#no part of the story should truly die. it needs to remain fresh in the viewer's mind long after the event occurred. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gallickingun · 4 years

Text

last chance || b.k.

SUMMARY: After All Might’s demise at the hands of an unlikely hero-turned-villain, the world unfurls into chaos. Villains run rampant, heroes are dying in the streets, and you are left with a rowdy group of renegades to seek out the legendary Ground Zero, a vigilante that you’ve only encountered through ghost stories. After narrowing down his sightings to one central location, you are sent out to beseech him for help, if he even truly exists in the first place.

PAIRING: Apocalyptic Pro Hero!Bakugou x Renegade!Reader RATINGS: M/E+ WARNINGS: language, violence, smut, etc. WORD COUNT: 7.3k+

FOREWORD: For all intents and purposes, we’re going to pretend that All Might hasn’t lost his power, even after handing it off to Deku!

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

Author’s Note: This is my submission for the bnharem nsfw collab, apocalypse edition! I was shocked that I was able to snag Bakugou on my first round of collaboration, and I’m so stoked to read all of the other fics! The masterlist can be found HERE. This might feel a little OOC, but hopefully it makes sense by the end. It is an AU after all.

“The Symbol of Peace is dead.”

You pull the bandana further up around your mouth and nose, the ash in the air seeping into your lungs, clouding your vision as the debris strains your breathing. Your ankles ache, mile after mile threatening to grind your bones to dust.

“It would seem we never knew the true power of All Might’s quirk, now known as One for All.”

A thickness swells up in your throat, your eyes blurring with tears, and yet you keep walking. You push through the thickets of overgrown foliage, slashing away with the machete you usually keep tucked against your hip. Crying will do nothing to help you, not now. Tears are for the weak.

“He had passed on his power to a successor, a young student named Midoriya Izuku.”

The darkness of night helps to hide you from those who want you slain where you stand. Your black clothing keeps you but a shadow amongst the trees, concealing your identity to anyone who might gaze upon the horizon. Even though you are alone, your mission keeps you company.

“The young boy became an amazing Pro Hero, climbing the charts quite fast once graduating from Yuuei High. And then, something happened.”

You grit your teeth when you see your destination ahead – a large cliff, covered in moss and dense, lush kudzu. There is a cave carved into the side of it, hardly able to be seen from the distance with which you are currently separated from it. And yet, you’ve been dreaming about this place for years, ever since the overture.

“It would seem that young Midoriya Izuku, also known as Deku, has killed the Symbol of Peace.

All Might is dead.”

The weight of the world settles on your shoulders at the memory of the news broadcast. It is like this new path you’ve gone down has formed you into some sort of Atlas, a woman in charge of holding the world together from the shadows, as if it may fall apart if you falter for even the slightest of moments. Your knees ache and your back is slick with sweat, but somehow you manage to shoulder the burden and keep walking, galaxies treading in your wake.

After all, finding Ground Zero is your responsibility.

“We need him.”

You brush your hair from your eyes, looking down at the map strewn out in tatters on the tabletop, “No one has seen him, not really. He’s practically a myth, a legend. Even if he’s real, what makes you think he’ll help us?”

The redhead beside you slams his fists together, the echoing sound of stone impacting stone reverberating in the room. You wince at the sharpness of it, but combined with the determined expression rooted within his features, you feel a renewed sense of purpose settled into your spine. You straighten up, curling your hands to fists, and match his manifestation of conviction with a grit of your teeth and tilt of your head.

“You’re right, Kirishima,” you point to the central location on the map, the one you’ve been investigating for what feels like years, “Ground Zero will be there. And I’m going to convince him to help us.”

The stone bites into your blunt nails, drawing blood that makes it even more difficult to scale the side of the structure. You knew this would come, so the makeshift climbing gear strapped to your waist keeps you secure as you continue to lower yourself down.

At the mouth of the cave, you see a small overhang, just far enough past the opening for you to land. Once you’ve gotten close enough that you know you won’t fall to your death into whatever disastrous demise may greet you thousands of feet below, you drop onto the ledge. Your knees wobble, ankles turned at just the right angle that they absorb most of your fall.

The opening of the cavern is dark; ominous smoke leaking from the front of it, furling around in midair. Your body shudders, a chill sending a fresh wave of goosebumps over your skin, and for a moment you wonder if you should retreat.

Kirishima’s crimson eyes, hard set and piercing, are all you can see when you close your eyes. His voice rings in your ears, reminding you that this is what you must do, you have to find Ground Zero. He is the only one capable of taking down Deku.

You swallow, bracing your spine and curling your fists, forcing yourself to take the first step forward. There is a curtain of vines separating the inside of the cave from you. You reach forward, curling your fingers around the thick, verdant tendrils, and push them to the sides so you may walk through.

Every single nerve within your body vibrates with the knowledge that you may die here in this cave, alone and forgotten. Your lower lip wobbles, but you stamp down the negative emotions and rather channel them into something akin to confidence. Once you’ve passed through to the other side, you release the vines and find yourself shrouded in darkness.

It takes a moment, but your eyes adjust eventually. You can make out the walls of the cave, glistening and jagged, and you use the reach of your arms to press against the rocky surface, guiding yourself further down the winding path. It is strange when you feel a substance much more powdery beneath your touch, and when you pull your hand away to smell it, the scent reminds you of soot.

Sweat rolls down your spine, tickling your skin, but you do not have the patience nor the ability to redirect your attention to it, for fear of what might happen when you refocus to something less important. You hold your breath, trying to listen as best you can for any and all sounds echoing within the walls of the cave, but all you hear is quiet.

Your imagination begins to wander as you take each step, furthering the horrific ends you’ve conjured up for yourself within the confines of your mind. The chill of the cave in tandem with your sweat creates steam from your body, rising high and bringing forth a bout of humidity that gives your lungs more difficulty.

Turning a corner, you feel the air begin to get warmer. You force yourself to take short breaths, bringing oxygen to flow back through your blood as it rushes through you, thundering in your ears. The sound does little to quell the panic rising in your throat, like a billow of smoke suffocating you as it rolls through your body.

Fear grips your heart when you hear the first sound.

You stop, turning your feet in case you need to bolt in the opposite direction. Your eyes are widened, pupils dilated in the dark to try and accommodate. It does not repeat itself, but rather alters, when you hear it again.

“Tch.”

The human-like nature of the sound brings about a whole new level of anxiety, lightning strikes underneath your skin as reality settles in. You lick at your lips, the dryness of your mouth ever present when you prepare yourself for a speech. You continue down the cave pathway, the faint glow of orange beginning to color the walls, giving you more light to see your feet in front of you.

Eventually you are able to stumble through the cavern on your own now, without the guide of your hands on the rock on either side of you. Shallow breaths fill your lungs, erratic breathing making your shoulders shake in anticipation. You lick at the seams of your gums, begging your mind to call forth a beautiful string of words that will convince this legendary vigilante to once again rise up, with the backing of your renegade fighters, to take down the villainous once-hero Deku.

You come up on the furthermost part of the cave, the base of it opening up and rounding out to provide the hideaway with a spacious enough cavity to serve as a living space.

Your eyes are drawn to every inch of the room, starting with the wall where weapons are strung up like trophies. Chiseled into the stone are hollows in the shape of guns and knives and grenades, acting like shelving for the tools of destruction. Beneath it is the fire pit, burning high with flames, licking up at the air and peeling away what little oxygen remains. You find it harder to breathe here, mostly in part to the depth of the cave and the ongoing fire, stealing the breath from your very lungs.

Then your eyes find him, his back to you, settled on a log that will most likely be used for firewood at a later date. Your tongue feels like a sandbag in your mouth and you can’t force yourself to produce enough saliva to make up for the smoke in your throat.

And then he rises.

He is every bit as beautiful as they said he would be in all of the stories. Tales of bulging muscle and tall stature, hands that save the world with each flex of his knuckles, scars littering his body like a map, or like veins of pain running through slabs of chiseled marble.

He turns, and his eyes seem familiar.

You take a hesitant step forward, captivate by his serious stare. The rivulets of crimson and amber swirling in his irises make you want to drown in a lake of fire, burned at the stake for the sake of his cause. Your body cannot resist him, so you draw closer, further into the heat, begging yourself to become a slave to it so long as it means you can continue to find him in the flames.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

You are fumbling for words when he speaks again, “You’re wasting my time, baka. I’m not sure what about the sight of a secluded, secret cave gave you the idea to waltz in here like you own the damned place, but I’m kind of busy. So leave.”

The way your eyes roam around his abode, settling on each small space and dissecting it for everything that it is worth, unsettles him. He steps closer to you, blocking your vision with his wide shoulders.

“It doesn’t look like you’re very busy.”

The words are blurted from your mouth with little forethought, but they have you both reeling, your hands slapped over your lips as if you could take them back with simple action. The man stood in front of you shifts into some sort of attack position, hands curled into fists and the air begins to smell sickly sweet.

“Fucking bitch,” he bites the words as they exit his teeth, narrowing his eyes to you until they are but slits, “Get the hell out!”

“No, no!” You are flailing now, the impending doom of your failure to bring him back with you turning your stomach into knots. You shake your head, reaching out to press your hands to his chest, “Listen, please, you are Ground Zero, are you not?”

The sound of his own name echoing in the cave gives him pause. He tilts his head, ashen locks falling over his line of sight. You notice his head is buzzed at the base, nothing but blonde stubble left behind, however the top of his head is covered with pale locks of spike hair, as if he himself is a bomb ready to be blown at all times.

“I don’t know who the hell told you where to find me, but I’m not the guy you’re looking for.” He smacks your hands away with the back of his wrist, turning to stalk back to the fire. Once he settles on his stump again, he pulls another skewer of meat from a pack off to the side, rotating it over the fire to begin roasting it.

All you can think is how much of a let down this entire trip has been. You have walked for miles, for days, in order to hunt him down. You have hidden in jungles and abandoned buildings, and almost been caught by several villains with quirks you almost could not overpower on your own.

“Kirishima spoke so highly of you,” your voice is faraway, like you are on another plane of existence, looking down on him from above, “I thought you’d be more heroic than this.”

At the sound of your friend’s name, the man’s head tilts, eyes shifting as he looks over his shoulder at you, “Kirishima? Eijirou?”

“Y-You know Kiri?”

You take a cautious step forward, unsure of whether he believes Kirishima to be a friend or a foe. His eyes are lost, somewhere between here and there, unable to focus on any one thing as he rolls the name around on his tongue, tasting the distant memories there while they play out against the cavern walls for only his eyes to see.

“Kirishima was my-” he pauses, gritting his teeth together as his knuckles turn white around the skewer, “…he was my friend.”

The man stands to his feet, discarding the half-cooked slab of meat into the fire, “If Kirishima sent you, then things must be bad.”

You nod, striding forward until you are just close enough that his body heat is intoxicating, and the scent from earlier, the one that makes your head spin with saccharine promises, fills your nostrils until you cannot make out anything else.

“We need your help,” you say, voice wavering in the middle, “Deku has started to search for every hero, every renegade, and he’s murdering them. I came to bring you back to the rest of those who are still fighting. You are a legend, if we have your help, there’s no way we’ll lose.”

A wry smirk adorns his mouth, quirking his lips upward, “Kid, I don’t know who told you I was a legend, or that I’d be of any help, but I’m out here for a reason.”

“Just come back with me,” you plead, resisting the desire to wrap your fists around his tank and pull, “we need you.”

There is a hesitant look in his vermilion irises, something that tells you he is still hiding something. But, he straightens his spine anyway, a deep breath puffing out his chest, “I always did like to kick Deku’s ass.”

You cannot contain the beaming smile on your face, even when you turn on your heels to begin walking out of the cave and back to the light.

Which keeps you from seeing the dejected look in his eyes.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

Weeks of planning the perfect attack have brought you and Ground Zero closer.

Although now you know him as Bakugou Katsuki.

When he first reunited with Kirishima, and his presence was made known to your rag-tag team, you were shaken at the realization that legends are people too. Even in his vigilante times, Bakugou still held that same spark that lit his flame throughout the duration of his time at Yuuei, much of which he spent with Kirishima by his side.

“Holy shit, man!” Kirishima reaches around his shoulders for a hug, which Bakugou hardly reciprocates, “I can’t believe Ground Zero is you!”

There are moments where you catch his gaze lingering on you – when you are cooking dinner, when you chop firewood – and of course your eyes find him too. He trains shirtless most of the time, body on display as the sweat rolls down his body. His knuckles are bruised and his body is battered, and yet he continues to get up every day and start all over again.

You do note that you have not seen him use his quirk, not since he arrived at your renegade hideaway. It seems to be in reverie of everything going on, but from what you remember, Bakugou Katsuki was not a shy man, never one to keep himself from the spotlight. It is why he is the only one who pushed himself hard enough to compete with Deku, and to stay as his rival.

When you ask Kirishima, he just shrugs it off, “He probably doesn’t want any attention. Would you, if you felt like you had run away when the world needed another hero?”

So you co-exist. He near you, and you near him. Always orbiting, but never colliding.

There are times where you allow your affections to slip. When you’re passing him by, a gentle palm on his hip to alert him of your presence. When he reaches above you to pull a weapon off the shelf, his hand finds purchase at the base of your spine, as if steadying himself even though he is one of the sturdiest men you have ever seen.

There is a moment, a drunken haze, that leads you to believe he might even kiss you, however it is gone before it has the ability to flower into anything more.

Time passes, months that feel like years, of tracking and sleuthing and killing. There is murder on both sides, and you have both suffered losses.

One night he finds you, sitting on the beach, your tears glittering like starlight on your cheeks.

“This is war,” he says, squatting in the sand, “none of us is innocent.”

You sniffle, rubbing your arm against your face to rid it of your transgressions, “And what about those who want to be?”

Bakugou reaches forward, a careful palm gliding over your cheek as a new bout of tears springs forth like a leak. You can’t see the sad smile on his face through your tears, your vision glassy and clouded, and he is thankful that you cannot spot his weakness. He brushes the tears away and turns your head with the gentle flick of his wrist, “We’ll get there when we get there.”

You want to crumble, to falter and fall into a million shards of glass, and he knows this. He must, because there’s no way that the pressure of the lives of the rest of the world does not eat away at one’s soul until there is nothing but barren earth left. You circle your hand around his wrist, leaning your cheek into his palm so you can feel the heat of him and find comfort in his touch.

“What if we never get there?”

You can’t look at him, not when your scars are on display. Your heart wrenches in your chest and the pain is like a thousand cuts littered across your body until you are nothing but bleeding wounds. In your mind, you’ve succumbed to the sea of red, drowning in it, choking on it.

Bakugou does a strange thing then. He presses his other palm to your waist, drawing you forward so he can kiss the smooth skin of your forehead, “Don’t be an idiot.”

And then he turns to leave.

Your forehead burns like a blister with the echo of his affections.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

The time finally comes.

After months of research and loss, there is a plan.

“We know where he’s hiding,” Kirishima points to a central location on the map, releasing a breath as he looks up to Bakugou, “the guards will change shift at midnight, and that’s when you’ll attack. We’ll be on the ground to distract any other, smaller threats, but we’re counting on you to take him down in the end.”

Bakugou shoves Kirishima, but he falters himself, eyes unable to focus on any one thing, “I know, idiot. You didn’t bring me all the way out here to take my victory from me.”

You smile at the scene, catching his gaze as he turns to look back at the rest of the room. There is a crack in his armor when he sees you, confidence melting into something else, another emotion you can’t quite pin down. And you’re not sure if you really want to.

The rest of the meeting is all logistics, something you have already heard a dozen times, so you find yourself wandering along the coastline, the night air washing like a balm over you, sea salt in your lungs when you breathe. Your feet are barely in the water, but enough for it to lap up around your ankles with foam when the waves crest to shore. You hold yourself around the middle, as if you might be able to keep your broken pieces from shattering if you squeeze tightly enough.

Tears of salt match that of the ocean as the droplets roll down your cheeks, hanging on your jaw until they are too weighty, and then they fall into the seawater, melded together as if they belong. Your fingers ache, digging into your biceps to give yourself some sort of anchor while you watch the moon and stars shift in the night sky.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The words are reminiscent of the first time you met, all those months ago. They make you smile, a gentle huff of a laugh escaping your lips, even if the gesture does not quite reach your eyes. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, arms still wrapped around your torso, the jagged edges of your soul sinking in deeper the more you try to hide your faltering pieces.

“Thinking,” you answer quietly, soft voice almost overwhelmed by the waves.

Bakugou is drawn in closer, as if you are the sea, a siren calling to him from the beyond, and he strides forward until he is parallel with you. His eyes watch the waves, but the pull is to you, and he can only resist for so long.

“It’s just Deku,” he is trying to reassure you, reaching out to rest his palm on your neck, sifting fingers through the hair at the nape of it. “I won’t lose to him, not again.”

This brings your attention to his eyes, your body turning so you can approach him head-on, fear wracking your body like a storm. You gaze up at him, jaw quivering under the stress of your teeth grinding against one another, “Why did he do it?”

His hand glides from your neck to your jaw, tilting your eyes upward so you cannot look away from him, in spite of how difficult this conversation might be to have. He has not spoken of his childhood rival for what feels like an eternity; airing out his burdened confessions is but a foreign concept. He would rather keep them bottled away within the cage of his ribs, until the poison slowly dredges through his veins and he can fall away into some deep sleep brought on by death.

“No one could have expected it,” Bakugou starts, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw as he speaks, like the ministrations may give him the groundwork to have the conversation, “but One for All had too many wielders, had grown too powerful. Deku’s body couldn’t contain it and still stay sane.”

Bakugou looks frustrated, his brow tugged so his forehead wrinkles. You reach up to brush your thumb over the creased skin, “I’ve heard the stories. That the call to power was too strong, and he never told anyone because he was afraid of being weak.”

“Izuku has never been weak.”

His voice is ragged, as if glass has been lodged into his throat to inhibit his speech. Bakugou turns his head so you cannot see the emotion welling up in his eyes, “All Might should have seen it, but by the time he caught it, Deku had already gone mad. He snapped All Might’s neck on live television, the fucking bastard.”

The heaviness of the situation sits on your shoulders and you wonder if Bakugou has ever felt the burden of Atlas; you recall the significant burden weighing you down when you were first sent to retrieve him. Your mortal body wanted to crumble beneath the importance of your mission, you can’t even begin to fathom the overwhelming guilt he must be riddled with every day from the moment he wakes until he falls asleep.

“Then he came after the rest of us, one-by-one. Todoroki was next, then Uraraka.” Bakugou swallows the thick, pent-up emotion settled in his throat like barbed wire. He steels his gaze, even though it is only focused on the moon. “Kirishima was able to take a group of heroes and hide out when Deku came for me.”

You recall the fight like a movie playing on the backs of your eyelids. Bakugou and Deku fighting head to head, lightning and explosions igniting the swirling storm the unfurled around them. Pouring rain and debris flying, small tornados brought on by the use of Deku’s quirk, destroying the nearby buildings until there was nothing left.

Bakugou’s voice is heady, hands fallen from your face as if he no longer deserves to touch you. He takes a step backward, the roaring of the ocean giving him a pause, as if he were listening to the water for some sort of encouragement to continue his tale, to keep fighting.

You can’t help but wonder if losing the proverbial fight against Deku has tarnished his soul much deeper than he would ever admit, if his body has been at war with itself for years, unable to choose a side, unable to relent.

“I fought him for what felt like hours. Whatever One for All had done to him, corrupted his mind, broken his spirit,” Bakugou shakes his head, a snarl on his lips, “that wasn’t Deku that I was fighting. That was someone else.”

His breath hitches, “I-I’m not sure what the fuck possessed him to do what he did next, but he took-”

Bakugou’s throat bobs and his eyes flit from you to the water, unable to look at you in the face as he gnaws on his lower lip. The words must be too harsh, a pain running much further than skin deep. You know that his soul must be bruised, the very core of him broken beyond recognition.

“Took what, Katsuki?” you ask gently, reaching to tug his chin back so he is looking down at you, “You can tell me.”

Bakugou’s breathing is labored, quick, a mixture of frustration and anguish pressing down on his throat like a pair of hands, encasing his esophagus in a tight grip. He shakes his head, “He, uh- he let me go.”

It sounds disingenuous coming from his mouth, as if he’s forcing a lie through his teeth, his voice grating against his gums like metal. You reach out to touch his arm, but he sloughs you off with a quick movement, taking a step and pushing you further. Tears glisten in his eyes, but he does not let them fall; he cannot lose the battle with his body too. He looks up to the moon and lets loose a feral growl, crumbling to his knees and digging his hands into the wet sand, like tearing into it might provide him some sort of release.

“And then I tucked my fucking tail and I ran. Like a goddamn coward.” Bakugou’s jaw is rippling when he snaps his attention to you, eyes ablaze with red fire, “And that’s the hero you all claim to have needed. I wasn’t a hero, I was a fucking pussy. I was weak.”

Bakugou rises from the water, a murderous glare in his eyes, “And now I’m done being weak. I’m going to finish what I couldn’t before, I’m going to kill the bastard.”

You have let him vent his personal failures into the air, but now it is your turn to speak. Circling your fingers around his wrists, you pull yourself closer to him, as if the two of you are bound by an invisible thread.

“You’re not going alone,” you tell him, voice sure. You stand rooted in the ground, feet dug deep in the sand, “I won’t let you.”

He rolls his eyes, blowing a breath out of his nose, “And you think I’ll let you? No fucking way.”

The words sit on your tongue, burning like embers, syllables you’ve been stoking for months as you’ve grown closer to him. Your body rises up on your toes on instinct alone, eyelashes fluttering shut as you take him in one last time. You grit your teeth and a breath shudders from your lungs, shattering your heart like glass.

Your fingers traipse up his torso, climbing over the mounds of muscle that he has worked so hard to perfect. You feel the heat of tears well up in the back of your eyes, your vision blurred as you try to memorize everything about him in the short time you have left. When your palms reach his cheeks, fingertips dancing against warm, tanned skin, you can’t help but to tug yourself closer.

He can barely protest before you have melded your mouth to his, arching your back so your chest is flush with the broad plane of muscle in front of you. Bakugou hesitates, but just as you are about to pull away and profusely apologize, his arms snake around your waist to yank you closer. Your hips roll into his reflexively, finding the hardened length of his cock almost instantly.

Bakugou’s kiss is bruising, a heated ferocity driving him forward to part your lips at the seams, delving his tongue between your teeth at the first chance he receives. You moan at his affections, your hands threading through his hair, pinkies finding the stubble of his undercut while the others sift between blonde locks.

Tears are pushed from your eyelids, and he feels them against his cheeks as he kisses you. Bakugou slips his hands under the thin fabric of your tattered shirt, warmth spreading from the base of your spine outward to every extremity.

“I won’t lose you,” you manage between breaths, forcing the words out despite the possibility of his rejection.

Bakugou does not stop loitering affection over you like it were his job just because you show a moment of vulnerability. Rather, he’s spurred on by the admission, his hands digging deeper into your muscles now, most likely leaving bruises in their wake, and his teeth and tongue are merciless on your mouth.

The palms of his hands slowly drift down until he has cupped your thighs, his body folded just enough to give him a better angle to pull you up into the air. You hold in a squeal, unwilling to alert the rest of the camp, quickly wrapping your legs around his waist.

He breaks the kiss as oxygen begs his airways to open up once more, heaving breaths making his chest expand with sharp inhales. Through gasping breaths, he shakes his head, “I’m not going anywhere.”

You’re not sure how best to beg him to take you for all you’re worth here on the beach, but somehow you must silently communicate it, because he finds a secluded place and lays you down there, your back dug into the ground, but you are rather uncaring to it all. Your hands can’t find enough of him, insatiable in your efforts to map him out to memory, burning the impression of him into your mind so you may never lose him, even if something tragic were to part the two of you forever.

Bakugou’s fingers make quick work of the button of your shorts, delving his hand inside to brush at the bare folds of your core, already slick with arousal. He chuckles, nudging his nose over your neck, “Prepared for this, were you?”

A laugh is cut short by a whine, his teeth sinking into your jugular, sucking harshly on the skin there. Your hands find his shoulders, blunt nails bludgeoning the skin of his shoulders so he is seething into your body, curses flying from his lips as if they might brand your flesh if he whispers them hotly enough.

You whimper his name as he sheathes his fingers within you, two knuckles stretching your inner walls, scissored fingers making you throw your head back. Your body does not feel like your own, every wanton moan and twitch of your muscles in response to his salacious ministrations, reactions that you cannot fight, even if you wanted to.

Giving in, you reach down desperately, clawing your nails at the waistband of his cargo pants, uncaring as to how you get your palm underneath his underwear. Bakugou uses the hand not buried in your pussy to grab you by the wrist, pinning your hand over your head.

“You’re a needy little slut, hah?” Bakugou tightens his grip and speeds up his pace, earning him a wriggle from your body as you try to fight back. He smirks, teeth and gums on full display as he glowers down at you, “Don’t you worry, baby, I’m gonna give you my cock. Be patient.”

You whine in response, tilting your head to try and capture his lips again. Bakugou finds you halfway, his mouth parted so you can begin mapping out the curves of his teeth with your tongue. You kiss him as if your life may depend on it, like the time you are sharing may end at any moment.

You kiss him like he may die tomorrow.

There is fervor and passion and admiration conveyed with each smacking of your lips, your noses brushing when you try to angle yourselves to become closer. All the while, his middle and fourth fingers are working you forward into the throws of pleasure, lightning striking your core whenever his fingers brush up against your glutinous walls in just the right manner.

“Katsuki, please,” you beg of him, dragging your nails over the corded muscle of his shoulders. You can feel yourself slipping already, the impending doom of what is to come giving your body more urgency.

Bakugou growls when he feels your cunt clamp around his fingers, the thought of his cock within your tight hole making him dick twitch. You buck up when the head of his length brushes your thigh in his arousal, seeking him out despite the fullness you already feel from his digits pumping up into your heat.

Your whole body is shaking with the threat of your impending orgasm on the horizon, brought on by his disastrous fingers urging you forward. You cry out for him, wanton and begging as you pant his name repeatedly, rocking your hips with the rhythm of his fingers. Bakugou’s eyes roam your body as he leans back from you, gaze immediately drawn to the bounce of your plush chest. With each thrust of his fingers, your body quivers, and he knows he won’t be able to last apart from you for much longer, regardless.

As his fingers slowly peel from you, a whine tears your chest wide open. Tears drip down over your cheeks, a mixture of emotion and erotica giving the sound much more conviction. Bakugou feels the reverberations of your voice in his chest, stirring him to brush your silken slick along the length of his cock, pumping his shaft a few times before repositioning himself above you.

Bakugou rolls his wrist so the tip of his dick butterflies your pussy lips. You pant at the exhilaration of it all, your cunt fluttering as he pulls himself away from you only to bring it all back. His teasing strokes make your head spin, eyes barely able to peel open to look up at him. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth, and Bakugou leans forward to tug the muscle between his teeth, earning him an animalistic howl from the back of your throat.

The plea from you gives him the last push he needs to rut forward and claim you in one fatal stroke.

Your hands sink into him like hooks, eyes screwed shut as he starts to suck on your tongue. Bakugou’s breath spills over you like a wash of heat, sending a shudder down your spine. He uses his hands to grip you by the thighs, yanking you closer so your hips are flush as he sinks all the way into you all over again.

“Ka-” you can barely make a sound with the way his mouth has destroyed yours, suffocating you until you are lightheaded with the thought of him. As you struggle beneath him, Bakugou releases you in favor of leaning back to watch as his cock separates your walls and fills your cunt until it stretches to fit his thick girth.

You are a blubbering mess the moment he allows you space to breathe. Your hands can’t find enough of him to paint with your touch, nails dragging thin, angry red lines into his thighs, and your throat only knows how to say his name.

“Good girl,” he chuckles, watching you come undone beneath him, “I can’t wait to feel you come all over my cock.”

His dick is rutting into you at an impeccable pace, the tip of his cock brushing against your walls as he twitches from your tight pussy. Bakugou digs his fingers into the skin of your thighs, likely bruising them with the intensity of his grip, pushing your knees back until they are pressed against your chest so he can fuck into you from above.

You lick your lips, thin rivulets of drool seeping out of the corners of your mouth, “Please, Bakugou, I-I wanna come.”

The desire to rip your arousal from you until you cannot speak in full sentences gives him a fiery drive, his hips slamming into your ass as filthy words fall from his lips. You can feel his cock bottoming out within your cunt, thickening with each stroke of his hips as he grows closer to the end himself. You beg for his spend, for him to coat you until you are dripping with his seed, the mixture of your arousal and his pre seeping from your lips and furthering the wet sounds that echo whenever his balls slap against your ass.

“You wanna come on my cock, yeah?” he asks, voice dithering the longer he’s within you. You are begging him now, your back arched forward so you can seek him out with wide eyes and pleading palms. He soaks in the affections, your hands on his face and in his hair, your lips finding purchase on whatever part of his body you can reach.

A snarl makes his throat shake and, if possible, he rips into your even further, growling voice speaking into your ear as you fall back against the ground at the sheer force of his hips, “Then fucking come, slut.”

His words are all you need to push you into the next plane of existence, where a shattering orgasm racks your body. You convulse around his cock, the newfound tightness as you milk your own release pushing him over the crest as well. He drives his cock as deep into you as he can, your hips flush at the juxtaposition of your sex as he spurts up into your core. You feel the heat of his release, the twitch of his cock, and your limbs grow numb from effort.

Bakugou leans forward so he is balancing himself on his forearms, nosing over the swell of your chest and the column of your neck, small, chaste kisses littered over your skin like stars. He sighs, nudging your collarbone, “You’re not coming with me tomorrow. I won’t lose you too.”

Your heart sings at his admission, and your spirit wants to argue, but when he kisses you again, you can’t find it within yourself to tell him otherwise.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

“All right, man,” Kirishima claps him on the back, leaning against the brick wall of the alleyway.

You can tell that there is much more he wants to say, but Bakugou has never had much patience for any sort of sappy confession, so all that passes between them is a nod of understanding. You, on the other hand, are careless in your affection, launching yourself forward to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him full on the mouth, uncaring for the onlookers unbeknownst to your time together.

When you pull away, there are tears in your eyes, but you force the words between your teeth regardless, “Don’t die on me.”

Bakugou’s eyes are sad, holding such a dark color in his usually bright irises, “A real hero always comes out on top, no matter what.”

Usually it is said with much conviction, but this time, it sounds like he is trying to convince himself more so than anyone else. Your hands palm over his face, committing him to memory one last time before he turns his back to you, headed towards the end of the line, unknowing as to which side he may end up on this time.

As soon as he steps out onto the pavement, he’s greeted with the familiar laughter of an old friend.

“Oi, Kacchan. It’s been too long.”

Your heart leaps into your throat and Kirishima has to hold you back, hidden away in the shadows. You look at him over your shoulder, eyes blown wide as your pupils swallow your irises, “H-He was supposed to be alone.”

The look in Kirishima’s eyes is haunting, a desolate gaze turned on his best friend. He tightens his jaw and breathes heavily through his nostrils, an answer never given as he watches on in horror at the scene in front of him unfolding.

“I thought I told you to get lost,” Deku speaks, voice confusingly innocent despite the feral look in his eyes. A cackle parts his lips and you’ve never seen Bakugou this quiet during a fight, “But, then again, wouldn’t a fight between the All Mighty Deku and a Quirkless Kacchan be entertaining?”

Your whole world turns sideways.

Bakugou’s words from the very beginning replay on loop in your mind as your breathing corrupts your own lungs, shattered and shaking as your body coats itself in sweat.

His breath hitches, “I-I’m not sure what the fuck possessed him to do what he did next, but he took-”

“Took what, Katsuki?” you ask gently, reaching to tug his chin back so he is looking down at you, “You can tell me.”

Bakugou Katsuki is quirkless.

Now more than ever you want to dart out into the street, to throw yourself down like a sacrificial lamb for the slaughter. Whatever it takes to keep Katsuki safe. Tears blur your vision and anger scars your heart, marring up the organ until you cannot feel it beating within your own chest.

Bakugou turns his head, vermilion eyes seeking you out in the darkness of the alleyway. He smiles, for the first time in full, and offers you one final look at his body completely intact before he returns his gaze to his childhood rival, hands turning to fists at his sides as he gets into his fighting position.

“So pathetic, Kacchan.” Deku looks Bakugou in the eyes as he ignites his quirk, green lightning dancing around as a storm begins to brew.

He holds up his hands, palms open-faced as his skin crackles, the sweet smell of saccharine turning to ash in the air. Colors of orange and yellow cast frightening shadows along the length of the street, a familiar power exploding on the cusp of Deku’s fingers.

“And now you die.”

a/n: i don’t think that went how anyone thought it would! it’s a lot different from anything i’ve ever done, and i’m not fully happy with it. but thank you for reading, if you got this far!!

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki smut #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bnha x reader #bnha smut #morgan writes bnha #my writing #bnharem #server collab #bnharem server collab

765 notes · View notes

walkerwords · 3 years

Text

“The Savior Sessions” Part 29 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: While Daryl and the others are fighting their way through Alpha’s trap, the reader comes face to face with their fear as Beta enters Alexandria.

Word Count: 4826

Warning: Swearing, Violence

Song I Wrote To: “Seven Nation Army” by The White Stripes

Note: So, this scene is a bit different. Judith is not in Alexandria at the moment as she’s with her mom in Hilltop. I am not removing Michonne from the story like she is in the show. So, this fight is gonna play out a bit different!

-------

Arriving back home in Alexandria, Enid words followed you.

She was right, Lydia should not have been out there alone and it would be your fault if she got hurt or worse, fell back into the hands of her mother.

Even as you walked down the darkening streets of Alexandria, there was a part of you that didn’t care if Alpha took more lives and that terrified you. You loved your friends, your family, but if collateral damage was necessary for Beta and Alpha to die, then so be it.

The bitter taste in your mouth followed you as you walked towards home. When you noticed Rosita pacing outside the cell, you slowed.

“What are you doing?” you asked. Rosita looked up at you and then walked forward wrapped her arms around you.

Confused, you hugged her back before letting go. “Ro?” you asked again.

“Sorry, I’m just… A lot has been happening,” she said.

“Like what? I wasn’t gone that long.”

“Gamma is here,” Rosita said, gesturing towards the cell.

“What?” you asked, glancing towards the small window.

“She arrived earlier, said she wants to help us,” Rosita said.

“And you believe her?”

“I don’t know. That’s why she’s locked up,” Rosita explained.

“You think she’s another spy?”

“No,” Rosita said, shaking her head. “Though, I don’t know what to do with her. I keep thinking about when Dwight switched sides.” Nodding, you understood where she was coming from. Dwight had given you valuable information that helped you win the war against Negan and his men.

“Dwight had someone he cared about pushing him forward,” you reminded her. “Sherry was everything to him.”

“Gamma has her nephew,” Rosita reminded you and you knew she was right. Earl had taken in the Whisperer baby after Connie had saved him from his mother abandoning him in the sorghum field.

“Is Adam enough?” you asked.

“I hope so,” Rosita said. “I don’t know if we can win this fight without her help.”

“Is that willingness I hear, Espinosa?” you asked.

“It just might be, (Y/L/N),” Rosita countered.

“Well, what does Daryl think? Michonne?”

“Michonne is a bit MIA at the moment. She’s travelling from Oceanside or to Oceanside, I don’t really know. Daryl however, is gone.”

“What do you mean he’s gone?” you asked, suddenly concerned.

“He, Jerry, Aaron, Connie, Kelly, Magna, and Carol got a lead on the horde. They went looking for it,” Rosita explained and you could see that she was worried as well. Sighing, you rubbed at your temples. This was why Carol had wanted you home. She needed someone to watch the front lines so she could go find Alpha’s Walkers.

“They should have waited for me,” you said, clenching your fists.

“I think one unstable person is enough,” Rosita mumbled and then realized what she said.

“Nice,” you quipped, storming past her.

“(Y/N)!” Rosita tried, but you kept walking, not wanting to hear what she had to say. You weren’t stupid, you knew that you had been acting irrationally. That much was clear and you could see that when it came down to it, you were not thinking clearly. However, you couldn’t get Beta’s face out of your head.

It would be a cold day in Hell before you let him win. Then again, you felt as if the last decade had been Hell on Earth. Still, you pushed on, ignoring the worried looks of your friends as you headed to your house.

Gabriel was coming out of Rosita’s house as you passed the front steps and he looked as if he was going to say something, but didn’t. Considering how pissed you were, he must have figured it was better to give you a moment alone.

Shoving open your front door, you let it slam behind you. You went straight to your garage. The overhead gaslight illuminated the myriad of maps laid out on your workbench only reminded you of the failure you had experienced when trying to find Negan. Lashing out, you swept your hand across the table, scattering the maps across the map.

Bracing your hands on the table, you struggled to keep it together. “I really need you,” you whispered to the empty room. A single tear dripped onto the old wood and you scrubbed the second from your cheek. Your knees sunk to the floor as you began to feel the loss of him again.

“He’s not dead,” you reminded yourself. “He’s out there.” Even as you encouraged yourself, Negan’s face remained behind your eyes. Negan being alive was the only thing that was keeping you going.

Sitting there on the floor of your garage, you thought back to a conversation you had during the war against the Saviors with the one and only Rick Grimes.

Eight Years Ago…

“Hey, Boss,” you said as you walked into Rick’s house.

“You don’t have to call me that,” Rick said with a small smile.

“Ah, well, it’s a force of habit. You are, in fact, our boss. One that I am more than willing to follow.”

“Well, thank you, (Y/N),” he said.

“So, what’s up?” you asked, hopping up on the counter of his kitchen.

“I need your advice on something,” he said.

“Is this about Dwight?” you asked. “Because if it is, then I have to tell you that I don’t trust the weasel, no matter what he told Daryl.”

“It’s not,” Rick said with a small frown. “It’s about Negan,” he said.

“What about him?”

“Carl thinks that he’s more than we think,” Rick said.

“More than a psychopath who murdered our friends?” you asked, not liking where this is going.

“Carl thinks we can reason with him.”

“And I think that the dinosaurs are going to come back,” you deadpanned. Rick gave you one of his looks, but you weren’t deterred by it. “Come on, Grimes, you don’t actually think that we can resolve all of this by a damn conversation, do you?”

“I want the killing to stop,” Rick said.

“I know, I know,” you said. “I just don’t want you to lose focus.”

“You think I should kill him?” Rick asked, but you paused. Taking a moment, you reviewed everything that had happened since the Satellite Station.

“I think,” you began, “that you should do whatever is necessary to protect our people.”

“What if that doesn’t include killing Negan?” Rick asked.

“Then it doesn’t,” you said with a shrug. “Look, I don’t know the man. I haven’t had the opportunity to actually speak to him or see what’s behind the cocky grin so I can’t speak on his character. I believe in a person’s actions and so far, Negan’s have been horrendous. Do I think that maybe one day he can be a decent person? Yeah, sure. I don’t think anyone is truly lost, but the future is a long ways away and we need to think about surviving now.”

Rick was quiet for a moment before he looked back up at you and nodded. He then reached out and gripped your forearm and you mirrored the movement. “Thanks, Shots,” Rick said, using Carl’s nickname for you.

“I’m always gonna be here, Rick. I ain’t never leaving you behind,” you promised. Rick smiled at you.

“I know,” he said. “You never leave anyone behind. That’s why I love you so much, kid.”

“Not a kid,” you reminded him.

“Shut up and take the compliment,” he said and then you pushed him back. Rick feigned surprised and then pushed you back. The two of you ended up wrestling in the kitchen, laughing the entire time. Regardless of what was to come, you would be by his side as one of his closest friends and that was all that mattered.

--------

A loud thud pulled you from your thoughts.

You waited, listening, and when you heard it again, you grabbed your sword and slipped out the side door, picking up a spare radio on the way.

Pausing out front of your house, you searched the darkness around you. Something felt off and it made your skin crawl. Drawing your blade from its scabbard, you began to walk along the sidewalk, checking around every corner you could find. Your heart was hammering in your chest, but your breath remained steady. You were trying to rationalize that it could have been anything. Maybe a stray animal had gotten in and couldn’t get out. However, there was a part of your brain that knew how ridiculous that was.

You never got this particular feeling unless it was for a good reason, or rather, a bad one.

Slipping in between the houses, you searched darkened windows, checking in on your fellow Alexandrians, but everything seemed to be okay. That is until you came across a specific house. You could hear dull thuds as if someone was redecorating at the odd hour.

Sneaking up to the front window, you peered into the dark living room. Suddenly, a pair of white eyes and a gaping jaw appeared at the window, startling you. As the freshly-turned Walker fought to get to you through the pane of glass, you noticed the slash mark on its throat. One that a very particularly large blade would make.

“Shit,” you swore and pulled your radio as you stumbled back from the house. “Gabriel?” you whispered into the radio as you tried to get your nerve back.

“What is it?” he asked, answering your call.

“Walkers, there are Walkers inside the walls,” you said, finally turning away from the house.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“Something’s wrong,” you whispered, looking around. It was then that you noticed a trail of fresh soil on the ground. If you hadn't been trained by the best tracker out there, you probably wouldn’t have noticed. However, the large boot prints in the soil only confirmed the fear in your mind. That fear turned to rage as your eyes began to scan for your target.

For Beta.

“(Y/N),” Gabriel said. “What is going on?” You went to answer him when you had a realization.

“Gamma,” you gasped as you took off running, letting the radio crash to the ground as you ignored Gabriel’s worried tone that crackled over the line. You pushed your legs harder to get to Michonne’s house as quickly as possible.

Throwing yourself down the cement steps, you burst into the jail that had its door broken down. When you beheld what was in front of you, however, you nearly crumbled to the ground. Instead of Gamma, you found Laura on the floor with blood across her face.

Sliding to her side, you grabbed for her face and neck, checking for a pulse. “Laura? Laura, wake up,” you begged. Her eyes opened weekly as she saw your face.

“(Y/N)?” she asked.

“I’m here,” you said, trying to wipe the blood from her face. Her blonde hair was soaked in her own blood as she struggled to stay awake. “It’s going to be okay,” you promised her. As you pulled back your hand, however, they were drenched in red.

“Beta,” she choked out as blood dripped from her lips. “Run,” she said, gripping at your shirt with weak fingers.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said to her as she kept staring into your eyes. “You’re not alone,” you whispered. Gripping her hands tight, you felt her trying to return the favor, but she was too weak. “Where is Gamma?” you asked her.

“Got her out,” Laura said. “Safe… I… Think…” she said just as a tear fell from her eye. “I, I can’t,” she struggled.

“Shh, don’t talk,” you said, trying to soothe her, but you didn’t have any more words of comfort to offer her. How could you tell her everything was going to be alright when he had done this?

“Eugene,” Laura sputtered, choking a bit. “Tell him, thank...you.”

“I will,” you promised as she reached for your face once more before her hand fell to her side and Laura drew her final breath. “No, no, no,” you cried as her pulse dwindled and then stopped altogether. “No!” you yelled, clutching her body to yours. It was as if the world stopped spinning. You knew that there wasn’t a guaranteed amount of time, you knew that and you had to finish it before she came back. There was a universal agreement across all the communities, nobody turned.

Pulling the knife from her belt, you quickly slipped it into the base of her skull, silencing her soul. As you pulled the blade, you fell into her again, hugging her close to you. Your tears mixed in with the dirt and blood on her skin as you clung to her, not ready to let go.

“I’m sorry,” you cried into her neck, holding onto her with dear life. “I’m so sorry.” As sorrow filled you, the anger began to boil over, nearly drowning you. Beta had done this. He had taken yet another person from you and probably enjoyed it too. Laura had been given a second chance after the war and he had stolen her life as if it meant nothing.

Gently placing her down onto the floor of the jail, you shut her eyes with your steady hand. Taking a deep breath, you got to your feet and gripped your sword tight. Looking down at Laura again, you felt your heart breaking, but you ignored the pain and channeled it into fury.

A loud crash came from above followed by a loud grunt. Turning from the body of your dead friend, you ran from the cell just to see Beta run from Michonne’s home, his knives in both his hands.

His large form was even more terrifying than you remembered. Daryl’s voice was in your head as you were reminded of what happened when Beta had fought him, but you weren’t Daryl and now, this was even more personal.

As Beta turned his focus to Rosita’s home, you attacked. Drawing a smaller knife from your boot, you reeled your arm back and threw with all your strength. The knife embedded itself into Beta’s shoulder, making him stumble from surprise. You ran at him with all the speed you had left in you.

Beta turned just as you raised your sword, aiming for his head. Beta ducked, parrying your blade with both of his. He knocked you back, but you returned with a strike aimed at his torso. Beta spun around, knocking you off balance, but you never stopped.

Trading blows back and forth, you finally had another opening and aimed for his throat. Beta blocked once again, leaning in close as your blades scraped against one another. Looking into his eyes, you didn’t show an ounce of fear, but recognition lit up in his eyes as he groaned against the pain in his shoulder.

“You,” he spat, his lips pulling back in a sneer.

“Yeah,” you said. “Me.” Beta roared in anger as he kicked at your stomach, sending you to the ground. Rolling to your feet, you slashed at his leg, cutting into the back of his thigh. Beta stumbled again but remained on his feet. “Did you get my message?” you asked, lowering yourself into a crouch.

He ran at you again, swinging his blades over your head. Ducking just in time, you avoided decapitation. “What did you do with Gamma?” you asked.

“Nothing,” Beta said and then braced himself. “Yet.”

As Beta stalked towards you, all you could think about was Jesus and Tara and Laura and everyone else they had taken from you.

Red encompassed your mind as Beta aimed for your heart. With a quick turn, you pivoted on your right foot, ducked under his arms, and brought your sword up along his back. Your blade bit into his flesh as the leather tore.

Beta yelled out in both pain and alarm as you drew your sword back. He whipped around, landing a blow to your head. You fell to the ground as stars danced in your vision. Beta kicked away your blade as it fell from your hand. Reaching down, he lifted you from the ground and got in your face.

“You are not worth death,” he spat in your face before throwing you against the curb. Your head hit hard and just before the darkness overwhelmed you, you swore you saw Beta smiling.

-------

Negan had no idea what Alpha was up to.

There were cryptic whispers around camp that led him to believe that Alpha had attacked Carol and the others, but he wasn’t sure of anything.

Then there was the Beta problem. Negan had no idea where the human Rottweiler had gone.

Alpha was across from him, staring into the fire and she looked to be waiting for something. Negan wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but whenever she was that calm, it was never good. Just as he was about to speak up and ask her what was going on, her attention snapped to the shadows as Beta finally reappeared.

Negan watched as the second-in-command arrived and he looked rough. Even in the dark, Negan could see that Beta was injured. If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t think the Terminator douchebag could get injured, let alone bad enough to warrant a limp.

“Beta,” Alpha greeted as she didn’t move from her spot. Beta stopped before her, kneeling on the leg that seemed to be the less injured one.

“Gamma has betrayed us,” Beta reported. He then noticed that Negan was there, but Alpha kept her attention on her second, not caring about who was listening.

“What happened?” Alpha asked, looking at the fresh blood.

“She was hiding,” Beta said. “I couldn’t find her. These people are protecting her.” Negan had to hand it to Aaron, the man sure did know how to make friends. Negan continued to listen.

“And the blood?” Alpha asked tilting her head to examine the wounds he had sustained. Her fingers threaded through the torn jacket and Negan could see the blood on her hands as she pulled it back. “Yours?” she asked, confused.

“Ambushed,” Beta responded.

“The archer is with Carol,” Alpha said. “Who else could have done this?” she asked. Clearly Alpha thought that Daryl was the only worthy opponent to go up against Beta, Negan thought. However, she had never seen Rosita when she went all “Mama Bear” and Negan hoped that he himself would never be on the other end of one of Espinosa's fists.

“Broadsword,” Beta bit out, the rage echoing out of him like steam on a train. At that one word, Negan’s blood ran cold. He tucked his hands under his legs before either of them could see the small tremor that was sneaking up on him. Negan fought to keep himself from swearing out loud as he put the pieces together.

You had attacked Beta and you had nearly defeated him.

“Are they alive?” Alpha asked casually.

“For now,” Beta said. “I have plans for them. That one, dies by my hand.” Alpha nodded to him and then dismissed him to get his injured taken care of.

“What do you know about this sword-wielder?” Alpha asked him. Negan met her eyes and then relaxed further into the ground, shrugging one of his shoulders. With a lazy look on his face he vaguely waved a hand.

Beta huffed and disappeared back into the camp. Negan watched after him, trying to keep it together. He knew that you had placed your sights on Beta, but now the man was turning his on you and that terrified Negan.

“Absolutely nothing.”

-------

When you woke up, you were in a somewhat familiar room.

An ache in the back of your head made you wince as you tried to sit up.

“I would take it easy if I were you.” Blinking, you turned towards the soft voice to see Enid standing over you. It was then that you realized you were in the medical trailer at Hilltop. “Here,” she said, reaching for your arm. Enid helped you sit up, placing a few pillows behind your back.

“What happened?” you asked, trying to get your mind to stop racing.

“Beta knocked you out pretty hard,” she said with a sigh. “You hit your head and you’ve been out for almost two days.”

“Two days?” you asked.

“Siddiq brought you here to keep you off Beta’s radar,” she explained.

“That won’t last long,” you said with another wince as you rubbed at your temples.

Everything from that night was coming back in waves and it was making you feel a bit nauseous. Emotions swelled in your chest as you remembered the rage you felt when attacking Beta and the sorrow and dread you felt as Laura died in your arms.

Beta had done all of that just to find Gamma. A stranger had brought death back to Alexandria and you now had lost someone who truly understood you.

“Laura’s dead,” you whispered.

“I know,” Enid said, reaching for your hand. You squeezed hers back as you sat in silence.

“Where is she?” you asked. “Where is Gamma?”

“Safe,” a new voice said as Michonne approached you. She was looking at you with concern but also relief.

“Good,” you said, nodding. If Gamma had been taken or killed, all those lives lost the night Beta stalked Alexandria would have been for nothing. “I’m glad you’re here,” you said to Michonne.

“We’re all here,” Judith’s voice piped up as she appeared behind her mother.

“Hey, you,” you said, reaching out a hand to her. Judith walked forward and took your hand in hers. “I almost got him, kid. I was pretty damn close,” you promised her. Judith nodded as Michonne placed her hands on her shoulders.

“There’s something else, (Y/N),” Michonne said.

“What’s wrong?”

“Daryl’s missing.” You fell back into your pillows at the news and you fought the urge to scream. You didn’t know how much more of this you could handle. It was starting to look as if Alpha may win and that made you want to beat her that much more.

--------

Holding a mask made from Walker skin was the last thing Negan expected to receive from Alpha.

"You've earned it," Alpha said as she stood next to him. Standing next to her, he could see the blood that streaked her clothing. Something had happened when she went off on her own hours before. Negan figured she had been in a fight, but he couldn’t be sure who she had gone up against.

He did know that it wasn’t you. Beta was someone who would be a challenge for you, but Negan had a feeling that if you got Alpha one on one, she wouldn’t be standing next to him right now. No, this was someone else. Trying not to think about any of it, he returned to what was in his hands.

"Why?" Negan asked, not liking the way the leathery skin felt against his calloused hands.

"You were right about Gamma," Alpha said. She then stepped forward and ran her hand down his arm. "She was the spy. You proved yourself to me."

"All I did was share my opinion," Negan pointed out as he met her eyes. Alpha was examining him and Negan knew what she wanted. His hand slipped into his pocket to rub along the marble, keeping his connection to you.

"You showed me that you want this. You are a crass man, but a smart one. The mask proves my loyalty to you as your words proved it to me."

"Well alright then," Negan said with a small smile. With a shake of his head, Negan pulled on the mask and secured it behind his head.

He could appreciate the irony, the act of putting on a mask when he was already wearing one. As soon as it was in place, Alpha reached up and ran her hands over his new face.

"Perfect," she whispered. Negan stared down, afraid of what he may have to do in order to keep his cover. He had done a lot of shitty things in his life, but sleeping with the enemy was not something he was eager to do, not when he still yearned for you and your touch.

The way that you lay your hands on his skin was as if you were searching for solidity kept him sane. He was your rock, grounding you into this world just as you were his. Without you, Negan wouldn't want to survive and he just hoped you hadn't lost that love you held for him because he sure hadn't.

“Since we are trading trade secrets and all,” Negan began, causing Alpha to stop looming over him. “I had another idea.”

“Go on,” she said.

“I know you are all about destroying everyone and proving you’re the alpha female. Though it’s not like you need to, you are the damn Alpha.”

“Your point?” she pressed.

“How about we get them to join us?” Negan offered. “You were right when you said that these places with their walls and doors don’t last very long. I’ve seen many kingdoms fall since this whole shit show started and trust me, it’s only a matter of time. However, we get them to see how much better the way we live is…” Negan splayed his hands. “I’m just saying it would be something to think about.”

Alpha was silent for a moment, thinking over his words. Negan was just hoping that she didn’t see the true intentions behind this sudden epiphany. The truth was, after Beta had admitted that you had done some serious damage, Negan was not eager for Alpha to exterminate you and your family.

“What did you have in mind?” Alpha asked finally. Adjusting the mask on his face, Negan grinned at her.

“I have some ideas.” Alpha raised her eyebrow at that but gestured for him to keep talking. “First, we’re gonna need a big ass tree.”

-------

Enid had finally cleared you and you were eager to get back on your feet.

Walking out into the bright sunshine, Hilltop was bustling around you. You felt as if you had the worst hangover in history, but you pushed on. Dianne was on watch, Alden was over at his blacksmithing station, and you could see Ezekiel over at Barrington speaking to Kelly who looked distraught.

Aaron spotted you then and jogged over. “Hey, you’re okay,” he said, grabbing you into a hug.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you said, pushing him back. “What happened while I was out?” you asked, gesturing to Kelly. Aaron sighed, running his hand through his curls.

“Alpha, she trapped us in this cave full of Walkers. Her entire horde was down there,” he said. “We managed to find the exit, but…”

“But what?” you pressed.

“Carol tried to take out the horde with some old dynamite,” he said. “The explosion caused part of the cave to collapse.” The look on Aaron’s face told you enough.

“Who?”

“Magna and Connie are trapped down there and we don’t know if they’re even alive,” he said. You hadn’t known Magna that well, but you liked her enough. However, Connie had become someone you turned to at times and you knew how much Daryl cared about her. Not to mention her sister who was her everything. This was too much after just losing Laura and now two more may be down.

“Are you okay?” you asked him.

“Not really,” he admitted. You took him back into your arms, hugging him tightly.

“Me neither,” you admitted, sinking into the embrace.

“Open the gates!” you heard Dianne yell from her spot up top. You and Aaron split apart then and with a look, you both took off towards the main gate.

You let out a breath of relief as you saw who was walking into Hilltop. Daryl and Lydia leaned on each other as the gates shut behind him. Daryl seemed dead on his feet as Lydia struggled with both of their weapons. You ran forward and grabbed the crossbow from her as Aaron took hold of Daryl.

“Daryl fought her,” Lydia said as she breathed heavily. Daryl’s leg was bleeding, and he looked as if he had been run over by the horse and the carriage. Michonne came running behind you, helping Lydia stay on her feet.

“You’re a moron,” you said to Daryl, grabbing at his face. “But I love you.” Daryl snorted and then you were taking his other arm and helping him to Enid. Lydia followed close by as Michonne carried her staff for her. “I’m sorry, Lydia,” you said to her. “I shouldn’t have asked you to go looking.”

“It was my decision,” Lydia defended. “I didn’t find him, but we have a new problem.” You, Aaron, Michonne, and Daryl all looked at her then.

“What is it?” Michonne asked. Lydia grimaced.

“My mother’s coming.”

TAGS: @lucillethings @cameronsails @stark-dreams @amaroho @thanossexual @yes-sir-hotchner @boom-bunny @delusionalteenagewhispers @scootankle @ritajammer21 @writteriguess @tea-atfive @jennydehavilland @waspyyy @yespleasejayhalstead @hoemadegrace @writingdeadangel @huffledor-able541 @pulplorrd @felicisimor

#the walking dead #walkerwords #twd imagines #the walking dead imagines #twd #negan imagine #reader insert #savior sessions #the walking dead imagine #twd imagine

65 notes · View notes

pathofcomet · 4 years

Text

and it’s just around the corner

fandom: stardew valley

pairing: sebastian/player (female)

summary: She’s a fool – she tries to tell herself. There’s nothing she can offer Sebastian that would make him stay in this village he so obviously loathes. She’s just dumb enough to have fallen for the man she cannot even bring herself to ask to love her back.

rating: explicit // word count: 25k // AO3

She cannot remember the farm per say, just the proof that she’s been there once: a dusty, yellowed photo of herself, smiling in a pink sundress under the shade of a gigantic oak, 4 years old and beaming. She can vaguely bring back the savour of cranberry jam on her tongue, the authentic, slightly sour taste that only meant home-made. She thinks they had a gray cat, and she can feel the smell of gasoline in her nose, from the long car ride there as a child. That’s all she remembers about her grandparents’ old farm; and anything of that lifestyle is completely lost upon her, or her memories of her grandpa. They haven’t been crazily close either: she was busy pursuing her education too far away to allow proper visits, and the phone signal failed the old man too much to allow even constant communication. When he died, they buried him in the city, next to his wife, and everything about the way he lived his life became hazy and forgotten in the lives of the living.

Which is probably why it is so hard to comprehend what she’s reading now, in her cubicle at work, defeated under her 16th time this month of overwork. Her grandpa was known for being eccentric, which is why she expected to see a card with hey, we all die in the end! or something written on it, and not the dreams of her childhood offered on a plate to her. She stares at the paper, reads and rereads it for 7 times before she’s convinced it’s actually real.

She’s touched at the care in his words, at the oozing affection on that piece of paper. It’s something that she didn’t know she was missing until now. A care sent across generations, to reach her – and when she feels like she needs it most. She doesn’t know if she should scream or cry or laugh.

She looks around: there are only a couple of other workers left in the office at the moment, in the late hours of the night. There’s delivery food all across the others’ empty desks, and a few of the girls switched their shoes, from heels to sneakers. And yet, as she stops, the clanking on the keyboard never ends around her, and the neon light remain buzzing above her, the static noise of her real life nightmare. The sigh coming from a co-worker several seats away is deafening in her ears. As she’s writing her resignation letter, for her boss to find on his desk at the first hour in the morning, she can’t help but notice how her vision shakes, how she can’t quite straighten her back under the pain of hours and hours of being hunched at a desk.

It’s not even the irony of it all, dying in a storm of unfair overworking while those above her wallow in money, that upsets her more. But rather, the way in which she cannot have any satisfaction out of it anymore. As a graduate, she thought she’d find happiness in a corporate job that pays well, but now the comfort of money means nothing when she doesn’t have the time to even spend it, and she can’t even recall what her hobbies are, let alone when’s the last time she did anything else but work, do house chores and sleep.

She cannot recall the last time she met up with some friends, visited new places or ordered online something else but a new pair of heels or a new shirt for work. Gods, now that she hit the brake on her wreck of a life, she can’t stop noticing how pathetic she’s been.

Her hands tremble as she signs the paper, as she tosses her meagre office belongings into her bag, as she pushes the elevator button. She’s already overthinking the decision, but it’s already made and she can only worry about what’s to be done next now. She’s 100% sure she’s not made for this, she has zero knowledge of how to take care of a farm and she still screams when she sees a spider in her apartment. But she’s tired, there’s a tiredness that never seems to let loose, and no matter how much she sleeps on Sundays, she wakes up feeling like she has her hands and feet tied. Even if to only rest for a while, and the whole ordeal would still have been worth it.

Sleep doesn’t come easily to her that night. She reads the letter over and over again, she measures the weight of the keys in her palms, she tries to put puzzle pieces together, from old photos she brings up from hidden boxes. Nothing tells her she made the right decision, though in her old photos, everyone looks so happy while on the farm. Maybe she didn’t even truly get to the end of her patience, just a bad day, maybe she still could have taken it for a while. After all, it’s not like she had that bad of a life. But then, it’s not like it was that good either. And once she started thinking of it, the idea of change became hauntingly tempting. The potential in this new place is infinite, and so, so terrifying.

But a change nonetheless.

She spends the next couple of weeks in a frenzy: selling most of her belongings, keeping only the strictly necessary. She keeps the pictures, of course. A few books, only those that she read during university and she felt like they changed her life, though she hasn’t revisited those stories since. Maybe she’ll finally have the time to, now. She sells or donates all her office clothes, expensive shirts and bags – all gone, because they remind her of some kind of work she never wants to do again in her life.

When she stops to count what’s left, looking at her near-empty apartment, two suitcases and a backpack put aside, she’s overwhelmed at how pointlessly she lived her life up until this point. She has nothing to show for all the efforts she’s made, and she can feel the skin all over her body itch with the realisation, itch for something else to do.

She doesn’t look back, as she’s returning the keys of her rented apartment. She has been paying expensively for the chance to live on her own in the big city, and there’s nothing but bitterness towards that idea anyway. She waits in the bus station with music playing at the highest volume, drowning out an incoming panic attack – as she’s struggling to count up to 10, reassure herself that she’s a grown fucking adult and that she can do something as easy as just moving someplace new.

Still, the scenarios roll in her mind, unperturbed, and she almost throws up thrice before she reaches her destination – and then she almost throws up again, as she’s watching the bus pull away, leaving her alone in the middle of nowhere. The sun is bright, but too bright and her clothes are sticking to her skin, even if it’s barely early spring, and the air is fresh. A fairy-tale start to her new adventure, and yet she feels like crying right then and there, a fain headache booming at her temples from all the anxiety she had to push away.

She’s already exhausted and it’s barely noon. She starts pulling at her suitcases, though the road makes it a tricky and tiring job. Then, just as she’s ready to take her first break, a hand grabs the handle, and she stares up in the face of a kindly looking old man.

Mayor Lewis; she still remembers the face, as he is the kind of person who probably always looked the same. They’ve last seen each other at her grandfather’s funeral, so there’s a bit of awkwardness hanging between the two of them, as she’s allowing him to help her with her luggage.

A redheaded woman is waiting for them in her truck, a bit of a distance away, and she helps them with her stuff. It’s easy to make conversation when friendly people are pushing it forward, and they seem way too enthusiastic about her presence. They don’t even comment about her sneakers, totally unfit for most of the roads in the town, or her outfit, that would rip or get dirty the second she’d encounter a field.

She already has a room prepared at Lewis’ place, there’s no way her old house can offer her proper living conditions just yet. That’s not a jab directed at her, rather at the passing of time and the overgrown state of her courtyard. But there’s nothing mean behind their comments, and they’re even offering all the help they can.

She’s trying to come up with a list of things that she might need, but Robin is already writing one of her own.

“She’s our architect,” Lewis whispers, winking at her in secrecy.

It’s weird and scary and she doesn’t know how to feel about it. Back in the city, she could have crumbled on the sidewalk and nobody would have cared. Here, it seems everyone jumps at the chance to do just that, help and care, and she’s terrified out of her skin. Her thanks are muffled by the weird knot in her throat. When balancing things out in her head, there’s nothing she can give them in equal measures.

The key in her hand feels foreign, but yet it’s that thing that grounds her to the moment, doesn’t let her slip away in that part of her brain that makes her forget things even happened. The house is, of course, a disaster, though someone had the good thinking of covering the furniture. The place is small, and it needs a good dusting, maybe even a new coat of paint. Robin, by her side, is still doing her job.

“Is there anything you want in particular?”

“No, not really. I don’t think so?”

She’s lost and overwhelmed. She’d like to just sit somewhere and start unpacking, maybe go and switch all of her things again actually, because there’s no way she can fit in with these people. But Lewis’ arm is around her shoulder, urging her back the way they came, promising her his special vegetable mix and green tea.

Once finally out of his sight, and comfortably settled in his extra bedroom, she squeezes a pillow close to her chest, hiding her face in it, and starts crying. She sobs – for the grandparents she didn’t properly appreciate while alive, that still left her with so much. For the chance that not many have to switch things around. For the state in which the farm is, and the immense effort she’ll have to put in building it back together. For the pain in her arms, the burn so unfamiliar that it must be only the sign of something new. She’s overwhelmed and scared, and hours pass before she finally falls asleep,

The next morning, she refuses even the breakfast, and immediately heads towards her place, luggage in tow. Mayor Lewis promised he’ll solve the problem of electricity and water running back to the place, so at least she can forget the administrative part.

She greets everyone she passes by, because otherwise the staring just gets too unbearable, and though they’re curious, they also remain polite too. But her courtyard and house are truly disastrous. She’s glad it’s still so early in the year, so the weeds didn’t grow yet on the path towards her door, so at least she can focus on dusting off the room, polishing the floor. She unpacks with nostalgic music blasting from her phone: plates in one drawer, her clothes in the other two. She builds herself a nightstand out of all the books she brought with her, and she washes the curtains by hand, letting them dry out in the sun.

She goes to the town for bedsheets and even more cleaning products, buys a basil plant for the windowsill. The place is small, smaller even than her city apartment, and she has nothing of her own to properly decorate it with, give it a specific charm, so she allows herself to get lost between the small isles of the store, and pick whatever piques her fancy. But this is fine, she thinks. This is, after all, the true definition of a new start.

She watches the sun set from her porch – she thinks she’d like an armchair for the place, it’d make a lovely reading pace if it’s not rainy, and there’s a soft lull from the TV inside, where the weather prognosis for the next day rattles on.

She finds grandpa’s old gardening books, and she starts reading them. She cleans up a small portion of the land, plants some seeds she picked based on Pierre’s recommendations. Gathers wood from the end of the forest that runs almost up to her house, practices splitting it in smaller branches, that she can carry and gather in the small tool shed, for the winter.

During the first night that it rains, she opens her door to a stray, lost dog. She hugs him close to her all through the night, as he whimpers and warms up – and in the morning she names him Max, and buys him dog food and a colourful bowl. She stops feeling so alone, so lost, a purpose forming, even though she can’t quite name it.

When too many days pass with her cooped only at her place, letters and requests for visits start pouring in her mailbox. Sometimes mayor Lewis comes pick her himself, walking around the town with her, stopping to present her to any villager they encounter. She feels like a circus freak being paraded around like this, but she smiles, wonders if Max is getting bored at home or if she could walk through the forest in search of some fruits.

***

Then, when the weather prognosis tells of many sunny days in a row, Robin shows up at her doorsteps, can of paint in one hand, brushes in the other – and her son behind her, to help her out.

She watches him, fiddling on the spot, looking like he certainly doesn’t want to be here and she smiles. Well, that’s at least a feeling that she can relate to, even when in her bed after a tiring day, she still sometimes yearns for everything that this place is not. Max helps. In this case as well, as he runs to the door and immediately jumps on him.

“Max, no!” she chides, though he settles calmly on panting up at the man for pats. Luckily, he hasn’t slammed him to the ground, as he tends to do with her, but that’s still no proper way of greeting strangers. “I’m so sorry…”

“Sebastian,” he says. “There’s no problem, really.” He’s scratching the dog between his ears, absentmindedly looking in through the door, at the small place she now calls home. There’s nothing much in there, but she finds herself growing protective over it anyway, at his gaze.

Max, the traitor, is now cuddled down at his feet. From the side, Robin laughs.

Her and Sebastian move the furniture, as Robin tapes newspaper on the wooden floor. She prepares fresh lemonade for her visitors and helpers before they start painting, and she takes a short break just to water her crops. They do the work in silence, mostly, just her phone turned on to fill up the space – and without mayor Lewis’ fast mouth, she isn’t certain what she could possibly talk about. From time to time, Robin asks Sebastian something – regarding his sister, or some things she asked him about before, which sounds a lot like nagging so she prefers to stay out of it.

She thanks them many, many times before they leave for the day. Especially since it was the weekend, and she’s sure they just threw away a perfectly free day on helping her put together her house. She just feels more and more indebted towards all these people. Even if Sebastian didn’t look her way even once.

***

She starts going to the local library, borrowing books and learning more and more things about the farm. She accepts the quests from the bulletin board, and in exchange she asks for fishing tips or some town history. She starts taking evening walks, with Max, picking up acorns. She gets stronger and better at all the farm work. She places various orders, starting to gather syrup from the trees near her house – and one lazy day, she makes jam, that she then sells.

She starts counting the money, making plans for the farm. She buys two chickens, and the one day when no one in the town sees her, it is because she struggled all the time to build a fence so that they won’t step all over crops and no fox would reach them during the night.

***

Everyone is friendly, showing up at her door with gifts for her new move: a handmade mug from Leah, a beautiful seashell from Elliot, an actual functional first aid kit from Harvey. She suspects the mayor’s doing behind all these kindness acts, and yet it’s with a reverent kind of gestures that she finds a place for all of them in her small house. She starts adding some kind of adjectives to this cast of characters that enter her life.

But with Sebastian, something’s different. She doesn’t know what makes her notice him again; that something that made him stand out from the mass of people she met in the past few weeks. Maybe it’s not even just one single thing, but a mix: like how he is the son of the kindest lady, paler than the farmers or football players, how he doesn’t want to stand out at all, how she has to go out of her way to find him, instead of the other way around.

Most of all, it’s the desperation she can feel off of him. There’s a force in him that cannot make peace with how things are for him at the moment – and it’s the familiarity of it that pulls her in, lets her gaze linger on him for a bit longer, makes her ask about him while smiling in the most innocent way, sipping tea in Robin’s office.

***

They’re not that different; she’s easy to fit in the village life, mostly because she’s so pliable for others, knowing the memory of her grandpa is attached to her as well. She sometimes feels like the older residents of the town look through her, instead of directly at her, and see the ghost of someone else they used to know. And the days pass, things fall together, and yet in her chest, there’s a clock ticking away, counting down the time spent here, because if she was looking for something like belonging, it seems this town buried it away with her grandpa, and things don’t seem that different from how they used to be. She just has dirtier nails now, and some decaying make-up skills.

So she never visits without a purpose, doesn’t get too friendly with most of them. She spends days in a row on her farm, ploughing the land, watering the plants, feeding the animals. Task upon task, she goes through all of them, grateful for how it’s silencing her mind, giving her the time and space to breathe. If she finishes early, she likes to go fishing, the breeze nice against her sun-warmed face, especially as the dusk approaches.

It’s the simplicity of life that lulls her into wanting something more, eventually, tentatively. She visits Robin, as she’s closing the store, so they can share some fresh-picked fruits while watching the sun set. She meets up with the mayor for chess during Sundays, stories of two best friends half a century ago embedded in every sigh, and she wins every time and that’s how she knows he just lets her. When she passes by to drop something for the museum, she spends the remaining afternoon in the library, browsing the collection, reading for the children fresh out of classes that ask her to do so.

But if anyone in Pelican Town would be asked, they wouldn’t be able to tell people that much about their newest villager. In truth, even for those closest to her, there’s an aura of mystery: whatever her life was before, she doesn’t go into details. Whatever and for however long she might remain in their lives, she doesn’t say.

To Sebastian, that’s what makes it easy. He doesn’t expect her to tell him anything, since she’s not pressing her curiosities either. Probably why she opens so willingly, why she creates a routine around his. She always stops at the edge of the river, where she knows she’ll find him in the evenings. They never talk for long, or of important things – but she thinks, the magic is in staring together at the same scenery, feeling much of the same things. After the third time, she asks for a cigarette from him, and she winks at him when he looks just a tiny bit surprised.

This is how it begins. The rest she almost doesn’t even notice.

***

She remembers the Egg festival; she’s sure she took part in one of the hunts back when she was little, though the details are foggy in her mind. She doesn’t remember any of the villagers, but she’s been a very shy child, and not even the promise of bunny chocolates was enough to persuade her back then.

Still, she worked for so long in a corporation, at this point the spirit of competition is embedded into her. She wakes up early, and she wears one of her dresses from before, even if she has to match it with grandpa’s old jeans jacket. She even puts on make-up, manages to water her plants as well before she’s walking towards the town.

She officially meets Maru and Demetrius, as they’ve been so busy during her past visits. Marnie clasps her in-between her arms, exclaims how pretty she is when not trying to imitate her house’s looks, and loudly kisses both her cheeks. Gus waves at her, and keeps presenting various plates to her, and by the time she can excuse herself, she’s glad she hasn’t eaten any breakfast. Jas and Vincent come at her yelling tag! and she spends the next half an hour running around, followed by the sometimes annoyed, sometimes happy smiles of the other villagers.

She buys strawberry seeds, more on a whim, because she was craving for some, and gets herself a cute bunny plush, since she’d had trouble sleeping, and she’s sure Max would appreciate her hugging a non-living thing more. She feels like she fits more, now, that she’s surrounded by everyone else, and she realizes that she knows them all, that they know her back – and there’s no outright hostility.

She greets Sebastian, and meets his friends. She compliments Abigail’s hair, Sam compliments her instead. He’s friendly and outgoing, compared to the other two in his group, but she notices Sebastian’s fleeting smile at the toy in her arms, so she straightens her back even more.

As soon as mayor Lewis starts his announcement, Abigail immediately seems more excited, especially since she is presented as the winner for the past decade. However, by the time the day ends, Pelican Town has a new Egg Hunt winner.

The straw hat doesn’t fit her outfit, and it’s not quite yet a necessary accessory, but she’s beaming at every villager that comes to congratulate her, even if she’s already so old and she shouldn’t be so happy about beating a few 10 year olds. Even Abigail is a good sports and promises she will beat her next year.

Next year – she wonders if she’ll even be around for that long. Her saved-up money is slowly trickling down, as she keeps buying things that she needs, and she has no idea yet how much profit she’ll be able to make at harvest time. She feels better knowing her doubts don’t show to others.

She walks part of her way home with Robin and her family. Maru is happily telling her something about her research, though it goes over her head and she doesn’t understand much of what’s going on. Demetrius and Robin walk several steps ahead, arms linked, and it’s a sweet sight to see, that they can be so close even after so many years.

Then, before she takes her turn to her farm, after everyone else said their goodbyes, Sebastian looks up at her.

“It suits you,” he says, so low she almost misses it, nodding his head at her hat. She blushes under the street lamp, but he’s already turned his back on her and he can’t see, so she can go on her own way and pretend it never happened.

***

She starts going to the mines, even if everyone tells her she better not. But she needs better tools, more resources and something to do on rainy days, so she goes anyway. She comes out late into the night, dirtier than she’s ever been, spider cobwebs stuck in her hair, but her backpack heavy.

The next morning, she struggles packing some presents for Robin and Lewis, for all the help they’ve showered her in ever since she moved. She doesn’t have much to offer, some syrup and a jar of jam, a few eggs. But as she’s going into town, there are three presents that she’s carefully carrying around in her bag.

She stops by Lewis first, sits on his stairs with a steaming mug of coffee between her hands, as he waters his small garden – and they chat about the weather, the fishing days that Lewis has programmed, their favourite Stardrop meal. The days get warmer and warmer, as they’re slowly rolling towards summer, and she’s feeling peaceful, listening to the mayor’s chatter, his grunts as he digs around, his yelling when she offers to help him around.

She drops by Clint to let him examine some of the stuff she found underground, and by the time she reaches Robin’s place, the older woman is taking her lunch break. She’s exclaiming happily at the gift, and invites her to stay for lunch. She helps her with the plates, and while Robin goes to gather the rest of her family, she sends her to get Sebastian.

She has to breathe deep, count to 10, before she has the courage to knock at his door. There’s the sound of something tumbling to the floor, and she winces; more shuffling, and the door finally opens to reveal a somewhat sleepy looking Sebastian. It looks like he hasn’t brushed his hair yet, as it sticks out in odd directions, and in his own space, he’s wearing some old, washed-out t-shirt that is several sizes too large, and sweats. She stares at him, entirely endeared, but also deeply aware that there’s a line she has just crossed by seeing him like this – and she’s not sure she was allowed to.

“Hi,” she says, at the same time he says “Shit”, closing the door on her. She opens and closes her mouth several times, trying to come up with a proper way to reach to this, but her mind coming up blank.

Eventually, she lamely says “Robin said lunch’s ready,” before she leaves for the kitchen again. Demetrius is already seated at the table, looking up at his wife like she hung up the sun on the sky. Maru refuses to show up, as she’s too invested in her research, but there’s the slam of a door from downstairs, and Sebastian eventually shows up, just as his step-father takes his first bite from his plate of spaghetti. Their guest has not yet picked up her fork.

Sebastian is now wearing actual jeans, and his hair looks a bit more tamed. He sits next to her, and the four of them eat in relative silence, though she’s obsessively thinking of her knee, against Sebastian’s, under the table and she wants to fucking swear at herself, for acting like a fucking cowardly high-schooler.

“So, why did you move to Pelican Town?” Demetrius asks her, in the end. She notices him wincing immediately after the dull thud from under the table, and she imagines that was Robin kicking him from asking a question that no one had dared poise to her until now.

She finishes chewing the food in her mouth, swallowing a bit more painful.

“I needed a change,” she says eventually, entirely too vague.

“From? You should tell Sebastian about your city experience, because he’s obsessed with leaving the town.”

There’s a disapproving tone in his voice that makes her wince, but her head snaps up at Sebastian, who looks both entirely annoyed and disappointed. She’d like to press her finger to the frown now so obvious on his forehead.

“Really?” she mumbles lamely instead. Sebastian’s now looking at her, and although across the table his parents are bickering with each other in low whispers, he doesn’t break the eye contact. He just nods at her question, grabs another bite of food – the words won’t make it any better.

She always thought that the people in this town are happy to live here, heck even she’s trying to understand the charm of the place and why her grandpa never left it. She always thought that if there is someone to leave it, that’d be her, in an example of another of her life’s failures. But here’s Sebastian, burning with a yearning for a city just as hers to leave it was.

He takes her back home, assuring her that his lunch break is long enough to allow him to do that. They’re walking side by side in companionable silence. Sebastian, unlike his father, doesn’t ask her anything, so when they reach her property, she hands him her last package.

“Can I?” he asks, a hand already tugging at the ribbon, and she smiles at him. Inside, there’s an assortment of minerals: quartz, obsidians. She’s found them during her time in the mines, and the only thing she somewhat remembers from her dialogue with Maru is that her brother loves this stuff.

“What’s this for?” he says, voice a little chocked, laughing at the end, embarrassed and overwhelmed.

“Thanks for that day,” she says. Then, more unsure… “And good luck for the future?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

She’s already turned around on her feet, a hand up in the air in goodbye.

The next morning, even if Sebastian never eats breakfast, he makes toast and eats it with strawberry jam, from a jar cutely decorated in stickers, where in cursive, their newest villager wrote for Robin and family <3.

***

She goes to JojaMart to buy an electric kettle; she can’t quite yet afford to get her kitchen built in, so she’s been eating at the Stardrop Saloon or lived on oatmeal and salads. But the mornings are dreadful with instant coffee and cold tap water, so she’s finally investing in something to make her life a bit better. This lifestyle reminds her of being a student in the dorms, and it’s not something she thought she’ll ever return to.

Sam looks around for his managers, and when there’s none around, he stops next to her and they chat by the vegetable stall. She’s frowning at the price, way higher than what they can find in the town and what she sells her own products for.

“Capitalism,” Sam says brightly, tugging at his employee lanyard, and she laughs at him.

“Oh, trust me, I know all about that.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at her, which makes her snort. Shane, his co-worker, turns to stare at them, but he’s not telling them on, so she moves one step closer to him.

“I’ve worked in customer care for Joja Corporation.”

Sam mimics throwing up, turning serious again only when she’s elbowing his side. She’s painfully aware of all the cameras in the store, after all this time away from anything of the sorts.

“But for real, you’re way better in Pelican Town,” he says, even if she’s not yet quite convinced.

But he doesn’t continue pressing the matter. Instead, Sam invites her the next Friday for an evening at the Saloon, where him, Sebastian and Abigail are supposed to play live a few of their songs. She clasps her hands together, and agrees immediately. She used to love this kind of thing: but it’s been so long since she allowed herself to take an evening off, both in her life back in the city, and the life here.

***

She’s already a regular, so Emily nowadays greets her with a hug. Though this time she whistles suggestively at her outfit. Since it’s supposed to be a more special night, she chose a low cut blouse to go with skinny jeans, and she’s no more a formless body buried under work clothes. The only make-up is a very dark lipstick. Her… friends, she supposes, are already on the side, tuning their instruments. Sam grins at her, waving her at the table Gus saved up for them, where he ordered pizza for everyone.

They’re not playing for a long time, maybe half an hour, but by the end, everyone is loudly clapping at their performance. She’s the only one whooping, and Sam is loudly laughing at her embarrassed grin afterwards, runs to fall into her waiting arms and twirls her around in the air, feet not touching the floor.

“Who knew our biggest fan would be you?” he says, helping her pat her hair pack into place.

“I did. I mean, your band has Abigail.”

The girl in questions frowns a bit at her, suspicious that it’s less of a compliment than she tried to make it, turns on her feet as she moves to the music box, tosses a coin in and picks a song. It takes a few seconds for her choice to start loudly booming in the saloon, but as soon as she does, she moves to grab at Sebastian’s arm, dragging him to the dancefloor, though he looks like he’s a lamb taken to sacrifice.

Sam laughs at the two of them, then turns back to his new friend.

“Do you think these two will ever hook up?”

She chokes on the slice of pizza that she’s eating, punching at her chest so she can breathe again. Someone slides in the chair next to her to the table, a hand slapping her hard on the back until she can breathe properly again. Then, frowning, she turns towards the newcomer, because she can’t bear looking at Sebastian and Abigail, together, dancing. She doesn’t think she can look at them without imagining them doing exactly what Sam asked her about, and it’s a shaming thought that she burns down. Shane, the one sitting next to her now, has already picked a slice of his own from their order, and nodded in greetings at Sam.

Sam leaves to talk with Penny, spending enough time as it is in Shane’s company, so Shane moves even closer to her, so he can be heard over the loud music. He’s a bit of an asshole, as he’s looking nowhere else but at her cleavage and the skin she’s showing with her choice of clothes. He’s not even trying to hide it, licking his lips, speaking without even trying to lift his eyes.

“Didn’t know the sunshine and the emo buy are hiding such a beauty between themselves,” he says, snaking an arm around her waist, shoving the second pint of beer he arrived with in her direction. He already smells like the stuff though, which means he’s at least tipsy, if not outright drunk yet. There’s offense in the way he said those nicknames, horrible on their own as well, but she’s sitting between the wall and his body and he’s a man showing interest in her, clearly going out of his way to make it obvious.

She takes several big gulps from her beer, and then turns towards him, smiling. He can’t tell it is strained.

“Well, I’m here now,” she says, and the hand around her squeezes in response. She lets him talk, mostly shit about the town, then shit about himself, and she keeps drinking and drinking, glass after glass of alcohol, because then at least she doesn’t have to reply. In the dark, they must look pretty cosy to the others, because no one else returns to the table – and by the time she remembers she is supposed to have friends around, and looks around for them, her vision is unfocused and she can’t make out the shapes and figures all around.

But she can notice the slightly grown stubble on Shane, how he’s now so, so close to her, his lips brushing against her ear each time he tells her something. She feels like she’s about to suffocate. But he tells her about how beautiful she is, how hard he makes her – and he guides her hand to his pants, where she indeed can feel her effect, and it’s a surge of pleasure and power. She squeezes him through his pants, and he groans in her ear. Her nipples perk up. And then his lips move closer, to her neck, where his tongue is lapping at her skin, sucking against the space. She feels hot all over, in a way that she doesn’t know if she likes or not. His other hand is now fondling with her breasts through her blouse, and she gasps – which only makes him to go at it harder. His mouth finds her, his tongue moving against hers immediately. She’s lost in time, doesn’t know for how long he does it – her body becoming lighter and lighter with each swipe of his saliva against her lips.

Then, a cough from behind Shane. She snaps out of her daze, looks up. Makes eye contact with Sebastian, which feels as effective as a cold shower to her fogged mind. She yanks Shane’s hands off her, but he’s unbothered, turns to look at Sebastian with something like disgust and boredom.

“Can we help you?” Shane says. She hates how the word we sounds from his mouth.

Sebastian doesn’t bother to even look at the drunk guy, instead addressing her only.

“Do you want to go home? The others left already, but it’s getting pretty late…” He stops to stare at Shane, and she wordlessly nods at him. He starts moving instantly, shoving Shane away so he can grab her wrist and help her out of her chair. She needs a few seconds to stabilize herself on her feet, stop the dizzying headache that hit her at the sudden movement.

“Come on, man, what do you think you’re doing?” Shane asks, though he also has troubles standing on his own feet. He makes do with leaning against the table, doing his best to look as menacing as possible.

In his arms, she shudders at the sound of his voice, clutches her fingers around Sebastian’s leather jacket. He doesn’t move away, but he doesn’t want to touch her either, so he just stands still.

“She’s coming with me,” is all he says, and when he starts towards the door, she follows silently. He offers her jacket, which he picked up earlier, before checking on her, and she hangs her head even lower in shame. The cold, outside air is quickly sobering her up, and she really can’t believe she lost herself, just as if she were a college freshman. She burns with embarrassment.

Once out, Sebastian moves a bit away from her, offering her space, though he always extends an arm in her direction when she stumbles on both existent and imaginary obstacles. The silence now is excruciating.

“Say something,” she croaks, her throat hurting from all the alcohol.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is soft, and he stops, looks at her for the first time since the start of all this situation. She knows she probably looks like a mess, lipstick smeared all around her mouth, clothes hanging awkwardly, but his eyes just search hers. She suddenly feels like crying. He must see it too, because he’s moving closer to her.

“Can I-” he tries, sighs, moves a hand through his hair in frustration. “Can I touch you?”

She nods, but he doesn’t move.

“I’ll need verbal confirmation.”

“Yes.”

She’s outright staring at him now, as he makes his way to her, cups her face in between his hands. His fingers are cold against her flushed skin, but it grounds her to the moment. Sebastian’s eyes are moving now, across her face: stop at her jaw, her neck, where Shane sucked painful love bites against her skin, visible even only in the light coming from the street lamps. He hesitates before moving his gaze downwards, where similar marks were left by his fingers against her tits. She feels like used goods, even if there is no judgement from Sebastian.

“Did you want that?” he asks again, sounding deadly serious, so she’s trying to think equally as seriously about his question. It’s hard, her thoughts all jumbled up, a soft kind of edge to everything going on in her head.

“I don’t know,” she answers finally, her head pressing more firmly against his palm. Sebastian’s thumbs are now moving softly against her jaw, and she wants to purr, just like a cat, maybe hang on to him for more of his warmth.

“God,” he says, and it sounds like a swearword. He unglues himself from her, extends an arm that she gracefully takes as they continue on the road to her house. He doesn’t say anything more until they arrive on her porch, though he looks like he’s thinking very hard. She’d like to press her finger to the frown on his forehead.

Max is happily snoring on the warm ground, and she lets go of Sebastian to run the short distance to her dog. She goes on her knees, grabs Max’s head in her hands and coos at him like she would to a baby, talks lovesick nonsense to the dog, pats him all over.

Her voice sounds fucking cute, Sebastian thinks, but instead he fishes something from the pockets of his jacket, bends down so he can press it in her palms. She immediately turns to look at him, eyes big and questioning.

“Take those in the morning, okay? You’ll need them,” is all he says, raising a hand and waving it in a goodbye.

***

Sebastian is right. She wakes two hours later, empties all the contents of her stomach, tears burning at her eyes, and when she wakes again, she thanks all the gods that outside it is raining, because she only gets up to get a glass of water and swallow the pills. Her head is killing her, and her heart aches in embarrassment at the way she acted. She hangs between screaming out in frustration at her own self and complaining about being hangover the whole day, hating herself so, so very much.

She still shoots Sebastian a text, thanking him for taking care of her, in so many ways, the night before. He leaves her on read.

For the next week, she busies herself with work on the farm. She makes another batch of jam jars, which she sends to Lewis for selling. She plants a new tree sapling, harvests strawberries, even builds an ugly-looking scarecrow out of an old broom. She cuts down wood, saves up stacks of it for when she’ll eventually afford Robin’s services. She goes in the mines, once or twice.

Then one of Lewis’ invitations is waiting in her mailbox, for another festival. Spring is coming to an end, already a sweeter, warmer breeze in the air, so the whole town is to celebrate the exact thing.

***

But Pelican Town is a small place, and so it never forgets gossip too easily. On that evening, enough pairs of eyes saw her fumbling in the dark with Shane, and so enough pairs of eyes are now watching her suspiciously as she greets the mayor. She’s wearing some city dress again, though more modest, and ribbons in her hair. She’s forcing herself to smile at everyone she encounters, trying not to seem so affected by the outright cold shoulder.

Sam still greets her, though, grabbing her in his arms.

“Oh, handsome!” she says, and laughs when he’s looking around, to check if anyone else heard her. But he is wearing a suit, his hair is gelled down and he smells like his mother. His eyes are searching hers though, and she thinks Sebastian might have said something to his friend. But thankfully Sam mentions nothing.

She looks behind him, at Sebastian, dressed in a costume as well. Her heart starts beating faster in her chest; his hair is pushed back, and his forehead is now uncovered. He sits relaxed, his hands in his pockets, like he doesn’t really want to be there and she hasn’t seen someone look that heartbreakingly gorgeous.

“You too,” she says. Sebastian raises an eyebrow at her. “Look good, I mean,” she clarifies, and she clears her throat before the awkwardness chokes her.

It’s a big understatement, but it’s the best she can do right now. There’s a small smile that she gets in reply. On the other side of the field, by Robin’s side, Abigail, Penny and Maru look absolutely stunning in their festival dresses, with the flower crowns on top of their heads. They’re laughing at one of Abigail’s stories, and they’re just beautiful and young and entirely enrapturing. She wonders if she didn’t fuck it up so badly earlier, she would have been invited to be one of them.

This time around, there’s not as much mingling with the people as earlier in the season; people are a bit warier, though she supposes she deserves it. She’s busy setting down a mat under a blossoming tree, preparing some kind of picnic and viewing spot at the same time.

“You look beautiful,” she hears from behind her, and she turns around to find Shane. A bit behind him, Marnie is engaged in a conversation with the mayor, and by his side, there’s Jas, who immediately shoves her sandals away so she can step on her mat and sit next to her.

She offers her tea and strawberries, places her own hat on top of the child’s head to protect her from the sun, who squeals in delight that she can show off the winning prize of the egg hunt. Then, she turns back to Shane:

“Is she your daughter?”

“Gods, no. She’s my goddaughter.”

She sighs, relieved a bit. In the morning, Shane looks just scruffy, some kind of sober, but his face is still red and puffy, sign of alcoholism. She knows Jas lives with him and Marnie, and it can’t be a good environment for a child, but she’s heard the rumours that he’s not that much at home anyway. She’s worrying for the young girl, but she also trusts Marnie to handle the subject, not really her place to say anything anyway.

Shane moves closer, his hand grabbing the end of the scarf she’s wearing around her neck, tugging so it comes undone between his fingers. She gasps, palm gluing to the skin there, reaching out for him.

“Give it back,” she all but growls it out, eyes frantically looking around, hoping no one is actually looking their way, since everyone is focused on preparing for the dance.

“I did that, right?” he asks, finally stopping, and she takes back her scarf, hangs her head low, so that her hair can cover her movement, as she ties it back in place.

“Yes, you fucking asshole,” she spits, but doesn’t move away from him.

“I was honest, you know. About you looking beautiful. Then and now too.”

“Thank you,” she says, and stays in place even as Shane gets closer to her. He’s also dressed up, wearing an actual shirt and everything, his jaw freshly shaven. He even looks somewhat attractive, and just like last time, she’s grateful for the attention. Back in Zuzu City, no one bothers with any kind of dating, no one bothers to notice someone else at all – no sweet lies, no prelude, just a dick and a cunt. So this feels new and flattering at the same time.

She sits down on her mat, reluctantly serves Shane too with some of her freshly picked strawberries. Jas moved over to Vincent and Jodi, her hands carefully holding on to the hat that’s still a bit too big for her, so it’s only the two of them in this corner. The music can’t start soon enough, because she can feel stray eyes looking to them.

The dance starts, and she watches, transfixed as the pairs walk towards each other, meeting in the middle in an embrace. Almost immediately the dresses flutter in the air, twirling. There’s an admiring exclamation from somewhere in the crowd, Jas happily clapping along to the rhythm. She looks at Sam, all but drinking up Penny’s laughing face. She looks at Abigail, tightly holding on to Sebastian’s shoulders. She looks at her friends dancing with the girls they have a crush on, and something in her chest rips apart.

“Hey,” Shane says. “Wanna get out of here?”

She nods wordlessly, and he takes her hand. No one looks at them, as they discreetly make their way behind everyone else. Once out the field, Shane breaks into a run through the woods. They stop in a clearing, both breathing hard from their run, and Shane grins at her, before straightening his back, walking purposefully her way and deciding to kiss her. It’s hard and rough, much like he’s been handling her until now too, but she still moans.

His hands are already moving at pulling his belt apart, and he takes her hands and moves them towards his dick.

“Come on, play with it,” he whispers breathlessly, as he’s pulling apart her scarf for a second time today, mouth finding the tender skin, reinforcing the fading marks. She’s feeling needy herself, she’d like him to shove down her panties and eat her out, but she makes do with moving her legs one against the other, seeking some kind of friction, as her hands are moving from his tip towards his balls, slower at the beginning, and faster once he starts grunting in her ear, pumping into her hands.

Then, he grabs at her hair, and she has to bite her tongue to stop from yelping.

“On your knees,” he says, already pushing his weight on her shoulders, and more or less willingly, she gets to the ground. The uneven dirt hurts her skin, and yet she has to ignore it, because Shane is already guiding his dick with his hands towards her lips. She forces herself to open her mouth, hopes he’ll better get down to do the same thing for her.

Her mouth is warm, and she’s fucking good at what she’s doing, sucking hard and taking him all in, like a good bitch, even if tears are forming at the corner of her eyes and her throat is burning. He pulls out, just to slam, hard, back inside her wet, welcoming hole – and in just three shoves, he comes undone, half coming in her mouth, half out just so he can have his fantasy of his cum leaking on her face.

Her dress is stained, and almost all her arousal is out of her. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, presses a palm against the painful strain in her jaw. Shane hurries to put his now flailing dick back inside his pants, and he’s not helping her back up.

“Gotta go,” he says, and he’s patting down his pants, where she held onto and left some creasing.

“What?” she asks, suddenly annoyed. “What about me?”

“Solve it yourself, princess.”

He starts walking away. She screams after him.

“Oh, fuck you!”

“My pleasure, next time!” he shouts back, but he doesn’t stop, as he’s making his way back towards the festival.

She shoves the middle finger up in the air, stomping her feet at the same time, shrieking.

“You fucking asshole!”

He chuckles at her tantrum, but he’s spent and satisfied, while she’s there frustrated and fucked over, so he’s not bothering to take her too seriously.

There’s no way she can go back there without everyone else figuring out exactly what she’s been up to. Of course, Shane looks no different than his usual, maybe he’s even surrounded by some post-orgasm glow, but there’s some bleeding from one of her knees, his now dry cum on the front of her dress, and her hair is nothing but a mess. She can’t believe how fucking stupid she can be, and how she fell again in the same old game of “I give you some attention, you give me some sex” that she’s been playing for ages now. It seems like habits don’t change, no matter if she’s in Zuzu City or Pelican Town.

And for what? Just because she felt lonely and jealous, because she felt like no matter how much she’ll try, she’ll never be anything but a passing fancy to these people that know each other inside out?

She makes her way towards her farm stomping her feet, swearing at Shane and mumbling curses all the way. Once back, she draws herself a hot bath and, in the tub, finally somewhere safe, she touches herself, moans out into the air a name she doesn’t dare to even say out loud, and thinks of someone who never even looked at her in any way to indicate she might want her too.

So, she must make do with fucking Shane?

But as she succumbs to her orgasm, moving lower into the water, maybe she can just order a dildo online and leave it at that.

***

On the first summer days, she takes up fishing. She buys a bottle of mead, because she’s heard from mayor Lewis that’s the favourite drink of their local fishermen, and she goes down the beach to beg.

She wants to learn fishing, she says. Just a couple of lessons, whenever he can leave his store and he’s willing to – she really just wants some new hobbies. It’s dreadfully awful to have only three functional TV channels, and only a dozens of books. Even Max is just a dog, and there’s a limitation to what he is capable of. Willy is funny and wise in the way only old men who love the sea can be, but he’s patient in his explanations – and sure enough, very soon, she catches her first fish.

She takes a picture of it on her phone, proud of her achievement. She sends it to Sam, to boast a bit and to annoy him, because he’s currently stuck at his part-time job. Then she goes shell hunting, because she’s too giddy to do any actual work. The villagers recently rebuilt the small bridge on the beach, and it’s lovely to get to take a walk like this. She wants her house to have the same fresh feeling, so she visits Robin for an upgrade.

And she knows she’s paying for the work, but with Robin, she feels like she’s asking for a favour, so she must give something back. And because she feels guilty, for having thought so angrily and jealously about Sebastian and his life, she wants to say sorry in a way, even if he has no way of knowing why she’s doing it in the first place.

Robin’s outside the house, just having come back from an exercise class at Caroline’s. She greets her visitor just a bit more strained than usual, and well – there’s no doubt that if there’s a gossip mill in the town, that’s probably the weekly gathering of middle-aged wives.

The farmer sighs, agrees to wait in the house while Robin takes a shower, before they can discuss about work.

“Is Sebastian home?” she asks, and the older woman makes a dismissive sign with her hand, which means she can go and check for herself.

The door to his room is slightly open, and he actually asks her to come in when she knocks. She greets him from the doorway, suddenly shy when he speaks, suddenly guilty that she’s interrupting him. She sits down on the couch, starts by watching him work, and then eventually she gets distracted by the posters on his walls, and the huge book collection he is showcasing on his shelves. It’s work that she’s familiar with, the stuff she liked to read before, when she used to have time for her hobbies, about worlds that she could escape to only by reading about them in books, featuring magic and dragons and robots.

He doesn’t seem to mind her looking around, as long as she’s quiet. Then, he eventually finishes, and sighs, stretching out his arms.

“Sorry about that, had to finish what I was working on.”

“Ah,” she nods. “And what is that?”

“I do freelance programming,” he answers. “I just want to save up enough to move from here. You know, if I’d gone to college, I’d probably be making six figures right now… but I just don’t want to be part of that corporate rat race, you know?”

“As a rat,” she says, a smile already on her face, “I totally agree with you.”

He looks at her; this is the first hint he gets – of something more about her. He’s heard from Sam, of course, about her actual job in the city, but it’s different to know it from her, to know he has her trust, to hear the defeat behind her voice, even as she tries to hide it with humour.

Then the moment is broken, the ping from his IM breaking the companionable silence between them. Normally, he’d have to explain to people why he is not in the mood to meet up with others, his introversion something out of a freak show with the villagers, but she just nods at him in understanding.

But the next interruption is almost brutal, Robin returning to pass on Abigail’s message, so filled with dismissal at his work, and indifference at his preferences. The easy air about him, as he was talking about a work he clearly loves and his dreams, is now entirely stifled – and instead he, defeated, just accepts all of this, even if he complains. She’d like to press her finger to the frown on his forehead.

This situation makes her blood boil, though: because she’s been in his exact spot. She’s had people look down at her choices for as long as she’s decided to walk her path, out there in the city – and now that she knows what it’s like not to, she can’t take to be the witness to it happening in front of her. Of course, some people will always have something to say, but it should be different with those considered friends – considered family, no?

From the kitchen upstairs, Robin is calling out her name – now, suddenly, she doesn’t really want to go, especially when she knows her presence is soon to be replaced by someone else’s. So, she acts daringly. She touches his arm, as she raises to go:

“You know, I think you’re doing an amazing job, especially considering your conditions. And trust me, it really is better than being a clog in the corporate system, and your work is important, even if it’s important for you only.”

As soon as she came, she’s gone and he loses his chance of asking for more. She left behind another sloppily packed present on his desk, a piece of quartz inside. He gets up, moves to put it up on his shelves – and shit, he wonders if she noticed the other stuff she’s given him, up there.

***

So Robin starts coming around with her carpenter tools, sometimes so early in the morning that she’s welcoming her still in her Disney pyjamas. They drink instant coffee, warm this time – and they discuss recipes that she’d like to try in her new kitchen, or the kind of animals she’ll grow in the barn. She learns that Robin loves goat cheese, and she shares that she absolutely hates peppers. She asks about Sebastian and Maru’s childhoods, she tells of her grandpa’s favourite magic trick.

The sound of Robin’s hammer accompanies her through her motions, as she’s ploughing the land for the summer crops. She didn’t really understand how lonely she has been all these months, just going through what she has to do. It’s nice to have someone to talk to, even if just for a few stolen minutes.

Sebastian drops by during his breaks sometimes, to bring his mother’s lunch, and both women nag at him so much that he ends up eating with them, Max nestled at his feet under the table.

Once, she walks back with him towards the town; she needs to drop by Pierre’s, to order some kitchen utensils – and by Lewis’ house, to leave him a note with info on her next batch of syrup and honey, that she sells for some good prices. He strains himself to walk in a pace that matches hers, even if he just wants to hurry home and take a nap.

She noticed, how tired he looks lately: hair more dishevelled, the slight stubble on his chin, the dark under his eyes. She knows, from Robin, that he spent even more time than usual in his room, refusing to meet even Abigail or Sam. She’d like to press her palm on his forehead, check for any signs of sickness.

“Are you working a lot these days?” she asks, fumbling with the edge of her t-shirt, feeling shy and worried that she might be overstepping.

“Had a tight deadline, but it’s over now.”

He pushes the hair out of his eyes with his hand, pats the pockets of his jeans with the other. He takes out his cigarettes, and then swears.

“Shit, do you have a lighter?”

In fact, she does. Sometimes, when she goes to the mines, her flashlight flickers and dies out, so she started the habit of carrying candles on her expeditions, and always a lighter in her pocket. She offers the fire; she has to stand on her tiptoes and he has to bend down to make it work.

Sebastian looks at her; she’s determinedly staring at the ground. They’re so close that even in the summer heat, she can feel his breathe on her cheek. Once the cigarette is lit, she almost scrambles away, pressing her palms to her cheeks, complaining about the hot weather.

She starts walking faster, afraid of what she might do if Sebastian looks into her face. There’s a small smile on his face that she can’t notice.

***

Pierre’s store is more of a general hangout spot for his daughter, though – Maru is eating her lunch with Abigail in a corner, and she waves at the two of them as she turns towards the counter. Of course, Pierre convinces her to buy several types of flower seeds – and she walks around the town with those in her arms. She thinks she might actually be his best customer. Or easiest, which in his case, it is one and the same thing.

That’s how she meets Evelyn: in the town square, taking care of the flowers. In truth, she never stopped to think about who maintains the town, and now she seems to have her answer. There are many people around; Penny with the kids, playing in the water fountain. Mayor Lewis and Harvey discussing in front of the clinic, Gus sticking a request on the board.

But the old lady spots her shopping, and sits her down on a bench, where she lectures her on the proper way to take care of them.

Then, the tone shifts – and the older woman asks her about the animals she’s growing (they’re well), how she finds Pelican Town (nice) and what’s her favourite flower (hyacinth).

“You know,” she laughs. “I almost married your grandpa.”

She sputters, unsure how to take this wild what-if she’s presented with. Of course, if Evelyn would have ended as his wife, she wouldn’t be here at all. And still, her curiosity gets the best of her.

“What happened?”

“Oh, George – that’s my husband, dear – bought an old farm here in town and moved one day. The next thing you know, everyone was smitten with the new farmer, me included. And by then, your grandpa was already in the army.”

And when he returned from the army, he returned with a wife – that’s a story that she knows. Grandpa met her grandmother at one of the dance evenings organized for young soldiers, and if the story she was told as a child is to be believed, he danced with no one else that night, the next and all the other ones that followed.

“How was he like?”

Sometimes, when it comes to someone you love, it’s hard to consider them from another point of view than the one you were always familiar with. He has always been just her grandfather to her, yet Evelyn here has seen him growing, becoming all those things to all those many people: son, neighbour, husband, father.

“He always worked hard, stirred trouble wherever he went and loved this town like no other,” she says, a faint smile on her face, lost in memories.

That sounds like the old man alright.

“Th-thank you, Evelyn.” Her voice sounds a little chocked. Just a little.

“Psssh, please. Call me Granny.”

The old man takes her hand, squeezes her fingers in hers – and pats her butt when she gets up to go home.

***

“Hey, mom,” she says, pressing the phone closer to her ear. It’s the first phone call she’s making from the landline, and there are jitters all over her skin. She hates that she has to stay still, glued to one spot the length of the phone’s cable. Her brain goes in override.

“Darling!” her mother exclaims from the other side. There’s some shifting, the sound of a door closing, then a sigh. “How are you? How’s Pelican Town?”

She tries not to sniffle outright, tries not to cry that she wants her mother when she’s a fucking grown-up adult, but that really is how she feels. It was all okay, the construction almost to an end, her crops growing beautifully – and then Max gnawed at her only good pair of shoes, and the thing sent her into a spiral of self-pity. She really has no idea what on earth she is doing here.

Instead, she asks: “Did you like living here?”

She is grandpa’s only living child. After her older brother’s death, she simply packed her stuff and moved to a shitty dorm in city, got married in two months and had her almost immediately after. Nowadays, her father is drowning in alcohol and her mother is drowning in work – and she wonders if the first coping mechanism may be more useful than the latter, though her last experience seems to point to a no.

“No,” her mother says. “But depends on what you’re chasing, or what you’re running away from. So, do you like living there?”

She tugs at the phone cord, shifts on spot, looks at Max sleeping a few feet away.

“M-maybe? I don’t know.”

“That’s not a no,” her mother says, ending the call immediately afterwards.

She sits on the same spot, with the tone dead in the background for a very long time, just staring out the window at the setting sun.

***

With the new barn built, she visits Marnie about filling it with the appropriate animals. She’d like a sheep, just because she thinks knitting would be a useful hobby to pick up by winter. Maybe a goat, so she can make cheese and thank Robin properly for all the overtime work she put in finishing her house so early.

Jas is out with Vincent, but before discussing the price of the animal, Marnie hands her the straw hat and her picnic mat. She burns as she takes those from her, not knowing what to say. It’s been two weeks since she ran from the town’s celebration, and even now, she burns with the shame of that day. She starts looking around.

“He’s not-”

“At work, dear,” she says, and finally she starts calculating and writing down something at her desk.

“So you know.”

“Everyone knows,” she says and sounds forcefully cheerful, although she must understand what weight her words have, because the farmer is slouching in a chair, head hanging in her hands.

“There’s nothing going on,” she wails, looking up at Marnie, begging her to believe her – even if she’s just a stranger, asking for a bias against her own blood relative.

“Nothing going on anymore?” Marnie corrects, moves to pat her on the shoulder, signalling at the same time for the young woman to follow her. She nods her head, defeated, and Marnie has to wonder what exactly did this hard-working farmer see in her drunk nephew. She feels relieved to know that she put an end to it. Maybe exactly because she got involved with her good for nothing boy that she feels a bit more forgiving towards her.

She talks her in getting another chicken too, as an apology for having fucked around with her nephew. She doesn’t have the heart to correct this motherly woman that it was, in fact, the other way around. But either way, she’s forgotten.

She knows that because the next day, Penny calls her and asks her to spend the day together with the kids on the beach. She shouldn’t be that surprised to see Sam there too.

***

She asks everyone she gets along with over, after the house expansion is finished. She spent most morning just preparing various recipes, to fit everyone’s taste. Penny arrives first, dropping an apple pie on her kitchen counter and moving around the house to admire Robin’s work. She’s been thinking of doing something about her trailer-living situation for a while.

Abigail and Maru arrive together, with a plate of Robin’s spaghetti. Her and Demetrius decided it’s better to skip the evening, seeing how everyone else there is the same age as their children. She learns that Abigail is supposed to start her second year of university in autumn, and that Maru is going to do her master’s in astrophysics.

She whistles appreciatively, makes fun of her literature degree on the way. The two then huddle together in a corner of the porch, feeding Max stray bits of food and cooing at him when his tail starts wagging.

Sam and Sebastian arrive the last, each carrying a board game in their hands. It’s smart thinking on their side, because she’s not sure what she would have entertained her guests with otherwise. They huddle around the table, filling up plates with at least five different food recipes, passing iced tea and lemonade around. Abigail has this perfect skill of being able to imitate Lewis’ announcement voice perfectly, which in turn makes Sam snort his drink out of his noise. It makes everyone else lose it, and afterwards there’s no awkwardness hanging between them.

Penny helps Sam clean up in the kitchen, and they’re gone for way longer than necessary, though everyone else at the table is polite enough not to comment on it. Abigail and Maru, sitting one across the other, keep looking at each other while the other is not looking, and Abigail might be eating so much chocolate cake that she risks getting sick.

Sebastian sits next to her, smiling softly at a story that Penny is telling, from their time together in high-school. She should, technically, feel left out of the loop, but each time she mentions someone unknown, or a habit they used to have as a teenage group, Sebastian leans over closer to her, and whispers explanations into her ear. His voice, low and smooth, makes her feel like she’s melting down her chair.

Sam and Sebastian go out for a smoke, and she’s following them too, asking for a cigarette from Sebastian, letting her lighter pass around in a circle. The sun has already set, and there’s only the soft buzzing sound of her lamp in the air. The boys are talking about their rehearsal schedule, ask her over sometime, which she happily agrees to.

“Hey,” Sam says, kicking at her leg with his shoe. “Are you single?”

“What the fuck?!”

Sam raises his hands in the air, talking with his cigarette between his teeth. “Don’t shoot the messenger!”

She was ready to punch his elbow, but is now lowering her arm, frowning at him. Behind Sam, Sebastian continue smoking, refusing to get himself involved in this mess.

“Whose messenger?” she asks, though there’s a teasing edge in her voice, clearly proving that she doesn’t believe anything else but his own curiosity brought him to this rudeness.

“Look man – uhm, woman I guess, we’re all friends here, no judgement zone.”

“You just laughed at Maru for liking math two minutes ago!” she points out, this time her kicking his leg.

“You can just not answer the question,” Sam says, pacifying, turning towards Sebastian to offer him his lighter, as he’s already on his second cigarette.

“No, it’s fine.” She feels embarrassed for causing a scene, when it’s not even such a big deal. “I am single.”

She starts walking a bit away, making it seem like she’s inspecting the shrub just next to the stairs.

“So no Shane?” this time it’s Sebastian asking, which is surprising because she did not expect him to care.

“No Shane,” she confirms, her voice a bit weaker than she intended it to be.

Sam punches the air in a victorious movement, grinning at her.

“Thank God, that guy’s a fucking asshole.”

He shivers a bit in the cold night air, wearing only a t-shirt, and with a goodbye thrown over his shoulder, he goes back inside. Sebastian moves his hand in the air a bit, gesturing to his unfinished smoke, but she’s still not making a move to go back.

“But him and Penny… totally a thing, right?”

“Totally,” Sebastian says, and they both burst out laughing.

***

When Abigail phoned to tell her about Luau, she actually mostly whined that summer festivals are the most boring ones, because everyone is so busy tending to crops and making the most out of the long days. The farmer herself was actually taking a break, at the height of the summer heat, with a glass of iced water, but counting down the minutes before she’d be back in the garden, pulling out the weeds and gathering ripened fruits.

She still gets invited to Luau with everyone else; somewhat of a temporary, potentially forever fixture to their group. There’s a gaping hole opening in her stomach when she thinks of this, anxiety bubbling all inside her body making her feel sick. She feels like something terrible surely must happen soon, considering how much joy she gets from all these people.

She has sent some stuff to mayor Lewis, to add to the potluck soup: fresh tomato, some mushrooms, basil. But still, the thing looks completely inedible.

“Are we trying to kill the governor?” she asks, as she’s carefully looking at the bowl in her hands.

Sebastian laughs, turning his upside down in the sand. She’d really like to do the same thing.

“It’s tradition!” Maru explains, frowning at her brother.

“Are we choosing governors based on the quality of their stomach?” she tries again, this time sniffing at the stuff. Its consistency looks absolutely… gluey.

Sam joins the laughter this time, and Sebastian pats Maru’s shoulder in some attempt at an excuse. Abigail is the only one who actually eats the stuff, though her face turns somewhat pale as soon as she is done. The governor looks like he is perfectly fine, and even praises their soup, which makes everyone visibly relax.

***

Maru’s birthday was a solitary thing; just another ordinary working day, celebrated only with chocolate cake in the evening with the entire family. Robin builds her another bookshelf, Demetrius and Sebastian get the money for a new telescope. No other guests are invited, though random gifts still find their way to her mailbox: a stray astrology book, a new case for her glasses.

Sam’s not that different, though they all heard the rumours that immediately after his shift, he visited the museum, and spent a very, very long time there. They meet on Friday night at the Saloon though, so that the band can play and the others can cheer. They’re spectacular, as usual, and when doing something they love, all three of them look younger than she has ever seen them.

Penny is at her side, an arm looped around her waist, and they’re both swaying their bodies on the rhythm of the music. Sam winks in their direction, though the redhead pretends she doesn’t see it.

***

On one of their river discussions, Sebastian mentions frogs to her once; something she’s been terrified of for as long as she remembers. But there’s just such a soft smile on his face, and his voice is so calm: and as such, she thinks to give it a try. Which is exactly why he finds her one day, as he goes to visit Sam, by the river bank, on all fours, staring into the water.

She yelps when he hears him calling out to her, fluttering her arms in the air in a panic. It’s that movement that makes her stumble forward in the water. She doesn’t know how to swim, but the water is low enough to not be a problem, but as she gets up, sitting on her ass in the middle of the river, she scowls at him.

“I hate you,” she says.

He smiles, and with the sun at his back, it’s the most beautiful sight she’s seen. He offers her a hand, which she accepts gratefully, trying to remain as dignified as possible, considering that her clothes are now stuck to her body and there might be some mud on her butt.

“What were you doing?” he asks, and she immediately reddens under his attention.

She mumbles her answer; she’s a terrible liar, so she doesn’t even try. This time, Sebastian actually laughs at her, and she crosses her hands at her chest, both indignant and cold.

“I hate you,” she says again, this time accentuating each of her words. But there’s no fire behind it, so he ignores her remarks. Instead, he unzips his hoodie and, slowly, places it on her shoulders.

“But-” she starts, already moving to remove it, give it back, refuse the help, her natural instinct kicking in. He hasn’t stepped back, and having him so close, she notices the subtle smell of his aftershave, the dark marks under his eyes. She wants to get on her tiptoe and let her fingers run through his hair, so soft from up this close. Then he speaks, the magic breaking, and she moves her eyes down to her shoes, shy all of the sudden.

“Sam’s living real close, so it’s really no problem.”

He’s trying very hard not to move his eyes away from hers, face burning red with embarrassment – and only then does she realize she’s wearing a white shirt, and she’s wet –

“Oh,” she says, lamely, moving her arms through the sleeves and zipping it up. “I… I’ll wash it and bring it back to you.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” he says, before awkwardly saying his goodbyes. Sam will chew him out for being late, and Abigail will frown at him for not letting them know about this ahead of time.

But their new farmer will stand by the river bank for a long time still, looking down at the water, even when Vincent passes her by and laughs at the wet pool that dripped at her feet.

***

She likes taking the mountain path, especially during hot summer days: less people to stop and chat with under the sun, more shade from the trees, chances to see a wild bunny or a squirrel, maybe picking up some wild fruit. She learnt to enjoy these things, that felt like such a chore back in the day, when she was simply a child helping out her relatives. Maybe because, from start to finish, in everything she does for her farm, she leaves a part of herself in there.

She’s as familiar with Robin’s garden as she is with her own, and that’s why it takes her brain a bit to catch up with what she is seeing.

She didn’t even expect to see Sebastian at all, and especially not like… this. Sprawled under his motorcycle, the picture perfect of her dream boy from high-school. It’s then when it dawns on her that she might have some other reasons too, for visiting Robin today, for picking the mountain path, for going to the mines so often, even if she’ll never admit it to anyone else.

For a second, she hates him so much for having been so kind to her, for having taken care of her, for his beautiful smiles and his unending understanding. For having made her like him so much, when this recluse and silent man seems to dislike everything that she is starting to like lately.

She crushes the feeling coming up in her chest; the despair and the need to go and run as far away from him, before they make eye contact, before her beating heart goes into override.

Sebastian heard her approaching footstep though, and as he’s coming up, t-shirt clinging to his chest, she closes her eyes. God help her not to jump this man right here and now.

“Hey you,” he says, the corner of his lips lifting up a bit seeing her.

She waves, taking a deep breath as she approaches him, taking a seat on the outside bench. He picks up the tool that he needed, and goes back to work. She stays put right where she is, watching him.

“You know, it’s fascinating to watch someone do something I know nothing about,” she laughs, thinking of her useless literature degree as well, her dirt stained nails and her dead-end job back in the city, so opposed to his programming skills and the coppery smell of his motorcycle.

“That’s how I feel when you talk about farm upgrades with mom,” he says, and then asking her for another tool – it’s the round one with a yellow handle.

She shifts closer; he gets out from under the metal labyrinth of his bike enough to nod at her in thanks when she hands it to him. But he understands her feeling better than he manages to put it into words, especially since he’s been an outcast in the village for so long; heck he’s not sure anyone else but her even accepts what he’s working, let alone understand it.

But if there’s someone who can get it, it’s certainly the city girl who gave up everything to become a farmer. Much as he wants to drop everything here just for a shot at the big city. It’s the same strangling hope in his voice, that she’s detected the first time they met, when he talks about his short escapades.

He gets up, wiping his hands on a dirty old rag. There’s a dark stain on his cheek that makes him so incredibly cute, and yet the contrast couldn’t be more obvious with his muscles.

“You could come with me next time,” he says, and he purposefully looks at her, digging out her reactions.

She blushes, all red, prettily and opens her mouth to say something, closes it again. Then, with a bit too much eagerness, that makes her seem just a bit too desperate to do the right thing, she says:

“I’d love to.”

“Great,” he says, and this time it’s a full smile that he graces her with.

They move to enter the house now, the sun setting at their back, and he holds the door open for her. She has to squeeze by him, so close that she can feel the smell of oil mingled with his sweat, and the always present soft aroma of soap.

Robin is in the kitchen, preparing hot chocolate for everyone; Abigail is over too, in Maru’s room, the two’s laughter loud enough to be heard from downstairs. Demetrius is in his office, researching something in one of his biology tomes.

She immediately moves to help Robin; now familiar with the layout of her kitchen, with everyone’s favourite mug. His mother yells at Sebastian to go and take a shower before even daring to enter her kitchen, which is exactly the reason why he moves closer to her instead, loudly kissing her cheek.

Robin shrieks, hitting him with the spoon she’s holding in her hand. Their guest watches the scene with a soft smile; she likes it when there’s no bitterness between the two, which is something that comes way easier when no one else in their family is around.

She presents Robin with her first goat cheese; it’s experimental yet, really I have no idea if it’s any good, but she gathers her in her arms anyway, thanking her from the bottom of her heart. She carefully places it in her fridge.

And while Robin goes to Demetrius’ office, forcing a break out of this man as they plan to drink their hot chocolate together, she’s tasked to bringing up the girls’. She knocks, but it still doesn’t feel like sufficient incessant to stop whatever they were doing, because when she opens the door, Maru’s in Abigail arms, having a somewhat lost look on her face. Abigail’s lipstick is all over Maru’s neck, and smeared around her lips, and both their mouths are pulsing red with the pressure of shared kisses.

She blushes under their eyes, hates to have interrupted what she just did. It’s worse than if they were having sex, because the tension in the air is so thick she can choke on it.

“R-Robin said-” she tries, but she’s so embarrassed that she just leaves the tray on the desk, and all but bolts down the stairs.

Shit, she thinks.

“Shit,” she exclaims out loud as well. She’s so wind up she doesn’t hear the footsteps following her, and she almost screams when Abigail’s hand comes down her shoulder.

“Hey, look, let’s be chill about it and keep it a secret, yeah?”

“Of course,” she nods her head. “And I’m really sorry…”

“Our fault for being daring enough not to lock the door. But in our defence, we didn’t think that would happen,” Abigail says, winking at the other woman, before moving upstairs, probably to calm down her lover.

The theme of her life is that she is a big, stupid, idiotic fool. She’s been jealous for months on a relationship that didn’t even exist, and now she feels guilty and embarrassed all over again for what she did when overcome by those emotions. She stands in the middle of the hallway, hating herself so much that she would burst into flames if she had magical powers.

Sebastian finds her eventually, grounds her back to reality with a soft touch against her elbow and a soft call of her name. She startles like she’s been shot, almost jumping out of her skin, before things start refocusing around her. Sebastian, after his shower, smells like pine and mint, and he’s wearing shorts.

“Come on,” he says, slowly guiding her back to the kitchen, where their drink probably went cold already. At the back of his leg, Sebastian has a tattoo: a man lying face down, ten swords hanging above his body.

“That’s cool,” she nods her head at the design, sipping from her hot chocolate.

“Thanks. Sweet sixteen present, teenage rebellion and everything.”

“I ran away from home when I was sixteen,” she says, and Sebastian rises his eyebrows, clearly sceptical.

“For real!” she laughs. “I came here, to gramps.”

“Can’t remember you ever being up here,” he says, but now he’s curious.

“Well, of course, he called my mom the second I entered the house, and next morning she came to pick me up, but still.”

Sebastian snorts at her story, and she’s beaming at him with the largest smile possible, having gotten such a reaction out of him. It seems like it’s so easy for her to rile him up, or to get him involved enough in what she’s doing that he can’t filter his reactions anymore.

He walks her home that evening; she insisted he didn’t need to go through the trouble, since she’s out even later all the time, but Robin pushed, especially since Abigail was to sleep over, so she didn’t need Sebastian to walk her home.

In the end, she had company on the way home.

“Sorry for the trouble,” she says. Sebastian is smoking again, and only shakes his head. They continue their conversation from earlier, about how they used to be as kids and teenagers, periods in time that feels very far-away. Then she tells him of her past job, how she used to want to kill herself every time she entered the building, how there was no more city around her, and just the clutch of overwork and need for money.

She breathes easier here, she says. She hasn’t seen the stars in years, she adds.

She’s looking up at the sky, but Sebastian is looking at her.

She’s seemed lost on that first day, overwhelmed as she looked around at her inherited plot of land, and he’s given her two weeks maximum to survive in there. And here she is, rounding on six months, looking like she’s always belonged.

She hands him his sweater, thanks him again, in that sweet voice that matches her face, but not her personality when she’s swearing. He wishes the road between their houses was longer, longer than to Zuzu City, so long that they could have the entire night at their disposal.

***

“You’re late,” she says, from where she sits on the pier, her feet just a few centimetres above the water surface.

She’s barefoot, and she’s wearing a thin and short dress, and showing so much skin that Sebastian is a bit distracted at first. Technically, they haven’t set a meeting time, but he is indeed the last of the villagers to arrive on the beach for the dance of the moonlight jellies. By now, the others are also grouped together, leaving her alone.

She pats the space next to her. He sits down, yawning.

“Sorry, I was up until 3am reading a new book.”

She lights up then, shoots question after question at him: about his favourite authors and books, hints at the volumes he knows she’s seen on his shelf. They decide to buddy read a book together, and the next day he finds her favourite novel in his mailbox, he sends his instead. His are in pristine condition, while hers are underlined all over, notes scrambled over the margins that he spends a lot of time trying to decipher, corners dog-eared. The first few are a hit and miss, then slowly, as they go through the volumes, writing long texts and handwritten note with their thoughts on it or calling each other late into the night, they start to figure each other’s state, collections growing on each side.

On Penny’s birthday, no one can find the young woman almost the entire day. For that matter, they had the same problem with Sam too.

On Abigail’s birthday, she knocks on the farmer’s door in the middle of the night. The other woman is sleepy, bleary eyed, and she knows that something serious is going on because Abigail doesn’t even make fun of her pyjamas. She opens the door, wordlessly. Makes some tea, as Abigail plops on the rug on the floor, nuzzling Max.

She passes her a steaming cup of tea, sits in front of her in much the same manner.

“What happened?”

It takes Abigail a long time to reply, and when she does, she stumbles over words.

“I-I came out to my parents. Let’s say they didn’t take it too well. Sebastian lives with M-Maru so it didn’t feel like the smartest move, and Sam’s mother already has enough things to worry about. I had no-nowhere else to go.”

She shouldn’t be this surprised when the farmer leans closer, wrapping her arms around her, squeezing her close. Abigail reaches up her hands, tugs at the pyjama top and starts sobbing. There’s a large wet mark on the other woman’s shoulder when she is done, though she doesn’t seem to notice it as she’s running around her house, pulling out a rolled up mattress and building a make-shift bed in the middle of the room. She’s gentle as she moves Abigail to her bedroom, helps her in bed, petting at her hair, and chanting it’ll be okay over and over again.

Abigail’s already asleep when she moves to the kitchen, scrolling through her contacts list. It takes a few seconds before the person at the other end picks up, and Sebastian’s voice sounds muffled. She imagines him for a second, face half-hidden in his pillow, dishevelled hair. Then:

“It’s Abbie.”

The next day, Sam and Sebastian show up on her doorstep at 6am with chocolate cake, and they barely even greet her before moving inside, slamming open the door to the room where Abigail’s sleeping, essentially waking her up. But they also jump on the bed, squeezing themselves in the small space, peppering her face with kisses, even as she screams at them to stop, that they’re gross. But she’s laughing.

Over breakfast (eggs and salad and chocolate cake), they discuss what they should do next. There’s enough space here for two people, and it makes most sense to have Abigail live here for a while, until things calm down a bit.

“Did,” Abigail starts, unsure, playing with a tissue, “Maru tell your parents?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian says, and he feels like he really needs a smoke.

“I guess it went well.”

Abigail ends with a laugh that resounds dry and bitter in the room. Sam’s leaning towards her, holding her hand.

“Your parents will come around,” he says. “They just need to get over the initial shock.”

Except Abigail, everyone else nods. It’s hard to imagine Pierre staying mad at anyone, let alone his own daughter. But Pelican Town is a small enough place that such a thing might take a long time to forgive in the eyes of others. After the guys leave that first day, Abigail spends the entire day in bed. The next one, she joins her host for coffee, asks about the pumpkin patches.

When the Stardew Valley Fair rolls around, she helps the farmer fill Robin’s truck with her products. The older woman hugs Abigail that day like she’s a long-lost daughter, which makes her cry all over again.

***

The Fair itself is nice; the trees around had already started to turn orange, and it gives the place a really cosy atmosphere. Almost everyone in town buys something from her stall, and Marnie even comments that she fits right in. She enters Lewis’ competition with her pumpkins, but she loses to Shane’s chickens, which is a totally deserved win on his side, though she hates to admit.

Abigail makes up with her family that day, because the second she steps in town, her mother drops a crane of jars, swears, and runs up to her baby girl to hug the life out of her, cry and apologize. Pierre is sniffling at his stall, next to her – and she passes him her handkerchief.

Then, because Abigail is Abigail, she kisses Maru in front of everyone. George whistles, loudly and everyone laughs, which ends any discussion on the topic. With this scene, the farmer thinks she has just fallen a bit in love with the man herself.

Shane approaches her, to boast his win.

“Congrats,” she says, though she is pointedly not looking at the bow pinned to his chest. Jas has already been over, stopping everyone and showing it off.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, and she’s glad the stall stands between them, because she knows he would have liked to be much closer than this.

“Glad you took the hint.”

“Is the freak gang that entertaining, little girl?”

There he goes again, with his horrible nicknames and that shit-eating grin. She hopes he’d choke on all the bullshit he’s spewing, some day.

“Yes.”

She sounds firm, serious and soft at the same time. There’s a small smile on her lips as well, and probably it’s that combination that makes Shane realize she’s entirely truthful. So, he laughs. For sure, he must find her stupid and foolish, and yet she only feels relieved as he watches him walk away, shaking his head like he’s disappointed.

As evening approaches, Sebastian stops by her stall. It’s almost empty now, most of her products sold earlier in the day. He sits next to her, smoking, looking at Sam winning the big prize at darts for Penny. She all but swoons.

Sebastian gets up, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it.

“Do you want to walk around?”

She nods, he helps her up. She asks Pierre to watch over the rest of her stuff, and when they move from stall to stall, her and Sebastian are so close that their shoulder almost touch, though none moves to put more space between them. She keeps stealing glances at him, as he explains to her about his favourite stalls, and how it used to look like back in his childhood.

They eat Gus’ famous burgers, and her heart almost stops beating when he leans closer, pressing a tissue to the corner of her mouth. He starts by looking her in the eye, but then her own eyes drop to the flutter of his eyelids, the curve of his nose, eventually settling on the plumpness of his lips – and his gaze follows suit, tracing the same path on her face. They sit in silence, staring at each other, until Gus’ boisterous laugh makes them both startle.

She mumbles her thanks, looking at her plate, too afraid to look at Sebastian.

They play darts too, though she only manages to hit the target only once, and only on its furthest ring.

“Sam rigged this game, didn’t he?” she asks, which makes him smile.

Sebastian pays for his turn, raises his eyebrows at her when she’s expectantly watching him. He throws the first dart while still looking at her, and it hits bull’s eye. She screams in delight, clapping her hands together.

He moves his hand to the back of his head, embarrassed at her reaction, even if he so desperately wanted it in the first place. He asks her if she wants any of the prizes, but she shakes her head. As cheesy as it might be, for her it’s enough that she can enjoy the fair, and that she can do it alongside him.

***

When she counts her savings the next day, it’s not as much as she would have liked. So she starts going to the mine again, because she can sell well everything that she finds in there, and for a couple of weeks, it works out just fine. Until it doesn’t anymore.

She knows the place is old, but the crack of the stair giving way under her weight was not an expected problem. The lurking animals and the unmapped areas, sure. But not the wooden step of the stairs.

It takes her by surprise, and she doesn’t have fast enough reflexes to find another footing, so she falls all the distance to the ground. She lands on her side, and there’s a terrible crack in the shoulder that makes getting up so, so painful afterwards. She’s bleeding heavily from one of her knees as well, and several bruises are already blooming on her legs and arms.

Her flashlight also went out on impact, so at first she is disoriented, her head booming with the sound of her fall. Then she gets scared, her heartbeat in her throat, and before she can even think more of her wounds, she forces herself to count up to 100, as slowly as she can, bringing her breathing back to normal, forcing her body to refuse the incoming panic attack just yet.

No one knows she’s in the mine right now, so technically even if they were to notice her disappearance, it will take a while until they find her. And it was already dark outside, judging from the last time she looked at her watch, which makes searching for her unsafe until at least tomorrow morning. She can’t just stay here and wait for someone to find her, even if that is all that she truly wants to do.

She winces when she finally raises to her feet. She’s unstable and everything hurts, but she’s most worried about her arm. She tried to pick up her discarded flashlight, but the movement hurt so much she left out an agonized wail.

Tears start biting at her eyes when she bumps into the stairs, after fumbling through the dark for it. She tries not to think of all the steps until the surface, and then her walk back home – and instead tries to take it one step at a time. She can support her weight only on one arm, and her legs hurt each time she raises them, the skin at her knee ripping open a bit more with each move of her leg up. She takes it one at a time, stops often to breathe deeply, give some part of her body some respite. She struggles even more when she finally gets to the broken stair, and she has to cover twice the distance.

When she eventually collapses on the ground at the entrance to the cave, she can smell the fresh night air, and she can hear the rustling of the leaves, and she starts crying. Somewhere down there, where the mine caved in, trapping workers under the stones and dirt and in unending hallways, is the body of her uncle. Of course, she could have easily shared the same fate today, if she would have been a bit higher, if she would have fallen on one of the sharp stones littering the lower floors instead.

She forces herself, again, to just breathe. But even as she makes herself stand up and walk the long way home, her mind is drifting further and further away, the pain now more dulled at the edge.

That’s why she doesn’t catches when someone calls out her name, doesn’t realize she’s not alone anymore until said person catches her arm to make her stop. Unfortunately, it is her hurt arm, and she shrieks, tears pooling at her eyes, as she’s stumbling away.

Sebastian stares at her, mouth agape, looking like he’s just seen a ghost. He moves his eyes over her body, taking in her state, though he’s unsure in some spots, if the stains on her clothes are blood or dirt.

“Shit, you need to see a doctor,” he says, moving closer again, but she flinches upon his approach.

He passes a frustrated hand through his hair. Dumbly, she wonders what he is doing out here, by the river, in the middle of the night.

“Can I touch you?” he asks. He’s still keeping his distance, though he’s looking at her in a strange way, like she’ll fall off her feet at any moment. Although she nods, this time more aware, more in tune with her surrounding, this time around he approaches more slowly, careful with his movements.

She leans onto him, sighing in relief.

“This will hurt,” he says, and before she has time to think about it, he gathers her in his arms, head at the crook of his neck, her good arm around his shoulder, as he starts carrying her. She just whimpers pathetically, at his chest, blushing furiously and trying not to overthink the gesture, or her weight, or the fact that they’re stopping in front of Harvey’s clinic at fuck knows what time.

Harvey answers on the second knock, looks at the state she’s in and simply mumbles I need my coffee, allowing them inside. Sebastian is still carrying her the flights of stairs up, before finally setting her down on a bed. He’s breathing hard by now, but he’s not complaining. In the light, she can see how wild and panicked his eyes are, how deep his frown is as he searches her body for wounds.

Now that they can see, her shoulder is at a weird angle.

“I’ll have to set it back,” Harvey says, sipping loudly from a fresh cup of coffee, sitting on a chair next to her bed. He looks up at Sebastian, checks the time on his wrist watch. “You can go if you want to.”

“I’ll stay,” he replies almost immediately, making her shiver on the bed, a movement that both men catch. “If that’s okay with you.”

She nods, pleading with Harvey to let him stay, to which he agrees. His job is not made any more difficult, since Sebastian looks perfectly healthy, the weird sleep schedule aside. She doesn’t notice when Sebastian moves, shifts so he can sit next to her on the bed, wrapping his fingers around hers.

Harvey descends like a shadow above her, snapping her bones back in place. She squeezes Sebastian’s hand in her good one, so hard that his bones crack, her fingers digging in his skin until they draw blood. But she only inhales sharply, letting out a string of soft curses, teeth grinding together in pain. When she looks at them, she feels only betrayed, because they both clearly knew what was to come, and did their best to make it as fast as possible.

Harvey hands her a glass of water and some painkillers, and only then does she realize she’s still holding onto Sebastian’s hand. She lets go slowly, smiling at him, patting his hand in silent thanks, though Sebastian cannot smile back at her.

“So what happened?” Harvey asks, moving on to cutting open the leg of her pants, cleaning up the cuts, disinfecting her wounds.

She speaks, evenly, though her panic shows through in some parts, and Sebastian rubs calming circles on her back with his palm. She leans into his touch, swaying in place, eyes fluttering closed, opening them again at a slower and slower pace.

“You should sleep here tonight, so I can monitor your condition,” Harvey says, and Sebastian rises, helping her lay down on the bed, covering her with the blanket, as she’s already fallen asleep.

The two men move downstairs in silence. The clock on the wall shows 4 a.m.

***

She wakes to Granny knitting on a chair next to her bed. It’s such an odd image that it takes her a while to recall all the events of the night before. Then, she startles upright.

“Easy, darling, all’s good,” Granny says, though she didn’t even look up at the younger woman.

She learns that Marnie visited her farm earlier, feeding her animals. Abigail took Max to her place, Penny came by with pie. And Sebastian is downstairs, on his 3rd coffee of the day, not having gone home since he first dropped her at the clinic.

Granny smiles to herself when the patient looks longingly at the door, her skin on fire.

***

Harvey keeps her for one more night, though she is feeling alright, and she insists so to everyone coming around to check on her. She thought Robin will pick her up, something that she agreed to after much pestering from the woman, but instead the one waiting for her in front of the clinic, leaning on Robin’s truck, is Sebastian.

“Mom had something come up,” he says, moving to get her backpack, filled with the stuff from the mine and some clothes that Abigail picked for her. He opens the truck’s door for her.

“I could have just walked,” she says, though her leg is still stiff.

He shuts the door on her, and until he joins her in, she has time to mull over what exactly she wants to say.

“Thank you,” she beings. “For everything and I’m sorry.”

She fidgets on the spot, as he starts the engine and begins driving.

“Why are you apologizing?” his voice is soft, the corner of his mouth tilted up just the tiniest bit.

“For all the trouble?”

It sounds more like a question,

“You know I’d gladly be troubled for you.”

She does not know that, in fact. She turns to look out the window, at the stretch of trees on the road to her farm, and she wonders when she became such a person to others.

When they arrive, she invites him in, but he politely refuses. She needs to rest. But he does walk back to the car, fiddling with the gloves compartment, coming back with something in his arms. He presents it to her, carefully wrapped, and watches attentively as she opens it, catching her reaction.

In her hands, she has the first volume of what she knows is Sebastian’s favourite comic.

Abigail will tell her, later on, that before he came to pick her up, he drove all the way to Zuzu City so he could pick a copy for her. So on an autumn rainy day, she makes herself a cup of tea, and curls in her bed, opening the book.

She takes her sweet time, searching every detail in the art, rewriting particular quotes in her journal. Then her thoughts fly without her even wanting to, to a particular someone she’d like to have next to her, to explain her favourite parts. She’d like to have him by her side more than that though, as she wakes and works, a person that makes it so much easier for her to just be.

She’s a fool – she tries to tell herself, hugging the book close to her chest. There’s nothing she can offer Sebastian that would make him stay in this village he so obviously loathes. She’s just dumb enough to have fallen for the man she cannot even bring herself to ask to love her back. But the image is now stuck on a loop in her mind: stray sun rays filtering through the curtain, and Sebastian in the door frame, with her mug of coffee in his hands, offering it to her as she wakes.

She tortures herself with thoughts like this afterwards, whenever she finds a moment of respite in her work, as she hurries to sell the last of her crops, to preserve the mushrooms, fill the sill with grains for the animals and the storage outside with wood.

***

The first time she gets out of her property after the accident is to attend a dinner on Robin’s birthday. In the town here, it’s not a big deal, so she feels particularly honoured to have the older woman invite her.

However, Robin sends Sebastian to pick her up. She’s on the porch, bundled up in her favourite sweater and a shawl, petting Max, when he pulls up in her courtyard on his motorcycle. He’s wearing a leather jacket, and as he moves to get her helmet, she’s only staring at the way his muscles are straining under the material.

He helps her put it on, clasping it under her chin, his fingers lingering on her skin, and they stare in each other’s eyes for a few long seconds. Then, he holds out a hand, helping her get up, and guides her arms around his waist.

She’s basically glued to his back, and she wonders if he can hear how loudly her heart is beating. He tightens his hold against her arms, signalling that she should hold on tighter, and she does, even though she closes her eyes to will the embarrassment away.

Robin welcomes her with an enthusiastic hug, and she’s delighted to see Abigail has been invited as well, and she’s now sitting next to Maru at the table, discussing something with Demetrius. She’s sent her present in the mail earlier this day, more goat cheese and a few quartz pieces, and the redhead thanks her happily.

When she passes Sebastian on the hallway, she stops for a few seconds to thank him for the ride, warmly clasping his hand in hers. Then just as quickly she lets go, joins everyone else in the kitchen.

Most of the conversation is just the parents dotting on the newly formed couple, though there is a passing comment of the pumpkin soup currently served being Sebastian’s favourite food, so she makes a note to ask the recipe from Robin the next day. There’s an anecdote about how Demetrius and Robin first met, though it makes both their children cringe at how young and lovesick they still sound recalling it. Abigail talks about her studies, Maru continues, though their degrees are vastly different.

The farmer turns to look at Sebastian.

“What about your work?”

The conversation stills, a bit awkward. No one ever asks what Sebastian is doing, since freelancing is such a grey area in their mind – though they fail to see that almost everyone in this town is the goddamn owner of their own work.

“Well,” he starts, playing with the food on his plate. “Actually I’ve got a promotion recently and a really big project coming up.”

She clasps her hands together, beaming up at him.

“That’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

Everyone at the table nods politely, Robin even congratulation her son. But he thinks of her question, and lately the answer seems to be no, because each of his successes brings him closer to leaving Pelican Town, and he’s not sure he wants to anymore.

***

By the end of the evening, everyone is more or less tipsy, made soft by the drink and the warmth of the house. Robin insists that she should sleep over, afraid to let her return home this late. She almost puts Sebastian and Maru in one room, but the daughter refuses so vehemently, that Sebastian instead just tells her he’ll take the couch. Their mother stares for a long time after both of her children, as each turns to their guest, and instead decides to retire for the night, together with Demetrius.

That’s how she ends up sitting on Sebastian’s bed, as he’s searching for a towel and some clothes for her.

“Maru is leaving next spring for a research program,” he explains. “That’s why-”

“She wants to make the most out of it,” she continues.

“Yeah.”

He understands the feeling; it’s why he’s more often than not out of his house these days, afraid that one day he’ll have to root himself out of this place, and he will leave many things behind to regret. And many people he will miss.

He throws the clothes in her direction, points her to the direction of the bathroom.

She’s feeling more awake after the shower, and she’s drying her hair with a towel as she enters his room again. She wears one of his hoodies, but on her it looks almost like a dress, coming down halfway to her knees, sleeves rolled several times over. The sweatpants are equally as large.

“I like your socks,” she says, wiggling her toes, an ugly, green gooey face dancing with the movement.

She’s way too freakin cute, Sebastian thinks, though he only smiles at her as he passes her to go and take a shower. When he returns, she’s snuggled in his bed, a comic book in hands, the sequel to the present he’s given her before. She doesn’t hear him come in until he plops on the couch, and then she looks up at him, cheeks immediately flushing.

“Aren’t you cold?”

He’s wearing a tank top, loose enough around the chest area that she can see his collarbones. She knows she’s staring, yet she can’t tear her eyes away from the skin of his arms, or the taut stretch of his top against his chest. When eventually, finally, she moves her gaze up to his face, he’s smirking, clearly having caught her in the act.

“I never get cold,” he replies, shrugging, though he tenses the muscles on his arm, and her gaze immediately snaps back there.

He’s outright laughing right now, which makes her turn her back to him, pulling the blanket over her entire body and mumble an embarrassed good night.

But she has a very, very hard time falling asleep.

***

“I don’t wanna go,” she whines at Sam, pulling at his clothes, dragging him away from the maze.

He just laughs, tugging her harder instead. His little brother scared her as soon as she arrived for Spirit’s Eve, and since then she refused to leave his side, on edge all the time.

The town is decorated in skulls and supersized spiders, and Abigail took to walking around with a witch hat on and a sword in her hands, which everyone agreed was cool but also relatively worrisome.

She swears, loudly, clinging even closer to Sam’s arm, when Sebastian joins them, carrying two glasses of punch. He chuckles, but still passes one of them to her.

“You don’t celebrate Spirit’s Eve in the city?”

“Well,” she says, taking a large gulp of her drink. “There it’s more about getting shit-faced in a club, and less about your heart going for a run when you turn the corner of the street.”

“Amen, sister,” Sam yells, grabbing her glass and downing it all in one go.

“Hey!” She punches his shoulder.

“It made you laugh though!” he says, leaving so he can get her a refill, and well, he’s not wrong, because now she feels way more at ease than before.

Sebastian shifts closer to her, for which she is grateful.

“Is it really that bad?”

“I just hate jump scares,” she whines, again. “And I’m sure the maze is filled with them.”

“You know you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, right? We can just sit on a bench and watch the skeletons.”

“We?”

He’s pressing his palm to his neck. “Well I’ve cleared the maze every year, so.”

So they sit, together.

***

Back in the city, she can never tell when it will snow anyway – but here in town, the air is crisp and cold for days before. Robin shows up one early winter morning, and helps her isolate the house as much as possible, around the windows and the doors, so that no cold seeps in, so that all the warmth stays. She might need to renovate the house next year, but for now, it will have to be enough.

Robin sips at the coffee she’s been offered, and pretends not to see Sebastian’s books sprawled all around the farmer’s house, on the kitchen counter, on the bed, next to the TV. She also equally doesn’t comment on one of Sebastian’s jackets hanging on the back of the chair that the young girl is currently occupying. Robin takes another sip, and smiles in her cup.

Back in the city, when it snows, it never piles; part car fumes, part all the people walking around doing their business. But here in the town, when she wakes up one morning, all she can see around her house is a wide expanse of whiteness. Max runs past her, jumps into the snow, comes back in so wet but so happy, that she doesn’t mind having to towel him near the fire from the fireplace.

But she’s left with too much time on her hands; she watches Queen of Sauce almost obsessively, following along in her own kitchen, surprised when her food is actually good. She starts knitting, phoning Granny each time she stumbles through a row. She reads, almost obsessively. And she does go to the mines, but for shorter periods now, scared of not repeating her injury, even if the Adventurer’s Guild repaired the broken stairs.

Then Sam calls her over one day and welcomes her to the world of DnD, him and Sebastian more or less forcing everyone else to start a new campaign with them. It’s the happiest she’s seen them both, so she tries to keep up with the characters, stops to ask about plot holes. They explain things in tandem, finishing each other’s sentences, for almost an entire hour, because you see, this race can’t have this magical power. Sam pulls out his guide, passing it around so that everyone can look up the kind of character they want to create.

That first evening together, that’s all they do in fact: filling stat sheets, searching reference pictures on the internet. And they eat Jodi’s delicious snacks, gossip a bit about Marnie and mayor Lewis’ affair, that the whole town knows about but somehow only the two of them missed this detail.

They turn it into a weekly meeting, rotating their meeting place through all their houses, sometimes the Stardrop Saloon in the days when they know it’ll be more empty and calm. They fight imaginary battles, Sam’s voice guiding them through cities and enemies and friends, saving each other’s asses and forging alliances. It’s the best fun she’s had since arriving in the town, though if anyone were to tell her this a year ago, she would have laughed directly into their faces.

They break the tradition only once, when instead they decide to go ice-skating. Each winter, if the temperatures are low enough, the lake freezes, making it a perfect rink. To be fair, it’s her favourite sport – probably only sport that she’s so excited to do, that she jumps on the spot as she waits for her turn to lend a pair of skates.

She’s looking a bit ridiculous, wearing 3 different layers and one of her grandpa’s padded vests, a beanie on top of her head. Sebastian finds her just really cute. She skates around holding one of Maru’s hands, Abigail the other – because she’s the only one who doesn’t really know how to do it.

Then Sam starts a game of tag with Jas. So they start chasing each other around, yelling when they’re caught only to start again. Penny almost trips, but Sam’s catches her hand and stabilizes her, even if he’s it now. Abigail and Maru skate around holding hands, working more like one person than two separate ones, though Abigail lets go only when it’s her turn to chase someone; and she’s fast as a flash, her turn over in under a minute.

She touches the farmer’s back, and she’s left in the middle of the frozen lake, trying to think who to go after. Her intention is to go after Vincent, his voice shrill with happiness when he realizes he has to run away from her, but her skates catch in the ice.

She only has time to gasp out a swearword, preparing to fall flat on her face. But there’s an arm around her waist, though the angle is awkward and her weight too heavy, so both of them fall to the ground.

She blinks, trying to make sense of the new position. She didn’t hit the cold ice, instead Sebastian’s body cushioned her fall. She’s on top of him, hands on either side of his head, and she’s staring into his eyes. She’s so close that she can feel his chest heaving.

“You good?” he asks, a hand moving to settle around her waist.

It snaps her out of it. “Shit, I’m the one who should be asking that.”

She’s trying to get up, though she’s embarrassed and fumbling, and her first movement just positions her ass on Sebastian’s thighs and crotch area. He shudders, inhaling loudly – and she can feel him stir under her.

“Oh,” is all that she can say, eyes blown wide catching his. Though there’s something more there: curiosity, and a growing interest.

“You guys okay?!” Sam’s voice is distant to her ears, though she waves a hand in the air, to both show that they’re okay and ask for a break from their game. Sebastian says nothing, looking up at her like a man found guilty of murder, face flushed, though he hasn’t moved his hand from her waist.

She grinds her hips, pushing harder against Sebastian’s body, watching in fascination as he’s squeezing his eyes shut, a frown on his forehead.

“Stop,” he says, sounding wound up and chocked.

So she does, rolling from on top of him, pulling herself to her feet, smiling when offering him a hand up. Though he’s not smiling back, he takes her hand.

***

“Happy birthday!” she shouts, when Sebastian opens the door to his bedroom, holding up her present to him.

Behind him, music plays loudly, and she can see Sam and Abigail arguing about who gets the last slice of pizza. She’s the last to arrive, but that’s also partially because outside there’s a real blizzard. Penny comes to hug her in greeting, and she high-fives Sam. Most of the time, they just drink and joke around, chatting about random things, his oldest friends telling tales of Sebastian.

After a couple of hours, Sebastian catches her eyes, motions towards the outside. Sam has given up smoking, being more of a social smoker, just like her. But since he got together with Penny, a fact to which they finally admitted after merciless teasing from Abigail, he quit.

They stop in the hallway, putting on their coats – and she hands him the present again, though he hasn’t noticed her coming up with it.

“You might find useful what’s in here.”

So he opens it to find a matching hat and scarf, in a dark navy. They’re clearly handmade, and handmade by her he suspects – and he’s touched by the time and care she had to put in her gift. Nestled between the material, there’s also a frozen tear.

“God, I-I love this. Thank you.”

She beams at him, obviously relieved. He puts the frozen tear carefully in the pocket of his jacket. She helps him with the scarf and the beanie, her hands lingering on his shoulder for a second afterwards, admiring him.

Outside, in the courtyard corner where they’re smoking, there’s a snowman. Sebastian almost feels like kicking it when she mentions in passing that it’s cute.

“I built a snowgoon but Demetrius made me get rid of it, yet Maru’s cute little snowman still stands…”

He didn’t mean to sound this bitter. She shifts, coming in closer, taking his empty hand in hers.

“If I just disappeared, would it even matter?”

He means it like a rhetorical question, just for himself – but she’s strengthening her grip on him, forcing him to look at her. She wants him to understand that she’s entirely serious.

“It would matter to me.”

***

It’s drizzling, a mix of snow and rain, weather suddenly warming up. On the beach, anyway, snow never piles up, and when Sebastian turns around, he finds her standing a few feet away, staring out into the sea. She is drenched, shivering lightly with each gust of wind, and now that her concentration has been snapped by his movement, she’s staring at him instead.

He gestures her closer, and she stops by his side. Now, closer, he can see that she’s shivering more violently than he initially though, and she’s certainly not dressed properly for the weather.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks, softly, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. She closes her eyes, head leaning toward his touch, and he finds himself cupping her cheek without thinking too much about it.

“What are you doing out here?” she counters, blinking up at him.

Maybe it’s the absolutely pathetic state that both of them are into that makes him answer honestly to the question. Or maybe it’s the fact that it’s her.

“Looking out at the bleak horizon… It makes me feel like it’s worthwhile to keep pushing on.”

He shrugs, trying not to look as serious as his statement. Lately, he’s been having more reasons to believe that same thing, but old habits die hard, and there’s a particular calmness in being somewhere where no one else is. Or, he thinks, looking down at her, almost no one.

“I just like the sea,” she says, and any awkwardness that he still felt dissipates with her admission. The water is raging, stirred on by the storm, crashing violently against the pier, and they stand in silence, his hands carefully petting her hair, pulling her closer when she shivers again.

“Fuck, do you want to catch your death?”

He undresses quickly, placing his jacket over her shoulders. It doesn’t make much of a difference, but it’s more waterproof than what she’s wearing, and also carrying his warmth. He pops open the umbrella he’s carrying, and with an arm around her shoulder, pulls her to his chest.

“You know,” he starts, his palm rubbing circles on her back. “I would normally feel anxious doing this with anyone. But somehow, you’re the exception.”

Her head turns, chin resting on his chest so she can look up at him.

“I want to kiss you,” she says, and Sebastian chokes on whatever he wanted to say before. “Can I?”

She’s on her tiptoes now, her lips so close to his that their breathes are mingling, yet she’s giving him the choice of covering the remaining distance. Which he does, hungrily, almost desperate for it, both hands cupping her cheeks as their mouths clash. The umbrella falls into the water, and yet they don’t care enough to notice it.

They stop for a moment, coming up for air, and then they’re back at it, and despite the fire growing at the pit of her stomach, the kiss is languid, exploring, tongue pressing against tongue. Slight movement, a change in their position to deepen the kiss, her fingers now playing in the hair at the nape of his neck, his hands at her waist.

He kisses her like he never kissed somebody else, and went hungry for it all this time. His fingers move under her sweater, and the sudden cold touch makes her break apart. His touch turns comforting, pressing against her skin, and she sighs. Their foreheads meet.

“Fuck, I wanted to do that for so long,” he breathes and she laughs.

“We are two idiots, right?”

“Big idiots,” he nods, and she takes his hand in hers, starts pulling him in the direction of her house.

***

She starts the fire in the house, as he’s slowly undressing layer after layer. In the bathroom, the bathtub is filled with hot water, waiting for him. He’s down to a t-shirt and his boxers when he cups her elbow in his hand.

“Join me?” he asks, voice a bit strained, but firm.

She can only nod, dazed, not trusting that this is not just a dream, afraid that speaking will ruin the moment. He sits down on the edge of the tub, gesturing for her to come closer. She’s standing in front of him, and he’s gentle in guiding her out of her clothes, letting them drop to the floor. He strays from his purpose sometime, to press a kiss against her hip, or at the tip of her fingertips.

When she eventually ends up stark naked, his eyes are hungry, but his touch not, as he guides her inside the hot tub. She sighs in pleasure, closing her eyes. She opens them again when she hears the rustling of clothes, to watch him undress. He’s a bit slow, a bit shy, joining her inside the tub. The water almost spills over. She tries not to think of his cock, the precum leaking. She tries to ignore the uncomfortable heat growing between her legs.

She helps him shampoo his hair, he washes her back. They go off track from time to time, kissing lazingly for a long time, his hands massaging her breasts, her teeth grazing his neck. Until she moans, a loud sound. Until he gasps, her name caught between his lips.

Then, with ease, he helps her out. They share one, large towel, huddling together until they reach her bedroom, giggling like children. They’re almost to the bed when he stops, looks at her.

“We don’t have to do anything.”

He’s a liar, because his cock is pulsing with want and she can feel him against her hip. She pouts.

“But I want you.”

He kisses her pout away, pushes at her shoulder until she falls to the bed with a yelp, hands wrapping against him, taking him down with her. She’s laughing, pleased with having him on top of her, when his mouth moves downwards on her body, kissing against her collarbones, sucking at the skin, biting at the skin, until there’s a dark mark behind. He throws her a pleased grin, moving lower yet again.

Sebastian takes one of her nipples in his mouth, a hand moving up to tease the other. Her hands immediately wrap in his hair and she gasps. He pulls at the sensitive area, with his teeth and his fingers, licking it better immediately afterwards, and she writhes under him. He kisses his path downwards, though his lips kiss at her hips, he bites at her thighs, always circling around where she most wants him.

“Seb,” she whines. “Please.”

He stops his ministrations to look at her, frowning and pouting, hair dishevelled against her pillows, her body flushed all over, his marks so obvious against her skin. He feels himself growing at the sight, though he smirks at her.

“Please what?”

She blushes.

“Please eat me out?”

It sounds like a plead and a question and a prayer and a command all at once, and he’s on her in the blink of an eye, tongue lapping at her folds. Her back arches, but his hands are keeping her in place – and he maintains a constant, slow rhythm.

Until he doesn’t, one of his fingers entering her in full, with ease. Sebastian chuckles.

“You’re so wet, baby.”

Her walls squeeze at the nickname. He adds another finger; watches, transfixed, as it disappears inside with the same ease. He starts pumping them inside her, and the sound of her wet pussy taking it all in is so hot, that he groans.

Buried down in her to the knuckles, he opens his fingers apart. She moans, pushing down, searching for more, more, more. He scissors her, spreading her wide – and his head moves lower yet again, lips kissing against her clit at first.

Then, he adds a third finger. He can feel her stiffen under him, so he pulls her clit in his mouth, rolling his tongue around it, just as he starts pumping his fingers inside her. Now her hands are holding on to her sheets, and she’s mumbling some curses, halfway lost to her pleasure, moans louder and louder as he speeds up.

He raises his head just for a second, to chuckle against her heated pussy.

“Come, baby.”

So she does, and he continue pumping inside of her, letting her ride her orgasm. She still sighs when he pulls out his fingers, immediately missing the feeling of being filled up with him. He moves to pepper her face with kisses, petting at her now sweated forehead.

“You did so well, baby.”

He’s teasing her, knowing how much she likes the nickname. So instead she looks down between their bodies, his cock against his navel, leaking – and looking like the most beautiful dick she has ever seen in her life. It’s not the biggest one she’s seen, but he’s thick and she’s never wanted to taste something more than the cum that’d spill out of it.

Still staring, she moves her hands to grab it, her fingers dancing over it, starting with his leaking tip, spreading his precum all over his length, before stopping with a slight squeeze at its base. Sebastian shivers over her, eyes closed, mouth open in an unspoken prayer, because he’s not sure even god can help him now.

Holding his dick in her hands, she helps him adjust at her entrance. At first, he teases against her cunt, pressing his cock between her folds, rocking his hips back and forth as they both moan in tandem. She’s already dripping over the sheets again.

He grabs at her hand, fingers entwined.

“You ready?”

“For that dick? Born ready,” she says, chuckling, but not moving her eyes away from where he’s starting to push inside her.

“Fuuck,” he says, just as she moans, only the tip in. The stretch is painful, but so fucking delicious and she’s a blabbering mess begging for more, pulling him closer with her free arm. He slams inside her, forcing the rest of his length inside in one go, and she swears. He kisses at her eyebrows, at the tip of her nose, apologizing softly.

“Tell me when to move again,” he says, and true to his words, he seems content to just kiss her, tongue at her neck, words whispered and lost in her hair, but making her shiver nonetheless just because there’s the hot breath so close to her skin. She’s trying to adjust to his entirety of him inside her, not hurtful but not entirely comfortable just yet either, and his mouth now licking at her hypersensitive nipple seems to slowly do the trick.

“Move,” she says, and he does.

He’s slow at first, almost frustratingly so, pulling out almost entirely, before slowly filling her up again. She moans, drawn out sounds, with each movement – and she almost doesn’t notice when the speed picks up, when she starts moving her hips to meet his actions. They’re a mess of grunts and moans, gasps and swears – and he squeezes so hard at her hip when she comes again, the orgasm washing over her with an intensity that it’s almost blinding, that she’s sure he’ll leave bruises.

Sebastian looks like a man in pain, inside her as she’s coming back to herself after the orgasm. She kisses his cheek, hands rubbing against his chest muscles.

“Do you want to cum all over me?”

He almost trips with the haste that he’s pulling out of her. She’s waiting, on her back, tongue lolling out of her mouth. Sebastian rises on his knees – it’s embarrassing that he only needs two more pumps to come. Most of it falls on her tits and neck, though she’s happily licking every bit that she can reach with her tongue, swallowing it all like a good girl.

“Fuck,” Sebastian says, falling next to her on the bed. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

She beams at him, getting closer. They kiss for a while, bored and tired and messy, teeth clanking together, tongue at the corner of the mouth. There’s a string of saliva between their lips when they separate.

She gets up, goes to the toilet, returns all cleaned up, before coming back to the warmth of the bed, dragging the covers over both of them. Sure, the sheets are dirty, but that’s a problem for her future self, because right now, all she wants to do is snuggle at Sebastian’s back, an arm draped over his waist. So that’s what she does.

***

When they wake, they fuck on the kitchen counter, the angle hitting her just right. Truthfully, half of her butt is in the air, her legs wrapped around Sebastian’s torso, as he snaps his hips up in her, deeper and deeper each time. She’s never been so glad she doesn’t have neighbours in her entire life. Maybe because it’s been so long on her part, or because Sebastian is really just that good, she’s loud – and she loves to feel him stirring inside her, with each of her moans and praises.

“So good,” she gasps, fingers digging almost painfully in his back, and he proves his point by ramming into her, ripping a sob of pleasure out of her.

He’s wearing a condom this time around, so there is no mess to clean up, and they drink their coffee afterwards – talking about this and that, not even skimming the topic of what they’re doing, or why.

He kisses her goodbye though.

And on Winter Star, while she’s getting ready for the feast with everyone else, Sebastian comes by. He welcomes him warmly, and he sits on the side of her bed, watching her finish her make-up and doing her hair, and though he doesn’t move, she keeps catching his eyes in the mirror, looking at her every movement hungrily.

“We’re not fucking after all this effort I just put in,” she says, pointedly plucking her lips and applying a bright, red lipstick.

“I want to take you out on a date,” he says, ignoring her childish theatrics, but shaking his head with a soft smile.

“Sure.”

She tries to sound nonchalant, but her heart is beating in her chest. As much as she’d like to have him bend her over the table and take her like a bitch in heat, she’d much prefer him being her boyfriend while he does so.

“Good, let’s go then.”

“Now?” she yelps, when he grabs her hand and walks her towards the entrance.

“Now,” he says. He helps her putting on her beret, she straightens the scarf around his neck. “I’ve already called Sam and told him we won’t make it to the feast.”

“You did? What did he say?”

“To have condoms on me,” Sebastian says, face serious, which is why it makes her snort.

“And?” she’s wiggling her eyebrows at him. “Do you?”

He slaps her butt as she’s getting out instead of a reply. She turns at him, the slightest darkness in her eyes.

They go for a ride, promise not forgotten. They drive for a long time, and when they finally reach their destination, he tells her to keep her eyes closed, keeps his palms against her eyes as he guides her steps.

When he moves his hands away, she gasps. Spread ahead of her, the lights of Zuzu City against the usual darkness of the night. Sebastian moves next to her, grabs her hand in his.

“I come here when I want to get away from everything and just… think.”

He’s been doing this a lot lately, ever since she came to the valley, became his friend. Torn between his dreams of the city and the familiarity of home, he came here often thinking about what he should do.

He’s fumbling with his cigarettes, before eventually lightning one. Leaning against his motorcycle, she’s still looking out at the landscape in front of them.

“It gives such a strange, sad feeling…”

She’s almost saying it to herself. She doesn’t understand why he is showing this to her, and she can only think of how much he wants to be a part of those lights shining in the distance. She knows, if he is to walk that path, there’s nothing she will do to stop him.

Sebastian gets close to her, slings an arm around her shoulder. His gaze is still fixed to the city out in the distance, but when he speaks, it’s all just for her.

“The city used to draw me in… but now I’m finding myself happier at home in the valley.”

Her head snaps up so fast that it almost hurts. She doesn’t trust herself to say anything, afraid she’s overstepping, afraid she actually misunderstands whatever is going on, afraid to hope too much.

He turns to her, knuckles slowly caressing her cheek.

“You’re the only one I ever brought to this place. You know what I’m trying to say, don’t you?”

She shakes her head; wants to hear it. He leans down, pulling her close with his other arm, covering her sound of surprise with his mouth, kissing her. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to his kisses; he’s a passionate but patient kisser, drawing out the movements for as long as possible, biting and licking at her lips, smiling smugly and lazily at her when he is done.

“I want us to be together. For real.”

She jumps in his arms, the move making him stumble a bit, but they’re not falling. She looks in his eyes, the gaze as touching and passionate as it’s ever been.

“I love you, Sebastian.”

“Wha-”

But she kisses him.

***

She’s obsessed with saying those three words. Now that she has the right to say it, it blooms out of her at his every gesture. She says it out loud without embarrassment or care as to whoever else can hear it. She says it as good morning and as good bye. She says it when he stays the night, and when he asks her over to play a new game together. She says it in front of Maru and mayor Lewis. She says it when he comes inside of her. She says it when he lets her borrow his sweater. She says it when he calls her in the evening after work.

It makes him dizzy with how wanted she makes him feel.

It’s the middle of the night and they’re waiting, alongside everyone else from the city, for the clock to strike exactly 12, and the fireworks to blast into the sky. She’s holding onto his arm, chatting happily with Sam about a cover song they’re planning. Her weight, next to him, is something new to get used to – but she’s always fitting herself right there with so much ease, that it seems almost natural.

The countdown begins, mayor Lewis’ voice booming across the square. At 8, she joins in. At 3, he does too. The fireworks blast with a loud noise, and she squeezes herself closer to him, her eyes to the colouring sky, her lips to his ear.

“Make a wish, babe.”

She closes her eyes, thinking of everything she wants in the upcoming year. He looks at her.

“So, what did you wish for?” he asks.

She tugs at his jacket, kisses him.

“You.”

#stardew valley #stardew sebastian #sdv sebastian #sebastian x farmer #sdv farmer #sdv fanfic #i think this is the first part and i might do a 2nd one with them being domestic pieces of fluff #i'm so tired i 'm so glad this fic is DONE #hope you enjoy ~#my writing

337 notes · View notes

sillyandquiteawkward · 3 years

Photo

little father and bayley fic under the cut bc i forgot my ao3 password and im lazy. hope you enjoy

Food supplements and leafy greens sat on Doctor Bayley's plate, which he picked at distastefully. The Director of the Institute, Father, sat across from him, making decent headway with his own meal.

"I don't think I can ever learn to enjoy the food supplements. This flavor isn’t palatable either," Bayley curtly complained with a heavy sigh. He felt Father's lingering judgement upon him for refusing most of his meal again, without even having to look up. He poked at the slab of supplement with the tines of his fork. Even the various flavors the Institute boasted of supplements couldn't save Bayley from the pastes, powders, and bars turning his stomach. He was trying his best to find a flavor he could stand, but to Bayley, even mirelurk was easier to eat. At least the fresh vegetables were decent, if not simply boiled or baked if cooked at all. "I'd kill for some real meat on your menu."

"Come now, Doctor, we have little need to slaughter irradiated animals for food in this day and age. BioScience has developed the perfect meal dozens of times over, consisting of the exact amount of daily nutrients a man like yourself needs," Father replies coolly. Bayley glared at the older man. Of course he'd like them -- he grew up on the damn things. Well, Bayley grew up on real food!

"Designed a food that doesn't even fill your stomach," he mumbled behind his mug as he took a sip. Now to their credit, this was something Bayley actually liked. The coffee wasn't stale 200 year old beans and grounds. My god, they perfected the damn synthetic coffee and Bayley couldn't imagine going back.

Father confidently smirked, passing smoothly over Bayley's remark with a gentle shake of his head. "You poor surface dwellers, eating any and all the food you can scrounge to stave off hunger. I'm glad we were able to save you from that life. Give it time, Doctor. Your stomach will re-adjust to your new diet."

Bayley scoffed dismissively and set his fork down to keep nursing his coffee. Father took his own sip of tea. The pair fell into a dip of silence, accompanied by the gentle clink of silverware against plate as Father continued to finish off his lunch. Behind them a few tables over, there was a slight chatter from another pair of scientists in the cafeteria. Licking a crumb of food supplement left on the edge of his mug with a grimace, Bayley listened to their distant hushed conversation. Sounded like gossip about another scientist’s love affair... Hard to believe that even the “perfect” Institute could be filled with, what was ultimately, humans.

Father spoke up after a minute of Bayley straining to eavesdrop, "Why don't you tell me about yourself, Doctor?"

"...Why?" Bayley eyed Father suspiciously. "Don't you already know all about me? Isn't that why I'm here?"

Father took a warm sip of his mug before continuing. "I know about your reputation, or lack thereof." Bayley all but growled at the dig. "And I know you care deeply for the progress of humanity, as do I, albeit a tad misguided. You’re a highly intelligent man, Doctor, but I'm afraid I don't know about you, personally. I'd like to remedy that."

What could Bayley tell Father about? Why should he? Oh, but he loved to talk about himself... Bayley leaned back in his chair with folded hands in his lap, food left forgotten on his plate. "What is there to say? I'm a man married to his work, who likes breathing fresh air. On the surface."

“What got you into studying radiation?” Bayley noticed Father missed his complaint, or at least was ignoring it. “Surely you didn’t set out from the start on such a dangerous fascination.” Father had a look of curiosity on his face that seemed genuine to Bayley, although he still had suspicions this had ulterior motives.

“It was almost from the beginning actually. As I studied medicine in my youth, traveling along the Wasteland, I have to admit,” Bayley paused to consider his wording. “I had a distinct admiration of the ghoul’s ability to utilize radiation to build themself anew. The destructive power of radiation makes using it dangerous and even deadly, true, but I imagined a world where we could manipulate the human body to replicate how a ghoul’s body uses the gamma particles destructive properties to heal themselves, sans the ghoulification process of course.” Okay, so maybe he planned to be cagey, but Father just had to ask him about the thing he’s devoted his entire life to. Sorry, he’s gonna get excited. “I’d seen first hand ghouls reattach long lost limbs to themselves and remain functional, ferals even being brought back to life by glowing ones’ radiation bursts, and the stories of people growing functional limbs from radiation exposure caught my particular attention at a young age.”

“Fascinating things ghouls are, although their rotten brains and appearance are less than desirable. If anything their longevity is what catches my attention. Living over hundreds of years...” Father drifts off, looking past Bayley. “Imagine what one could achieve with that extra time.”

“Living forever doesn’t matter if you aren’t healthy,” Bayley corrected. “What’s the point of living if you are just suffering every day. I’m focusing myself to helping people in this day and age, instead of chasing functional immortality.”

“Maybe that’s the difference between us,” Father sighs. “Everything I do is for tomorrow, and tomorrow’s tomorrow. Humanity's future lies in our successor’s hands. It’s a shame we cannot directly work with our future generations to combine our knowledge. All we can do is help prepare them for when we are gone.”

“Eventually people in charge need to step down and let the fresh ideas in, otherwise we’ll collectively stagnate. We are stubborn creatures who hate change, snuffing out ideas that contradict our own. If someone like you lived forever, he’d never give up the reins.”

“I suppose you’d do the same,” Father states blandly, eyes half-lidded. “As you said, we are stubborn creatures.”

Bayley sputters, sitting back up in his chair. “No, I am the innovator in this scenario! I’ve been ostracized for my ideas, kicked out and shunned. No one sees my potential to change the world!”

“And in your age, have you begun to prepare an heir to your scientific knowledge, Doctor? Or do you think you can finish this chronicle yourself, with the few years left in your life?”

“I-I have to prove myself first! No one trusts my work because they don’t see the proof -- which I was working on when you so kindly stole me away from my clinic and subjects!” Bayley hissed, gripping the edge of the table.

Unphased, Father folded his hands on the table. “I trust your work, Doctor Bayley. I’ve seen your studies, seen what you can do when you are truly devoted to a cause. This is why I wanted you with us at the Institute. I want you to share your knowledge to us, so that we may pass it to the future with us. Let us help you ensure your legacy. We have the same goals, and we even have similar methods if you can believe it. Imagine what we can do together when we combine our knowledge, for humanity’s sake.”

Bayley raised an eyebrow at that. “Similar goals perhaps, but I wont be a part of the kidnapping and killing of Commonwealth citizens. You Institute folk are outrageously barbaric for all your self-righteousness.”

“We simply know how to weigh the importance of breaking a few eggs for the omelette. You too understand this principle closely, don’t you?”

Bayley grimaced flatly. “You truly know how to charm a man to your side.” This conversation was over if Bayley had anything to say about it, which he did. He gulped from his mug, keeping it up to his mouth as he turned physically away from Father. He’ll finish this and go back to his room. Trapped in the Institute with these madmen, forced to go along with things else suffer the same fate as the hundreds of others taken to the Institute. And Father had the gall to act like they were the same, that Bayley could excuse innocents murdered for “science.” He slammed the mug back onto the table.

“I hope you’ll understand one day soon, Doctor. I really do.” Father sighed, closing his eyes in defeat as Bayley stood up.

“I don’t want to understand,” Bayley said as he stormed past Father back to the concourse.

It was too much to think about, if Bayley was being honest with himself. He grit his teeth climbing the stairs, tense. A scientist descending the stairs stood to the side as Bayley passed, clearly wanting to give the angry man some space and avoid any conflict. Good. If he was to stay here, people should give way for him. Now if only Father was like that. He passed a pair of expressionless generation two synth guards eyeing their laser weapons as he ascended the next flight.

God, he was annoyed. Of course Father had to go ruin another meal together talking nonsense of Bayley hurting others. He tried his best not to hurt his subjects -- everyone was willing and importantly, no one had died under his care! Sick perhaps in the early days... but it wasn’t death! Bayley couldn’t stand the idea his great idea could possibly kill others when it was supposed to be helping them. If he was ever responsible for someone’s death...

Bayley slid open the automatic door to his small, barren room. It was just a simple bed and desk, which was plenty for Bayley, but he wished he had his trinkets and such if he was going to be living here until the day he dies. He collapsed onto the stiff bed, face pressing against the cool pillow. He missed his couch. He missed his clinic. Bayley even considered he missed being annoyed by Jonathan and Jay’s antics. Jay would try his best to cheer him out of this spiraling train of thought, and Jon would know plenty of things to distract him with.

If he was ever responsible for their deaths, Bayley considered he’d quit on the spot. He’d probably become deeply depressed until he really did just curl up and die, however fast it came after. All his life’s work to save humanity, and he’d killed the only people who trusted him most to do so.

But the truly terrible part of him hidden away deep in his heart wondered that if someone was to die as a result of his work, perhaps even if he wasn’t working willingly with the Institute, that he'd simply wouldn’t care.

#doc bayley #father #shaun #silly art tag

50 notes · View notes

plotbnuy · 3 years

Text

KarpReviews - The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

Back when The Hunger Games became a huge phenomenon, I have to admit that it didn’t quite grab me like it did for many. The original film came out on March 23rd, 2012, followed by Catching Fire late next year. These films started a trend of dystopian novel movie adaptations, with Divergent coming out on March 21st 2014, and Maze Runner coming out on September 19th that same year. By the time Mockingjay: Part One released on November 21′s, right after Maze Runner, I’d become a little burnt out on these tales of children fighting for survival against an oppressive system meant to keep society under control. Despite reading the first two books in the series, I didn’t return for Mockingjay.

That is, until a few months ago. I decided to give the books another try, and to my delight I grew to really love and appreciate them. Katniss is a wonderful protagonist, surrounded by a surprisingly colorful and interesting cast of characters (even though it still features the classic love triangle trope.) While the first two books were rereads, going in blind into Mockingjay was a treat, and I felt the series had a wonderfully satisfying ending.

Imagine my delight, however, when I realized that there was a prequel to the series! The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes features a much different entry in the story, taking place long before the events of the main series to highlight the tenth Hunger Games. In order to spice up what is comparatively an archaic and unpolished annual event, The Capitol has enlisted a large selection of students from an elite secondary school - simply referred to as “The Academy” - to mentor the children forced to fight in the arena! Who else should be chosen to be a mentor but a young Coriolanus Snow, hoping to become recognized and attain a university scholarship on his path to becoming President of Panem.

Yes, this entry puts us in the perspective of the infamous Coriolanus Snow, allowing us to see a little bit into what led to the events of the original Hunger Games novel. Not only does it flesh out Snow himself, but also how the titular event became the lavish, intricate, and audacious spectacle depicted during Katniss’s run in the arena. This allows this entry to differentiate itself immensely from the others, allowing it to feel fresh and new while it gives us a better look into the universe we’ve become a part of after three other novels and four films. With that being said, I want to dive deeper into what makes this particular entry so engaging.

While other entries in the series have a bit of a fluid structure, our story this time is split into very neat thirds: The events leading up to the games, the games themselves, and the aftermath. This time, we get to see the perspective of the games from the capitol’s eyes, as opposed to the districts. However, while the event is massively celebrated, with banquets, parties, tours, and intricate broadcasts during the 74th and 75th Hunger Games, the 10th is much different. It’s much bleaker and more depressing, as tributes are treated like livestock, with no access to good food or proper shelter. Many citizens, District or Capitol, would rather ignore the barbaric event, only bothering to attend The Reaping before returning to daily life. There’s no reward for victory, beyond the singular tribute avoiding death, only to return to the poverty-stricken districts. Tributes die before even entering the arena, leading the games themselves to be swift and merciless.

Ultimately, this raw and bleak depiction of the games, combined with Capitol citizens not yet disillusioned by the grandeur of future games, still recovering from the war, is a perfect choice for this Capitol-centric prequel. It keeps the citizens of The Capitol that we spend most of our time with from being completely unsympathetic, and it allows for a much more engaging story. Even before the games themselves, many things happen that impact the story, allowing for a lot of tension as things lead up to the main event.

Speaking of the Hunger Games, this is the first time we get to enjoy them from outside of the arena itself. As the story follows our mentors, we get to watch from their perspective as spectators as the games commence in the arena. This event also happens to be the first where sponsors are allowed to affect the games, sending gifts for the tributes to possibly keep them alive. Since the mentors themselves have agency over the games, they never feel boring as you hope for the survival of our main character’s tribute. The aftermath of the games left me absolutely shocked, leading into a finale that felt unlike anything the series has had to offer before.

Even though Coriolanus Snow is designated as our main character, this story is truly given life by the people who surround him. Closest to him is Sejanus Plinth, a childhood friend who joins Snow in the tribute mentorship program as his classmate. At first, Sejanus is telegraphed as an old rival and a clear foil to Snow, and you suspect he’ll be something of an antagonist given the disdain Coriolanus seems to have for him. However, I was pleasantly surprised as the story paints a much more intricate picture of our main character’s best friend. Their relationship is one of the many highlights of this story, as even when Snow tries to distance himself, or otherwise shows dislike for Sejanus, their paths become forcibly intertwined, and it becomes unclear whether they will become bitter rivals or loyal comrades.

The real star of the show for me is Coriolanus’s tribute, a District 12 girl named Lucy Grey Baird. A member of the Covey, she’s a performer and singer who prides herself in her skill for entertainment. With both Panem and the reader as her audience, her personality and charm is utterly captivating, with an even sharper wit than Katniss. Despite the circumstances, she becomes fond of Coriolanus early on, a fact attributed to Snow being one of the few mentors that goes out of his way to forge a bond with his tribute. She leaves an impression from her very first scene, and every moment with her going forward is captivating and wonderful. Truly, if I had to give a single reason to read this book, it would be for Lucy Grey specifically. Even though her situation seems completely impossible, you can’t help but hope for her victory in the games.

Of course, there’s always room for a good antagonist, even in a story starring Coriolanus Snow. Casca Highbottom, dean of The Academy, is one of the main obstacles making Snow’s future so uneasy. The story says little about him at first, only that he isn’t Coriolanus’s biggest fan, and that he created the Hunger Games themselves. He’s hard to read as a threat, given his addiction to painkillers and somewhat contradictory dialogue. Truthfully, he’s not much of a villain.

Enter Doctor Volumnia Gaul. Serving as the head Gamemaker, as well as an instructor at the Capitol University, she spends a large amount of time with both Coriolanus and the other mentors. Specializing in the “muttations” that her labs create for the Capitol, she serves as something of a mentor herself for Snow, challenging his morals and shaping his ideals. She starts off as seeming like an ally, only for her to show just how dangerous she is. She has a blatant disregard for life itself, only just barely being grounded enough to not be entirely absurd. Her presence gives the story a lot of much-needed tension, and I found her to be absolutely riveting.

What impresses me the most about Songbirds and Snakes is how it expertly avoids delivering what could have easily come off as a tragic backstory intended to garner sympathy for Panem’s ruthless dictator. Instead, it cleverly highlights Coriolanus’s personality, nature, aspirations, and faults, adding to his character without ever trying to suggest that he’s misunderstood or redeemable. His downfall, while accelerated by his environment, can be attributed entirely to the choices he makes himself. Even when surrounded by good people who genuinely love and care for him, miles away from the capitol, he makes the choice to become who he is: a vile, treacherous, untrusting snake. Yet, despite knowing his fate, there was a part of me that hoped he would make the right choice anyway, making the end of his arc even more effective.

Suzanne Collins is a truly talented writer. Not only is the original trilogy a fantastic read, but she managed to craft a prequel that both builds the lore of the series and has a major impact on the story as a whole. The connecting tissue between this prequel and the rest of the series is solid, not only fleshing out the world explicitly, but leaving breadcrumbs for attentive fans to enjoy. Upon reading the final chapters, there was a particular scene I couldn’t get out of my head. It wasn’t one within the book itself, but one that harkened forward to Mockingjay. I can picture Coriolanus Snow, eyes focused on the television as the rebels broadcast another one of Katniss’s propaganda videos. He can tell she’s in District 12, walking amongst the rubble of the decimated mining town. He thinks to turn away from the image of the collapsed Justice building and broken town square... until he hears Katniss begin to sing. His blood runs ice cold, every hair on his body stands on end, and in a hoarse, mangled voice, he begins to wail. Every one of his past sins comes rushing back as Katniss Everdeen unwittingly deals the most devastating blow she could ever give to Coriolanus Snow. It’s a scene that remains completely theoretical, and yet it’s perhaps one of the most powerful images in the entire Hunger Games saga. If you’ve enjoyed the rest of the series, then I urge you to read The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes.

#the hunger games #hunger games #katniss everdeen #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #suzanne collins #coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird #book review

34 notes · View notes

amive2567 · 3 years

Text

See you again

Summary: Soulmates are the people that truly belong to us, but sometimes life is not grateful and we have to wait for a life where we can meet them again.

AUs: SoulmateAU ReincarnationAU ProHeroAU

Warnings: fluffier than the others, blood, medical talk, harassment at work, swearing, protective Todoroki

Disclaimer: My Hero Academia and the characters belong to Kohei Horikoshi.

Words: about 2.180

Quirk: Cell regeneration ~ This quirk allows healing somebody. The host can regenerate and strengthen the cells. Therefore the host needs to touch the person they want to heal. The quirk replaces the damaged cells with the healthy ones of the host. The new cells multiply on their own and heal the injury.

Malfunctions are that through extended usage, the host gets dizzy, receives nosebleeds, and their skin can get dry.

A/N : We are slowly getting towards the end of the story, although I separated the last part into two. It would have been way too long for one part. So here is Part 1. I hope you like it. Oh, I will also correct the parts after I have finished the series.

A/N 2: In Japanese, last names come before first names. So I wrote the names like this.

previous part: Third life: 1970 next part: ~ coming soon

Series masterlist

Grand masterlist

Annoyed, you pressed the alarm until it finally stopped ringing. "And another day that has to pass," you whined. Just like every morning, you got up and cleaned your bed. You opened the window and let the fresh air in. After you brushed your teeth, you headed straight to your desired breakfast stop.

You opened the door of your favorite café. When you moved here, it became a routine to eat in the small, cozy coffee shop near your workplace, also known as the hospital. Even with a high amount of customers, it was always quiet and welcoming. But this morning, it seemed like no one was there.

"Good morning, L/N-sama. What would you like to have for breakfast today?" greeted you, Watayama Tomomi, the owner of the comfortable café. "Good morning. The usual, please." You ordered. With a wide grin, she disappeared into the kitchen.

In less than five minutes, she came back with your beloved breakfast. "I already thought that you would order the same as always, so I prepared it for you. Luckily, as always, you were punctual. So it's still warm." She explained in response to your questioning look. "That's very generous of you. Thank you Watayama-San." "Oh, I was happy to do that for you." She waved it aside and went back to work.

As always, while breakfast, you took out your phone and read the news.

Bank robbery in Musutafu city center.

A bank robbery took place in Musutafu city center. Several million yen were stolen in the process. Some civilians got hurt. The pro heroes one and two were gladly in the area and arrested the villains immediately. Shouto and Deku have once again shown a magnificent performance in which they soon caught the bank robbers and handed them over to the police.

....

If you want to read on, please sign up for a subscription.

You put your phone aside and focused on your miso soup. You took a sip of the broth and felt the soup warming your stomach from the inside. No matter how hot it could be, miso soup for breakfast promised an excellent start for the day.

Your gaze went back to the news article and stooped at the hero name Shouto. It was oddly familiar, but you didn't know why. It was just a name like everyone else's. Why did it felt like home reading these five letters? Why did it felt so familiar? You didn't even know him, neither did you ever saw him. You never dealt with this whole hero thing. It was just a regular career like every other. Of course, you were thankful that they risked their lives for the safety of the people. But that created a lot of work for others.

Your pager went off, and you groaned. Emergency room, it said. "Watayama-San, I have to go. Could you pack my breakfast so I can take it with me tonight?" you yelled through the empty café to the kitchen. “I like to do it L/N-sama. Have a successful day at work." she wished. You grabbed your stuff and headed straight to the hospital.

After you changed your clothes, you went to the E.R. In there, hell was going on. Nurses ran around, doctors stormed in and healed patients like on an assembly line. "L/N-san. We need your help." screamed a voice inside your head. You couldn't see anyone who might have called you, so it could only be one person, your colleague Sera Keiko. Her quirk allowed her to speak non-verbally to people far away. It was very efficient to gossip about various colleagues during the breaks.

You opened the door to the trauma room. A carnage greeted you with a Sera dripping in blood. "What happened?" you asked as you put on some gloves. "The bank robbery this morning did not take place without victims. This week we don't have so many staff to be able to cope with the size," She explained and pressed more effectively on the unconscious patient's wound. "Alright. We need more blood. Can someone get it, please?" you ordered. An assistant nodded and ran to the blood bank.

You took over the patient by pressing your hands on his wound and activating your quirk. "Why does he pass out every now and then? Did he hid his head?" you asked curiously. "I think so. We couldn't ask him, and there is no visible wound," reported Sera. "Did you ordered a C.T?" She inclined her head, embarrassed. "Then do it now," you demanded, and she called the tomography department. You focused on your quirk, so it healed the wound as concisely as possible. Blue sparks swirled around the bloodied skin. You felt how the effects started to work on your body. It felt like the world started spinning, but you wouldn't stop until you were sure that the cells would connect. "At the moment, they have no opportunity to take new patients," informed Sera. "Alright, then we need our wonderful neurosurgeon, doctor Tanabe," you said sarcastically. Sera nodded and dialed the pager number.

How you haded this arrogant, good-looking surgeon. Some people called him Mc. Hottie. Gross, you thought. As like your thoughts had summoned him, the door swung open, and he entered the room. "What do we have here?" Tanabe asked. "The patient passes out every now and then. We couldn't get a C.T, so we need your opinion," you told him professionally. "Of course you can have my opinion, babe." he winked at you. You rolled your eyes. He was a good doctor, but nothing more.

You felt how the bloody wound under your hand started to heal itself, so you could remove your hands. "L/N-san, your nose is bleeding. Here you are." Sera handed you a handkerchief. You cleaned your nose and thanked her with a smile. "When you're done here. I would take over," said doctor Tanabe. "You can have him," you said bluntly. With a last wink, he left the room with his new patient.

"Oh, he is such a douchebag," you complained loudly. "We need to inform someone related to him. Could you hand me his medical record?" you asked. Sera nodded and gave you the documents. "Thanks," you mumbled. "Do you want to grab a drink tomorrow?" asked Sera. "I would love to," you responded with a beaming smile. Sera started to smile simultaneously.

The door opened, and two men entered the room. "Excuse us..." started an unknown voice. "Sir, you can't enter this room. It's staff only..." your voice dropped as you looked into a pair of grey and turquoise eyes. A wave of memories hit you.

“It’s unfair.” you sniffed. The young prince pulled you into a closer hug and stroked your h/c hair. “I know, but we will meet in another life. That’s how it is with soulmates or not?"

“I hope so.” Your lips meet, the tears from both of you make the soulful kiss taste salty.

Even if I don’t come home, I will always remain a part of your heart, and we will meet again in the next life, just as we always have promised. We will be able to hug each other again and won’t have to let go. My love for you will never die, even if my body does not survive this war, my soul will always be with you.

“It’s fine, Shouto, we will meet in the next life. We will have a family and live until death will do us apart.” You wiggled your hand free from underneath the stone. With your bloody hand, you stroked his cheek. His eyes were filled with fear.

"You can’t leave me. I need you. We wanted to live a happy and long life together.“ he cried.

You felt how hot tears streamed down your cheeks. "Shou..." you mumbled, overwhelmed. "Y/N." he answered, as surprised as you were. You were attracted to each other like magnets. The world around you faded as you hugged each other. "I missed you," you mumbled, your voice choked with happy tears. "I missed you too, darling." His lips met yours, and you returned the loving kiss. The lonely feeling you felt your whole life disappeared at this moment. "Err, Todoroki, we still need to know what happened to your sidekick." stuttered a voice behind the two of you. You broke away from each other, and your cheeks turned a light red tone.

"Your right Midoryia, I am sorry. I just found my soulmate again," he said bluntly. "Oh, I don't want to be rude, but we really have to get going." said the green-haired man. "Do you happen to know where Mayeda Nobuo is?" asked Todoroki. "Oh yes, he was my patient. I bet we can ask doctor Tanabe if you can visit him. He had a severe wound and has probably a head injury. I healed the wound as best as I could, but the head injury still remains. Doctor Tanabe is the best neurosurgeon in Musutafu, so your sidekick is in good hands." you explained to them. "See you, Miyako-san." You let the two pro-heroes know that they should follow you.

As you reached the reception of neurology, you asked for doctor Tanabe. "He is at the tomography department." the receptionist explained. "Dang this idiot...," you mumbled under your breath. "Thank you." She nodded and went back to her work. I bet he was flirting with Oshiro Tomiko, head of the C.T. department, for an appointment, you thought.

You walked to the tomography department with the other two. There was a long queue in front of the C.T. And as it couldn't be otherwise, your object of desire was first in line. "Doctor Tanabe," you called him out. "What's up, sweety?" he asked flirtatiously. You rolled with your eyes. "Those two men would like to know how your patient is doing," you said professionally. "Oh I don't know it yet, but after the C.T we will recognize what's wrong," he said and stood close to you.

"Is he your boyfriend?" growled Todoroki. His eyes were gleaming furiously. You didn't even get the chance to answer. "I wish they were, but unfortunately, they always reject me. I need to say their sweet but has something," confessed Tanabe. His arm laid on your lower back. You pushed him away. "What did you just say?" asked Todoroki with a snarl. He looked down at doctor Tanabe with an expression that gave you goosebumps. Never had you seen him that angry. "I said that their but is cute," repeated Tanabe fearlessly. Todoroki grabbed him by the collar. "Don't you ever say that to my love again, understood asshole? And don't you ever make them uncomfortable again." He let go of him and took your hand. "Thanks for your help doctor," Todoroki spat contemptuously.

"Let's go." He dragged you away with Midoryia. You were surprised by his behavior. He was always this calm, collected guy, and now he was jealous? "Todoroki-Kun, don't you think you took it a bit too far," Midoriya asked carefully. "No, he molested my soulmate. This guy should get behind bars." Todoroki snarled.

He stopped in the entry hall and turned to you. "I apologize for my harsh behavior, darling, but I've lost too much in this life, and I can't lose you again." "You won't lose me. Especially not to an arse like Tanabe. I will always love you. No matter what will happen." you assured him.

The three of you talked for a while, and you go to know that Midoryia soulmate was the girl in the pink and black dress. Her name is Uraraka Ochako. Fortunately, they met in high school and trained together to become heroes. "Wasn't she your wife the last time we met?" you asked confusedly. The memories were still a bit blurry. "Exactly."

"We have to go back to work. Unfortunately, due to this incident, we have to sign some documents." noticed Todoroki. "Then I won't hold you back any longer. Good luck at work." you wished the two pro-heroes.

"Oh, and that I won't forget. Shoto, we still have to exchange numbers." His face lit up, and he handed you a piece of paper. You smiled at the note and saw that the numbers were neatly written down. "You still write your number on a piece of paper?" asked Midoryia confusedly. "Strangely enough, many women want my phone number, so I write it down on paper for faster inquiries," he answered bluntly. Jealousy grew in your stomach, but you knew he was attractive, and many women took advantage of his social awkwardness. "They find you attractive, which is true, but they want to um... " You whispered the rest of the sentence in his ear. His cheeks turned beet red. "Er, well, I don't want that they do that. I need to tell them." he stuttered. "I think so too. So then, I will see you two around." The two of you shared a kiss before the two pro-heroes went back to work, and so did you.

#shoto x reader #see you again #kinda fluffy #mha x reader #mha #bnha #bnha x reader #pro hero au #pro hero shouto #pro hero izuku #soulmate au #Reincarnation AU

49 notes · View notes

foxofthedesert · 3 years

Text

So I just finished my 3rd watch thru of Merlin, and yet again am brokenhearted. Not only by Arthur's death and Merlin's grief, but by Morgana's tragic descent into madness. Though I loathed the choice, I always understood why the writers went the direction they did with Morgana. What I did not understand was the way they handled her relationship with Gwen. It just never made any sense to me that Morgana could be so cruel to someone she clearly loved very deeply - even if only in the platonic sense. To me, it seemed like the Morgana that existed at the end of season 2 was replaced by a totally different, inexplicably cruel and insufferably smirky one by the start of season 3.

Still, prophecies need fulfilled and such, and after all it is a fantasy series based on a complicated mythology where Morgana sometimes is portrayed as evil. I just wish it was handled better.

Be that as it may, as a writer I tend to gravitate toward the untold stories within canon. That being the case, Gwen and Morgana's relationship is a natural attraction. I adore their chemistry, which makes them so easy to pair up. Since I am also not necessarily beholden to canon, that means I can imagine whatever the hell I want for them. Such an AU where their potential is realized before Morgause enters the picture to warp Morgana into her father's daughter.

This little piece is part of that. I may or may not add more entries in the future.

As a side note, this was initially supposed to be much shorter, but my fingers wouldn't stop typing words. Silly digits.

Ficlet below the line!

Morgana awoke giggling in an entirely unrefined manner. Her uncharacteristic bubbly mirth, she discovered, was due to a gentle tickling sensation all across her face. Once the wispy haze of sleep was blinked out of her blurry eyes, a familiar shape resolved into an entirely too handsome face wearing such a love-sick expression that her chest reflexively suffused with an affectionate warmth that quickly seeped into her very bones.

“What time is it?” she asked to the person hovering above her, voice still gravelly and slightly slurred from having been roused out of such a deep, blessedly dreamless repose. The pleasant tickling sensation began anew immediately after her half-slurred inquiry, and when she lifted her gaze she was greeted by rich brown eyes she would swear on her life she could live and die in.

“Just after dawn.” The utterly enchanting creature paying her such lovely attention continued to delicately and reverently brush calloused fingertips across the expanse of her jaw. “Sorry I woke you. I meant to let you sleep in a bit longer, I just really couldn’t help myself.”

A pause allowed a full, dusky lip to be pulled rather invitingly between pearly white teeth before her beloved added, “It seems I never can where you are concerned.”

Morgana smiled. A genuine smile, too. Nothing like the false ones she graced her guardian with, full of barely suppressed loathing and rage. Lately she had been consumed by disgust for the man who so many times proclaimed to cherish her, a man who would see her burnt at the stake if he knew who she truly was. Uther Pendragon claimed to be a fair and just king, yet he waged unlawful wars against territories that dared stand up against his brutish rule and relentlessly persecuted innocents whose only crime was to be born different. People like her. People with magic.

Coming to terms with her gifts had cost Morgana both countless nights spent in wakeful torment over horrific visions that plagued her dreams and untold days spent wrestling with throat-clogging anxiety over the possibility of discovery. There were many occasions during that frightening period in which she felt as though tottering precariously over a dark, abyssal chasm at the bottom of which lie only inescapable madness. Every second spent at court was an exhausting exercise in choking down a nauseating terror of the tyrant who held the power of life and death over her and would surely decide upon the latter should he learn the truth about her magic. Meals were a unique form of torture due to the perpetual knot residing in her stomach and every event she would normally revel in was transformed into a dreaded affair during which she could scarcely breathe for the crushing weight resting upon her chest.

Frankly, if it hadn’t been for Guinevere and Merlin she is sure she would have already plummeted headlong into those foreboding depths, right into the waiting arms of a hatred no human heart could withstand without incurring irreparable damage.

If Merlin hadn’t told her the truth about his magic as he lead her to Aglain’s druid camp, the pervasive sense of isolation and desperation worming insidiously through her mind would have inevitably forced her into drastic choices. Even before her magic manifested she had silently nursed treasonous thoughts toward Camelot’s cruel monarch. What might she have done if the walls closed in so tightly on her she felt there was no avenue of escape outside of acting upon those unsavory impulses? It hardly bears thinking about for risk of inviting such evil desires back in to her heart when of all her attributes, it is her heart which makes her most special – or at least that is what Guinevere insists to be the case.

Thankfully, finding a steadfast friend and ally in Merlin had done much to ameliorate the suffocating feeling of helplessness she felt as a member of the court harboring so deadly a secret. With much diligence and patience he was teaching her to control her powers, to harness them for good, and to have faith that better days were ahead for their kind. It was also mostly due to the Merlin’s deceptive wisdom and boundless optimism – and to be fair what reasonable person could resist that impish, dimpled smile? – that she began to view Arthur through a fresh lens.

If she bothered to look deeply, as Merlin insisted, to ignore the chauvinistic bravado and infuriating superiority complex, it was not difficult to recognize Arthur’s innate nobility and compassion that existed despite his monstrous father. And seeing as Merlin was as stubborn as he was convincing, it did not take long for Morgana to accept with a cautiously hopeful heart that with the aid of loyal friends, Arthur had it in him to become to the greatest sovereign Camelot had ever seen, a king who might actually prove himself worthy of the people both common and magical to whom he would be sworn to serve. Of course, she and Arthur still had their mundane squabbles and butted heads frequently over political and legal matters, but in the months since Merlin began her training, Morgana had acquired a new appreciation for the young man who was to her as good as a sibling.

As much as Merlin had done for her, however, it paled in comparison to Gwen’s contributions to her health and happiness.

For as long as Morgana had known Gwen she had held the blacksmith’s daughter in esteem far higher than any Lady should their maidservant. What started out as mutual respect born from shared grief over the loss of a parent soon flowered into genuine friendship. For many years they were the best of friends, each providing for the other a refuge from the storms of life and a confidante more reliable and wise and loyal than could be hired with all of Midas’ gold.

By the time Morgana entered womanhood, her fondness for Gwen had only swelled to become boundless as it was profound. In her eyes, Gwen was the most wonderful person in all the world; none could hope to be her equal in breathtaking beauty, charitable kindness, seemingly endless stores of patience, altogether praiseworthy meekness, a silent strength surpassing steel, or in nearly saintly levels of graciousness. Gwen was the unfailing light to Morgana’s rapidly encroaching darkness, the quickening sun to her deathly pale moon, the Aurora to her Luna. She neither trusted any more deeply as she did Gwen, nor did she desire the company of another so keenly. As a result, they were rarely parted until retiring for bed, and then only by necessity of station. So inextricably attached were they Gwen’s friends often jested that she must have accidentally stitched herself to her lady’s garments at the hip. The noblewomen were not nearly so kind. Some of the more prominent Ladies in the castle questioned the innocence of their arrangement, going so far as to exchange idle speculation which painted them as clandestine devotees of Sappho.

If Morgana could be bothered to care about the rumors, she would have confronted the useless busybodies long ago. But quite frankly, their opinions on her relationship with Gwen mattered for naught seeing as Arthur dismissed them as absurd upon reaching his ears and, beyond even that, Morgana would rather die than provide the snide gossipers ammunition that might serve as tacit confirmation that their unwelcome conjecture was not without merit – which was in fact the case.

All the same, though, she took great pains to prevent them from reaching the ears of the king. Uther already disapproved of their unusual bond and reminded her of such every time she treated Gwen with an ounce of basic human dignity while in his presence. Rather than censure the prejudice as she might have no long ago, Morgana now bore the chastisement with pride. Were it required, she would gladly wear forty stripes upon her skin if that be the price of Gwen’s love. The haughty bigotry of her guardian could never dissuade her from the path her heart had chosen to travel. Gwen was far too precious to ever surrender without a fight, to death if she must.

For what felt like ages, Morgana had believed her feelings would never be reciprocated. And that was perfectly acceptable to her, so long as Gwen remained an integral part of her life. The constant yearning that caused her chest to ache, sometimes almost painfully, was something she could endure so long as Gwen was happy.

That perspective radically transformed the night Gwen’s father died.

The midnight bells sounded in the citadel as Morgana slipped out into the upper town. Her intentions were pure at the time. She had only meant to visit her friend and offer what support she could, no matter the reckless impropriety of her visiting the her maidservant’s home so late at night. Instead, one glimpse of Gwen’s devastation over the pointless tragedy reignited her rage. All too quickly it boiled over, allowing those old, bitter feelings to spill out as impetuous threats of vengeance, and not only on Gwen’s behalf but for all those wronged by the merciless hand of Uther Pendragon. For what felt like hours she railed, heedless of the effect her malicious speech was having on the distraught girl she was supposed to be comforting.

It was only when Gwen – sweet Gwen, kind and thoughtful and selfless to a fault – had been pushed to her limits that Morgana’s perilous vitriol was interrupted.

Casting aside station, Gwen grasped her by the face and made her swear to never utter such dangerous words again.

“My brother has already abandoned me and now both my parents are dead,” Gwen had said, lips quivering and cheeks stained by tears. “I can’t lose you, too. I can’t. I won’t survive it.”

“Of course you would, Gwen. You’re the strongest person I know,” Morgana had replied, grasping reflexively at lean wrists, Gwen’s hands having migrated to the back of Morgana’s neck, thumbs cupped round the front of her ears. It was the first time she had been embraced so intimately, and if it weren’t for her anger she most certainly would have shivered with excitement at the surprisingly welcome contact.

“I’m not,” Gwen had half-sobbed, voice hoarse from hours surrendered to grief. “I’m only standing at all right now because the person I love most in all the world is here with me.”

Morgana hadn’t understood the nature of that declaration at first. Not until Gwen tucked her lip between her teeth, her nostrils flared with what could not be misinterpreted as anything but raw want, and her eyes went impossibly dark. A sharp gasp of realization was all Morgana could manage as a response, so stunned was she that her most secretive and treasured wish was being fulfilled.

But when Gwen nodded, chest heaving with emotion, despair and fear warring with adoration in her eyes, Morgana could no longer contain herself. Suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle fused together, revealing the explanation as to why a simple smile from Gwen was able to chase away the storm clouds gathering above her head, or why Gwen’s chiming laughter kicked up butterflies in her stomach and a captivating warmth in her chest, or why even the most airy of touches from Gwen left a wake of goose-flesh in her skin. It wasn’t just love. It was destiny.

In retrospect, Morgana probably should have been as if not more terrified of crossing that final, socially forbidden line between mistress and servant, friend and lover, than she was of being magical. The thing of it was, the only relevant factors in that moment was Gwen willingly offering of herself more than she probably should and Morgana being selfish enough to accept.

They made love that night beneath Gwen’s threadbare sheets, and it was glorious, just as Morgana had imagined it would be.

All of their sorrows and anxieties and animosities drifted away like dandelion seeds upon a crisp summer breeze. Cliches regarding such unions suddenly made sense. Somewhere along the journey that began by laving the stiffened peak of a pert breast then languidly progressed into nestling her face into the delicate, aromatic flower situated between smooth bronze legs, she lost all sense of self. It was as if with each bruising kiss, playful nibble, and greedy draw with open mouth, she and Gwen were merging into one being. Gwen’s throaty noises and keening pleas reverberated through her every muscle fiber, down even into the very marrow of her bones. Gwen’s intoxicating flavor permeated her senses until it was all she could taste or smell. And Gwen’s gratification became hers as her hand slipped beneath her ridiculously extravagant undergarments to relieve the desperate pressure upon a mound so slick with arousal that the sound of her feverish rubbing was positively obscene.

Mere heartbeats after Gwen went taut with a silent scream, stars exploded behind Morgana’s eyes as the most exquisite mixture of pleasure and pain engulfed her mind and set her nether regions aflame. Spent and unable to control her trembling limbs, she collapsed across Gwen’s heaving chest. Strong arms immediately wrapped around underneath her arms to pull her in tight, and as she buried her nose in the damp curls at Gwen’s neck, all she could do was weep, utterly overcome by an unspeakable joy she understood without needing to ask was fully mutual. They fell asleep like that, Morgana stretched across Gwen, encased in an embrace that felt like a subconscious announcement of a claim upon her, heart and soul and body, something she not only welcomed but reveled in.

Wonderful thoughts about publicly belonging to Gwen lulled Morgana into a peaceful sleep that went markedly undisturbed.

In the pale light of morning she was still so drunken upon pure, heady, all consuming bliss to realize she would be missed if she did make an appearance in the castle. Had Gwen not pointed that out, she would have been more than glad to spend the entire day wrapped around her new lover, discovering every last spot that made Gwen’s toes curl ‘til the girl was too exhausted to move the tiniest muscle.

Alas, the constraints of reality marshaled both of them to action, and so once they had dressed, they sneaked carefully into the castle by auxiliary corridors during the changing of the guard. By only the slimmest of margins, they slipped into her chambers just as the fresh patrol rounded the corner in their direction. Once inside, the thrill of the close call and euphoria over their consummated love invigorated Morgana into a passion she could not ignore. Overcome by a need – more like an almost maddening hunger really – to touch, smell, and taste every delicious inch of the skin she had feasted upon last night, she unceremoniously dragged a breathless, ruddy cheeked Gwen straight over to her bed.

After that thorough christening, they lingered together in a tangle of limbs, both sated and happy. At least until the sound of Camelot’s awakening resounded through the chambers from the courtyard below and with it the first doubts crept in. Morgana could recall the subsequent conversation as though it had just happened.

***************

“I should see to my duties directly,” Gwen had said, immediately rustling to exit the bed upon hearing Arthur’s booming voice rattle down the hallway, clearly a response to the latest in an endless string of mistakes by his loyal yet tragically clumsy manservant.

Morgana hadn’t wanted to turn loose quite yet, so she tightened hold around Gwen’s waist, halting the undesired escape.

“They can wait,” she replied between leisurely kisses trailed up a shapely arm. “The laundry isn’t going anywhere, nor is the evening gown that needs mending. Stay with me a while longer.” She paused to nuzzle into Gwen’s shoulder. “Stay with me forever.”

Rather than struggle, Gwen melted the embrace. “You know that is all I wish for. I love you, Morgana. More than anything. But…”

“But what?”

“What if someone catches us?”

Morgana scoffed, having missed the long term nature of the question in addition to the concern pouring off of Gwen in waves she should not have missed. It was not her finest moment. She hadn’t meant to be insensitive, though. The idea had just seemed so preposterous at the time because she had thought Gwen was only speaking about the present.

“Who would be so bold as to enter my chambers without permission?” she had said. “Not even Uther at his most disrespectful would dare venture such a trespass. We are entirely safe here. No need to worry your pretty head.”

Gwen shifted in Morgana’s arms then so that they were face to face. “I do, though. Worry that is. And I have to ask: why aren’t you?”

“Why should I be? For that matter why should you be?” Morgana replied. And then she met Gwen’s eyes. Large, and impossibly dark, and unmistakably upset.

All of the sudden it was impossible for Morgana to ignore how frightened Gwen really was. In response, her stomach twisted almost painfully and her heart fell as the happy bubble she had been floating in abruptly burst.

What in all the world, she wondered in a moment of regrettable obliviousness, had Gwen afraid of them being caught? Her brow furrowed as deeply as it ever had as she mulled around potential causes.

Certainly they were going to have to be careful in the future to avoid exposure, she reckoned, but Gwen was as fully cognizant that there were more perilous secrets both were currently keeping. Morgana’s ability to pull the wool over Uther’s eyes was well established, and no one else besides the two of them had unfettered access to her chambers. Besides all that, Morgana knew every nook and cranny of the citadel and was able to slip out and into the upper town undetected at will, of which Gwen was also very well aware. So there had to be more to it. But what?

Only one other possibility occurred to her, and it was the one she least wanted to entertain. And yet...

“Unless you regret what has transpired between us?” she asked at length, unable to disguise her own fear, which manifested through a faint trembling in her voice. “No!” Shaking her head fervently, Gwen grasped Morgana’s face much as she did the night before. “Not even for a second. I’ve lost so much, and I have much to regret, but not this. This is the best thing to ever happen to me. I just…”

Again Gwen trailed off, her hands retreating to clasp together against her mouth. And although Morgana’s anxiety had quieted with Gwen’s reassurance, there was clearly something still bothering her.

“Just what?” Morgana prompted, then reached out to stroke Gwen’s hair. “I hate seeing you so twisted up. Tell me. Please.”

A single, contrite nibble of a kiss-stung lip later, Gwen averted her eyes and gave her answer, “Don’t you wonder, even just for a second in the back of your mind, if what we did was wrong?”

Morgana very nearly sighed in relief. This was a problem she could easily remedy, as it was a one she had wrestled with for years only for Merlin’s simple yet profound worldview to unexpectedly resolve.

During the incident where Gwen was accused of using sorcery to heal her father, he had stumbled upon Morgana beside herself after a visit to Gwen’s cell. In her anxiety and grief she had confessed to having feelings for her handmaiden that although unseemly nonetheless had taken hold of her. Where she had expected disgust, she was instead given only understanding and compassion. In that endearingly provincial way of his, Merlin ensured her that love – if true and pure and unselfish, which he insisted hers for Gwen surely was – could never be wrong.

Morgana had felt something turn loose inside her at Merlin’s easy acceptance, as if her heart had been tied into a knot being slowly and perpetually tightened. Breathing became a relief once again. And as she learned to accept herself the way Merlin did, she began to hope that perhaps one day in the future a door would open for her to act upon her feelings without destroying what she and Gwen already shared. She could not have anticipated Tom’s death being the impetus for her to do so. Yet as awful as his tragic death was, it birthed something so infinitely precious that Morgana would never cease being grateful. And if only for the memory of that kind, thoughtful, patient man, she would never stop fighting for the love she shared with her beloved Guinevere.

“Gwen,” she had said, unsuccessfully vying for her conflicted love’s attention. Twice more she called Gwen’s name, and after receiving no response pushed up slightly on her elbow. “Look at me, Guinevere.” When large, uncertain eyes, brimming with tears, met hers, she leaned over so that she could press her forehead against Gwen’s. “We have done nothing wrong. Do you hear me? If you trust me, if you love me as you assert to, believe me when I say this. Something so wonderful and beautiful and perfect could never be anything less than rightly divine.”

***************

That phrase that swiftly became Morgana’s favorite answer to Gwen’s occasional concerns. The world at large, and most definitely those housed within the vaunted halls of Camelot’s citadel, would most certainly view their relationship as wicked and immoral and perverse. If that was indeed the case, Morgana did not believe she ever wanted to be either innocent or righteous. Their love was wonderful, and beautiful, and perfectly divine; an immutable fact which Morgana was determined to never allow either of them to forget.

No doubt lurked within Gwen’s eyes this morning, however, only unadulterated affection. And that made Morgana exceedingly joyful indeed.

“I understand what you mean,” Morgana at last said after escaping that precious memory. She sighed contentedly and shuttered her eyelids as yet another reverent brush of fingers smoothed along the crest of her chin. And while the diligent attention felt incredible, she grew increasingly curious why Gwen’s focus appeared to have narrowly fixated on that one specific region of her face.

“What’s the matter?” Gwen said after a bit of easy silence.

“What makes you think something’s the matter?” Morgana replied, still basking in the glow of Gwen’s magical touch.

“You have that telltale crease between your brow which means something is bothering you.”

This time Morgana opened her eyes. “I’m not bothered, merely at a loss as to why you suddenly find my chin so hypnotizing.”

Gwen sucked at her lip momentarily as if weighing whether to answer before a crooked smile bloomed across her handsome features.

“Well, not just your chin, but if you must know it’s all these little hairs…” And then she stroked Morgana’s chin again, this time allowing her fingers to feather over said hairs all the way down her jawline.

“Are you saying my face is hairy, Gwen?” Morgana asked, frowning as a thread of hurt pulled taut.

As should be obvious, she didn’t appreciate it pointed out that her alabaster skin failed to conceal what otherwise would have been a nearly invisible coat of fine hairs that covered all humans male and female alike. Arthur teased her about it relentlessly when she was a blossoming teenager, and even now some of the noble ladies who envied her would snidely comment upon how it clearly indicated that she was a witch destined for a life of barren unhappiness.

Up til now, Gwen had made no mention of that peculiar feature and Morgana would be lying if she claimed she wasn’t wounded that it would be brought up only now that they were in an intimate situation.

“No!” Gwen’s eyes went wide as the full moon. “No, not at all! I mean...well, yes, it sort of is.” A huffed breath of remorse followed Morgana’s gasp of offense. “Not that it’s a bad thing! I swear I meant no insult. I have some too, after all. It’s just less visible because of my skin tone probably. And don’t worry! It’s nothing like Lady Johanna’s fledgling beard. Not even close. On the contrary, they’re so tiny and delicate and wispy and soft, and I really am utterly obsessed with them because they are part of you and you are perfect, so they are also perfect by extension, and I just can’t get over how adorable they are, and I am currently babbling like a lunatic with zero manners. I am so sorry, milady.”

At the end of that adorable ramble, Gwen’s shoulders hunched in as her cheeks darkened and she yet again sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Any insult Morgana felt evaporated as quickly as it formed. How could she be upset with such an enchanting creature?

Reaching across Gwen’s waist, she pulled her abashed lover down until they were flush, skin to skin from shoulders to hips.

“Oh, Gwen, there is nothing to be sorry for,” she said, legs instinctively parting as Gwen’s familiar weight settled against her. “My reaction is habit, I’m afraid, due to Arthur’s derisive mocking. It’s actually quite nice to hear a compliment for a change.”

“Are you sure you’re not cross with me? I’d understand if you were…”

No one with a functioning soul could be cross with those doe eyes staring at them, Morgana decided. She danced her fingers with lighthearted mirth across Gwen’s cheeks and over the ridge of her nose.

“Nonsense, sweetling. It’s no different than me admiring your freckles.”

Gwen’s features relaxed into a flattered smile. “You like my freckles?”

“Like them? I love them! How could I not? It’s like you said, they are a part of you, and you are perfect, therefore they are perfect by extension.”

In response, Gwen gave her an appreciative little smile before arresting her hand to place a kiss upon the inside of her wrist.

“So you won’t mind to be awakened like that again should I fail to curb my weird fascination?”

“Only if you won’t should I wake you by mapping the stars written across your cheeks,” Morgana said, then returned Gwen’s tactile affection with some of her own by again acting out her words with her own fingers. She was pleased when Gwen leaned in to the touch.

“I promise I won’t. I think I’d quite fancy that, actually.”

“Then I promise, too. And if you’re a good girl today, perhaps I will indulge your fancy tomorrow morning.”

“Well, then, I’d better get to work, hadn’t I?”

Eyes flashing with eager anticipation, Gwen threw the covers aside and made to get out of bed – a development Morgana was not prepared to authorize. Not only was she of a mind to lounge abed and cuddle away another hour or two, all of Camelot was blanketed in snow and she was loathe to be deprived of Gwen’s heavenly body...heat.

“Now, now,” Morgana tugged at Gwen, almost desperate with a need to curl right back into Gwen’s warmth and never move again while hoping she sounded at least somewhat the dignified noblewoman she was supposed to be. “Don’t be so hasty. Have you forgotten yourself and your duties to your lady? I haven’t yet had my good morning kiss.”

Gwen tumbled back into bed giggling merrily. “For shame! I have failed my lady most unforgivably. I shall rectify the trespass immediately.”

“See that you do, Guinevere, and promptly,” Morgana said, her eyes twinkling as her own merriment curved her lips into a smile. “As you know, your lady does not appreciate being made to wait.”

After a deliberately silly half-curtsy, Gwen draped herself across Morgana’s body, and once settled whispered her reply against Morgana’s already tingling lips.

“My lady’s wish is my command.”

The brief peck that followed was not enough for Morgana. Fingers winding into dark curls, she pulled Gwen into a much more passionate kiss, which lead to another, and another, until the embrace quickly evolved into tangling tongues and undulating hips. Soon enough, Gwen’s head was disappearing beneath the sheets and Morgana was having to recall how to breathe due to the magnificently excruciating pleasure coursing through her loins.

And that was how she came to be late for her first appointment of the morning, where she was relentlessly lectured about the importance of punctuality over manchet, eggs, sausage, and apples sprinkled with cinnamon. It was worth it, though. Her giddy grin throughout breakfast only made Arthur more bewildered and Uther more angry.

#bbc merlin #gwen #morgana #morgwen

14 notes · View notes

her0brine · 3 years

Text

I finally got around to finishing the first part of my little three part fic about Steve and Alex meeting for the first time! I haven’t made a name for this part/the overall name for the story yet so I’ll probably edit this later! I genuinely hope y’all like this first part, the other two halves I’ll try to make it as equally long!!!

The quiet still of a nighttime forest is abruptly cut by the ragged breaths of a miner, hurriedly shambling across patches of grass, as they gingerly hold onto their day’s work. They have been mining for hours, as they were in dire need of iron ore to smelt into ingots, after realizing their new rail system was a bit short on tracks. Their short grey boots squelched into the wet earth, as it was pouring earlier in the day before they entered the cave system they have uncovered some time before. The sound of their mining completely droned out the pouring rain as it echoed through the cave system, so they were quite surprised to see that a light mist has settled across the Overworld.

However, they are fearful of staying out late at nighttime, and they mistakenly stayed in the cave too long, as the mineral vein they discovered was quite large and they didn’t want to pass up on the rare opportunity. As they walked without a torch, the miner’s eyes seems to be rapidly scanning the environment that surrounds them. Walking in the nighttime without a torch was dangerous and is quite the taboo, but spending years in near pitch-black conditions has actually made the miner gain a bit of rudimentary night vision, but also in reality, they genuinely believe that using torches will actually attract hostile mobs towards them. Along with the lack of a torch, they actually didn’t have much on hand, only the fresh iron ore they recently mined, their fully enchanted netherite pickaxe, and the worn-out clothes on their back. Even though they’re clearly capable of entering and traversing such a dangerous location like the Nether to the point that they’ve managed to make netherite items, they still have to resort to getting basic ores from the Overworld to craft relatively simpler items. They actually own a fully enchanted set of netherite armor back at their house, but they rarely put it on, fearful that Pillagers might catch wind of their armor and would strike against them for it. They’re fully capable of slaughtering them in return if one of them even glanced in their direction, but violence is something the miner seems to be fully avoiding. The numerous scars that litter across their entire body seems to suggest otherwise.

As they make their way across the seemingly lifeless and still landscape, they suddenly pause to hear the rustling of a tree. Immediately, the miner looks incredibly on-edge, their indigo eyes rapidly darting from side to side, but not faltering. The gears in their mind start to grind at the thought of what sort of mob would be lurking around in such a situation. As they tense their body, they suddenly drop the iron ores to the ground as they swiftly grab the pickaxe from their waistband. The sounds of the iron ore hitting the wet ground cause them to ring across the barren land, while they lie alone in the darkness, waiting to strike against what suddenly provoked them.

Silence.

Expecting a creeper to hiss at them or a phantom to screech, the miner eventually realizes there’s no mob stalking them, as it was the just erratic cold breeze of the night, making its way through the sparse woods. However this did not fully ease their mind, as they discordantly picked up from the still wet ground the iron ingots, as the bits of metal embedded within the stone blocks now gleamed in the dim moonlight. They begin again, shambling across the patchy land, although at a much faster pace, but not enough to be considered running. Soon, off in the distance they can see their home, a building they have spent the last few years of their life constructing and expanding upon. The house’s facade appears quite quaint and small, as if a child drew it, but surrounding it is a plethora of small shacks and storage units, along with a farm that jutted from one of the sides of the house. The miner picks up speed again, as a small smile starts to form across their typically sullen face. The smile is quickly ripped apart, as the deafening silence of the forest is disrupted once more.

“S-SHIT AAAHH-AAAAAAHHHH!!!!!.......”

The miner stops dead in their tracks, softly trembling as the iron ores once again tumble out of their shaky grasp.

“...a...AH!?........ err..er.....eahh ah? ah?.....”

The miner seems to quietly babble to themselves nonsensically, as they whip their head around frantically, trying to look for the source of the scream. They knew of swears, but only of ones spoken in the English language, a typically human language. The chances of a villager knowing, and also being capable of speaking such a term would almost be impossible. Some wandering traders, clerics, and librarians have spoken English words to them before, but usually said them incorrectly or with a odd vocal inflection. The miner trembles once more, as they raise one of their hands to place upon the top of their head, as they try to make sense of what occurred.

“n...nnH....nnnHhn...........aH.....ah! ah!! whh..whIIi.....w-WINNdd!...... w-wuh-wind.. ehhgg..... err.............. y-yeaa..............” as a timid smile forms on their face again, seemingly at ease at believing it was the wind playing tricks on their mind again.

“AAAAGGH!!! WILL YOU DIE ALREADY!!??!”

The shout is cut off by the sharp clang of the sound of metal clashing against metal, as the miner looks completely aghast, frozen in place as their frantic breaths causes mist to form around them. They look across the horizon, knowing exactly where the screaming originated from. They seem to immediately break out of the dazed stupor they were in, hurling themselves into the new direction. Their frenzied loud steps now contributes to the sounds that broke the still of the night, as more metal clashes rang out in the darkness. Mud splatters across their boots and jeans as they run across the land, before suddenly ducking behind a sweet berry bush nearby the source of the sounds, not caring about the thorns now tearing into their hands and arms. They gingerly pull aside some of the branches to peek through the bush, looking downwards on a lower piece of terrain. It seems to be only a few blocks down, meaning that they could jump without the risk of injuring their already previously battered legs. As for why they realized they have to probably make such a jump, they were witnessing a red-headed human going against a pack of skeletons and spiders, who looked as if their luck was running out. The miner seems entranced, but also absolutely petrified at what they’re seeing, as the other human has been clearly shot at with arrows, as one protrudes out of one of their shoulders, as another seems to have broken off in their back.

“IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?! ZOMBIES GIVE ME A BETTER FIGHT THAT YOU LOSERS! HA!!”

The shout and guffaw is followed by the swift strike of their gold sword, slicing and crunching through the exoskeleton of one of the large spiders that lunged at them. As pale blue blood and chunks of spider setae fly away from the large hit, the miner is still fully transfixed behind their dimly lit sweet berry bush, as a discarded torch, presumably from that red-headed person, sits aside it.

They haven’t seen another human being since......... since their earliest known memory. They have spent years of their life along in solitude, fully accepting their fate of being truly alone and never being able to socialize properly with another alive human being. They have stumbled across in their mining endeavors the decaying and crushed remains of other humans, but their bones seemed to be quite ancient or even fully shattered into small shards, further proving their point of them possibly being the last living human in this biome, and all adjacent biomes as well. So to see what was essentially deemed impossible, right upon their own eyes was absolutely stunning, yet horrifying. The miner begins to tremble again, but more intensely as their eyes worriedly dart between what they’re watching and down at themselves, as they try to think of what to do next.

......Should I hop in and help, or would that be too brazen? They seem to be pretty capable of defending themselves and they also have good form, but they’re also pretty injured and the blood that is spreading from their wounds seemed quite big!!! What if another wave of mobs notices them, and they pile on as well? Would they soon bleed out?! Would they get hostile against me, even if I try to help?!? Would they think I was stalking them this whole time!?!?!........

The miner frenetically whimpers guttural sounds to themselves while burying their head into their lap, becoming fully overwhelmed by their own paranoid thoughts. They don’t want their first interaction with another alive human to be stemmed in violence, even if they weren’t the ones who started the fight. Their time to dwell on what to do next was cut short, as the sharp crack of the person’s gold sword breaking in half indicated that they were now essentially dead meat.

“O-oh AH kn-kNULLA!.. AH UH UH...” the redhead says as they begin to panic, as their gold sword was the only usable weapon they had on-hand, as they now attempted to punch a skeleton that was busy reloading their bow. They whiff the punch, stumbling over as the skeleton now hits them over the head with the bow’s lower limb, now disorienting them even more. They soon try to crawl away, still bleeding quite profusely from their wounds, but still not going down without a fight. The rustling of nearby bushes occurs again, with them now wincing, bracing for another hostile mob to come into the fray.

It was not a hostile mob.

The miner bursts forward from the bush, pickaxe firmly gripped in one of their hands, as they effortlessly swipe at the skeleton, absolutely obliterating it’s fragile skull as the pickaxe plunged through it as if it was butter. As bone shards fly away from the hit, the miner shifts their footing to carry the momentum from the hit, to directly pin and gash open the nearby spider that was attempting to lunge at them. As the spider squeals in absolute agony, their cries were silenced by a quick stomp to the head, crushing it as more pale blue blood splatters across the grassy ground. The carnage did not stop as the miner seemed to effortlessly pick off the rest of the mobs, with some of them now attempting to flee the fight, but they were not spared. As the miner now barreling towards the cowardly mobs, the redhead finally laid facing up, looking onwards on what just happened. Now absolutely dumbstruck, they just sat there with their mouth agape, as this being disposes of what was initially fighting them. The way they killed, with such efficiency and violence was...... chilling.

Silence.

The arid still of the night settled in once more, as the miner finished bashing in the brains of the last spider that remained. Their breaths were husky as they straitened out their back, but oddly at the same time, they also looked somewhat composed. Their back and arm muscles flexed tightly against their worn-out clothes, as they begin to look down towards their right hand, still gripping firmly on the pickaxe. It was drenched in gore and pieces of bone, before wiping it off on their pant leg. Their breathing stilled however when they turned around, to see the other human still on the ground, staring back at them in total shock.

“...... y-you...............th-thANK YOU!!!!” the person yelled, as a large smile spreads across their once panic-stricken face. They push themselves off the bloodied ground, now happily walking towards their sudden deus ex machina. They reach out their hands, attempting to give them a handshake before speaking once more.

“T-THAT WAS AMAZING!! YOU! YOU! TOOK THEM ALL DOWN WITH JUST A PICKAXE!!! I WOULD’VE DIED!! THANK YOU!! WHAT’S YOUR NAME!!!!!”

They soon grip the miner’s free hand, jostling their entire arm as they continue to smile gleefully, even with two arrows still lodged in their flesh.

“I’M!! Wait I’m a bit l-loud so-sorry!! I’m just!! AHH I’m Alex!!! My name is Alex!! What’s yours?!”

Their gleeful smile falters a bit however when fully looking at the miner’s face, seeing that they’re absolutely aghast. Also, if they weren’t sweating bullets before during the fight, they certainly were now.

“A-are you okay? Is? Is there something else around us?!.....” they say, as they soon start to survey the dark terrain that surrounds them. Their grip loosens on the miner’s hand, and it is quickly removed before the redhead notices.

“...eRRr............ A-AHh!!............. ssss..........sttt.... stTEEEEVVV.......... HHGHK!!!” was the last thing the miner manages to stutter out, before a large dry coughing fit ensues. The miner backs a few steps away, their hands now flying up towards their throat as their own grip on the pickaxe loosens, it’s metallic ring ensuing at it hits the ground, making a uncomfortable cacophony alongside their pained gasps. Alex looks on in worried confusion, as the miner continues to roughly cough before tears begin to well up in their eyes.

“mmmMhhh!!!........!!!”, they whimper as their face winces from the force of the coughing fit.

“A-are you okay?.... Were you bit?! I’ve heard p-people can have reactions to spider bites, are you o-one of them?”

Their tone was now soft and mellow, not the boisterous and loud tone it initially was, as they attempt to get closer to the miner. They back off, as the miner now realizes their concern and rapidly waves them off. They soon quickly plunge their hands into their jean’s pockets, trying to fish something up.

“Did you drop something? I can look around!!”

“mmhHH!!”

“Wait is that paper? Oh, okay you’re writing in it now?.............. ooooo! I haven’t seen charcoal in so long!!” they say, seemingly amused by such a rudimentary item. The miner begins to regain their proper breathing, as they scribble away on the paper, quickly glancing up from it every few words, looking at Alex in front of them, who is still bleeding this whole time. They soon hand the paper towards them, although their arm is now fully trembling.

“Oh? Okay okay give me a second, let me clear out my throat!..... Okay let me start! ‘Hello, my name is Steve. It is very nice to meet you. I live around here, and my house is just a few blocks down from this spot. I’m very sorry that I cannot speak to you, I am mute. I can kind of speak through my hands, but I’m not sure if you can understand it. Please let me invite you to my home, you are hurt and I have potions of healing and I can construct you a new bed. I’m terribly sorry I had to meet you like this, I hope I didn’t accidentally scare you when I jumped out. I sincerely apologize if I did.’ ...... oh. You’re mute?........ I’m... I’m sorry I tried to make you talk......”

Alex’s voice wavers, as a guilty look spreads across their face, their eyebrows tiling up as they too begin to tremble slightly. Steve notices as they try to say that it’s fine, but all that comes out is more faint guttural sounds. They begin to gesture at the direction their house is in, trying to get Alex’s mind off of their accidental mistake.

“Oh? Well...... I mean like I am in pretty bad shape huh?” A weak laugh comes out of Alex, as they finally seem to be aware of their wounds.

“Go right ahead, I’ll be right next to you!”

“EHH!! Er!!!!” Steve says as their eyebrows fly up, seemingly shocked at the thought of Alex walking in the condition they are in. They begin to gesture towards them the idea of carrying them over there, but Alex shakes their head, showing that they’re still capable of walking on their own.

The two of them stare at each other for a little bit, as a bit of awkward tension forms between the duo. Steve is the first to start leaning towards the path home however, and Alex begins to follow as well, although their small grunts of pain while walking started to deeply perturb Steve.....

#I’m still pretty damn new to writing stuff like this so apologies if I wasn’t that descriptive enough or if the dialogue isn’t that tight!!!#steve #alex #minecraft #mineblr #⬜️

34 notes · View notes

ryttu3k · 3 years

Text

Hello naughty children it's Gehenna time.

...which means I'm going to read the book properly this time and write notes on each scenario, partially for my own reference, partially in answer to an ask from @rayshell22livejournalcom from about a zillion years ago. Sorry about that!

Mood soundtrack: Godspeed You! Black Emperor - F# A# ∞; Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennas To Heaven; Yanqui U.X.O.

Prelude: Netchurch is an interesting character. Very skeptical, despite, well, the entire setting, although that's definitely, uh, broken by the end. Feel very sad for Afifa, who was a pawn in all this. Creepy babies galore!

Introduction: "While Vampire favors that futile, tragic, and - we'll say it - angst-heavy conclusion" - lmao you don't say. Although I do like how they have the consistent golden rule that if you don't like it, just ditch it! (Of course, the Gehenna scenarios as a whole have been completely retconned anyway by v20 and v5, so this entire book is a good example of taking what you want from it and ignoring the rest.)

"Some people are on opposite sides of this thing. They're elders who don't want to knuckle under to the Antediluvians (most elders will accept their proper place in the heirarchy again with the rising of their progenitors) and poor, misled souls who bought into the lie and are pissed about it (paging Mr. Pieterzoon). Bottom line: the Camarilla collapses like Enron/WorldCom as the worthlessness of its foundation becomes public knowledge. Chaos ensues among the vampire community, princes find themselves besieged by their own locals, and it's all a big clusterfuck."

Have I ever mentioned I love how VtM phrases stuff? Also F to Jan.

I like how they have a masterlist of what's actually going on with the Antediluvians. Spoilers ;D "For example, note that [Tzimisce] is simply referred to as [Tzimisce]. Even here at the game studio, our limited mortal minds weren't able to comphrenend the creature's real name." Lovecraft only WISHES he had eldritch abominations this spooky! Ennoia is 'Active and scary' and apparently spooks the devs just thinking about it. Makes sense. "Giovanni (Augustus Giovanni): Augustus is a pig, and he should probably die as one of the early events of Gehenna. He's the youngest of the Antediluvians and probably possessed the greatest ego (in mortal terms), so it'll be cosmic justice when he eats it." I love how no one likes Giovanni, even his creators. Malkav may or may not BE the Madness Network, in which case they cease to be an Antediluvian and just become... a part of the Malkavians, I guess? Absimiliard may or may not be chilling at the bottom of the ocean, because mood. Tremere / Saulot is definitely a fun one to play with, yeah. Although, oof, if Saulot ever gets control of their shared body, he's going to be fucked up if [Tzimisce] activates, so. Probably better to create a nice fresh body, like what BJD suggests with the child Saulot.

Chapter 1 - the lead-up: Basically a rundown of the signs and how they're interpreted. "An angel dies: How does an angel die? Who has the gall to rise up and slay one of God's firstborn? Or perhaps this is another metaphor. An angel could be a pure and gentle creature, or then again, it need not be one of God's angels (not that God's angels are necessarily pure and gentle). A feared and particularly vicious Necronomist Tzimisce, Sascha Vykos is sometimes referred to as the Angel of Caine. Many would rejoice the night that Vykos died." Hey rude :( I vote they kill Michael instead. He wants to be an Archangel? Fine, he can fulfill a prophesy XD

Honestly I really do dig that Ennoia Earthmelded with the entire planet. You can go so many directions with that, good or bad! Ennoia as The Beast Below, or Ennoia as Gaia? (Wow, that'd really fuck with the Garou XD) I love how the general consensus on Haqim is like, no one knows if he exists or not but lbr Ur-Shulgi is bad enough. Kinda dig the idea of the Toreador ante, Ishtar/Arikel, being genderfluid? I mean yeah essentially demigods have no need for gender anyway, but the constant debates over whether the Toreador ante is the female Ishtar or the male Arikel (or, uh, was it vice versa?) does lead to some interesting concepts. Ooh, similar to [Tzimisce] being linked to its entire clan (and the Tremere, anyone who's ever taken part in the Vaulderie, and anyone who knows Vicissitude), [Lasombra] may be connected to anyone who knows Obtenebration? [Ravnos]... yeah, probably dead. F to the clan. And yeah I think [Tzimisce] is flat-out the scariest one of all, and probably the one most likely to actually start the apocalypse, lbr.

Ugh this is one of the books that calls Sascha 'it' :-\ Do not like. ...Also do not like the suggestion that they're an unknowing agent of the Eldest, given, uh, the last chapter of the DA Tzimisce novel. Shoo! Shoo! You've ruined their unlife enough as it is!

Epistolary material! I do dig those. Most interesting: a letter to Sascha mentioning apocalyptic visions of New York but with the Carpathians in the background, and an anonymous letter to Hardestadt warning him of one of his line tearing down a castle that the writer feels believes the Camarilla. GO JAN FUCK IT UP.

And on to the scenarios themselves!

Chapter 2 - Wormwood: This is an interesting one. Literally a Biblical vengeance - God takes a good look at the Children of Caine and goes, "Well, this is fucked up", acknowledges that Caine never really sought true forgiveness and repentance, and sets forth Wormwood, the Red Star. The truly repentant are saved, the rest just. Die.

Herald here is a dhampir girl named Alia - thinblood father, human mother. When she's twelve, she becomes God's chosen, basically. Traveling with three thinblood guardians, one night, she's approached a Gargoyle named Ferox with True Faith, who sees himself as a fallen angel. And Alia offers him a way of redemption - find the chosen true believers, wait out Wormwood, receive judgement. Anyone can seek sanctuary, only the true believers and the ones genuinely willing to repent will survive the judgement itself. Alia and Ferox set out to find the other chosen ones.

Whew. Very full-on - the players remain in one place with a whole bunch of other vampires for forty nights. I mean, that's a test in and of itself XD All welcome! (Except infernalists and the antediluvians and Caine himself. They're fucked no matter what.)

Like. All welcome XD "Some Storytellers might feel that this character roundup could get too silly, suddenly having all these celebrity Kindred get together for a big slumber party, and they would be correct." Fuck that give me a slumber party AU XD

Am very glad about the note that the vampires inside only lose one blood point per 10 days, rather than every day. Otherwise, uh, it'd get gory.

Yeah, this is a really interesting scenario. Very character-focused, very introspective. All about the characters trying to work out what it means to be good people - not the strongest vampires, not the most powerful, but good people. Are they worthy of salvation? That's the crux of the story. Of course, it's very, uh, Biblical, heh, but it's first and foremost about morality and redemption. I dig it.

Also, giant vampire slumber party.

Chapter 3 - Fair is Foul: Ooh, this is a Lilith vs Caine scenario.

This one has the Withering hit in weird ways, including clan-specific ones - like the Banu Haqim only able to feed on vitae, then only able to gain sustenance from diablerie. Gangrel turn even more animalistic. Lasombra take to the seas, Obtenebration ripping holes straight to the Abyss. Malks, uh, leak madness. Nosferatu get even uglier, Toreador devolve into debauchery. Tremere develop third eyes, and yes, I did laugh out loud when I read that. Tzimisce... hmm... get a bit, uh, uncontrolled. And Ventrue find they can now only feed on... other Ventrue. Fun times!

"At your discretion, Lilith might be particularly vulnerable to Jewish True Faith, as the Jewish tales about her are the source of nearly every negative sentiment ever directed against her in writing. As a result, most orthodox Jews bear Lilith great contempt for defying her husband and her God." Yeah ngl I think she's pretty dang cool and I can just see, like, most of my ancestors facepalming at the idea XD;; Fuck obediance you do your own thing.

"Trying to work out traits for Lilith, Lucifer, Caine, or any of the Antediluvians would just be a waste of our word count and your time." I like the time they published a guide for fighting Caine. It was two words. "You lose."

Ah. Okay, Saulot in Tremere's body being taken over by the Eldest = scary, because have you ever been attacked by an Antediluvian wielding Thaumaturgy, Valeran, and Vicissitude at the SAME :) TIME? :) Yeah :)

Really dig the idea of Abel showing up as the first Wraith. The forgiveness element.

Overall, this isn't my favourite scenario, I think? It feels very chaotic, and while it's probably the most traditional to play, I'm not sure how much it literally challenges the characters, unlike the sheer soul-searching...ness of Wormwood?

Chapter 4 - Nightshade: Chapter starts with, "We all wear masks" and my first thought was "boy you have no idea" XD

Awww yes this is the masquerade break scenario! See here for my thoughts on that and how the Nephtali could be adapted to v5, heh.

Yeah okay earthquakes, volcanoes, and riots are normal enough. A horrible blood virus where it appears some flesh-like thing is living in people's veins and feeding off their blood sounds like something that starts with T and rhymes with Shzimitze. ...Probably. No one knows how the fuck it's pronounced anyway. Oops, those riots are apparently over the existence of vampires. Yeah that'd be... unfortunate. And more earthquakes, this time due to Kupala vs the Eldest. Whew. Red star, yep, standard. MORE earthquakes, this time due to the Second City rising. Sounds legit. Bad times all around!

The details on breaking the Masquerade are interesting. Basic emotions: denial, rationalisation, fear, anger, acceptance. The acceptance one is interesting, because I can definitely see some jumping to it straight away.

So, on to the scenario itself! Jan recruits the players to fight the... uh, mass under NYC. This is the corpse of the Eldest, which is more or less a giant fungal infection held together with Vicissitude, which frankly is just icky. This actually is canon-compliant with BJD, since it apparently has only just... dissipated? or whatever there, or if it still remains, it's no longer conscious. In this one, its soul flicks back to Tremere's/Saulot's body and wakes up, and basically every Tzimisce, Tremere, and anyone who has ever drank Tzimisce blood (which would be the entire Sabbat via Vaulderie) spontaneously frenzies. Godspeed. Cyscek, a Tzimisce methuselah, helps defeat the, uh, blob at the expense of his life, and warns with his last words, "The Dragon rises. You must stop it. Find Vykos. [They] know." (Okay yeah the text says 'it knows' but also fuck that.) Ooh, plot point!

Aaaand then they retreat from the battle, exhausted, only to find the whole damn thing broadcast on every TV screen, vampiric Disciplines and Cyscek dusting and all. W h o o p s.

Lots and lots of details of a major masquerade breach here. Hardestadt shows up and tells Jan he's proooobably gonna get Final Death for, you know, trying to save the world. Gonna share this bit because it's Very Satisfying.

Please refer to my tag #hardestadt has no rights ;D

Anyway! The characters now recruited, Jan leads them back to London for the Convention of Fire. He's working with Calebros and... like a bunch of others, probably anyone can end up here, so long as they want to actually help and not just fall apart like the remnants of the Camarilla (trying to diablerise their way into keeping power) and the Sabbat (...ditto tbh). Those definitely in attendance are Ambrogino Giovanni, Hesha Ruhadze, and Fatima! And lbr the Nod Squad are probably there too. As if Beckett would pass up the chance to NOT witness what's happening with Gehenna. And Anatole is literally a prophet of Gehenna! They found the Nephtali, led by a council of twelve, with Jan at the head. Name means 'the highest point' or 'no further' - as in, Gehenna goes no further than this.

Oh lmao here we go, the scene I mentioned earlier - Jan vs talk shows.

F to Jan.

Tremere's body (inhabited by Saulot) disappears from beneath the Vienna chantry. Tremere's body, with [Tzimisce] now well in control (having overtaken Saulot; Tremere, meanwhile, has taken over Goratrix's body, with Goratrix's mind stuck in a mirror... it's complicated), wipes out the Vienna chantry. RIP to the Vienna chantry, which doesn't survive in either timeline tbh. Hey, I wonder if that means that Saulot (in Tremere's body) is dead in v5? Etrius manages to escape and reports that the Eldest is now on the way to Ceoris, where it'll call all the remaining Tzimisce to it to become, uh, a part. Pleasant.

Everything between Krakow and Bucharest is straight fukk’d. Ceoris is the centre of all this - IIRC it's somewhere in the southern Carpathians, nearish Brasov. Either way, hell of a fight results with what can only be described as an eldritch abomination, finally both managing to destroy Kupala (the Eldest's goal) and reducing The Thing down to a human-looking body. This bit is interesting! Tremere (in Goratrix' body) and Etrius take one look at each other. "Master..." "I... I know. But where the hell is Saulot?!" Good question, because he sure ain't in Tremere's, uh, former body any more, which was in fact what was fighting them the whole time. Either way, Tremere-in-Goratrix'-body leaps at [Tzimisce]-in-Tremere's-body and diablerises his, um, former body, which must be weird as hell, then tries to turn on the characters and his powers fuckiNG FAIL. EAT SHIT TREMERE. And then the players kill him too and realise that over the course of one night they've destroyed the demon Kupala and two Antediluvians, Tremere and the Eldest. Not bad. This is the battle that causes that second lot of earthquakes I mentioned earlier.

Back to London! They find the mirror containing Goratrix amongst Tremere's belongings. Poor fucker sorry not sorry.

And now the players receive a summons to escort someone from Montreal to the Nephtali headquarters in London! Namely, a Tzimisce named Myca Vykos~ They've recently defected from the Sabbat and want to help take the Antediluvians tf down. (Note: the book here has reverted to using he/him pronouns since they're back in their original form, I'm going to keep using they/them because biological sex does not determine gender identity or pronouns goddammit. ...Anyway. I AM going to use the name Myca since that's the name they're using themself, mostly because, uh, 'Myca' is a bit less noticeable than 'Sascha Vykos', haha.)

So Gehenna has started. Myca's woken up in their original form and being like, "Hey you know what I am preTTY SURE I don't want to serve the Eldest" and promptly joins the Nephtali.

From New York to London to Romania to London to Montreal to London (...London is a hub world apparently), now off to Turkey, to Kaymakli! Which is actually a real place, my brother's been on a tour there. Anyway, this is the part of Kaymakli that they don't show the tourist and that's been sealed shut with lots of angry Cappadocians instead, so that was fun. Presumably Kapaneus hasn't been chilling out there in this one.

Also Colombia has completely been overtaken by the Sabbat so that sucks.

Into Kaymakli! Which usually doesn't let Cainites back out so it may be one-way. Don't worry, there's a ritual for that. At the bottom, they find Augustus Giovanni! Who is pissed off he never actually got to eat Cappadocius' soul and so wants to eat God instead.

As you do.

The book very strongly encourages the players to kill him. Just 'cause. Which is a mood, tbh. Killing him also reveals a beaten, bound Nosferatu, having been Giovanni's most recent food source. An F for Okulos. He's been there for four years, having managed to get a lost fragment of the Book of Nod for Beckett, who promised to come back for him and. Didn't. Which is just rude tbh and I can kind of understand why Okulos ends up betraying Beckett in the Gehenna novel but anyway. (Not canon as of v20, he's perfectly present and chill in BJD.)

End results - the fragment that Okulos went to retrieve shows how to restore the Second City, which holds a complete Book of Nod and may hold the key to stopping Gehenna. It's in Enochian so your player characters probably won't be able to read it (book suggests asking Sascha or Ambrogino). Next stop, Egypt, and a meeting with Hesha Ruhadze! Man this scenario has a lot of signature characters. It also suggests getting third parties in here too, so Beckett would actually be a really good choice. Either way, they find the probable site, and suddenly, a Second City.

Archeologists make grabby hands. Beckett, somewhere, is probably crying in joy. They find a vial with some very old blood in it that they definitely shouldn't drink because otherwise they'll explode (the book uses Sascha as the example here XD;; ). Along with some mystical enscriptions, they return to London and get to work on the prophecy - namely, it suggests that 'the gentle one' (likely Saulot) will die at the hands of another, but arise in a new form, and will stop Gehenna that way. Etrius, one of the only Tremere left and having joined the Nephtali, goes 'fuck it what do I have to lose?' and goes to find whatever new form Saulot is in (potentially can also involve Goratrix here).

Hm. Well. Saulot is apparently in a research centre outside Sydney. Apparently we're mostly chill with vampires, aside from Christians XD Go figure!

Apparently it's a cloning facility. One of the rooms had, past tense, a child, successfully cloned six-year-old, who was in perfect physical form but vegetative from birth. Religious characters will pick up that it's because the kid's body didn't have a soul. Now, it does - Saulot's. Having been thrown out of Tremere's body when the Eldest took over, his soul fled until it could find the most suitable vessel - a soulless cloned body. No actual soul to have to subdue. Saulot ends up reborn, albeit in the form of a six-year-old and without any memories. Turns out, the child was taken by a cult of Thinbloods, believing him to be the messiah.

Sydney's messy situation gets described here! Short version, Sydney's Prince is/was Sarrasine, who was a Toreador. Except he wasn't a Toreador, it was a fairly open secret he was only POSING as a Toreador - he was actually a Caitiff. (Except he's not actually a Caitiff. He's a sixth-gen Setite. Sydney is Like That, yes.) Given Sydney's independence from the sects and its apparent Caitiff Prince, it's become a major site of Caitiff and Thinbloods, which Sarrasine is just thrilled about but can't do anything about because he doesn't want to actually go 'lol I'm a Setite'. Anyway, either way, everyone is unaware of Saulot's return, so the players seek out the little boy, who's pretty spooked and confused. Asks the characters, "Who are you? What is this place? What do all these people want?" and his third eye opens. Tada! Salubri Antediluvian, and like the prophecy mentioned, he's 'unholy' and 'a mockery in the face of God' - a clone.

Back to London with kid!Saulot. The Nephtali have been trying to work out what tf is going on. A researcher tried drinking from the vial. It was messy. The characters might get some downtime. Sarrasine's followers may attack to try and get the kiddo back. Either way, everyone goes to bed, and wakes up to find a Darkness having overtaken the sun, which is generally not good for anyone, and Lasombra characters are just, feels bad man. The Veil of Darkness means vampires can be up 24/7, along with other things that don't like sunlight, and I imagine things like... plants not being thrilled. Also probably very confused animals. I'm not sure if it's like a dark atmosphere, or a physical body between the sun and Earth that just eclipses it whatever vantage point you look from, or what? Disciplines like Auspex, Obfuscate, and Obtenebration go a bit fucky. Then, a few days later, everyone feels a... Summons. For low-generation vampires with still-living Antediluvians, it's strongest. Higher gens with destroyed Antes, not so bad. So I'm sure you can guess what's summoning them.

Yep. Antediluvians. Banu Haqim are getting summoned to Alamut instead so Ur-Shulgi can turn them into an army against the Antediluvians, so godspeed resisting that, Elijah.

Off to the city of Gehenna (it's nearish Jerusalem). Elders of all stripes have been heading there to kill their childer in hope of being rewarded by their Antediluvians to get their powers restored, which is terribly rude. Indeed, the Antediluvians basically go, hey, can you not, and also can you start Embracing more childer for our armies, because they're not very nice either. Pretty much all the characters have been summoned for their crimes against the Antediluvians, and now they're gathered before them - Set, [Lasombra], Ennoia, Absimiliard, Malkav (as like... a cluster of identical little girls with glowing eyes because of course Malkav would use the Creepy Child trope), and [Toreador], who's so beautiful no one can tell if they're male or female. When the players and child!Saulot get there, they question him, but he's literally a six-year-old boy and is spooked. He also has the vial, somehow. Set takes it, and Kiddo says, "Don't drink it. You'll burn up." So Set makes Kiddo drink it instead, because he's a nice guy like that.

Kiddo's third eye opens. A giant black throne appears. The dozen small girls that are Malkav say, "Father's home." Kiddo!Saulot says, "No, Father's dead." Girls start screaming so loud people start bleeding thick black blood from their ears and doesn't stop until Set kills all twelve. A random stranger, now with their glowing eyes, steps forward and basically goes 'wow rude'.

Powerful beam of light appears. The Antes (aside from Kiddo!Saulot) writhe in pain. Angel appears, asks Saulot if he's willing to atone for all vampires. He agrees. Throne explodes, Antes fuckin' die, and everyone promptly frenzies and tries to eat each other, because vampires. In the aftermath of that, vampirism basically... ends. The player characters may be rewarded by becoming human again, as do a lot of Thinbloods, but most everyone older just, uh, dies. Vampirism ends, but the Earth has been saved.

That is... hmm, bittersweet, I think. It's a pretty compelling chronicle, very dramatic, but it's much less character-based and is more, 'the characters get dragged along to Do Shit'. I kind of like the idea of it being a story involving the characters we know, but for original characters, I think Wormwood is a much more compelling scenario so far.

Chapter 5 - The Crucible of God: Okay I'm tired now and this is the 'rocks fall everyone dies' scenario so gonna skim-read this one.

This is the chapter that introduces the level 10 power for all disciplines - Plot Device. The Antediluvians can do shit because they feel like it. Whew. Also, if an Ante spots anyone of their blood line, they can just make them... explode and their blood gushes into their mouth. Monch monch. Spot another clan mate? Roll to avoid frenzy. Just woke up? Roll to avoid frenzy. Good times!

And then the Tzimisce Antediluvian awoke as a mass of Vicissitude flesh fungal infestation with tentacles and lampray mouths and stuff and ate anything in reach until it ate, uh, every living thing in Manhattan. In one night. Bad day tbh. Eventually it burns when the sun rises, but what's left underground is still there and shit's still messed up. Like picking a leaf off a dandelion and it starts bleeding. Trees with faces, swarms of insects forming into eyes and watching. Nice and creepy. In the aftermath, it's basically infecting every life form on Earth with Vicissitude, which is distinctly uncool.

Absimliard has an animal army and currently looks like a giant humanoid jellyfish.

Oh boy here's the Banu Haqim part XD;; Interestingly, it's a lot better for them! Haqim doesn't eat his childer, they feel themselves strongly bonded to him but still maintain their own minds and wills. Downside, anyone who doesn't follow Haqim alone gets hunted down so he can eat them, so Ur-Shulgi's probably having a field day at being vindicated and poor Pyre/Elijah is hiding tf under the bed. Plus side, it only lasts a few months before something kills Haqim, so hey! And there's genuinely a way to become human again, especially for high-humanity, high-gen vampires, so that actually would be a genuinely good outcome for Pyre/Elijah.

Malkavians end up as a giant hive mind. Like, more than usual. [Lasombra] covers the world in darkness, then it stops. Ennoia merges with the entire planet and starts eating people. And vampires. And Methuselah. And other Antediluvians. She's kinda hangry at this point.

Tremere attempts to rule the entire world using the Human Genome Project as the true name of the entirety of humanity. It lasts about two minutes before [Tzimisce] turns him into a meat crime, along with, uh, the entire rest of the world, aside from the players, who were part of Tremere's ritual and thus immune from it.

Also Saulot, who they just met in the form of a little old man.

Turns out, he planned it all along. Lured Tremere to him, knowing that his body was tainted by using Tzimisce blood to become a vampire. Knew that when the Eldest returned, he'd be succeptable, and Saulot would be able to bounce out when the Eldest took over. Now, he can lead the characters in the only way to stop Planet Tzimisce, which is, uh, prayer and letting themselves get eaten. Could actually work! And you end up human again in the bargain!

End result - all vampires gone. Some of the more human ones do end up human again. Either way, world's still fucked. Open Antediluvian rule for several months has destroyed most of humanity. There are still remnants - former Malkavians who are still a bit weird, former Tzimisce who are a bit... Vicissitudey. Ennoia's still around! She's mostly chill except when she occasionally feels like rearranging landscapes. Otherwise, it's time to recover.

Alternate endings - that last one wasn't depressing enough, so here's a scenario where All Is Tzimisce, here's one where there's global extinction of literally everything except the player characters who gradually drop into torpor and never recover (or just flat out burn if they're outside), or there's one where the players are the only vampires left and start a new cycle with them as the new Antediluvians or something, oh and Caine's still kicking and is Very Displeased that God won't let him die already. Gooood times!

Rest is how to basically play it, and character sheets. Which go back to calling Sascha ‘it’ again *sigh* (And using the whole alien look despite explicitly mentioning that they look human again. Of course.)

So, final thoughts! Gehenna is... an interesting scenario. Lots of possibility for introspection. It’s very... apocalyptic, and that may bother a lot of people, since, well, for the most part, it’s going to be the end of playing your character as a vampire. Which I figure most people are playing Vampire the Masquerade for. So it’s basically either a hell of a finale, or you just don’t make use of it.

Favourite scenario did end up being Wormwood. I just really like the introspection and opportunity for hope. Did also enjoy Nightshade, but in a different way, I think? Like for Nightshade, I’d rather read it as existing characters working together, maybe as a novel, whereas for Wormwood I’d want to play it since it’s such an intensely personal kind of thing.

(I also still want a slumber party AU ngl.)

#vampire the masquerade #vtm #gehenna

30 notes · View notes