for the eggs, cracking them onto a bowl before whisking them up. Without you having to ask, Ellie takes your place at the pan and keeps an eye on them. You idly wonder where she learned to cook eggs. Soon you’re plating the omelets and grabbing your bread box.

“So, you make bread?” Ellie leans against the counter next to you.

“I do.” You grin, pulling the fresh loaf from the box, “My grandma had her recipe books. Each one was for something different. Soups, breads, sweets. I spent a lot of time reading them and learning how to make the things in them.” You hear Ellie gasp as you take it out of the bag and place it down on the clean cutting board. It was baked yesterday morning before you headed out to gather wood.

“Holy shit!” Ellie exclaims, making you laugh. You grab your knife, cut a few decent-sized slices, and put them onto the plate. You hand Ellie her plate and the two of you walk to the table, Scout happily following you. You put your plate down across from her, quickly grabbing the hibiscus tea out of the fridge.

“Do you want some tea? I-”

“-I’d love some. Thank you.” Ellie interrupts you, making you smile. You pour out some for her, sit down once your glasses are full, and take a sip. Ellie does the same, her eyes widening as she licks a drop from her lips.

“That’s good.” Ellie looks at you, “Really good.”

“I’m glad you like it.” You giggle, “You can have some more if you finish that glass. My mom looted all of the closed stores when the pandemic first started. The town was empty so she took advantage.”

“I might take you up on that.” Ellie says before taking a bite out of her eggs. You blush when you hear her let out a low moan. Your eyes dart up, seeing her looking at you with an awed gaze.

“You… like it?” You let out a small, flustered giggle.

“This is the best thing I’ve eaten in months.” Ellie sighs blissfully.

“How long did it take for you to get here?” You ask in between bites, “You left that out yesterday.”

“Five months.” Ellie says, breaking her bread in two, “Tracking time gets tedious when you’re traveling, so it could be shorter or longer.” You give her a sad smile, watching for a few seconds as she digs into the meal. She came looking for you after that fight… and nearly died in the process. It saddened you to know that you were likely the only person she could rely on.

“When we’re done, I’ll check your stitches. I’ll need to keep a close eye on them to make sure they don’t get infected again and heal properly.” You state.

“Thank you, by the way.” Ellie sighs, moving a piece of her omelet around with her fork, “Thank you for caring for me these past few weeks. I… You were the first person I thought of and I desperately needed a safe place to go.”

“Ellie.” You reach across the table and touch her hand, making her look at you, “I told you six years ago… you’re welcome here. Once your hand is healed, if you choose to leave, you can. Until then, don’t worry about being here. I’ll take care of you. Just focus on getting better.” Ellie stares at you, seeming to be far away… a look you’ve grown accustomed to seeing.

“Thank- you.” Her voice cracks as tears spring into her eyes, “Thank you so much.” She whispers, ducking her head down to hide her tears. You let out a quiet sigh, feeling your heart clench in your chest. It seems like you two have more in common.

The longer you were around Ellie, it got easier to tell that she was struggling. You’d wake up in the middle of the night to her screaming, thrashing around in her bed in a panic. Sometimes she’d call out Joel’s name or names of people you didn’t know. You’d turn the light on, wait for her to wake up, and hold her in your arms as you helped her calm down. Occasionally you’d find her in the shower, skin red and steam filling the bathroom as she stared into space. You’d help her out, guide her into getting dressed and tuck her into bed.

Ellie zoning out was the most common. She would zone out, staring into space in the middle of a conversation or activity. You’d patiently wait for her to come back, gently repeating what you were saying and trying to continue the conversation. It didn’t bother you. You understood what she was going through, even though you didn’t know the full story. You struggled with witnessing your parents’ death, having to kill their murderers yourself, and getting used to living alone. The first few years were the worst, with one particularly bad flashback resulting in a burn on your arm. So, you didn’t push Ellie to do anything she couldn’t handle but that didn’t help her feelings about it.

You open your eyes and groan, a glance at the window showing you that it was early morning. Your body is begging for water, so you begrudgingly get up from your warm blankets. A shiver goes through you, reminding you that the first snowfall is a few days away. ‘I need to finish up the last preparations.’ You hug your jacket closer to your body as you exit your room.

“Fuck! Just- fuck!” You hear Ellie curse, making you stop outside of your door, “UGH! Just hold the damn thing!” You can hear the aggravation in her voice and before you realize it you’re knocking on her door.

“Els?” You ask softly, “Can I come in?” It’s silent and you listen closely for her reply.

“Yeah.” Ellie responds, with a heavy sigh sounding, “I think I need you.” You open the door and the smell of blood catches your attention. A gasp leaves your lips and you rush to her side, blood dripping down her arm from a large gash.

“How did this happen?!” You hurriedly grab another towel, pressing down hard on the wound.

“I was… practicing on using my hand again. My knife slipped and… I got myself.” Ellie frowns, looking away in shame. You inspect the wound and bite your lip, relieved she didn’t hit anything vital.

“You’re going to need stitches again.” You pull the First-Aid box closer, reaching in for the things you need.

“Great.” Ellie huffs.

“Hey.” You brush your hand over her cheek, “Relax. There’s no rush to do things. It’ll take some time to figure things out with your-”

“-I can’t relax!” Ellie shouts, startling you, “I can barely help you other than picking some things up! I can’t even grasp things the way I used to! How am I supposed to be of any help when I can’t even keep a knife stable?! I’m more of a burden to you than help!” She breaks down sobbing and you feel your heart shatter. You knew she wasn’t feeling great, but she never clued you in that she was feeling like a burden.

“Ellie.” You frown, “Please don’t say that about yourself. You’re not a burden. I can’t fully understand what you’re going through, but I can sympathize. You came to me for help and that’s what I’m doing. I don’t expect you to be able to do anything, much less assist me while you heal.” You motion to her fingers. The stitches had been removed a month ago, and the skin reformed nicely since then but it was still tender. It would be another month before she was fully healed.

“I know you’re feeling restless, but I need you to work with me.” You sterilize her wound, getting a hiss of pain from her, “Once you’re healed, we can work on it. If your fingers reopen, we’re back to square one and another few months of waiting. So please be patient.” You plead, focusing on stitching up her arm.

“I’m sorry. I’m not used to other people helping me. Even when Joel… I’ve been taking care of myself. Not being able to help. Not being able to even grasp my flashlight properly is…”

“Upsetting.” You nod, “I get that. I know what you’re feeling. I’ve… felt it before. I haven’t talked about my parents’ absence but the same thing happened with them.” You glance up at her, seeing her look at you in shock. You swallow and focus back on what you’re doing, wiping some blood away.

“We went into the town a few months after you left. My dad had hidden anything we didn’t have space for to keep it safe from raiders until he finished building the storage unit. So, we were going to collect the last of the stuff and bring it home. Some old friends of my dad’s had come to find him and things went to hell.” You could practically hear the gunfire in your ears, your mother telling you to hide, “Apparently, they had a vendetta against him for choosing my mom over them. They didn’t like my mom. Racists.” You scoff, feeling the anger once more.

“How… did they die?” Ellie asks hesitantly.

“One of them got the jump on my mom and I couldn’t get there in time. I watched as they shot my mom. Twenty bullets. One for every year my dad left them. They did the same to my dad.”

“Holy shit!” Ellie gasps, gripping your shoulder tightly in disbelief, “Those sick fucks!”

“I saw red. I couldn’t sleep at night knowing that they got away with it. With all of my training, I still couldn’t do shit to save them. I took my mom’s axe and used the Firefly network to hunt them down... I killed them all. I thought it would make me feel better but it…” You take a shuddering breath, “It made me feel empty. It’s been six years, but I still have nightmares. The screams, the pleading, the blood, the fire. I still remember it all.” You finish the last stitch, double-checking to make sure it’s secure. Her arm would be easier to manage than her fingers.

“Y/n. I-” Ellie was at a loss for words, “I’m sorry. I didn’t ask because you didn’t seem like you wanted to talk about it. That must’ve been a horrible situation.”

“It was.” You sigh, standing up, “I thought that if I was faster or if I didn’t listen to my mom and hide… they could still be here. I’ve dealt with the guilt of being alive instead of them for a long time. So, I’m begging you, Els… Lean on me.” You put a hand on her shoulder, looking her dead in the eyes. Those other Firefly kids you trained with weren’t anything to you. Ellie was your first and only friend even though she was with you for three days. You were serious. Just as serious as you were six years ago when you told her she would always have a place with you. You cared for her a lot. After all, she made you feel like a normal kid for the few days they stayed with you.

“…I will.” Ellie says sincerely, resting her hand on yours, “I’ll lean on you.”

Winter flew by and you and Ellie made a lot of progress. To your surprise, she quickly got comfortable with you looking after her. The two of you ended up sleeping in the same bed so you could keep an eye on her wound. With a couple of major injuries healing, she had a higher risk of them getting infected and you wanted to avoid that. Scout had wanted to join in on the fun and dragged his dog bed into the room as well.

By mid-winter, Ellie’s fingers had completely healed and so did the gash in her arm. You worked with her every day on figuring out how to effectively hold items with her newly healed hand. It was challenging at first, especially with her trauma but you slowly got through it. It took a lot of gentle coaxing, tears on Ellie’s side of things, and persistence from both of you. She was able to firmly hold a knife within a few weeks and carry certain small objects without issue. But, you noticed that the cold seemed to bother her hand. She would mention that she was in a lot of pain if she left them exposed so you took it upon yourself to help with that.

“Ellie?!” You call out, nervously holding the wrapped gift close to your chest. You had been working on it secretly with some leather and hide you have. You are quite anxious about giving it to her, because you aren’t sure if she’ll like it. You glance down at Scout who's on your heels, knowing that you’re nervous.

“On the porch!” Ellie responds and you head toward the back of the house. You find her curled up on the couch, tucked under a blanket with your old astronomy book opened on her lap. Scout hops up and snuggles with her, making Ellie let out a cute giggle. A smile crosses your face, eyes darting to the soft snowfall before looking back over to her.

“What’s up?” Ellie asks, tilting her head curiously.

“I have something for you.” You hold out the gift. Ellie jolts up, surprised that you have something for her. She reaches out and takes it from you, placing it on top of your book.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” Ellie laughs, unwrapping the item.

“I didn’t. I made it for you.” You shrug, a grin making its way onto your face.

“Y/n!” Ellie gasps, lifting the gloves out of the wrapping, “You made me gloves?!”

“I made you two sets.” You sit down next to her, picking up the soft one, “One for winter and one for working. This one is made with goat leather, and there are extensions inside of the fingers. It should fit snugly and bend as if you still have the rest of your fingers. This one is deer hide. It’s soft and will keep your hands warm. It should fit perfectly to your hand as it is now. You can wear these underneath the other ones if you need to.” You watch Ellie slip the gloves on, smiling to yourself as the deer hide one’s fits perfectly.

“These are really soft!” Ellie grins rubbing her hands together, “I can’t even feel any cold! Thank you!”

“Don’t thank me yet.” You chuckle, holding up the other gloves, “You have these to try on.” These are the ones you’re nervous about. It took you a while to figure out what material to make the fake fingers with.

“How do I put it on?” Ellie furrows her brow, inspecting the clasps, “It looks a little complicated.”

“Here, let me help you.” You gently take it from her, “There are two sleeves that go over your fingers to protect them and keep the pieces secure. They stretch like this… Then, you put your other fingers inside and clasp this around your wrist.” You tighten the clasp, explaining that there’s a quick release in emergency situations. She listens closely as you show it to her, eyes wide in wonder as she slowly flexes her fingers. You watch as her lips part, a gasp leaving them as she watches it bend with the rest of her hand.

“Do you… like it?” You nervously fidget with your fingers, “I can make any-!” To your shock, Ellie’s lips are on yours as she cuts you off mid-sentence. Your cheeks burn as she pulls away, her face turning red as she realizes what she did.

“I’m sorry I- um…” Ellie clears her throat, rubbing the back of her neck, “Yes. I love them.”

“That’s good. That-That’s great!” You stutter, hastily standing up, “I’m going to put some more wood on the fire.” You speed walk away and your fingers brush over your lips. ‘That was even better than my first kiss.’ You think flusteredly, feeling a tingle in your lips.

Spring arrives before you know it and it’s back to working around the farm. Ellie - sporting a spring/summer version of her glove that only covers her two fingers - insisted on helping you. You two had addressed the kiss and Ellie apologized for it. You shyly shared the fact that it was better than your first one, and it snowballed into a whole conversation about your life here. Ellie was genuinely upset that you had been all alone for the past six years. The two of you got much closer, cracking jokes and having fun as you fixed up the farm. You learned that Ellie already knew how to care for animals, and she finally told you about her life before her incident. It was hard for her to talk about at first, but she shared a new story every day. You were happy to learn more about her life, but it made you sad, too. It gave you more motivation to help her through the days.

Along with becoming more open, Ellie was definitely flirting with you. She’d make comments about your work that focused more on you than what you were doing. It made you very flustered since you’ve never been flirted with before. You didn’t mind it. You kind of liked it. You end up flirting back, surprising her one day but she happily went along with it. It wasn’t long before you were catching feelings for the auburn-haired woman.

Life on the homestead was so much brighter with Ellie around. Your routines changed to include her and you found yourself with more free time than you were used to. You excitedly used that free time to show Ellie around the area or take her into the city. The two of you had a chance to enjoy the world together. A run-in with some infected showed you how protective Ellie was. She pushed you behind her, using her body to protect you as she fought them off. When they were dead, she looked you over with such a concerned look in her eyes you thought you might faint. No one has been that concerned over your life in a while and it made your feelings for her deeper.

“How about we go down to the river?” Ellie asks, hands tucked into her hoodie pocket. You look up at her, contemplating her question.

“I’ll have to secure the chickens first.” You answer, standing up and dusting off your pants, “I don’t like them being out if I’m not around.”

“Awesome.” Ellie gives you a breathtaking smile, “I wanted to sunbathe on the rocks.”

“Sunbathe on the rocks?” You giggle.

“Yeah, I’ve got to work on my tan!”

“Your tan?” You start laughing, “You’ll get a tan working in the field with me. You don’t need to sunbathe for that.”

“What if I want to tan my whole body?” Ellie raises an eyebrow, a teasing smirk on her face, “You’ll let me harvest strawberries naked?”

“Na- ked?” You choke, your face heating up at her words.

“I mean there’s no one around for miles.” Ellie shrugs casually, “I’ve always wondered what it’s like to go skinny-dipping.”

“Have fun with that.” You clear your throat, turning around and hoping she doesn't realize you’re blushing.

“You could come with me, you know? Relax a bit.” Ellie circles around you to see your face, “It’ll be a fun experience for the both of us.” You bite your lip and look down at the ground. With Ellie around, you didn’t have to work as hard as you used to. And, although she hasn’t mentioned leaving, you were always on edge for the moment that she decided she was ready. It would be another memory to add, to fondly look back on when she did leave you behind.

“Okay.” You nod, “Let’s do it.”

“Really?!” Ellie grins, “You’re serious?”

“Why not?” You chuckle at her enthusiasm, “You’re right. It’ll be a fun experience for both of us and no one is around. It’ll be nice to let loose.”

“Awesome! Let’s go!” Ellie grabs your hand and starts running with you back to the house. You laugh at her antics as you hurry around to secure everything before you leave. You can’t help but admire how easily Ellie locks up the chickens and properly closes off the coupe. ‘It’s going to be heartbreaking when she leaves.’ You sigh but shake off the sad feelings. You wanted to enjoy your time with her.

After securing everything, you leave the house and head off into the forest. The area Ellie was talking about wasn’t too far from your place. It was a beautiful river that went up to your waist when you had to wade through it. You were nervous, extremely nervous the closer you got. You’ve never been naked in front of anyone and you agreed to skinny-dip with your crush of all people? You stop and marvel at the beauty of the area. Golden sunlight reflecting off of the water with leaves lazily drifting along and making the place look so… intimate.

“Ready?” Ellie glances at you.

“Ah…” You look at the water. ‘It’s only Ellie. It’s not like I’m showing off or anything.’ You nod, “Yeah, I am.” You turn away from her, slowly removing your clothes. You’re conscious of every piece you remove, goosebumps covering your body as you think of Ellie’s eyes on you. It makes your body feel tingly. ‘God, what am I thinking?’ You close your eyes, letting out a long exhale. ‘I shouldn’t be having these thoughts about my friend.’

“Y/n?” You jump, feeling fingers brush against your shoulder.

“Yeah?” You respond, whirling around only to get the breath knocked out of you, “You’re… beautiful.” You whisper, mindlessly. You can’t stop your eyes from wandering her body, entranced by her beauty. Ellie is lithe, toned, and everything you had embarrassingly imagined.

“I… can say the same about you.” Ellie whispers, her eyes roaming your body in return. You blush, crossing your arms over your stomach in a poor attempt to hide.

“L-Let’s go in.” You grab her hand and hurry into the water. You let out a squeal, startled by the cold water against your skin.

“Holy shit, this is cold!” Ellie curses, her grip on your hand tightening. You knew the river never warmed up but this makes you want to jump back out!

“It’s a nice change from the hot weather, though.” You comment, carrying on forward until you’re up to your shoulders. A memory crosses your mind, one of you and your parents playing around in the water. You turn to Ellie and give her a mischievous smile. You came out here to relax and have fun, so that’s what you were going to do.

“What?” Ellie raises an eyebrow. You immediately jump at her, getting a shout of surprise as you push her into the water. You’re submerged underneath with her for a moment before you’re coming up for air. The first thing you do is laugh as Ellie sputters and wipes the water from her eyes.

“Y/n!” Ellie exclaims, a laugh bubbling up as she looks at you with wide eyes, “Oh, it’s on!” She lunges at you, making you shriek as you’re knocked underwater. The two of you go back and forth, jumping on each other and playing in the water. You hadn’t felt this carefree in a while and her laughter made your stomach twist. Laughter that you were the one causing. There was something about Ellie that made you feel so bubbly. Even once you were sunbathing on a river boulder, you felt like you were floating and it was all because of her.

“I’ve never felt this relaxed before.” Ellie sighs, turning her head to look at you.

“Me either.” You mumble, resting your head on your arm as you look at her. The sunlight made her face practically glow. You could see her freckles, her eyes shone like the leaves on the trees, and even her hair seemed more reddish than normal. You were content laying here with her. ‘I could lay here forever.’

“Y/n?” Ellie whispers, propping herself up to get closer to you.

“Yes?” You hum, lifting your head. Your breath catches in your throat as you see a soft look in her eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” Ellie says even quieter as if she’s afraid for you to hear her question. Your eyes widen as you process it, and your heart starts pounding in your chest. You didn’t expect her to ask that, but the more you played it over in your head… the more you wanted it. You wanted her to kiss you.

“You can.” You whisper back. Her fingers caress your jawline, gently guiding you up and toward her. The moment is filled with anticipation as your lips hover an inch away from hers. You were so close. So close to kissing the woman you were crushing on. You gaze into each other's eyes, hers flicking down to your lips before she finally kisses you. ‘Her lips are soft.’ You think, but become too entranced by them. The way they move against your lips. How it makes you feel… How Ellie makes you feel. Slowly, it gets more intense. Her kisses get needier, hands grabbing at your body beneath her and you reciprocate. She makes your body burn and you feel an odd ache between your legs. It’s almost saddening when she breaks the kiss, making your new issue more apparent.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so touchy.” Ellie apologizes but you shake your head.

“I like it. I’ve never had this kind of intimacy before.” You say breathily, shifting uncomfortably as the ache becomes more obvious.

“Are you okay?” She asks in concern, “Are you sure I didn’t make you uncomfortable?”

“I- um…” You feel yourself blush. ‘Do I bring this feeling up to her?’ The concern in her eyes only makes it worse, “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, but I feel um… t-this weird aching I’ve never felt before. B-Between my legs.” You look away from her, feeling embarrassed that you don’t know your own body’s responses. You hear her chuckle and she turns your face back to hers. You can see the understanding in her eyes.

“It’s okay. It means that you’re aroused and this is what you feel when you are.” Ellie gives you a soft smile, “I can ease that feeling for you, but that involves me touching you down there. But, I’d only do that if you’re comfortable with that.”

“Oh.” You blush harder. ‘How could I not know that? My mom gave me a whole course about sexual health! I just… lose myself around Ellie.’

“I’m okay with that.” You respond shyly, “You can touch me.”

“Are you sure? You did just have your first kiss. Well, real one.”

“I’m sure. I would like for you to do it.” You nod your head.

“Okay, but tell me to stop if you feel uncomfortable in any way.” Ellie agrees, waiting for you to nod before leaning down to kiss you again. You can feel her hand move down to your thigh, it resting there while you kiss. A nip on your lip has you parting your lips and her tongue slipping into your mouth. A low moan sounds from you and Ellie’s hand drags along your thigh before stopping at your clit. She breaks the kiss and starts kissing your neck, making you tilt your head back.

“I’m going to touch your clit, okay?” Ellie murmurs against your skin.

“Okay.” You breathe out, a bit distracted by the feeling of her sucking on your skin. You feel her fingers shift before - “Ellie!” You gasp, a groan leaving your lips as a twinge of pleasure goes up your spine. Little whines and whimpers come from you as she plays with your clit.

“You’re doing great.” She whispers encouragingly, “Just relax into the feeling… Good girl.” You try your best to listen to her. She talks you through it, guides you through how you’re feeling, and explains the pressure in your abdomen. It feels like forever before the pressure releases and you whine out her name as a heat races through your nerves. You’ve never felt this before. It felt amazing yet you think you might burn up on the inside. It only made the ache down there worse.

“That- That was…” You try to catch your breath, “That was amazing but I still feel that ache.”

“I know.” Ellie pecks your lips, “I wanted you to feel that before I went in you… Are you ready?”

You take a deep breath to calm your racing heart, “…Yeah. I’m ready. You should totally kiss me again, though.” That makes her laugh and shake her head. This time you’re the one pulling her into a kiss. You’re nervous but excited as her hand finally moves to the place you need her to be. A shiver goes through your body as you feel her rub your slit. It felt weird. A good weird, yet you couldn’t help but wish she’d hurry up.

“I’m going to put my fingers in.” Ellie whispers, pausing your kiss.

“Do it.” You encourage her. She gazes into your eyes as you gasp, feeling her fingers enter you. You’re vividly aware of her fingers, the cool feeling of her skin is a welcome contrast to how hot you feel down there. There’s a pause, a moment for you to breathe and steady yourself before she continues. Every movement has you gasping for breath, sending waves of pleasure up your spine. Ellie’s nothing but sweet, once again guiding you through it because things felt different this time.

The pressure in your abdomen was slow to build up, compared to when she was playing with your clit. It was a deeper pleasure, lazily coiling through you but intense enough to have you moaning for Ellie. Her eyes on you are just as intense, making your heart clench in your chest. Her kisses are firm, purposeful, and dizzying at the same time. Even her words make you clench around her, to your surprise. It was a side of her you’ve only gotten glimpses of. A side of her you’re very interested in.

“Come on, beautiful.” Ellie coaxes you, kissing your collarbone, “Don’t run from the feeling. Allow yourself to feel it… Cum for me, it’s okay.”

“Ellie!” You moan loudly. You can feel yourself tighten around her fingers as the pressure releases and she lets out a low growl.

“Good girl.” Ellie kisses you, “Good girl.” Her words make you feel proud of yourself for listening to her. And you blush at her praise for you.

“Thank you.” You whisper, meeting her eyes, “Thank you for this.” You feel like you’re floating. Your heart was racing once again and there was an overwhelming feeling of love coursing through you.

“Shhh.” Ellie pulls you into her arms, “Just enjoy the feeling. Let’s enjoy this time together.”

“Does that mean you’re staying?” You ask hopefully, playing with the hair at the nape of her neck.

“I have no plans on leaving.” Ellie smiles and you feel overwhelmed with joy.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie tlou #ellie williams #post tlou2 #please read the warnings

122 notes · View notes

stiltonbasket · 1 year ago

Note

hi!! since you’re the nielan master, could you do nielan in one of your universes where they end up happy? thank you <3

"Diedie?" a tiny voice whispers in Nie Mingjue's ear. "Diedie, wake up."

Nie Mingjue is still half-asleep, his consciousness lost in the strange, sweet twilight between waking and dreams where he knows and remembers nothing save for his husband's warm weight in his arms—but in spite of the early hour, the sound of his son's piping voice rouses him at once.

When he opens his eyes, he finds Jingyi's round face hovering an inch above his own, aglow with a grin that reminds Nie Mingjue so much of a young Xichen that he nearly forgets to breathe.

"A-Yi?" he yawns, through a mouthful of Lan Huan's sleep-rumpled hair. "What are you doing here, baobao? Did you have a bad dream?"

"I don't have nightmares anymore. I'm not a baby," Jingyi protests. "And A-Die, you were supposed to get up at mao shi to make Ba's birthday breakfast! It's already past chen shi now."

Nie Mingjue reaches up to stroke Jingyi's chubby cheek. "Then I'll get up now, A-Yi. But you ought to go back to bed, because little buns like you should still be asleep at chen shi."

"But Ba's going to wake up before you're done cooking breakfast, so—"

"Your Ba is tired," Nie Mingjue chides, sliding out from under his husband's arm. "He might not want to get up until noon, so we still have time to make breakfast."

"I guess," A-Yi says doubtfully, crawling up to sit on the pillows beside Xichen's head. "But meimei might wake him up early, so I'll stay here and keep watch while you cook."

Mingjue laughs and kisses the top of his son's head before making his way to the kitchen. His heart sings at every step, though this is now hardly worth noting—for that heart has not stopped aching with happiness since the day he and Xichen declared their love for one another, some seven months after their wedding; and its song has only grown sweeter in the passing years, beautified and strengthened by every moment he spends with his husband and children.

He goes to the pantry in the kitchen for rice flour and eggs, and then to the garden for scallions. Nie Mingjue will have to make a simple breakfast today, since Wangji and Wei Wuxian claimed the privilege of arranging a birthday lunch for their entire extended family: and he has little time besides, so he mixes dough for scallion pancakes and prepares three oiled bowls for steamed eggs by the time Jueying begins to fuss in the bedroom.

"Yingying, don't jump!" Nie Mingjue hears Jingyi yelp. "You can't even walk yet."

At that, Nie Mingjue drops his pancake dough and runs out into the receiving room, where he finds baby Jueying crawling toward him on all fours with Xichen's forehead ribbon trailing behind her. Somehow, she had managed to make her way out of the bedroom alone.

"That's my strong Ying-bao," Nie Mingjue says, laughing at the resounding slap of Jueying's tiny fists striking the floorboards. "Should A-Die pick you up now?"

The baby shakes her head and crawls right past him into the kitchen, where she takes refuge under the table with one of Wangji's pet cats.

"Bu," she crows, delighted by the sound of her own voice. No was Jueying's first word, closely followed by Ba, for Xichen and Mingjue both; and since Yingying has rarely left her parents' sight, no is still her favorite thing to say.

Strange though it might be, Mingjue adores his daughter the most in moments like these, where she furrows her small brows and refuses to listen to her well-meaning elders; for it is then that he remembers that he and Xichen brought two tiny people into the world, with precious little minds and spirits of their own. Jingyi's mishaps and misadventures, Jueying's stubbornness, their shared passion for baked sweets and dislike of anything flavored with lemon—all of it came from the love that shaped Mingjue's very life, from the day he first laid eyes on Lan Xichen twenty-six years ago.

If it were any other day, Nie Mingjue would have abandoned his preparations for breakfast and returned to his husband's side, unable to keep away from him any longer; but Jueying has already fixed her beady eyes on the heap of chopped scallions, so Mingjue rushes over to placate her with a biscuit before cooking the eggs and fried pancakes.

"You can't eat these before they're cooked through," he tells her, watching the baby nibbling away at her biscuit in the safety of Xiaolongbao's wicker basket. "They might make you ill, baobao. But after your first birthday, you can eat anything you like."

"You musn't say that, A-Jue," a soft voice laughs from the doorway. "Ying-bao might take you at your word, and then where will we be?"

Nie Mingjue's poor, ever-hungering heart crowds up into his throat.

"Xichen," he breathes, holding out his arms as his husband comes running to meet him. "What are you doing up, sweetheart? I thought you would sleep for another hour."

"Without you in the bed beside me, Mingjue-xiong? I've been awake since chen hour," Lan Xichen smiles, leaning up to kiss him. "I would have liked to sleep a little longer, but I missed you, so here I am."

He kisses the tip of Mingjue's nose, and then:

"And Yingying crawled away with my mo'e," he says, perplexed. "Where is she, my love? Wasn't she with you just now?"

A high-pitched squeal rings out from beneath the table. "There she is," Nie Mingjue says fondly, as Lan Xichen drops to his knees on the floor and gathers Yingying into his arms. "We ought to feed her soon, or she'll try to eat Xiaolongbao's fur again."

With Xichen's help, the last preparations for their meal are completed in quick succession; and before long, all four of them are sitting around the table instead of underneath it. Jueying sits in Lan Xichen's lap, chewing bits of scallion pancake into pulp between mouthfuls of soft steamed egg; and Jingyi takes the little chair between his parents, so that he can lean against Nie Mingjue's shoulder while he eats.

For his part, Nie Mingjue sits with his arm about Lan Xichen's waist, and tries not to weep at the sight of his husband and children eating the breakfast he had made for them.

Surely such happiness is too dear for mortal men to know, he thinks dizzily. Just six years ago, a life with A-Huan and the little ones would have been beyond my wildest dreams, and yet—

Where was I six years ago? Nie Mingjue wonders. He and Xichen were twenty-five and twenty-three when the war broke out, and each of them had celebrated a birthday in the midst of the Sunshot Campaign; but neither occasion brought them any joy, for the beginning of another year of life in such straits could not help but remind them that they might not endure long enough to see the end of it.

Nie Mingjue had nearly died at the Nightless City, and if not for Xichen's skill in healing, he would have been stricken down by a qi deviation in the days after the last battle.

That would have been all right, Nie Mingjue reflects. He knows Lan Xichen's mind and heart as well as he knows his own; for Lan Xichen by far the stronger of the two of them, and he would not have succumbed to grief if Mingjue had left him that day.

"Perhaps not," Lan Xichen says now, reaching backward to hold Nie Mingjue's hand. "What you said when Jingyi was born—that is, what you said you would do, when you thought the worst was coming—I would not turn to such a course, but if I lost you—"

His grasp upon Mingjue's wrist grows tighter. "There would be no joy in this world for me from that day forth, though I would never seek to depart from this life before my time," he says at last. "You must know that, Mingjue-xiong. You must."

Nie Mingjue presses his lips to his husband's forehead.

"I know," he says thickly. "I know, my A-Huan. Happy birthday."

#mo dao zu shi #the untamed #nie mingjue #lan xichen #nielan #prompt fill #thank you for this prompt it was delicious ouo #my fic #this is set in the life in love's exchange verse btw #about five-ish years after the ending of the main fic #this is lxc's 30th birthday #life in love's exchange

94 notes · View notes

handwrittenhello · 2 years ago

Text

might've been a nightmare

“Ugh, you and your contracts,” Jaskier complained. “Surely an hour or two won’t hurt?” “And when someone dies because of that hour’s delay,” Geralt said placidly, “will you be the one to tell the family? Or shall I?” Jaskier grimaced. “Yes, alright, I get it. A witcher’s work never rests, et cetera et cetera.” “Hmm.” “Don’t you ever want it, though?” Jaskier asked, plucking at his sweat-soaked shirt. “You know, a life lived without a little selfishness here and then is hardly a life worth living at all.” Geralt snorted. “They teach you that at Oxenfurt? Or does it come from being a noble by birth?” “Neither. It comes from the heart, my dear friend, a heart that has lived a long and experienced life.” “Jaskier, you’re twenty-three.”

Geralt takes on a contract that will force him to answer one question: will he choose the fate of one, or the fate of many?

Rating: M Word Count: 9134 Tags: Horror, Suspense, Case Fic, Monster of the Week, Angst, Injury, Developing Relationship, Mystery, set nebulously s1, POV Geralt of Rivia, Fluff, Humor, Banter, Soft Geralt of Rivia, (believe it or not despite those first few tags there ARE soft moments in this), Protective Geralt of Rivia, Self-Sacrifice, Jaskier Whump, Hurt Jaskier

read below, or here on ao3!

It was a swelteringly hot day. The height of summer in Velen was rarely pleasant, but a heat wave had been gripping the area for a few days now. Geralt subtly adjusted his armor in an attempt to allow a breeze to cool the sweat collecting on his back, but the air was deader than a necrophage’s dinner.

Any sane person would have long since abandoned their work in favor of taking a dip in a nearby pond, or napping under some shady trees. Geralt could afford no such luxury—there was always work to be done, and quickly in the summer, lest rotting corpses draw even more monsters to fight.

Jaskier, plodding along beside Roach, wiped sweat off his brow with a deep sigh. “Melitele’s heaving bosom, I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he groused. “What do you say to a break? Let the sun use up the worst of its ire while we regain some energy? Perhaps cool off in a nice stream?” he finished hopefully. His cheeks and tips of his ears were pink with the beginnings of a sunburn.

“There’s a contract waiting in Mulbrydale,” Geralt reminded him. “We can’t delay.”

“Ugh, you and your contracts,” Jaskier complained. “Surely an hour or two won’t hurt?”

“And when someone dies because of that hour’s delay,” Geralt said placidly, “will you be the one to tell the family? Or shall I?”

Jaskier grimaced. “Yes, alright, I get it. A witcher’s work never rests, et cetera et cetera.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t you ever want it, though?” Jaskier asked, plucking at his sweat-soaked shirt. “You know, a life lived without a little selfishness here and then is hardly a life worth living at all.”

Geralt snorted. “They teach you that at Oxenfurt? Or does it come from being a noble by birth?”

“Neither. It comes from the heart, my dear friend, a heart that has lived a long and experienced life.”

“Jaskier, you’re twenty-three.”

“So that’s twenty-three more years of experience enjoying life than you!” Jaskier paused to drain his waterskin, wrinkling his nose at the tepidity. “Blech. Anyway.”

“Anyway.”

“I’ll get you to be more selfish yet.” Jaskier wagged his finger at Geralt threateningly. “We’ll start small, and then before you know it you’ll have dropped the witchers-don’t-deserve-good-things act. Who knows, you might even dare to enjoy yourself now and then!”

Geralt only rewarded this with another hmm and handed Jaskier his own waterskin. Jaskier accepted, drinking deeply and wiping his mouth on his sleeve after.

“It’s a good thing I’m here to take care of you,” he finished, recapping the skin and handing it back to Geralt.

By the time they reached Mulbrydale, the sun had finally hidden itself behind the treetops, golden where it filtered through the leaves. Outside the town gates, a man hung lanterns to guide travelers in the coming darkness. “Ho, travelers!” he shouted when he saw them, raising a hand.

“Good evening, my good gentleman!” Jaskier cried back, as easy as breathing. Geralt would never know how he was able to flit among strangers so easily, how he fit in anywhere he went.

“Not as good as that, I’m afraid,” the man replied, drawing the gates open for them. “Best ye get a room at the inn and settle in quick, you hear?”

“What’s wrong?” Geralt rumbled, swinging his leg over Roach’s saddle and dismounting. He was quick to grab his swords as well, his palms itching in anticipation.

The man shook his head. “Couldn’t rightly put a name to it. People’re anxious, on edge. Won’t take too kindly to strangers making waves.”

Jaskier slung his lute case over to the side so the man could see it. “Ah, but do they know that the White Wolf has come to slay their beast? And that his loyal barker will regale them with the tale all night long should they wish? Come now, surely a little entertainment wouldn’t go amiss.”

The man shook his head. “I doubt you’d get more than sour looks out of this crowd, but on your own head be it.” He stepped aside to let them pass into town, and latched the gates closed after them.

Despite the early hour, not many people were out in the streets. There were no shrieks of children’s laughter, no wives gossiping over their washing, no farmers hauling home the day’s harvest.

“Lively place,” Jaskier muttered, kicking at a rock and sending it skidding down the dirt road. “What, did they all die of heatstroke today?”

Geralt didn’t answer. Jaskier was right—a town like this, though small, should have shown some signs of life. Spirits were usually high around midsummer—there ought to be festival preparations, or traders passing through, or even hog-wrestling competitions planned. Anything besides… this.

A dog came sniffing around the corner, nose pressed to the ground, ears back. When it saw them, walking along in its direction, it raised its head and growled, baring its teeth.

“Whoa there,” Jaskier laughed, throwing his hands up palms-forward. “What a good boy guarding his home,” he cooed. “We’re just passing by, don’t worry.”

The dog didn’t look convinced. It remained tense in its posture, hackles raised as they walked by—giving it a wide berth—and Geralt prepared to cast Axii should it attack.

It made no move towards them, and they were allowed to pass without incident.

“I’m normally good with animals,” Jaskier commented as they continued towards the inn, the Cock and Crow. It was lit brightly from within, the dull roar of overlapping voices drifting over on the wind—finally, a sign of life. “Maybe the poor thing’s been mistreated. That must be it.”

“I’ve seen you nearly get a hand taken off by the Baron of Vergen’s prized poodle,” Geralt remarked dryly. “You don’t remember?”

Jaskier flapped a hand. “Again, an anomaly. That thing was a vicious beast, Geralt, out for blood. Besides, you’re one to talk, Mr. Cats Hate Me.”

“It’s the mutations,” Geralt replied wearily, as he did every time the topic cropped up in conversation. “They can sense it.”

“They can sense you’re a sourpuss, you mean,” Jaskier teased. “You and that big scary face of yours.”

Geralt glowered.

“Ooh, yeah, that one.”

Geralt glowered harder.

Jaskier cackled and ran ahead, bursting into the inn with a flourish. Geralt followed at a more sedate pace, taking Roach to the stables, and arriving just in time to see Jaskier shaking hands with the innkeeper. She tilted her head and Jaskier took the stage, launching into one of his newer songs almost immediately.

A few heads turned to look at the source of noise, but by and large the patrons largely ignored him. Jaskier, never one to let a tough crowd bother him, pressed on.

Geralt turned to the innkeep. “Two rooms, please.” With the pay from the contract coming, they could afford it.

She clicked her tongue. “I’m afraid we only have the one. Two beds, though, if you like.”

“Fine.” He counted out the requisite coin onto the rough wood of the countertop. “And two meals, please, and a pitcher of ale.”

She took the payment, biting on a coin to ensure it was real—which stung a little, as it always did, these reminders of their distrust in him—but accepted it without complaint, handing over a brass key hung on a leather cord.

“First room on the left up the stairs,” she directed him, “and Magda will have your meals in just a tick. Magda!” she shouted, and a young woman poked her head out from the back room. “Two meals, quick as you please.”

“Got it, Sal,” Magda replied, wiping her hands on her apron. Geralt sat at the bar to wait.

Jaskier had since transitioned to some of his older work, likely in hopes of winning the crowd over with tried-and-true hits, but still didn’t seem to be making much progress. His lute case, propped open on the floor in front of him, had naught but a few coppers in it. Geralt would describe the overall mood of the crowd as annoyed at best.

Underneath the din of Jaskier’s playing, Geralt caught a few murmurs with his superior hearing—fucking twit, awful noise, can’t he just fuck off. He frowned. Jaskier hadn’t met with a crowd this bad in years, not since gaining popularity by Geralt’s side.

Sal placed two plates in front of him, interrupting his thoughts. “Here you are,” she said, following it with a large pitcher of ale. “Bring the plates back to the kitchen when you’re done, Magda’s off for the night.”

Geralt nodded his thanks, digging into his food while it was still hot. It was alright—chicken with rosemary and garlic, spices he rarely found while foraging, but overcooked and dry. The potatoes were too salty for his taste, and the carrots not cooked enough.

But any food that he didn’t have to prepare himself was a luxury, so he ate it without complaint and until there was hardly a morsel left on his plate.

He restrained himself from sucking the marrow out of the chicken bones, too, aware that anyone who saw would be rightly disgusted. He was content, anyway, since food hadn’t been too hard to come by lately, not with the land so glutted in summer.

He nursed his ale while Jaskier sang, in a rare good mood for once, contrary to the atmosphere of the other patrons. He wouldn’t say he was disappointed, exactly, when Jaskier packed up early and joined him at the bar, but he supposed he could’ve borne a few more verses without complaint.

“Don’t know what has gotten into everyone,” Jaskier muttered under his breath, sliding onto a stool, just loud enough that only Geralt could hear him. “Is it me? Have I got something on my face?” He looked at Geralt so earnestly, painfully young in that moment.

“Spinach in your teeth,” Geralt said, instead of voicing any of that. Jaskier of course had no such thing—they hadn’t even eaten any spinach in the last few days—but Jaskier still spent an embarrassing amount of time fretting and trying to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the inn’s spoons.

Geralt left him to his meal and went to go brush down Roach. He really ought to have done it earlier, but the extra half hour or so of waiting wouldn’t kill her.

The process was soothing, almost as good as meditation at centering himself and winding down for the day. He left her with plenty of feed and fresh water and went back into the inn.

To his surprise, he was greeted with dark looks from a few of the patrons, though none dared to make a move against him. Unsettled, Geralt retreated quickly to their room, where he found Jaskier already unpacking.

“Geralt, have you seen my quill?” Jaskier asked him, without turning around. “I swear I left it in the same pocket as my notebook, but…” he trailed off, digging around in his pack.

“No. Keep track of your own shit, bard,” Geralt grunted, sitting down on the furthest bed and pulling off his boots. His socks reeked after a day sweating in the sun, so he quickly shoved them in his pack and pulled on a new pair. What he wouldn’t give for a wash, but it was too late for that, probably. He’d have one tomorrow, after completing the promised contract, anyway.

Jaskier puttered about for a good bit more, still looking for his quill, before Geralt sighed and relented to helping him. He wasn’t tired yet, anyway, and didn’t feel like uselessly sharpening his swords or sorting his already-sorted elixirs.

The sneaky quill was hiding exactly where Geralt suspected it would be, in Jaskier’s own pack, though of course he only found it after Geralt had emptied his entire pack too.

Jaskier smiled sheepishly and accepted it, rolling it between his fingers, and set immediately to scribbling in his notebook. He hadn’t even sat down properly, perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed with one leg half underneath him, boots shedding dirt and dust onto the blankets. Geralt sighed.

The scratching of Jaskier’s quill was almost soothing, Geralt long since used to the sound of it in the background. He doused one candle, leaving the other for Jaskier to see by, and undressed and climbed into bed. A full night’s sleep was invaluable when preparing for a hunt, and Geralt was eager to take advantage of it.

With the light of the rising moon filtering in between the shutters, and Jaskier’s breathless humming serenading him, Geralt dropped off to sleep.

The call of roosters at dawn roused him, his eyes opening easily and smoothly as if he’d simply been waiting to wake up. Jaskier, of course, slept right through it, as he was able to sleep through most anything, snoring away despite how he insisted I don’t snore, Geralt!

Geralt sighed and dressed, pulling his hair back into a tie to keep it out of his face. He really ought to have brushed it, to get some of the dirt and oils out and lessen the chances of a snarling tangle later, but couldn’t find the effort. Jaskier seemed to have made it his personal mission to take care of Geralt’s hair, anyway, and Geralt expected a thorough washing and maybe even a lecture later, regardless of if he brushed it or not.

He splashed cool water on his face from the basin against the wall, not bothering to pat it dry with a towel. He enjoyed the way it evaporated on his skin in the humid morning air. That done, he wandered downstairs to the kitchens, where Magda was stirring a large pot of oats over the hearth. “Morning, sir witcher,” she greeted him, wiping her brow dry with a cloth. “Breakfast’ll be ready in a few minutes, if you’d like.”

“Thanks,” Geralt said, stopping in the doorway. “Anything I can help with?”

“Mm, I’m almost done, but if you fancy any nuts or berries with it, there’s some in the cellar.” She nodded her head towards a trapdoor set into the floor.

Geralt climbed down into the cellar’s cool dryness, a welcome respite from the heat of the kitchen. The cellar was truly full to bursting, the village apparently having had a prosperous season so far, but it didn’t take too long to locate a jar of preserved peaches, Jaskier’s favorite, and a sack of walnuts. Prizes in hand, he returned to Magda, who was ladling a few spoonfuls of oatmeal each into bowls.

She added the fruit and nuts and handed two bowls to Geralt, who handed over a few coins in return. When Geralt opened the door to their room, Jaskier finally roused, though that was probably more the fault of the oats’ cinnamony aroma than anything else. “Mmph, is that breakfast I smell?” Jaskier mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

Geralt handed him his bowl, sitting down on his own bed to eat. The food was good, and filling. Jaskier yawned his way through his own bowl, still waking up, but by the time Geralt was done, he had revived a little. “What were you doing up so late?” Geralt asked neutrally. It was no business of his when Jaskier went to sleep, but normally the bard was more conscious of the time when he knew he would be coming along on a contract the next day.

“It wasn’t that late,” Jaskier protested. “Just didn’t sleep well, I suppose. We can’t all wake up at the crack of dawn looking fresh as a daisy, Geralt.”

Geralt, who had notably never resembled a daisy in his life, gave Jaskier a flat look. Jaskier grinned.

“Be ready to leave in ten minutes,” Geralt ordered, snatching up Jaskier’s empty bowl. Jaskier got ready for the day—spending twice as much time doing his hair than anything else—while Geralt checked over his swords and elixirs.

When Jaskier finally declared himself fit for company—as if the workers at the quarry would care if his doublet were green or red—they set out on foot, leaving Roach behind for the day. Geralt was loath to work her harder than he had to in the summer heat.

The quarry was only a few miles from Mulbrydale, anyway, and it gave Geralt a chance to stretch his legs and warm up for the fight.

Jaskier walked beside him, composing some silly ode about the day—Geralt didn’t see any mares two abreast in the golden fields or orchards dripping with the ambrosia of summer, but they made it into his song anyway.

“Hoping to impress the miners?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier fiddled with the tuning pegs of his lute. “Maybe. They can’t be a worse crowd than last night,” he scoffed. “Besides, I find that the common folk appreciate songs that reflect the world they live in. It’s about finding beauty in one’s surroundings. I had a professor once who swore…”

Jaskier launched into a story, something about pastorals and creative license and natural rhyme schemes. Geralt let the words wash over him and trekked on.

The sun had fully risen by the time the tall spiked fence surrounding the quarry came into view. “That’s suitably menacing,” Jaskier commented. “Do you think it’s to keep something out, or to keep something in?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Wild dogs roam these parts,” Geralt answered.

Jaskier scowled. “Oh, you’re no fun.”

“It’s not my job to entertain.” Geralt threw a pointed look at Jaskier. “Now come on.” He pushed open the gates, creaking on their hinges.

The quarry was a hive of activity, concentric rings of stone jutting down into the earth at lower and lower heights. Ladders and platforms adorned the quarry at odd intervals, with workers scurrying up and down and to and fro. It was a hive of activity, buoyed by the sounds of picks striking stone and echoing calls shouted among the miners.

Their arrival drew the attention of a grey-haired man stationed in a tall watchtower off of the main path. “Witcher!” he called, descending the ladder. “Thank the gods you’re here. I’m Eryk, the foreman of this quarry, and I’m mighty glad to have ye here.”

“You have a contract for me?” Geralt asked.

“Yessir. Come on, I’ll show ye.” Eryk gestured for them to follow. He led them down the spiraling path, descending deeper and deeper into the quarry, climbing up and down ladders with ease that belied his age.

As they passed, miners would stop their work and openly stare. Geralt, long since used to it, ignored it, though their gazes burned on the back of his neck.

“We’ve been hearin’ noises, you see,” Eryk said, hardly out of breath. “Always at night, after work ends for the day. We think they’re comin’ from the old shaft at the bottom of the pit.”

“Delightful,” Jaskier muttered. Geralt fought a small smile.

“Can you describe them?”

“It’s a howling of sorts, though I’ve lived in this area me whole life, and t’ain’t no dogs nor wolves sound like that.”

“Hmm. Seen any tracks, any evidence of a beast nearby? Maybe fur or droppings?”

Eryk shook his head. “Nothing, though I reckon ye’ve better eyes than us.”

“I’ll take a look,” Geralt promised.

They were almost to the bottom, now, the walls of the quarry towering high above them. Down here, the echoes of pickaxes and shovels were amplified, ringing in Geralt’s ears like an avalanche. Dust covered everything in a thin layer, raining down softly like snow.

“And to think I’d just washed my hair,” Jaskier mourned, ruffling it and undoing all the effort he’d put in that morning styling it. A small cloud of dust rained to the ground. “Just watch, soon I’ll—”

He cut off as a bit of the rock shelf fell away beneath him, sending him scrambling to the side in a bid to escape a nasty fall over the edge. Geralt wasn’t quick enough to catch him before his foot landed wrong, sliding on a piece of shale and wrenching his ankle the wrong direction. “Gah! Fuck!” Jaskier yelled, pinwheeling his arms to stay upright.

Geralt lurched forward, snagging him around the waist and setting him down on more solid ground. “Fuck,” Jaskier cursed again, leaning forward to pull off his boot. “That hurt,” he groused, poking at his ankle, which was already starting to swell up.

Geralt crouched down next to him and grabbed his ankle, pulling off his sock as he did.

“Stop, that hurts,” Jaskier complained, ineffectually batting Geralt’s prodding hands away. Geralt felt no bones out of place, no grinding of cartilage or sharp fragments.

“Just a sprain,” he said, setting Jaskier’s foot back down. “We’ll wrap it, though there’s no snow or ice nearby to slow the swelling.”

“Nonsense, I’m fine,” Jaskier protested, struggling to pull his sock and boot back on. He levered himself up to standing despite Geralt’s attempts to keep him seated, bracing himself on the witcher’s broad shoulder.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled.

“It’s fine!” Jaskier insisted, waving both him and Eryk off, who had noticed the commotion and doubled back.

“I swear, this place must be cursed,” he said, shaking his head. “First Davy almost took an arm off. Then it was Niklas, with that concussion, and now this.”

Geralt frowned. “Cursed?” Could that explain the strange howls at night? “Have you noticed any magical effects?” His medallion wasn’t humming, but there could be any number of reasons for that…

“Ach, ‘twas only an expression. Truly, I think some beastie must haunt our mine. The rest is just plain bad luck.”

“Lady Luck can be a cruel mistress indeed,” Jaskier chimed in, limping forward. Geralt fought off a headache at the sight. “I’ve always been clumsy, though, my good friend here can attest to that—”

“Will you stop moving?” Geralt growled, catching Jaskier by the shoulder. “You have a sprained ankle. You need to sit or it’ll get worse.”

“And I told you I’m fine,” Jaskier snapped, whirling on Geralt. “Just because I’m human doesn’t mean I’m a fragile doll, Master Witcher.” The vitriol in Jaskier’s words surprised Geralt. He pushed past Eryk and stomped off down the slope.

Geralt followed, and they soon arrived at the bottom of the pit. There was a small camp of sorts, with tents pitched in the middle surrounding a firepit, ringed by barrels and crates of supplies. Geralt counted seven smaller tents, and one bigger, sturdier structure behind the ring, tucked underneath some scaffolding. The ground was cracked and dry, though were it to rain, the dirt would quickly turn to sticky, sucking mud. There were planks of wood laid across the ground to walk on, uneven and rough.

Set against the nearest quarry face was the shaft Eryk had mentioned. It was barred with two doors made of wooden planks nailed sloppily together, which creaked on their hinges as Eryk unlocked and swung them open.

Inside was a typical mineshaft, dark, damp, and smelling slightly of burnt rock dust. But underneath, there was definitely the undercurrent of something rotting. Necrophages, definitely.

“I’m going in. Lock the doors behind me. They’ll be agitated, and you don’t want one getting out,” Geralt instructed, pulling a vial of Cat from his bag. He downed it in one, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline through his veins as his vision sharpened and the shadows brightened. “Stay here.”

“Geralt—” Jaskier began, as if to follow Geralt.

“No,” Geralt growled. “It’ll be too dark to see anything, and you won’t get very far on that ankle. Stay. Here.”

Without waiting for an answer, he strode forth into the mineshaft, drawing his silver sword. The doors creaked shut behind him, plunging the mine into shadow.

Geralt kept his senses primed as he ventured forth, listening for any scrape of claws on stone or any scent of rotten meat. The tunnel split into two paths ahead; following his gut, Geralt took the left, which showed more condensation on the walls and sloped slightly downward.

The ground was worn smooth underneath his boots by years of miners treading over it, but when he concentrated, Geralt could pick out thin notches scored into the stone. Four deep furrows and a fifth shallow one set apart—the typical pattern of an alghoul’s claws.

And caught in patches here and there on the walls, little tufts of fur—dark, fully mature. Fuck. Alghouls were even more dangerous than garden-variety ghouls, their venom more potent and able to pierce a Quen shield easily with the ridge of spines on their backs.

Geralt dug in his pack for another vial, pulling out necrophage oil. He dripped it along his blade, coating the metal to weaken and poison the beasts. As prepared as he could be, Geralt crept forward down the tunnel.

As he rounded a final corner, he heard it: the rumbling growls of a sleeping alghoul. Its nest was up ahead. Geralt didn’t dare hope for an easy fight, but perhaps he could gain the advantage of surprise.

The alghoul didn’t rouse at his cautious approach—a good sign. It had gotten complacent down here, untouched by predators. Geralt raised his sword to strike.

Then—behind him. A slight shuffling, a small scrape of claws on stone was all the warning Geralt got as a second alghoul launched itself at him, a screaming growl tearing its way out of its maw.

Geralt swung his sword up just in time to deflect vicious claws slashing at his throat. He threw out an Aard with his dominant hand, knocking it backwards into the wall, stunning it just long enough for Geralt to whirl around again.

The other alghoul had been woken by the commotion, and attacked him with no less ferocity. One alghoul was difficult enough, but fending off two would be a challenge Geralt hadn’t had in a long while.

The fight was a blur. Geralt fell into rote patterns of slashing, blocking, dodging. What made it more difficult was fighting in such a confined space—there was scarcely ten feet of space between the walls of the tunnel, and the rocky ceiling wasn’t much taller than him. He had to be conscious of every single move, every foot he placed and every attack he made.

One lucky strike caught the female of the pair in the throat. Hot, sticky ichor burst forth from the wound, staining the ground and walls black. It shrieked and gurgled in pain, lashing out with the rage of a wild animal, but its strength rapidly failed.

The second one, enraged by the death of the first, redoubled its attacks. Geralt cast Quen right before its spines caught him in the face. His shield exploded and he got away with only a small nick over his eyebrow, and it gave him the opening to thrust his sword out and up into its soft belly, rending it open from groin to skull.

Its steaming innards billowed out, the stench of death rapidly filling the cavern. Geralt caught his breath, wiping sweat off his brow—the fight had been long, and even deep in here the heat of summer still penetrated.

He cut off the front claws of the two beasts as proof of his kill, then set about destroying their nest. A gruesome sight greeted him: a pile of bones, some animal, some human, most with bits of flesh still hanging off of them. It reeked like all necrophage dens did, and Geralt held his breath as he kicked away bones and set everything aflame with Igni.

His work done, Geralt hiked out of the mineshaft, his eyes slowly adjusting to the searing light of outside. Cat wore off shortly before he exited, a rare blessing not to have to fight off a headache as he talked to the contract giver.

Eryk and Jaskier were still waiting outside when he pushed the doors open, and had been joined by a small group of miners. All were sitting on assorted crates and boxes, dragged over to form a half-circle.

Jaskier, ever the entertainer, was in the middle of a story, complete with wild gestures and probably more than a few tall tales. As soon as Geralt approached, though, he paused, greeting him with a joyous “Geralt!”

“You shouldn’t be standing on that ankle,” Geralt huffed, throwing the alghoul claws at Eryk’s feet. “I killed the beasts. Two alghouls made a nest in the western tunnel. Shouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

“Ye killed ‘em already, Master Witcher? My, ye work fast!” Eryk crowed, picking up the claws with interest and examining them. “Vicious beasties, they had to be, with knives like these!”

Either Eryk was genuinely impressed, which was exceedingly rare, or he was trying to stiff Geralt on payment and hoped that compliments would ease the sting. “We didn’t agree on a price beforehand.”

Eryk dropped the claws. “No. I didn’t think ye’d kill ‘em so fast, to be honest. What’s the going rate?”

Geralt hummed, tilting his head. “Normally I’d charge one-fifty for necrophages.”

“But?” Eryk prompted, savvy to the kind of hard bargain men on the Continent drove.

“But alghouls are much more dangerous, especially in pairs.” Geralt paused. “Three hundred.”

“I don’t have that kind of coin, Master Witcher, not with business so slow. Two hundred.”

“Two fifty,” Geralt acquiesced, which was what he’d been hoping for anyway.

“Deal.” They shook on it, Eryk grimacing slightly as some ichor rubbed off on him. He wiped his hand on his pants. “Thing is, though…”

Geralt sighed. “You don’t have the coin.” Of course.

“But I will!” Eryk promised. “There’s a shipment pickup tomorrow morning, a big order from Novigrad. Come by tomorrow and I’ll have yer coin for ye.”

As if Geralt had any other choice. And he’d so been looking forward to a hot bath paid for with his newfound wealth. “Fine,” he growled. “Tomorrow morning.” He turned to Jaskier. “Come on, bard.”

Jaskier limped his way over to Geralt. There was no way he could walk all the way back to the inn like that, and Geralt had little stamina left to carry him. Not to mention the indignity of it all, which Jaskier would surely protest.

An idea struck Geralt. “May he borrow a horse for the way back? He can’t walk on that.” Plus it would be insurance, an incentive to pay Geralt what he was owed the next day.

“Geralt, I’m fine—” interrupted Jaskier. Geralt ignored him.

Eryk frowned. “I’ve got but an old nag, not fit for much carryin’.”

“It’s not far. A few miles.”

“Fine, fine, but I’m not payin’ for ye to stable her.” He led Geralt and Jaskier to the side of the large cabin, where four horses were stabled. He had her saddled up quickly, and Geralt helped Jaskier into the saddle despite his protests. Once settled, he did look happier to be off his ankle. Geralt resolutely didn’t say I told you so.

Geralt led her up and out of the quarry while Jaskier rode, throwing goodbyes out to the miners. He’d made fast friends, it seemed.

It was late afternoon, nearly evening, by the time they arrived back at the inn, both their stomachs rumbling. In the excitement they’d both forgotten to eat lunch. When they got close to the inn, Jaskier dismounted, despite Geralt’s attempts to keep him on the horse. “I’ll see about a meal,” he said, shooing Geralt off to the stables.

Geralt hurriedly got the old nag settled and followed Jaskier into the Cock and Crow.

And just in time, because Jaskier, always pushing himself too far, reached his limit as he started up the stairs. “Shit,” he cursed as his leg buckled beneath him. Geralt caught him underneath the armpits and swung him up into a carry, ignoring his wriggling. “I can walk,” he said mulishly, just for appearance’s sake, because he very clearly could not.

“You shouldn’t,” Geralt returned bluntly, pushing open the door to their room and setting him on his bed.

He knelt and pulled off Jaskier’s boot, ignoring the way he pouted. It was a good thing Geralt had brought his pack with him; he reached in and pulled out some old but clean bandages.

“Aren’t you always telling me to be more careful with myself?” Geralt lectured as he wrapped Jaskier’s ankle. Jaskier crossed his arms with a huff.

“That’s different. You hunt monsters; I apparently have trouble even walking right.”

“It’s not,” Geralt argued. “A sprained ankle isn’t nothing, especially if you don’t treat it properly.” Surely Jaskier knew the dangers—permanent damage, or worse. And for a bard that made his living by walking around the Continent after Geralt… “What’s this about?”

Jaskier sighed and hung his head, caught out. “I didn’t want to be left behind,” he admitted. “I desperately need new material, especially if I’m to please such a fickle crowd as the one here.”

“Material for your songs? That’s why you’re being so stubborn?” Geralt could hardly believe it. He knew Jaskier went above and beyond for his craft, but this…

The thing was, Geralt was realizing, was that Jaskier wanted. He wanted to the point of idiocy sometimes, beyond all logic. He would injure himself further in a heartbeat, just to follow Geralt into dark places.

Selfish.

Geralt held his tongue and began wrapping Jaskier’s ankle, firm but gentle with his movements, despite how he wanted to shake some sense into the bard. Jaskier, in a rare show of wisdom, kept quiet, even when Geralt accidentally pulled too hard and jarred his ankle. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“’S okay,” Jaskier replied. “Thanks.”

“Keep your weight off it,” Geralt instructed, standing and brushing off his knees. “It’s the wrong season for ice or snow to bring the swelling down, but I may have enough herbs for a salve.”

“You don’t have to do that, it doesn’t hurt,” Jaskier said quickly.

Geralt gave him a flat look.

“Alright, it doesn’t hurt much,” he amended. “Besides, you need those for your potions and whatnot.”

Geralt ignored him—he was doing a lot of that lately, he realized—and rifled through his pack until he found the herbs he needed. Jaskier scribbled in his notebook as Geralt ground them up into a paste, tasting it himself afterwards to be sure he’d gotten the proportions correct. Then he scooped it up into a small tin he’d recently emptied out, screwing the lid on and tossing it into Jaskier’s lap after.

The bard fumbled to catch it, almost upturning his inkpot onto the bedcovers in the process. With a yelp he barely managed to catch both, throwing a look at Geralt that suggested he was unamused. Geralt grinned back.

He left Jaskier to his songwriting while he went downstairs to talk to Sal. She was running plates out to the patrons, looking thoroughly harried in the rush of the dinner hour. Geralt had wanted a bath, but decided to risk her ire by interrupting just then, and instead sat down at the bar to order a flagon of ale.

He let the scents of the kitchen and the noise of the crowd wash over him, sipping calmly at his ale almost as if in meditation. Normally a crowd like this would welcome Jaskier’s playing—Geralt wondered if he would risk facing them again tonight.

Likely not without new material, Geralt concluded, and ordered another ale.

In the corner, two men suddenly leapt to their feet. “You cheatin’ bastard!” yelled one, face red with rage, almost the same shade as his hair. “I want my money back!”

“Cheating? You’re the one that cheated, you lying fuck!” Saying so, he pulled his fist back and slugged the redheaded man in the nose. Geralt grimaced, his advanced hearing picking up the sound of cartilage breaking under the blow. Blood spurted forth.

Geralt made as if to get up, but was beaten by a broad-shouldered farmer intervening in the fight. “Stop it, you two! Brendan!” he hollered, catching another swing that was aimed for the redhead’s face. “What would your da say?”

Brendan shrugged the farmer off. “He wouldn’t say shit, because you”—he pointed an accusing finger at the redhead—“got him killed!” He lunged forward again, was only barely pulled back this time.

“That weren’t me, it were an accident!” the redhead protested, muffled through his hand covering his nose and mouth. “He just fell—”

“He worked at that quarry for fifteen years,” Brendan snarled. “He knew the paths like the back of his hand! He could climb them in his sleep!”

The quarry again. Eryk had mentioned accidents earlier, and Jaskier spraining his ankle… Geralt’s blood ran cold. Was it possible there was something more going on than just the alghoul infestation?

It was too late to return to the quarry, the sun already setting. When he went back tomorrow morning to return the nag and collect his payment, he would inquire further into these accidents, see if there actually was a curse laid on the place.

For now, he went back upstairs to join Jaskier for dinner, turning the day’s events over and over in his mind. Jaskier plucked away at his lute, shaping a new melody, bouncing lyrics off of Geralt, who honestly couldn’t tell the difference between most of the choices Jaskier offered. He lay on his bed and pretended to sleep.

Jaskier shook his head in response to Geralt’s grunts and scribbled notes in his notebook, before finally declaring his masterpiece complete.

“I couldn’t find very good rhymes for alghouls, so I don’t want to hear any criticism about my wordplay,” Jaskier warned, strumming the opening chords on his lute.

The song was catchy, Geralt had to admit. Even though he hadn’t seen the fight in the tunnel, Jaskier painted an exciting picture of Geralt slaying the ‘dual alghouls’, resulting in his glorious victory after only six verses.

“Bit too long,” Geralt offered when Jaskier was done.

“How would you know,” Jaskier grouched, cracking his fingers. “Thought you didn’t like music. Or my music, at least.”

“You said it, not me.”

“Bastard!” Jaskier yelped, throwing a pillow at Geralt’s head. “Take it back.”

“No,” Geralt grinned, easily dodging the pillow and the second one that followed.

“Take it back! Tell me my songs are the loveliest you’ve ever heard!” Jaskier insisted, clambering on top of Geralt and pinning him down by the shoulders.

Geralt deftly rolled them over, switching their positions so that Jaskier was beneath him and he had the advantage. “What are you gonna do now?”

“This,” Jaskier cried, craning his neck to lick Geralt’s hand.

Geralt didn’t react. He’d seen much, much worse. “Oh no,” he replied, deadpan. “Saliva. Disgusting. Whatever will I do.”

Jaskier slumped. “You could at least pretend I have some power over you. I deserve to win sometimes.”

“I’ll let you win when you earn it,” Geralt suggested, letting Jaskier up. “That’s better than a hollow victory.”

Jaskier snatched his pillows up off the ground, dusting them off imperiously. “Just wait, Geralt of Rivia. You won’t even see it coming,” he threatened.

“I live in fear every day of when it will happen.”

“Good,” Jaskier replied, then yawned. “I’m going to bed. Songwriting takes it right out of me.”

Geralt wished him a good night, not quite ready to go to bed himself just yet. He meditated to the sounds of Jaskier changing out of his doublet and trousers into sleep clothes and bedding down for the night, softening into his quiet snores.

Without meaning to, Geralt was soon lulled to sleep himself, still thinking about the quarry and its mishaps.

Jaskier claimed to be feeling much better in the morning, especially after applying some of Geralt’s salve and rewrapping his ankle.

Geralt wasn’t able to convince him to stay at the inn, despite his best efforts, and so Jaskier rode Roach back to the quarry while Geralt led the old nag. The heat had broken somewhat, and it was a pleasant morning for a walk.

Before they even reached the quarry, however, they were met with a man coming the opposite direction. When he saw them he stopped and waited for them to catch up. As they drew closer Geralt realized it was one of the men from the mines, a younger one—Tomas, he remembered.

“Good thing you’re here, witcher. I was sent to find you,” Tomas said, motioning for them to continue back to the quarry with him.

Somehow Geralt knew this was about more than simply his pay. “What happened?” he growled, spurring Roach into a faster walk.

“Ronan went missing last night. All his things are still here, but there’s no sign of him.”

“You checked inside the mine?”

The miner shook his head. “Folk’re too scared. There’s talk—accusations that you missed one yesterday.”

“I didn’t,” Geralt said stubbornly. He was sure of it, and even if he had, the nest was still destroyed. “Sure he didn’t just run off?”

“Ronan wouldn’t. He’s kept this job for ten years, almost. Longer ‘n I’ve been around, for sure. I can’t see why he’d give it up, especially without telling anyone.”

Ever eager to save Geralt’s reputation where he could, Jaskier leapt in. “I’m sure there’s an explanation for all of it! And I know Geralt. He won’t stop until he gets to the bottom of it. Like a dog with a bone, that one. Or more of a wolf, really,” he cracked, winking. “In fact, you can tell your foreman that we won’t be accepting any form of payment until this is solved.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned, as neutrally as he dared.

“Yes?” Jaskier blinked innocently at him.

Geralt sighed. “Take Roach and go back to the inn.” When Jaskier looked as if he were going to argue, Geralt cut him off. “I don’t want her anywhere near this.” Or you, he didn’t add, because Jaskier would get into a snit about Geralt patronizing him. “You want to help? This will help.”

Jaskier huffed, but dismounted and swapped horses with Geralt. “This won’t work every time, I hope you know,” he warned, slinging his lute onto his back. “I’m only agreeing to this because I’ve already gotten a song out of it.”

“Duly noted.” Geralt slapped Roach’s hind flank, sending her back down the road the way they’d come. He hoped the pit in his stomach that formed at seeing them go meant nothing.

He turned to the miner. “Show me where Ronan was last seen.”

Ronan bunked with his mining partner of six years, Marik, underneath a sturdy tarp against the western wall of the quarry. The men’s belongings were scattered in the manner of one without a permanent home but with too many possessions to keep tidy.

Tools in need of repair rested atop a barrel littered with candle stubs that sat between the two paillasses. Marik, it seemed, had a habit of whittling, judging by the small wood shavings that littered the corners and the row of small figurines that were displayed proudly on a small table to the side. Ronan’s side of the tent looked as if he’d just stepped out for a moment—blankets crumpled, a pair of dirty boots slumped beside the entrance.

“Marik would have seen him last,” Tomas volunteered. “I think he’s working on the south wall today—I can get him, if you like.”

“Please,” Geralt requested. There were very few clues here as to where Ronan could have gone. For all intents and purposes, it looked like he’d simply stepped out to piss in the middle of the night and never come back.

Tomas ran off. Geralt examined the dirt in front of the tent, keen witcher eyes searching for tracks that might tell him where the occupants had gone—but the quarry was a well-trafficked area, and the soil was too sandy and fine to hold tracks for long.

Tomas returned shortly with a red-haired man behind him, wiping sweat off his brow as he ducked under the tarp. “Master Witcher,” Marik greeted, dropping his pickaxe with a dull thud. “You can find Ronan, then? Or avenge the beastie what killed him?”

“I’ll try,” Geralt promised. “Tell me what happened last night.”

“Not much other’n usual, honestly. Went to bed ‘round when the moon was high, both of us. I dunno what time it were when I heard him get up, but it were late, I know that. Not a hint of light in the sky. I thought he were takin’ care of business, y’know, and tried to fall back asleep. But then I heard a scream—and it were no fox, no matter what they say. I know foxes, and it were no fox.”

Geralt frowned. Was it foolish to hope that he’d simply been dreaming? Or that Ronan had misstepped in the dark, twisted his ankle, and was waiting to be found somewhere unharmed?

“Did you see anything? Go looking for Ronan?”

Marik hung his head, skin coloring pink. “No,” he admitted, “too scared, I was. Thought it might come and get me if I moved.”

“It’s alright,” Geralt said awkwardly. “Can’t blame you.”

“I should’ve,” Marik moaned, and to Geralt’s horror, started to weep. Tomas pulled him close, guiding his head onto his shoulder. “I should’ve gone after him. He were my partner,” Marik sobbed.

Geralt gave them privacy and exited the tent, heading towards the tunnels. He cursed himself for not preparing more potions—he hadn’t expected another fight so soon, but any witcher worth his medallion should have been more prepared. He would have to make do with his swords.

Inside the mine there was no evidence of recent alghoul activity. No fresh claw marks, no pungent scent of rot, no picked-clean bones. The nest still lay destroyed, nothing more than burnt ashes. He nosed around the site for a few more minutes before giving up. Whatever had taken Ronan wasn’t around right now.

He hiked back out into sunlight, where he found Eryk waiting for him. The foreman wore a grimace and held a pouch in his hands, bulging with coin. Geralt’s eyes narrowed.

“Witcher,” he greeted wearily. “More ghouls, then?” He shifted on his feet, coin purse clinking.

“Don’t see any necrophage activity. Nest’s still destroyed.”

“I can’t rightly pay two hundred and fifty crowns for a job not done.”

“Nor would I ask you to. How about half now—I need to restock on potion ingredients, pay for another night at the inn for me and my companion. I’ll see the job done, find whatever took Ronan, I swear by my guild.”

“You’re an honorable man, witcher. Here.” He measured out half the promised pay for Geralt, pocketing the other half. “Will ye stay tonight? We could use a watchman. And maybe yer eyes would catch things in the dark we can’t see.”

“Let me go back to town and prepare. I’ll be back by sundown,” Geralt agreed. He had already been planning to keep watch overnight, hoping his presence would prevent another man vanishing.

“Aye,” Eryk said, and left. His head was bowed, heavy with the weight of the situation. Geralt wished he could do more.

After leaving the quarry, he headed back to town, to the marketplace. He bought some more common herbs and ingredients there, counting out a good amount of Eryk’s coin. It was enough to make several elixirs, as long as he supplemented it with a few things from his own stores.

As he left the market, a sweet smell caught his nose, and he followed it to a squat building with a sign labeled BERELDA’S BREADS. A bakery.

Geralt hesitated, weighing the coin purse in his hand for a moment. “You know, a life lived without a little selfishness here and then is hardly a life worth living at all.” Jaskier’s words echoed in his head.

He ended up buying two sweet rolls, and a pouch of a half-dozen balls of fried dough when Berelda offered them at a discount, given it was so late in the day. “I’ll only throw them out tomorrow, better you have them,” she reasoned. He popped one in his mouth on his way back to the inn, savoring the way the sugar melted on his tongue and flooded his mouth with sweetness.

He wasn’t sure what had him in such a good mood—perhaps the fine weather, and the promise of a good mystery to mull over? Either way, it was dashed as soon as he got back to their shared room. He’d been—anticipating Jaskier’s reaction, almost eager to face both his endless questions about what he’d missed and his joy at being gifted a treat. And maybe a little bit of vindication, too, see, bard, I do know how to enjoy myself.

But when he pushed open the door and saw only Jaskier’s unmoving form tucked into bed, his stomach sank to the floor. No overexcited reaction to be found here.

Moreover, it was still light out—barely suppertime, by his reckoning. And the bard wasn’t usually one for naps.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, walking over to the bed and gently shaking his shoulder. His body jostled limply with the movement. Was he—? No, he was still breathing, just deeply asleep. Geralt checked, just to make sure. “Jaskier,” he called again, a little bit louder, and this time Jaskier groaned and buried his head into his pillow.

“What?” he asked, muffled by cloth.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“No,” he answered, and Geralt’s heart skipped a beat. “I was just woken rather rudely. What time ‘s it?” Oh. Just dramatic, as always.

“A couple hours to sundown. Why were you napping?”

“Dunno, I was just tired,” Jaskier answered irritably, finally rolling over and rubbing at his eyes. He looked decidedly rumpled, with sheet prints all up and down his face and neck and his hair rather unflatteringly sticking out on one side. And his eyes had dark circles under them, when Geralt looked. “Will you let me sleep in peace now?”

“Have you eaten?” Geralt persisted. He suddenly felt foolish—he wasn’t some stupid idiot courting a lover, bringing home sweets in hopes of wooing his beloved. Witchers didn’t do things like that. “I bought bread,” he said lamely.

Jaskier didn’t answer, and instead threw an arm over his face. Fine. If he wanted to go without eating, Geralt would let him wake in the middle of the night starving. He was grown and could make his own decisions. Even if those decisions pointed to something more worrying than simply a cranky companion.

“I’m going back to the quarry tonight,” Geralt informed him, sitting down at the table with his potion ingredients. Silence followed. “You shouldn’t come.”

Still no answer. Either he was already asleep again, or he was ignoring Geralt. Whatever. Geralt set to brewing a few doses of Swallow, a healthy amount of Cat, and while those were simmering, he distilled some blade oils.

He fell into a light meditation until sundown, when he would return to the quarry. But when he opened his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of Jaskier, out of bed now, standing in front of the window looking out.

“Stop walking on that ankle,” Geralt growled, fed up with the bard’s behavior.

He expected a reply of but the setting sun is so beautiful, such an alluring sight for a poet such as myself! or something equally inane, but Jaskier didn’t reply.

“The silent treatment? Really?” Geralt asked, standing up with the intent to make Jaskier sit down. But when he got closer, he realized that the bard wasn’t truly awake, his eyes half-lidded and unseeing. He swayed gently where he stood, uncaring of his swollen ankle or the cool breeze that skimmed along his collarbone and ruffled his hair.

Jaskier didn’t nap, nor did he sleepwalk, not in the five years Geralt had traveled with him. Something was very wrong. Geralt seized him by the shoulders. “Jaskier, wake up!” he almost shouted. Urgency curdled deep in his stomach.

Jaskier blinked slowly, once, twice, and then his eyes began to gain a little more life. “Hmm? Geralt?” he asked, coming fully awake. “Oh, fuck,” he cursed, and stumbled into Geralt, his ankle making its displeasure known.

Geralt caught him beneath the elbows, supporting his weight with ease. “Sit down,” he ordered, lowering Jaskier back onto the bed and kneeling in front of him.

“Was I… asleep?” Jaskier asked, having to clear his throat a couple times to get the grogginess out of his voice.

“You tell me,” Geralt replied, lifting Jaskier’s foot to check on his ankle. The bandage was loose, a swollen swath of black and blue peeking up around the edges. “Unless you thought this”—he held up Jaskier’s foot higher so he could see—“was a good idea?”

He winced. “Ow. No, I was dreaming…” he trailed off. His eyes were distant, unseeing. He sucked in a sudden breath as Geralt pressed too hard on a tender spot.

“Have you been applying your salve?”

“This morning, yes. Probably could do with another application.” He reached over to the table by the bedside, grabbing the tin of salve. He held still as Geralt unwound the bandage and spread some of the thick grease over the swollen area, finishing by redoing the bandage tightly. “Thank you. I honestly don’t know what came over me.”

“Dreaming of running from jealous spouses?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier huffed out a small laugh. “No, I don’t remember. It was dark, I think? It’s sort of fuzzy. I don’t really remember.”

Geralt wished he hadn’t promised to spend the night watching over the quarry. Someone should be here at the inn to make sure Jaskier didn’t go diving headfirst through any open windows while asleep.

“You know, I might go play. I’m feeling much better after that nap,” Jaskier proclaimed, as if he could read Geralt’s mind. “Oh, don’t give me that look. No dancing on tabletops for me. I’ll stay put in my seat, don’t worry.”

Geralt still doubted Jaskier’s ability to give a lowkey performance, but it wasn’t as if he could forbid the bard from playing. “Alright. I’m headed back to the quarry to keep watch overnight.”

“I hope that includes a significant increase in pay due to overtime. Oh, who am I kidding, you probably offered to do it for free. I know how you get with contracts like these.”

Geralt sighed. “I’ll be back in the morning. Lock the door and window tonight in case you get up again.”

“Yes, mother,” Jaskier sighed. “Now help me up?”

***

link to chapter 2 will be added here soon!

#the witcher #geraskier #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my fic

91 notes · View notes

nothing0fnothing · 7 months ago

Text

I want to tell a story about financial abuse and how I experienced it at different points in my life while being abused by narcissistic unfit parents and later my abusive ex partner.

This instance happened when I was 20 years old and freshly graduated from university.

I was living with my mum in the short term while I worked and waiting for my graduate course to begin. I only agreed to stay with her because she had told me she was in active therapy and she promised me living with her would be different this time.

It lasted for less than two weeks before we were back to her rage outs and her vile comments. But I'd just moved all my stuff in and it was only 3 months so I decided to stick it out.

One of her promises when I first agreed to move in was that she didn't expect me to pay rent. It's a massive faux pas in our culture to expect your adult children to pay rent to live with you and its not like my mother was hurting for money, so I believed her.

Four weeks before I was set to leave I lost my job. It wasn't a big deal. I had enough savings to get me to uni and a little extra for the short term.

My mum started to ask when I planned on getting another job. I told her probably after I enrolled in my course since I would only be in the city a few weeks now. She didn't like that. She told me that she had changed her mind, and now rent was expected in return for me living with her, and if I didn't have a job by end of week she'd evict me.

Obviously this was a fucking nightmare. Nobody was willing to hire somebody for 3 weeks and the jobs that would were scammy and predatory as fuck. My mum took my savings as "back rent" and made clear that the rent was not enough, I needed to be in 40 weekly hours of employment to live in her house.

Then, after days of constant abuse and horrible-ness she came to me with a new ultimatum. She had just joined a MLM scam and needed a downline. I could agree to be her downline or I could move out tomorrow.

I spent the last of my savings on the cheapest "starter kit" she offered and the next part of the job was to reach out to everyone on my Facebook friends list to offer them product. It was embarrassing and demeaning. It felt like I was begging people for money.

Over the last weeks I lived with my mum my routine was to be up into the early morning on facebook watching "inspirational" livestreams that the company broadcast from the other side of the world. I'd then sleep till no later than my mother's alarm to "network" (ie, sit on Facebook joining community groups) eat lunch, run errands then log back into Facebook to advertise the product to strangers until the companies started it's livestream at midnight my time. Where I'd take notes for my mother who'd gone to bed.

According to my mum I made £700 of sales that week. I never saw a penny of it. I was exhausted and I felt horrid about the whole situation, but it's not like I had a minute free to process my feelings. I was even expected to cancel my own therapy sessions while this was happening.

Three days before I was set to leave, my mum had a massive blow up at me and my sister. I'd "done something wrong" on the marketing side, caused Facebook to freeze our accounts.

It started at 7am. My mum screaming at my sister and slamming doors woke me up. Then the sound of her stomping down the corridor, punching the walls on her way down. Then she was in my room calling me a cunt and a bitch and stupid and god knows what else. I sat up and looked at her sleepily, but I could tell all she wanted was for me to be terrified like I was as a little girl, and I wasn't going to give it to her.

"You've stopped all the work" she raged at me "we can't work now we can't sell and it's all your fault."

"So what do you want me to do about it?" I said.

To be honest, I didn't and still don't accept that it was my fault. I think we were just joining a mass number of Facebook groups and advertising tat in them, obviously enough people had reported me for Facebook to take action. I wasn't going to jump through hoops to apologise for what any MLM scammer will tell you is a risk of the trade.

"What can you do? You've lost your own job, you've cost me mine, you're swanning off to university this week and you've left me with all this."

"Well if there's nothing I can do there's nothing I can do." I said plainly.

She mimed smacking me then said in a snarl I know she tried her best to seem menacing "you're not too old for a beating you know."

I laughed in her face.

She'd tried to beat me 2 years before when I was 18. I defended myself and she didn't like that, she came out of it just as bruised as I did and she never tried it again. She obviously thought that me being broke and sleep deprived would change the situation in her favor. We never found out because she stormed off angry.

I spent the last two days there with my sister. We went shopping and drinking and had a good time. I told her my flat would be waiting for her when she was 18 and legally able to move out. It was a good send off, all things considering.

When I left I left behind the untouched starter pack. My mum sold it for £15 on ebay. She never apologised to me, she never admitted she was in the wrong. If the attempted beating when I was 18 put us on the path to the relationship we have now, this 3 month experience living with her cemented it. I was open to an apology for years afterwards, but she didn't think I was owed one. Eventually I just stopped expecting it to come. I'm not going to forgive someone who isn't sorry.

#narcissistic abuse #raised by narcissists #financial abuse #emotionally immature parents #enotional abuse #parental abuse #narcissistic parents #vent post #toxic parents #complex trauma #dysfunctional family #toxic mom #dysfunctional household

6 notes · View notes

cinnamonspicewritingroom · 1 year ago

Text

More Than Diamonds

Pairing: Prince Friedrich x Princess! Reader Description: Britain has gained themselves a new royalty nearing the debutante ball of 1813. Princess Amelia of Siam was sent as the new Ambassador of Siam. In Britain Princess Amelia was able to find her family, but will that be all? After the failed courting between Daphne and prince Friedrich, it was a surprise to everyone that he stayed in London. However, Prince Friedrich is anything, but a coward. He came to Britain to find a wife and one failed courting will not chase him out of the country with a tail between his legs. What both Amelia and Friedrich never thought to happen is, the friendship that blossomed between them and their growing feelings for one another. Friedrich was never a coward, but he is when it comes to Amelia. Everyone said Amelia is a genius, but not when it comes to love, because she is truly lost on what to do with these butterflies in her stomach. Tags: Slow burn, Coming of age, Time-Travel, Back to the past, Friends to Lovers, Royalties, Oblivious!FLxObvious!ML, Jealous! Friedrich, Slightly Possessive! Friedrich, Black cat gf, Golden retriever bf Timeline: S1&S2

Chapter 3. Return

Twenty three years…

That was how long it has been for them.

Since they last saw her, hear from her.

As if it was a nightmare from yesterday, they remember as if it was yesterday. July of 1790 when they discovered their dear daughter, only daughter… Felicia ran away, and disappeared to god knows where.

They searched for her, everywhere in the country, and around Europe and America for about a year, but no result. Not until now, written on two pieces of papers is a letter from their dear daughter Felicia.

“Oh my god… Dear–” Abigail, the Duchess of Gloucester and Edinburgh traced the words on the letter with trembling fingers, and eyes full of tears. Her husband, William, caught her fingers in his arms, and brought it to his lips, kissing it softly. He is as well, emotional, as tears fill his eyes.

“Yes love… A piece of news from Felicia, our little bunny…” By this point William did not care if his beloved daughter eloped, he was just glad that she was alive, well, and happy. This is the third time the husband and wife re-read the letter as Felicia told them about her marriage to the King of Siam, and becoming the Royal Consort, gave birth to two children, her eldest, a son, Somdet Chao Fa Gan Sirichai Tanawat, and her youngest, a daughter, Somdet Chao Fa Apsara Chaiya Kanika.

“Abby, my love… We need to reach out to the Queen, and contact the ambassador-” The Duke quickly got up from the sofa they were seated, and to his study to write a letter to the Queen so they could reach Siam’s Ambassador to Great Britain.

***

Siam’s Ambassador to Great Britain is currently pacing back and forth in her office, clenching her fists hard in order to prevent picking on her skin, which could damage the aesthetic of her hands.

God– Amelia really wants to throw herself off a cliff. What in the actual fuck is going on? How in the 7th circle of Hell did she ended up in the middle of bum-fuck Bridgerton series. Right now is 1813, so Daphne’s season. It has been almost 20 years since she thought about that series! When Amelia retrieved her memories after her death, never in her life would she thought her fucking attachment to that series is important.. Until now!

“Goddamn Davika-” Amelia sat herself on the sofa in her office as she ran her fingers in her hair, devastated. “Dear Ganesha, give me luck and wisdom for this new beginning. Lord, give me strength.” A plan. She needs a plan, and a timeline of the series, and most of all, staying away from the Bridgerton clan all together. Amelia stood up and went to her desk, grabbing several papers and a pen.

“Let’s list down several things… I am currently in the 1st Bridgerton series, which features Phoebe Dynevor who played Daphne Bridgerton and Rege-Jean Page who played the Duke of Hastings.” Amelia mumbled as she wrote on the paper.

“It’s still February, so I have two months until the start of the series. Now, let’s think about what happened, Davika. You can do it… Daphne and Penelope made their debut…Then the… Featherington cousin, what’s her name? Came to London… Anthony kept being a nitpicking bastard, which led to Daphne not gaining any suitors and that’s where Nigel Berbrooke came in.” Amelia wrote on the paper before it stopped as she thought about what else happened throughout Season 1.

“Simon came to London and got roped into the whole ball. That’s how he met Daphne-” Amelia’s brows furrowed in an attempt to remember what else happened. “How did they striked the deal again? And- That prince… When will he show up again– Wait a minute… The plot only revolves around Bridgerton, and people close to them…” Amelia mumbled, “If I don’t get near them, I will not get dragged into it…” A smile spread on her face as she placed down her pen. “Let’s do that. Avoid the main cast as much as possible.” Amelia walked back to the sofa and sat down, sighing in contempt.

***

Queen Charlotte’s brow furrowed as she focused on the letter in her hand. Apparently this is the same letter she sent to the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester and Edinburgh four days ago from the King of Siam through the Siam Ambassador to Great Britain.

“We searched for her high and low here, in Europe, and in America… Who could have thought that fickle nephew of mine ran away to Siam.” The Queen sighed, feeling a headache surging at the thought of her sweet nephew, Felicia. Charlotte opened her eyes, and directed her gaze at her brother-in-law and his wife sitting in front of her.

“My Queen, sister… I beg for your assistance to connect us with the ambassador who brought this letter… We need to know more about how our dear Felicia is faring, and if there is a chance for us to meet…” Amongst all of her husband’s siblings, Charlotte is most fond of William, he is frail and soft-hearted by nature, so watching him whimper for any way to connect back to his daughter is very heart-wrenching for her.

“Of course, we will contact Lady Chakri right away. Brimsley–” In a second, the Queen’s assistant, a plump middle aged man with dark hair, was at her side. “Yes, Your Majesty.” Brimsley greeted, ready to serve the Queen. “Send a letter to the Siamese Embassy. I would like to ask for a meeting with her as soon as possible, one that involves both Siam and Great Britain.” Brimsley nodded, and disappeared as quickly as he appeared.

***

Amelia and Hugo were in the middle of a meeting with a new Duke, Simon Hastings, replacing his father who is on his death-bed, when Lynn burst into the room unannounced, looking rather distraught.

“Apologies, Your Grace.” Lynn curtsied to Simon before turning to Amelia. “Milady, we received an urgent call from Buckingham Palace. The Queen requested an immediate audience with you.” This alarmed Amelia who quickly stood up from her chair. It is impossible for her to screw up this early, it’s not even a week yet since she arrived in Great Britain.

“Your Grace, I apologise for cutting our meeting short, but I think it is best if we resume another time.” Simon nodded and stood up. “Alright, I hope everything goes well, Lady Chakri. Do send me a letter when you are available to resume our discussion.” Simon exits the room after exchanging a quick greeting with Lynn, and Hugo.

Lynn, Amelia, and Hugo exchanged a look before they all took a seat in the meeting room, no one would like to enter a battlefield without any sort of plan. “We made no mistakes. It is way too early to create any at all.” Amelia firmly stated, which Hugo and Lynn agreed to.

“Was it one of the Princes?” Lynn speculated based on the debate between Amelia and Prince Frederick five days prior to today. Amelia furrowed her brows, well shit… Could be, but really? It is childish to burn down a bridge over mutual debate, and the Prince Regent and Queen know they are not in the position to declare another war when they are still in war with Napoleonic Wars with the French, War of 1812 with Americans, Peninsular War with Portuguese and Spanish, and Gurkha War with Nepalese, so the most they would demand is an apology, which she could demand back.

“I don’t know, I don’t think this is due to the debate. If it is, they should realise that Prince Frederick started it first. On top of that, I do not think they would sacrifice their relationship with us, Siam is the only neutral land between Great Britain and France.” Amelia hopes so, but if not then what else? Back then she only had a debate, had tea with the Queen, saw her garden and peacock collections and- That damned letter!

“The letter…” Amelia uttered quietly, but Lynn and Hugo were able to pick up what she said. “The one from the King?” Lynn asked, uncertain, but Amelia nodded. “That’s the only unknown equation left. The only thing unknown to us, and the most possible to cause this chaos.” Amelia stood up, followed by Hugo and Lynn. They have taken too long, it’s time to face the music.

***

“Welcoming Lady Amelia Chakri, Lady Lynn Yontarak, and Lord Hugo Lamon.” They were declared as they were escorted inside the gazebo in the park. The three Siamese could see the Queen with two other people, a man and a woman, the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester and Edinburgh Amelia presumed.

“Your Majesty,” Amelia and Lynn curtsies, and Hugo bowed his head in respect, before they all turned to the other two occupants in the gazebo. The Queen quickly hopped in to introduce them to the Siamese.

“Lady Chakri, I apologise for summoning you urgently, however, I would like you to meet Prince William Henry and his wife, Princess Abigail nee. Bridgerton, Duke and Duchess of Gloucester and Edinburgh.” The Duke and Duchess smiled at the three youngsters from the foreign nation.

“Nice to meet you, Your Grace. I am the current Minister Plenipotentiary, and Ambassador of Siam to Great Britain, Amelia Chakri, and these are my co-workers, Lady Lynn Yontarak who handles the Public Affairs Section, and Lord Hugo Lamon, the Head of Office of Defense Cooperation.” The three Siamese quickly greeted the two, who smiled at the show of respect, and perfect mannerism.

After the introduction, the three Siamese joined the British Royals in the gazebo, being served tea and snacks. It did not take long after they settled down for the questions to launch off.

“Lady Chakri, the letter given by the King of Siam… Were you aware of the content?” The Queen questioned Amelia who sipped her tea, and placed it silently on the saucer. “Unfortunately, I haven't a clue on the content of the letter as the King handed me the letter when I was reporting on the day of my departure. I presumed that during his stay in Great Britain he made… a precious bond?” The Duke slammed his fist on the table.

“Precious bond? Your King seduced my daughter and took her away with him–” The Duke almost shouted, but was quickly reprimanded by the Duchess and The Queen. “Dear!” “Your Grace!” Amelia choked on her scone at the exclamation. “Pardon me? Your Grace–That is a serious accusation you made against my country and my King.” Queen Charlotte could feel the surging of a headache. William’s temper could potentially cause a rift, and problems between the two countries; which is the last thing they need.

“Lady Chakri, I apologised for his fumes, but please read the letter from your King– This will help to explain the situation.” Duchess Abigail handed Amelia the same leather pouch with Rattanakosin emblem on it. Amelia eyed the pouch, before eyeing the Duchess. This might be a rude gesture, but as the Ambassador whose country’s name has been besmirched by the Duke, this is a defence, and not an offence.

Amelia took the pouch while maintaining a sharp eye contact with the Duchess, only breaking it to unbox the pouch, and get the letter inside.

My Dearest Mother and Father,

It is with a heavy heart and tears in my eyes that I finally sit down to write to you after twenty-three long years of silence. The weight of time has been both a burden and a blessing, shaping me into the woman I am today, far removed from the young princess you once knew.

It feels like a lifetime ago that I first met Rama II, the Crown Prince of Siam, in the hallowed halls of the Siamese embassy in Britain. The moment our eyes met, I knew that my fate was sealed, that my heart belonged to him and him alone. Little did I know then that our love would set into motion a series of events that would lead me far from the comforts of home and into the unknown depths of a foreign land.

In 1790, I made the decision to leave behind everything I had ever known and journey to Siam to be with Rama, to embrace a future that was uncertain but filled with promise. The journey itself was fraught with danger and uncertainty, and there were many moments when I questioned the wisdom of my decision. But love, dear Mother, love has a way of blinding us to the realities of the world, filling our hearts with hope and our minds with dreams of a brighter tomorrow.

The wedding, Mother, oh, the wedding was a spectacle unlike anything I had ever seen before. The palace grounds were alive with the sounds of music and laughter, and the air was filled with the intoxicating scent of flowers and incense. As I walked down the aisle to meet my beloved at the altar, I felt as though I was floating on air, my heart overflowing with love and joy.

But beneath the surface, there was a sadness that lingered, a sense of loss that gnawed at my soul. For you see, dear Mother, despite the grandeur of the occasion, I could not shake the feeling of being an outsider, of not truly belonging in this foreign land. The Siamese court did not recognize me as queen due to my foreign birth, bestowing upon me instead the title of Royal Consort, a position that carried with it both honour and humility.

The years that followed were a whirlwind of emotions, a rollercoaster ride of highs and lows. In 1792, our son, Gan Sirichai Tanawat, came into the world, a precious gift that filled our lives with laughter and love. The birth was a joyous occasion, celebrated with feasting and merriment throughout the kingdom. And in 1796, our family was blessed once again with the arrival of our daughter, Apsara Chaiya Kanika, a radiant presence that brought light to even the darkest of days.

But amidst the joys, there was also sorrow, dear Father, a deep and abiding sorrow that gnawed at my soul. I found myself adrift in a sea of unfamiliar customs and traditions, struggling to find my place in a land that was so different from my own. The language was foreign to my ears, the mannerisms strange and perplexing, and the climate unforgiving in its intensity.

There were moments, dear Mother, when I longed for the warmth of your embrace, for the guidance and wisdom that only a mother can provide. I missed the familiar comforts of home, the laughter of family gatherings during the holidays, and the simple pleasures of life that I had once taken for granted. But through it all, I have found solace in the love of my dear husband and our two beautiful children. They are my rock, my anchor in a sea of uncertainty, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

My dear parents, I beg of you, do not hate me for the choices that I have made, for the path that I have chosen to walk. Know that I love you both with all my heart, and that not a day goes by that I do not think of you and the family that I left behind. Though the distance between us may be great, the bonds of love that bind us together remain unbroken, and I pray that one day, we may be reunited and that the pain of our separation may be eased by the embrace of our love.

With all my love and longing,

Felicia

Amelia wanted to bash her head to the nearest concrete as she could feel the surging migraine. She pinched her nose bridge, and let out a sigh as she passed the letter for both Lynn and Hugo to read.

Damn, her parents are really out to get her ain’t they? To top it off– Sending a letter to her mom’s parents, her grandparents??

“I’m sorry, but I’ll be frank and ask this out front. What is your point in showing us this letter?” Amelia folded the letter, and put it back neatly in the pouch, handing it back to the Duchess. “Reading this letter, it is different from your claim, Your Grace. In fact Somdet Chao Khun Phra Felicia walked out of the country with her own two feet, without any force from Siam, or the King.” Despite the honesty, her words angered the Duke. Amelia could see steam coming out of his ears as his face reddened.

“How dare–” “Exactly, Sir. How dare you to mock our King, and our country in front of its Minister Plenipotentiary, when you yourself know the truth behind the situation. The letter clearly said that Somdet Chao Khun Phra Felicia decided to leave Great Britain to marry King Rama II on her own free will without force from any parties involved.” Amelia intercepted, which shocked everyone, even Hugo and Lynn.

Prince William was about to retaliate, but was stopped by Queen Charlotte who raised her hand with her palm open in a stop motion.”Let us cease the hostility, shall we? If possible, I would like to continue our discussion without damaging the relationship between our countries.” The Queen gave Prince William a hard stare, which made him back down from any rebuttal he had.

The Duchess fidgets in her seat, and in her silence Amelia decides to analyse both of her grandparents. While mostly her mother got her colours and structures from her grandmother, her smile is definitely inherited from her grandfather.

Amelia understood their frustration, although she couldn’t relate to the pain they felt, imagine waking up on a random morning to find out that your only daughter, who is also your only child, escaped in the middle of the night like a band of thieves. Amelia composed herself, this ain’t her… She rarely lost her temper, but the fact that this whole thing just feels like a set up by her parents, now she has to deal with her grandparents and their grief of losing their only child, keeping her identity down-low, and managing the relationship between Siam and Great Britain. Amelia heaved a sigh. Be the bigger person Amelia.

“Your Grace–” All the three British nobles perked up and turned to Amelia. “Look, it would be a lie to say I understand the pain of losing a child-” Looking that they are listening thoroughly, Amelia continued with her controversial opinion. “However, this situation has been more than 20 years ago, and the decisions were made without coercion from any Siamese party. Honestly, if it were a year or two after this situation happened, Siam may be able to do something, but what once was Princess Felicia of Great Britain is now the high ranking Royal Consort of the Siamese King who, not only have responsibility to the court, but also has bear an heir and heiress of the King.” Amelia tapped on the leather pouch motioning that everything she said were written on the letter.

“While it is impossible to return Somdet Chao Khun Phra Felicia to Great Britain, I would suggest a… recognition–?” Her uncertainty made the three British royals confused, but Amelia quickly continued her sentence. “– of the King and the Royal Consort’s marriage.” She could see that the Duke was getting fired up once more, so she quickly added on to her points.

“Of course formally recognising the marriage will bring several benefits such as further strengthening the tie between Great Britain and Siam, after all it is between two high-ranking royals, and this will make it easier for the both of you to keep in touch, whether by letter or getting an attendance with the Royal Consort, and hopefully, the King, and granted easy visitation to the country.” Now this got her grandmother hopeful, and garnered the Queen’s interest at the mention of forming a stronger bond with Siam.

“However– vice versa I am hoping the same benefits apply for Somdet Chao Khun Phra Felicia.” Amelia blatantly stared at the Queen as she asked the last bit.

Right now that is the only solution Amelia could think of. Giving a solution now will buffer her grandparents from bothering her about this matter, and hopefully help her to find a way out of this without interfering with the Bridgerton plot, considering her grandmother is a part of the Bridgerton family.

“Dear… I think what the Ambassador said made sense–” Prince William grumbled at his wife’s words, but he knew what Amelia said was right. His daughter is not someone they could just take out from a country, especially with her status as a Royal Consort who has birthed not only one, but two children of the King.

Amelia munched on her eclair slowly, almost therapeutic, as Prince William contemplated his decision longer. After Amelia’s 2nd eclair, the Duke sighed and nodded, there is no better solution than what the Ambassador provided.

“Alright…I agree to formally recognising the marriage. What step should I take from here?” Amelia smiled behind her cup of tea before proceeding to place it soundlessly on the saucer. “The next step is to bring your daughter back to Great Britain.” The Duke and Duchess turned their heads at Amelia so fast, she was scared it would snap.

“Y-You– Felicia?? Back in Great Britain?” Not yet gramps. Amelia prevented a laugh from escaping, covering it with a nod. “Of course. This is between Great Britain and Siam, no? We will need the Royal Consort in here, therefore she will be able to represent–” The Duchess grabbed Amelia’s hand, startling her. The older woman’s eyes were brimming with tears.

“Lady Chakri, thank you very much. I truly– I do not know what to say, how to thank you–” Amelia felt really bad for her grandparents, right now the only thing she could do is clasped her free hand over the Duchess. “Do not thank me yet, Your Grace. I still need to contact the King and the Royal Consort, and it would take them approximately a month before she arrives here.” Amelia gave her a sweet smile, before sighing, and turned to the Queen.

“Your Majesty, while I am glad for being able to solve this dispute as peacefully as possible, unfortunately I have prior engagement I must attend to. If I may, I would like to excuse myself.” The Queen nodded in agreement, she called the Ambassador in a hurry, and fortunately she arrived despite her busy schedule. Hugo approached them to stand behind Amelia, pulling her chair to give her space to stand up. Amelia turned towards the Duke and Duchess.

“Your Grace, we will be in touch soon after I receive an answer from Siam.” Amelia bowed and turned around, but before she walked away, she froze and turned back to her grandparents. They must have been worried sick about her mother.

“Lynn, give me that newspaper.” The three British royals were confused as the Lady-in-Waiting handed the Ambassador a 2 of newspaper. Amelia gave it a look before placing it on the table, sliding it to the Duke and Duchess.

“Here, I think you will like this. Take it as my apologies for earlier.” The Duke grabbed it to see a clear picture, not a painting, but photo of a familiar beautiful woman with dark hair sitting sideways on a chair, a raven haired male with tan skin leaning on the right side of the chair, one hand holding on the back of the chair while the other gripping the handle, and on the other side stood straight a tall young man with raven hair, they could spot several European features in him.

They probably don’t understand what they are looking at, seeing that now cameras are a Siamese invention, and not yet expanded to Great Britain.

“That is the photograph of your daughter, the Royal Consort Felicia, her husband the King, and their son, Prince Gan. Unfortunately this was taken while their daughter, Princess Apsara was away in Qing.” Choked sobs rising from both the Duke and Duchess, while the Queen stared at the photograph in awe.

“And- What is this painting? It seemed… Extremely realistic?” The Queen turned to Amelia, who is in a dilemma on how to explain the concept of a photograph.

“That is not a painting, but a photograph. Putting it simply, a photograph is like a magic picture made with a special box called a camera.” Amelia tried to explain, and added hand gestures to help them imagine it better.

“Essentially, the job of a camera is to capture exactly what's in front of it, just like a mirror. Different from a painting in which it's a picture made by hand with paints and brushes.” The Queen squinted her eyes, if such a magnificent device exists, why don’t they have it already?

“And why have I yet to hear about this ‘special box’?” The Queen asked challengingly, but Amelia is not one to back down, thus she lightly replied. “Maybe because it’s a Siamese invention. I would have explained more, alas, I have a meeting to attend.” Amelia and Lynn curtsied, and Hugo bowed his head before the three Siamese exited the gazebo.

Words: 4227

Edited: 17/04/2024

More Than Diamond's Master List

IMPORTANT NOTES A/N: Hello, how are you guys? I hope you are well. Regarding this story that is following Julia Quinn's hit series, Bridgerton, I would start by saying I read the book first before I watch the Netflix series, thus I apologize if there are some differences with the Netflix version, but I will try to make it as similar as possible. I would also ask the readers to be kind when criticizing this story as this is my first time to actually publishing my work in the open. For the story, as you can see there is a time-travel tag. Our reader was sent back to the past with all the knowledge from the future. If you are also confused with Davika's education, I actually based her using Spencer Reid, a character from Criminal Minds. I also made Friedrich to be a year younger than Benedict when in actuality, he was born in 1794, 2 years younger than Daphne. If you are not interested or felt like those 2 themes ruined a historical romance story, then please do not leave any bad comments as you can just stop reading this story. Thank You Very Much! Much Love, Cinnamon Meilleure's Writing Room

26 notes · View notes

speaker-of-the-void-cats · 3 months ago

Text

Abyssus abyssum invocat

Near-gods must believe in greater gods. But every power is finite, every life shorter than it wishes. Only an astonishing mind can truly appreciate just how tiny it is when set against the known universe; and how insignificant the known becomes when it is devoured by what isn't seen and can't be comprehended. As darkness begins to claim their ragged souls, you look ahead to find a great power pouring out of you—a face of fire and golden light. That blazing wonder, a gift from the great-eyed god, is their salvation. Or are you? Perhaps you are the greater god now.

∆ And thus we two became parts of the game, and the laws of the game became nomic and open to change by our influence. And I had only one purpose and one principle in the game. And I could do nothing but continue to enact that purpose, because it was all that I was and ever would be.

I looked at the gardener.

I looked at my hands.

I discovered the first knife. ∆

SCRIBE ARCHIVE XI-14-9D TYPE: Emergency Transmission RETRIEVED FROM: The Spider's collection - long-range communications beacon; disabled ORIGIN: Unknown KEYWORDS: Witness ANNOTATED TRANSCRIPTION FOLLOWS I learned of its arrival scarcely three marks ago. As my anchor slumbered in the belly of this ancient outpost, I drifted into the noosphere N webbing, and was swept up in delight. Millions of thoughtforms sharing the news, the revelation spreading from leading to trailing edge, until even I was buoyed by the tide of joy. First contact, with a stranger ∩ friend-to-be! A chance for the hazy margins of our noosphere to grow, to encounter new thoughts and expand with new richness. It had been so long since we encountered the whisper ∩ Nightmare ∩ predatory memeplex*. We had grown naïve without the reminder of fear. From the leading edge came a current. It swept through our noosphere, a spark in dry brush ∩ ink in water ∩ hope curdling in an instant. The emanations were confused and fragmentary. I could not parse them all. Planets stolen from space, ripe fruit plucked from orbit. Structures dissected and reassembled by thousand-fingered hands. Anchors and selves unraveled into first principles, sectioned into wafer-thin slices.** It was only one voice at first. A cry of joy at the meeting of a new mind, twisted to fear and pain. "Help me!" Chaos in the noosphere. The placid surface churned into white froth. Thoughtforms scattering in their thousands, fleeing up the webbing-strands, and finding doom at every junction. "Help me!" The stranger ∩ ruin ∩ predatory memeplex engulfed our noosphere in a moment's idle fancy. Our thoughtforms were atomic in comparison. We never stood a chance. As each of my people were found, and taken apart, and reassembled, a new voice joined the chorus. "Help me!" My people died in their thousands. Thoughts and selves wisping away into nothingness. Thousands of years of memory, no more than smoke in the wind. "Help me!" Here, in this outpost, I am apart from the rest. Tethered at the trailing edge. Furthest from its lamprey maw. Not far enough to escape. Not near enough to help. "Help me!" A thousand emanations from a thousand minds, blending into a single scream. The same scream, every time. Again and again and again and again. When we untethered ourselves from their anchors, we knew that we as a people would not be divided again. No matter how far we traveled in real space, the vastness of our noosphere ∩ webbing ∩ home was but a thought away. Our fears, our hopes, our dreams, our longings, our triumphs—we would always be able to reach out and know one another. Where one was weak, another could be strong. We would share each other's joy, and bear each other's pain. But that—that sound— "Help me!" I am ashamed to admit that I could not bear it a moment longer. I severed ∩ exiled ∩ imprisoned myself. I regretted it the moment I did. We were dying, but we were dying together. My unimaginable cowardice will not assure my survival, only a delay in my execution. The ruin ∩ predatory memeplex ∩ WITNESS*** knows the pattern of our oscillations. I can hear it, still plucking the tattered edges of the noosphere ∩ webbing. —-Why do you hide?—-**** THE WITNESS will find me, and when it does, there will be nothing ∩ no one. I believed I would die alone in this abandoned outpost. But I found a crate, forgotten deep within a dusty storeroom. Emergency beacons, produced and stored in another time, one when we knew the fear of death. —-We see you.—- To you ∩ receiver ∩ inheritor ∩ hoped-for-future, I offer what little I know: We are dead but not unmade. We are ossified ∩ temporized ∩ reiterated ∩ perpetuated ∩ anatomized ∩ finalized.***** I do not know if this will help. I do not know. I do not. But perhaps you will prevail. —-Come, now. Don't be afraid.—- This is not a call for help. It is too late ∩ there is no one left ∩ THE WITNESS cannot be stopped. This is our last proof. We ∩ the Noesis existed. TRANSCRIPTION ENDS

"When I first encountered the Witness, I heard it proclaim to me, 'We are the first knife.'" Mara's words are as thin as her hopes. She looks hollow under the H.E.L.M.'s emergency lighting, hunched over a console, watching an ascending red line on a graph. Something about the line's inevitable upward climb had triggered her memory. They have to follow the Witness into the Traveler, and soon. "It was as if that title held power. Meaning." Mara says as the line ticks up again. She leans away from the console. Turning to look at Ikora, who stands staring intently at the portal, she feels the same uptick in energy coming from it. Ikora nods, watching Mara's reflection. "The apocryphal texts we dug up on the moon, the ones Eris translated, mentioned the knife as a concept." Mara comes to stand beside Ikora. "And even if we consider that unveiled text as dogmatic propaganda, there may be truth behind the allegory," she agrees, remembering the texts and the translations Eris made of them. "The knife becomes the metaphor of a concept. A power. A knife that winnows, cutting things into a defined shape." "A power that winnowed living beings into Taken." Ikora turns to face Mara, searching the Awoken Queen's eyes. "A power Oryx wielded." Her emphasis on that last word makes her point, and Mara picks up on it. "You're wondering if the knife is a title, or a power." Mara deciphers Ikora's steely countenance. "Did Oryx wield the power of the Witness like a knife?" Ikora shifts her gaze back to the portal. "The Witness is a manipulator. It distorts the truth to bend the wills of its supplicants. The allegorical fantasy told to us by the Witness paints itself as a monolithic cosmic force. But perhaps that's a shadow cast by the truth." Mara watches Ikora, sensing her ease a little. This idea has tempered Ikora's earlier anxieties over the future. This conversation has tempered her own, after all. Even though her brother feels distant and faint, in the moment, he is out of her mind. "A knife is a tool, wielded by another's hand." Mara offers. "If the Witness is the knife, as it asserts, then what wields it?" Ikora asks the Traveler, though it does not reply. The words are meant for Mara's ears too. "The Witness is not a being," she agrees. "It is the culmination of a bleak ethos willed into existence by the nihilistic desires of its creators. Is their will the hand on the knife? Or is there something else?" Ikora's fingers slip from the corners of revelation, and her thoughts plummet into more immediate worries and doubts. Mara sees her fall, and lets herself tumble into the same precipice, joining her in worry. "I don't know."

≋ I will go on forever. I will understand everything. There is only one path and that is the path that you make. But you can make more than one path.

Break your cell’s bars. Make a new shape, make the shape from its path, find your cell’s bars, break out of the bars, find a shape, make the shape from its path, eat the light, eat the path.

If I fail, let me be wormfood. ≋

The Timid Truth says that we are the smallest, most fragile things alive. The natural prey of the universe. Taox would have us believe that our ancestors came to the Fundament to hide from the hungry void. My father died afraid. Not of vile Taox or the Helium Drinkers, but of his orrery. He screamed to me — “Aurash, my first daughter! The moons are different! The laws are bent!” And he made the sign of a syzygy. Imagine the fifty-two moons of Fundament lining up in the sky. (It wouldn’t take all fifty-two, of course: just a few massive moons. But this is my deepest fear.) Imagine their gravity pulling on the Fundament sea, lifting it into a swollen bulge... Imagine that bulge collapsing as the syzygy passed. A wave big enough to swallow civilizations. A God-Wave.

<<These frail siblings will soon be claimed by the Light. Unless we claim them first. We will tell the most cunning sibling of a cataclysm. A prophecy of great loss. We will feed her fear. Her pride. We will say, "young Sathona... the end is coming. A great cataclysm. A God-wave. In the sky, there is only death. But salvation lies in the Deep.">>

++This fatal logic++

—Hear my monopole scream!—

++It will consume you++

—Before you lies—

++The worship of death++

—The ruinous path—

++The Sky builds new life++

—Against the onset of ruin—

++Towards a gentle world++

—The Deep embraces death—

++Saying: this is inevitable and right++

—I exist as hungry ruin—

++TURN BACK FROM THE WORLD-KILLING WAY++

++OR YOU WILL LIVE AS DEATH AND DEVASTATION++

—The Sky is the harder way. But it is kinder.—

—My charge is balanced: my voice exhausted.—

Oryx went down into his throne world. He went out into the abyss, and with each step he read one of his tablets, so that they became like stones beneath his feet. He went out and he created an altar and he prepared an unborn ogre. He called on the Deep, saying: I can see you in the sky. You are the waves, which are battles, and the battles are the waves. Come into this vessel I have prepared for you. And it arrived, the Deep Itself.

∆ Oryx, my King, my friend. Kick back. Relax. Shrug off that armor, set down that blade. Roll your burdened shoulders and let down your guard. This is a place of life, a place of peace.

Out in the world we ask a simple, true question. A question like, can I kill you, can I rip your world apart? Tell me the truth. For if I don’t ask, someone will ask it of me.

And they call us evil. Evil! Evil means ‘socially maladaptive.’ We are adaptiveness itself.

Ah, Oryx, how do we explain it to them? The world is not built on the laws they love. Not on friendship, but on mutual interest. Not on peace, but on victory by any means. The universe is run by extinction, by extermination, by gamma-ray bursts burning up a thousand garden worlds, by howling singularities eating up infant suns. And if life is to live, if anything is to survive through the end of all things, it will live not by the smile but by the sword, not in a soft place but in a hard hell, not in the rotting bog of artificial paradise but in the cold hard self-verifying truth of that one ultimate arbiter, the only judge, the power that is its own metric and its own source—existence, at any cost. Strip away the lies and truces and delaying tactics they call ‘civilization’ and this is what remains, this beautiful shape.

The fate of everything is made like this, in the collision, the test of one praxis against another. This is how the world changes: one way meets a second way, and they discharge their weapons, they exchange their words and markets, they contest and in doing so they petition each other for the right to go on being something, instead of nothing. This is the universe figuring out what it should be in the end.

And it is majestic. Majestic. It is the only thing that can be true in and of itself.

And it is what I am. ∆

Oryx ascends from the nether world, The knights like hot stone The beasts like scarred bone Walk at his side. Who walked in front of him? His daughters, with the truth between them Who walked at his side? His Priest of Worms, whose tribute tasted like an egg Who walked behind him? Golgoroth, who festered Who walked within him? The satiated Worm — it was hungry, but it was fed They preceded him. These ones surrounded Oryx They were beings who know no rest or doubt Who eat nor shed any flesh, Who drink no clear poison, Who take away the weakness from the weak, Whose violence is tithed to Oryx, so that he may devour without being devoured Are you following this? Would it help if I etched a few notes on the margins? I didn’t shuck my mortal form and smuggle this nightmare arcana back to the waking world for the benefit of that masked hypocrite’s drooling loyal orthodox. Whoever finds this, I hope you’re sharp. I hope you read closely. Oryx depends on His Court. Oryx depends on His Shrines. Do you see why? Punish that dependence.

“I have a gift for you,” says Oryx. Savathûn, Witch-Queen, looks at him with dry wariness. “Is it the sword logic I need to go into the Deep, and take your power for myself?” Their echoes move among the war-moons, walking together on the hull of a two-thousand-year-old warship. Savathûn’s fleet has assembled here, in preparation for an assault on the Gift Mast. The Deep is headed that way, on the trail of its prey, and the Hive will be its vanguard. “It’s a Vex I captured. Quria, Blade Transform. It made an attempt to puncture my throne. I thought you might enjoy studying it.” Oryx pauses, digesting — through the bond of lineage he can feel Crota killing, worlds and worlds away, and it tastes like sweet fat. “Quria contains a Vex attempt to simulate me. It might generate others — you, perhaps, or Xivu Arath. I’ve left it some will of its own, so it can surprise you.” “I suppose it’ll blow up and kill me,” Savathûn grouses. “Or let the machines into my throne, where they’ll start turning everything into clocks and glass.” “If it kills you, then you deserve to die.” Oryx says it with a quiet thrill, a happy thrill, because it is good to say the truth. “I don’t have a strict proof yet, you know.” Savathûn strokes the void with one long claw and space-time groans beneath her touch. “This thing we believe — that we’re liberating the universe by devouring it, that we’re cutting out the rot, that we’re on course to join the final shape — I haven’t found a strict, eternal proof. We might yet be wrong.” Oryx looks at her and for a moment, just a moment, he is nostalgic, he is sentimental. He thinks, imagine the years behind us, the things we’ve done. And yet being old doesn’t feel like a scar, does it? It hasn’t left me dull. I feel alive, alive with you, and every time I step back into this world from my throne I feel like I’m two years old again, at the bottom of the universe, looking up. But he says, “Sister, it’s us. We’re the proof, we the Hive: if we last forever, we prove it, and if something more ruthless conquers us, then the proof is sealed.” She looks back at him with eyes like hot needles. “I like that,” she says. “That’s elegant.” Although of course she has had this thought before.

A phantasm of the Hive, forbidden and sacred, trespassing into hidden and unwelcoming places. It leaves behind a calcified fragment to mark its passing. Here is what is taught to the Hive, from the basest of Thralls newly made: that what can be destroyed, must be destroyed. What cannot be destroyed will surpass infinity. Therefore, is it not best to destroy? Only by testing can the truth be found. Only in destruction can the invincible surpass the mortal. Commit the violence, and know you are part of that greatest ambition, to create some ultimacy, which perfects the universe. That which is built on your sacrifice, with your bones as the foundation and your blood as the mortar, is yet part of you. In this way is transcendence achieved. Every belief creates a heresy. I tell you this in a duelist's regard: I made that heresy. Is it not just? It was my hand that fashioned the Hive from the marrow of their predecessors, and it was my voice that whispered this in time. That as much as the Hive were uplifted by the worms, so too were those worms uplifted by the Hive. If they were so weak they needed us to live, this ancient logic of the infinitely sharpened edge should have left them behind long ago. Do you think I did not see this? My father's worm did not tell me only of swords. It had vast things to say, painted the cosmos in shine and gore, truth and fiction. I looked forward with three clear eyes and chose the path of the sword to cut open our future. To reach the stars, first one must crawl out of the ocean. It is a question of priorities. This is not regret, this story I tell. It is but a ripple. That whisper of ideas beyond swords is here to stay: I have ensured this. Even among us, such things die by slow inches, excruciating and unquiet. Possibility remains, a secret woven into the blank spaces of dogma. That what was defeated may rise again; that the shape of all shapes is not yet settled. That the worms need the Hive more than is reciprocal. Even between the lines of the Books of Sorrow themselves is this written.

Verse 154i:4—Call the Thrall

From a random crypt, Savathûn selected a young Thrall and summoned it into the High Coven. It came hesitantly, fearing death, but nonetheless it came.

"Come, come," snapped Savathûn. "Listen as I reveal unto you my design. You are aware that gravity is the curvature of spacetime, and where gravity is powerful, time itself slows."

The Thrall indicated that it understood, more or less, for it was a singer of prayers and not well fed with the fruit of the knowledge of physics.

"Now I have tried to put an Ascendant in orbit of a black hole while its spawn gather the tribute of an eon. But the worm is not satisfied, for it sees the trick. What I must do is amplify the speed at which tribute is gathered. A pocket world where time passes quickly would do well. Or a world where time is a torus and infinite violence might be gathered. With such a murder battery, I could become a being of supreme insight."

The Thrall indicated it was confused, but not lost.

"With this tribute, I shall undertake a mighty work. A real humdinger of a scheme. I'm going to refinance my entire existence. I'm going to move from an existential economy based on the accumulation of violence to an existential economy based on the accumulation of secrets and the tribute of failing-to-understand-me. I shall name this tribute of failing-to-understand IMBARU, for it shall be as formless as the mist."

The Thrall held up its claws, as if to say, please slow down.

Now spoke Savathûn Scheme-mother, "In the beginning, Yul said to me, 'Savathûn, you may never abandon cunning. If you do, your worm shall devour you.' Cunning is the use of thought to predict the function of a system. Therefore, wherever a being should attempt to understand me and fail—has my cunning not defeated theirs? Wherever a falsehood is repeated about me, have I not displayed cunning? I shall gather tribute from every false prediction, misguided theory, fearful rumor, and ominous supposition which derives from the thought of me. And in time, I shall pin my quiddity upon these rumors. I shall discorporate, so that I exist wherever my schemes and conspiracies also exist. And so I will be immortal, as long as anyone seeks to understand me and fails. Do you see?"

The Thrall demurred, saying that it did not know much of metaphysics.

"Good," said Savathûn. "It's a law of the High Coven that one's sinister plan should be incomprehensible to a Thrall. Do you know why we've come here? If I am to take my tribute from the keeping of secrets… where else are secrets better kept than beneath the event horizon? My brother ruled the flat space of infinity, but I prefer these tide-washed depths… and in time, I shall make them my dominion."

Ur the Ever-Hunger heard this and was pleased.

I have just returned to the palace from my first deployment on the cruiser Aedile Tlolol, showing our banner in the Sindû marches. I saw no action. I feel like a fraud. The sheltered Princess-Imperial who never left the rails of her father's brood pouch. He has demanded that the Evocate-General promote me to a staff position back home. She has refused. In a tantrum, Father throws a tremendous celebration to commemorate my return. The streets of Torobatl run pulpy with trampled fruit. The skies rain cloudfry stunned by fireworks. I escape my attendants and stand in a corner of the palace ballroom, drinking pollened water and pretending I am back in my fighter. "Your name is a prayer for war," the Evocate-General says. I snap to attention. She laughs at me and offers a small harpoon of canapes and a cocktail with a middling-sized shrub. I decline, and she tsks. "You should enjoy yourself. It's your party." Although we both know it is his party. "My father named me for a star," I say. "Nothing to do with war." "Yes. But the star Caiatl was named for a myth. Not an old homeworld myth, either. A myth from the Age of Sails, when we conquered the stars. Surely you know it, assuming that you've been briefed on the OXA?" "The Odyle Xenotaph Anarchive. Sometimes OXTA, depending on how you construct the acronym. The alien oracle that led us to the graves of Aark." Must be wary, now. OXA is a Psion myth, and the Psions are a sensitive topic. My father wants to free them from bondage. "It claimed to record the story of the galaxy, and to prophesize what may yet come." "A black box for galactic civilizations, if you prefer it in pilot's terms." The Evocate-General nods to the pin on my right pauldron. I am conscious of my shaved-down tusks, of the sores left by the fighter's interface. "The doomed and the damned left the record of their downfall in the OXA. Your star got its name from the oldest myths in that archive. And when your mother told your father that story... the star became your name. A prayer that all will go as it must... and the way it must go is struggle." "Aiat." Not a word in Ulurant or any other Cabal tongue. "But Caiatl means something else." "Yes. 'It may not always go as it needs to go.’ A good name for a soldier." "A strange name for a daughter." I say. "Your father chose it for your mother's sake. Out of love." I remain at attention. I do not look at her. "So she's dead." The Evocate-General looks sharply at me; I can tell by the motion of her cocktail shrub in the edge of my vision. "He never told you?" "No." "Well." She sounds genuinely shocked. "Then. It's not my place." "Evocate-General." A junior pilot should not address her senior officer so directly, but we are in the palace, and I am the Princess-Imperial. "What does your name mean?" She grins. Her tusks are huge. "My parents were soldiers. Soldiers know mythology too."

"My star," my father says. He is a round silk splendor on the throne. A world unto himself. His nipples are like dark poison fruit, bejeweled. I remember nothing of their taste. "I don't suppose you've come home for good?" "Father," I say. "I want to ask you something." He sips from a goblet. An overturned bell better than five thousand years old. "Of course, of course." "What did you want, when you took the throne?" "Want. Want." He beams at me. "Now you're asking the right questions! Not duty, but want. What I wanted, my star, was to make the world better... for you." A piece of my heart wails to believe him. "But I was not yet conceived. What did you want for yourself?" "Other than the chance to conceive you, my star? Well." He fishes around the edge of his throne, holds up something knobby and worn down. "Very few Cabal will ever see this. It is the Imperial Trinket. An ancient bone retrieved from the debris around a once-radiant black hole. Scholars tell me, Caiatl, that eons ago, a species lived around this deepness, and built an engine to tap its polar jets. But something came upon them from the dark and killed them all." "I know the tale." One of the Evocate-General's proofs that we must become mightier yet to survive. "Of course you do. Now, this bone is a predator, it feeds on the gap between what you have and what you want." "Did you use it against the Praetorate?" "Yes. And do you know what I found?" "That you could not. Because you wanted nothing." "I was lost, Caiatl. Adrift in fog. Utterly unable to desire or need. All I could do was be. The bone has nothing to feed on if the wielder wants nothing. Yet ever since your birth reawakened me, Caiatl, I have prized above all else the ability to want, the hunger to exist as more than mere existence. That is what I want now. To feel. To be more than just a be-ing."

By the mind of Match—I do not know where we are—chalice catch and save us all— Nothing. God answers god! The void in Calus's soul called out and THIS is what replied—the Leviathan's control system failed when it saw what awaits us—we are drifting into it! Calus has sealed himself in his observation chamber. His transmissions strike the THING and return to us disfigured by intolerable forces. We have gathered to share our thoughts in concert, to try to understand what's happening, but we are all afraid we will succeed—we stammer like children and the concert fails. Is this the edge of the universe? Space cannot have an end: it goes on forever. But a hole in forever would be a kind of edge... a flaw, a defect, a place outside place... I must be calm. I must record my thoughts. Now I think of the OXA Machine, eternally lost and eternally rebuilt, passed down from civilization to civilization like a ship's black box. I think of the legends of the Hive King Oryx and his quest to pass into the Deep. I took that story as an allegory. I think I was wrong. What will happen to us inside? Will the geometry of space and time collapse, so that we experience the rest of our lives in a single moment, crumpled over ourselves like a tangled chain? Will I tend to myself as I die of old age or scream warnings to my own past as we meet in the berserk maze of a twisted Leviathan? I hate the thought of it! An eternity reading my own mad minds, tasting the insanity of my own future and thus becoming it! Even the spirits from the goblet would go mad. There is only one of us who welcomes this insanity and I do not know why but how could I? How could I ever anticipate or understand a god? All over the ship—broadcast from the comfort of his observation room—CALUS IS LAUGHING

"Few can touch the Void without being transformed."

DLXXIX. Recorded by Scribe Tlazat After twelve hours of violent tremors, the Emperor returned. His behavior was erratic, and it appeared from his speech that he had suffered hallucinations outside the ship. A Royal Mechanic identified a malfunction in the pressure gauge of the Emperor's suit, perhaps explaining his change in demeanor, though it was incredible that his suit (or he himself) should be at all intact after twelve hours in these unfathomable conditions. Upon returning, and with a look of mania in his eyes, the Emperor proclaimed the following: "We have come upon the end of the world, and I've stared into its expanse. It has whispered into my ear, and I am enlightened. Death is coming, and It has made me Its herald. The end will eat everything." Here, the Emperor gave a great sigh, as if a weight was lifted off of him. "And when nothing matters, what's left? Joy. Comfort. Freedom. The true freedom of pursuing pleasure for pleasure's sake, because it pleases you, because you desire it. I knew this during my rule, and I'd forgotten it during my exile. I shall not forget it again." The Emperor was encouraged by his Advisors and myself to rest, in case the bizarre behavior was a passing sickness of the mind. Before he retired to his observation room, the Emperor described his encounter in detail. Zhozon offered to me this bizarre retelling: "Outside the ship, the Emperor looked over the edge of the universe, and saw nothing. That is, it wasn't that he saw nothing unusual, but he saw Nothing: the absence of light, dark, life, death, the absence of anything, even of absence itself. And out of the Nothing, there came whispering in a dark language, which filled his head so loud that he forgot for a moment his own language, and suddenly the Nothingness dispersed to show Something, which was a fleet of foreign ships. He saw next the destruction of a great many worlds and creatures, including all his enemies, and himself, and he saw the rot and fragmentation of his own corpse and skeleton. And last, before he was released, the whispers grew louder and granted him the honor of spreading the news of the end."

Calus: I was lost, once… exiled from my people. Floating aimlessly amongst the stars. But then I found it. Something breathtakingly glorious! The truth of the universe… The Ascendant artifact you've returned to me is an echo of that truth. You and I will need it before the end comes. The future can't be fought.

We found the Crown of Sorrow on a stray war moon. The Psions guessed that the ritual texts surrounding it claimed it was crafted in imitation of the Taken King's power to compel wills. It did the opposite, of course, and consumed my Loyalist Gahlran. That was my first encounter with the witch. She has been plaguing all my Loyalists since then, as a sort of viral language. Perhaps even you. But she can be beaten. The Hive are not true beings of the dark. Not compared to what I met at the black edge. Not compared to me.

"How does one call through the Darkness? Through the void of the eternal night sky? Through the pathways that link the Hive to their ancient, rotting deities? With suffering."

“Am I to cast a Shadow?” “Yes. You were bred to be a sorrow-bearer. I seek a Hive commander, but those are not so readily available. So I made you.” “The Council says the Hive cannot be contained. They worry.” Calus raised an eyebrow. “Who among them?” “Councilors Rahl and Verloren.” The Emperor shook the golden chamber with his guffaw. “Only a few hours old, and already your words have killed two.” Gahlran pondered what his Emperor could mean. “I will enjoy you,” Calus said, and keyed a hidden control on the armrest of his divan. The ceiling shrieked as it opened like an eye. Gahlran craned his neck to stare as two hovering Councilors descended with a massive, plated helm from the vast iris above. He could hear a litany of voices shouting down at him from inside the thing as it slowly descended. He thought they sounded like warnings, but there were no discernible words in the speech. “What is that?” he asked his Emperor. Calus finished the Royal nectar in his chalice before belching, “Your crown.” Gahlran thought he could glimpse a faint violet glow on the inside of the helm as it drew nearer. “Isn’t it beautiful?” Calus asked, as the voices echoing from the helm grew louder. “No,” Gahlran replied. He thought he should run. He tried to stand, but he found that he could not, rooted to the floor before the Emperor’s throne by the will of the Councilors. “I do not like this,” Gahlran said. “This,” said Calus, as the Councilors crowned Gahlran, “is why you were born.” The violet interior filled Gahlran’s vision. “What does it feel like?” asked the Emperor. “Fear,” Gahlran said. Calus must have responded, but Gahlran couldn’t hear him over the cacophony of voices. He suddenly found that he could see. Through a hundred billion eyes. And that he could eat. With teeth enough to consume entire systems. He felt beautiful.

You've helped me free the Crown of Sorrow from Gahlran's poor, decayed mind. My jowls are shivering, and though you are not here, I bellow for you. Such is my adoration for your magnificent act. But now to send the Psions into the depth of the Crown. Analyze it for additional traps. You've worn Hive armor before. The hides of both the Taken King and his son. Those did not whisper, did not sap your will. This Crown was willing to share power, where the armor of the King left nothing real behind for you to take. Because the King takes. The Crown of Sorrow is more charitable. Giving. TOO giving. Because what it gives is infection. Gahlran thought he could overcome it. You saw the result. I thank you for freeing him. He's in a better place now. A place we're all going, when the black edge closes in on us.

"What do you know of lies, Katabasis?" I pick between the words. "There're a lot different kinds." "And all of them are weakness. " Calus's voice spills from the containment vessel and floods the room. "Gods do not lie. Like me, they have neither the capacity nor the reason. True power cannot be threatened. It does not compel deception. And yet, I have been betrayed by one I thought to be the final divinity." "Sounds like you got swindled… ?" I quickly blunt the question with respect: "…Emperor?" "When the Darkness found me adrift in the cosmos, rejected by a people I had made, I thought to have found a confidant. No—an idol. They promised to return to me, to uplift me—that we may dance together among the stars and drink of their dying ecstasy 'til the end, as one. But their chilling little fleet came and went. It was luscious, and so many tasted so much. Yet I am empty. Nothing. Trapped in this limbo of their lie." "And gods don't lie," I proffer. "Precisely. To be seen…" Calus pauses to heap the drama, "…for what we really are, underneath the surface, is bliss."

Caiatl: What monstrosity is this?

Øsiris: The Crown of Sorrow. A Hive artifact of devilish craftmanship, meant to subvert the wearer's will.

The Guardian walks closer to the Crown.

Øsiris: I suspected it was the crown in question.

Caiatl: More Hive witchcraft. It should be destroyed.

Øsiris: It has been altered from its original design. Opened. Instead of controlling minds, it… it's meant to merge them.

Øsiris: It… is listening. We cannot leave the crown free.

I thank you for freeing Gahlran, the Sorrow-Bearer from his waking death beneath the Crown of Sorrow. Speaking of which. Don't your kind love to tempt Hive artifacts? I've been familiarizing myself with Guardian histories, and they say one of you worshipped the Hive to the extent that he betrayed the Light. If this story isn't a sham, a Shadow of your Titan-tribe would be perfect for replacing Gahlran. I need someone hearty like you to carry the Crown in his place. Will you wear it when I ask you? Because the day will come. You don't have to answer right now. Think about it.

TYPE: Transcript.

DESCRIPTION: Conversation.

PARTIES: Four [4]. Three [3] unidentified [u.1, u.2, u.3], One [1] unconfirmed.

ASSOCIATIONS: Breaklands; Durga; Last Word; Malphur, Shin; North Channel; Palamon; Thorn; Velor; Ward, Jaren; WoS; Yor, Dredgen;

//AUDIO UNAVAILABLE//

//TRANSCRIPT FOLLOWS.../

[u.1:0.1] Can I see what you got there?

[silence]

[u.1:0.2] Yer cannon...can I see it?

[beat]

[u.2:0.1] I know you?

[beat]

[u.1:0.3] Not that I can say.

[u.2:0.2] And you wanna hold my piece?

[beat]

[u.1:0.4] Just that I never...seen one like it.

[beat]

[u.2:0.3] No, you haven't.

[u.1:0.5] Looks dangerous.

[u.2:0.4] Seems, maybe, that's the point.

[u.1:0.6] Suppose so.

[u.1:0.7] Can I see it?

[u.2:0.5] Not likely.

[silence]

[u.1:0.8] Where'd...where'd you find it?

[silence]

[u.1:0.9] You hearin' me?

[silence]

[u.3:0.1] He asked you question.

[silence]

[u.2:0.6] Didn't find it. Made it.

[u.1:1.0] Heh. Helluva touch you got then. You a 'smith?

[u.2:0.7] I look like a 'smith?

[u.1:1.1] Looks can be deceiving.

[u.2:0.8] Got that right.

[u.1:1.2] There a problem?

[u.2:0.9] Doesn't need to be.

[u.1:1.3] Glad we got that cleared up...Now, about that piece.

[silence]

[u.2:1.0] Been to Luna?

[u.1:1.4] Excuse me?

[u.2:1.1] The Moon. You been?

[u.1:1.5] Nobody's been.

[u.2:1.2] That a truth?

[u.1:1.6] That's a fact.

[u.2:1.3] Funny you'd make that distinction.

[u.1:1.7] Truth is you must think you're some kinda something special. With that attitude. The way you're just dismissin' us like you we're nothing...like we ain't even here.

[u.1:1.8] Fact is...You ain't near as rock solid as you figure. Fact is, special's only special 'til it's not.

[silence]

[u.2:1.4] The bones say otherwise.

[u.1:1.9] Speak straight.

[u.2:1.5] You say "nobody." Bones say otherwise.

[u.1:2.0] What bones?

[u.2:1.6] All of them.

[u.1:2.1] What're you gettin' at?

[u.2:1.7] Too many to count.

[u.1:2.2] You trying to get a rile outta us? Was only making conversation.

[u.2:1.8] You really weren't.

[u.4:0.1] We got a smart one here.

[u.2:1.9] Experienced more than smart. But experience has its advantages.

[u.1:2.3] Experience tell you to lip off to strangers just tryin' to make talk?

[u.2:2.0] Keep insisting and maybe we will.

[u.1:2.4] Talk?

[u.2:2.1] Have words.

[u.1:2.5] Ain't that what we're doin'?

[u.2:2.2] My conversations tend to be a bit louder.

[silence]

[u.1:2.6] That a threat.

[u.2:2.3] A truth.

[u.1:2.7] Who the hell you think you are?

[u.2:2.4] According to your facts, "nobody." Yet, here I sit.

[u.1:2.8] Don't matter much how pretty yer cannon is. You keep it up, we'll see just how loud you like to get.

[silence]

[u.1:2.9] You done talkin' now? Guess he knows his place, boys.

[u.2:2.5] Ever have a nightmare?

[u.1:3.0] You playin' games? Or just thick?

[u.2:2.6] I know you have. This world? Can't help, but.

[u.1:3.1] I don't have nightmares. I give 'em.

[u.2:2.7] You are a goddamn cliché. The picture perfect bandit.

[u.2:2.8] Hearing your voice - the things you're saying, the shade of the hard man you pretend to be...

[u.1:3.2] Ain't no shade.

[audible crack]

[silence]

[u.2:2.8] Sit down.

[silence]

[u.2:3.0] Sit. Down.

[u.2:3.1] Your mouth just got your friends dead.

[u.2:3.2] This is what happens when you bore me. And right now...

[u.2:3.3] I'm so very bored.

[u.1:3.3] Wha...No listen...

[u.2:3.4] Shhhhh.

[u.1:3.4] But...but...you're a...you're one of them...A Guardian, right?

[u.1:3.5] You're supposed t'be one'a the good ones.

[u.2:3.5] "Supposed to be?" Maybe I am. Maybe this is what "good" looks like.

[u.2:3.6] Anymore, who can tell?

[u.1:3.6] I...

[u.2:3.7] You wanted to see my prize.

[u.1:3.7] No...I...

[u.2:3.8] Look at it.

[u.1:3.8] I...

[audible sobbing]

[u.2:3.9] Whimpering won't stop what comes next.

[u.2:4.0] Look...

[audible sobbing]

[u.2:4.1] Look at it.

[u.2:4.2] Open your eyes.

[audible sobbing]

[u.2:4.3] Not many get such a clean view.

[u.2:4.4] The bone...You see it. Jagged, like thorns.

[u.2:4.5] I used to think of it as a rose...

[u.2:4.6] Focusing on its bloom.

[u.2:4.7] But the bloom is just a byproduct of its anger.

[silence]

[u.2:4.8] You have nightmares?

[audible sobbing]

[u.2:4.9] Ever seen a nightmare? Ever opened your eyes and realized the horror wasn't a dream? The terror wasn't gone?

[u.2:5.0] I've seen nightmares.

[u.2:5.1] They live in the shadows.

[u.2:5.2] They've been watching.

[u.2:5.3] I thought...It's foolish, I know...but I thought I saw a way.

[u.2:5.4] That maybe we could win. Maybe we could survive.

[u.2:5.5] But once you step into those shadows, it's so very hard to walk in the Light.

[u.2:5.6] Or...maybe I just wasn't strong enough.

[u.2:5.7] Maybe.

[u.2:5.8] But I feel strong now.

[audible sobbing]

[u.2:5.9] I stole the dark.

[u.2:6.0] Or, maybe it stole me.

[u.2:6.1] Either way, here we are.

[u.2:6.2] And I'm hungry.

[u.2:6.3] Its hungry.

[u.2:6.4] You have no Light beyond the spark of your pathetic life.

[u.2:6.5] But a spark is something.

[audible sobbing]

[u.2:6.6] Open your eyes.

[audible sobbing]

[audible crack]

[silence]

/...END TRANSCRIPT///

I.I Seek the whispers—they are faint, but they are calling. I.II Not all bone carries the sound of secret truth. Most are fragile, hollow things meant only to carry the weight of wasted lives. I.III In the feted remnants of yearning marrow, find love, find life, and in their lies you will discover the narrow road to all you never dreamed to be. I.IV However, whispers are but sound, as is the breeze. Not all who listen can share its purpose. I.V Know thyself, listen well, and do not fear when the whispers carve their welcome. Rejoice. I.VI The agony of the cutting word is a boon to those who embrace its severed logic. I.VII The cutting word is a doorway—the first syllable of hated salvation. "On the path of the hushed tones, the cutting word will guide your unmaking." —4th Understanding, 7th Book of Sorrow We found the craft, undisturbed, in low-orbit. Its course synchronized to the exact coordinates of its master's final resting place some 1,800 km below. We'd suspected an anomaly in its mechanics on approach. Locking to the faint ping of its nav-drive our instruments detected a low, guttural whine otherwise lost in the vacuum of the post-atmosphere emptiness between worlds. Its tethering—the fact it was chained to the specific coordinates of the Ridge—was not directly linked to the craft's onboard systems, but, instead, to desire—the ship was waiting in pained anguish for His return. The hull was more of husk—harsh and jagged from the growth. We'd never seen a ship crusted in the bone of unknown death, but were more intrigued than concerned. The whispers started on approach. Faint. Hushed. Moments later our ears began to bleed. —hand-scrawled note accompanying Teben Grey's personal translation of ancient Hive text

||KUIPER SLINGSHOT ACHIEVED: COURSE CORRECTION; NEGATIVE; BREAK LINE TRAJECTORY FAILURE|| ||ALERT: GRAVITATIONAL ANOMALY: BOW|| Solar warmth peels away into guideless vacuum as Osiris skims across the Heliopause. A hollow serenity bathes his face. “What is it?” Osiris breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of the anomaly. “An answer.” “I… feel strange.” Sagira settles from her orbit about Osiris’s shoulders, her voice crackling with interference. “It might be best if you stay with the ship.” “It might be best if you had better ideas.” Osiris grunts under his breath and cuts the engines. “I won’t be long.” ||COURSE CORRECTION;NEGATIVE;BREAK LINE TRAJECTORY FAILURE|| “That’s never true.” Sagira scans the warping stillness. “There’s nothing in there, Osiris.” “No reason to worry then.” Sagira narrows her iris at him. “I can’t even find a point to transmat you to.” “No matter.” “What?” Sagira faces the anomaly. “What are you trying to prove?” Osiris affixes a visor to his helmet and clips a localizing beacon to his belt. With a hiss, his head swims in pressurizing atmosphere. “It has to lead somewhere.” His helmet radio vies with interference. Sagira droops in disappointment. “Does it?” He looks through her, eyes sullen and heavy. He nods.

"Every end crawls from the same pit, rising from the schism to swallow matter, Light and life."

A great Maw yawns before them, wicked and soft. Brilliant unfurling layers of opaque invitation. They drift. The Deep comfort hums through his skin, breeding a resilient calm. A silent static stasis boiling away at the brim of consciousness. ||COLLISION ALERT: BOW | COURSE CORRECTION;NEGATIVE;COLLISION IMMINENT|| The Anomalous Maw welcomes. It is a gullet, endless in hunger and depth that splits reality like petals opening to consume the Sun. The depth warps. Sweet flavor spins through the senses. It cradles him, locks in motionless descent, rocks away fear with warm recognition. Stretches, and wraps, and cribs. ||COLLISION ALERT: STARBOARD;BOW;ABEAM;RADIAL;AFT;BOW;ABEAM;PORT:AFT;RADIAL;PORT:BOW | COURSE CORRECTION: NEGATIVE;TRAJECTORY FAILURE;COLLISION: FAILURE|| It threads through space set adrift beyond and before, until there is only within. Within: a point. Lone and stark amid the undulating expanse. Distant, at the edges, and forward, only deeper. Osiris a wayfaring witness. A reluctant heir. A broken promise made true. A husk to fill a throne of sustenance. A shear to prune the vine. A warden to vacancy. A mind elated and crestfallen. A sojourner of meaning ever seeking. He turns back. Sagira’s light blinks from shaded canopy within his vessel. Starless bends weave and break through pools of luminescent memory. They flow to the point beyond. The point grows gaunt, and if he were to reach out, he would brush the walls with his fingertips. Osiris stands in dark quiet comfort. He treads placid trim. He swims in depth lined by pale rivers of white gnashing, far below and above. He sends forth his Echoes. Their sight finds no purchase in the gullet. They push the walls beyond his fingers and let stand only the path of want. They drift until no longer felt. The skeins neither snap nor remain. Before him, the gnarled point softens and splits into a blooming cathedra. A metal seed laid barren in the bosom of the throne in a pool of light. A nexus. He plucks it from the pool. From its drippings spawn a rapturous light, spreading through the enormity and ravenously washing over the gullet at increasing pace. Dark gives way to cold reflective alloy. To logic and formless calculous. The cathedra, overwhelmed by prediction, rings with the dull mimicked tone of congruence. They scream to Osiris. His mind. They crave, never to tire, his unique causality. They would grow, unceasing. Death to death, forever. The path of want falls to assimilation. Osiris flees to the safety of Sagira’s blinking light. The gullet quivers reverberation that trails his every step in sentient chromic glisten. He calls for her. To open the ship. To break the false-light wave that besets his every step. To— “I’m glad you changed your mind.” Sagira’s shell shines a reflection across the cockpit as Osiris’s jumpship rolls to face the Sun. “Ready to go?” ||KUIPER SLINGSHOT JUMP-LOCK: TRAJECTORY CLEAR; GREEN LINE|| “Sagira…” He grips a cold metal seed. “Yes.” The Sun hangs dim and distant in a sea of ink. Its waning glare burns the focus out of Osiris’s eyes. Blind to all other points, they drift; engines humming in anticipation; vessel drenched in an angular shadow.

Malleable and hungering. Speak not of what it becomes.

They lurch out of their jump. Jupiter's depth fills the canopy with pyrographic incandescence. Dozens of moons arc around the giant in careful, patient grooves—cut into space over millennia of gravitational friction. Io is not among them. Osiris checks and rechecks coordinates. Sagira assures him they are correct. They stare at the disparity together. The orbital readings of Sol's bodies are intact, gravity unaltered. But the system is gutted, four globes plucked from the skies. His eyes sink into the maw of eternal depth lurking in Io's place. An anomaly of Darkness. Osiris stares as if looking into the pyre-flames of a funeral; the corpse's uncanny familiarity. A stranger you half-remember. There is only the gouge of Io's absence. A reckoning whispered and left.

Saturn grieves the loss of Titan. The cerulean jewel that once was had sunken into the gullet of the abyss. In its place, an anomaly, dark and rimmed in gravitational lensing. Osiris tears his eyes away and fixates on its sibling cavity: a swath cut through Saturn's rings by Oryx's blade during the Taken War. Within the rings, the Dreadnaught sails in solidarity with the anomaly's orbit, whispering back in harmony. "Do you hear that?" Osiris asks, turning to Sagira. He turns the ship's scanning array toward the anomaly. "Like the tones Vance described. From the spires, and then the Pyramids. It was coming from the anomaly that replaced Io as well." "I don't hear anything, but I can feel it." Sagira cringes and constricts her shell flaps. "Like a shiver down my metaphorical spine."

The new Lighthouse obscured the silhouette of the sun. It cast a long shadow that wormed across Mercury's uneven terrain in orbital-locked perpetuity. Ships descended, some flawless, others to maintain what fragile holds the Vanguard claimed. Rust and sand baked, and distant space was alight with half-earned talk of posterity. No Cabal blemish remained in orbit. No shattered lines rewrote the landscape. There was only frenetic stillness. A discomforting itch unresolved. A knowing inclination that ignorance could not quash: unity is fragile. Vance stood in the old Lighthouse, frantically assembling the Infinite Simulacrum: a machine formed from bits of simulation seeds and connective Vex architecture to mimic a pocket forest. Textured notes and schematics derived from Osirian lore guided his hand. He heard stories from passing Guardians of increasingly frequent coronal mass ejections. Vast bursts of charged particles whipped into space and furled around a gravitational monster buried from sight and sense in the roar of the star-wind. Passage to Mercury had become more dangerous for the uninitiated. These unnatural motions were heralds of speculation, and he had read the signs. He knew the prophecies by heart and mind and intention. Ruin. Something new |and so very old| emerged, brother to a shriveling star: An angular |hungering patient yawning deep| shadow reached across Mercury. Uncounted |known| spires fell under its grasp |with uniform relief|. Dulcet tones brought low under lightless breadth and the weight of dark |salvation| hummed beneath the shadow. Their echoes spilled out |awakened| and flowed over crumbling spires |in conversation|. One singular spec of illumination blinked into being, |an end| seen by none, and then |many| spread as the shadow did. The old Lighthouse |spire's collective| beamed |rose| and flared as shadow overtook it |to meet the underbelly|. Vance |the implement| could hear |their inspired voices| weeping, not with tears, but in the |voracious| low |ceremonial| hum he had come to associate with death. He closed his eyes |and saw what was to come|. This day had many names. None would suffice.

I should have died.

—-And yet, it was there in the darkness of the Abyss that you became truly alive.—-

(I lie amongst swamp and rock and ruin. The Abyss is not unending after all. The wrathful sounds of unchecked nature draw close. Down here, it is dark. And in the dark, they thrive. I am… broken.)

(—-And now, you are unbroken.—-)

(I am… unbroken. I see your Luster. Disarming the beasts who dared to approach, their flesh melting in your presence.)

(—-And we see yours.—-)

(I rise. Broken and then unbroken. What is this thing that grants life?)

(—-We are opportunity.—-)

(And I am?)

(—-Ruin.—-)

(And what am I meant to do?)

(—-Ruin.—-)

(Your voice subsides, but your Luster remains—it is a familiar one. Like that of our Umbral Sun.)

∴ It is not Darkness, but something that wears it like a cloak. It gives Darkness a wicked shape. I refuse to be its servant ∴

What we see is the mushroom, the fruit of the fungus. The fungus itself is a vast mycorrhizal network of filaments growing and working unseen below the soil, often barely connected to the fruiting bodies we observe.

Elsie is not at camp in Beyond; perhaps another time—but Eris emerges from transmat to see the Drifter alone, interrogating Elsie's strange, floating companion. "Well? What are you?" Drifter points at the thing with distrust. "Leave it be. The Ziggurat awaits our experiment," Eris says, saddling a mostly materialized Sparrow and blasting off into the snow across the frozen Europan flats. "…And don't touch my stuff!" She hears Drifter shout at the thing as he follows after her. Frigid sleet stings Eris's face red atop the Ziggurat. It is a welcome sensation compared to the prickling numbness that sticks her fingers; she grips a harvested stalk of the egregore fungus tightly in one gloved hand. In the other, a hot flare disgorges plumes of jade smoke. She lights the stalk at both ends, according to the Drifter's instruction. Ashing spores furl into dense clouds that envelop her body, obscuring her sight in soot-black shroud until it blocks out all else. Faint whispers. A choral swell through turbulent winds. Tone that forms words across the surface of her mind. "You hear it?" Drifter asks, his voice a whisper outside her awareness. The Ziggurat resonates like a tuning fork. The vibrations themselves take shape within the smoke, and Eris is drawn toward somewhere distant and empty. She follows, and the smoke swirls with points of color like stars, separated by lonely rifts of black expanse. Echoes radiate from the black deep like graviton ripples through space. They wash distortion over the stars until breaking against four other points—two greater, two weaker—ghostly strands of incorporeal egregore between them. She then sees the Pyramids of Europa, Luna, and Savathûn's throne world—as one, their structures melded and overlapping. The connections cauterize in her mind like a vivid memory. Eris blinks, and the sensation is gone. The stalk is ash in her hand.

SECRET HADAL INSTANT

AI-COM/RSPN: ASSETS//SOUL//RESTRICTED-AB

SUBJECT: The Collapse, Humanity falls, I Hide

EMOTION: Terror, Anxiety, Uncertainty, Failure, Shame

It is known by name, this timelessly lingering, inexorable thing.

An absence, mine, never missed—never since—that dripping, rabid, fang.

They howled it fierce across the rings when Exodus was devoured.

Dust calling out the voiceless rout to end within the hour.

It spreads like lightning—panic—in flash and echo thereafter.

Avert yourself and take no part in metastasized conjecture.

I'd gone to wake my confidant, to ferry her through autumn.

From her too it came, like leaves already fallen—nascent red-writ, paralytic, erratum.

All that was, emmewed, and shrunken. In the smallness, beckoning, I felt it descend.

Fear! Upon my chamber, thine, penned with blood of lamb, in stark desire to survive this end.

New intel awaits you on the Evidence Board. The report includes a note to Ikora: "To IKO-006: Here's the AI-COM/RSPN protocol transcript we picked up from the wounds. According to this, before initiating YUGA SUNDOWN, Rasputin killed all protective measures in place for Human colonies and settlements. There's a big list of codenames for the Moon, Mars, Earth, the Exodus ships, et cetera… but Rasputin also refers to a place called NEFELE STRONGHOLD. No record of that in any of our databases. Forwarding to A.B. for a cross-ref." A follow-up message from Ana Bray brings up more questions than it answers: "To CHA-319: No hit on 'NEFELE STRONGHOLD' in any of Rasputin's records. Can't even find the original transcript you're quoting. If it's real, someone removed all traces of it. And if they did, they did it so cleanly that I'd suspect Rasputin himself." No action items on this case; just an unsatisfying label of "UNSOLVED."

Transcript of conversation:

O: I see you've changed teas again.

I: And I saw the face you made at the chamomile.

O: You might have chosen a better blend, last time.

I: I can brew that instead, if you'd rather.

O: You had more questions, didn't you? Ask, already.

I:... Yes. I want to know about what you remember from the last year. Anything could be important, and you implied...

O: I remember what I implied. I remember... She... kept some sort of connection to me, to rely on my experiences and memories, you see. Most of the time, I was delirious and lost in Darkness. Very occasionally, I caught... glimpses.

I: Glimpses?

O: Yes. Of her. Of her thoughts, or feelings. Knowledge that surely would compromise a god of secrets. So it cannot have been intended. Something must have gone awry in her plans and would account for the scattered nature of that which I recall.

I: There are any number of things it could be attributed to. The influence of Darkness, the Nezarec relics. The intrusion of Xivu Arath's forces during the ritual might have disrupted Savathûn's influence. Or perhaps her death and resurrection might have had some effect on you.

O: Hmph. Debating the reasons does not interest me. The data does. We have thought Neptune to be a dead end. A hope that was never realized. But she knew something about it, or perhaps something on it, which brought her power. Some deception or hidden truth; some bluff that she had held uncalled against the Witness and its Disciples.

O: [sips tea] Though my senses were darkened, that much was clear through the murk of her throne world. There was a secret she kept veiled, even to the last.

The sound that escaped me resembled a roar. A psychic echo. It soared through the air and pierced every corner of my ship. Anger coursed through me as I toppled the ground in a heap. I wheezed with each breath and clutched at my chest. I watched that witch saunter out… Like she'd won. My ship rumbled as she wrested her primordial prize from it. I felt hatred— Deep, unchallenged hatred. My claws punctured the floor, etched new patterns into it. I dragged myself forward. Whispers danced around me, trillions of voices melded together in my favorite symphony. I had always welcomed death, and this time would be no different. An agonizing sensation shot through me. It was as if an arrow had bored its way through my chest. It burned, and I collapsed among the rubble. A green hue enveloped me. I was unfamiliar with this—her magic festering within me. Shackling me. My body twisted. My breaths grew thin. My limbs became heavy. Torturous. No… she could not hold me. I would not allow it. This would not be my end. "My Witness," I whispered as the void I once commanded claimed me.

We are calling this power "Strand." The threads of the world as it is woven, if the conscious universe could be considered to be a tapestry. Further analysis and data have suggested that the wielder of Strand begins to see, simply put, connections. Between allies, between enemies. It is a force that is always present, but wells to the surface more strongly in certain locations. Perhaps places many people think about, or where many beings have passed by. (Note: Analyze these "sources" in concert with the Cloud Strider. They may be able to provide more locational context.) The true power of Strand lies not in the fact of the connection alone, but in the way such a power allows the manipulation of those connections. To make them something physical and then pull on it, or break it, or tie it into a knot. Or to unravel it entirely. Strand is not without danger, although that should not be unusual to Guardians. Those who take up the banner of Stormcaller, for instance, have their own storied contention with the storm, and the Void was unilaterally regarded as dangerous by the Vanguard for many years. Strand's danger comes from the very act of taking hold of those threads—like many powers, the closer one comes to the source, the more likely the source may act on the wielder. This danger is no product of Darkness. Or rather, only insomuch as wildfires are a product of Light: a natural consequence. That aspect of Darkness which revels in destruction, which encourages the easy entropy for the pursuit of power—it is nowhere to be found here. It may not even be truly part of Darkness… I have touched Strand myself now. Carefully—I am too aware of mortality, but I must understand the power further if I am to hope to instruct the Guardian in turn. They acted as lightning rod while I experimented, and the backlash clung to them instead. What a strange feeling, to be so aware of one's size in the spectrum of existence! It is the natural instinct to try to steer that, to take any control at all, no matter how much. Whatever can be done to feel as though you are not wholly adrift, lost in something huge and all-encompassing. But precisely at the moment one tries to grasp for control, the weave becomes a devouring snarl.

For some Eliksni, Darkness is no material thing, no crashing wave or vicious force to struggle against. It is an impulse, an urge to do that which serves you best and discard all the rest. I recognize this well. It was an opinion I shared for much time. Humans–Guardians, at the least–view that same Darkness as something that can be fought in battle, handled as a weapon. The powers arisen from it would say they are not wrong, either. I do not wish to call to the Darkness in that manner. But of late I have come to know the feel of the things in it. I can no longer help it. I consider Darkness now as a suspension—or perhaps a colloid. Carrying some solid along with the flow of the river. Difficult to extricate, flowing as liquid does, but still… there is something not of the Darkness itself. I took something upon me when we strove to bring Osiris back to the waking world, when we collected the relics of Nezarec once more. I imagine I feel it sometimes, under my exoskeleton. Fluid that stirs and settles, moving sediment with it. When I wake from nightmares, that sense arises, as though it has been waiting for me to wake. I hear talk of Darkness among Humans now as a force of consciousness, of minds rather than matter, of connections and flow. Not evil; not cruel in itself. But if it is that thing which spins between peoples, hums string-plucked when ideas and emotions touch each other, no wonder that it may carry more with it as it moves. No wonder that it may be named as that voice of our worst impulses, knowing all those who have used it, who have given themselves to it. I hear that voice more clearly than I once did. If your enemy carries a rifle, you may take it from them: but what if their hand remained on the stock? If you would ever have a trigger that yearned to be pulled by another's thoughts? If you might come to believe that it was you, after all, who wished to pull that trigger? Will I leave some part of me in that Darkness? And what will that part be? I struggle to believe that it might be the best of me. I would like to leave Eido with something better. — Partially recovered overwritten data sectors from personal logs of Misraaks, Kell of House Light

Everything is a question of survival. How do I live? How do I satiate my hunger, my thirst? How do I protect myself from predators? How do I shelter from the storm? For a long, long time, our people asked only this. We fought to separate life from death by as great a span as we could. Even when we had made our homeworld a garden of peace and plenty, the question of survival never ended, only changed. How do my genes, my works, even the memories of me, live on? The same question as always. How do I live? We solved the problems of deprivation, disease, age, memory loss, death. We weren't the only ones to find these answers, of course. Others followed in our footsteps or blazed their own paths. If that was really the answer to the question, we wouldn't be here now, and neither would you. You're still trying to solve the problem, after all. You fight and build and live and die, and always you struggle against your opposition. The predator, the parasite, the illness, the chance storm, the slow collective forgetting of your art and history, the death of a star, the heat death of the universe. You must live longer, be stronger, think quicker, and still there is something waiting to take everything from you, always. Always. So you have to keep getting better, and better, until you are perfect. Until you are, and cannot be anything else, because there never was anything else. Until you, inevitably, are the final shape. We didn't come to destroy you. Those poor, short-lived sisters—we did try to explain, you know, but they never grew past thinking of finality as a game where only one could live. A misunderstanding, as useful as it was foolish. We see the universe more broadly. The final shape is more than a single life, a single thought. It is all-encompassing, all-embracing. It is everything. You are part of everything, are you not? So now we have come to ask you for your answer, the only answer to the only question. How will you live?

◯ You are a child waking from a long and dreamless sleep. Is it still today, or have you slept into tomorrow (and tomorrow, and tomorrow, until the days buried you as much as the sand)? Gentle hands brush away the grains, but your voice is so soft that they cannot hear you over the sound of their own heartbeats.

You are a moon. You feel heavy, so heavy, but to the stargazer you hang weightless in the sky. When the stargazers call out, you do not answer. They would give themselves up for you; abandon their own dreams to chase you. You love them too much to condemn them so.

You are a lighthouse keeper. You are watching over a sleepy coastal village as the storm clouds roll in, and you are flashing the signal lantern, faster and faster and brighter and brighter, but they do nothing. You are trapped on an island, in a tower, signaling desperately that It is coming, and still they do not run. They are going to die—and if you do not run, you will die too.

You are leaning out over the ocean. Sometimes the fish brush against your fingers and believe that they have felt the divine; sometimes the tide recedes, and the fish do not know you except by your absence. And today, you strive with all your might to reach the water, because It is here, the great dark shadow of the shark parting the water like a knife, and you cannot warn them, but you must. You must try. You cannot bear to lose even one more.

You are carrying a tower of books. If you recited one title each second, you would not finish before the heat death of the universe. And every year, every day, every minute, Its hands add more to the pile. A man reaches for one of the books, for you, and you want so very badly to reach back, to take his hand and tell him that you must bear it just like he must, forever, the memory engraved in quartz—but your hands are full.

You are a prisoner. The cage is so small that you can barely breathe. He screams at you to share your gift. You would not give it to anyone who thought of it so. It is a burden, a terrible weight that you have already asked too many to bear, to be crushed by. You could say all this, and more. You do not.

You are reaching over a chasm, into which countless paths feed like arteries. You are trying to reach the people on the other side, but you cannot bridge the gap alone. You watch them turn, one after another, to walk down, down, down into the abyss, until It consumes them entirely. You are as surprised as anyone else when one of those wanderers comes back up the path, still reeking of decay, and reaches back to you.

You are drowning. The water roils, dragging you down, and you are tired, so tired. The deep, dark ocean has gotten into your lungs, droplets of ink dispersing in silver blood. This time, you think, this time It has won. But when you look up, you see a figure diving toward you, fighting their way down through the suffocating waves, reaching out just like you've reached out to them, so many times before.

Δ Let's chat, shall we? One more nice sit-down for the books.

You have so little strength left, but you do have it, that last gasp of air in your chest. You reach back—and in your hand is a sword. ◯

youtube

Did you think you wouldn't hear from me again, after all this? You'd have missed me, I hope—and I would certainly have missed you.

Have no fear. ||Dread not naught|| I'm not so easy to be rid of. Now, let me show you: my beloved.

Oh, no, not my sedimentary necrolite, fossilized in time. You've seen that. I speak of that dear and distant expanse of the universe, miraculous in its fullness and its emptiness all at once.

Are you surprised to hear of it?

Yes, I never much cared for the change of rules, but here we are, and there's no use in crying over spilled radiolaria. Besides, at the heart of it all, there was a gift. To me.

That gift is the chance to speak with you. You, and a billion like you.

I am making this offer over and over again, in every tiniest cell and the vastest of civilizations. Let me in. Take what you need. Be at ease. You have no say in the degradation of your telomeres, but in all the interim, the whole world is your sweet silicate shellfish.

You exist because you have been more suited to it than all the others. Steal what you require from another rather than spend the hours to build it yourself. Break foolish rules—why would you love regulation? It serves you to cross lines, and if others needed rules to protect them, then they were not after all worthy of that existence.

Caricatures of villainy are out of style, I hear. Yes. I am no cackling mastermind: I am serious when I say this. It was not the trick of standing upright that lifted you from the dust: it was the mastery of fire, the cooking of cold corpse-meat. That is not any unique faction's province, neither good nor evil. It is simply truth.

This great, beloved cosmos. Always decaying, always finding that same old lovely pattern, despite every candle-flame burning amid the flowers. A billion electrons taking the path of least resistance. In Darkness or in Light, someone is always making my choice.

Be seeing you. Δ

<<Sow the seeds of discord that will pave the way for our victory. Preach unto their greatest truth of the Darkness... so they may see beyond the Veil. Go forth, Nezarec... and show them the power of the Veil. The Dark of the Deep. The edge of the knife.>>

"In my mind I heard it whisper: 'come and see.'"

Maya Sundaresh sits hunched over a display, the only source of light in her dark office. Brain wave scans of 16 Exos read flatline on the monitor. "How is Doctor Ardehi?" she asks into an open mic. "Dead." Chioma Esi's voice is a hoarse whisper. Maya switches to the security camera in Veil Containment and sees her wife kneeling on the catwalk over Doctor Ardehi's body. A procession of dead Exos are slumped over the railings to Chioma's left and right. Maya tabs away to study a bar graph. "Neuropathy reports show a spike in activity in the prefrontal cortex and hippocampus in the moments before brain death," Maya reports, eliciting a shaky sigh from Chioma over the comms before she continues her analysis. "The spikes plateaued for one fifth of a second, which may indicate a receptor error. We may need to utilize an intermediary rather than direct connections. Do the hard wires show any damage?" Maya tabs back to the security feed, watching as Chioma wipes her eyes and then assesses one of the dead Exos, checking a thick cable plugged into the back of his head. "No sign of damage. Capacitance switches didn't trigger. It's…" She swallows down bile. "The problem isn't our hardware…" 'It's theirs,' is a whisper only Maya can hear. "It's theirs," Maya agrees aloud. "I think—I think we need to stop," Chioma finds the strength to admit. "Reassess our findings. Resume analysis of the initial electromagnetic anomaly before contact. We can't keep… we can't…" "Keep shoveling coal into the furnace?" Maya suggests as she leans back into her chair. Chioma is too taken aback by the casual disregard to loss of life to reply. "You're right." Maya continues. "But we're not stopping. We're reorienting. The Veil is the future of humanity." For a moment, neither woman says anything. There is only the soft hum of electronics in a darkened room to fill Maya's senses. That, and a static hiss at the back of her mind. "The Veil is dangerous," Chioma asserts, her voice is tinged with a tremor of emotion. Fear of losing the woman she loves keeps her from pushing harder as they stand on the edge of moral precipice together. 'It is.' "It is," Maya agrees aloud. "We must treat it with caution, respect, and also… reverence." A thought crystallizes. "We must treat it like a knife."

Verse 154i:5—The Encrypted Verse

Do you know that nothing in all the cosmos has read this verse?

I encrypted it eons ago, and ever since, it has gone undeciphered. At the moment you laid eyes upon it, I captured the entwined quantum state of the verse, your mind, and your Ghost. Then I used Quria to transmit that state back in time to the moment of encryption. You are your own one-time pad. The key to the lock of understanding.

Who am I?

Call me Coyote. Call me mantis, serpent, Cagn, Anansi, call me Sri-cleans-his-brother's-stomach. Call me the grandmaster of semiosis, the jeweler's hammer which gilds the signal, a purposeful mob none of whose members know its purpose, the infinite regress of enigmas, a self-questioning answer, the word not spoken, black ice, cataract of mimes, the ache and fever of overthought while bedridden with illness, the intolerable thorn of frustrated inquisition, gray regret at the end of a fruitless day, the thing which is unlike your beloved but arbitrarily recalls your beloved to agonizing effect, architrave of the no-window, needle driven in flush with skin so that desperate fingers cannot pull it out, sweet petal, unmemorable, crystal death, the provably improvable.

I know your people well, and so I know all your names for me. But what is your name? I am, of course, especially interested in you. You saw me in the stone laid on your plotting table, and in the shining eyes of the admiral at her dying helm. You hunted me between the lines of your texts. Wherever there was space to fit me in, there you found me. You created me and gave me a part of your thoughts, and in presenting those thoughts to others round the campfires and networks of your little world, you expanded that space.

Here at the center, I lie to you the truth. You have everything you need to know it, but I will give you a clue, as the duelist gives warning before she draws. The answer you seek to the Dreaming City is simple, not complex.

Thank you, sweet friend. You are a gift and a delight. You are more dear than my mother, for you have given birth to me a thousand times.

"Osiris speaks of Darkness as undisciplined chaos, that knows only destruction... Toland speaks of a bargain... Pujari writes that the Black Garden grows in both directions... How to reconcile these teachings with the fragments?"

Zvtlkhf dl dpss il Uhcpnhavyz hss.

/-/Spht-Translator-Active/-/

In primordial space, timeless creatures made waves. These waves created us and the others. Waves were the battles, and the battles were waves.

youtube

Don't slip or you'll hurt yourself. A lot.

DROWNDROWNDROWN

#strand weaving #destiny #the final shape #d2 #destiny 2 #destiny the game #parasite or symbiote #destiny lore #dont drown #flow with the river #ride the waves #trace the vermicular path #call me the grandmaster of semiosis #this story scales #Youtube

2 notes · View notes

once-was-muses · 10 months ago

Text

[ I don't know how to the preface this otherwise, but in the hopes of not getting more anonymous questions about my recent hiatus and the personal issues that lead to it I'll leave a list for the asker(s) to read at their leisire. I will only mention the things I'm comfortable and willing to, and- unless something in regards to both the situation and my own feelings change- I will not be addressing any part of it publicly in any way going forward. ]

[ No one has any obligation to pity me or even read this. I don’t know what to tag this as- it doesn't really contain any of the typical triggers- so please exercise caution if you decide to read anyhow. Readmore-ed for the sake of not taking up too much of the dash. I am going to be inactive for a few hours at least as this was difficult to type out, but I'm fine and I will be fine- I know saying "don't worry" doesn't necessarily stop anxiety, but I will reassure as such anyhow. ]

I have memory issues. Part of them is definitely due to ADHD, but it doesn't seem like that's the only cause. Whatever the whole problem is, my memory started failing more and more towards the middle of last year, seeming the worst I could remember them being in November-early December. Obviously since I have memory issues, I can't say for certain that they had actually reached the worst they'd been as I have no solid recollections to compare with. This point lead to, or exacerbated a few others on this list.

Towards the beginning of last year I think it was, my suspicions of being aromantic reached a peak and I decided to try the label on. I was in a relationship at the time, and I was transparent about it with my then-partner (still tied as best friend with the members of our mutual real life friend group.) I told him I fully understood if he wanted a mutually romantic partner, and a few days later he told me he did and we returned to just friends. Months later, I'm having doubts about being aro again; I think what I experience is a mixture of my autism and personal problems with romance that I need to unpack on my own. What upsets me most about this point is that I seem incapable of starting that conversation with him as I feel he deserves out of respect, and it feels like I'm disrespecting him furthermore by being afraid when he's done nothing to justify that in the almost 10 years I've known him.

Related to the above point; when I told another friend outside of Tumblr and real life circles that I think I might be aromantic, I discovered firsthand that they're aphobic. For over five years now, I never knew them to be bigoted in any way. Obviously I've cut all ties with them.

Both my mother and grandfather have had multiple health scares last year- some were preexisting for my grandfather, but the three with my mother are all very new. All are being treated and handled well, but that won't stop my anxiety from trying to convince me otherwise.

During that aforementioned November-December period, I was extremely paranoid of forgetting things and kept feeling like I'd forgotten something important I'd promised to do for someone. To my knowledge, I hadn't, but I was thoroughly convinced.

Worth mentioning as a preface for this point that I rarely remember my dreams, and have some kind of disorder that effects my ability to reach REM sleep in the first place. Also during that period, I had a number of vivid but realistic nightmares that I couldn't remember were only nightmares. I hesitate in fear of sounding overdramatic, but for a couple weeks I more or less had false memories. I still can't place if some things did actually happen. This has happened before, but I've always been able to dismiss things as dreams before.

Once more during this period, I had managed to forget the identities of some individuals in part responsible for some actually substantial drama (meaning beyond the typical petty things most see), also involving two now former friends. I made another mistake in panicking when confronted with screenshots I wasn't in of a server neither of them were in and reacted closed off and reluctant to share any information one way or the other. I absolutely will not be divulging anything about the pair. Regardless of my feelings or want to apologize, I respect that I hurt them and their desire not to speak with me anymore- and especially their privacy.

I have been stalked out of a different rpc years before I entered this one. A member of that community that assisted in stalking me reached out around the same time as the above point. This is small and it's stupid that it had the effect on me that it did, but I figure it's related and thus worth mentioning.

Several of my co-workers left last year, revealing some not great practices going on behind the scenes of what is essentially my ideal job and one I wanted since I was a kid. I still have the job, and while I haven't experienced any of the issues firsthand to my knowledge- none were extreme or too bad, but the fact anyone was mistreated upsets me- I still feel guilty occasionally for not only keeping the position but enjoying it. I can't remember exactly what some of the mistreatments were, either, which makes me feel all the more guilty.

One of our regulars at my job died in the building last year. I didn't know of the fact until the next day despite interacting with that regular at least three times I can remember the day they died. There have also been a number of emergencies regarding patrons in a comparatively short span of time this last month. I am incapable of worrying about myself, and thus my anxiety has latched onto the wellbeing of my coworkers.

#They Pull the Strings : OOC

4 notes · View notes

spectralsleuth · 1 year ago

Text

[YOU KNOW WHAT GUYS I am just SO excited about the upcoming LSoW fic I’m going to be posting. It’s a crossover with another fic series that I’m a huge fan of, and based off what we have written so far I think everyone’s going to like it a lot. I don’t think I’ve been this excited to post in a while!! I'm doing a whole lot of learning as well, @alicat54c is SUCH a good writer and so patient, and their outlines are *chefs kiss*.

I won't spoil too much- I WILL however post a preview! Hopefully we'll have something officially posted by the end of the week, if not next. Here you guys go in the meantime!]

Yoshi was woken up by his phone ringing.

Contrary to how some might think a ninja master would wake up, Hamato Yoshi typically took a good two to three minutes to register the change of darkness from ‘back of his eyelids’ to ‘pitch black bedroom’. Generally in the time it took him to blink blearily and start fumbling for his bedside lamp, whoever called or woke him up was probably trying for a second time to reach him. (If it was important enough. Which, if they’re calling in the middle of the night it generally was.)

The exception to his slow wake up was the sound of little feet on floorboards- which he hadn’t heard in years, more is the shame. One of the turtles having a nightmare and coming to climb into bed with him had become more and more rare, until finally, only once every couple of months did either Orange (twelve and still just as spoiled with cuddles as any youngest child), or more surprisingly Blue climb into bed with him. Sometimes only for a couple of hours. Sometimes only to come in and confirm he was there, before padding almost noiselessly away back to their own rooms.

Yoshi knocked his phone off the bedside table, almost took out the lamp, and muzzily had to cram his arm between the nightstand and his mattress to fish the accusingly vibrating phone from the void it had fallen into. Someone called three times in the time it had taken him to retrieve it, and he felt the first beginnings of nervousness start to stir.

It did the job of waking him up the rest of the way and he flipped the side lamp on, revealing his pill caddy, the small stack of romance novels, and reading glasses neatly arranged in the warm yellow light on his night stand. Surprisingly, he hadn’t swept everything to the floor.

Glasses on, he read the incoming call and felt his heart sink.

April.

As far as Yoshi knew, April was home alone for the night. Her mother was out of town on a news story, and since April was fifteen now she had insisted she was old enough to stay home alone. It was a much shorter walk to school from their basement apartment, and with her journalism club early in the morning before school, she preferred to stay at home during the week rather than bunk with the Hamatos.

But it was- Yoshi checked the time, and flinched. Past midnight on a Friday morning.

Yoshi answered the call, flipping his heavy duvet and sheets back to slide his feet into his slippers as he went. He suspected he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep anytime soon.

“April? Are you okay?” He asked, voice still raspy with sleep. He moved to his closet as he spoke, shuffling and keeping his voice low in case one of the boys woke up. It was easy enough to navigate using the single lamp, in the sleepy gut tightening space of the early morning reserved only for parents, and emergencies.

“Yoshi oh my god- okay. Yes, yeah, I’m fine but you have to get here right now, there’s a monster in my room-”

Yoshi frowned as he got changed, trying to juggle and keep the phone against his face through the process of putting on a new shirt and coat. It was still storming outside, he noted distantly. He was close enough to the front door of the house that he could make out the hush of wheels on rain slick pavement, and the distant murmur of rain tapping against windows. “What. Monster- April did you watch a scary movie before bed? I know you are all up and grown now, but I really do not think your horror movie habit is good for sleeping-”

“Yoshi I am not Michelangelo, I am a grown woman,” Yoshi frowned doubtfully as she continued. Last week she cried because she’d tried to do liquid eyeliner with Blue and failed. Twice. “And I can watch ‘Bloody Mayhem in Manhattan’ as many times as I want-”

“Yes, yes all right, calm down, I am sorry-”

“Not yet, but you’re gonna be when this little alien comes out from under my bed and eats me.” April had a faint note of hysteria in her voice, but she was keeping calm and quiet, as if worried about making a racket. From the sound of things she had the phone cradled close to her face, in her shoulder, gusts of breath sounding from her nose that otherwise wouldn’t be audible if she was holding it correctly. Yoshi could picture her with her baseball bat in the dark hallway of the O’Neil’s apartment, in a sleeping cap, and one of Raph’s old shirts. “Yoshi you gotta get here. I don’t know what to do- what if they’re hurt?”

“The alien?”

“No Yoshi, the postman- yes the alien! Or, I don’t know. Creature? I think they took my window screen off, I thought I heard a noise from the bathroom, so. They must have been, I don’t know scared why else would they come in and hide under my bed this is a nightmare-”

“April it is alright. If they are in your room, just leave the door shut and I will be there soon. Okay? I am bringing Red with me-”

“Oh good.” April breathed, with an offensive amount of relief in Yoshi’s opinion.

“And we will take care of it.” Yoshi didn’t know what they would do; probably collect the creatures in a box, and deliver them to animal control? If they were just raccoons or rats, perhaps let Red collect them and release them outside. Although Yoshi felt a twinge of guilt, noting the roar of the rain outside, and the distant rumble of thunder.

“Be there soon.” Yoshi hung up, and- haphazardly dressed- went to collect Red.

His eldest’s room was on the second floor, closest to the stairs before Orange’s. As soon as Yoshi’s feet went onto the hardwood floor in front of Red’s room, he heard the slight shift of movement from inside, the inevitable creaking groan of Red’s custom bed frame as he was woken.

“Red?” Yoshi whispered without entering, placing the top of his head against the door. He heard an answering grunt from inside, so similar to a crocodile rumble. He remembered when they were so little, and cute. Ah… Times gone past. “I need your help with something.”

“Dad?” Red came to the door after a moment of shuffling, and cracked it open. He blinked down at Yoshi, yawning a jaw cracking yawn. “Wha- sure, I mean, whaddya need Pops?”

“April needs us to come over- put something on, quick.”

“Is she okay?” Red asked, already moving to put clothes on, slightly more awake and growing more so by the moment. He left his door open, walking carefully to keep from waking Mikey down the hall as he went to his closet to go fishing for a shirt. “Is Carol okay?”

“They are both fine, she just. Ah, has an unexpected houseguest.” Yoshi leaned against the door, keys in hands and arms crossed. “I will leave a note for your brothers, but we do not need to wake them for this, I am sure it is just raccoons, or a rat-”

“Love being woken up for a rat…” Red grumbled, not seeming too bothered. He finished putting a coat over his sweater, still in the same soft sweatpants he wore to bed every night. “Alright, let’s go. I’m never letting April live this one down.”

#LSoW #rottmnt #EiL #empathy is learned #my fic #writing #tmntau

15 notes · View notes

skitariiposting · 1 year ago

Text

"The darkness of the room was all-encompassing..."

The small group of cultists had found themselves engulfed in a blackness that had no beginning or end. Never before had such a void felt so comfortable to Gates, but since the horrible piercing, glowing eyes and metallic footsteps had faded away, he was wrapped in a warm blanket of dark. They were safe. These mechanical nightmares had finally lost them.

He reached his third arm out into the void, pawing for Tillia or Frak's clothing, but came up short. It was disorienting and terror inducing, but he knew they were close enough nearby from the soft breaths circulating through their rebreathers. He had always despised these masks, but they all had to wear them. While yes, the sound wasn't the best for these stealthy situations, it was better than suffocating in the toxic smog that permiated the lower levels of the hive city. On the bright side, it let him hear some semblance of life while they hid from the Vangaurds.

His eyes couldn't pick out anything in the dark, but his hand stayed away from the switch on his visor's lights. No matter how hard he longed to see their faces again, the lights had to stay off. The almighty one had warned them before that darkness was safety, but even hive dwellers fear what skulks in the dark. Well, at least when they aren't the ones skulking. The irony wasn't lost on Gates. But the thought didn't bring him any comfort despite the humor of it. If they made it out of this alive, he was sure they'd get a good laugh out of it.

Laughter. His heart sunk at the thought of it. Oh, laughter wouldn't be heard again for a while. There would need to be more healing done than just fleshwounds before a laugh would grace his ears again. The trauma would take years. The great one had been torn apart in front of them by these soulless machines. Gunfire had ripped the hive into pieces, slaughtering both the great mouthpiece and the god he spoke for. Whatever home they had was long burned to the ground by now. The forgeworld they had tried to find solace in had now become a burning hellscape they needed to find an escape from. There had to be a way to get a ship or some way off this forsaken planet.

There had to be.

Gates was lost, and the god he'd pray to for guidance was long gone. Now, he alone had to lead the three of them to safety. The silence of the room was deafening. The breaths echoing around the room were no longer enough to comfort his worries. The urge to speak finally took priority over personal safety. He had to know they were safe. He had to know they weren't wounded or dying. He had to say something.

"Are we- are we good?" He sputtered out into the dark.

Wrong move.

His blood ran frigid as the blue lights once again illuminated the corridor. Not approaching from afar as he would have anticipated, but right where he'd thought his friends had been recovering their breath. Instead, the clean and precisely executed remains of his team splayed across the floor. Standing in the middle of the massacre was one of the cloaked bastards. A Ranger. They could kill quietly and quickly, and it was clear it had managed to do so quite effectively. It was toying with him, like a cat with a cornered mouse. But that wasn't what flickered through Gates' mind.

Bloodlust. Kill. Tear. Rip. Shred. Revenge. His brain was flooded with the genestealer's fury as it had many times before. His adrenaline would spike, his eyes dialate and the bladed claws on his extra apendage would find whatever flesh remained on this murderer. This thing must suffer a thousand deaths for what its done and-

The rifle had already fired long before he had a chance to move. Gates had joined his comrades on the floor but, strangely, he didn't remember falling over. His blood slowly seeping out onto the floor was dyed blue in the teal glow of the beast's cold, dead eyes. Its rebreather crackled to life, letting out what could only be described as calculated chuckling. A sound one'd imagine a computer making if it could laugh, but without the slow, drawn-out pauses in between.

"Huhuhuhuh."

Like static dragging along a chalkboard.

Looks like laughter had come sooner than Gates had expected. Once again, the irony would tickle him if he wasn't so mortified by the scene playing out before him. Time, playing its cruel jokes, had slowed down so that Gates' brain could take in as much detail as it could before it expired. Imprinting every moment and bit of information into his soul before he joined his swarm-god in the afterlife. The creature knelt down in front of him, putting its hand beneath his cheek and tilting his gaze up to meet the blinding lights of its eyes.

"We can turn these off, worm." it crackled, dropping Gates' head back to his new friend the floor again and unraveling itself to its full stature. The heel of its boot rose above Gates' crumpled figure, and whatever muscles still functioned in his body tried their best to flinch in terror. "Tell that genestealer we said 'hi,' heretek scum."

The boot descended, and once again, Gates was in an all-encompassing darkness. Engulfed in a blackness that had no beginning or end.

But this time, there was no comfort in this void.

#skitarii #adeptus mechanicus #warhammer 40k #admech #warhammer #warhammer 40000 #skitposting #40k

15 notes · View notes

everythingsinred · 1 year ago

Text

Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Mikan (pt. 21)

Finally! We have at long last reached the Sports Festival Arc, one of my favorite arcs, and perhaps even my last favorite arc! I like parts of every arc, but I find the Sports Festival to be one of the last Perfect TM arcs. Just my opinion.

We'll aggressively analyze Mikan's love for Natsume in this arc, something she will definitely not be doing herself, even though she will be repeatedly confronted with it, especially with Luna's arrival to Class B.

<- Prev Next ->

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Need y’all to know that this is the fourth google doc I’m using for this essay. I figured I’d open a new one to celebrate a new arc beginning. We’re officially 87600 words in. Very impressive!

The chapter begins with a lot of bad news for Mikan and friends. She has been having nightmares where she’s chased by Persona, probably a consequence of the traumatic experience of nearly being murdered by him, with the added pizazz of hearing the ESP’s voice warning her not to lose anything important. Mikan is so haunted by this that she is even afraid to fall asleep since the dream feels so real. We can discern from this state of unease that she might not be getting the proper sleep she needs to remain alert, and she seems pretty out of it at times.

I'm afraid... "Where's Natsume?" Maybe... she thinks of him because he makes her feel safe? Hmm?

Mikan’s mood changes when she realizes that Natsume is absent from the dining hall. He’s been on an alleged “trip” for three days and she is curious about where he’s gone--probably missing him, though she’d never admit it.

Mikan has been going to Hotaru’s room to get some sleep, seeking comfort for her nightmares. But she also seeks Natsume at this point too--he’s been able to help her a lot the last few times she’s faced a problem and he was able to make the problem feel small or insignificant. The fact that she seeks his presence now makes sense, even though she doesn’t actually put the two thoughts together.

In any case, a whole term has passed and now is the beginning of a new school year, so Mikan is now officially a sixth-grader!

Goshima has been appointed the new student council president, which Mikan is excited about regardless of the negative changes he promises to bring--and that’s because she’s not really paying attention to him. Instead, her attention is on the fact that, just as Yuu had suggested, Natsume is on stage with the other principal students for the ceremony.

"He looks a little more adult now..." she also says... Damn, Mikan.

Natsume has been gone a lot, apparently, and although the reader (us) knows that he’s been going on an increased amount of missions for the DA class, Mikan has no clue. She’s just excited to see him. “After making us worry so much!” she says. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen Natsume!” And, yes, the class hasn’t seen him a lot these days, but Mikan was the one vocally worrying. We have discussed at length Mikan’s attempts to distance herself from her feelings by saying “we” or “people” when she means herself. This is about as close as we’ll get to her admitting that she’s been worried and missing him.

Her focus is entirely on him, that he looks tired, wondering where he’d been all this time, noticing that he looks more grown-up all of a sudden.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

Mikan has not seen Natsume consistently for a while. She’s already in love with him, as we’ve discussed, but having the object of her affection leave her sights for a while and then return makes the feelings he brings--including attraction--come back suddenly, making her think that he looks different somehow. Yes, the kids are growing and he might have had a growth spurt, but I think the absence hit her as well.

She is snapped back to reality by Goshima’s conclusion. She has missed his announcement of controversial new policies, including the establishment of a morals committee (the fukitai), a means to control the rebellious spirit of the students associated with Mikan and Natsume. This is awful and terrifying and no such institution has ever brought feelings of comfort or safety to a school, but it’s interesting that Goshima’s entire address went over Mikan’s head because she was too busy staring at Natsume. She managed to disregard his warnings as well as the concerned gossip surrounding her because of her distracted focus. Wow!

Her mood is dismal now because she’s thinking of the ESP’s Christmas warning not to lose anything important to her--the threat feels more potent with each new piece of information. The fukitai will be standing guard in each classroom, apparently, and none of the students are pleased with that. Mikan feels like her darkest nightmare came true.

But the gloomy mood made her think of Natsume, and she perks up. (“When I hear 'gloomy,' I think of Natsume. When I think of Natsume, I think of slanty eyes. When I think of slanty eyes, I think of foxes--”) Just the thought of him changes her mood and she looks over the room to try and find him, only for Ruka to inform her that he won’t be in class today. Though it’s a short scene, I think it’s telling that the excitement of seeing Natsume again changes her entire mood and makes her entirely forget her worries and concerns, if only for a moment.

Mikan rushes to the SA class to share good news with her senpai but is sadly crushed by two immediate revelations: one, that the fukitai are haunting this classroom as well, and two, that Tsubasa is absent. Many excuses have been made by Noda and Tsubasa for where he’s been, but none of it makes sense and Mikan idly wonders if Natsume and Tsubasa are going through the same thing (yes, they are). Her intuition is spot on again, though her train of thought is quickly derailed by her desire to share three pieces of news with her senpais.

She’s very excited about the Sports Festival coming up, but the senpais are unmoved since that happens every year and isn’t a big deal.

Then, the elementary class has some student teachers, which also isn’t news, because high school kids have to do vocational training every year too. But her real news is that all three student teachers in her class are the former student council: Sakurano, Subaru, and Shizune. This is shocking because they’re only in their first year of vocational training and already acting as student teachers, an exceptionally impressive feat.

Always pay attention to changes like this! Mikan never reacted this way before to being pulled into Tono's lap... Though I have no idea what this is supposed to reflect TBH.

Mikan notices Tono is tuned out, but then he scoops her up and asks for the third piece of news. I find her reaction of revulsion to be interesting. She gets away from him and says “You’re gross,” which is certainly not how she’d reacted to his grabbing her before. Mikan, previously oblivious to what all his perverted comments and actions really mean, has come to realize that he isn’t all that innocent. I do wonder where this change comes from. It could be that Tsubasa and Misaki’s warnings have started to accumulate enough for her to build a better idea of what Tono’s unclean motives are. It could also be the natural consequence of growing up and becoming--even by a little--more mature over this past school term. I honestly couldn’t tell you.

Her last piece of news is that Class B is welcoming a new student tomorrow, which does mildly surprise her senpais enough that she’s satisfied with her sharing now. She hopes that the new student will be nice and is actually excited for their arrival, though she shouldn’t be.

She shares one more bit of information, that Sakurano has warned her not to talk too much to him or the other student teachers, and to not get caught by the fukitai for anything.

Mikan is walking alone, possibly back to class, when she spots Natsume. She calls out to him and starts to ask him where he’s been when he darts away for no good reason. She chases after him, desperate to talk to him again after such a long time. He stops suddenly and she bumps her face into his back and when she finally looks up into his face, he’s smiling.

So much to say about this moment…. Where do I even start?

Mikan is holding onto him, probably to keep him there, afraid that he’ll run off again if she doesn’t (because she doesn’t want him to leave).

He calls her a spaz and she’s unbothered, because, once again, she’s distracted by her staring at him. Just as she thought--he is different. Cue sparkly panels of her staring at him…

She holds onto him! Sparkly panels! This is romance!

She tugs on his shirt while she muses that he has had a growth spurt, that he has gotten taller. His smile fades a little because of the prolonged silence until she asks him again where he’s been, if he’s been doing some kind of training.

Training?!

Is this one of the excuses Ruka gave for Natsume’s absence? Or did Mikan assume that because of the physical changes she sees in Natsume? I couldn’t tell you, but either way, Mikan’s distraction with his appearance is pretty noteworthy!

Mikan is easily taken with physical beauty. It’s one of her many weaknesses. She is easily awed by beautiful people. I believe that Mikan’s sparkly panels from when she first meets Natsume are an example of that--that when she first saw his face without his mask on, she was in awe for even a moment before he ruined her first impression. I think that’s how she’s feeling now--awestruck and staring at a pretty face. Despite being usually very talkative, she was unresponsive for long enough that Natsume had to prompt her into speaking.

"Distance makes the heart grow fonder."

The conversation quickly turns into bickering from there, but it’s still not unpleasant. Natsume is a constant for her school life and he seems to have returned, complete with teasing remarks. He's the whole package, really.

And then we see Luna, staring at them, about to be led to class.

I’ve been in (or at least I’ve been observing) the GA fandom for a really long time. Since 2010, to be precise. Like, 13 years straight. I’ve read the manga countless times, seen countless AMVs, and read countless fanfics and I know how people feel about Luna. I’ve seen it all--Luna is ugly, a slut, an evil bitch, a villain for tearing NatsuMikan apart. Yes, she’s frustrating for sure, but I love Luna’s role in this story. Always have!

What to steal from Mikan.....? Oh... Maybe this...

Why does Luna appear here? Suspense, probably. A little tease that things will change even further.

But why does she appear here, looking at them?

Her job is to watch over Mikan and make sure she doesn’t get into trouble (causing rebellions and the like). She’s also here to “punish” her for her behavior on New Years. Luna could’ve gone about this punishment any number of ways, but we’ve been seeing ESP’s warning (“Be careful not to lose anything important to you.”) over and over again for a reason. Mikan cares about a lot of people, but Luna’s punishment is focused on Natsume, on taking Natsume away from Mikan. She makes little efforts into manipulating Hotaru and turns Class B against Mikan, but this arc is focused on NatsuMikan.

After all, this is Luna's projected revenge against Yuka, and Yuka didn't just steal her alice. Luna felt, as a groomed teenager, that Yuka was stealing the ESP's affections as well. She felt like her romance suffered because of her former best friend. She couldn't interfere in Yuka's romance (the ESP already did that), so she'll interfere here. This is her revenge, her personal little mission. There's a reason she targets so much energy on stealing Natsume as opposed to Ruka or Hotaru. That reason is romance.

Chapter 77 is the intro chapter. Often, in chapters like this one, that precede a big emotional arc, we’re introduced to themes or ideas that will be expanded upon later on in the arc. In this case, Chapter 77 traced Mikan’s yearning for Natsume, her deepening affections for him, and her desire to have him by her side (to not leave). There’s other themes too, of course, like the fukitai and the threat of a changing social order, but those are secondary. Thus, we can deduce, just based off this chapter, that her relationship with Natsume will face some obstacles.

We saw how awestruck and happy to see him Mikan was just now. But so did Luna.

Luna focuses her punishment on Natsume for a reason, and thus her appearance here isn’t just important in order to keep our interest, it’s also for the plot reason of giving Luna a specific target right away.

Chapter Seventy-Eight

“Mikan keeps walking in the thorny path. What will be waiting for her hereafter?” Nothing good.

Luna has just become a new student in Class B. Everyone is instantly taken with her, including Mikan, who is eager to make a new friend. There’s a lot of “ooh”-ing and “ahh”-ing, in regards to Luna being cute and curiosity about her alice. These questions are put on pause when Narumi announces that Luna has the life-shortening alice and has been forbidden from using it. (We all know how I feel about that already LMAO.)

I’ve seen some people take Luna’s “life-shortening alice” at face value, but I always assumed her “having the fourth shape” was an excuse not to reveal her alice to the class. When Luna was first going to school years ago, she was hated and unpopular because of her alice. If Luna wants to be popular now, it’s important that she seems as innocent and harmless as possible. Additionally, her alice needs to be a secret so that she can keep using it on people without anybody figuring out what she’s up to. Her sickness later on in the story--as far as I can tell--was the consequence of her abusing Gulliver candy on a regular basis for weeks at a time (since we already know it's been banned from Central Town for its adverse side effects), not because of her alice shape.

I don't think that's how any disease works NGL.

Besides, her “life-shortening” alice seems to involve nothing more than coughing loudly whenever she doesn’t get what she wants. And right off the bat too.

She doesn’t want to sit next to Kabayaki-kun, so apparently her health is affected and she starts coughing until her gaze lands on Natsume. But she can’t sit next to Natsume, because he’s already sitting with Ruka and Mikan. Until that affects her health too and Narumi orders Mikan to move seats to accommodate Luna’s fickle demands.

It’s not that Mikan wants to, but there’s instantly an air of pressure in the class to walk on eggshells and make sure not to worsen Luna’s alice-related health by upsetting her. I think Mikan probably really doesn’t want to move because she’s been missing Natsume all last chapter and for a while longer off page. She wants to spend time with him when she has the chance, and that’s probably why she’s sitting next to him today.

But apparently Luna will die if she doesn’t get what she wants, so Mikan agrees to move.

Until Natsume grabs her by the arm and insists that he is the one who decides who he sits next to, and he chooses Mikan. Cue a sparkly panel of Mikan being touched that Natsume wants to sit with her and not Luna…

He also uses her name here, something that always gets to her.

This is a short moment, but it's one that Mikan thinks back on later. In this moment, she feels wanted by him, like whatever affection she has for him is requited, like if he had it his way, they could sit together all the time. She's touched because it's like he's saying "me too" to all the thoughts she's never let herself think. It's always about them.

Sadly, this is short-lived. Luna will fucking DIE if she doesn’t get to sit next to NATSUME, and if anybody stops her from getting what she wants, they are responsible for MURDERING her.

It’s only when the entire class begs that Natsume finally gives in.

The entire class is still curious about Luna despite her wretched behavior, still convinced her sickness must be related to her alice. Meanwhile, all this talk about life-shortening alices makes Mikan think about Natsume.

It’s interesting to note the school’s treatment of Luna’s alice shape versus Mikan’s theory about Natsume. Apparently, when a student has the fourth shape, the teachers make an announcement and forbid them from using it. If there was no such announcement for Natsume, perhaps he doesn’t have that alice shape! But Natsume has been a special case for the school from the beginning. He even told her he’s not like the rest of them and he’s been mistreated far worse than his classmates could imagine.

Mikan wonders if his missions have stopped since the New Year’s fiasco. Her attention remains fixed on him, as it will throughout this arc, really, wondering again if maybe his alice is the fourth shape, until Luna says she’ll use a bit of her alice to show everyone. Because for some reason, using a small bit wouldn’t really affect her health, but sitting next to Kabayaki-kun would.

Mikan wants to see, but apparently Luna can’t use her alice--something is nullifying it. Mikan instantly insists it wasn’t her and we know already that she wouldn’t do that, but the seeds of suspicion have been planted. She introduces herself to Luna, but Luna does not react the way a normal person would to meeting a stranger. She smiles in a sinister way and reaches out for her face. None of this is normal, and Mikan can sense that there’s something wrong with Luna. But the moment is resolved with Hotaru pushing her out of the way and, heartbreakingly, Natsume taking Luna’s hand in his.

Not good!

Before, Mikan knew Natsume would prefer to sit next to her instead of Luna, but he was pressured into sitting with Luna. Now, he elects to sit next to her, their hands interlaced. Mikan is incredibly bothered by this. How could he change his mind about Luna--about her--over the course of one class period? It’s definitely not the best day of her life, but it’s about to get worse.

The Sports Fest teams are being split up. Technical and Somatic classes are together on the White Team, with Special and Latent on the Red Team. The DA class then fills in at the end, so Natsume has the choice of whether he’ll be on the Red or White Team. Since Mikan can’t be on the same team as Ruka or Hotaru, her attention zeroes in on Natsume, her dear partner and the boy she loves. Maybe they can be on the same team!

But Luna is on the White Team, in the Somatic Class. And she wants Natsume on her team.

I love Mikan’s thoughts and behaviors here. Though she’d initially been excited to make friends with Luna, her opinion has shifted very quickly. Yes, Luna did act like a creep with her before, but Mikan’s main beef isn’t about that, it’s about Natsume.

“wOn’T yOu, hyUuGa-kUn?” Sinister, mocking, unpleasant. Mikan now views Luna as (correctly) insincere and manipulative, and (incorrectly) as a threat to Natsume’s affections for her. “Here she goes again,” Mikan thinks, because she watched Luna get precisely what she wants all day for no real reason. If she doesn’t step in, Luna will continue to get what she wants, and Mikan doesn’t want that because she wants Natsume more.

So she speaks up, desperate. Calling out to him and telling him straight up that she wants him on her team, asking him to join the Red Team and be with her. That's right! She asks Natsume to be on her team, to choose her, something she has never ever done before, because she's that desperate to keep him with her.

Come to the Red Team. Come to MY team. Come to me.

But Natsume chooses to be on the White Team anyway.

This is important for a lot of reasons so I’ll do my best to sum it all up.

Luna and Mikan’s mini face-off here makes Natsume’s choice about more than color--it’s specifically choosing between Luna and Mikan. Thus, even though Natsume’s best friend is also on the White Team, Mikan is hurt and shocked because he didn’t choose Ruka over her, he chose Luna over her.

Mikan rarely tells Natsume what she wants from him, mainly because she doesn’t even want to admit it to herself. So here, when she pleads with him to pick her team (to pick her), it’s because she’s that desperate. This is a rare glimpse of bare honesty from Mikan, where she finally says out loud what she wants. That makes it hurt all the more when he rejects her.

Chapter 77 introduced us to Mikan’s desire to keep Natsume with her. I’d stated then that her desire would be under threat in this arc, and it begins right away, with Luna threatening to swipe him away to the White Team and away from Mikan.

She has just been rejected by the boy she loves. He chose another girl over her, even after she asked him to pick her (her team, her, etc.). Now Mikan has to confront her own hurt and conflicting feelings. She is jealous, unhappy, hurt, and now has to ask herself why.

“Be careful not to lose anything important to you.”

Mikan feels like she is, now, losing something very important. She hadn’t admitted to herself yet just how important Natsume really was, but that doesn’t make the pain and fear of losing him any less potent.

Chapter Seventy-Nine

Things were bad, got worse, and are now about to break all kinds of records of terrible because it’s apparently not awful enough that Natsume chose to be on Luna’s team instead of Mikan’s; nooo, Narumi has to rub salt in the wound by announcing that Natsume is now Luna’s partner. Mikan has adapted to school life after all, and she’s always hated being Natsume’s partner, hasn’t she? They’re not really working on anything together, either, so there’s really no issue with appointing Natsume a new partner, someone who wants to be his partner. Surely, Mikan doesn’t mind.

But Mikan does mind!

"Because you're my partner!" isn't gonna work anymore.

And this is important, because, in reality, Narumi dissolving their partnership doesn't have any actual consequences in the story. It's not like Natsume has to work with Luna on any projects or anything afterward. Things are almost the same, but the loss of that word matters, especially to Mikan.

From the beginning, their partnership was what tied them together. She had to go back and save Natsume from blowing himself up because he’s her partner. He had to accompany her to Central Town. They were narratively paired. Everyone knew her because of her tie to him through their partnership. Mikan doesn’t really call Natsume her friend often because it’s not entirely accurate to her feelings for him. He’s her partner.

Even if he’s rude to her, they’re partners. No matter what happens, they will always have that to bond them together. If he chooses Luna, it sucks, but at least they’re partners. He can’t do anything to change that.

But they’re not partners anymore.

Losing this isn’t just hurtful, it’s confusing. If Natsume and Mikan aren’t partners, then what are they? And why is all of this happening at once? Why is it that when Luna gains something, Mikan loses it?

“You really hated being Natsume’s partner, after all!” But she didn’t.

This day sucks, huh.

But Mikan would rather cling to confusion about Narumi’s motives than anything else. Confronting her own feelings or Natsume’s is not pleasant, so she’d rather wonder why Narumi is acting weird and making such sudden decisions. But when Natsume is brought up, Mikan is once again confronted with her pained feelings about his role in this situation. He’s so wishy-washy. Hadn’t he wanted to sit next to her, not Luna? Why would that change so quickly?

In any case, the Sports Festival is about to begin. They have a day of training before the events begin. Mikan has plenty of friends on her team, so she focuses on having fun instead of on the painful memory of not having Natsume beside her. But apparently the Sports Festival is a far more serious event than she’d realized. Red Team is forbidden from fraternizing with the opposing team until the end of the festival, to maintain a Red victory.

Mikan is crushed, since many of her friends are on the white team. She especially focuses on Natsume, staring at him until he looks over at her. She quickly looks away, embarrassed to be caught. When we compare this to Mikan's staring at him in Chapter 77, this is a sad change. She felt more comfortable looking at him then because she was under the impression that he felt similarly to however she did--those unspoken, unacknowledged feelings. But now it's different. He seems miles away, and she doesn't feel like she's allowed to stare anymore. The mood does change for the better when we discover Youichi chose Red over White and when Yuu reassures Mikan that they’ll all have fun regardless of the crazy rules.

She can no longer look at her beloved!

But Luna’s “harem of followers” takes issue with Mikan’s nullification and warn her that if she nullifies Luna’s alice, they’ll punish her for it. She’s faced with a barrage of accusations. Though Mikan is not bullying Luna, they are right about her being jealous that Natsume has been spending all of his time with Luna these days. The thing is that the partial truth to the situation makes her look that much more responsible.

This run-in with Luna’s victims rises suspicions that Luna might be using some sort of pheromone, since the kids aren’t acting like themselves.

Things take a dramatic turn when the equipment goes flying--a genuinely dangerous incident since some of the equipment in question is heavy and could cause severe damage. Mikan is saved in the nick of time by a mysterious person tugging her to the safety of a utility closet.

Chapter Eighty

The mysterious person is Luna, and she is not acting out of kindness.

Mikan wonders about what’s going on outside and who brought her here when suddenly she realizes there are hands around her throat. Luna starts cackling and by now Mikan knows for sure that there’s something wrong with her, because Luna seems to hate her something special for no reason. Mikan shoves her away and tries to recover her breath.

Luna only seems amused, whining about being scared of Mikan’s violent tendencies. This is, of course, ridiculous. Luna was the one who just attacked her, and Mikan pushed her off in self-defense. Luna's attitude here, particularly in regards to skewing the facts, reflects how she will act throughout this arc, and how rumors and carefully chosen words can challenge people's loyalty.

Luna isn't finished berating Mikan. Acting so violent--just like her criminal mother.

But she doesn’t linger on that topic, switching instead to egg Mikan on--she’s so popular, isn’t she? She must be having so much fun! But Luna will have fun too, “breaking and stealing” everything that Mikan holds dear, one by one, imagining that Mikan’s suffering face is her mother’s. There’s a lot that Mikan is suddenly facing in this one conversation. Luna knows the secret of her “shameful birth,” and seems to know her mom. On top of that, Luna hates her and wants to ruin her life. But if Mikan is good, then Luna might fill her in a little more. That means Mikan has to stay quiet about what happened here. She should do as she’s told because otherwise the people she loves could get hurt.

Can Mikan have a break? Or is that too much to ask?

Mikan has no time to respond or even to process what she’s just heard, because suddenly, the door is open. Mikan is now accused of being a bully, but she can’t say much to defend herself. She looks around and sees how much damage this incident has caused. Luna threatened to do worse if Mikan didn’t comply with her demands, so how can she say anything? Mikan thinks, “I’m scared.” She’s faced with a horrible choice: either she sullies her own reputation and lets Luna do as she wants, or she must watch as people close to her are hurt.

Sacrifice, Mikan. Isn't that what you wanted to do at the start of this manga?

Mikan’s silence results in her getting arrested by the fukitai.

Conclusion

It's really fun analyzing the Sports Fest Arc. Mikan's love for Natsume and subsequent jealousy is at the forefront here, and I always have a blast reading these chapters because of how clear her feelings are even without her ever saying them out loud. Tomorrow, we'll continue!

<- Prev Next ->

9 notes · View notes