#for the whole city after the tree of life shooting

[viksalos]

realizing i will probably never be normal about religion. every era of my life adds another layer of weirdness in this regard and i’ve been ruminating about it a lot lately, so i tried to list all my weirdnesses chronologically in the hope that it will help somehow. i gloss over a fair amount of related abuse and medical trauma so it’s ideally not *too* much of a bummer, but nonetheless it is still very long so don’t feel obligated to read. would appreciate a like if you do read all the way through though, if for no other reason than it seems like a lot of the time this history makes me feel i don’t quite belong anywhere other than in a random assortment of friends and mutuals lol

maternal family is Pennsylvania Dutch & Lutheran, grandma flees central PA to escape judgement surrounding her shotgun wedding to my grandpa/birth of my mom

mom has me, baptizes me Lutheran, then later has a change of heart and converts to Judaism, completes the process when I am 4 (thus by halacha my Jewish status is sometimes a matter of theological debate--I was born and raised by a Jewish mother, but she wasn’t Jewish *when* I was born)

dad suddenly gets really weird about mom “disrespecting our Christian heritage” despite not really practicing Christianity before, divorces her shortly after her conversion, they get joint custody so 1 week with dad 1 week with mom

antics ensue. on Mom Week we get taken to synagogue, on Dad Week we get taken to random churches including a black church one time (?? we’re white) and Xenos Christian Fellowship for a few months

tangent: look up Xenos Christian Fellowship if you want to head down an awful rabbithole sometime. tl;dr it operated as a megachurch while we were there but its true strength/horror lies in its home church & small group activities. it’s 100% a cult

we weren’t there long enough to get the worst of it but one of my clearest childhood memories is being taken away from the adults’ service in the megachurch to a side room for the kids’ service, where we were told that if every one of us converted 2 people tomorrow, and every one of our converts converted 2 people the next day and so on, the entire world would be Christian in a month. it is/was a factory for turning kids into little missionaries designed to spread the religion like a virus

both parents get mad or upset when I express any amount of belief in the “opposing” religion or nonbelief in theirs. another clear childhood memory of being *really* little in synagogue and deciding not to say aloud the words to a prayer--mom asks why and I said something like “well Daddy said we shouldn’t because we’re not *really* Jewish.” I thought I was doing the right thing and following my parent’s rules, now mom’s crying. felt really bad for that one

especially: no bat mitzvah for either myself or my sister bc it would make my dad mad. this is another theological wrinkle in my Jewish status also I think, especially because mom’s Reform so there’s no debate about whether girls should do bat mitzvot

teenage atheist phase. easier to just believe nothing at all, right? this neatly absolves me of having to deal with any of that previous war-of-the-religions nonsense, and the burgeoning New Atheist movement at the time allows me to have an online escape from my home life as well as encouragement as an aspiring scientist that science will replace religion as humanity’s candle in the dark. unfortunately the New Atheists prove to be dogmatic in their own ways, and bigoted in ways that people in the movement didn’t really seem to have the words to describe until the oncoming social justice movement finally splits them apart.

another memory: confessing to my mom that I didn’t believe in God, saying that all religions are harmful, when what I probably meant was that so far religions have been harmful to *me.* mom’s crying again, felt bad for that one again. but it was part of the unravelling of New Atheism for me and as a whole I think: their critiques of religion were mainly with Christianity, and they posited religion as the sole source of so many complicated sociopolitical ills, such that all other religions were thrown under the bus and rampant antisemitism and islamophobia was the result

(dad starts randomly saying he’s a Buddhist. doesn’t really change how he acts or try to teach us any Buddhist concepts or whatever, it’s just a thing he says. weird)

eventually (late college/early master’s degree?) (re)discover secular Judaism, and Jewish concepts of wrestling with God. decide to tell my mom and sister I want to start participating in some of the holidays and rituals with them again. joke that struggling with Jewish faith under adverse conditions (dad custody weeks) might actually be pretty Jewish. bitter laughter all around, understanding

move to Pittsburgh for my PhD, no longer have access to my home synagogue, don’t have time to join a new one, eventually the pandemic hits so I couldn’t even if I wanted to

get engaged to my now-husband. in-laws are Catholic; his grandpa was a deacon. mother-in-law is upset that we won’t get married in a church. mother-in-law is upset about a lot of things with me, in general. we are now estranged

get into dnd with my new friends in Pittsburgh. all of my characters are heretics or syncretists or outright zealots. surely there’s no reason for this

get into heavy metal because the blastbeats and mostly unintelligible lyrics help me focus on my work. metal really loves its Satanic imagery as an ostensible “fuck you” to Christianity, which I find compelling but moreso just campy & fun. don’t really think about it too hard for a while

have a really hard winter mental health-wise from late 2020-early 2021. get recommended Lingua Ignota around this time, probably due to the heavy metal and the mental health. here though I think, is someone who struggles with God in a way I can relate to. later in 2021 she releases Sinner Get Ready which uses central Pennsylvanian Christianity as a backdrop, in which my whole family story started, and which seems present even as it creeps into the outskirts of Pittsburgh. for these reasons among others it’s just really unfortunate for my brain worms

get vaccine, get married by my hometown synagogue’s rabbi as he’s the only clergyman myself or my husband are comfortable with. my dad does his part, walks me down the aisle, then sends me a letter during our honeymoon about how being Jewish is disrespecting my husband and it’s why my in-laws don’t like me. one week later on the night of Sinner Get Ready’s release, during my first listen, i burn the letter and mix its ashes with black dye for my first battle jacket

make more Jewish friends and metalhead friends, be mostly accepted by them. get one of my Jewish metalhead friends to take me to a lingy show in his city in exchange for me taking him to an Epica show in mine. joke that headbanging is kinda like bowing in prayer

make friends with a couple local shape note singers, and most recently--inadvertently end up being invited into both a secular Sacred Harp choir and a witch coven by one of them. (that this is the same person is so funny to me. she is also my labmate’s wife and was one of my bridesmaids. she is very dear to me.)

the witches let me light my hanukkiah at their solstice gathering. they think my impromptu battle jacket fire ritual is very cool; they do a lot of fire rituals themselves. (this is relieving because I was sure that telling anybody i’d done it would get me sent to the psych ward.) they lend me a book on Pennsylvanian folk magic.

so that’s where i’m at right now--haven’t even read the book yet.

[to-be-a-dreamer]

I do acknowledge that the Marvel writers were, to a certain extent, trapped in production hell when it came to adapting Clint Barton into the MCU and I do appreciate the glimpses of his comic personality that they managed to sneak into the MCU. Some of my favorites include but are not limited to:

“Look the city is-is flying. The city is flying. We’re fighting an army of robots. And I have a bow and arrow. None of this makes sense”

When faced with a completely unknown opponent who’s clearly some kind of enhanced the middle of a fight: “We haven’t met yet, I’m Clint.”

“Nobody would know. Nobody. Last I saw him an Ultron was sitting on him. Yeah I miss him already that quick little bastard.”

“Unfortunately, he’s still Barton” “Oh that’s terrible” Because he’s a little SHIT

“You’re no match for him Cap.” “Thanks Barton”

Hits a bullseye on the dart board half a centimeter from Tony’s face with absolutely no warning just because he can

In THE maximum security prison getting lectured by Tony Stark: “Blah blah blah…”

Actively lying on the floor after getting his shit rocked by a child: “Yeah you better run.”

Smugly, towards the aforementioned child: “What? You didn’t see that coming?”

Doesn’t tell his teammates that he’s taking them to his secret farmhouse in the middle of nowhere where he has a secret family. Also does not tell his wife that he’s bringing the entire Avengers lineup to her house. Because he’s a dramatic bitch with abysmal communication skills.

Does a stupid little dramatic flourish just to shoot an arrow into the fucking wall in front of literally no one but Wanda. Just for funsies.

Is played by Jeremy Renner, who I can’t Google without learning about his latest life-threatening injury. On brand.

Turns his hearing aids off at a bad musical

“Good thing they call you HawkEYE and not HawkEAR” “Hahaha. Block. Delete.” (100% did not block and delete)

Casually boards the subway after a whole entire car chase

“And the Challenger gets wrecked anyway!”

“How’s my apartment?” “…crispy”

“Sorry Santa!”

“You rely too much on technology” “Well my weapon of choice is a stick and a string”

“I’ve been taking karate since I was five” “Oh so last year?”

“Oh hey… I know you” Casually hands over the most powerful weapon in the universe.

To an actual literal chipmunk after he just jumped out the window of a skyscraper and landed in the Time Square Christmas tree “…hey”

“Clint where are you?” “I’m in the tree!” “What? Which tree?” “THE three!”

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part six —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. reader menstruates. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: this was longer but i decided to break it up sorry :p

The last glimpse of civilization you had was a chaotic one.

It was the first day of the outbreak.

Freshly infected running around. Bodies scattered in the streets like dead flies. Screaming. Paul grabbing your hand and tugging you towards the treeline. Your nephew shrieking in your sister’s arms. It’s funny how trauma likes to grab hold of the minute details. You can also recall seeing a bus pass by with an ad for some superhero movie. You had planned on seeing it. The bus crashed into a house and the ad was licked by flames.

Paul was always the one to make the trips to pharmacies and markets. He was the one who wielded a gun, not you. You were the one to stay behind, fortify the fence, and watch over the two broken members of your family.

Society's dust— that is what you leave Ghost’s territory for.

You know you need to.

You wait for your period to end.

Freshly spilled blood is not a scent you want to carry. Greys are drawn to it like flies to rot. Something you learned the hard way once during a hunt with Paul. They were able to catch your scent from a further distance than usual because of it.

To your relief, Ghost lets you look at his map.

Of course, you can’t take it with you.

“Jus’ memorize it,” he grumbles under his breath.

So the evening before you venture out, you study the map of Northern England. Ghost brought out a whole stack of them from the room you’re certain is his. You notice a map of the European continent on top, briefly catching a glimpse of a black circle drawn in the middle somewhere, but he is quick to move it underneath the pile.

You focus on the one you need.

There is a black dot to indicate where their camp is amid the forest. Some 20 kilometers south is the closest city. Or village rather. Ribchester. Maybe that is a safer bet than going by yourself to a big city like Manchester. You may have a bow and knife and some strength, but you don't have a car or guns like he does. Or companions coming with you.

Blue helps you turn your pillowcase into a strapped bag with some scissors. You need something to carry what you find. Ghost isn't willing to let you leave with his backpack. Bitterly, you get it. It’s a useful item.

The next morning, you feel as prepared as you can be. You wake up earlier than usual, before Blue has the chance to poke inside your shed with Grim. You eat a big breakfast of two dried squirrels. You have a third one to take with you.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Blue picks at her breakfast as she sits beside you at the table. Her lips twist around thoughtfully.

You glance between her and Ghost. His stare is unreadable like usual. Dark, stoic, and hiding under lowered brows. You wonder what he thinks— if he would be secretly relieved if you don't make it back alive. Probably. He could get rid of you without Blue pointing the blame at him.

"Medicine is important. I need to find my own.”

We can’t risk sneaking anymore, you would say if he wasn’t right there. But by the way she slides her blue eyes to discreetly meet yours, you think she gets the hint.

"Just be careful, okay?" You nod. "And remember—" she lifts a finger, "—you have to shoot those fucks in the brain."

"I know. I've been practicing my aim a bit."

The smile you offer is only half-there. The truth is, you are risking your life with this. Part of you wonders how deeply she has processed that.

Despite her lips appearing more chewed-through than usual, they give a wary smile in return.

“Yeah, we could hear you hitting the trees. Right, Ghost?"

He hums low, but characteristically, doesn't have much to say about you.

But when you head for the cabin door after eating, his firm hand surprises you, gloved and skeletal. It wraps around your bicep and brings you to a halt before you can step outside. Heat spreads through his glove and the layers of your clothes. You turn around just as a metal object is silently offered to your chest. Ghost holds your stare before you look down at what he is giving you.

It's the revolver. The one they collected from that man.

The gun with only one cartridge.

"Thanks."

You bite your cheek to hide the dry tone, slipping the revolver into your coat pocket. Maybe it will come in handy. At least he now trusts you enough not to immediately point it at him or her.

Blue is the one to follow you out to the gate of their camp.

"I hope you find something good."

"Me, too."

"You know, Ghost and I only went on one trip that I can remember," she says as she unlocks the bolts for you.

"Yeah?"

"To get him more ammo from a military base," she explains with a wave of her hand. "It was pretty close, though. He says that we went on one other trip back to Manchester when things first happened, but he carried me on his back the whole time so I don't remember much except for all the loud sounds.”

This part she adds quietly: "Think I closed my eyes for most of it."

"I would have closed my eyes, too, Blue.”

The next glimpse of civilization you get is a desolate one.

Again, you are on your own. Though, maybe you’ve been alone this whole time in a way.

It is that weird time between winter and spring when the air is crisp but the sun is bright. You hope to complete the trip in one day, which gives you about nine hours. You walk and walk, leaving Ghost's familiar territory behind until the trees become new to you again. You’ve never gone south before. You stop by a creek to drink some water along the way. By high noon, you exit the forest for the first time in five years.

You can see it. Overgrown shrubs and dry vines that crawl over cracked concrete. A road. A billboard arches over with a peeled ad for shaving cream, the woman’s face looking mangled. Your bow is poised as you follow the highway towards the village, recalling a time when you used to take the bus ride down this very route to visit your sister’s home. You liked watching the trees and rolling hills pass through the window as you tucked your ears under headphones.

It is so strange.

The air is quiet with abandonment.

Briefly, you ache for a world that once existed and the life you once lived. Car rides. Music whenever you wanted. Drunk outings on the weekends when you were supposed to be studying for nursing school. Hope for a family of your own someday.

But you have to ignore all that to stay focused on the present. Now, life is whittled down to basic needs and protecting yourself the best you can.

The village soon appears as stone buildings with unkempt wisteria scaling the sides. Abandoned cars haphazardly parked throughout the streets. You keep your guard up and your nose flared as you approach. There is a faint, awful scent that looms in the air, but it is not strong enough to cause concern. Not yet.

A pharmacy.

You need to find one.

If you want to make it back to their camp by nightfall, then you can only waste about an hour or two here. You could spend the night in a tree and trek the 20 kilometers tomorrow, but sleeping in a branch is even more unpleasant than your shed and it is risky. You were willing to do it when you had no other choice, but what if some unfriendly people find you this time? Perhaps even unfriendlier than the threat of Ghost's knife to your neck.

An hour is killed just searching for the pharmacy.

You roam the empty streets.

Finally, you catch sight of the faded sign and your heart leaps. But the excitement fades away when your nose and eyes detect the group of Greys just outside the building in an empty parking lot. Their pale eyes aren’t pointed at you yet, so you move behind a crumpled car for cover. If you had gotten any closer, they surely would've smelled your human flesh.

You take a deep breath. How many are there?

Carefully, you poke your head out just an inch to survey the threat. Six of those fucks. That is doable given the range.

The last time you ran into Greys, you had no choice but to run because of the bow Ghost stepped on. This time, you can kill them off with the bow carved by his hands.

You are quick with it. You stand and release arrow by arrow. Four of the six are headshots. You aren't perfect. The last two receive arrows through their shoulders, but this type of wound means nothing to a Grey. It is their brains that are infected with the virus, just like Blue said.

These two begin running towards you, now catching a whiff of your scent.

You climb on top of the car. Hitting a running target is far trickier. You go for the faster one first, using two more arrows before hitting the skull, grey chunks of brain splattering onto the concrete. The slower one just barely reaches the car before you finish it off, the closer distance sharpening this final hit.

The pharmacy is reachable now.

As you run over, you gather the used arrows. Precious ammo. You pull them out of their bodies with a twist and a putrid squelch.

When you push through the doors to the pharmacy, you almost choke. The shelves— they are empty. You breeze through every aisle, eyes and hands seeking anything that could be left, but there is nothing. You check the back. You check the shelves behind the counter.

Empty, empty, empty.

“Oh, fuck me,” you croak. Hot tears spill down your cheeks.

You half expected this.

But you’ve come all this way.

You need something.

There must be somewhere else you can look.

The cars maybe. Most people used to keep med kits somewhere inside. There is a slight chance that one could’ve been forgotten. It is worth a try.

You keep moving, not wanting to return with an empty bag. The white sun hangs high. The dry air turns your tear-stained cheeks sticky. You pick up rocks to begin breaking the windows of the abandoned cars, poking your arm inside to undo the locks, and rummaging through the glove compartments.

CDs, magazines, condom wrappers.

Nothing.

“Please, please.”

You make it down the street like this, checking every single one. Distracted, you shatter the glass of a white sedan without noticing the shadow laying in the backseat.

Fingers wrap around your wrist as you reach for the inner lock.

A maggot-filled mouth lurches for the flesh of your hand.

An arrow won't work here. With a cry, you use your free hand to grab the revolver from your pocket and shoot its head. The sound echoes. The single bullet burrows right between its eyes. The Grey writhes for a moment before going limp against the seat.

Panting, you have to pry the bony fingers off your wrist.

Again, you search the glove compartment. In this car where the stench is thick enough to sicken you, a med kit and a Twix bar fall into your hands.

“Fuck— thank you.”

You stash both into your homemade bag.

You could leave now, but you are itching for some antibiotics. The kit will help you clean wounds without Ghost's help, but it won’t save you if you develop an infection.

The next idea you have is to check a house.

By the look of the sky, you can fit in at least two quick searches. You run over to the next street and kick at the front door of the first one you see. Nothing but knocked-over furniture and torn wallpaper. The bathroom cabinet is empty.

The next one you fight inside is decorated with furniture that smells like faded perfume. The first room you check is a bedroom. In the center, a full set of bones lies on the bed, void of any meat after God knows how long its been there. You try not to look at it. On the floor lies a pile of clothes. You could use some more, still dressed in the ones Ghost found you in. You don't even look at them, just grab what you can fit in your bag and move on to the bathroom.

Here, beside a pair of molded dentures, you find two half-full bottles of pills.

Amoxicillin.

Paracetamol.

You cry some more.

It's not much, but it is enough for now.

Your muscles are fatigued by the time you make it back.

You reek of sweat. It is a long walk. You run into a few more Greys but manage them. You eat the squirrel you brought.

Darkness covers the forest just when you spot the camp's fence in the distance. Relief. You actually did it. Some pride breathes into your tired lungs.

As you get closer, you make out two silhouettes leaving the gate. One is a girl who you tiredly smile at the sight of, and the other is a bulky tank.

You leap over the trench.

But when your boots land on the other side, the end of a rifle pokes your breastbone and prevents you from getting any closer.

"Ghost."

You can't help but shout at him, eyes widening. He is pointing a gun at you? You were just beginning to think he could tolerate you enough to not threaten murder anymore. The memory of your first encounter resurfaces.

"It's just me! What the hell are you doing?"

Panic finds you once again. Your chest rises and falls under his gun’s touch. You glance at Blue, who tries to get near you, but he sticks out an arm to keep her away.

"Dad," Blue groans, "Do you really have to— ”

The tip of the rifle brushes up over your collarbone and toward your neck. Your nerves awaken under cold metal.

"Let me see." His voice is firm.

Oh. Bites. He wants to see if you have any bites.

"Okay, okay." You nod breathlessly.

Swallowing, you gather your braided hair in your hands as he clicks on a flashlight. You have not been offered string to tie them with so most of the hair has fallen out as always. You roll your neck to one side, and then to the other to show him the unmarked skin. But he is not satisfied yet.

He moves the rifle down to the hem of your shirt and uses it to lift up the fabric just beneath your breasts, revealing the skin of your stomach and ribs. You should feel exposed, standing here with your bare midriff under the light, but the two of them have already seen this much of you. You are more concerned about the fact that he could kill you if he actually suspects you could’ve been bitten.

The cold air invites a shiver. Your teeth clench as you stare at him. In the darkness, his eyes almost lean red.

He lowers your shirt.

"Roll 'em up for me,” he demands, now giving a nod to your trousers.

You bend over to roll up the pantlegs, all the way up to your knees so he can’t complain about it. All that is revealed are your unshaven legs and sweat-laced socks. You are sure they can smell them from where they stand.

"She doesn't have any stupid bites, Ghost, alright?"

Blue tugs at his arm with a huff. Finally, the rifle lowers. You straighten back up and exhale the short breath you were holding.

There is a silent moment where the three of you just stand there. An owl hoots. Ghost rubs at his masked jaw and looks you over some more, eyes flicking to the filled bag over your shoulder with a raised brow.

And then, something unexpected.

A small body whirls into yours and you almost stumble back in a step. Blue wraps her arms around your waist and excitedly breathes out, "I knew you'd make it back. Ghost said you wouldn't. I told him you would."

What?

It is a short-lived hug.

But still, the first one you have had in a long time.

After this tiring day, your eyes close with some more moisture. It is a strange feeling, her young embrace. Her palms spread flat against your back and she presses her forehead to your shoulder because she is tall enough to reach it. You are just about to hug her in return, move your arms around her shoulders out of instinct, but she is soon tugged away by a skeletal hand. Her blue eyes drift down to her boots. She looks a mix of irritated and embarrassed.

In a daze, you end up back in the warmth of the cabin.

Blue begs you to show her what you found. You dump the contents of your pillowcase onto the table. Her father’s shadow lurks behind you somewhere, always watching and taking up space, but for now, you ignore him.

You cannot recall a time when you were in this kind of mood. It is enough to surface the waters of your grief. Because now, your survival does not have to rely so much on Ghost's mercy or the risk of Blue’s sneaky hands. Food, a med kit, one type of antibiotic. It should all be enough to keep you alive - to take care of yourself - for at least however long you end up staying here.

"Shit balls." Blue rummages through the goods. "You did pretty good."

"Right? I can't believe it," you whisper numbly. You wipe your eyes.

She holds up the clothes first, starting with a large, floral blouse that looks like something an old lady would wear. Her head tips back with a giggle.

"This is way too big for you."

"I'll make it work," you say, shrugging, but almost manage a quiet laugh, too. You don't really give a fuck what the clothes look like. At least you can change finally into something else - something that didn’t belong to your dead companions.

Where you care about the medicine, Blue is far more intrigued by the candy bar she discovers. She holds it up, and inspects the wrapper with curiously wide eyes, shooting a glance at her dad.

"T-w-i-x," she sounds out with pinched brows. She looks back at you. "What's this?"

"It's like... chocolate," you tell her.

"Oh— no way. Could I try some?"

You don't really care about the Twix bar. You almost forgot about it since the moment you found it in the car. But before you can tell her she can just have it as a late birthday gift - because she has done so much for you - Ghost moves to take it from her hands.

He puts it back down on the table.

“What’s hers is hers, kid. That’s how it works here.“

[cy-cyborg]

Baldur’s Gate 3’s (accidental) examples of accessibility in a fantasy world

[ID: a screenshot of Baldur's Gate 3's main menu screen, a scene showing the city of baldur's gate and a stone statue sitting under some trees. The title of this post is overlayed onto the image with a small picture of the wheelchair symbol sitting on top of the word "accessibility". /End ID]

When we think of the medieval-European inspired worlds typically associated with fantasy TTRPG’s like Dungeons and Dragons, “wheelchair accessible” is not usually the first thing you’d use to describe such a setting. In fact, it’s pretty widely agreed upon that real-life medieval Europe was a pretty unfriendly place for wheelchair users (and most other disabled folks), so it makes sense that most fantasy settings inspired by the time period would be too.

However, realism and historical accuracy is typically not why most people turn to D&D and other similar games. Last I checked, real life medieval Europe didn’t have flying lizards who could shoot magic from their faces and sentient robot men, so personally, I see no harm in adding a stone slab next to the stairs inside the dungeon hiding a lich who survived off a strict soul-only diet for 1,000 years.

However, if you’ve spent any time in TTRPG spaces online as a disabled person - or even someone who’s just playing a disabled character, you have very likely come across the argument that wheelchair using player characters shouldn’t be allowed, because making the setting accessible for them would be too distracting and immersion-breaking.

While this is not the only reason these people tend to argue against the use of wheelchairs by player characters in TTRPG’s, it is one I have found especially odd, especially since the release of Baldur’s Gate 3.

Baldur’s Gate 3 is a video game based in D&D's Faerûn setting, to which it sticks to fairly loyally. It was a wildly successful game, and I personally have absolutely adored every moment of it.

But one thing I noticed is that the people who cried about the idea of settings in TTRPG’s being made wheelchair accessible because it would be too distracting, out of place and immersion-breaking have been suspiciously quiet about the examples of those same accessibility tools being present in Baldur’s Gate 3.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying the whole game would be accessible to a wheelchair using player, far, far from it, but ramps and even elevators appear throughout the game in several locations, and despite the protests aimed at their inclusion in actual D&D, hardly anyone noticed. At least, no one that I’ve seen has mentioned it.

Ramps appear in several places around Baldur’s Gate - the city the game is named after and the final region of the game. Most notably around the docks.

[ID: A picture within the city of Baldur's Gate. Characters are standing around a dead tree looking towards a set of stairs, half of which have been covered by a sturdy looking wooden ramp. /End ID]

Another few can be found in Waning Moon inn, a tavern overrun with undead, not far from Moonrise Towers. The ramps, while honestly hilariously steep, connects the 1st and second floors.

[ID: Two screenshots displayed side-by-side showing steep ramps built within a run-down, abandoned inn. End ID]

There are also multiple elevators located throughout the game, most notably a wooden one that is being blocked by a sleeping bear in the druid’s grove, right at the start of the game.

[ID: A screenshot showing an elivator consisting of an old, wooden mechanism acending a wooden structure. /End ID]

Another can be found at the centre of the Arcane Tower in the Underdark...

ID: A character is standing on a circular, glowing platform located inside a tube-like structure with a door behind the character. /End ID]

and several more can be found in the Temple of Shar in The Shadow Cursed lands: one by the entrance to the temple itself, one that takes you from the end of The Gauntlet of Shar back to the start, and one that takes you down to the inner sanctum of the temple.

[ID: Two more screenshots side-by-side show characters standing on another pair of circular elevator platforms, these two are intricately decorated, and ascend and descend by floating. /End ID]

Now, I know that Larian Studios didn’t include these features for the sake of making their world accessible to wheelchair users. Many of the ramps are located in places that indicate they were to aid carts and carriages moving supplies. The one in The Waning Moon Inn even has some kind of track built into it. The elevators are all also placed in locations where players would likely be backtracking a lot, and seem to mostly be present for our convenience.

But whether this was Larian’s intention or not is irrelevant to the point in my opinion.

While these locations are not fully wheelchair accessible, Baldur’s Gate 3 showed, quite publicly, that it can be done and be lore-friendly, that it won’t break people’s immersion and be “obvious pandering”. the key thing is though, the locations have to be designed with those features in mind from the start. If you make a normal medieval tavern and just replace the stairs with a ramp, it will look out of place. If you try to make elevators that look like the modern day version, it’s going to look out of place, but it doesn’t take much of a change to make either work.

A druid’s grove most likely won’t make an elevator that looks like the modern version we have today, but a big moving, wooden platform operated by a hand crank? That seems much more in-line with their aesthetic. The Waning Moon’s layout wouldn’t look the same if you just plopped a set of stairs down instead of the ramp, because it was likely designed with the extra space something like that would need in mind.

Unfortunately, even in the modern day, the inclusion of things like ramps and lifts are often not really considered in the design of buildings. not fully. This is why a lot of real-world examples, admittedly can sometimes look kind of weird and out of place, especially on older buildings. However, well crafted accessibility options don’t have to stand out. When done well, they are as much a part of the architecture and building or location's design as other features like stairs can be and I think Baldur’s Gate 3 is a great - if accidental - example of how it can look in a fantasy setting and be seamlessly integrated into the world when done right.

When designing a fantasy setting, whether for D&D and other TTRPG’s, for a book, for a comic or whatever else you’re making, remember that just because that’s how it was in real life, doesn’t mean that’s what it has to be like in your setting. The real-life dungeons were just prisons, but TTRPG’s have taken the concept and turned them into these labyrinths filled with puzzles, traps, monsters and treasure. Real-life medieval Europe, for the most part, didn’t allow women to do a lot of things we see modern-day fantasy characters doing, regardless of gender. There are so many commonly accepted differences between the real-life medieval period and fantasy, why can’t an accessible world be one of them too?

[laugtherhyena]

At last, the updated ref post of the man who starte it all. I'm so glad me and the gang made a whole little funger cast, I'm enjoying John much more now that he has other people to hunt down interact with :]

Character story

The silent Bohemian night reigns with an underlying uneasiness to it. You can't help but feel as if something sinister lurks in the horizon, just beyond where your eyes can reach..

In an attempt to ignore the chill underneath your skin, you reminisce about what has led you to this point in life…

For your childhood and teenage years you worked in a large factory alongside many other children, the smoke of the machinery and cluttered atmosphere made you yearn for nature, running off to the woods in the middle of the night to marvel at its beauty under the comforting glow of the moon.

You admired the animals that made up its ecosystem, perhaps what you wanted was to be like them; living under Vinushka’s domain free from the shackles of society, hunting to survive…

It was a fun activity and you had a real knack for it, your boss would even give you some extra shillings for hunting down the pests that lurked in the shadows of the factory. But what enticed you wasn't the money but the thrill of the hunt, soon enough you became more and more convinced that this was what you were put on this earth to do.

You had a couple friends in the facility, four boys around your age that had each other's back through thick and thin. When you came of age you suggested to them the idea of robbing the boss’s office and escaping with the money in search of a brand new life. While some were skeptical, the heist was ultimately a success and you all embarked on the first train to Rondon, feeling the breeze against your long hair, you had the feeling your life was finally going to begin.

Of course, that money couldn't keep you all afloat forever, but you had a plan. It was time to finally dedicate your time into doing what you loved the most…

Buy a rifle (Gain gun proficiency, Gain Rifle .303 Mk I and ×6 .303 Ammo)

Buy a trench gun (Gain gun proficiency, 12-gauge Trench gun and ×6 12-gauge shells)

After much consideration you and the boys decided to put the money at hand into buying yourselves an old shack in the woods alongside the essentials and the remainder of the shillings was spent into tools to aid in your survival. While your friends went on to work on lumber, you opted for the path of a hunter.

You had a natural proficiency with firearms and the joy of the hunt made you feel as if you were exactly where you should be. The boys would spend the day chopping down trees and attempting to sell the wood in the city while you skinned and butchered the fruits of your labor, the meat became your everyday meals while the pelts were sold at a high price around the marketplace.

After a while your friends slowly switched gears as they asked you to teach them your ways, soon enough you became a fierce group of hunters and the income increased significantly. You had never thought of how fun it was to share your passion with the people you loved, surrounded by your closest friends, the hunt became even more glorious.

With financial stability being no longer an issue, you decided to dedicate your time into upgrading your hunting skills…

Learning more about traps (Gain trapcraft)

You went on to learn about tools that could aid in your hunts, traps that could hinder wild beasts much stronger than any man. Allowing you to aim for much more fearsome creatures than you could have only dream of shooting down.

That spring, you hunted down a bear and your best friend made a beautiful head mount out of the mighty beast.

Learning more about firearms (Gain gunslinger)

You studied your trusty weapon from top to bottom. Not only were you able to fix you and your friend's guns whenever they started malfunctioning but also became a much more fearsome hunter, capable of reloading a barrel in a matter of seconds and shooting down even the most wary of animals without making your presence known.

You began bringing a lot more kills back with you from the hunts.

Over time the small shack was revamped into a large cottage, decorated with head mounts and fur carpet, beautiful prizes from your many hunts. The place was cozy and full of life, a home that soon welcomed your best friend's wife and child. A healthy little boy you swore to care for as if you were family, an honorary uncle of sorts.

Joyful years went by before tragedy swooped in and steadily took away everything you treasured. Misery began during a hunt where you were far too cocky, underestimating the strength of the prey which led to your stomach being pierced by the startled deer’s antlers. Your injuries left you bedridden and far too injured to be drafted when the great war began.

A terrible curse disguised as a blessing as you watched your dear friends march to war, you hoped and prayed that their skills would be enough to keep them alive in the battlefield, but as the conflict worsened each and every single one of them returned to you in a wooden coffin.

You tried to remain strong for your late friend’s little boy, you brought him to the woods and taught him how to hunt just as you did for his father, but soon that spark of happiness was ripped from your grasp as well. His grieving mother figured the best for them would be to move away and start over. You loathe that woman for taking away the only thing you had left of your beloved friend, but you didn't blame her.

You gifted the boy his father's rifle and waved goodbye to them from the station before returning to the mausoleum you could no longer call home.

Haunted by the loss of the only people you ever cared for, you searched for ways to drown out the sound of your sorrows…

Leave the cottage (Gain bury the trauma)

With the savings you had in hand you decided to travel around the country to try getting your mind away from the pain, you visited museums, chapels, libraries and all kinds of tourist locations yet the source of your suffering never left your mind.

You longed to return home, but home was no longer the place you held fond memories of. A depressing shadow of what it once was, much like yourself.

Focus on the hunt (Gain killing intent)

You intended to silence the painful reminders with the sound of gunshots in the distance. Grief turned into anger you took out on the habitants of the forest, the carnage reigned long enough for the animals to begin avoiding you. The hunt was no longer fun, the woods became just as empty as the cottage that brought you so much pain.

At the end of the day, nothing worked. Your heart swelled in a constant burning pain fueled by the emptiness of the cottage and the memories of what it once was that haunted your every step. With no one by your side, you turned to religion in a last ditch effort to cope with all the loss you had suffered. Although you thrived in Vinushka's domain, you were drawn to the writings about the trickster moon good like a moth to a flame.

You swiftly became obsessed with the mysteries surrounding the old god's doings and dedicated all your time into devoting yourself to him, in the dead of the night, you prayed for guidance under his glistening light. To be given a new purpose in life, reborn under his gaze for something much greater.

Eventually, Rher answered your desperate calls. You were blessed with a vivid dream, a glimpse into his jubilee of cosmic proportions. Termina will soon be upon that wretched old town and you would not miss your chance of appeasing your beloved deity.

With a new hunt on the horizon, how did you prepare?

Pray to the moon god (Gain +3 Rher affinity)

Stock up on medical goods (Gain ×2 blue vial and cloth fragments)

Stock up on food (Gain ×2 dried meat and moldy bread)

You settled on the place your dream led you to, the rooms of the old hotel were small and tainted with the stench of mold, but none of that matters.

You're here, and soon will his servants, blessings and the god of the moon himself. It was challenging to fall asleep with all the excitement pumping through your veins…

Character skills

[atarathegreat]

The End of the World is Beautiful. Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick.

Gaz wasn't usually one to worry and hang off his team, but here he was. You were just trying to get to the center of the city without being eaten alive by the old inhabitants while Gaz made it his duty to be your actual backpack. If not for the gun in his hands, you were positive you would've been carrying him.

The atmosphere of the city was somber, dull, quite literally dead. Even so, with all the dead wandering around, it was undoubtably alive. Ten years. It only took ten years for the vines and trees to take over the concrete jungle. The roads that were once driven on were cracked, the sidewalks were grassy, and the towering buildings were lattice for the vines to grow up to the sun. It was beautifully morbid how everything was dead and bright all at the same time, all with the haunting melody of moans and groans from the once human creatures stumbling around.

"What did Price say we were looking for?" Gaz kept his voice low, not wanting to draw attention from the wandering flesh bags that wanted to eat his face. You thought it was cute that he was a little scared over the whole thing. It was unnerving, sure, but after ten years it felt no different than how the battlefield used to feel with living humans shooting at you. "He told us to keep an eye out for scavenged stores and areas that could've been used as shelter. It's been a week with no contact from Scav Team, so lord knows how far they made it."

The two of you had been tasked with finding the Scavenger Team, a team of six who had gone on a mission a month prior, and lost contact a week back. With the population falling in the areas closed off, and the open areas were infested with the dead. This city was the largest unreclaimed place thus far, and losing any team was practically a death sentence.

Fingers crossed that Scav Team was alive and well.

Gaz's hand wrapped firmly around your arm, just in time to pull you out of the way of a big dead bastard. The poor guy was probably a body builder before he was turned into... this. You were thankful to be out of the things way, if not perturbed by its lack of clothing. Perhaps he was in a shower, with a lover, just staring at himself when he was turned.

It made your chest feel strange, heavy, and light at the same time to think of others having complex lives like yours. Somewhere, there is a conscious being, thinking, and planning. They have a past, present, and future, just like you. But this naked gym rat was no longer thinking about work or partners. Rather, the next thing he could rip open and eat.

You nodded your thanks to Gaz, keeping quiet with that thing so close to you.

While you were busy contemplating life and it's complexities, Gaz was focused on you. He'd always been partial to staying at your side, and it only got worse when the outbreak happened. There was too much unknown and Gaz could not handle it. What if you were hurt? What if he never saw you again?

Price had been compelled to send Ghost with you, knowing how your mind seemed to wander when you were on slow missions, but after a few days of Gaz's childish begging, the team was changed. Gaz wasn't too proud to admit that, yes, he had fallen to his knees and gripped John's desk while saying he would scrub latrines with a toothbrush. He would do it a thousand times over to make sure it was him beside you in these missions. There was no level he wouldn't stoop to.

"We need to get silencers and just-"

"We can't waste ammo." You interrupted, already reaching for your knife, "Silence is key, but we need to keep bullets. They're not exactly getting manufactured right now."

The other thing Gaz loved about you was how efficient you were. Always aiming for the head, especially now. It was mesmerizing to watch you slam your knife into the back if these things necks, severing the spinal cord and killing them quickly.

For the rest of the time, Gaz refused to let you do all the killing. Keeping you from getting surrounded was his main goal, and he only had to waste two bullets. All the same, he was glad it was him with you, making sure you stayed in one piece. As the sun disappeared behind the skyscrapers and overpasses, with the moon making her appearance, Gaz was glad to have the higher ground. Of course, after ten years of no maintenance, the overpass could easily crumble and kill you both, but he prayed it would stay.

"Gaz, look at this."

You were bent over the window of a car, a small Mazda with sparkly blue paint and velvet rims, not a combination Gaz would choose, but sure. The sign scratched into the side was clear as day to him, the Scav Team had been here. "We might as well bunk here for the night. See what the guys left and if we can follow 'em from here." He helped you through the moonroof before wiggling in himself and tugging the glass closed. It was never safe at night with those things, but it was safer than sleeping out in the open.

In the back seat was blankets and coats, four duffel bags labeled 'clothes,' 'food/water,' 'ammo,' and 'medicine.' On the floorboard was the team's dog tags, a letter, and the bunsun burner. The letter, dirty and speckled with blood, read;

Whoever comes looking, we didn't make it. Charles got ripped up, but we couldn't leave him. He ate Andes and Evan. I'm the last one, but I won't make it back with all the supplies. Andes is outside the window and Charles is trying to open the top window. No man left behind, right?

You covered your mouth as you passed the note to Gaz, tears filling your eyes. The Scav Team were dead, and this little Mazda was all they had.

"Shite..." Gaz was fighting tears himself, "Fuck..."

"What do we do?"

That was something hated about you; how easily your sad and defeated voice could make him crumble. How easily you made him feel like it was his place to comfort you.

How easily he let himself do it, "Tonight we rest, radio Price to inform him and request extra hands. In the morning, Ghost and Soap will be here, and we'll take everything back to base." Gaz leaned the driver seat back and grabbed the big blanket, tossing one side over you and the other over him.

"Until then, try not to think about anything."

[borathae]

↳ Index [Day 25 - Rough Sex]

Pairing: Domish!Jimin x f.Reader

Kinks: sex in nature (by a river), rough!! sex, Bratty Switching, hair pulling, scratching, muscle kink, strength kink, he rips her clothes, degradation, dirty talk, some spanking, clothed pussy rubbing, standing doggy against some rocks, creampies, orgasm denial, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (m.receiving), squirting, cuddly aftercare, this is also make up sex btw

Wordcount: 5.1k

a/n: so uhm surprise besties hahahah this is a zombie apocalypse story. listen, i don’t know why this request inspired this setting but it did. i'm having so much fun exploring different aus which i wasn’t really brave enough to post about on here yet and a zombie apocalypse story has been on my mind since the dawn of day. have fun besties jfadsjf ❤

“Hey.”

Jungkook turns upon hearing your voice. He sharpened his axe before, but stops when he sees you.

“Hey”, he answers you, watching you stand over him.

“You uhm”, you clear your throat, “did you see where he went?”

“Yeah, he went down to the river to train”, Jungkook answers you.

“Thanks. I’ll uhm, try to talk to him.”

“Yeah do that”, Jungkook says and gives you a little smile.

“Mhm”, you acknowledge him, turning to leave.

“And boss?”

“Yeah?” you stop, looking over your shoulder.

“You were right. Last night I mean. You were right.”

You give him a smile, “thank you Kook, that means a lot.”

Jungkook gives you a nod of his head and finally continues sharpening his axe. You turn to leave for the river.

Ten years ago, you all lived a different life. You and Jimin were planning to get married. Your shared best friend Jungkook was an upcoming singer, while your other friends Namjoon and Yoongi already produced music. Seokjin was planning to start a career in acting while Taehyung already was a very popular actor. And Hoseok was quite busy choreographing dances for the biggest stars in the world. Stuff like stars, celebrities and normal everyday life long stopped existing after an incurable outbreak of what is known as “The Zombie Disease” these days. Very creative name, yes yes we all know, but it at least gets straight to the point.

The virus infects the brain and turns whatever living organism it latched onto into a flesh-hungry, braindead and rotting zombie. Animals and humans alike. The humans fought the monsters at first, but soon the fighting began between them as well. Food became scarce, different morals came up and greed for power rose in a few heads.

You and your friends were lucky, escaping the big cities before the military bombed them in an attempt to stop the civil wars. It resulted in two thirds of the still healthy population dying in fires and explosions and for the military to lose its last spark of respect. They are hunted these days. By everyone. 

You lived in the forests since two winters, hidden from remaining civilization and avoiding the hoards of zombies in your tree house fortresses with fifty other survivors. The eight of you were the real deal however, the ones who've been through it all. The leaders of the whole pack so to speak. You’ve been here since day one and will always be here until something out there kills you. 

You were the leader of your little group. You weren’t the oldest and maybe also not the strongest, but you were a survivor. Your left arm still carried the marks of where you had to burn off bite marks an especially friendly zombie family left just three days into the outbreak. Your right eye still saw worse after a showdown with five heavily armed soldiers. And your nights were still plagued by nightmares of when you had to shoot your own brother in the head after zombies got him right in the throat. You knew what was out there. You actually knew. And that’s why you were their leader. Why they listen to you, follow your guidance and respect your decisions. Everyone except your stubborn partner of course.

Contrary to what Jungkook told you, the training spot next to the reeds is empty. You look around for a moment. There are footsteps in the fine gravel, they look fresh, the depth and length of them fit perfectly to Jimin’s bare feet. You follow them with your eyes. They are leading over to the high rocks just twenty feet to your left. That’s where your washing spot was. So Jimin must be cleaning himself right now.

You walk to the hidden spot. Soon the splashing of water and a clear singing voice can be heard. You stop. It’s been ages since you last heard him sing. He sounds beautiful. This song. You recognize the melody. It’s Your Song. The song you always listened to when the world was still okay.

You gulp, biting the inside of your cheek in order not to get emotional. God, you stupid woman. You feel awful for last night.

You and Jimin had a pretty big fight last night over whether or not you should expand your lands or not. You said that it would be beneficial for growing more crops, while Jimin insisted that extending the borders would ask for too much trouble. The others were present during your fight, trying to diffuse the situation as best as possible, but you still ended up going to bed angry at each other.

The rocks are shielding most of his singing, making it appear quiet to your ears. You want to hear more of it. You need to see him.

You cross the corner. There he is. Standing in the stream and with his back turned to you and his naked butt on full display. You are too immersed in staring at his behind that you don’t notice the stick lying on the ground right in front of your feet. You take a step. 

Crack. 

Jimin snaps around, instantly getting into position to fight despite his naked state. His eyes are dark, filled with the desire to kill. His clenched fists shield his face, his strong feet standing broad on the gravel ground. 

You stop, tensing up yourself, ready to defend yourself should Jimin in his shock decide to jump you. To your luck however, he relaxes again, lowering his fists and releasing the tension in his muscles. He studies you from head to toe, eyes filled with both sad yearning and slight annoyance.

“You know not to sneak up on me. I could have punched you”, he says, sliding his hand down to cover his exposed dick, “what are you even doing here? Are you watching me bathe? That’s creepy”, he raises one of his eyebrows in judgment. 

You snort, “first of all, I’ve seen your dick a million times before and second of all, no I didn’t, I was actually trying to look for you. I didn’t expect you to be naked.”

“That’s our washing spot. What else did you expect me to do here? Squats?” he asks and cracks up at his own joke.

“Very funny”, you roll your eyes at him, trying your hardest not to snicker at his stupid joke. You sneak a glance at his dick again.

Jimin notices, lips curling into a little smirk.

“So you did want to watch me. Damn, I even didn’t know that you had a thing for voyeurism”, he teases, relaxing his hands around his dick just to show it off. 

“Oh shut up, you know exactly that I do”, you throw back, eyes focused on his crotch.

His hands are opening further and further, exciting you more and more. 

“I know you do” his left hand slips away, “besides, I think we both know that there is still some making-up to do”, his right hand slips away, exposing him completely. 

“Jimin, what are you insinuating?” you ask, staring at his fingers around his cock. 

“An apology. Isn’t that obvious?” he states nonchalantly, before he takes a step forward, closer to you. 

“An apology?"

“Yeah”, he nods his head, “you were right. We should think about how we can feed ourselves. Especially now that Charley and Kate are pregnant and we got those five new recruits. Our encampment is growing and we need more space for crops and ultimatively for housing too. You were right.”

“Yes, but I can see your point too. Growing our borders is risky and we need to make sure the areas we claim are clean. We lost too many guys last July trying to claim this fucking sawmill. I get that you’re weary.”

Jimin nods his head.

“I just”, he steps closer, “I just don’t wanna fucking lose you. You know?”

“Lose me? Why me?” you ask in a laugh.

“Because you’re reckless, that’s why. And I know that you would be dumb enough to throw yourself into danger for the sake of the others and I can’t fucking let you do that”, he says, placing his hand on your arm right where your burn scar stretches. You took those bites in Jimin’s stead ten years ago and then ordered him to use a blowtorch to burn them off. Jimin can still hear your screams at night.

You feel every ounce of anger you still had left for him crumble like a cookie. You smile fondly, reaching out to poke his tummy.

“You old sap”, you say.

Jimin laughs, eyes crinkling up and cheeks puffing out.

“So? I’m an old sap and I’m proud of it.”

“Yeah”, you chuckle, “and I love you for it.”

“I love you too, you know?” he says.

“Yeah, I know”, you assure him, sneaking a glance down at his body, “I can’t believe you had this whole conversation with your dick out”, you say in a chuckle.

“I know”, he grins, “do you like the view?” he taunts, wiggling his hips a little.

“Jimin, behave.”

“No”, he throws back, wiggling even more.

“What if someone sees us?” 

Jimin chuckles, inching closer to you. He is a mere step away from touching you. Your skin tingles in anticipation, your stomach tightens in excitement. 

“As if you would mind”, he rasps. 

You clench your jaw in a last attempt to stop yourself from giving in to your urges. You look up from his crotch to stare into his eyes instead. They are glimmering in arousal, watching you through hooded lids. 

“So? Do you wanna accept my apology and let me fuck it okay again?” he asks, giving you sweet puppy eyes.

You gulp, hands landing on his pecs and body drawing closer. He smirks triumphantly, knowing already that he had won you over. He just needed to take that last step separating the two of you. Just one more step and you would be his’.

“Come closer and find out”, you challenge, accepting your fate. Not that it was hard to accept of course. Oh how you want him. Fighting with him always makes you crave him especially hard.

“Yeah? How hard do you want it?”

“As hard as you can give it to me, baby.”

“Fuck baby…”

Having your consent, Jimin charges forward. He grabs your face, pulling you onto his mouth. His kiss is rough, all teeth and tongue. He sucks and bites your lower lip until desperate moans escape your throat. Your fingers are entangled in his wet hair, pulling at them in vigor. He groans, the pain of your rough handling spurring him on even more. You both need it, need to remind the other that you were a fucking team. It’s the hottest pain, leaving the both of you whining and moaning in despair, but it is all the more addicting, filling you up with the desire to fuck the other like a wild animal.

You pull away, a bundle of his hair sits securely in your fingers so you can tolt his head back.

His puffy lips part, releasing shaky breaths. His dark eyes watch you with cocky confidence glistening in them. 

“I fucking want you like nothing else”, you growl, pulling at his hair. 

He groans deeply, letting his head get pulled back. It exposes his thick neck. Oh  how you would love to bury your teeth in his skin, make him whine and squirm in your hands. 

“I want you more”, Jimin retorts, tightening his fingers on your jaw until it stings. 

You both fall silent, your heavy pants and the rushing of the river the only thing hanging in the air. You are staring at each other. Both of you are desperate, aching for the other’s touch, but your pride holds you back. You will not be the one losing today, not this time. 

“Stop lying”, you growl, traveling your free hand over his chest. 

It is cold under your touch, the water having cooled it down. Jimin takes a shaky inhale, eyelids fluttering in desperation. Your touch feels like fire on his skin, leaving him aching for more.

“I’m not lying. I want you more than you do me”, he insists, earning himself a twist of his hair. He moans, cock growing harder.

“Be quiet”, you grumble, dancing your hand further down his torso to trace every inch of his toned stomach. The years of fighting and training really paid of. His stomach is rock hard, his abs looking as if they were sculpted by gods. They must have been cruel gods, judging by the state they abandoned the world in.

“I’ll fuck you like a goddess”, he rasps, earning himself scratch marks down his happy trail.

“I’d like to see you try”, you challenge.

“Let go of my hair and I’ll show you”, he retorts. His voice sounds confident. One might think that your teasing touch doesn’t affect him if it weren’t for his ragged breathing and rapidly growing boner. 

“Jimin”, you breathe, making your voice sound pitying, “we both know that’s not possible”, you stop your hand on his hips right next to his hardened cock. You feel him tense up, his lips part and a shaky moan manages to escape his throat. 

You smirk triumphantly, relaxing the grip on his hair now that he had surrendered to you. Or so you thought. The moment his hair is free from your touch, Jimin launches forward, attaching his lips to your neck and sucking hard. It surprises you, making you nearly fall backwards, if it wasn’t for his strong arm holding you by the small of your back. 

“What, what are you? Jimin, fuck- let me, let me-”, you stutter in a last attempt to keep the upper hand, but to no avail. Jimin has won, “fuck baby, you sneaky bastard…” you sigh, tilting your head back gladly.

His arms are wrapped around your body tightly, holding you safely. His soft lips worship your neck with hungry kisses, painting spots of sensitivity all over your skin. Your eyes flutter shut, your knees nearly giving up on you. He makes you so goddamn weak.

Jimin doesn’t mind your loss in strength, using your wobbly feet to his advantage to pull you even closer to his body. 

His dick is pressed against our body, grinding over your clothed stomach. He moans, stopping his kisses for a moment to catch his breath. 

“Undress, I don’t wanna ruin your shirt”, he mumbles against your neck, pulling at the hem of your tanktop. 

“Do it yourself”, you challenge. He may have won, but this doesn’t mean you will obey his every word.

“You are making this so much worse for you. You do know that, don’t you?” he challenges, looking at you with warning eyes. He looks scary, having this distinct gleam in his eyes, which he only gets when he is either in the midst of killing someone or when someone dares to question his leadership. You know not to be scared of it, on the contrary, it turns you on like nothing else.

“You won’t hurt me”, you challenge, feeling up his sculpted pecs.

Jimin chuckles deeply. 

“No”, he states. He hooks his fingers in your shirt before he rips it at the front. You whine loudly, not having expected it, but loving the utter shit out of it. Your tits fall out of the ruined shirt, getting pressed against his chest. “but I can still make you whine like a little bitch”, he spits, turning your brain into a horny mess.

He leans closer to press a loving kiss to your nose before he makes it his task to suck on your tits. His hands grab both of them, massaging the flesh roughly. 

“Ah, shit”, you moan, holding onto his shoulders so you wouldn’t fall. His touch leaves you weak, needy, aching for more. You want him, crave him, need him. You need him to force you to the ground and fuck you until you are crying his name. Even if he doesn’t let you cum, you don’t care, you just need to feel him inside of you, “don’t stop, please don’t stop”, you beg, arching your back.

Jimin’s plumb lips wrap around your left nipple after having left a trail of bite marks all over your chest. He sucks hard, pinching your right nipple while he is at it.

You gasp, arching your back and digging your fingernails into his shoulders. You are sure they will leave marks, judging by the sounds it draws out of Jimin. 

“Baby”, the nickname you give each other every time you are intimate rolls of your tongue without regret.

He pulls you closer, flicking his tongue over your swollen nipple.

“Fucking fuck me”, you moan, shivering as just this moment his left hand grabbed your ass, squeezing it roughly. 

He stops, moving his head away from your chest. 

“Say it”, his voice is raspy and deep, making you to part your legs in reaction. 

“Say what?” 

He lifts his head to look at you. He squeezes your ass, before he slaps it so hard you fall forward into his chest with a quiet whimper leaving your lips. Fuck, you are dizzy.

“You know exactly what”, his hand travels further down your ass, closer to your clothed pussy. 

Your legs part even more. You can feel the arousal soaking your panties. It’s embarrassing really, how easily Jimin manages to make you wet. 

Of course you know what he wants to hear from you, this magical six-letter word which would mean your complete submission. Do you really want that? Is the humiliation of finally giving up worth the pleasure?

Jimin’s fingers brush over your pussy. Your body jolts into his touch, muscles tensing needily. Another touch, more confident than before. His finger glides over your clothed folds a few times before finally stopping at your clit. He doesn’t move, pressing it against your swollen bundle of nerves. Your legs are shaking, you feel dizzy, everything hurts. He needs to move or else you’ll lose it. 

“Plea-Please”, you whisper, instantly regretting it because of the evil smirk it causes to appear on his face.

“See? That wasn’t hard at all”, he taunts, cupping your cheek. He strokes his thumb over your skin, the touch is gentle and soft. If you didn’t know Jimin any better, you would have believed this is your reward for being so obedient. In some way it is, but more so it is your reminder that despite all the rough stuff he'll do to you now, he loves you. New arousal drips out of you, ruining your panties and soaking his fingers, which are still pressed against your pussy. 

His finger starts moving. The first wave of pleasure feels so intense that your knees give up on you. You almost fall down, clutching onto Jimin’s shoulders, his neck, his arm, anything your desperate hands can grasp. Your forehead is pressed against his sculpted chest, your eyes are shut tight. It feels so good, so fucking good.

“Someone’s eager to get fucked already”, Jimin chuckles, holding you by your waist and not once stopping his fingers from circling your clothed clit. 

“Jimin, baby, please”, you whimper, circling your hips to get more friction. 

“Mhm? What is it baby? You want me to stop?” he asks teasingly, stopping his movements. 

“No!” you blurt out, snapping your head up to look at him in panic, “don’t stop, please don’t stop I need you”, your eyes tear up, your lip trembling, “fucking undress me you bastard and fuck me.”

Jimin smiles, resting his hands on your hips. 

“You look so beautiful begging for me”, he breathes, dancing his hands to the front of your pants to unbutton them. He tugs them over your butt, letting you take over afterwards. You are stepped out of them instantly, looking at him with your body completely bared and your pussy covered in your juices.

“You’re so sexy”, he says, eyes lingering on your cunt. His eyes turn dark again afterwards, the soft expression from before gone, “on all fours now”, he points at the ground. 

“But the gravel. It will hurt”, you protest. 

“You want me to fuck you or not?” he sounds impatient, probably wanting to feel you just as much as you want him right now. 

“Yeah. But I’m not letting my knees get destroyed just because of some dick, you doofus”, you retort. The angry gleam glistening in Jimin’s eyes makes you swallow. You rub your legs together, the desire to get fucked feels even stronger than before. 

“Fine”, he says sighs dramatically, before he grabs your wrists and pulls you to the rocks. 

You follow happily, staring at his butt the entire time. 

He turns and grabs your shoulders, placing you right in front of them. With a strong push, he forces you to bend against them. One of his hands is on your back while the other is holding you by your hip. The stone feels warm on your skin. The sun must be getting stronger, now that midday nears. 

“Is that better?” he asks, giving your ass a soft slap afterwards.

“Yeah, it’s fucking hot”, you moan, chasing his touch.

“Good”, he says as he lets his hand slip between your legs to part them, “do you really want this?”

“Yes, I really do. You?”

“It’s all I’m thinking about, baby.”

Excitement fills your body. You hold your breath, parting your legs even more. You wiggle your butt for him, earning a content groan from him. He is enjoying this just as much as you are. Good. You sure hope he does.

“You have the prettiest pussy, baby”, he praises, dragging his heavy cock through your folds, “can’t wait to pound her.”

“Just do it already, will you?”

“Oh trust me, I will”, he says, pushing his cock into you without warning.

“Fuck yes”, you groan, throwing your head back, “fucking fill me up, that’s so fucking good.”

He is slipping right in, stretching you out inch by inch. It feels amazing, sparks of hot pleasure course through your veins, your walls swallow him hungrily. A moan escapes both of you when he finally bottoms out, followed by a shaky inhale. 

“You are so wet baby. Fuck, it’s driving me crazy”, Jimin moans, tightening the grip on your hips. 

“Jimin”, too overwhelmed with the feeling of him finally inside of you to say anything other than his sweet name. 

“Yes?” his voice is shaky, filled with desire. 

“Please”, you really want to say more, tell him to fuck you senseless, but it would be too much work. Your mind is too hazy, your body shaking in the desire to get fucked. 

Jimin understands, grasping your hips even tighter before he finally begins to move. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to his movements. There are no gentle rocks of his hips or soothing words, only the ruthless rutting of his hips against yours and animalistic grunts. 

You didn’t need them anyways, you craved this feeling like lungs crave air. The slight burn that comes with getting handled so roughly and the sinful noises coming from where your bodies meet, his strong grip and girthy cock plugging  your pussy. You want to feel it, want to get fucked until tears stream down your face. It’s what you deserve. Being leader is goddamn fucking hard and you deserve to get railed like an animal for it.

“Keep going! Yes! Fuck! So good!” you scream. Yes, you deserve this, you deserve to be fucked until you can’t talk anymore.

Jimin moans deeply, his movements falter for a moment before he finds his rhythm again. His arm snakes around your body, pulling you into his sweat covered chest. The new position drives his dick into you even deeper. He speeds up, grunting and groaning at the way your walls clench around him. Your head falls back against his chest, your fingernails digging into his forearm.

“You drive me fucking insane”, he growls, “your pussy’s my fucking drug.”

“Fuck Jimin, baby”, you squeal. You can feel the first tear roll down your cheek. It feels hot, collecting on your chin before falling onto your chest. That’s it, that’s exactly what you needed. The short outburst of hot pleasure every time his dick crazes against your g-spot, the shortage of breath his fast movements let you experience and the rough feeling of his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. 

Fuck. You didn’t even notice his hand traveling down to your pussy until you could feel his slick-covered fingers on your clit. You scream out his name in surprise, wanting to fall forwards if it weren’t for Jimin holding you close and pressing you right against those rocks. You reach behind yourself, grabbing a bundle of his dark hair just to pull him closer. He rests his chin on your shoulder, burying his face in the nape of your exposed neck. His lips are pressed up against your skin, his deep growls tickle you every time it you fuck them out of him. 

“Don’t stop please, please”, you sob, pulling at his hair and arching your body into his fuck. 

“Fuck baby, you are clenching so hard”, he growls, pressing a kiss to your neck afterwards. His movements falter for a moment, getting slower, “you’re making it so fucking hard. My cock’s so sensitive, baby. So fucking sensitive”, he moans, speeding up the movements of his thumb to make up for his slowed-down hips. 

“S-same”, you choke out, “cock’s so good. Y-your cock’s so…good.”

Your eyes are pressed shut, your breath held. Just a few more thrust of his hips and you will explode. So close you are so close, just a few more. Please. 

Jimin lets out a guttural moan all of a sudden, stilling all of his movements. He whimpers, his voice high-pitched and his arms tightening, “I’m cumming”, he squeaks out, trembling behind you.

You can feel the hot spurts of his cum shoot out of him. No, no, no this is not happening. You will not be left hanging, not when you were that close. Not when you are aching that much. 

“Please Jimin, please, please, please don’t. Please I want to cum please, please”, you beg desperately, pulling at his hair.

Tears are streaming down your face at this point, your breath comes out as panicked wheezes. 

Jimin lets out a shaky breath, loosening his arms around your waist. 

“Baby please, please touch me, please I want to cum, please”, you beg, holding his hand still pressed to your core so he wouldn’t be able to move it away. 

You circle your hips in an attempt to get some sort of friction. It’s faint, just a gentle touch against your aching pussy, but it’s enough to leave you sighing. 

“Baby it’s too much, ah fuck”, he whimpers, burying his face deeper in your neck. He is sensitive, wanting nothing more than to pull out of you and free his pulsating dick, but your clenching walls keep him trapped, forcing him to endure the torture that is you bringing yourself to orgasm. He should leave you hanging because he’s evil like that and he loves edging you just to completely annihilate you at night. But you have enchanted him. He wants to please you, wants to hear his name fall from your lips when you reach your high and wants you to force a second orgasm out of him. He knows he can cum again, he desires you so much, he wants to fill you up until you have enough. 

“Make me cum please make me cum”, you choke out, pulling at his hair. You need him to move his fingers again, the friction his palm provides is not enough. You want more. 

Jimin takes a shaky breath to brace himself before he starts moving again.

“You’ve got me fucking pussy high”, he lulls, pressing you so hard against the stones that you feel dizzy for a moment. He slams into you harshly, holding your trembling body while his fingers rub your throbbing clit.

A surprised yelp escapes your lips, your hand falling from his arm to instead scratch down the stone. 

“Fuck, oh fuck, Jimin, fuck, baby”, your desperate screams mix with Jimin’s high-pitched moans and you are sure the whole camp knows exactly what is up by now. Not that you give a shit about that. Let them hear who fucks you that good. You're proud of it. 

Your name falls from his lips like a mantra, it sounds addicting to your ears, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm. The movements of his thumb are rough, spiked with desperation. It’s so hot, so so hot and exactly what you needed. You can feel the knot in your stomach tightening. It’s getting close to unbearable, your whole body tensing up and your legs shaking. 

“Close, so close”, you sob, pulling him closer by his hair. 

“Let go, I got you baby”, he grunts. His hips are faltering again, he must be close as well. 

With the encouragement you needed, your orgasm overtakes you. Warmth fills your entire body as mind numbing pleasure squirts out of your pussy. His name leaves your lips like your own personal prayer, sounding clear at first until it turn into grateful sobs.

“Yes fuck, squirt for me baby. Fucking squirt for me”, he growls, fucking you hard and rough to make sure you can feel your high as intensely as possible.

He doesn’t last long, your pulsating walls are enough to drive him over the edge a second time, even more intense than the first. For a good second, he swears that he might actually break you from how strongly he cradles you. This is the best apology sex ever, he thinks as he pumps you full of his hot cum only to for you to squirt it right out again.

You are holding each other once you come down, both panting heavily and feeling too tired to break away. Quite frankly, the only thing still keeping you standing is the rock against which Jimin presses you. Your skin glistens in sweat, sticking to each other and your fingers are entangled, not wanting to let the other go. 

“That was intense”, Jimin is the first one to speak. He chuckles breathily, kissing your shoulder afterwards, “fuck baby, you’re incredible.”

“It was, you are”, you murmur, turning your head so you would be able to look into his eyes. The faux anger from before is gone from his eyes, now nothing but the warmest fondness is burning in them. 

“Was I able to get you to forgive me?” he asks, sounding nervous.

“Of course you were, baby. Gosh you are adorable”, you say, craning your neck to kiss his lips.

Jimin sighs into the kiss, hugging you against him.

“Loveyou”, his confession is muffled by the kiss.

“Loveyoutoo”, you answer him just as muffled, giggling with him now that those feel good emotions are setting in.

[stxrvel]

two strangers (1)

summary: when bucky rescues you, you didn't think there could be a more indecent person. but as the days go by, you realize he may have a chicken heart.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: +6k

warnings: a lot of bad words and mentions of wounds and blood.

read this for some context! so fyi this is set in an alternate universe where mercenaries exist, but like a society, like john wick, and the avengers rescued bucky from hydra's control and all that, but he decided to keep his life in the mercenary side, taking missions to get rid of really bad people, and even though he isn't part of the society per se, he's very known by it but he doesn't care to join them.

note: hi guys! i decided to publish this in different parts, seeing that my inspiration had a big strike and yesterday i just couldn't stop writing. i think the updates will be weekly, but you'll know the exact date in the masterlist page. so i hope you like it! and know feedback is always appreciated! love you all 💜

Bucky never thought the rescue would be difficult. It was a huge house, three floors, a hundred windows and doors, with a garden that directly overlooked a wooded area. The walk to the entrance was not at all dissimilar to the ambiance of the whole area, as it was at least a forty minute walk through trees and bushes. There were about fifty people guarding each entrance and access, but Bucky knew that there would be a shift change at ten o'clock at night, at which time there would be about 25 people that he would have to face in less than 10 minutes to reach the target, and after that he would have just under two minutes to get at least ten kilometers away from the house and avoid being followed.

Except that Bucky wasn't riding the bike back to town and had a piece of a shirt pressed against the side of his abdomen from which blood was pouring out, while a couple of other bikes were following behind them and they could barely dodge the bullets.

Bucky knew he couldn't play with words again.

“Drive faster,” Bucky mumbled over the sound of the wind and bullets, barely able to hold onto the abdomen of the woman behind the wheel, whose name he couldn't remember.

“Fucking hell, I'm doing everything I can!”

Bucky peered over the woman's shoulder watching as the needle pointed to one hundred and ten kilometers per hour and raised his eyebrows. How that tiny woman was able to keep her balance and zigzag through the trees at that speed was a complete mystery.

While it was true that the bike had more speed, it was quite dangerous to increase it seeing the wooded road full of natural obstacles in front of them. So Bucky just pulled out of his right side the gun he always carried with him and started shooting at whatever he could aim at. Maybe that way he could get some leverage.

After a few minutes, Bucky began to make out the lighted streets of the city and was minimally glad that the rescue had not been a failure.

“When you take the road, turn right and then left, there you go straight ahead and increase your speed as much as you can.”

The woman barely nodded toward Bucky's words as she maneuvered through the branches and downhill slopes until she made it to the asphalt, and it was like falling off the end of a roller coaster. Bucky thought he had flown off the bike.

When the woman made the turn Bucky indicated and found a track that stretched along without a possible end, she accelerated so much that she was sure that, had she not had a helmet, she would have been out of eyelashes in seconds.

It didn't take them too long to lose the criminals following them and find the safe house where they would spend the night. Bucky felt his body still vibrating with the bike as the woman parked it in the subway parking lot. The walk to the stairs and what he rode inside the house was one big blurry moment inside his head as the adrenaline began to wear off and the pain throughout his body became more and more noticeable.

He barely remembered lying on the white couch, staining it entirely with blood and mud, and the woman in front of him trying to stop his bleeding.

-

You did everything in your power to stop the bleeding in the man's side. It was difficult, but you managed to get a halfway decent stitch and tried to disinfect it with what you found in the first aid kit in the house. You wrapped his abdomen with gauze and bandages as best you could and finally left him alone. He had fainted the moment you put alcohol on the wound with gauze, and you didn't know if it was because of the pain or the lack of blood. It was probably the latter, he looked like a strong guy.

A strong guy who had definitely underestimated his mission. Strong but his arrogance was a major flaw.

You had tried to arrange the whole room as you had found it, because you'd made a big mess carrying that man who weighed twice as much as he looked to the couch. In the end, cleaning up the blood was the most complicated thing.

You went to bed at dawn, after an exhaustive session in the shower. You washed your clothes by hand three times and then soaked them for at least an hour until you washed them again. You got clean clothes and changed when the first traces of azure blue began to adorn the sky.

But you stared at the ceiling for a while. Memories of what had happened in the last few days and years flooded your head and kept you moving your hands under the sheet. Restlessness, new friend. Reminiscing about it, the sound of bullets, the adrenaline rush and the blood of the man in the room almost kept you awake. But, at some point, out of exhaustion or pity, your eyes finally closed.

-

Bucky cursed, moving around the room. Trying to walk to the bathroom, he had dropped everything his hands had touched. And the pain in his side didn't make things any easier. He didn't know what the woman sleeping peacefully on the second floor had done, but it seemed the pain was sharper than yesterday.

As his body moved closer to the bathroom, he heard footsteps coming from the stairs. The silhouette of the woman materialized in front of him, who was trying to climb the five steps that separated him from the bathroom.

“What are you doing? You opened your wound,” Bucky observed the woman's scowl with hair standing on end like a cat in the face of an imminent threat.

He watched her in slow motion and infrared as she tried to move closer to him, decreasing the distance between them and making it difficult for him to walk to the bathroom.

The woman raised her arms to touch him, but before she could do anything, Bucky threw a swipe. She staggered, and without a second's hesitation stepped away from him.

Bucky thought he saw a hint of fear in her eyes, but it had to have been a figment of his imagination, because the next moment she was only looking at him with annoyance.

“How surly.”

“Don't get in my way.”

“I was trying to help you.”

“Standing in my way doesn't help me at all.”

“"You're bleeding again…”

“Fuck, I need to use the bathroom.”

The woman silently moved to the side. And Bucky barely glanced at her as he passed her and finally climbed the fifth step that separated him from his destination.

That was why he had stopped accepting missions like that. It was so much easier to just show up at a place to shoot someone in the forehead and then run away, he didn't have to spend days and days waiting to finish the mission. He could even do more than three in a single day, when the targets knew each other or were in the same place.

But, yes, even if it didn't seem like it, so much death at his heels was also a bit overwhelming if he was honest. He'd heard from other mercenaries, the ones who weren't so sadistic, that rescue missions were sometimes a respite to get back into the action again. Bucky had done it before, but there was always something that went wrong. And this time was no exception. Maybe he wasn't cut out to rescue people, to save them…

When he came out of the bathroom and made his way with great effort into the living room, the smell of bacon and eggs filled the room. Scattered on the dining room table were all the items he could find inside a first aid kit and there was also a bag with what appeared to be bloody gauze.

“I thought the bath swallowed you up.”

Bucky noticed when the woman came out of the kitchen wiping her hands with a white cloth. She was wearing different clothes than yesterday, white and neat, totally in contrast to the stained and dirty clothes he was wearing.

“Sit down. I need to check you over.”

“I'm fine.”

“Don't be foolish.”

Bucky shifted, willing himself to lie back down on the couch he'd woken up in. He vaguely noticed that on one side of the furniture was a bucket of water and bubbles and some sponges, one submerged and one over an edge of the couch that was bathed in blood.

“You do know there are people who clean these places?” Bucky spoke as he tried to find a way to sit down without having to bend over or exert too much force by bending his legs.

“No.”

“Well, now you know. Don't spend time cleaning these things.”

“It looks bad.”

“It's just blood… argh.”

Bucky arched as he made a very bad move and rested one of his hands on the back of the couch. He barely heard the woman sigh and then her footsteps approaching.

“No, no… I can.”

“God, what a stupid man.”

“What the fuck did you just-? Ah, ah, ahhhhh.”

The man hadn't even noticed when you came up behind him and pushed him to move before his head could process it. He fell noisily onto the couch and bit his lips to keep from moaning in pain.

“I like you better when you're quiet.”

Giving up the fight, Bucky let his body fall against the backrest and dropped his limp hands on either side of his legs. With his eyes closed, he heard a flutter of things on one side of him and guessed that the woman was digging through the things she had placed on the table. He barely had any memories of the night before when they arrived and most of them included a terrible pain that drove him into unconsciousness.

"Well, let's see…" the woman mumbled to herself and Bucky soon felt her hands moving over his bandaged abdomen.

It was instinct and he couldn't stop his left hand, metallic and dulled by the bloodstains that spread over his body, from clinging with superhuman strength to the wrists of the woman who had only intended to tend to him.

Even with his eyes closed, he heard her gasp in surprise and felt her tense in front of him. Her small hands, which had not the slightest chance before his exorbitant strength, stirred under his grip in slight movements. Without seeing her, he could tell she was so frightened she didn't know if she should keep shaking or stay still.

Bucky opened his eyes to realize that his instinct was right. The woman was pale with fright.

Sighing, the man loosened his grip until finally releasing her.

The woman fell backwards on the floor trying to get away from him.

That was the look he was used to seeing on all his victims.

Turning his head away, Bucky cleared his throat.

“Ask first next time.”

It was several seconds before the woman moved again. She had stood there, still and tense, watching him, waiting for any sudden movement to bolt. She moved closer to him on her knees, but not as close as she had been a few minutes ago. Her breathing was just beginning to become more leisurely until she finally seemed to have calmed down.

Bucky kept his gaze anywhere but on the small woman in front of him, who seemed to fear she would be swallowed alive.

“I'm going to-”

“Yes.”

That time, when the woman moved her hands back to the bandage around his abdomen, Bucky tensed, but kept his instincts to himself. He knew the woman had sensed that moment of hesitation, because she almost moved her hands away, but came closer again when nothing happened.

Thus Bucky allowed himself to be attended to, until he fell back asleep on the couch.

-

When the man woke up again, you had already eaten breakfast and finished washing the couch, except for the place where he was lying. You had also cleaned up the trail of blood he had left on the floor from the bathroom all the way back to the living room. You had tried to make everything in your reach neat, free of any mud or blood stains. And when you were done in the living room, you went to fix what was needed in the kitchen.

You were halfway through going to get your clothes when you heard him.

“Fuck, how the hell did you make it hurt more than it did before?”

You turned on your feet at the top of the stairs to see him as he leaned forward with a grimace.

“Maybe I wouldn't have had to double stitch you if you weren't such a moron.”

“Double stitch? Does that exist?”

“I don't know!”

“You double stitched me?”

You shrugged. “Just in case!”

“Argh… No fucking way.”

Dropping his head on the back of the couch, the man brought his right hand over his forehead in a weary gesture.

“Whatever. I left you some hot water in the shower and a rag. Try not to get your wound wet.”

He lowered his head to look at you, but you hurried on walking to the cleaning room.

That man was scary. And it was much scarier that you were in an almost-abandoned house in a ghost neighborhood alone with him. The chances were that if you shouted, no one would hear you; or if you did and someone did hear you, they would prefer to keep on walking. That's how troubled the place you were in looked.

You were surprised that your brother had sent someone like that to look for you. At least he would have made a little more effort to find someone more decent. You had to crawl to get you both out of that wrecked house, when it should've been the other way around. As you folded your clothes, you wondered where your brother had gotten that man from.

You were heading back to the room when you heard a snort down the hall. Against the alarms in your head, you approached the hallway to see towards the back, into the living room, as the man had gotten up from the couch and had walked that way about seven steps with the goal of reaching the stairs. At the pace he was going, you wondered how long it had taken him to get there. And with the winces of pain he was making, you knew it was taking all his strength not to make sudden movements.

You sighed as you dropped your clothes on the basket next to the door. That man was going to give you green gray hair.

“Let me help you,” you spoke once you were near him, at the top of the stairs.

It really wasn't that many stairs, only ten steps were separating the man from that bathroom. You didn't know why that kind of platform was there, instead of just making a flat floor for the whole house being so big, but you couldn't judge an architect's decisions.

And yet, even though it was only a few stairs, it seemed like a hundred when you had a bullet wound in your abdomen.

When you started to descend, the man said nothing, just watched you intently as your feet went one in front of the other holding onto the handrail. His deadly gaze caused you to shiver slightly because he looked like a lion about to eat a gazelle.

Still, you stopped at a safe distance.

“May I?”

The man kept his gaze on yours for a while longer, as if he had to weigh every possibility in a short time. You wonder what he saw in you that he had to be so alert. You barely reached his chin, what could you do without him stopping you two seconds before? You didn't even have the option to think of anything.

So when he sighed, you realized he had given in.

-

Bucky took a pleasant nap on the bed in the master bedroom when he finished showering, if anyone could call what he had done a shower. He ran a washcloth with warm water all over his body, with the tiniest amount of soap and unable to wash his hair. The woman downstairs had offered to do it for him, but Bucky didn't even consider that possibility.

Still, he felt fresh enough to really rest for a while.

And by the time he awoke, moonlight was filtering through the curtains.

It was daring to get out of bed. But it was worth it when he reached the kitchen and the smell of meat made his stomach growl loudly. He hadn't eaten anything for over twenty-four hours. He hadn't even accepted the breakfast the woman made because he still felt as if at any moment he was going to vomit up to the air.

But at that moment… at that moment….

“Ah, you finally woke up.”

“How long did I sleep?”

“About twelve hours.”

Bucky moved his head to look at the clock above the entrance to the kitchen, and yes, it was already eight o'clock at night.

“How are you feeling? How's the wound?”

The man stirred when he heard the woman's voice nearby. She had moved until she reached the kitchen entrance, not a step more, not a step less.

“It doesn't hurt as much as it did before.”

“That's good,” the woman shook her head in a nod and walked back into the kitchen. “Sit down. You need to eat.”

Bucky obeyed silently, because dealing with food he didn't want to grumble. He heard the sound of dishes and silverware before the woman came out with two large plates in her hands. When Bucky saw what she had cooked, his mouth dropped open in surprise.

“I hope you like meat,” the woman commented in a light voice, but at Bucky's silence she began to perspire. “I also cooked a vegan option if you-”

“No,” Bucky cut her off, moving his hands to grab the silverware. “I definitely like meat.”

Bucky didn't notice how the woman's shoulders relaxed as she watched him savor each thing on his plate nor how she kept her gaze fixed on him to make sure he didn't choke on how quickly the food was being stuffed.

And when they were both finished eating, the woman pulled out a bag that had been sitting on a chair and set it on the table, bringing it closer to Bucky, but not too close.

At the man's arched eyebrow, she said, “Medication.”

Bucky's eyes lit up, but he shook his head quickly.

“Why the hell didn't you give this to me before?”

“Because there was none before.”

Bucky frowned. “And where did you get this?”

As she answered, the woman got up to pick up the dishes and carry them to the scrubber. “There's a store about five blocks from here. I had some money so I bought it. It seemed necessary.”

The woman went to grab the silverware Bucky had used, not noticing the man's steady gaze on her, when his metal hand stopped her from taking the silverware away.

She unconsciously cringed at the sudden movement, and sought the man's gaze in alarm. Bucky felt such overwhelming anger make its way inside his chest that he didn't even think twice before letting his body act first.

“You did what?”

The woman sputtered a couple of times, like a fish out of water, before replying, “I just went for meds. So you won't get the wound infected.”

“You left this house alone? Are you out of your mind?”

Bucky raised his voice as he rose suddenly from his chair. His metal hand pulled the woman's wrist and slammed it against her chest in one violent motion. She barely managed to take a deep breath before tears welled up in her eyes.

“Do you even have any idea what I had to go through to get you here? And you're telling me you walked out of this house like it was nothing? Alone?!”

Still cringing at the tone of voice Bucky was using, the woman replied shakily, “But nothing happened. I'm fine…”

“Ah! Right! And how can you be sure that no one followed you here? How can you be sure that you didn't compromise our location?”

“I swear I took a good look when I left and arrived. There was no one… There wasn't… Please just... let me go.”

Bucky pursed his lips and took one more detailed look at the woman's contracted face. He angrily let go of her.

She didn't hesitate for a second to start up the stairs.

“Just take the fucking meds,” she spat from afar, and the next thing Bucky heard was the slamming of a room door.

Staring at the empty space through which the woman had disappeared, Bucky took a few seconds to calm his breathing and emotions. Now he had to make sure they weren't going to be ambushed by surprise while he slept and the two were distracted. He could go stay all the rest of the night in the camera room after placing a motion bomb over every entrance to the house… but he was too tired to do that, and he most likely wouldn't be able to find the necessary items in that house to make those traps as invisible as possible. The only thing he could do was to sit in that armchair with a shotgun in his hands and wait. Hope that it was true that no one had followed her.

Bucky sighed. Fuck, he had to learn to manage his attitude.

His eyes fell on the bag on the table and he felt the tiniest whip of guilt inside his chest. It disappeared as quick as lightning. He picked up the bag to rummage inside to find four boxes and a piece of paper.

He shook the bag on the table and the medications fell free. He grabbed the paper with a frown and the whip of guilt returned as he read what had been written in black ink:

“Stranger,

I'm writing this note to tell you how you should take these medications.

The blue one is to prevent infection, so you should take it every 12 hours.

The red one is for pain. If it hurts too much, take it every 6 hours, and if it doesn't hurt too much, take it every 12 hours.

Yellow is an analgesic, it will most likely put you to sleep. Take it when the pain is unbearable.

And the green box is vitamins. Take one after each meal.

These boxes will last for at least a week. Hopefully by that time the wound will have healed much more.

Take them judiciously.”

Bucky stared at that piece of paper as if it were to blame for all his misfortunes. In spite of everything, the woman did try to care for his wound, even if he did nothing but reject the support she gave him.

The sound of something similar to a bell brought Bucky out of the depths of his head.

It was the satellite phone.

Bucky moved to the kitchen, where the sound was coming from. There, beside the blender, was the phone. He wondered if the woman had used it before.

He picked up the device and held it up to his ear in silence.

“Barnes?”

“Jacob.”

“Fucking shit. Why are you answering until now? I've been calling for a while now.”

So she hadn't used the phone.

“I was asleep.”

“What?”

“Long story.”

The man on the other end of the line barely took a deep breath.

“Are you with her?”

“Yes.”

“And she's okay?“”

“Yes.”

“Ah,” the man exclaimed in relief. “When are you going to bring her in?”

“You know I have to wait at least five days before I leave the house.”

“Argh, yes, yeah, right. And have you two got enough? Food? Clothes? Has she eaten well? Have you seen her take care of herself?”

“She's fine. She's more than capable of fending for herself. Stop worrying.”

“It's easy for you to ask me that when it's not your family member who was kidnapped.”

Bucky twisted his lips. “Why are you calling me and not Alejandro?”

“He left early. Seems there was a problem with the New York headquarters.”

“Ah, the troubled mercenary society.”

“Yeah, you should have seen the look on his face from these brats again,” Jacob let out a short laugh that was not reciprocated by Bucky. “Well,” he throat cleared, “let me know if there's any news.”

“Okay.”

And Bucky hung up.

His gaze lingered on the white kitchen wall before returning his attention to the colorful boxes on the dining room counter.

Fuck he was going to apologize to the woman.

-

You were stunned when you woke up the next morning and breakfast was ready and there was no sign of the man anywhere near the kitchen. The same thing happened at noon and at night.

You wanted to meet him somewhere to thank him, but at the same time you wanted to never see him again. However, what you thought about most was his wound and that you should've changed his bandage more than six hours ago. But the man was nowhere to be found. He would only show up to cook something and then vanish.

Still, you tried to comfort yourself with the thought that he had taken the gauze and bandages, because you couldn't find the first aid kit anywhere either.

At some point you thought that would be a good thing, not to find him even by accident for the rest of the days you had to spend in that house. You didn't think you would be able to keep up with his temper, clearly driven by emotions he couldn't control. You'd better take that time to take care of yourself and try to process everything that had happened instead of continuing to repress it, as always.

But… every time you tried to think about what had happened, what it had been like to be in that mansion in the middle of the trees, in the middle of nowhere, a suffocating sensation would make its way from your stomach to your chest and throat, and suddenly you felt short of breath. You couldn't spend more than a minute trying to cope with those emotions and memories you kept locked up in your memory because bringing them up made you feel like you were choking on air.

Maybe it was still too soon.

Yes, maybe it was.

It was already close to midnight when you finished organizing the kitchen. It seemed like the meds were kicking in if the man could spend so much time on his feet cooking and then washing dishes.

Remembering the anger that had sailed across his face the night before still gave you chills. You were trying to get that image out of your head.

You were on your way to the yard when you heard a sound down the hall. There were a couple of doors in that house that you had seen around but had no idea what was behind them, and now you were hearing a sound behind one of them.

Thinking of the man, you moved and walked to open the door, encountering stairs descending to the left and a light at the bottom of the stairs. The sound repeated, and with the door open you could also identify music.

You carefully descended and followed the hallway to the left after descending. Whatever it was you were expecting to see, a gymnasium opened up in front of your eyes. And in the middle of it all, the man, punching a large sandbag as if he didn't have a bullet wound in his abdomen.

You didn't know if you had made a noise or he had a sixth sense, but suddenly he moved his head and his eyes met yours. His expression denoted nothing but indifference and he promptly hit the bag again.

“You do know you have a large wound in your abdomen?” was the first thing you said as you stepped through the glass door.

The man didn't even turn around.

“You could open up the wound.”

“I've been here all day and nothing's happened to me.”

“Yeah, lucky you. Watch how you stretch to hit that.”

The man stopped to look at you when you got too close trying to see his injured side. Feeling prey to his intimidating stare, you backed up a few steps.

“Check it out if you want to so badly,” he turned around to face you and raised his arms waiting for you to come closer. You had barely noticed that he wasn't wearing a shirt.

“No. Did you change your bandages?”

“Yes. The wound is fine. I haven't even had to take the pills.”

You frowned at him as he went back to focusing on his sandbag. “Not even the vitamins?”

The man gave you a sidelong glance before striking again.

“Oh, c'mon,” you exclaimed in annoyance. “At least make my act of recklessness worthwhile.”

His gaze traveled to your face again, his expression incredulous and somewhat angry. He shook his head as if he didn't credit your words and went back to focusing on his blows. One after another. One, two, three, four.

“It really doesn't hurt?”

This time he hit the sack so hard with his metal arm that it flew off and crashed against the wall in a thud.

You barely cowered in place.

“Take off the bandages so you're sure.”

Again he turned his body toward you, his posture nonchalant even though his features were hard, like polished marble.

“Stop,” you raised your hands, “I'm sorry.”

The man sighed, lowering his shoulders for the first time at will. The only times you had ever seen him relaxed had been when he slept.

He began to untangle the bandages around the knuckles of his right hand as he approached the sack he had pushed out of its holder.

“What's your name?”

“Huh?”

“Are you deaf?” the man turned with a frown, but quickly turned away taking a deep breath. “What's your name?”

“Uhm… Y/N. Didn't you already know that?”

“Yes. But I'd forgotten.”

“Ah.”

“I'm sorry, Y/N.”

“Why?”

“I'm not used to… whatever it is you do,” he waved his hand vaguely as if trying to clarify a point.

“You mean help you?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Don't you get help very often?”

“I work alone. That's what I mean.”

“Ah, that makes sense.”

“Well, anyway. I'm sorry I yelled at you last night. I shouldn't have lost control.”

“Yeah…”

“And you shouldn't have gone out on your own like that. Don't ever do that again,” his accusing index finger pointed at you.

“Okay. I'm sorry.”

He sighed and turned around again to look at the sandbag on the floor. He had already removed his bandages and his knuckles looked somewhat swollen, the red color standing out against the olive of his skin. If he'd been like that all day, he must have at least some pain in that hand. You frowned watching him there, not moving.

He couldn't bend over.

Maybe he wasn't so sincere in saying it didn't hurt.

“I can lift it,” you spoke before you even thought it through.

The man, whose name you hadn't asked yet, turned to look at you with an ingrown eyebrow. You tried not to think too hard as he swept his eyes over your figure and then looked back down at the sandbag on the floor, probably taller than you and certainly heavier. But you could do it. Besides, you couldn't allow him to make that effort if there was a chance of once again opening up the wound.

When he took a step back and turned to look at you, your palms sweated. Maybe you really couldn't…

No, you could. You definitely could. It was a piece of cake.

Under his watchful eye you approached the sandbag. You looked at it with narrowed eyes, like your nemesis. You moved your arms, wanting to loosen your shoulders a bit before overexerting yourself lifting the thing, and at that moment you heard a short, thinly disguised laugh through a cough.

When you turned to see him, he kept coughing like it was nothing and turned to walk to another side of the gym.

Ha, how funny.

You turned around to focus on your task and, well, it was crunch time. You felt so determined to shut him up that you didn't even think it was the first time you'd seen an emotion other than indifference and anger in him.

You hugged the sack and gathering all your strength you moved back.

Nothing moved.

You tried again.

Nothing.

You snorted as you stood up for the fifth time and saw that the bag had barely moved less than a foot from its initial state. You rounded the object and sat down in front of it. You swung your legs over and planted your feet on the side of the bag and began to push hard.

You could move it. Not much, but you could move it.

You kept doing it until it was under the support where it had been hanging before the man's anger sent it flying. You put your head up and realized that the support was too high for you to push the bag up. It was impossible.

“Leave it,” you heard the man say.

You found him across the gym in front of you with a bottle in his hands. He took a big sip as he watched you in amusement.

Then, without a word, he moved a little to his left and pressed a button on what appeared to be a joystick. There were many other small buttons and levers that you had absolutely no idea what they could be for in a gym.

Then, you heard something over your head. You watched in amazement at what the man's button was doing.

The bastard had let you try to do something he knew was impossible for you to do, knowing that there was a stupid button that could do it for you. From the back of the gym, a sandbag was moving from the ceiling to where you were, guided by the mechanical system above your head. You barely noticed then that, in the shape of a circle, there was a kind of rail along which the brackets hanging from the ceiling moved.

You wanted to choke someone.

When you looked back at the man, he had his lips cocked in a smug smile. Damn him.

“I'm not going to offer to do anything for you again,” you exclaimed as you stood up and proudly decided to walk out of there with what little dignity you had left.

“Oh no, you should keep doing it. It's very entertaining.”

You stuck out your middle finger at him as you walked in the direction of the exit without turning to look at him. You heard more real laughter when you were far enough away.

-

It was quite late at night when Bucky came out of the gym. It had only been a few hours since you had left and he thought maybe he should follow in your footsteps and go rest, but for some reason he decided to stay a while longer.

On his way out, he saw the sandbag on the floor again and was too surprised by the urge he had to crack a smile. But he restrained himself.

In the house the lights were still on. It was almost midnight. Bucky had prepared dinner with the goal of getting you to eat and go to bed, because it seemed that every time you ate you had to go to sleep afterwards, even if it was just a short nap. But it looked like that wasn't going to be the case this time.

When he came into the living room he found you lying on the big couch in front of the TV on. Some news channel was playing in the background and it looked like you were deep in concentration listening because you didn't move when he approached.

“What are you doing awake still?” Bucky spoke with a frown before he could repent. “It's almost-”

You were asleep.

Bucky stopped at the side of the large piece of furniture when he saw you with your eyes closed and hugging one of the cushions, with half a sheet over your legs. Of course, it was going to be weird that you were still awake.

Bucky had always seen you walking, alert, moving around, always looking for something to occupy you. Your moments of rest were always away from him. However, looking to the front where the glass table was, Bucky quickly noticed the rag on the table and a small bucket on the floor.

So even all tired out you had been looking for something to do.

Bucky sighed shaking his head.

He took the rag resting on the neatest glass he had ever seen, along with the bucket filled with soapy water, and carried them to the laundry room where he put everything back in its place.

When you returned, you had shifted on the couch and looked like you wanted to find a position to stretch out because your body was more tilted than before.

Bucky turned off the TV which had low sound and stood in front of you on the couch.

He couldn't carry you to the bed without risking too much force that would compromise his injury and seeing how worried you had been about that earlier, he preferred to avoid straining too much. For some reason, he had the feeling that you would prefer to sleep on the couch if it would keep the wound in his abdomen from opening up.

So, he opted for the safest option. He brought down some pillows from the master bedroom along with another larger, thicker sheet. He planted himself in front of you thinking about the best way to accommodate you so you wouldn't wake up sore, although the cushions on that piece of furniture weren't as hard as the ones in the dining room.

Finally he opted to follow the direction your own body was taking. He nestled a pillow over the armrest of the couch, punching it and molding it until it looked comfortable enough. Then he ran his left hand carefully down your neck and his right hand circled your shoulders until it reached your back. He moved you slightly forward keeping you stable and then began to let your body slowly fall onto the couch.

When you were lying flat, he gently pulled his left hand out and stood up. Quietly and very carefully, he removed the small cushion you were hugging, and before you could make any grimace, he rolled a larger pillow between your arms. Bucky watched you sigh in contentment.

Finally, he pulled back the small, thin blanket between your legs and arranged the large sheet he had brought that almost doubled as a bedspread. It would probably get you warm in a few seconds, but that was good, because the nights were cold in that house.

Finished with his task, Bucky nodded to himself.

It was only after he finished that he really realized what he had done. He frowned, watching your placid face as you rested comfortably.

Why had he done that, without even a second thought?

Bucky suddenly felt the need to run away. Now he wanted to undo all that because tomorrow you would wake up and surely ask questions he wouldn't know how to answer. That he wouldn't want to answer. Maybe he could play dumb and say that's how he'd found you when he'd left the gym. Surely you'd been so drunk on sleep that you hadn't even realized what you'd done.

Maybe that had happened to Bucky. Maybe he'd been so drunk on exhaustion that he hadn't realized what he was doing until he'd done it. Yes, surely.

Inside his chest he again recognized the feeling of guilt he'd had when he saw the paper you'd given him with the pills, and that only increased as he remembered he hadn't taken a single one.

It was guilt that made him move like that.

Yes, that was probably it.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Love Song for a Vampire Pt. 36

Pairing(s):Edward Cullen x Wolf!Reader, Jacob Black x Witch!OC

Warnings: underage smoking (non nicotine, non cannabis)

Words: 3242

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7 Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17  Part 18  Part 19  Part 20  Part 21  Part 22  Part 23   Part 24  Part 25  Part 26  Part 27  Part 28 Part 29  Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39

The time was growing late where you should have been back home already preparing for bed. You couldn't leave the comfort of the forest though, not when you and Edward lay side by side, him listening as you described Dieufel's magic and Nadege taking over Bella's training. Soft grass tickling your bare arms and legs and the singing of evening birds swooping into the trees after a long day. Bugs kept away from you and Edward, probably thanks to whatever supernatural scent was embedded into you.

You also brought up that in just two days you'd be free of all academic obligation. That meant you could finally go on your long overdue date.

Edward smiles, turning onto his side to face you. "I've been thinking of all the things we can do. Can't seem to decide on just one though."

Laughing you follow suit and roll over to talk to him. The sun wasn't bright any longer, but just a few meager rays were enough to dance off of Edward's skin and illuminate the prism-like structure of Edward's skin and how it's almost blinding. Odd how vampires took on such a trait. "Yeah? What are some of your ideas?" All the while you covertly admire how handsome Edward is in daylight. Your fingers itch to touch his luminescent skin and feel it's coolness against your skin.

He watches the subtle twitch of your fingers as you restrain them from reaching out to him. That makes the corner of his lips curl. Boldly he grabs your hand as he replies "Well, I thought about maybe a movie but that's too cliche. Go-karting sounded like fun when I was researching what girls these days like to do on dates."

You snort, hiding your blush while Edward plays with your small fingers. "You sound old when you say things like that."

"I am old!" Edward chortles before shaking his head. He likes how soft your hands are. It really felt like you were made for him the way your hand easily melds into his grasp. Pale fingers weave themselves with your's offering a contrast in skin tone that mesmerizes both you and Edward. "Then I remember you telling me how the pack go cliff jumping. We could probably both appreciate a bit of fun adrenaline."

"What about the sun? If we go during the day people might see you light up like a disco ball." Oh you love his laugh and how it rumbles his whole body. You don't remember him laughing as much as he did when he was with you.

He acknowledges your concern though. "Unfortunately we'll have to go later in the day to avoid that." An apologetic tone laces his words. There were limits on what the two of you would be able to do together. You don't mind though. The most important thing was being with him and nurturing your bond.

An amusement park would be ideal since places like that have many different types of rides to enjoy. The downside was that anything like that would not be found near Forks. You'd have to travel outside of the city, possibly several hours out but thanks to Edward's driving, it wouldn't be a long drive. It would be a sight to see the vampire on a roller coaster. A picture would be necessary to show the others that Edward wasn't us stiff and brooding as they all thought he was. At least with you, he came to life.

"What would you like to do?" He asks you.

You think for a moment and shrub against the blades of grass. "I don't know. I've never been on a date before."

That was news to him. "Really? You and Embry-"

Instantly your upper body shoots up and your hand falls from his. "What're you talking about?" For some reason it made me defensive when Edward brought up Embry. Not like anything happened. It had only ever been a crush plus that one kiss several weeks ago.

Gauging your reaction, Edward makes sure to compose his sentences more delicately. "I'm sorry. Just. . . The way I've seen him look at you and his thoughts. . . I thought there was something between you two."

What had Embry been thinking while around Edward?

Evita was going to need to make more amulets to prevent Edward from reading anymore intimate thoughts.

You purse your lips and relax back down though there's now a frown pulling down your lips. He wasn't exactly wrong. "Nothing like that at least. I did used to have a crush on him a couple of years ago and I think he did too, but nothing came of it. We've just decided to stay friends. Other than that, no dates. This will be my first."

That seems to make him grin a little as he was tickled by that. "I'll make sure not to disappoint."

The next day was spent with you itching to get out of your summer school classes and Bella continuing her lessons with Nadege while Dieufel and Evita tag teamed on making the wards. Their energy was always spent after making just one and needing a recovery period of at least the rest of the day so they could get back at it the next. However, even after getting out of your lessons, you and Embry had patrol duty and couldn't stay at Sam's for long. Seth is assigned to your shift too but linked to his mind, you feel something off. Unsettled as he attempts to keep whatever secrets that were bothering deep inside of him under lock and key. Embry exchanged a look with you but you shook your head. It was something to discuss later. Right now they had to keep constant vigil. Like the Cullens had reminded them, time was of the essence. No one knew when the Volturi would learn of everything. Not exactly. So every minute counted. Edward, Esme and Rosalie also aided in security as they kept to the treetops. A good thing they didn't require sleep.

Spreading out in a tactical maneuver, your pad along as your eyes easily adjust to the darkening sky. Above you hear branches groan against the landing feet of Edward. A reassuring sound for you as you had broken apart from Embry and Seth. You could still hear them, both in your mind and outside. Random check-ins with one another. Nothing to note. All the anxiety over when the Volturi would arrive was starting to wear on you. You hadn't been able to sleep well to begin with thanks to Xiomara, but now it was damn right impossible to fall asleep right away. If you were lucky it took you about four hours to fall asleep meaning you were getting about three hours worth of genuine sleep. But you couldn't complain. You didn't want to as you felt Seth fretting over something he didn't want you to know about. Even Embry was wearing thin thanks to summer school and was running on exhausted fumes.

Thankfully the both of you would be free soon. It was just one more day then You could focus your energy completely on patrol. Unfortunately you'd had to explain the circumstances to your parents on the simplest level. You kept the major facts away from them like how the Volturi most likely wouldn't like that fact of the existence of your pack and that they most likely wanted to exterminate all of you. Nothing too big.

A twilight glow takes over the sky that gradually fades into indigo and then eventual blackness. If only you could check your phone just to see what time it actually was. You wouldn't know if you're shift was up until the voices of the others became vocal in your mind. The residual scent of magic still hung in the air, waking you up and providing enough energy to keep moving through the part of the forest that was densley packed with trees and foliage alike. It echoes in your bones and fills your lungs up with the sweetest spices that envigorate you.

Thinking about the witches made the time go by faster thankfully as your conversations started to lean towards Bella's involvement.

"I still can't wrap my head around that Bella Swan, the weak human girl, can actually use magic and help us." Embry snorts at the thought and Seth's mind hums in quiet agreement as he half pays attention to the conversation.

"Oh come on. Don't say that. You make it sound like she was completely useless to us before. Just because she's a human doesn't mean she should be disregarded. She has her own given strengths."You roll your eyes at him. Granted she was the one to instigate this whole mess but it had never been her intention.

There's an accusation in his words "When did you two become friends." You didn't appreciate his tone and though you couldn't see him, you stop dead in your tracks and glare toward the direction you scented him.

"We're not."You shrug to yourself knowing Embry wouldn't understand. Though the hackles on your neck are now standing at attention, literally ruffled by him.

Embry wasn't about ready to give up though. Whatever bone he was gnawing on, he refused to relinquish it. "Even if Edward still loves her?"

Finally Seth butts in. "Embry. . ."The last thing he wanted to hear was more arguing. You catch a glimpse of his memory of earlier that morning. Leah was there as well as their mother Sue. Mouths moved with no sound produced but even that bit of a picture quickly dissolved as Seth didn't want anyone to pry.

You feel the skin of your snout scrunch up into a snarl, your teeth showing and your tongue licking across them in agitation. "Why are you bringing this up? Is it so wrong that I don't mind Bella? Can I not just be pleasant toward her for the sake of it? Edward has nothing to do with it."Why was everyone ready to pit you against Bella when she had never really done anything hateful toward you?

In response, you could feel Embry's embarrassment and shame, maybe even a lick of jealousy too as he finally backs down and doesn't say another word much to the relief of both you and Seth. You didn't like fighting with Embry, it never felt right. But it didn't sit right with you what he said. Bella wasn't useless. She just didn't have the special abilities that the pack and vampires did. Well, technically she's had magic in her all this time, just no way of knowing how to wield it or that she could manifest it into something greater.

Around midnight (or so you guess) you hear the voices of the others coming to take over for the rest of the night. Jared, Colin and Paul could already be heard padding through the trees.Glad that you could finally return home, you make a pitstop after you switch back to your human skin and slip on your shorts and tank top. You stumble into Sam's occupied backyard. There are two tents already set up, one for Nadege and Evita and the other for Diuefel though the later is the only one still awake. He's sitting outside the flap of his tent, from his lips is what looks like a cigarette but it smells sweet and calms you. Like herbs and not the sickening fumes of nicotine.

He notices you and smiles softly. "Welcome back. Hard day?"

"Not really. Just tedious." When he pats the spot next to him, you take it. "What is that?"

Pulling the small stick out of his mouth, you notice that the paper is black and not white. "It's a special blend of herbs that help me go to sleep. Even though I'm beyond exhausted I still have difficulties going to bed. Even when I was little it takes me hours to really fall asleep. Annoying but this helps." Dieufel hands it to you. "Try it."

Since it wasn't toxic like nicotine you gingerly take it between your forefinger and thumb, lifting it to your lips. You felt naughty but even sniffing the smoke that twirled from it's lit end has your muscles relaxing.

"Inhale very slowly." Dieufel instructs, watching you carefully. Even though you do as he said, you're still hacking up a lung. Not used to anything other than oxygen circulating in your lungs. You're basically tossing back the herbal smoke at him as your eyes water, throat up in flames. He pats your back and reaches into his tent for a bottle of water. Again he warns you to drink slowly.

You wheeze out that you're okay and hand the bottle back to Dieufel. "S-Sorry."

He chuckles. "Don't worry about it. Not your fault. It happens to everyone their first time." Returning the smoke back to his lips, he expertly inhales, holds it in then leisurely lets it go. Even though you weren't successful, you were still feeling a bit of a soothing effect that has your eyelids growing heavy and you have to lean back on your hands in order to keep yourself up.

"How'd you guys do today?" Voice still raw, at least you were capable of speech once again.

Rolling his neck to produce a nice 'pop', Dieufel groans. "Evita got sick when making her's. She's not used to using so much magic. I was only able to make one as even I am growing weary. But Bella, I don't know how she does it. She's able to take in so much information, absorb and utilize it appropriately. It took me two years before I could successfully conjure flames to light candles. Bella did it in a second after her lesson."

"How long until she's ready to make a ward?"

His grimace was enough of a response to you but he goes on to say "I don't know. Hopefully she'll surprise us. But. . . something like that is complicated. You see how it wipes us out each time. And the refractory period becomes longer. A spell like that is similar to weaving. You twine different spells together for a ward. In order for it to stick, the threads can't risk being unraveled. If it unravels at the wrong time, it could mean calamity to Forks."

From one of his pockets he pulls out the ward he had made today. The carvings that were magically etched into, he explained, were actually the spells woven together. No wonder it felt alive in your palms, warm and buzzing with energy.

He sadly regards it in your palm. "If we had older witches, they would have been done in a faster manner. We're young though, our magic not as strong."

"You guys don't know any other witches that are older?"

Shaking his head, Dieufel takes another drag from his smoke. "Not one that can travel easily. Plus witches tend to scatter themselves in the wind. It's dangerous to have a coven of witches. All that magic concentrated into one place? Any monster could descend on them with no trouble at all. Even with wards erected, there can be leaks if you're not absolutely careful. One leak will be the doom of the entire coven. I'm not going to lie, I feel uneasy with all of us being here. That's how Nadege and I were able to find Evita so easily from the sky."

"Why haven't we been attacked then?" You ask.

"Your guess is as good as mine." Lowly chuckling to not wake up the girl's in the tent next to him. "Could be because of the Cullens. Even other supernatural creatures try to stay away from vampires."

You were unable to stop the flow of questions coming out of you. Curiosity encouraging you. "What other things are out there? Witches, vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters. . ."

His smile turns sympathetic. As if you didn't already know the world was actually a more dangerous place to live in since vampires existed. Now the possibilities were vast and endless. "Lets see. . . There's ghouls, you definitely never want to encounter them. A pain to kill. Ghosts certainly. Zombies, in a way. Wraiths. Sea people. Necromancers."

All that was missing were aliens which Dieufel could neither confirm nor deny since he'd never personally seen one.

Noting the subtle fear on your features, he attempts to reassure. "Not all of them are evil. Just like with vampires, there are good ones.Those who resist their thirst for blood and flesh. They still have their humanity."

You glance up at the stars. "Then. . . is it possible that there might be some good members of the Volturi? Those who we can talk sense into."

"If they are then they remain silent. Likely they have no real power and are just as helpless." Finally he's down to the stub of his smoke and Dieufel deposits it into a homemade clay ashtray. "It will not do us any good worrying about what is out of our control. We both need rest. Best if you head home."

That was the best idea you'd heard all day.

You drag your exhausted body home, taking care not to make too much noise as you go in through your bedroom door. Easier. The front door had obnoxious, creaking hinges that no amount of WD40 could fix. Tired, burning eyes barely manage to pick out your pajamas from a small heap near your bed. You let your body fall atop of your mattress face first.

"(y/n)! Please wait!"

You'd been dreading talking to Embry after the brief spat last night. No longer angry, you just didn't want things to grow awkward. Feet halting, your hands fly up to your backpack straps and grip them tightly; an anxiety soother. "Em. . ."

Equally nervous about confrontation with you, Embry hurries with his words before he lost his courage "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I said. I had no right and it wasn't fair of me. I'm. . . I-It's still hard for me to really let you go. . . I get jealous. But I'm working on it, I promise."

Demeanor softening, your lips turn up in an understanding smile. "No, it's okay. Embry. I appreciate the apology. And I get it. I'd probably feel the same way as you if you were the one to imprint on someone." Before your feelings had transgressed to those of romantic, you were best friends first and foremost.

Embry's face brightens and a blinding grin shines. There was nothing more that needed to be said about it.

Once backpacks were dropped off at your place, you and Embry hustle through the woods but stop when you pass by the Black residence. Gloom weighs heavy in your chest, remembering getting into a fight with Jacob over you revealing his imprinting to Bella. Bella needed to know but at the cost of your relationship with him? "Do you think Jake will forgive me?"

"Of course he will." Embry immediately replies with ease. He misses when it was just the four of you guys, back to simpler times where the four of you would spend hours outside in the woods at the back of Jacob's house. "Let him blow off steam. You know how stubborn he is. Give it time. Maybe Sam will let him back to patrol as long as he behaves himself."

One could only hope so as both of you continue to stare longingly at the back of Jacob's house.

TAGLIST: @saltedcoffeescotch​  , @dangerouslittlefairy​ , @burn-crash-rqmance​ , @casedoina , @avadakadabra93 , @daryldixonstorm , @blue-aconite​ , @xanniestired666 , @esposadomd​, @godinho11​ , @arin-swear-rose​ , @alexizodd​ , @melaninsugarbaby​ , @lyeatoalinatoheaven , @ronwownsme​ , @itsmytimetoodream​ , @afro-hispwriter​ , @mutandis-extremis993 , @hxgemxscles​ , @nightly-polaris​ , @corrodedcoffins-slut , @ellesalazar​ , @itgetzweird08​ , @crybabyatthediscooffandoms​ , @sassyandclassyx​ , @scarlet2007​ , @theroyalbrownbarbie​ , @jennyamanda8​ , @stevenandmarcslove​ , @biancaindaeyo​ , @loversjoy​ , @turningtoclown​ , @vixorell​ , @xxthackerybinxxx , @daredevilonmyheels​ , @dumbbitch-juicee​ , @southern-bell-give-hell , @nat-the-gemini , @imdoingathingmom​ , @emmettcullenswife , @yoong1c0re , @daddykylokenobi​ , @minjix​ , @magical-spit​ , @krismdavis​  

[thelastrenaissance]

When the cannons fire, the nightingales are silent

War will always start unexpectedly. You will not believe that this is happening to you.

You will understand that there are cannibals in the world who seek to devour your Nation. They rejoice when you suffer, when blood is spilled, when children playing on the playground near your school die.

Your life will turn into the worst nightmare. You will be trapped. You will understand that there is nowhere to run.

You will turn gray, or lose weight, not recognizing this stranger in the mirror, who looks like a skeleton from the grave.

You will lose many friends. Even if you have been friends for twenty years, it will turn out that at this very moment they do not need you.

You will despise some world celebrities for their words and actions. Even the Bishop of Rome.

Other world celebrities, to whom you previously did not pay attention, will suddenly become like family.

For the first time in your life, you will not admire the blossoming of trees in the spring and shooting stars in August.

You will suffer when you hear the fireworks, and while other people rejoice and admire the spectacle, you will run to find a shelter.

You will witness the meanness things of the world. Marauders, rapists, cannibals, sadists, butchers, war criminals - they will all smile. For them, the finest time has come.

You will suddenly stop laughing at all. You won't be able to joke even once, even if you always had a good sense of humor.

You will become an optimist. It is impossible to remain a pessimist. Sooner or later you will lose your mind.

You will notice that people's eyes have become so sad that it is impossible to look into them.

You will suddenly notice that men have disappeared from the streets. Only old men and cripples remain, and the cemeteries are full of new crosses.

You will pray a lot, even if you used to be an atheist.

You will think about eternity. You will learn a saying “My whole life flashed before my eyes in a second”.

After the siren in your city has sounded for 5,000 hours, you will take out the vinyl record and turn on the song of Pink Floyd – Compfortably numb.

At some point you will believe that the war will last forever. Like the Hundred Years' War or even longer...

You will breathe out the word “Revenge” with every breath.

You will understand that defenders of your Nation are Terminators with a will of steel.

And then you will lose your faith. No one will hear you. No one believes in you. Nobody needs you. Just cut out the words on the table with a knife like Sarah O'Connor did. “No Fate”.

[yandere-genji]

Can I have some yandere ashe and hanzo fluff headcanons? I am weak for tough hardened characters with a soft spot 🥴

I mean….give me a character that literally hates everyone else but their weakness is 1 little baby like…..amazing

Hanzo:

Blossoming flowers colored the air with rosy fragrance, children eagerly ran after brown bunnies and red squirrels, laughing as they bounced away. You couldn’t help but feel the enchantment of spring and all its new beginnings. The feeling of something new and promising was to come. Yet that feeling went away when you turned to Hanzo and his dark eyes met yours. You had never seen him smile, it seemed like he must’ve kept that same menacing glare his whole life. He didn’t say anything.

This time of year dug a dagger into Hanzo’s chest and weighed heavily in his heart. Like a widow who still slept in the bed she once shared with her husband, it reminded him of the memories he had lost, the memories that tugged on his grief. But he was stoic, though he spoke plainly of all that troubled him, his face never changed. He was hard to read because of that, no matter how honest he was. 

He noticed the way you admired the blooming blossom trees as he walked by your side. And the sweet smile that grew on your face when the ducks waddled by the pond with a row of duckings following behind them. That tender feeling in his heart tickled at his core and he almost caught himself smiling. His hand reached to hold yours, the touch startled you, but you relented and held his hand. It was an unusual display of softness from Hanzo. Though there were times he pulled you close to him, his muscles were never relaxed in fear you might struggle out of his grip. 

It felt normal. Like you were lovers strolling through the city and enjoying the spring season. And you started feeling a strange happiness that was foreign but comforting. It excited you and you leaned into him, content in enjoying this moment with someone else. That struck his heart, he hummed in satisfaction and rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb. Though he loves to see you like this, he felt a familiar desire to take you back home as soon as he could and hold you close to him, just the two of you away from the world. 

Ashe:

As the head of the Deadlock gang, Ashe has seen all kinds of injuries. Some life threatening, others simple scratches. But when you broke your wrist trying to shoot her coach gun, she couldn’t help but go into mama mode. It was cute, seeing how fragile you were, and she couldn’t help but laugh at your pathetic little cries and sobs. Still, she had a soft spot for you and she wasn’t afraid to show it. 

She will spit venom at anyone who comes near you. To be fair, she usually does this but is more protective now than ever due to your injury. And she will literally speak to you like you’re a baby, cooing and coddling you constantly. There’s no room for protest, all that gets you is a soft smack to your butt as she hushes you to be quiet. B.O.B. will constantly be hovering over you and waiting on you, maybe even carrying you to and fro (your legs are fine but Ashe won’t hear any of it.)

Every now and then she’ll examine your wrist to see how it’s healing, at least once a day. She’d carefully wash the area, being sure not to irritate the injury. Once she’s done, she’ll give a few kisses across your wrist, up your arm until she reaches your cheeks and then patches you back up. 

She wanted to teach you how to shoot in case she wasn’t there to protect you in the future. But after that incident, she just resigned herself to keeping you by her side no matter what. Even in her most dangerous missions, she would take you with her. After all, odds are that even with a gun, you couldn’t protect yourself as well as she could protect you. 

[amgerychair]

ON THIS DAY, June 30th, 1992, Epic Records released the Singles: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack. Primarily focusing on the ascendant Seattle music scene of the early 1990s with songs by Alice In Chains, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Mudhoney, Screaming Trees, and Mother Love Bone. It also features contributions from Seattlites Jimi Hendrix and The Lovemongers, the latter being a side project of Ann and Nancy Wilson of Heart. And reaches further afield with Chicago’s Smashing Pumpkins who sit alongside the first solo material from Minneapolis’ legend Paul Westerberg, after the breakup of The Replacements.

How do you catch lightning in a bottle? Ask Singles director Cameron Crowe. He began his career as a staff writer for Rolling Stone; music was his passion. Having written screenplays for movies like “Fast Times at Ridgemont High” (1982) and “The Wild Life” (1984), he struck out as writer/director with the hit movie “Say Anything…” in 1989. A confluence of events most likely led to Crowe championing the music scene of the Pacific Northwest; chief among them would be him marrying Nancy Wilson of Seattle rock pioneers Heart in 1986. Crowe moved to the Emerald City and quickly became enamoured with the local scene.

For his 1989 directorial debut “Say Anything…” starring John Cusack, he compiled a soundtrack of artists that deftly looked back through the annals of rock history while hinting that he may have had some prior knowledge regarding the new alternative rock revolution, which would explode in 1991 with the release of Nirvana’s Nevermind.

The “Say Anything..” soundtrack featured’ 70s/80s rock icons Nancy Wilson and Peter Gabriel alongside future ’90s lollapalooza alumni Fishbone and The Red Hot Chili Peppers (remember both bands were relatively unknown in 1989, and still considered oddities on the landscape of ’80s rock). Crowe also chose to add flannel-wearing Minneapolis firebrands The Replacements, one of the great American rock bands. With a vibrant talent for wrecking their career; The Mats, as they were affectionately known, influenced a generation of alternative rock and punk bands.

Interestingly, Crowe included two bands on the “Say Anything..” soundtrack that didn’t make the official album release but whose songs featured in scenes in the movie itself. Mother Love Bone with Chloe Dancer/Crown Of Thorns sat side by side with Soundgarden’s Toy Box. In 1989, both bands were mere blips on the musical radar. Their additions gave credence to the idea that Crowe wasn’t blind to his new surroundings in Seattle.

His love of seeking out new music and the influence of his wife Nancy Wilson and her sister Ann (who, despite Heart’s worldwide mega-stardom, never lost sight of the local Seattle music scene) led Cameron Crowe to be in a prime position when it came to choosing cutting edge music for his next film, Singles.

Filming for Singles took place in various Seattle locations between March 11th, 1991 and May 24th, 1991. At that time, Alice In Chains had released their debut album, Facelift, that previous summer (August 1990). Pearl Jam had formed mere months before, in late 1990, their debut album Ten would hit shelves in August of 1991. Soundgarden’s opus Badmotorfinger would be released in October of 1991, and Nirvana was in LA recording Nevermind while filming took place. Within one year, these bands would become household names and flip the music world on its head.

However, in early 1991, as filming progressed, the earth-shattering success of these bands still seemed unlikely despite the groundswell of interest. It took Nirvana’s Nevermind and the “Smells Like Teen Spirit” single in September 1991 to crack the lid and shoot the whole scene into the stratosphere.

Crowe assembled the cast for Singles. But rather than feature the songs wafting through various scenes in the background during some dialogue, he featured the bands themselves throughout the movie. Alice In Chains and Soundgarden played live, and due to the awkward acting skills of various band members, the film has many hilarious cameos. Singles felt like a love letter to the Seattle music scene just before it exploded worldwide.

The soundtrack captured the zeitgeist of the time, quite unlike anything that came before it. It’s packed to the brim with incredible songs and performances. On display is the sheer diversity of this close-knit community of musicians. It looks back at the forefathers who influenced its development, and it stretches beyond the borders of the Pacific Northwest to include like-minded artists from other zip codes.

The album opens with “Would?” by Alice In Chains. The song was a first glimpse of new Alice In Chains material from their forthcoming album Dirt, and it didn’t disappoint. Mike Starr’s simple yet memorable bass riff opens proceedings, followed by Sean Kinney’s rolling, tribal drums and Jerry Cantrell’s atmospheric guitar. Jerry takes the lead vocal on the verse before Layne takes command of the chorus. “Would?” was written as a tribute to Mother Love Bone frontman Andrew Wood, who passed away in March 1990.

Pearl Jam’s “Breath” follows, the first of two songs from them to feature on the soundtrack. Rarely has a band found its “sound” with the rapid ease of Pearl Jam. Almost immediately after Eddie Vedder arrived in Seattle from San Diego in 1990, the band pumped out a succession of breathtaking, classic songs, and “Breath” is no exception. Later, the band offered up “State Of Love And Trust,” both songs are a galvanising statement of intent from a band in its infancy but in complete control of its destiny.

Chris Cornell’s “Seasons” is a highwater mark. It’s easy to run out of superlatives to describe the sheer beauty of this song. Infused with a cinematic scale that belies its acoustic instrumentation, “Seasons” continues a streak of more intimate, earthy songs Cornell produced around this time, outside the Soundgarden fold. Similar to the Temple Of The Dog material released in April 1991, it’s one of Cornell’s finest moments and is more convincing evidence that he was one of his generation’s greatest musicians and songwriters.

The addition of Paul Westerberg makes a lot of sense. The Replacements were trailblazers. Rising from the fertile Minneapolis punk scene, these snot-nosed savants left a trail of destruction and a glut of stunning albums and songs in their wake. Highly regarded and massively influential, The Mats embodied the spirit of savage, catchy Rock ‘N Roll and Punk.

Frontman Paul Westerberg’s two songs were the world’s first glimpse at solo material after The Mats disbandment. Largely acoustic, Dyslexic Heart is an infectious pop masterpiece with clever wordplay. “Waiting For Somebody” is equally catchy, vibrant and melodically sophisticated.

The Lovemongers tackle Led Zeppelin’s “Battle Of Evermore” with astonishing results. Ann and Nancy Wilson’s powerhouse vocal performance stands shoulder to shoulder with Robert Plants’. Staying true to the original’s sound and arrangement, they pull off that difficult feat of adding to the song’s legacy with a pitch-perfect, fiery performance of real emotional depth and deep understanding and respect for the source material.

Mother Love Bone’s “Chloe Dancer/Crown Of Thorns” follows. A song of two halves, its unhurried piano intro (Chloe Dancer) accompanies the epic rock masterpiece (Crown Of Thorns). The song’s grandiose scale is matched only by its awe-inspiring ambition. Its blissfully melancholic trancelike build is soaringly uplifting and could easily be regarded as “Stairway To Heaven” for the Gen-X alumni. It’s a fitting epitaph to the late great Andrew Wood.

Soundgarden’s “Birth Ritual” is a juggernaut. Kim Thayil’s behemoth riffs are propelled by Matt Cameron and Ben Shepherd’s savage rhythm section. Chris Cornell’s banshee wail shoots spectre-like across the crushing din; it’s the stuff legends are made of. Mudhoney’s “Overblown” is a trashy romp, filled with edge-of-your-seat abandon and lashings of attitude. It’s everything we love about the band condensed into three glorious minutes.

Jimi Hendrix’s “May This Be Love” is a tip of the hat to one of Seattle’s most famous sons. It is a gorgeous track from 1967’s Are You Experienced album; the song’s inclusion is fitting and doesn’t feel out of place. Screaming Trees “Nearly Lost You” is a thunderous track filled with ecstatic energy, immense hooks and Mark Lanegan’s gritty baritone. The song’s runtime perfectly captures the organic beauty of the Screaming Trees sound. Despite the band being one of the forefathers of the Pacific Northwest scene that rose in the 1980s, the inclusion of “Nearly Lost You” on Singles was the first introduction to the band for many.

Smashing Pumpkin’s “Drown” closes out the album in immaculate fashion. It’s a dreamy, blissed-out trip through a gorgeous soundscape that builds beautifully toward a crescendo of swirling feedback. There’s a stunning emotional arc to the song; Billy Corgan sings, “No matter where you are / I can still hear you when you dream,” in a serene vocal cadence before insisting, “Is it something someone said? / Was it something someone said?” in a more urgent timbre. The intensity lifts, allowing Corgan’s breathtaking guitar solo to soar. It’s a fitting end to an impeccably curated album of songs.

Singles helped crystallise the idea of the ‘Seattle scene’ in the mainstream public’s mind. It did so, featuring essentially new work from contemporary artists. It was a huge commercial hit and acted as a catalyst for the breakthrough of alternative rock into popular culture. It’s still a thrilling listen. And all these years later, it retains the power to return the listener to a time when all possibilities seemed endless.

Essential…!

SOURCE: The year grunge broke

[broke-art]

Monkey King's daughter x M.k

Your heart skipped a beat as the boy used your father's staff seamlessly. Your father stood with his back to you studying his successor's movements.

"Patience and focus. The staff should be an extension of you." He instructed.

You could hear the pride in his voice and you felt a pang of envy flitter though you. But you shoved it away. This boy had earned your father's pride.

Your cheeks twinged pink when the boy glanced your way.

"Uh Monkey King?" The boy pointed at you.

You hid further behind the tree timidly as your father cast a glance over his shoulder.

"Ah y/n. It's alright don't be shy kiddo."

You stepped from behind the tree and slowly stepped from it's shade.

M.k's jaw fell as the girl stepped from the shadows. She looked mostly human but with monkey ears and tail. M.k's breath caught in his throat as he examined her features and beautiful eyes.

Monkey King shot him a glare and M.k coughed into his fist. But his eyes remained glued to her.

You witnessed the boy's jaw fall and his cheeks explode into a red hue. You bit your bottom lip shyly and stared at the ground.

"M.k this is y/n, my daughter." The last statement was emphasized and you tossed him a frown.

"Dad be nice."

M.k offered his hand to you seemingly missing the tone.

"Nice to meet you!" He gave you the brightest grin.

Your heart skipped a beat and you returned the smile shyly.

"It's good to meet you too. Dad talks about you a lot." You mentioned shooting your father a glance.

His tail flicked agitatedly, but his seemed concerned and lost with his facial expression.

You offered him a sweet smile and your father seemed to ease with a sigh.

"Well if you want..." M.k began looking at you shyly rubbing the back of his neck. "You can join Mei and I after training at the arcade?"

You gasped and turned to your father with a pleading look.

Your father's dark look took over his features. He loathed the idea of you leaving the mountain.

"Give us a minute!" You chirped and pulled your father into the hut. "Dad please!"

"Do you know how many enemies I have? If any of them took you-"

"None of them know I exist. And besides he's your successor. He can help me. And you've taught me my whole life." You pleaded.

Monkey King's resolve began to weaken with your points.

"I can keep my ears and tail hidden." You continued. "And no one will be any the wiser."

Monkey King groaned.

"The kid needs more training."

"Then trust me!" You begged giving your father puppy eyes.

"Y/n-"

"Papa, please."

Monkey King's resolve crumbled with your hopeful look.

"Fine, but I'll be close. Just in case."

"Yes!" You cheered running to inform M.k.

The training session ended quickly and M.k summoned his staff walking to the beach.

You tugged your hood up over your ears as M.k offered you his arm.

"Wha-?"

"I was gonna carry you." M.k mentioned suddenly realizing what that entailed.

"How?" You quirked your head to the side curiously.

"Well, you wrap your arms around my neck-"

"Like this?" You hugged around his neck with a small smirk.

M.k's face burned crimson.

"Aheh aheh yep! Ok now you ready?" He asked wrapping an arm around your lower back.

Now your cheeks flitted red and you nodded.

And with a jump you two pole vaulted towards the city.

Monkey King sighed.

"Guess she's got to grow up at some point." He glanced at a grave marker. "Doesn't mean I have to take it lying down though." Monkey King grinned and jumped onto his cloud darting off after you two.

[breakerwhiskey]

257 - TWO HUNDRED FIFTY SEVEN

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

This place is…extraordinary. I woke up with the sunrise this morning and it was breathtaking. It’s so…quiet. I mean, it’s not actually that quiet, the sounds of the wind and the creaking trees and whatever wildlife is out here—oh, and I found the rifle, which I guess is good in case any of that wildlife deciding to come to our door but they’d have to get up the stairs first. I guess this means I am teaching Harry how to shoot after all. Maybe I’ll finally learn to hunt.

But—those sounds aside, the natural sounds, it’s peaceful. Being in cities now is eerie—they’re quiet but it isn’t right. This place was so untouched by people to begin with that it feels right. It gives me the same feeling I got in Wyoming all those months ago. Except, this time, I’m not trying to forget about Harry, because I very much can’t forget about her.

Last night—well, it doesn’t matter that it’s July, the nights still get fucking freezing this high up. But, as you know, there’s a cast iron stove in the watchtower, and there’s still a whole pile of wood underneath the stairs, so we had that going all night. And I guess we both were still too cold because somehow, in the course of the night, we both ended up with our blankets and pillows in front of the stove. Between the fire and the shared warmth, I slept…well, I slept really well for the first time in a long time.

It’s not that I’ve never woken up next to her before. When we were first on the run, we couldn’t afford to be out of each other’s sight for too long. But this was—this was different. It's the first time there’s been nothing between us—no secrets, no lies, no games. Harry has been different these last few weeks and it’s like I was getting so used to being around her again, and all the mixed up feelings that that brought up, that I didn’t even notice until now. But the way she did eventually go along with what I wanted to do, the way that she admitted that coming here was a good idea…

She isn’t just surrendering, telling me what I want to hear. I know what that’s like, I’ve lived with that version of Harry for months. After she told me the truth, she tried to…change. Become some version of herself that she thought I could forgive, being easy and agreeable and giving me space and consideration and I fucking hated it.

That’s not what she’s doing now. She’s just…thawing. She’s letting herself be vulnerable. She’s letting herself be wrong. I’m starting to feel like maybe she doesn’t just want my forgiveness to make her life easier, but because she is genuinely remorseful about everything. Maybe in the end that distinction doesn’t mean anything, but it matters to me. And it matters—it matters that she was trying to protect me in her own roundabout way even if I wish she’d just come to me when she found out about Pete—

(sigh) My head is so loud. If we’re really safe from prying eyes here…I might stop transmitting for a while after our date on Thursday. I’m…I’m tired. Waking up so peaceful and safe and warm this morning…it all hit me, this huge wave of exhaustion. I’m so tired of being angry. I’m tired of being scared. And I think taking some time after we talk to—to put down everything I’ve been carrying around…it might be a good idea.

I’m—I’m excited to see what you have to say. You said “message will repeat” so I assume we’re not going to be playing our yes and no game. It better be a long message, Birdie.

I think…I think I understand why you chose that name. There’s a bird-feeder on the railing and even though there’s no seed in it, I’ve still seen the most beautiful array of birds. I’ve been sitting here all morning, waiting for Harry to return from her supply run, and just watching them. And wondering if you built the feeder yourself, so that you could have some company.

Is this what you did? You sat in this watchtower, with enough radio equipment to speak to the world, and you listened and looked out on the sunrise and the birds and felt like you were in the one good and beautiful place in the entire universe, across all timelines?

Or did you feel trapped? Consigned to your tower like some kind of fairytale princess? Did you look at the birds and wish you could be free too?

[click, static]

[nevesmose]

When I was a kid, there was a hill overlooking our little town with a mysterious concrete structure at the top. To get there you had to go over the old canal, through the abandoned quarry filled with unidentifiable rusted-out equipment scattered around, and then past the creepy broken-down barn where some comedy genius had written "INSERT DICK HERE" next to a suspiciously-positioned hole in the wall.

The whole place was forested over thickly enough to muffle most sounds, and every so often you'd tread hollowly on discarded shotgun cartridges from farmers and/or farmers' mums sneaking out to shoot rabbits at night.

It was also haunted by the ghost of a drunk horseman, but being drunk we decided his actual ability to inflict harm on us would be fairly limited.

In any case, having avoided tetanus, gunshot wounds and catastrophic dick chafing, you'd reach a small sunlit clearing right at the top of the hill. The views were truly spectacular - to the north, fields. To the east, fields. To the south, fields. To the west, fields. The benefits of a rural childhood.

Right in the middle of the clearing was a kind of rectangular metal hatchway set low into the ground. Looking at it you could tell it had been opened up and filled in with concrete at some stage, and needless to say our little minds ran rampant trying to guess what was down there. For about fifteen minutes anyway, and then we'd wander off and smack the shit out of each other with tree branches - we were only kids after all.

The main theory, settled on with all the gravitas and judiciousness we could muster, was that it was some kind of Cold War era nuclear bunker. Not that we really knew much of what that meant, all being members of the first post-Soviet generation who didn't have to grow up with ideas like the four-minute warning or Protect & Survive knocking about inside our heads.

Somebody remembered seeing War Games on Channel 4 one weekend afternoon so we based our mental image on that and conjured up a miniature Scottish version of NORAD sitting empty under our feet, all big maps and flashing lights drowned forever in grey concrete.

And then we grew up a bit and thought, nahh, there's no way it was a bunker. It was a radio tower platform or a power substation or something, right?

But it was a bunker though. I looked it up years later and it was a two-person Royal Observer Corps fallout monitoring station to be used for keeping track of the devastation of our closest city, about 20 miles away. The entirety of the UK is hoaching with these things and I can guarantee you if you grew up anywhere in Britain you were much, much closer to them than you might expect.

Not just close to the bunkers but to the people who would have crewed them in the event of armageddon. That's the thing about the ROC, as I've found out since - it was a voluntary service operated by people living nearby.

So who, I wonder, were the unsung unknown uncalled-upon heroes who'd be there when the end came? Who in my sleepy little village with one school, one church and one main street would have had to leave their families to their fate and spend their next, and probably last, two weeks of life in that tiny concrete cell eating strictly rationed food, breathing strictly filtered air, and working out just how many kilotons had been expended on our little corner of the world?

I have my suspicions, but it's not the kind of thing you can just ask your old neighbour out of nowhere. Would they even have gone if they had to? I wouldn't blame them for a second if they chose to stay home instead. I imagine it was something they all had to decide for themselves and no one, least of all the happy beneficiaries of a better world than the one they lived in, has any right to judge.

I feel as though I'm dragging myself to a Meaningful Conclusion here. Oh boy. The past is always closer than you might think, I suppose. Just around the corner, just out of reach, but always there wherever we happen to be.

This post was mainly motivated by reading the excellent Attack Warning Red: How Britain Prepared for Nuclear War by Julie McDowall, who also does the Atomic Hobo podcast which is well worth a listen if you have any interest in this kind of thing. Don't have nightmares.

[orelsemystery]

Me & Academia & Publishing & Pittsburgh

I’ve just posted the first three chapters of Or Else. I wrote this yesterday in anticipation. 

I’m sitting in Mellon Park, in the shade of a big tree, drafting a blog post for tomorrow. Off to my right, I can see the bell tower of East Liberty Presbyterian and the white dome that I’ve always assumed is an athletic facility that either belongs to the park on the other side of Fifth or to the Ellis School for Girls, I’ve never been sure which. In some summer in the late 2000s or early 2010s, I used to cross this park on my way back from Shadyside to the house in Point Breeze where I was staying with family friends. I would stop and sit on a bench and read that week’s edition of City Paper. Some other summer, I lay on the hill in the sun and read P.N. Furbank’s biography of E.M. Forster. Now I am here, again, in 2024, because I chose to be.

Academia insists that you move wherever the job takes you, and since traditional tenure-track (i.e., stable and well-paying) jobs are so horribly hard to get these days, you feel guilty if you’re not grateful for whatever you get, no matter how bad a fit the location is. Or so my friends say. I didn’t get a tenure-track job after getting my PhD in English. I don’t have any real idea how much that was my own fault: whether it was because I stubbornly chose to do an unconventional project; whether I didn’t try hard enough to legitimize my project in my job documents; whether I hadn’t published enough. Maybe I hadn’t worked hard enough. Maybe I wasn’t that strong of a scholar. Or maybe there were just so few jobs to begin with that the academic job market is in large part simply a crapshoot, and I didn’t win.

It’s possible I just didn’t stick it out long enough. I don’t know. But I suspect that when all is said and done, the underlying reasons I am here and not there can be boiled down to two things: (1) I want to make my own choices about what my work looks like and (2) I want to be happy in my own life.

So after I finished my Ph.D., I moved back to Pittsburgh. I love the city—it’s where I went to college, and I’ve missed it ever since leaving—and there are enough schools here I figured I could at least adjunct somewhere. I’m actually getting to teach literature right now, which I love doing and am very grateful for. But I am on no ladders to academic glory. 

For the last couple years, however, I’ve been clinging to another possible means of professional success: I could publish the novel I wrote as part of my dissertation. Then I’d be impressive in another way. I queried a number of literary agents, at an inadvisably slow pace, shooting off emails when I could stand the accompanying anxiety. It felt clear, though, that what I was going to need to do to get anywhere serious was network, some of which (workshops, conferences) costs money. And I hate networking and I hate paying money for someone to give my work a chance. I am so cognizant of how many people can’t afford that, and how unfair the whole system can be.

And anyway…I didn’t really want to make my work more marketable. Which is inevitable if you’re going to try and market it.

So I made a different choice, again. To put the novel, the project, on a website of my own. I’m lucky and I am privileged to be able to make this choice—I have a job, for now, that pays enough. I have a safety net in my family and friends. I have a cat but not kids; I have rent but not a mortgage. I have an advanced degree. I can afford to not pin any financial hopes on writing.

Yet it’s hard not to feel like a whole litany of well-meaning teachers and colleagues from over the years are going to be disappointed in me for doing it this way. Or just…disinterested. People who would perk up their ears at a commercially published novel will simply pass by one posted online for free—even if they have good politics generally around capitalism and professionalization. There was only one right answer to the head of my undergraduate drama school’s question, “What are you working on?” and it always involved something that would look good on your resume (and the school’s promotional materials).

Oh well! Here I am! Sorry, everyone: I love amateurism. I love art and writing that people do because they want to. I love fanfiction. I love community theatre. I love zines, I love high school marching bands, I love queer craft fairs. I love adults who rediscover Shrinky-Dinks and polymer clay and make potholders for their friends. I love local book clubs and writing communities on Discord. I love Pittsburgh—I think Pittsburgh’s whole vibe is slightly wonky DIY: faded old signs painted on brick buildings, tree roots pushing up through sidewalks, folding chairs saving parking spots, memories of the Beehive and Garfield’s Nightmare and whatever happened to that one ice cream place that became an illegal banking cooperative or something? Or Else is set in Pittsburgh, at a made-up university I’ve shoved next to Pitt and Carnegie Mellon (who says there’s not room in Oakland), and it’s about people who sort of…make their own worlds, for better or worse, who live one foot in the kind of scrappy imaginary I find so possible in this city. And I am glad to be here, in Mellon Park, writing this, watching a dog with the spindliest legs I have ever seen in my life walking past (sorry Juno), preparing to launch my big little project into the world.

Later update: After I finished writing this post, I walked around the garden in Mellon Park. I was appreciating the Pittsburgh hallmarks I’d just been writing about—bumpy bricks, crumbling walls, etc., and then I tripped on an uneven sidewalk and skinned my knee. I will take this as a reminder that choosing one’s own road comes with obstacles of its own. I am sticking some metaphorical antiseptic into my metaphorical knapsack as I venture down the mysterious path through the woods.

<3 Miranda