#There is a great irony in it. Everything I do is as in depth and detailed as it is because of seeking that perfect understanding

[elevatourism]

I know people mean well and this is something I don't blame them for but I am getting so tired of hearing that Oh, your struggles make you special! Thinking differently means you'll change the world! Like maybe I don't want to be some miraculous idolised Other any more than I would want to be some demonised freak to you all maybe I just want actually understood

[guardianspirits13]

There is not enough appreciation out there for the fantastic balance of both comic relief and the voice of reason found in (Netflix-era) Foggy Nelson.

In my experience, characters who take on the voice of reason tend to also be the straight man (in the comedy definition) and also a party pooper towards the more reckless or rowdy characters in a situation.

Similarly, I'm sure we've all had the experience of beloved characters being reduced to comic relief in adaptations of our favorite media and how frustrating the erasure of meaningful character depth can be (don't get me started on Jesper in the SaB show, Kit I love you but the writers did not do you justice).

I've noticed many authors struggle to reconcile charismatic or silly characters with darker moments- I do wonder if this has anything to do with the so-called irony epidemic on the internet right now where everything has to be a joke. It has always bothered me when characters I care about are either never present during serious scenes or act uncharacteristically immature and remain unable to read the room in heavy moments.

Neither of these are a problem when it comes to Foggy because he's treated as a character and not a trope. He is to his core a genuine person who cares about his friends and wants to do the right thing. The fact that he is so easygoing is actually a boon to his career as a lawyer because it disarms his legal opponents and allows him to catch them off guard. He also is great at diffusing tension and de-escalating high-stress situations.

He's likeable and fun, but it never detracts from his determination or the gravity with which he treats his work. He's more responsible and better at communicating than Matt, and he's less impulsive and more cautious than Karen. He's very emotionally intelligent and reads people arguably better than Matt can- listening to all the heartbeats in the world won't measure up to understanding and appealing to a person's inner nature as Foggy demonstrates his ability to do time and time again. He can hit people where it hurts with only his words.

This is not to mention his thorough integrity and refusal to budge on his morals. He advises Karen again and again to not go outside of the law as much as it may help her investigation. He insists on being the bigger person and still finds it in himself to forgive Matt every time he fucks up while also not hiding his feelings of hurt and betrayal. He learns that Matt is going to kill Fisk and despite all the harm Fisk has caused and how much it may benefit society to see him gone, he still reports it to the police because he knows that Matt taking a life will fundamentally change him in a way he can never recover from.

And I am forever grateful that he was spared the fate of being reduced to a walking database of quips that so many MCU characters seem to meet.

I think this gif sums it up nicely:

10/10 character. No notes.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Hallowed

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Toxic relationship dynamics, face sitting, smut. Word count: ~1.3k

Summary: Her Early Medieval Literature essay is due, and Michael has his own cruel way of ensuring she stays focused.

Author's note: Can be read as part two of this fic, but also works as a standalone. Day six of the Smuffmas prompts - "future and face sitting". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She lounges on Michael’s bed, clad in only knickers and one of his t-shirts, a copy of the Canterbury Tales grasped lightly between her fingers. Her eyes move over the words of Chaucer, but take none of them in, how could they? His long fingers draw lazy circles on her ankle, her legs stretched out up to the pillows where he reclines, the duvet wrapped around his bare midriff while he reads from a textbook called the Book of Proof.

Life feels simpler since Michael has entered it, despite the turbulent beginnings. She has given up her friends, under his advice, and there is now far less pressure to conform. Her only focuses are her studies and pleasing him, the latter of the two she takes great pleasure in.

It is always on his terms; when they see each other, what they do, how they do it, and despite his obvious initial inexperience he is a fast learner. His ability to make her fall apart, to make her relinquish all control is something he does expertly. The slight fear she feels towards him only adds to the excitement; he could destroy her if he wanted to, but if she plays nicely then he won’t, and she is more than happy to play nicely when the rewards for doing so are as satisfying as they are.

She sighs, his fingers upon her flesh making her core throb with want, even from the simple gesture of absentmindedly touching her leg. She lets her book slip from her fingers, raising up on her elbow to look at him.

“Michael…” she whines.

He looks at her impassively, adjusting his glasses. “The first of your three essays is due soon, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” she responds with a roll of her eyes, flopping back down and stretching her arms above her head. “Early Medieval Literature.”

His hand moves from her ankle, fingertips ghosting over the exposed skin between the hem of his t-shirt and the waistband of her underwear. “And what have you written?”

She shivers beneath his touch, squirming slightly. “Am I really here to study?”

“I’ve no interest in sleeping with a failing literature student,” he pulls his hand away and she immediately misses his warmth. “So tell me.”

She groans in frustration. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably something about irony in the Merchant’s Tale.”

His textbook thuds closed and she hears the heavy sound of him dropping it onto the bedside table. When she chances to glance up at him she sees he is sitting straighter in the bed, his gaze hardened as he looks at her. “Probably?! You mean you haven’t started it? Have you even thought about your thesis statement, your in-depth analysis or how you’re going to conclude your ideas, if you’ve even had any?”

“Oh, come on,” she says softly, sitting up and reaching for him. “There’s still time. Can’t we just–”

“No,” he cuts her off. “I’ve been spoiling you, and it’s made you stupid.”

“I’m not stupid!” She protests. “If I remember correctly, it was you who called my degree a ‘glorified book club’.”

“You still need to try,” he tells her, frowning.

“You don’t try,” she argues with a shrug,” and marks in your first year don’t count towards the final degree.”

“I don’t have to try, but I still get firsts in everything. Marks this year may not count towards the final degree you get, but they count towards you keeping your scholarship. Think about your future instead of being a fucking brat for once in your life.”

His words are a sharp sting to her already fragile ego, and she lowers her gaze, fighting the sudden urge to cry.

“I’m not touching you again until your essay’s handed in and I’ve seen what your mark is.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide with disbelief as she looks at him, searching his features for any indication that he’s being unserious. She finds none; he really means it.

“And you’re not to touch yourself. I’ll know.”

The next two weeks are torturous for her. On the occasions that Michael does invite her to his room, there is no more casual half dressed lounging on his bed. Instead, he has a study space set up for her at his desk, and won’t allow her to speak or leave until she has at least a thousand words written. 

They meet up in the library during free periods so that he can read through what she’s written, and her skin burns hot with humiliation each time he screws up a page and throws it into the waste paper bin, calling her arguments “lazy” and “uninspired”.

It lights a fire of determination beneath her, but bubbling under the surface is also a heightened state of arousal, driven by the lack of intimacy, and the fact that she finds that she likes it when he is so authoritative over her.

By the time she has finished, she has produced an essay that both her and Michael are satisfied with; it discusses the use of irony in Chaucer’s poem, the Merchant's Tale. She has used a number of excerpts and lines from the poem for analysis, revealing the instances of irony in each, and from this has determined that the irony Chaucer used in the Merchant's Tale is controlled.

Her eyes light up when Professor Ware hands it back, and she sees the 85% that’s circled at the top of it.

A first.

She feels giddy with excitement as she knocks on Michael’s door that evening, brandishing the now dog-eared pages at him as he opens the door.

“A first, I got a first!” She squeals, watching as he takes the essay from her, his eyes moving slowly over the top page.

“Hmmm,” he settles it down on the desk, removing his glasses and placing them on top. “Take off your jeans and underwear.”

“Wha–what?” She stammers, her grin fading.

“You want your reward, don’t you?” He asks, moving to lay back on the bed.

She swallows thickly, excitement fluttering in her lower belly, as she quickly complies, ridding herself of the clothing that covers her lower half.

“Come here,” he commands softly.

She joins him on the bed, a gasp leaving her as he manhandles her until her knees are positioned either side of his head.

“My clever girl,” he whispers. His words could be mistaken for softness, were they not directly juxtaposed by the rapid darkening of his blue eyes, and the way his thumbs drag across the indentations between her thighs and pelvis. “I knew you could do it, you just needed a little…push.”

He drags his tongue from her opening all the way to her pearl, and her jaw goes slack, the wet sensation making her clench as she falls forward, hands clawing at the wall in front of her.

His grip on her thighs tightens and he tugs her flush against his face, the sloppy sounds of him devouring her are lewd combined with the wanton cries of pleasure that tumble from her lips.

She feels her mind go blank as he inserts his tongue inside of her, keeping it rigid as she begins to grind herself in a circular motion, keeping his nose pressed against where she needs it most, desperately chasing the release she’s needed the last couple of weeks.

His hum of appreciation reverberates through her core, and as he withdraws from her, plush lips wrapping around her sensitive bundle of nerves she feels herself fall apart as the growing ache intensifies, completely at his mercy as he laps at her, while white hot waves of pleasure wash over her.

She raises up when it becomes too much, jerking at how oversensitive she feels and gazes down at him through heavy lidded eyes, breathless.

He looks like an utterly different person without his glasses, almost kind, though she knows better. His chin is shiny with her slick as he smirks up at her.

“You’ve worked so hard,” he says quietly, though the edge of malevolence to his voice is unmistakable. “But don’t worry, you can give that pretty little mind of yours a rest while I fuck you stupid again.”

She is powerless to resist as he tugs her back to his face once more, beginning the exquisite torture all over again.

Part one || Series masterlist

[backandimbamon]

Hai... I hope you are doing well... I've read most of ur damon fics and I LOVE THEM ❤️. could you please write a one shot fluffy maaaayyybbbeeeee smutty bamon. Please 🥹🥹... also do you have any bamon fic recs? I'm in desperate need of some.

im sorry this took so long :( also whoever reads this, please tag some bamon fics u love. i adore anything by the authors lapis love & swamy on ff. full story on my fanfiction profile but here’s a snippet xx happy bamon day!

Between the antiquated pages of Wuthering Heights, Bonnie Bennett hears the sound of rain. A steady sprinkling so lulling and mesmerizing and absolute that it almost frightens her to see that it is still May 10th, 1994.

When she peaks through the blinds the beaming sun is slowly starting to wane, sunset is soon, the same hazy orange, the same undying heat.

Here, there is no such thing as anything else but somehow she’s managed to trick herself with this growing longing for change. Everyday away from the real world is another day for her to forget what possibility feels like- she craves not only rain, but snow too, a cold, snowy winter, that makes her excited for summer all over again. In an obsessive way, the feeling of something new is always on her mind, she’s in desperate need of a surprise.

Bonnie sighs distantly. Once she makes it back home, (because somehow she always does), she vows to stand in the middle of every storm and drink the raindrops as they come. Just to remember. Just to never forget.

The sound of rain. Laughter bubbles up in her throat at the silly little thought, she may very well be losing her mind, but it’s fine. Everything’s fine. She returns to the novel with hopes that she’ll be distracted from how fine everything is, trapped in the story of a boarding house and lost love and ghosts.

But the boarding house makes her think of home and the lost love makes her think of home, and the ghosts, (especially the ghosts,) makes her think of home.

It’s a great story, evocative, she’s just too sensitive right now. Reading page after page where the plot thickens and the scenery changes is the one thing she can’t relate with, it makes her sore. Envious.

Bonnie nearly drops the book in agitation, flips a few pages forward and sees calligraphy here and there in random margins. Stefan’s.

Perhaps it’s his footnotes that prompt her olfactory hallucinations earlier- the smell of wet asphalt is not unlike that of dried ink on aged pages. Chemically natural. Pungent. If she closes her eyes, it does smell like a downpour.

Or a blizzard.

Or a skin scent; anatomy mixed with the faint smell of soap or salt or leather.

Naturally, she thinks of Damon.

Funny enough, he recommends this book to her one morning as she’s browsing through the home library. Bonnie grabs Wuthering Heights by accident, she has already studied it in high school and is quick to put the novel back in its alphabetical place, only Damon suggests that she read it a second time. At her hesitance, he insists. She’s never pegged him to be an avid reader.

“It won’t be the same story you read for literature,” Damon Salvatore, who’d more or less die than reveal that he thinks, is sharing story suggestions. The same Damon who prefers to lead with looks then blindside with depth later, sometimes never. But here in their prison world, he has nowhere to run and she has nothing better to do than observe. She’s beginning to know him better than Caroline; he’s starting to gain on her friendship with Elena.

“I’ll take your word for it.” This prison has also made her weary to fight back every now and then. She takes his recommendation without question and she wishes she gives him more resistance because it isn’t like she trusts him or something.

“Oh Bon, Bon?”

One thought of him and now he’s calling, she doesn’t miss the irony.

“Damon,” she calls back, feigning aggravation “So much for peace and quiet.” Her actions speak louder than words, though, already, she’s bookmarking her page, leaving the study for the bar where two glasses of bourbon await him to her one.

This has become a sacred space for her, her little hideaway. Whisky is as much a friend as Damon at times. To have both spoils her.

“There you are.” He’s wearing his signature lazy smile. “I knew the only way to get your nose out of that novel was to make myself useful.”

“And that you did.” Quickly she taps her glass against his outstretched one, the gentle clink relieves her from fixating on what it is that secretly makes her feel enthused about being in Damon’s company. “I must admit, you weren’t wrong about rereading,” she says, back to using that poor book to distract herself from her own inner wonderings.

He hums a sound of approval. Without much thought, Damon drapes his arm around her barstool, it’s a habit for him to make her personal space his own, so much so, she’s starting to smell leathery and spicy and woody too. “When am I ever?”

“What, wrong?” She nearly guffaws before adding quickly, “It’s a very long list. Shall I drop the scroll?”

“Hilarious.” Damon says facetiously, downing his first glass. His hand is already cupping the next tumbler. “You wanna talk about yesterday?” He watches her then, no hint of mirth in his expression, in as little words, he’s worried about her. Damon Salvatore is worried about her. It’s absurd the way he cares now; honest concern is blatant in his eyes. This place is an alternate reality that molds and twists and reshapes the world she once knew to outlandish proportions.

“I don’t know,” she begins, taken aback by his seriousness. Maybe a little startled by his beauty, too.

He’s so easy to look at and difficult to hold eye contact with at the same time but she forces herself to face the flame just this once.

Bonnie settles on, “What about it?” Guiltily.

Yesterday is a blur, she remembers finding her sloth in warm sheets and the early morning sunlight filtering through them, she has no idea what time it is, only knows that when he wakes her up she asks for five minutes which turns into five hours and before she realizes it, it’s well beyond midnight. Damon comes back in to check on her and she tells him nothing even mattress instead of matters and can’t stop laughing and laughing and laughing…

Again, she is most likely losing her mind because she has to be insane in order for her entrapment to make sense.

“First you lose track of the days we’ve spent here, no dice on your magic after all this time, now you’re sleeping until night and laughing like a lunatic because apparently, nothing even mattress.” Lightly he taps her shoulder as if he’s doing a quality check. “My Bonnie is malfunctioning.”

He’s joking but it’s the words themselves and the ideology behind them that’s cruel. Immediately she takes offense, the image of a sacrificial lamb flashing in her mind. “God forbid I stop behaving in my normal, resourceful manner.” She says tightly.

Damon brushes her shoulder with his thumb while he speaks, a small and innocent gesture that’s coaxing nonetheless, sympathy in his voice. “You know I didn’t mean it like that, Bon,”

“No.” She says to his touch, disregarding the fluttery feeling inside of her in order to focus on indignation. Bonnie shifts away from him. “You did mean it like that and while it’s completely unfair, I’m not even surprised. Leave it to you to have expectations of me in a literal hellhole.”

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[kazefiend]

Tags: NSFW 18+, Choking, Facesitting, Cunnilingus, eating your girlfriend's pussy after you kill her dad. Fucked up dynamics, corruption, he made her evil tbh, but its good.

Synopsis: Ronin had one last surprise for Karina when they got home, but what could top murdering her father? Probably nothing but this is great too.

Word Count: 786

Karina hovered uncertainly above Ronin, who lay back on the black silk sheets with that familiar wolfish grin. His hands gripped her hips with the same strength that had wielded the crowbar hours earlier, now softer but no less commanding.

"Are you sure about this?" she whispered, running nervous fingers through her black hair. The irony wasn't lost on her; that she felt more afraid and uncertain in this moment of intimacy than she had watching him commit murder. It was a testament to how thoroughly he had corrupted her soul, how he had transformed her into his princess of rot.

"C'mere darlin'," he drawled, voice thick with anticipation. "s’your birthday, remember?"

His grip tightened slightly, a reminder of the strength he was capable of. She could still see traces of dried blood under his fingernails, a subtle reminder of their earlier activities. The red neon lights hanging on the walls caught the raw hunger in his eyes, turning them almost black with desire.

"What if I hurt you?" she asked, “I read once a girl broke her boyfriend’s nose doing this.”

"Baby I can lift ya no problem, you're like a hundred pounds soaking wet," he demonstrated this by lifting her by her hips without much strain.

"I'm a hundred and fifteen you jerk," she pouted as he placed her down on his chest again. Her heart raced, feeling his strength, knowing those same hands that had violently ended her father now handled her with such reverent care. Taking a steadying breath, she shifted forward, carefully positioning herself over his face.

For him, the ecstasy was instant - his eyes rolled back as he let out a deep groan that vibrated through her core.  Her scent, her taste, driving him absolutely mad.

Having her above him like this, vulnerable yet powerful, was a kind of heaven he never thought he'd witness from his place in hell. Like a ray of sunshine piercing the depths of damnation.

His grip on her thighs tightened possessively as he worshipped her, each movement of his tongue a prayer. The same mouth that had laughed while dealing death now brought her pleasure, and the duality of their lives at this point made everything more intense.

Above him, Karina's breath came in short gasps as she surrendered to the sensation. Her hands gripped the headboard, fingers white-knuckled against the dark wood. Neon bathing them in an unholy red glow; a dance with the devil and his beloved creation.

Her whole body trembled as she rocked against his mouth, his hands steadying her hips. Every movement drew another moan from deep in his chest, the vibrations sending shockwaves through her core. This was Ronin at his most devoted; transformed from destroyer to worshipper, though no less intense in his dedication.

Her thighs quivered around his head as pleasure built inside her. Through half-lidded eyes, she watched him, he was focused and very evidently enjoying himself as he sucked hard on her clit. His hands slid up her sides, one settling on her breast while the other wrapped around her throat in a gentle reminder of his control.

The dual sensation of his mouth and his hand at her throat pushed her closer to the edge. This was their love; tender violence, controlled chaos, beauty wrapped in darkness. Her breath came in short gasps as she ground against him, chasing release.  Sweat collected on her brow, beading and dripping down her body.  As she leaned forward her long black hair enveloping them like a curtain. 

"Ronin," she whimpered, one hand tangling in his wine dark hair, pulling gently as she rode his face. His response was to tighten his grip slightly, both at her throat and her breast, silently urging her toward climax.

She trembled atop him, gripping the headboard hard as waves of intense sensation washed over her. Ronin's grip tightened possessively, his movements becoming more focused and deliberate. The room spun around her and stars exploded like fireworks in her vision as she arched back, crying out his name like a dark prayer.  She pulled him by his hair, keeping him where he was while his tongue flicked.

Her release hit her hard, moans spilling from her lips in incoherent babbling.  She collapsed forward against the headboard, breathing heavily and limbs trembling. Ronin guided her gently off him and pulled her down into his arms. His face glistened as he grinned up at her with pure adoration.

"Happy birthday, darlin'," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"I love you," she whispered, tracing the scars on his chest. "Thank you for everything. For understanding me."

His arms tightened around her protectively. "Course I would, the rot within you jus’ needed help to bloom."

“Do…” she paused, collecting her thoughts, “do you wanna get off too?”

He barked a laugh, nuzzling his face into her hair, “I did darlin’ s’all good.”

[adobe-outdesign]

Have you reviewed the Bruce, and particularly my favorite variety of the Bruce (the ULTRA ultra UC version)?

(I don't have any Pokemon review requests in my inbox right now but I do have a few Neopet requests, so I'll go ahead and do one of those.)

I might as well talk about the history of the Bruce first, because while I don't normally bother going over past iterations for these reviews everyone should know that the first incarnation of the Bruce was a 150 x 150 photograph of esteemed British entertainer Bruce Forsyth sloppily recolored and slapped onto a circle. I literally could not make this up if I tried.

While the Bruce isn't the only Neopet that started off as a human, it A) was the only one to start with a realistic photograph instead of a caricature, and B) is also the only one to retain some aspects of its human design: namely the signature bow(tie) and the name (plus penguins already look like they're wearing suits in a way).

Visually, today's modern Bruce is pretty cute. It's mostly just a standard penguin, but they've got very appealing faces and a sort of plush chubbiness to them that not a lot of Neopets sport. While pets wearing clothes by default isn't always my favorite thing, the bow does work well with everything else and still makes sense in-universe for anthro Bruces (side note: the irony of an anthro Bruce is not lost on me).

The body is broken up with distinct markings that are based off of emperor penguins—though ironically, they're based on emperor chicks, to the point where the Baby Bruce is just a slightly smaller version of the regular Bruce. The Bruce does extend the face markings down into an underbelly however, which looks very natural and helps to break up the torso.

Visually, nothing really changed about the Bruce with customization other than it standing up and gaining a fist. I think I like the converted version a bit more, as while the original pose was cute it was also harder to see aspects of the design (like the tail). The flipper anatomy and general lineart/details have also been greatly approved. Also, the bow became removable, which is a bonus.

Favorite Colours:

Island: A surprisingly nice take on the colour, the island Bruce has an usually dark brown palette, which pops nicely with the white markings and compliments the flowers and greenery nicely. The markings are well-placed with good thought as to how they interact with the body shape and the green eyes are pretty and draw the color through the design well. The floral accents can also be removed, which provides a pretty nice base colour as well.

Wraith: The wraith Bruce is quite a bit different than most takes on the colour. Wraith pets are usually flat with intricate body shapes—think like a tattoo. However, the wraith Bruce opts for a more solid body shape that uses subtle gradients and very carefully placed highlights to give it a sense of depth. The face and beak look really good here, and the way the white highlights on the edge of the body fade off into nothing is really cool. My only minor quibble is that I wish there was one thin line indicating the underbelly markings, as the torso looks a bit too solid here.

Toy: The toy Bruce is slightly redundant because the plushie Bruce is already a thing, but between the two, I do like the toy design a bit more. The flocked and fluffy look is super cute and works great for the pet, and I like the contrast between the hard flippers and beak and the rest of the body. The penguin-like monotone body color is offset by the red bow, which has a nice subtle plaid pattern to it. My only nitpick is that I would've just dropped the single head feather entirely, as it looks out of place and doesn't really make logical sense. Still, good stuff all around.

[jon-sedai]

I really don’t think we should be treating morality as a linear thing in ASOIAF because what often happens is that we start to stray from the actual conversations that we need to be having regarding the depths of making a moral choice and even the circumstances involved. To try and blankly paint any one character as the “most morally good” isn’t really taking us anywhere. And it certainly isn’t helpful when people in this fandom want to try and prove that characters are “grey” but not moral (what does that even mean??) because they did one “bad” thing. If ASOIAF stans were to have their way, then:

Jon is not a morally good person because he threatened Gilly

Dany cannot be considered to be compassionate because she sanctioned torture against the wine seller’s daughters

Arya cant be good because she has killed people

and so on, and so on….

But this is such a draining, and oft times frustrating, conversation to have because you see just how shallow the above listed examples are? Readers are listing only singular instances across a narrative that spans thousand and thousands of pages, and there’s absolutely no context involved. Why did Jon threaten Gilly? Why did Dany resort to torture and at one point did she do it? Who did Arya kill and why? And why do those singular instances negate everything else in their arcs?

What usually happens when we have the 12847647282th unnecessary conversation about who is the “most good” character in ASOIAF is that we start getting blanket statements with no elaboration. And the only people ever considered are Ned, Brienne, and Davos, and sometimes the children like Shireen or Tommen. Mind you, Ned and Davos are not perfect or without their own faults either; much has been said about Ned’s abilities as a father and it’s implied that Davos was not entirely faithful to his wife. And based on her current arc, Brienne will surely have to make morally tough choices regarding oaths and knightly honor. Plus theres the irony of including literal children when they have not been put in situations where they actually have to make morally difficult choices and live with the consequences.

ASOIAF shows us that people who are capable of incredible kindness and compassion are also capable of doing unpleasant things.

Jon threatened Gilly….because he was trying to save another child whom he believed to be at risk of human sacrifice(!!) and was stuck between a rock and a hard place. But why does that singular instance negate the fact that his arc has been about him standing up for the “lesser than”? Why does that negate the fact that he stood up for Sam against a superior when there was nothing to gain for him? Why does it negate the fact that he went out of his way to equip Arya in a way that society would have deemed inappropriate? Why does it negate the fact that he dedicated the entirety of his time as Lord Commander to fight an institution that had upheld racism/xenophobia for millennia? Why should we filter out all those moments of kindness, compassion, and deep empathy that Jon has even without him thinking?

Dany sanctioned torture….but she was trying to solve the murder of an innocent victim AND this brought her no joy. But why does that negate the fact that when she gained unimaginable power, she could’ve high tailed to Westeros to use it to her benefit and become queen, but instead chose to stay in Essos where she has no personal responsibility just so she could fight the institutional evil that is slavery? Why does it negate Dany who went to personally treat plague victims at great risk to herself?

Arya has killed some….but it’s in self defense or in defense of others who are disenfranchised. But why does this negate that she is one of the few people in the series how goes out of her way to show kindness and friendship to those who are not as economically or politically advantaged as she is (e.g., Mycah)? Why does it negate that she took fellow slaves under her protection when she herself had little power to fight for her own survival at Harrenhall? Why does it negate that when she saw those caged soldiers whom she was angry with for their actions, instead of leaving them to die instead offered them the only kindness she could at the moment: a drink of water?

Trying to have arguments about morality but stripping everything down to ‘x character did y bad thing (regardless of context) and that’s why they can’t be good’ is, to be blunt, ridiculous. And it isn’t a particularly interesting way to engage with the text. Character journeys, especially well written ones, are rarely ever in a straight line. There’s amazing highs and terrible lows. GRRM gives us so many characters like Jon, Dany, Arya, Sansa, Ned, etc. who even in their lows, have gleams of compassion and exceptional kindness. It doesn’t do anyone any good to filter those moments out to make the books more digestible; and I’m being a little generous here, because so many readers have a very shallow level of engagement with the series and it shows in conversation. And we also shouldn’t pit these characters unfairly against those who have never been in similarly difficult situations that required them to make hard choices. Because when we do, we start to completely miss the point all together.

[evansbby]

Just read TCR 2 and omg like after reading the first one I was like ok that was super hot but also so dark I felt like I needed to take a shower lmao but this one?? I feel this weird cocktail of angst (after that ending!) and disgust with myself for finding Steve so hot despite getting more details about this version of him and finding out he’s somehow even more awful??? like hold on I saved parts that gave me actual visceral reactions:

‘He knows Bucky just wants his best friend and his girlfriend to get along, but Steve doesn’t view women as equals to get along with.’—I cackled like he’s so bad it’s funny but also it’s not funny he’s horrible I hate him

‘Steve makes a mental note to inform his agents to have a few girls sent up to one of his other apartments for the time being.’ —NOOOOO I know he thought about having other girls in the first chapter but I thought our pussy would have him whipped 😔 I hate him

‘Instead, his enhanced hearing picks up the slight hitch in your throat and the sharp intake of your breath as Bucky shakes your hand.’—LMAO he’s such a LOSER 🫵😂 like aura is in generational debt I’m soooo embarrassed for him ugh why is he hot I hate him

—Also need to add the way Steve’s so impassive and speaks softly even when he’s super mad/horny omg like he’s so scary but HOT—

“I…I wish you were nice,”—Ok I’m not laughing anymore stop my throat tightened up and everything

You’re an amazing writer and I love love LOVE the themes in your works and how you integrate them. There are so many dark ddlg fics out there but yours have so much emotion and depth I eat it up every time. Anyways done yapping but I’ll answer the questions too:

1. What did you think of Steve's proposal? LMAO.

—I love the bit about him being bored by his own speech and instead just getting off mentally from how much we hate him ugh it’s perfect

2. Do you think Steve will grow softer towards reader? Or will he remain how he always is?

—Steve is in denial because that ending shows he’s already soft like he literally wants to kiss and cuddle ‘to reaffirm ownership’ surrreee ok bud 👍🏼

3. What do you think Steve will do to Bucky?

—I’m gonna be so real idc about Bucky at all and anyway I think Steve is too limited by the public eye so if anything he’d do something to Bucky’s gf or something

Thank you so much bestie for this lovely review! 🥺🥺✨✨✨

A cocktail of angst is such a great way to describe it! This chapter was meant to be a lot longer but I cut myself a break and posted it at 16k words so it’s very much a chapter that’s setting things up for future potential parts!

I love you for taking out specific quotes bahaha! The first one about Steve not viewing women as equals — it was actually so hard to not write him as funny and comical bc so much of his inner monologue is so RIDICULOUS if you read it out loud such as this one 😂

And about him having other girls sent up to his other apartments — we never hear about this again for the rest of the chapter LMAO so I doubt Steve slept with anyone else. More on this in future potential chapters!

LMAO at Steve getting jealous over reader’s immediate crush on Bucky 😂😂 but it’s what he deserves tbh! I just love the irony of him making reader his wife and she just turns around and decides she likes Bucky 😭😂 sucks for Steve!

I’m glad you took note of how Steve always speaks softly and it somehow makes him double scary! It’s what I was going for haha, he never ever raises his voice.

Steve being bored by his own proposal speech WHILST he’s reciting it was too funny, even if I do say so myself 😂 and lmao you get it!!! Also Steve using reaffirming ownership as an excuse to cuddle BAHAHAHAHAHAAHA. YEP!

Also you not caring about Bucky is such a mood bc same 💀😭

[cptapathy]

Do you feel your theatre experience impacts your d&d experience and vice versa? If so how?

An intricate one

I think poem first then full answer under the cut. It's long and indepth.

Does a shoe influence a dance?

Will the thread effect the weave?

Do I age with time?

Or does it age with me?

So, to try and determine how theatre has influenced anything in my life is incredibly difficult. But the biggest thing is helping to sus out when audiences may lose focus.

I have been in professional theatre since I was 7/8 I think, amateur theatre since I was about 6 maybe it's real hard to remember. So naturally everything I do is influenced by it.

My background varies from acting to dircting and lighting design so how theatre impacts is more identifiable.

Part 1 acting

So I was a good actor but not a great one and I think if a great actor were to play a ttrpg they wouldn't do well at it if they approached it how they approach acting.

When I would perform a role I would be thinking constantly about what my character would do right now, how I'm meant to move to this position, the next thing is a big moment so I need to prepare for it etc.

A great actor doesn't do that, they just do the stuff they don't think about it. It does mean that great actors can be terrible fits if the character I too different from them but if it's the right character it's seamless.

However the tendency to think in depth about each action is incredibly useful in ttrpgs especially combat focused ones like dnd or PF as the alienation of the mechanics fits nicely with the alienation of thinking though each action and intention.

Although apparently everyone does improv and everyone recommends improv I've never had a great experience with it and that is entirely because most aee comedic. I can't help but find it funny and feel the pressure to be funny.

However the few times I've done dramatic improv it's been brilliant and I've been able to hone that to a T in TTRPGs I've never before had the scope to perform dramatic improv like that before.

The final acting thing I can think of is my voices, I hated my voice after it broke for some reason, can't possibly imagine what would make me, a trans girl, hate her deep voice.

But because I hated my voice I inhabited a number of different voices and accents and would spend hours in the playground making weird noises just to stretch and flex my vocal skills. To this day it's really difficult for me to not slip into the accent of people talking to me.

Doing lost of different voices helped immensely with acting and has been invaluable in TTRPGs as a player and gm. Obviously no one needs to do a voice for TTRPGs but I can separate characters in my head by their voice and the wild thing is that similar characters will accidentally slip into each others voices more than similar voices do.

Part 2 Directing

This is easy, directing and GMing are almost a 121 parallel.

1. Organising a group of disorganised performers/players

2. Ensuring the table/rehearsal is safe and comfortable

3. Steering said disorganised group towards a conclusion, theme or ending that aligns with the script/adventure and each other

Like, running rpgs is how I get my theatre fix during the slow times.

There are a number of things that I have learnt from directing which I tend to apply in rpgs. A lot seem obvious but common sense ain't so common.

Dramatic irony: incredibly useful to engage the audience/player. Obviously this requires a game where secrets are a thing but if that is the case having some information that others don't can pull players in especially if they hold only a part of the puzzle and are trying to figure out the rest

I am a creative editor not dictator: in theatre there are directors who accept no challenges to their vision. I am not one of them, I believe in the inherent nature of actors/writers/designers as creative and that when we collaborate we make something better than we could have made alone. So when I GM or play I take that attitude with me. There is no right answer, most of the time I will have a number of idea of how to solve things but whatever the players suggest I am more inclined to enact that what my original plan may have been.

Part 3 theatrics/design

When I run in person games, I will narrate an opening cinematic, think game of thrones/civ 5 openings with camera cuts and transitions focusing on actions the characters have done in the last session and giving hints to what may come up in the story.

I will plot this narration to music, try my best to time it correctly, and spotlight moments from each character to make them all seem badass. Sometimes I will incorporate character backstory scenes to give background if we are going to be focusing on one characters arc over others for the session.

I think this has become my signature style as a GM and, personally, it makes for an epic opening. It also is a clear indication of "the game has begun" which is an issue I see with a lot of GMs where there isn't a hard start to the game and it can get a bit meandering and slow to start.

Another related element which is tough to enact in game is the rule of inverse (I just made up that phrase)

The rule of inverse is if you have slow slow fade to black or snap to black transitions through the entire play you maintain the one you use until THE MOMENT, the moment when everything changes, the tonal shift, the revelation, the denouement/climax etc. At that point you change how transitions happen snap transitions if you were fading or slow fades if you were snapping to black.

This highlights the "everything has changed" sense and sets the audience on edge.

In TTRPGs its very helpful to have a sudden shift in energy to let players know something has happened or changed, that we are now in another phase. This is generally changing the frequency of rolls and opportunities to act drastically.

If speeding things up it may result in limiting player agency in the moment if they are unsure of what to do but you can mitigate this by either adding an IRL timer and/or taking a moment to tell the players things are different now, (you can stop this being jarring and pulling players out of immersion by setting a key phrase to indicate that this is happening)

Anywho that's how I approach TTRPGs with a theatre background.

[katieqnmr]

february and everything after

Post-production for me consisted of colour grading, finding a piece of music for Peer to use diagetically (because I wanted to) and creating a title card/credits.

Colour grading: the longest process - I am not a colour grader. I am lucky I know how to use photoshop because I would honestly be lost without that knowledge! I did the absolute best I could. I’ve talked with Eva about how we probably need much more attention out on how to colour grade, or it should possibly be done out of house altogether. The idea that I could ruin the shots I’ve carefully prepared and lit just by not knowing what I’m doing is very scary! During shooting, Eva, Alex and I noticed a weird red tint on some of the shots, particularly when we stacked ND filters. I assured myself that I could fix this in post, because there really wasn't anything else we could do. We tried to offset it in camera, but generally it wouldn't leave! I found that doing a Node Tree where the 1st node was for Lift Gamma and Gain (as Paul thankfully advised me!) which I labelled LGG was a really good first step. Once the levels were correct (and I had ensured I was working in the correct colour space), I was able to start correcting issues, namely the red tint. I think in almost all the scenes I was able to eliminate it or work around it, especially scene 8 I think worked well. For scene 8 I layered various tints, making a 2nd node for a greener Lift, and the creating a 3rd node to bring the warmth back in the Gamma and Gain. This went a long way to adding depth and removing the dreaded red tint. I also did some selective masking for example on Harry’s jacket which had partly turned maroon. But I was able to make it blue/black again with the colour dropper mask and some blurring. I did this for any issue that had specific areas to change, another one was the white plastic bag in the loch. (Though that is the one I’m least happy with). Generally I kept up this process of LGG node and then multiple layers pushing green and then yellows and reds in layers until the shots had much more depth to them.

But in scene 11 (the last one) the red tint made the shore look distinctly meat-like, while the Jo's skin (especially) was also reddish-pink, so I couldn't change it. I tried to mask it but it looked even more obvious that something strange was happening. I managed to mask the reverse shot on Phoebe thankfully, but alas the whole thing is more pink than I wanted.

Generally I think I did well. I have to say I am curious about what a professional colour-grader would be able to do with it!

Song for Scene 4

We needed a different piece of music from scene 3 to 4, to show a change of time, and perhaps mood. Arina Brovanova (angel) had scored just one diagetic song to be used for this, so we needed another! (Though hers was great and is in scene 3). I had been thinking about how sometimes the most tense/best atmosphere creation with music comes from juxtaposition and the irony of using a happy song whilst such a tense scene was unfolding seemed like it might work really well. I remembered a song I had helped my friend Charis produce (that she wrote and composed, and I did harmonies for her and our friend Ben did some guitar on) called 'in your arms', which was a very feel-good song about vulnerability and happiness within that. It's a very sweet song but in this scene it ramps up the tension and I think it works really well! Peer and Orla happily agreed :)

Title card

I have been making film titles since 1st year, and all throughout my time at Napier. I love animation and typography, so I always opt to make titles when I can. For Saint Catherines, Orla and I thought combining the wave sounds you hear at the end with a water animation might be nice, so I animated a wave washing the title away (thanks Orla!).

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hey Cat!

Hope you are doing well < 33

It's a bit random, but I also despise physics, even though I actually like math. For two reasons: my physics teacher was no good at explaining anything, and I hate the theory. Like, I can work with numbers and calculations, but the theory is so convoluted that doing physics feels like a masochistic choice.

But, biology is great, and I have always preferred it to math (and defo physics, physics is a bastard subject), but I haven't taken the advanced level and didn't get in depth into it tbf. But it's always been wayyy more interesting than physics.

My fav is actually chemistry. I loveeee chemm sooo muchhh.

The irony is I took my advanced level in goddamned math, and honestly even though I am supposedly good or something, I see why people can hate it (calculus. screw newton and screw calculus).

I feel like biology is underrated, and the best part about it is even though it relies on memorisation, it makes sense; everything comes together, so you can link stuff which makes memorisation much less hellish, and it doesn't feel like mindless facts (like geography, which I hate)

Sorry for the rant 🥶

Slay,

Natalia <3

Yeahhh chemistry is all fun and games until you have to know every single amino acid, draw it, recognise if it’s α-, β-, γ- or δ-, think about polarisation, isomerism and then use Fischer, Natta and skeletal projection and it’s just so so so so much…

I just think biology is easier to grasp for me but I have to say university makes me like chemistry a little more than in school.

[rhymaes]

why is my fight or flight response triggered so easily lololololol everything in my inner-head life feels like its in a phase of ever-crashing stasis but it’s not! it’s all fine really & no one knows anything is different bc im not acting different but i feel it oh god i feel it & i feel crazy & like im on fire by being around people i love bc i cant communicate things i cant change bc theyve hurt me & AH something something abt the despair of knowing someone you love will never understand the depth of their actions lolololololol anyway it will be fine i just have to . to realize that i need to stop taking things personally & set boundaries but that makes no sense to me bc i love u why do i have to act like i dont?? i want to hear about your day why does it hurt me irreparably??? anyway my addy runs out in like a week & i cant find a therapist/psych within my coverage so thats also great because that is like my Most looming fear that i will become the drifting creature i was two years ago &, despite this post & how it makes me sound, i am so so very happy with my life & now my life is the part in the movie where dramatic irony of the thing you fear most will envelop you but you have to face it with total awareness rather than ignorance beforehand & it’s fine it really is i will be Okay -- i just. im getting in my own way i want to see the people i love & i will see them soon & yet i am overtaken by dread & hurt & i dont like it i dont but i will get better & then i will feel ashamed that i thought of leaving them like this but for now i will focus on healing & also trying to fight the insane fun thing grad school taught me which is that i become an insane insomniac when stressed so i will heal & gain more than an hour & a half of sleep because im so paralyzed by indecision & continued hurt because i dont think i can face someone not comprehending the depth of their actions on me AH it’s cool it’s cool i will heal & recover from my control issues i know it stems from that & also that i make the people i love into gods unknowingly okay im complete & feel better i will heal fr sorry i must learn to communicate & u all have to witness it

[moon-personality-art]

Personal Soul Bound chapter ratings (season 1)

Note: I’m possibly biased in some of my opinions due to me being the creator/writer and I wrote Soul Bound almost 2 years ago, meaning that I might be overly critical to minor mistakes or overly positive due to specific characters being in said chapter.

There may be spoilers ahead!!

S1 CH1 - 6/10 - decent start, not great in my opinion but I also didn’t have everything figured out.

S1 CH2 - 6/10 - wasn’t fully sure how to write this chapter but it turned out alright all things considered.

S1 CH3 - 4.5/10 - It has decent parts but there are parts I cringe at now due to the old writing style.

S1 CH4 - 6.5/10 - I don’t really know how I feel about this one, just got mixed feelings I can’t fully explain, possibly due to the way it’s written but I do like the chapter near the end.

S1 CH5 - 5.5/10 - could have gone more in depth, I might touch up on this in the future but I’m not certain.

S1 CH6 - 5/10 - I don’t really know how I feel about this chapter but I don’t hate it.

S1 CH7 - 6/10 - it’s alright, nothing too exciting in my opinion but it’s a decent chapter.

S1 CH8 - 6.5/10 - I like it, it’s not amazing but it’s going somewhere.

S1 CH9 - 5.5/10 - mixed feelings, didn’t write certain parts properly but it’s alright.

S1 CH10 - 7/10 - I like this one, it’s not necessarily one of my favorites but it’s definitely one of the better chapters in my opinion.

S1 CH11 - 7.5/10 - it’s a pretty cute chapter, quite wholesome and a nice breath of fresh air in a way.

S1 CH12 - 7.5/10 - I love this one, just like many other chapters there’s bits and pieces based on me and my experiences and I remember being proud of it when I wrote it.

S1 CH13 - 6.5/10 - it’s decent, pretty good in some areas, less so in others but generally pretty good.

S1 CH14 - 7/10 - based on my own irl realizations so it’s very personal to me and I think I wrote it pretty well.

S1 CH15 - 7/10 - pretty good, I don’t really have much to say about it.

S1 CH16 - 8/10 - I personally love Ethan’s debut/introduction, I might be biased here though but I do like the chapter.

S1 CH17 - 6/10 - I could have written this a bit better and feels a tad rushed to me but it still has good moments and isn’t too bad.

S1 CH18 - 5.5/10 - again, I could have written this better but I still can’t say I hate the chapter.

S1 CH19 - 7.5/10 - I like the character interaction with this one, it’s wholesome and gives subtle context to titles and title art, I’m also generally fascinated by flower symbolism.

S1 CH20 - 8.5/10 - I love this chapter because you get a bit more depth on Sebastian’s character and what he’s like outside of his perfect little butler mask. He becomes less of a one dimensional character, which I love.

S1 CH21 - 6/10 - not really much to say, it’s alright.

S1 CH22 - 6.5/10 - I like that we get to see more characters even if they’re mostly one-offs for now, it’s not fantastic but it’s good.

S1 CH23 - 6.5/10 - I like this chapter, it would be rated higher if the writing was a little better but it’s an alright chapter.

S1 CH24 - 6.5/10 - solid chapter, has funny moments, could have been written a little better maybe but it’s a solid chapter.

S1 CH25 - 7.5/10 - I love this one, it’s very personal to me and is written pretty well in my opinion.

S1 CH26 - 7.5/10 - love the character interactions, you get to see Sebastian and Ethan interact when they are alone.

S1 CH27 - 7/10 - I like it, it’s wholesome and has good interactions.

S1 CH28 - 8.5/10 - definitely one of my favorite chapters, I love the interactions between Ethan and Sebastian and you get a better understanding of their relationship.

S1 CH29 - 5.5/10 - I cringe at this one because I feel like I could have handled this chapter better than I did but I’m not entirely sure how, I’ve had people tell me the chapter is fine and don’t see the problem and I genuinely can’t explain it either.

S1 CH30 - 7.5/10 - I like the irony in this chapter and I think it shows how holy grounds affect demons and I like how this one is written.

S1 CH31 - 8/10 - I like this one, when writing this a part of me wanted to write the intimacy scene in more detail but several readers know me irl and I’d rather not give them the wrong idea of me, despite this though I think it was written pretty well.

S1 CH32 - 7/10 - I actually had to quickly skim over this one because I barely remembered anything about this chapter, I would have rated this higher if some of the writing was better and/or less chaotic but I did love the chapter near the end since you get to see Raymond and Ethan interact.

S1 CH33 - 6.5/10 - it hits close to home because this is basically how I came out to my mom irl but the chapter itself isn’t too exciting.

S1 CH34 - 8/10 - we get to see everyone interact with Isaac which I felt like was necessary because I don’t think I give Isaac enough interactions with other characters, which I might fix in the future.

S1 CH35 - 7.5/10 - I’ve been told that this chapter feels a bit sudden which is actually intentional since a great deal of this chapter is in Ray’s POV and to him it literally feels sudden, overall I like this chapter, it’s not perfect but i like it.

S1 CH36 - 7.5/10 - this chapter is a pretty good yet bittersweet ending to season 1 and leaves you wondering what will happen next, I think some of the interactions are interesting too.

[swimmingcleaner]

The Art of Making Your Home a Masterpiece: A Guide to Home Artwork

If you ever walked into someone's house, and felt like you're stepping into an art gallery minus the pretentious tour guide, then you can attest to the transformative power of home artwork. Be it a splash of color, quirky pieces of wall decor and hangings, or even a sculptural candlestick that screams "I have my life together," art can make or break your space. And let's be honest, most of us need something to distract us from that laundry pile in the corner.

Here is a step-by-step guide on how to make your home into a masterpiece—one that even your mother-in-law will stop in her criticism.

Why Home Artwork Matters

Picture this: bare walls, a plain couch and a coffee table that looks it's seen better days. Now add in a bit of bold abstract painting, or a few framed pictures of the family arranged for what seems to be the audition for the Pinterest board. What is the difference? The art, right?

Home art does not simply decorate your walls; it's a reflection of your personality. Are you whimsical? Hang a funky print of a giraffe wearing sunglasses. Do you like drama? Place oversized candle sticks on your console table to give your living space a Gothic romance feel. However, if you belong to any particular style, the right art says your story for you without needing to tell anyone, "Well, I'm an Aries who likes minimalist expression."

Types of Home Artwork to Consider

Wall Decor and Hangings

This is home artwork's MVP. Everything from framed prints to metal sculptures fits in here. Pro tip: it doesn't have to be one lonely frame hanging around on a wall, trying to make the point that it even exists. Use your skills to create a gallery of different sizes, styles, and even include that really cool postcard you collected on your last vacation.

Gallery walls aren't just hip; they are also conversation pieces. Someone will point to your vintage movie poster and say, "Oh, you like Hitchcock too?" And, voila, instant rapport.

Candle sticks

Yes, candle sticks qualify as art-when sculptural or unique in design. Twisted metal, colorful glass, or oversized wooden ones that are a statement in themselves will do. When the power is out, you will be the chic one lighting candles.

Sculptures and Figurines

Small sculptures or figurines can add depth to your décor. Place a ceramic bird on your bookshelf or a modern geometric piece on your coffee table. These little touches show you’ve put thought into your space, even if you’re secretly Googling “how to clean a couch with baking soda” while your guests admire your art.

Functional Art

Why settle for boring when your everyday items can double as art? Think decorative mirrors, designer clocks, or artistic vases. These pieces pull double duty by being both practical and beautiful—the holy grail of home decor.

How to Choose Artwork for Your Space

Match Your Mood

Do you want to create a peaceful retreat or a lively party area? The right art depends on the mood you wish to create. Soft watercolors in the bedroom? Great. Bold, neon abstract pieces in the living room? Excellent choice. Unless you're a fan of irony, avoid the "Live Laugh Love" sign, okay?

Size Matters

A tiny piece of art on a giant wall is like wearing a swimsuit to a black-tie event-it's just wrong. Determine the proportions of your room and select artwork that fits it.. Big wall? Go for oversized pieces or create a collection. Small nook? One perfectly placed painting can do the trick.

Budget Wisely

You don't have to sell your kidney to get good art. Look at local artists, online marketplaces, or even thrift stores. Sometimes the best finds are hiding under a layer of dust.

Hanging Tips to Avoid Rookie Mistakes

Height is Key: Hang artwork at eye level. Nobody wants to crane their neck or squat to see your collection.

Group with Purpose: Before putting up the whole gallery wall, lay everything out on the floor first. It's like a puzzle, but with less frustration (hopefully).

Don't Fear the Nail: Yes, hammering into your wall is scary. But patching holes is easier than dealing with the existential crisis of a bare wall.

Final Touches: Lighting and Layering

Proper lighting can make your art pop. Invest in some picture lights or position lamps strategically to highlight your favorite pieces. And don't forget layering. Lean framed art on a shelf or layer candle sticks and vases to create depth.

Conclusion: Turning Your House into a Home

Home art is much more than filling space; rather, it is creating a uniquely personal space. From some gorgeous wall decor and hangings to those fabulous candle sticks, every piece represents something. So go ahead, channel your inner curator, and make this your masterpiece. Just remember, though: the laundry pile is hidden behind that giant abstract painting.

[eleanor-bradstreet]

My friend, I never want you to worry about your story doing justice to mine that inspired it, because I’ll say it plainly: Not only does it do the original justice, it has all the makings of surpassing it in quality and depth. 😊 I wrote a single little scene in a vaguely defined world, and you are writing an epic - something so captivating and unique I’m going to encourage you to find/replace the names (call Ben like…Luke or something, idk 😜) and pitch this as an original story. Because it’s EXCELLENT, both as a Bridgerton fic and a zombie fic. I adore The Last of Us almost as much as I adore Bridgerton and I can see how you skillfully wove inspiration from both throughout this first chapter. Guhhh, there is just so much I loved! Above all:

Your metaphor of the ‘ocean of sound’ - how it can transform, how it can drown, how it can fade away. Gorgeous, just gorgeous.

The continued focus on the someones. The irony that Reader and Ben are both trying to be someones in the spiritual sense before the Outbreak, and then the term being redefined as they realize they are among the few remaining someones in the world. They achieved their goals in the most awful and unexpected way and they will fight to preserve that for the rest of their lives. *chefs kiss* 🤌

Interactions with Benedict feeling like a breath in a flowery field…and the way he can preserve his humanity and continue to find beauty in the world despite everything. “The bravery of his father, the gentleness of is mother” 🥹so quintessentially *him*

The first sunset feeling ominous. The visual of it swallowing the world as the world devoured itself - aaaauuuuggggghhhhhhh *I looovveeee itttt*

“Ants begging to get away from the magnifying glass only to be burned anyway” 🤯

The little zombie girl oh god 😭

Naming it the Gaia Virus for Mother Nature’s wrath. A stroke of pure genius 💙 I adore your imagination!

I am squealing that you sent them stargazing as their special time together. I know I wound that into their eventual marriage 😉 but I also always envision Benedict and his siblings (in regency or modern AU) stargazing often. A peaceful pastime at Aubrey Hall. I love that you incorporated that here.

Okay, I immediately adore Cooper and not just because he’s from Boston like me 😜 You did a great job making a character instantly lovable and I just *knew* he was going to suffer for being that good 😭

With talk of the military doing nefarious things with survivors, ngl my mind first went to cannibalism. But you fashioned something waaaaayyy more creative and realistic!! Guinea pigs for vaccine development. It’s horrifying. It’s dastardly. It’s all too plausible… 

The action begins as we have to escape the camp and then navigate god knows what kind of landscape beyond. Such an excellent hook to land on!

You can thank me for the initial inspiration but truly, it’s I who needs to thank you for building out this world and enriching every aspect of it with your creative vision and exceptional writing. I am honored to have played a small part in this story making its way out into the world because it is such a joy for myself and all other readers. Thank you so much and bravo!!! 👏👏💙💙

DON'T THEY KNOW? (IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD) || BENEDICT BRIDGERTON (1)

pairing: benedict bridgerton/fem!reader additional tags: zombie apocalypse au, graphic depictions of gore/violence, fluff, angst, biology stuff i just made up so it's probs super inaccurate lol, slow burn, friends to lovers summary: ravaged by a relentless virus, the world as you knew it falls into ruin. survivors are hardened by the blood on their hands and the horrors in their minds. amidst the end of everything, benedict proves that there is still hope, and perhaps something more, for the two of you. word count: 6.4k

author's note: welcome to the first part of my new zombie au series with our boy benedict! for those who don't know, this is based entirely on the fic "i'll be seeing you" by @eleanor-bradstreet! thanks again to them for letting me vomit up this fic based on their incredible one <333 anyway, this chapter is mostly exposition, so most of the benedict/you romance will really start in the succeeding parts. hopefully, you find this chapter interesting enough to stick around! (+for readers of my dean winchester series, don't worry! chapter 3 will come out soon!)

masterlist | series masterlist | ao3 | next chapter

CHAPTER ONE: HERE, IN THE END

The world had been so loud before.

The droning noise of traffic. Of the intermingling of a thousand phone calls, nestled in between cheeks and shoulders. Of people talking at each other, screaming over each other, fighting to get the final say in even the tiniest little thing. Everything blurred together into one great ocean of sound. You could drown in it, especially in the big cities.

You were right in the middle of it all: a drifter. It took a while but eventually, that ocean of sound became your home. You struggled to recall what it was like before that. That too, was blurry now along with everything else from Before. All you had now were fading fragments of a dream to be someone. Anyone.

That was how you met him, just before the beginning of the end. You still weren’t convinced that Benedict Bridgerton wasn’t some kind of romance novel character come to life; a talented artist from a long line of English nobility, and the first friend you ever made in New York. It was like something out of a crappy Hallmark movie. He laughed at your reaction upon learning that his brother was an actual viscount and that Benedict himself technically should be referred to as “the Honourable Benedict Bridgerton”, but despite all the grandeur that came with his heritage, Benedict was still… Benedict. In time, he became just Ben. He’d paint while you ranted about your borderline dangerous work hours or how your parents were bugging you to settle down. In turn, he shared with you his frustrations as an artist trying to make it in the world, without his family name, and how at the same time he missed his mother’s cooking. Conversations with him were always lovely, like breathing in the air in the middle of a field of flowers after a decade of being locked inside a dark, stuffy room. He was just like you. Just trying to be someone.

But those conversations all seemed so far away now. If you had known then what would become of your life, of those dreams to be someone, maybe you would’ve just let yourself drown in that ocean of sound. 

It only took two weeks for the world to fall into ruin. Only fourteen days for everything to go up in flames. 

The virus was ruthless. The most efficient killer the likes of which no one had ever seen. A terrifying force of nature seemingly tailored for the extinction of humanity. You were right in the middle of it all. You saw it with your own eyes, a cluster of people beginning to form in Times Square. With New York being New York, you thought nothing of it. You walked away none the wiser.

Until you heard someone scream, a gut-wrenching, visceral scream, followed by a sound you would never forget. A sound you’d have to hear over and over again for the better part of the next ten years, though you didn’t know it yet at the time: teeth ripping flesh from bone and the primal snarls accompanying it that couldn’t have been anything except inhuman. Monstrous, even. It sent ripples into the great big ocean you called home, altering it so permanently just seconds before you even realized what was happening. 

Sound, quickly followed by sight. 

The people huddled on the outer edges of the crowd ran off in terror, revealing the gruesome remains of what used to be a person. Even that was something you barely registered at first, eyes too focused on the bloody mouths feasting on it and white, foggy eyes. One of those things stopped its chewing, head snapping up suddenly. It sniffed the air for a while, as if sensing your fear even from twenty feet away. Those white eyes were looking at you now. Staring you down. Seconds later, the corpse being eaten started writhing back to life, or a perverted version of it. Its jaw was skewed, perpetually stuck wide open as drool and blood ran down its chin. You weren’t someone then. If your body hadn’t gone into autopilot, legs taking you as far away as they could, you would’ve been one of them. That was the very first day of what would be the longest two weeks of your life. You remembered it well.

There was no time to think or breathe. Even when your chest hurt from overexerting yourself and your lungs screamed for a break, you ran. You ran as fast as you could, crashing into people, some of which were still unaware of the horrors spreading just a block away from them. In the corner of your eyes, you knew that there were others like you, scrambling to go home, to go anywhere but here. Cars stopped in the middle of the road, curiosity killing the cat as drivers left their vehicles to see what was going on, only to be met with the same sight you were: death. In only a few minutes, nearly a third of the people on the streets were running, too. 

A little girl cried in her father’s arms, a teddy bear left behind and forgotten on the cement road as they also tried to get away. The realization dawning on the faces of onlookers that they should be doing the same. 

You reached your apartment building, not really knowing what you would do next, just that you needed to get away. The hallways were empty. A part of you hoped Ben was far, far away from here. A more selfish part of you hoped otherwise.

Supplies. You needed supplies. Food, clothes, water. Emergency kit, tools, weapons. Weapons. You had no fucking idea what to do with any of this! Just yesterday, you held a steady, if not miserable, office job. Today, you had to survive against whatever-the-hell those things were and perhaps even other people. The weight of that sudden realization twisted your guts in a sickening way, enough to make you almost throw up.

Peeking through your blinds, there were already three or four ambulances rushing to the direction of Times Square.Those things were not here yet and still, you naively hoped that help would come and dispatch of them before it got out of control. 

You barely noticed the sweat that began to trickle down your forehead and back, hairs raising out of instinct. Your whole body was going into overdrive, hyper-aware of the fact that you were in danger. 

The rapid knocking on your door nearly frightened you to death, until you heard Ben’s desperate calls of your name. Out of breath and scared… much like you. You wondered if he had seen it, too. When you confirmed through the peephole that it was, in fact, him, you dragged him inside your apartment. Your hands were on his face as soon as he was inside, needing to know that he was here, he was with you, he was alive. It seemed he had the same need, icy blue eyes taking you in with such an intensity you’d only ever seen when he was painting. It was easy to feel small under his gaze.

“Are you alright?” he breathed heavily, larger hands covering your own. 

You could only nod, the words stuck in your throat, “Did you- did you see-”

“I saw them,” he said, his composure faltering for a split second. “I saw them.”

You could hear more sirens outside, one after another, disrupting the ocean you had grown so familiar with. Louder and louder. 

“We need to leave, get out of New York,” he ran a hand through his hair, eyes moving wildly as he tried to come up with a plan. It was the Bridgerton in him: the bravery of his father, the gentleness of his mother. It didn’t need to be said out loud that the moment he saw those things, all he could think of was you. Getting to you and getting you safe. His only true friend in this city. It took all of fifteen minutes before you were out the door, nearly overwhelmed by the swarm of people all running away from Times Square. Ben held your hand tightly, and you did your best not to look behind you.

The sun was beginning to set, wrapping the city in a bright orange light. It felt ominous somehow, so unlike every other time you’d seen it. Like this was some form of judgment. As if at any moment, you’d hear the seven trumpets telling you that this was the end. You learned later on that you weren’t the only one that thought that. Bile threatened to rise in your throat when the shadows of night grew with each passing second. It felt like it was going to swallow you alive.

The road was packed full of people, crying and yelling and praying for salvation. Ants begging to get away from the magnifying glass only to be burned anyway.

The screams grew louder and against your better judgment, you looked back. You were too far away to see everything clearly, and because Ben was constantly pulling you forward, but you could make out the smaller swarm of walking corpses slowly coming into view. The poor souls who weren’t able to keep up with the main crowd were dragged away to be bitten, spreading the godforsaken disease. More and more bodies littered the streets, staining the concrete with the blood of dozens. Then, not even a minute later, they would rise with jaws gnashing and wide white eyes, their humanity lost forever.

Your legs felt so heavy, as did the rest of you. If it weren’t for Ben’s ferocious determination to get out of the city and to keep the both of you safe, you wouldn’t have survived that first day at all. Helicopters flew above and across the city, the whooshing of its blades mingling with the screams. The ocean of sound was threatening to drown you. You didn’t look up anymore. It would’ve shattered you if you had, because you knew there weren’t nearly enough choppers to save everyone in the city. It was impossible. Your heart broke for all the people, all the someones, who were dead long before they could even fight for the chance to live.

The sky was dark now.

By some miracle, you reached the army’s barricade. Soldiers ushered people to safety, including you and Ben. You squeezed his hand, causing him to look at you for a moment. A temporary reprieve from that day’s horrors. His fair skin was shiny with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead like black tendrils. It was like everything slowed down, but maybe it was all just in your head. His chest rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell. The moment was cut short when you heard an explosion from behind you. Your head snapped to the direction of the noise, so did Ben’s, and the “small swarm” of the undead from before had multiplied to thrice its size in the short few minutes you spent running away. 

Gunfire rang in your ears once the monsters got a little too close for the army’s liking, but the crowds of the living and the undead had already begun to mix by that point. Bullets meant to pierce rotting flesh ended up killing people who were very much alive and uninfected. You could only watch, from behind the barricade of soldiers, the people in the perpetually moving crowd who would stop once they realized their loved ones were no longer beside them. You could only watch when the body of a child (belonging to the same little girl you saw earlier that day, you realized grimly) was forcefully torn from the arms of her father when a soldier spotted the bite mark on her leg, bleeding and angry. Her plump, tear-stained cheeks that were once symbols of her youth and innocence were ruined by a sickly green that rose to the surface, emphasizing violet veins that always looked like it was crawling, spreading just underneath the skin. Then, she was one of them. Writhing, bones cracking. There was no recognition in her cloudy eyes when her father begged for his baby girl to come back to him. 

Ben held you tighter, his hand cradling your head as the other soldiers evacuated as many people as they could.

“We need to go,” he pleaded, still firmly holding on to you as you were both pushed around by the crowd. “Please, love, just look at me.”

So you did. Those eyes, brilliant and blue and full of worry, were the only things that pulled you back down to Earth. Tears were shed and prayers were whispered on the chopper that whisked you away from New York. A couple hundred feet into the air, you could see the city crumble. You remembered briefly wondering how many bodies were left behind or how many turned into one of those things.  

Everything changed in those first fourteen days of the Outbreak. Eighty percent of the world’s population had been wiped out, unprepared to face a force so vicious. That was how effective the virus was, which was later dubbed the “Gaia Virus”. Mother Nature’s wrath.

The survivors in the States were brought to “safe zones” all over the country, areas barren and isolated enough that the Infected, which mostly stayed in the previously overpopulated cities and towns, were unlikely to get to them. The first few months after the Outbreak were spent being transferred to different safe zones, never staying for more than a week at a time.  

At first, the safe zones were supposed to be a temporary refuge for survivors. The government, or what was left of it, promised to reclaim the cities within a year and make them habitable again. Then a year passed, and they said it would take them another year. So another year passed and they said the same thing. Over and over until… radio silence. No one brought it up again. The few who did were not treated kindly by the rest of the survivors. 

Most people caught onto the memo fairly quickly, with soldiers and generals making up the new leadership hierarchy of the safe zones in place of politicians and peacemakers: you keep your head down, you do as you’re told, and you’ll get food and water and blankets.

The people brave (or stupid) enough to make a scene were never heard from again by the next week.

So there you were, moving across the country, going from state to state and living off of food rations and hope. Both were two resources that were steadily depleting. Benedict was there with you through it all, your steadfast companion. Conversations about surrealism and horrible bosses turned into questions about whether or not your friends and families were safe, if they had made it to the safe zones. That was the first time you saw him cry, not able to withstand the possibility that his beloved mother and siblings were gone, perhaps now part of the Infected. Even if they survived, he knew there was a slim chance he would ever see them again. He cursed himself sometimes, him and his foolish need to be someone. If he had stayed in Kent, if he just settled down like his brothers, perhaps he would still be with them today. But his mother was the kindest woman he had ever known and he knew deep down that she forgave him long before he realized what he’d done. He knew they all did.

Grief was your (and Ben’s) constant state of being. It weighed you down on most days, making your feet dig deeper into the dirt when you walked. On some days, it was all-consuming. It was the only reason most survivors rarely caused any trouble. As horrible as humans could be to each other, this shared grief that echoed through the hearts of everyone was translated into little acts of kindness that, at the best of times, were life-saving. To be given a drop of water by a woman dying of thirst. To be offered a piece of bread by a man whose stomach rumbled louder than his voice. More often than not, it was always the eldest survivors that did this. Perhaps it was because they knew that they had already lived long, fulfilling lives. Perhaps it was because they knew Death was already at their door, so they might as well help someone else live.

Of course, there would always be people looking out for themselves, you and Ben had expected that from the get go, but it still surprised you how much compassion a person could still have at the end of the world. It didn’t happen too often though, but the times that it did were memories you held close to your heart.

The days went by, often cruel and unforgiving to those who couldn’t adjust to the new reality, but Ben still found ways to make you smile. 

“It’s the artist in me,” he said to you one night, three years after the Outbreak, when you had asked him how he could bear to still be so… him. There was a secluded spot you two often escaped to whenever there was a need for it, a small cliff at the edge of the safe zone. You were both slightly tipsy from whiskey you traded some radio parts for. “The whole world’s gone to shit and I can’t help but still find it somewhat beautiful. It’s like a movie, isn’t it? Two friends at the end of the world— and besides, what else are we supposed to do? Wallow in self-pity? I think you and I do enough of that.”

The sun was beginning to set, something you had grown to dislike since that first day. You decided to lie down for a moment, uncaring if bits of soil got in your hair. You closed your eyes, trying to just be. You didn’t always get the opportunity to do that anymore.

“Look,” he nudged your side after a while, his accent slurring a little as he pointed at something. You raised a brow at him, now-open eyes following what his finger was pointing at. The sky. It was pitch black, but a splash of stars covered the heavens like a mural. You had never seen that many stars before, certainly not in the cities you’d lived in your whole life. Ben sighed and your attention was back on him. “You couldn’t see them as clearly back home, but I used to stargaze often with my siblings.”

“That sounds lovely,” you whispered.

“It was.”

The two of you were silent for a while, just sitting on that patch of dirt, overlooking the vast lands that spread as far as the eye can see. That was how isolated these safe zones were. The gentle night breeze tickled your skin. 

“I haven’t really looked at the sky properly since the Outbreak,” you confessed, slumping in your seat. “I think it makes me feel small. And sad. Look at us. Our tiny little planet, how fucked up everything is. Look at us. And there’s a whole universe out there that’s completely indifferent to everything that goes on down here.”

“It’s humbling,” he hummed in understanding. “To be a speck in a great big universe yet feeling a whole universe worth of emotion.”

“That’s good,” you chuckled. “Very poetic.”

He grinned at you, cheeks flushed slightly, “I try.”

Another bout of silence.

“Thank you, by the way.” 

“Whatever for, love?” he raised a brow in curiosity, his tone soft. It always was.

“For being here,” you took a deep breath. “For sticking around.”

His smile shone brighter when he heard this, his hand finding its way around yours. “You’d be mad to think I’d ever leave you here. If anything, you’re stuck with me. I’m just—” he cleared his throat. “I’m just sorry that… that it has to be like this. Drifting, never staying too long in one place to be able to call it a home. You deserve more. You deserve better.”

“You say that like it’s your fault,” your hand squeezed his in hopes of bringing him some comfort. “I’m not gonna lie and say we’re doing alright because we honestly look like shit”—that earned you a hearty chuckle from him—”but we’re doing better than most. And that’s because we’ve had each other all this time. That’s one of the things I was thanking you for. None of this on you, Ben. You deserve more, too. You hear me?”

He straightened his back and flashed you a soft smile, “I hear you.”

The two of you looked back up at the sky, admiring the twinkling of millions of stars. You were somewhere in Arizona, according to the other survivors. Soldiers kept the exact location under lock and key to dissuade survivors from sharing it with others who were still out in the open world. There just wasn’t enough room. But you had a feeling that it had more to do with the risk of attracting Infected. Limited armada and manpower meant the military was just unable to handle that kind of scenario.

You learned more about the Infected over time, having worked odd jobs for the military for more food, water, or supplies. Even something as simple as filtration duty on Tuesdays earned you tidbits of information.

From what you could piece together in the past couple of years, the Gaia Virus most likely came from melting glaciers and ice caps, triggered by global warming. It polluted bodies of water across the world, eventually making its way into reservoirs undetected. It was the perfect way to spread. Nobody can last more than three days without water, so the virus made sure no one would last at all. Once fully turned, Infected were nearly perfect killers. Soldiers sometimes told stories of their encounters with them. They were completely blind, though that much was obvious from the milkiness of their eyes. Infected also didn’t react to any physical damage done to them. Whether or not they felt it was a different story. With possibly two of their senses out of the picture, the rest were heightened. They could hear and smell better than people. If prey were close enough, all those things had to do was follow the scent trail. The fact that these monsters could perceive things humans could barely register was a terrifying thought.

Bodies of Infected retrieved from the destroyed cities were studied, Ben himself had seen this on one such odd job. The virus kills its host before taking over the body, this much was known. However, the brain was shown to endure, preventing the more advanced stages of decomposition. It raised questions about whether or not hosts really died, or if a tiny part of them still lived on even as they transformed into flesh-eating beasts. You’ve heard whispers that it was more like the brain sent constant streams of adrenaline even after death, keeping the body going long after it was supposed to fall apart and rot. True or not, it was the only explanation you had.

You’d seen your fair share of people who’ve fallen victim to a bite; doomed to have their life snuffed out as soon as that was discovered, whether that was by execution or dying to the virus. 

The time it took to die after being bitten was different for everyone. Some died within minutes, others within hours. The longest one you’d seen was a soldier brought back to the Detroit safe zone after a patrol gone wrong. A stray Infected had sensed him and attacked him during the night, leaving a massive bite on his shoulder. He fought so fiercely against the symptoms of the fever, hovering between life and death for nearly an entire day before finally succumbing to the virus. You couldn’t forget how pale he was when he was wheeled into the makeshift camp on a gurney, watching the life be drained out of him in real time. He was shot in the head by his comrades as soon as he turned. The event shook everyone. The disappearances began shortly after that.

The people who spoke up against the military drew the ire of everyone: the military didn’t tolerate people who questioned their authority and everyone else just wanted to mind their own business. When these undesirables began to disappear, everyone chalked it up to them just being hard-headed. The popular theory was they got sick of the military’s iron grip and decided to leave the safe zone, and then probably died. Nobody took it too seriously. Nobody could have done anything about it anyway. Everyone was just focused on staying alive. 

Cooper was another survivor in the Arizona safe zone. You and Ben had been there for a month, and he was the first and only person to welcome you with open arms. He was a lanky man, and had blond hair and kind, brown eyes. Only a few years younger than you. He was the jovial type, often inviting you and Ben to tag along with him on whatever job he found earlier that day. His Boston accent was unmistakable, often getting stronger when offered liquor. 

He was also in strong opposition to the militant lifestyle in the safe zones, though he knew better than to broadcast his distaste. Cooper joined you and Ben on the night the two of you were stargazing, eyes wide in terror. You had never seen him like that before. He was always one to stay optimistic, which was a wonder considering the state of the world. Cooper looked like he ran to get to you, his damp tattered shirt sticking to his body.

He grabbed you by your shoulders, fingertips digging into your skin deep enough to make you wince all while a jumble of words were frantically spewing out of his mouth. Ben immediately got up, nearly growling at Cooper for hurting you, “Get your hands off them.”

It seemed as though Ben’s warning briefly snapped Cooper back to reality, because the man did pull away but his hands still trembled violently.

“What’s wrong?” you furrowed your brows in worry, unused to seeing Cooper in such a state.

“You need to get out of here,” it felt like there was something darker lingering behind his words. He looked at Ben. “You need to go.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Ben cut him off, his protectiveness from before calming down when he finally noticed the genuine panic and fear in Cooper’s eyes. “Tell us what’s happening.”

The poor man looked like he was ready to explode right then and there. He was practically soaked in his own sweat, both from the exhaustion of running to get to you and Ben, and the shock of the news he brought, it seemed.

“They were taking them,” he choked back tears, his feet stuck to the ground. His nostrils were flaring from how hard he was breathing.

“Who, Coop? Who’s taking who?” this time it was your hands on his shoulders, though your touch was gentle, trying to keep him grounded. 

“The soldiers,” he whispered, his voice grim. “We- we thought they were executing them for questioning the army but I saw them! I saw them. In the big tent. They’re trying… they’re trying to make a vaccine.”

The severity of his tone reminded you all too much of Ben at your doorstep on that very first day of the Outbreak.

Ben’s surprise was palpable, “What?”

“A vaccine,” Cooper stressed, each breath he drew was ragged (you could hear it from how close he was standing to you), “but it’s not working. I saw the bodies. Whatever they’re doing, it’s torture— you should’ve seen them. They infected them on purpose.”

Your blood went cold, like liquid nitrogen shocking your system. That’s what the army had been doing all this time?  It made perfect sense, but the new information flooded your brain with images of those people who went missing, strapped to a table, and being injected with the virus. If they were trying to make a vaccine, they—the test subjects—would have to have been kept alive for as long as possible, conscious of the parasite invading their body. It made your stomach churn, forcing you to step back and look away. Ben was similarly devastated, jaw clenched as he stared at Cooper. He zeroed in on a different piece of information.

There were Infected in the safe zone.

“That’s… they can’t just keep taking people,” he gritted his teeth. Cooper stayed silent. Ben spoke again, firmer and more desperate this time, “...can they?”

“Nobody’s gonna come looking for you even if they did,” Cooper said, defeated. Still breathing hard. “We’re too far away. And if the rest of the safe zones aren’t already in the same situation then they aren’t gonna waste gas to go all the way here. The soldiers here can just make up something and no one would know.”

An “oh, God” left your lips, your hands shaking, mirroring Cooper’s. From where you stood, you could see the main camp and the largest tent, the main military tent, in the middle of it. You’ve walked past it, stared at it a hundred times, and never knew what was going on inside. You found yourself asking if there was a time when you stared at that tent, and just on the other side was someone just like you being experimented on with the deadliest virus known to mankind.Your eyes stung with tears when your treacherous mind thought of Ben in that position, bruised by different needles and tubes protruding from him.

“Please, you need to go,” Cooper pleaded with the two of you desperately, his head hanging low.

“Shit,” Ben cursed under his breath, rubbing his eyes with one hand in frustration. “All of our supplies are back in the main camp.” 

“You can’t go back!”

“We’ll die out there if we don’t get those supplies,” you pointed out to the blond. “We wouldn’t last a week.”

Ben had already begun to walk back to camp, masking his anxieties to the best of his abilities if what Cooper was saying was true. You weren’t that far behind, ears ringing with Cooper’s pleas not to go back. He didn’t chase after you anymore, falling silent once he realized there was nothing he could do to change your mind. It was only a short trek from the cliff back to the main camp. The outer perimeter of the safe zone was always being patrolled by soldiers which meant, without any weapons, you would’ve been dead if you tried to escape right away. A checkpoint came into view along with the two guards, Paul and Walter, holding rifles on either side of the path. You were familiar with each other from how often you passed through this checkpoint to get to the cliff.

“Paul, Walter,” Ben smiled coolly at the guards once you were finally standing in front of them. “Late shift? I thought you’d have switched with Reese by now.”

“Higher-ups needed more men in other places, so here we are,” Paul sighed, before turning his attention to you. “You guys back at the cliff again?”

“Yeah,” you mimicked Ben, feigning a smile of your own. You still weren’t completely sure if Cooper had been telling the truth, but interacting with Paul felt different now that you knew what could’ve been happening behind closed doors. “Camp can be a little too much sometimes, y’know? No offense. Just… needed to get away for a while.”

Paul nodded in understanding. 

“Okay, you know the routine,” Walter shrugged, handing you and Ben a bloodchecker each. It was a small vial full of a blue solution, connected to a thin, replaceable tube ending with a needle. The solution would turn clear if mixed with Gaia-infected blood, and a dark muddy brown if the blood was clean. You pierced your arm with the needle, watching your blood travel through the tube and drip down into the solution, turning it brown as you had expected. Glancing over at Ben’s bloodchecker, you found that his was the same. Thankfully.

You were about to pass through the checkpoint when Walter pulled Ben aside, muttering something you couldn’t quite make out, but you saw Ben’s reaction. To anyone else, it would have seemed like he didn’t react at all. Most people only would’ve noticed his polite smile and hushed ‘thank you” to the guard before returning to your side, but you saw through it: the slightest twitch of his hand and the way his lips tightened at what Walter told him. It was so clear to you that he was bothered by it, whatever it was. 

“What was that?” you asked him, trying to keep up with his fast-paced stride.

He only spared you a single glance, only a single moment of softness, but now you were inside the central safe zone. Soldiers were standing guard in every direction. There seemed to be more of them than usual. Ben continued forward to the direction of your tent which was a bit farther from everyone else’s. He kept his voice low, “Not here.”

Your shared tent with Ben was bare. The apocalypse didn’t exactly grant you a life of luxury, but that tent was yours. It stayed the same after every new safe zone you were transferred to. Next to the two worn down single mattresses were your backpacks, one of the only things you still had from before the Outbreak besides each other. While you double-checked your supplies, making sure nothing was missing while you were gone, Ben slid one of the mattresses to the side, which was sitting on top of an old rug. He pulled that aside too, his hands digging into the soil, digging and digging until finally, you could see the lid of a crate you had buried.

The crate was filled with jugs of water. Clean, pure, uninfected water. The result of three years of patiently collecting rainwater and saving up whatever the army gave you, carefully filtering each drop throughout the night when you knew no one else would be bothering you. This water was precious. It was gold. And it was a pain to move from safe zone to safe zone. You and Ben had had to resort to bribing and lying for the past three years to make sure it was safe. 

Once you were done checking over the supplies, you knelt by Ben’s side. “So… are you gonna tell me what Walter said to you or are you gonna keep being mysterious?” you tried to keep your tone light.

“They were looking for Cooper,” his gaze didn’t leave the jugs of water. His hands, once always covered in paint, were now caked in dirt. “Said we should report him if we did.”

“What?” you questioned. “That doesn’t make any sense, everyone has to go in and out of that checkpoint to get to the cliff. There’s no way Paul and Walter didn’t see him.”

“So how could he have seen all of those supposed experiments in the main tent?” he turned to face you, his expression severe. “That tent is the most heavily guarded thing in this camp. If what he said is true, then there was no way he could’ve left and not be spotted and then somehow manage to get to us without going through the checkpoint.” 

The two of you sat in silence for a while, racking your brains for any sort of information that could help you get closer to solving this mystery. It was entirely plausible that Cooper had been lying about the experimentations and the vaccines but despite having only known him for a short while, you knew he wasn’t the type to do something like that. He wouldn’t lie about something like that. Hell, he was the kind of person that worked overtime during the apocalypse. He was an honest man.

Then you remembered something.

“It’s Tuesday today.”

Ben looked at you, puzzled, “Yes, it is… What’s going through your head, love?”

“Filtration duty,” you answered. “They filter out the water in the main tent…”

“...then dump the waste outside of camp,” Ben finished for you, eyes widening. “You think Cooper was in the main tent on purpose?”

“I mean, that’s the only explanation, right? Nothing else has left camp since last week and nobody checks a truck carrying waste. Maybe Cooper was on one of those trucks,” you said before looking back at Ben. “I… I thought I was just seeing things. Did you notice how he was earlier?”

“Out of breath from running…?” Ben frowned, not quite following your train of thought as easily as he usually did.

“He wasn’t just out of breath. He was smelling me.” 

You could practically hear the cogs turning in his head as he put the pieces together. He couldn’t quite believe the conclusion he arrived at, that much you could tell, but the disbelief washed away when no other possible explanation presented itself to him.

“How?” his voice was shaky, a quiet sort of devastation clouding his features. Cooper was likely already infected earlier, though you couldn’t tell which stage of infection he was at. The signs pointed to a peculiar middleground between the fever that occurred right before death, and the grotesque reanimation once the virus had complete control over the body.

“Maybe he was telling the truth. Part of it, at least.”

You both looked back at the jugs of water, taking out a few of the smaller containers before hurriedly placing the lid back on the crate. With the crate concealed by the soil and rug, you and Ben made quick work of gathering your things, hiding the small jugs of water underneath clothes, foods, and whatever else were in your bags. 

You always made sure to have a plan in case you ever needed to leave a safe zone. The water you collected was too valuable; you had to be able to move it whenever and wherever you needed, but with all the soldiers standing guard outside, you knew this would be impossible even with all of your planning. You just had to bring what you could.

Without uttering a word, you and Ben both knew this was the last night you were ever going to spend in this place. 

-

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[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 318: On Your Left

Previously on BnHA: The Hawksquad+Lurkers were all “well this sucks” and sat around a bit talking about how maybe they should actually come up with a new plan that is actually good, but then in the end they were like “nah.” Deku was all, “THERE’S SOMETHING INSIDE ME THAT PULLS BENEATH THE SURFACE!! CONSUMING, CONFUSING!! THIS LACK OF SELF CONTROL I FEAR IS NEVERENDING. IT’S HAUNTING HOW I CANT SEEM TO FIND MYSELF AGAIN. MY WALLS ARE CLOSING IN.” Just, literally that whole entire song. All Might was all “Deku you should take care of yourself, try eating a thing,” and Deku was all “BYE, ALL MIGHT,” and just LEFT. He left!!! What the fuck!!!

Today on BnHA: Endeavor is all, “maybe if Deku didn’t listen to All Might he’ll listen to me instead.” Deku is all, “[doesn’t listen to Endeavor]” because, well, yeah. The Vestiges are all, “surprisingly, even we are a little concerned -- maybe you should get some rest, kid.” Deku is all, “((Ò ‸ Ó)).” The Vestiges are all, “holy shit.” Deku is all, “[wanders the ruined city streets terrifying the populace on account of him looking like Shelob had a baby with one of the Nazgul].” Some shriveled-up puppeteer villain asshole is all, “HORIKOSHI SAID IT’S MY TURN TO ATTACK DEKU TODAY SO I AM GOING TO SUMMON MY FRIGHTENED HELPLESS ATTACK MOB!!” Kacchan is all “WHADDYA MEAN THEY FOUND THE NERD!!! -- oh wait, that’s me, I found him. I found the nerd, you guys.” And just in time, too. I was about to owe a whole lot of people a whole lot of dollars.

so I have been super good about spoilers this week as always, but let me tell you guys, for the past 36 hours my dash filters have basically been nonstop “manga spoilers” this and “bnha 318” that, and so I’m coming in with a fair amount of hype here. your move, Horikoshi

oh, good! they got Endeavor to call Deku to try to talk him out of it. what a great and wonderful plan

“listen up kid, you haven’t slept since March and you are basically a walking biohazard right now, I’m just telling it like it is. didn’t you get shot like three times?? and there was a whole thing about how you urgently needed medical attention?? and supposedly we gave it to you, but I mean you haven’t even changed your clothes and don’t seem to have any fresh bandages or anything, so did we?? did we, really?? and also we all got blown up yesterday, so yeah.” hmm he’s making some reasonable points here you guys, but you sure do go on and on, Endeavor

oh he says foreign aid is finally on its way! I’m sure they’ll be very helpful. I mean in fairness they can hardly be worse than the home-grown heroes at this point

hey Enji, could you maybe try appealing to Deku the sixteen-year-old human boy, as opposed to Deku The World’s Last Hope? he does have value beyond his quirk. I know that’s always been an incredibly difficult concept for you to grasp, but could you maybe TRY, jesus

and also we’re worried about you as a person?? you’re just a kid and you’re pushing yourself way too hard?? you were going to say that part next, right. why the hell didn’t Hawks make this call instead

“don’t worry about me... I’m completely fine” Deku you do understand that saying it over and over again doesn’t actually make it true

and again with the rush!! all the rush rush rush!! we’re running out of time, we can’t let AFO and Tomura keep getting stronger, I have to end this now, there’s no time to rest, etc. etc. etc. just the constant pressure of this whole big countdown on top of everything else

holy shit, you KNOW it’s bad when even the Vestiges are telling him to chill

these guys are basically the walking talking embodiments of self-sacrifice; if even they’re telling him he needs to take five, then he must seriously be like half a step away from death’s door

OH SHIT LMAO

DIDN’T EVEN LET HIM FINISH HIS SENTENCE BEFORE HE SENT HIM INTO THE FUCKING SHADOW REALM WITH THAT FUCKING LOOK. HOLY FUCK. DIDN’T EVEN KNOW IT WAS POSSIBLE TO DIE TWICE. SHIT

(ETA: so I’m pretty sure this was just Danger Sense activating and so he cut them off to go do more hero stuff, but I’m gonna go ahead and stick to my original interpretation anyway lol.)

anyway so how’s everybody doing. we all good? En, you good? Banjou? Shino? I’m imagining you guys all curled up in a little ball on the floor right now lol. can’t say I blame you though, no shame

lmaoooooooooooo

“SHEESH.” sheesh indeed, lmao. “what in the FUCK was that”

see, this is why y’all need Kacchan. you need someone who’s not going to back down from him no matter what. if it’s a matter of out-stubborning Midoriya fucking Izuku, then there’s only one other person on the planet capable of that, and we all know it. don’t pretend like you don’t. I am not going to shut up about this! we’ve had our hurt so now what about SOME COMFORT, DAMMIT

“I’m afraid that he’s becoming influenced by my conscience” nah are you kidding Nana this is all 100% made-in-Japan pure original Deku right here

see, Banjou gets it. “that kid, he’s totally going on his own.” exactly. this was so inevitable it was basically scientific law

“well I for one don’t see the problem with Deku being so obsessed with saving everyone else that he pushes himself until his body and soul literally fall apart” okay, whose speech bubbles are these?? we’re about to have words

lol of course

well you always did prefer the direct route didn’t you. but even you can’t possibly think this is okay lol

dark AU!Kacchan please tell us more about your badass doomed timeline in which everything went to shit and you apparently had the same character arc that Deku is having right now except it somehow made you sexier instead of turning you into a rabid t-rex. I have so many questions

oh so now you want to help??? well -- good, actually. sorry if that sounded offended just now lol

(ETA: so at first when I got to the end of this chapter I was wondering if Katsuki B. had somehow summoned his alternate-universe counterpart through trippy OFA space telepathy lol. but in the original Japanese there’s no reference to “we”, so this appears to be a mistranslation. this line should probably read more like “if there’s something/someone out there that would be able to complement/complete the current Midoriya Izuku [it would be]…” which, oh hello, is that Horikoshi once again reaffirming that Deku and Bakugou complete each other lol. “guess what guys, the Vestiges ship it too" heck yeah. they know what’s up!)

look how admiring his boyfriends are. HORIKOSHI GIVE US THE REST OF THIS BACKSTORY ALREADY GODDAMMIT

“meanwhile somewhere in the depths of the ruined city, Deku was having a dance-off with the villains”

I like how the villains all have this “AHH WHAT THE FUCK” kind of body language to them lol. I mean if it were me, and an eldritch horror suddenly clawed its way from the shadows with its writhing glowy tentacles and pants-shitting nuclear death stare, I would probably just die on the spot. no need to stick around. only pain awaits

lol for a minute I thought this was Can’t Ya See-kun and I was like “WHAT A FASCINATING CROSSING OF PATHS” but it’s just some random girl

he seems genuinely confused lol

Deku it’s because you look like something that crawled out of a sewer drain, sweetheart

lol they just took his word for it?

so trusting. even though they’re immediately hauling ass anyway just to be safe lmao

“my appearance is frightening to others” no shit Deku it’s because you look like a fucking alien exorcism. you look like a Lich that got caught up in an oil spill my dude

NO NOT THE CHOSEN ONE ANGST AGAIN

I RAN OUT OF ESSAY JUICE FOR THIS ALREADY HORIKOSHI!! I’VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT IT FOR MONTHS NOW WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG!! BUT ANYWAYS, GOOD!! I MEAN, BAD, THOUGH, OBVIOUSLY. BUT YES

“ENJOY THIS MONTAGE OF DEKU BATTLING A RANDOM KAIJU AND WANDERING THE WOODS LIKE A DERANGED GREEN BABA YAGA” okay yes but sir, exactly how much longer is this going to go on. if it’s a matter of you wanting to make sure we get it, let me assure you that aside from a few stray chuunis who think that Deku embracing the Darkness is the coolest thing he’s ever done, all of us here in fandom fully comprehend that this is Not Good

-- OH SO IT’S LIKE THAT

really. with the flashbacks to his loved ones’ smiling faces and everything. not even gonna try to aim above the belt, huh

AND NO KACCHAN??! NO CLASSMATES?!?! IS HE PURPOSELY NOT THINKING OF THEM??? OR ARE THEY BEING SAVED FOR THE NEXT PAGE??? SO HELP ME, IF THE NEXT PART OF THIS SENTENCE IS “CAN PROTECT THEM”, OR EVEN WORSE, “CAN SEE THEIR SMILING FACES AGAIN”, I...

WHAT DID I JUST SAY

(ETA: my man did Sero and Kaminari fucking dirty lmao. I miss their smiling faces too omg.)

the sheer, unparalleled irony of him saying this while he stands there looking like the gargoyle demon from Fantasia got crossed with an umbrella that got struck by lightning. Deku :(

oi who the fuck is this clown

is he controlling this mob with his evil hair. “what if I made an exhausted, running-on-fumes Deku battle a brainwashed mob at Ground Zero.” Horikoshi do you just have like a checklist of horrible things you want to do to your protagonist

easy there Sasori

well joke’s on you buddy because he’s apparently “completely fine”, so

“here’s to hoping that you know more about AFO’s location than the others” jesus christ Deku you really have hung your mercy out to dry huh

now he’s forcing his mob of terrified prisoners to attack Deku ahhhh. sucks to be them. at least they’re not being controlled by bees

so Deku is saying that Sasori’s control can be broken with “physical trauma.” similar to Shinsou’s quirk I guess. but so does that mean he’s gonna have to hurt them? ( •﹏•)

NO NOT MORE SAD EYES

“DEATH BY EMPATHY!!!” HORIKOSHI NO

fuck. he looks like he’s on the verge of passing out

this is what happens when you nerf a character’s self-preservation stats in favor of spamming their bone-breaking stats instead. NOW ACCEPTING BRAIN CELL DONATIONS FOR A BOY IN NEED!! with your loving generosity we can hopefully help him live to the ripe old age of seventeen

OMGFGGG

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

[grabs your hands] ლ(*꒪ヮ꒪*)ლ [swings you in a circle] へ(ﾟ◇ﾟへ)

THASSSSSSSS WHATSSSSSSS UPPPPPPPPPP

HORIKOSHI REALLY SAID FUCK THAT MASK (ノ°ο°)ノ YOU FINALLY LEARNED!! IT’S CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!!!!

JUST FOR YOU KACCHAN, HORIKOSHI LEFT THIS ONE BAD GUY WHO’S STILL WEAK TO FIRE. GOD BLESS

IT’S YOUR COUNTERPART, KATSUKI B!!!! HOW WE DOIN OVER THERE IN THE TRIPPY COSMIC OFA SPACE REALM LOL. DO WE BELIEVE YET, FANDOM???

LIGHTS!!!!

INSTANT RESULTS!!! IT’S SUPER EFFECTIVE!!!

(ETA: imagine what this must look like to Deku though. he’s been caught up in this dark cloud of despair and exhaustion that’s been building up over... I’m gonna go ahead and say “weeks”, because yeah. and now he finds himself here, in the place where All Might’s legacy ended and the torch was passed to him. and the world is in ruins, and he’s surrounded by frightened people who are all trying to hurt him -- because who isn’t trying to hurt him, these days -- and he’s scrambling to figure this all out, but meanwhile the weariness is finally starting to catch up to him, and so he’s basically just standing there in a fog of complete and utter misery.

and then all of a sudden through that haze, he hears the one voice that’s more familiar than any other that he knows. like, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he thought he was just imagining it at first. Kacchan showing up to save him right when he’s at his most desperate and feeling the most alone. Kacchan, showing up to save him.

this is the person he always looked up to as a child (to be fair he was quite a strange child lmao). the person who was even closer to him than All Might. the person he always thought was amazing. and bam, here he is now. appearing in the sky out of nowhere to one-shot the bad guy with a single blast (which, btw, that was his armor-piercing attack too lmao dslkjlk take it easy there kiddo). like, that must have felt absolutely surreal to him, especially coming at a time when he’s already half-delirious and barely hanging on to reality. he must have really thought that he was losing it there for a second.

but he’s really there. it really is him. and for this brief moment -- before the rest of the situation catches up to him, and he remembers about all of the fucked-up AFO stuff, and remembers why he was so afraid and why he was pushing everyone away -- for just this one brief moment, he’s too exhausted and stunned to do anything except to just react. just stands there, looking up at him in awe.

and you know, it almost reminds me of...

just. you guys. the character development. the freaking character development. someone who brings reassurance. someone who shows up and makes you think, “oh, it’s all going to be okay now, because [person] is here.” the role reversals. the growth. the payoff!! because who is the one person who always had faith that Kacchan would one day grow up to become an amazing hero like that. WHO IS IT. YOU ALREADY KNOW.

omg. anyways, bless you Horikoshi, my feels which have been on backorder since fucking September have finally arrived lmao. yes, good, thank you. worth the wait. it is always, always worth the wait. fuck yeah.)

“LOWFRIES” SO YOU’RE TELLING ME THE WHOLE GANG IS HERE, AHHHHHHHH (º̩̩́⌣º̩̩̀ )

BEAUTIFUL. WONDERFUL. SENSATIONAL. I DON’T EVEN CARE THAT JUMP IS ON BREAK NEXT WEEK. THIS RIGHT HERE WILL SUSTAIN ME