#the highlight of this route by a mile

[octuscle]

Howdy, Support! I'm a 22yo twink working at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere. Only good part about my job is uh..."servicing" the passing truckers. One of 'em is a real beast of a man; late thirties, tall, burly and hairy, with a big, solid beer/roid gut that's always straining against his filthy tanktop. Everytime he stops by, we have a beer shotgun contest right in front of everyone. Loser blows the winner in the stalls. I normally enjoy losing (not that I have a choice), but this time, I want him to meet his match...literally! I want to drink him under the table, and with each beer I down, I want to feel my gut grow heavier and larger as my work clothes turn into a stained tanktop and I gradually transform into a hulking, hairy trucker that stinks of sweat, just like him. I've programmed all the relevant settings for height, muscle, hair, BO, attitude and clothing, but I just realized I don't know how to sync the transformation to an event trigger like shotgunning the beers, much less on how to make it gradual! Please help me, he's due today!

I love challenges… First of all, I'll add one more skill to your traits. "Stable up to 3.5 per mille". I don't know how much your crush can take. But now you've got a damn good chance of drinking the guy under the table. However, you should manage at least 2.0 per mille. Because your transformation will take place in parallel with your blood alcohol level. Linear, until you have reached 2.0 per mille. At 2.0 per mille, the transformation is complete.

It's around 8 p.m. when your buddy finally comes in the door. Like you said: a beast of a man. The fist bump he gives you almost breaks your forearm bones. Beast of a man? You're miles or 2.0 per mille away from that. You are cute. But a twink. Not a man.

The regulars know what to expect. They chant "Booze! Booze! Booze!" One of them shouts that you're in desperate need of a protein shot. The others roar. Your buddy orders 20 cans of beer. He shouts to his colleagues that there will definitely be some left for them. He looks at you, winks and licks his lips. He has no idea.

The first can of beer. It really hits you. 0.3 per mille. One seventh of your way gone in one go. You feel a bit dizzy. You've been king of the highway for two years now. Well, maybe prince of the highway. You haven't put much weight on your ribs yet. But the good food at the truck stops and the hard work loading your truck are already having a bit of an effect. Your arms are no longer as thin as twigs.

The second beer. It didn't go quite so quickly. You have to burp loudly. Your buddy follows your example. 0.56 per mille. You've been driving your 7.5-ton baby through the countryside for over three and a half years. Does you good. Not as skinny as you used to be. You look healthy. Maybe a little red in the face. Drunk.

After the third beer you have over 0.8 per mille. Another burp. You need a piss. You stand with your legs apart in front of the urinal to avoid peeing on your boots. You take out your cheesy beauty from your dirty jockstraps. And empty your bulging bladder. Wash your hands? That's for twinks. You simply wipe your hands on your dirty Wranglers.

Janet brings you some onion rings with your beer. Good idea. After the toilet break, you finish your fourth beer almost in one go. Your buddy has noticeable problems. Your blood alcohol level is over 1.0 per mille. This competition between you and your colleague has been going on for about seven years. In the trucker scene, your competitions are small highlights. As soon as it is clear when and where you will next get drunk under the table and then disappear to the stalls, new routes are planned. Service stations know that you'll bring in good sales and are keen to host the competition. There used to be a lot of betting on winning and losing. Your buddy has been unbeaten for seven years. There's not much betting anymore. The odds on you winning are huge. But nobody expects that anyway.

The next beer. At 1.26 per mille, you start to falter. Your buddy weighs a few more kilograms than your 100. Maybe you're already a little over 100 - you broke that magic barrier a few weeks ago on your 30th birthday. Eat, work hard and lift iron in the evening. That shapes your body. And beer. Lots of beer. To the delight of the audience, you interrupt your drinking contest for a short burping contest. The landlord actually has a device to measure the volume. You lose. That's clear. You lack the resonance body…

The next beer is a big miss for both you and your buddy. Your dirty tank tops are now wet from the beer. But that was a quick round of drinking, so it happens. You feel a bit dizzy. Your buddy is already looking extremely glassy-eyed. A murmur goes round the room. Should you really stand a chance?

After the seventh beer, you both have to go for a piss. Shit, why are you doing this to yourselves? So that one of you can blow the other? You do that as often as you can see each other anyway. And luckily your paths cross from time to time. "Dude, has your beast grown?" slurs your buddy as you stand swaying in front of the urinals and can no longer aim and hit the target very well. "You bet your life, get ready for a lot, bro," you slur back. "And now give me a kiss, I can't wait any longer."

You're too drunk to remember to turn your caps backwards. You push his cap off his head and it falls into a puddle of urine. Damn, it's seen worse. You stagger back to your beer cans. After the eighth beer, your first goal is achieved. 2.0 per mille blood alcohol. Spread over a proud 120 kilograms of your 35-year-old body. A passionate trucker for 13 years. Your 36-ton beast is basically your home and your family. Hehehe, there are a few other people in the family too. Mike here next to you, for example. You rip open the ninth can and empty it almost at record speed. Shit, you're going to be sick. Mike opens the can, takes a sip. And stumbles towards the toilet. He can't reach the toilet bowl. But at least he throws up in the sink.

When he comes back, he looks at you with glazed eyes. He falls to his knees in front of you to the loud roar of the audience and tries to open your trousers with his drunken head. You have to laugh. "Not here, not now, Buddie" You pull him up. Let him sober up a bit first. You should both enjoy the moment when he sucks you off for the first time!

[mysticstronomy]

COULD LIFE EXIST ON TITAN??

Blog#416

Saturday, July 6th, 2024.

Welcome back,

Titan's ocean has a volume 12 times that of all Earth's oceans, but it may be barren of life as we know it.

Titan's underground ocean, and similar oceans inside other icy moons in the outer solar system, may lack the organic chemistry necessary for life, according to new astrobiological research.

Titan is Saturn's largest moon, and the second largest moon in the entire solar system. It's famous for being shrouded in a smog of petrochemicals and for possessing a veritable soup of organic molecules — molecules that contain carbon — on its surface. Yet, despite all this fascinating chemistry, Titan is cold. Very cold. It has surface temperatures no warmer than –179 degrees Celsius (–290 degrees Fahrenheit). And in these frigid conditions, chemical reactions for life progress very slowly.

However, deep underground where it's warmer — the exact depth is not certain, but estimates suggest it's on the order of 100 kilometers (62 miles) — a liquid ocean with a volume 12 times that of Earth's oceans combined is thought to exist. Similar oceans inhabit the interiors of Titan's fellow Saturnian moon Enceladus, and Jupiter's moons Europa and Ganymede.

And where there is liquid water, there could be life. Right? Not so fast, says Catherine Neish of Western University in Ontario, Canada.

A planetary scientist, Neish led an international team that challenged the assumption Titan's ocean, and indeed the oceans of other icy moons, could be habitable.

The researchers worked on the basis that, for Titan's ocean to be habitable, a large supply of organic molecules from the surface must be able to physically reach the ocean in order to facilitate prebiotic chemistry that can produce and feed life.

The route for this organic material to reach the ocean is via comet impacts. Such impacts can melt surface ice, creating a pool of liquid water filled with organic molecules. Because liquid water is denser than ice, it sinks. But, Neish's modeling found that the rate of impacts is not high enough for sufficient organic material to reach Titan's ocean.

For example, Neish's team estimates only about 7,500 kilograms (16,534 pounds) of the simplest amino acid, glycine, reaches Titan's ocean every year. It may sound like a lot, but that's equivalent to the mass of one male African elephant spread across an ocean with a dozen times the volume of Earth's oceans. If you’ll excuse the pun, it's barely a drop in the ocean.

"We assumed that the majority of melt deposits — 65% — would sink all the way to the ocean," Neish told Space.com. "Recent modeling work suggests that this is very likely an overestimate, but even in this most optimistic scenario, there is not enough organics moving into Titan's ocean to support life there."

There may be other possibilities. On Europa, where there are very few organic molecules on the surface, it is postulated that hydrothermal vents may exist on the seafloor where the ocean comes into contact with the moon's rocky core. These vents would spew all kinds of molecules and trigger complex chemical reactions that could support life.

Further evidence for carbon in Europa's ocean has been discovered by the James Webb Space Telescope. The JWST identified carbon dioxide that has welled up from the ocean onto Europa's surface.

So, could the same happen on Titan, with organic material coming from the moon's interior, rather than its surface?

Neish doesn't rule it out, saying that colleagues such as Kelly Miller at the Southwest Research Institute in San Antonio, Texas, are investigating the possibility — but Neish does highlight one particular caveat.

"One concern that has come up is whether the organics sourced from the interior would be useful for life," she said. "We think they may be primarily aromatic compounds, and it is difficult to form biomolecules — such as amino acids — from such compounds."

While we are still some ways away from being able to probe the oceans of these icy moons directly to say for certain whether they contain life or not, Neish's research does raise some promising opportunities for NASA's Dragonfly mission to Titan, on which Neish is a co-investigator.

Originally published on https://www.space.com

COMING UP!!

(Wednesday, July 10th, 2024)

"WILL HUMANS EVER GO TO MARS??"

[rottenpumpkin13]

YOU PUT THE THOUGHT OUT THERE AND NOW YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE

Sephiroth as a GPS, please. ❤️🍊❤️

*Cloud is driving*

GPS Sephiroth: In 200 meters, turn right.

Cloud: That'll run me off a cliff.

GPS Sephiroth: In 200 meters, turn left.

Cloud: That's a SCHOOL YARD.

-

GPS Sephiroth: Make a U-turn when possible.

Cloud: WE'RE ON THE HIGHWAY.

-

GPS Sephiroth: Continue straight for three miles.

Cloud: I don't think I can do that.

GPS Sephiroth: My apologies. Continue gay for three miles.

Cloud: SON OF A—

-

GPS Sephiroth: In 800 feet, turn right.

Cloud: Okay.

GPS Sephiroth: Turn left at the next intersection.

Cloud: Are you sure this is going to take me to my destination?

GPS Sephiroth: Yes.

GPS Sephiroth: Turn right onto the next avenue.

Cloud: Okay.

GPS Sephiroth: Proceed to the highlighted route.

Cloud: Okay.

GPS Sephiroth: We have arrived at your destination.

Cloud: WHY ARE WE AT A SEX THERAPY CLINIC?

Sephiroth: I'm waiting, Cloud.

Cloud: WHAT?

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

Pretty As A Picture - Chapter 7

Marvel

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Theme: Soulmates - Feeling the connection as soon as you see each other.

Summary: When Bucky fell from the train, their soulmate was told he was gone. When Steve Rogers disappeared into the ice, their soulmate was again told one of her soulmates were gone. But she didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. Committed to a mental health institute, she dies of a broken heart. That's at least what the hidden S.H.I.E.LD files say, but if that's the case than why is there a photo of her. A photo that shows her side by side two redhaired Avengers.

Warnings will be per chapter.

For this fic reader will be British, but let your imagination replace if needed.

Chapter Summary: Bucky's sick of the back and forth and is determined to find you, but can Nat track you? Who's at the door?

Chapter warning: Brief mention of blood.

“Buck, where are you going?”

“I’m going to get our girl.”

“We need a plan, she could be anywhere.”

“Well, you make your plan Stevie, I’m going to get our girl.”

“Your girl?” Maria asked.

“She’s their soulmate” Sam said in a hushed tone.

Bucky made his way to the door and the stride in his step didn’t go unnoticed, he was determined and had flipped into mission mode.

“Barnes wait.” Called Nat.

“I’m way passed waiting Romanoff.”

“Just hang on. If you give me two minutes I can cut your search time.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Are you questioning my skillset?”

“No but I know my soul sister, you’ll start at the base and work from there following any tracks. I know how she’ll handle this, we’ll find her quicker if we work together. From those field pictures none of those hostiles are bleeding out enough to account for all that blood, we’ve got to find her quick.”

Bucky was torn, he nodded his head but still turned to leave the room.

“Buck?”

“I’ll get my gear on, you’ve got three minutes.”

Nat didn’t even acknowledge him as she went to work. They knew you then but she knew you now.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, bring up full mapping of the base up to a two hundred mile radius, highlight all unmonitored routes, sewers, cargo trains, any roads without traffic cameras.”

The AI responded quickly showing various routes away from the mission.

“Now delete any routes with S.H.I.E.L.D safe houses.”

“Agent Romanoff may I ask the logic behind that decision?” Vision enquired.

Clint answered, not wanting Natasha’s concentration to be pulled away from the task at hand.

“It’s a covert mission, where she’s been screwed over by the organisation she’s doing a mission for with bad intel, we’ve taught her well enough to not then use that organisations safe houses.”

“Understandable.” Vision replied.

Steve moved to stand at the side of Natasha.

“Who would she trust in this scenario?”

“Me, Clint, British intelligence but only certain branches and teams, a couple of others. F.R.I.D.A.Y highlight all British safe houses, ours, Wakandan, any used by Delta Task Force. Take off any routes that don’t have at least one of them. Remove any that don’t have accessible and walkable sewer lines.”

Nat’s eyes scanned the map as Bucky re entered the room.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Six possibles.” Steve replied.

“So we split into six teams and we go and find the old men’s soulmate.” Tony started.

“Hang on. I’m not done.” Spoke Nat.

“I said three minutes.”

“And you have been two” Nat replied, not taking her eyes from the screen. “Exclude any that don’t have pay phones on the route.”

The map quickly went from six possible routes to three.

“Now pin any that are off the hook.”

And with Nat’s last command the route went down to one, the off the hook phones showing the path you were taking. Tony was next to speak.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, calculate the travel distance on foot, by car, train and anything else she could travel by, against the time each phone was used, and check if any calls were made.”

“No calls boss, the route taken and the time between each indicates she’s on foot and slow moving.”

“She’ll be heading to somewhere safe, somewhere she feels safe or towards someone she trusts.” added Clint.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, how long since the last phone was taken off the receiver?” Asked Steve.

“Seventeen hours Captain Rogers.”

Steve couldn’t help himself and glared at Maria, who avoided his gaze. Seventeen hours unaccounted for, you could be anywhere or unconscious in a ditch.

“Three teams, we start at the last dropped phone, on foot, unless you can fly then low air cover. Sam and Nat you take south, Wanda, Vision west, Rhodey, Tony east. Eyes out for any movement of British intelligence. SBS were running training in Florida last week, if she’s got an alert to them they maybe headed there too. Buck and I well we’ll take whatever path he wants to.” Steve instructed turning to Bucky.

Bucky went to speak but was cut off by an alarm sounding.

“Boss there’s a caller at gate 3a”

“Well now’s not the time for visitors F.R.I.D.A.Y” Steve snapped as he turned to leave the room.

“Wait!” Shouted Nat as she started to move the screens “3a.”

Realisation washed over the room as they realised the gate and the reason its importance gave it an alarm. Gate 3a was hidden and only the Avengers and a select few knew about it.

“Who is it? Come on, I taught you better than that.” He quipped at his AI.

“I can’t detect them boss, they’re blocking the scanner somehow.”

The security cameras around the compound came to the front of the projectors and with it came a gasp from Natasha.

Leaning against the gate in the late evening darkness, covered in blood and dirt, exhausted and barely upright was her sestra. Her soul sister. You.

And you weren’t alone. Your left arm was looped around the waist of someone, their head flopped on your shoulder and you were wincing in pain as you tried to keep them upright. As you pulled them upwards again the team and soul family caught sight of who it was.

There in your arms was Pietro Maximoff.

Enjoy this fic? Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

[hunterscabin]

Our Spot

Summary: Dean and the reader create a new memory at their favorite spot.

Request: Car sex with Dean. Passion, pleasure, over the top sex. @hawaiianohana15

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, male receiving, female receiving, face riding, car sex, fluff. 

Word Count: 1.5k

Author’s Note: This is my first time smutting; please be as loving and generous to me as Dean is to the reader! 

“Where are we going?” you asked, relaxing into the passenger seat of the Impala.

It had been three days since anyone left the bunker. There were no hunts to be found, and the weather was less than ideal for outdoor excursions. You and Sam were able to pass the time easily with research and conversation, but Dean’s daring spirit was starved without adventure, and he was beginning to reach the breaking point of his restlessness. He needed no convincing to agree on a late night drive, and it wasn’t long before you were speeding down Route 36.

“You’ll see.” Dean smirked, reaching across Baby’s bench seat to grab your hand.

Several miles and half of a Bob Seger album later, Dean veered toward a familiar exit. He turned down a tree-lined road, and as the car came to a stop, you inched closer to him.  

“Our spot.” you sighed contentedly, resting your head on his broad shoulder. 

Through a small clearing, you watched the rain dance across the water of Lovewell Reservoir. The picture before you was the backdrop of many meaningful moments, and a serene exhale floated past your lips as you traced them in your mind. Picnics shared under the tall oak trees, peaceful retreats to the lake after particularly bad hunts, Dean asking you to move into the bunker with him and Sam.

“So many good memories.” you whispered.

Dean kissed your temple in agreement, reminiscing over the same highlight reel.

“Except one.” he added, his voice gruff and suggestive.

Your gaze remained steady on the horizon, but your brow furrowed. You were lost in trying to place Dean’s meaning when you felt a strong hand dragging slowly up your thigh.

You looked to Dean, finding clarity in the mischievous grin spreading across his face, and your heart skipped a beat. Eagerly, you threw one leg across his lap, straddling him where he sat in the driver’s seat.

“It’s hard to believe we’ve never christened our spot.” you remarked coyly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You teased him, hovering your lips over his, just before the point of contact. Dean’s hot breath mingled with yours until the tension was too much to bear. Your lips met in a passionate kiss. Dean’s tongue spilled over yours, and you grew increasingly desperate for more of him. Chasing the sensation forming between your legs, you rolled your hips over his lap, feeling his cock harden beneath you.

“Baby.” Dean hummed, easing his hands under your shirt. His fingertips caressed your soft skin, ghosting over your sides, across your back, and around your breasts.

“You know, I love the names you have for me,” you admitted, kissing his shoulder, “but when you say ‘baby’ in this context,” you paused, fluttering your lips along his jaw, “I honestly don’t know if you’re referring to me or the car.”

Dean breathed a low laugh over your neck, taking your face in his hands.

“Tonight is all about you.” he promised.

With that, Dean lifted your shirt over your head and expertly unclasped your bra. You let the fabric fall until your breasts were fully exposed.

“So beautiful.” Dean licked his bottom lip at the sight of you, pulling the plump flesh between his teeth.

He bowed to your chest, taking your nipple in his mouth. His tongue teased your delicate skin, and the sensation sent shock waves to your already aching core. The more he toyed with your chest, the faster you rocked against him.

Caught in another kiss, your hand drifted to unfasten Dean’s belt. You pulled down his pants and boxers, allowing his swollen cock to spring free. You let out a lustful whimper before dismounting the hunter to stretch across the front seat.

Resting on your elbows, you took Dean’s impressive length in your warm hand and began to pump. Your mouth fell open, and you unconsciously licked your lips.

“Hungry for me, baby?”

You answered by glancing up at Dean with a wanting expression and drawing your tongue up the length of his shaft, not once breaking eye contact. Lapping at the tip, you swirled your tongue around the head, feeling Dean tense beneath you. You shifted forward, taking all of him in your mouth, sucking rhythmically as your head bobbed over his lap.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Dean’s hand combed through your hair, settling on the back of your head. He pulled gently at first, but the harder and faster you sucked, the tighter his grip became. “So good, baby.”

Dean’s palm slid down the curve of your body to grip your ass. His firm grasp spurred you on, and you hollowed your cheeks. You massaged the base of his cock, your hand working in tandem with your mouth. Dean began to writhe beneath you, and your steady rhythm broke as he came undone, spilling into you. You swallowed around his pulsating cock, easing him through his climax.

You kissed your way up Dean’s body until your eyes met his. Glistening with the evidence of his satisfaction, Dean gently wiped your chin before pressing his lips to yours.

“Shall we move this to the bedroom?” you quipped, climbing toward the rear of the car.

You paused after mounting the bench seat, and a wicked smile played on your lips. Leaning forward, your right hand disappeared under the collar of Dean’s shirt, bracing on his firm chest. Your left hand reached above you to splay against Baby’s hood. Eyeing Dean, you began to drag your throbbing core across the supple leather. Your chest heaved as the friction teased you through your jeans.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Dean growled, watching your body glide back and forth. “I want you to ride my face like that, baby.”

You mewled at Dean’s confession, and he deftly advanced toward the back, pulling you with him. He ripped off his shirt before attending to you. Dean’s eyes were ravenous as he unbuttoned your pants and removed your underwear. He laid flat beneath your naked form, and you kneeled on either side of his hips.

“I want to taste you, Y/N.” Dean’s voice was full of need as he hooked his hands behind your knees, pulling you toward him.

He nipped at your thighs as you eased yourself onto his lips. Dean’s tongue welcomed you, drawing through your folds. His movements were tortuously light, and you twitched with every graze.

“Dean.” you purred. 

At the sound of his name, the depth and pressure of his tongue increased. You rocked your hips as he waved up and down your velvety core. He licked into you with fervor, stopping only to wrap his lips around your clit. He sucked vigorously, and your back arched in pleasure.

“Oh, fuck. Right there, baby.” Your hands moved to massage your breasts, and Dean moaned at the sight of you. The extra sensation of his vibrating lips pushed you over the edge. Your entire body trembled as he worked you through your orgasm.

Dean shifted beneath you, sitting up so that you were face to face. He cradled your head while trailing kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and across your collarbone. His touch was electric, and you were already craving more.

“Make love to me, Dean.”

At your request, a needy groan rumbled in his chest. Dean slipped an arm around your waist, gently lowering you onto your back. Already hard from eating you out, he required no preparation. Green eyes bore longingly into yours as Dean lined himself up with your entrance. He dragged his cock between your folds before pushing into you. Your walls stretched to accept him, and you relished in the sweet burn as he bottomed out inside you. Dean stayed this way as he leaned down to kiss you. He hadn’t even moved, and the feeling inside you was already starting to build.

“Dean.” you begged through the kiss, and he took his queue.

He thrust into you, and the slow drag of his cock was exquisite. Your legs quivered as his body moved with yours in a way only mastered after years of exploration.

“God, Y/N. You feel so good.”

Dean had memorized every inch of you, and he used his expertise to draw you closer to the edge. His hands moved between your breasts, kneading your chest and rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

“Fuck!” Your euphoric cry excited the hunter, and his thrusts became more precise. Dean’s cock found the sweet spot inside you, causing you to draw in a sharp breath. He held his position, increasing his pace until you were screaming his name.

“Come for me, baby.” Dean commanded, his voice impossibly low.

Dean’s thumb rubbed your clit, quickly circling the sensitive bundle of nerves, causing you to reach your brink. A second orgasm erupted through you, and as your walls clenched around him, Dean willfully succumbed to his own climax.

His heart racing, Dean fell down beside you, breathless. He pulled you onto his chest, and you melted into him, caught in a dreamy haze. His cheek pressed gently to your forehead, and you craned your neck to gaze up at him. He dipped his head to capture your lips, kissing you sweetly. Your head fell back into the crook of Dean’s neck, and you breathed in his familiar, intoxicating scent.

You stayed like this for some time, completely relaxed in the comfort of each other’s arms, listening to the rain fall on the hood of Dean’s 67 Chevy.

Original tags: @81mysteriouslyme, @hawaiianohana15, @that67chevyimpala​

Masterlist

[ahfuckaghoulie]

map with a possible route and shots from the show for anyone else who has been Wondering

vault 33 → Filly: 4-8 hrs, 10-21 mi

Filly → place where Lucy cuts Wilzig's head off: 2-5 hrs, 5-14 mi. it rly depends on where the hell Filly is (I've mistakenly highlighted LAX but it's further south than that just pretend for me I can't fix it now jfncnfkf)

Wilzig's body → lake with Gulper in it: 7 hrs, 17 mi. right by Universal Studios, btw

the ghoul drags her off course here

Gulper → Hollywood walk of fame: 3 hrs, 6 mi

walk of fame → super duper mart: according to the wiki super duper mart is near santa monica boulevard so i highlighted the whole thing, but it only makes sense for them to go through the walk of fame if it's the east side of the blvd,, 😥 anyways, it's a short walk, like 30 min and 1.5 mi tops

super duper mart → Max/Shady Sands → vault 4: Lucy links up w Maximus somewhere close, and they visit Shady Sands before wandering into Hawthorne medical labs/vault 4. I dunno how to estimate this part of the journey, they could've gone anywhere in that blue area

they spend more than one day at vault 4, I think. Lucy also mentions being on the surface for about two weeks when they leave

vault 4 → radio station with fiddle guy: 4-6 hrs, 10-15 mi

radio station → Griffith Observatory: 2-3 hrs, 4-7 mi

travel time: ~25-40 hrs

total distance: 60-100 miles

added some stuff, but the photos and locations are based mainly off this reddit post

[bedbugbiting]

I didn't even discuss my half-marathon yesterday because I was preoccupied with falling! Here are some highlights and lowlights in no particular order:

I did a running no-no by wearing brand new shoes that I was totally unfamiliar with, but it was actually fine and l like them. Topo Phantom 3, if you care about such things. I had a 30% off coupon and I bought them impulsively.

My hydration vest failed me. I wear the same vest on almost every run over 9 miles and I've never had a problem with it. The valve decided to suddenly stop working, so I was under-hydrated. Also, I had to run around carrying a liter of water that I couldn't even drink, and that was annoying.

I fell five miles in. Bad. I tripped over uneven sidewalk, my nemesis. I am scraped up and bruised up. I was going at a good pace up to that point. I've slowed down lately and I was kind of surprised by how easy everything felt until BOOM, it didn't.

The fall took me out of my good mental state and the rest of the race SUCKED. I didn't recover mentally until 12 miles in.

I might have sprained a finger? Maybe? Not sure. I can wiggle everything that's supposed to wiggle but something on my knuckle isn't right. I'll keep an eye on it and go to my doctor if I need to.

I'm definitely missing a couple of layers of skin on my knees. I also bruised my hip and I don't know how because I didn't fall that way.

I got to hang out with my cool nerdy running friends! They like running and video games and are really fun people. They were very impressed with the way my skin adhered to my leggings. Look, it was fascinating. Road rash!

One benefit to falling is that I got less focused on my speed and it was a beautiful route that I would have noticed less otherwise.

I didn't even check my time. It wasn't good, but I don't care.

[chirp-a-chirp]

Seeker

Fandom: Ikemen Prince; Characters: Leon Dompteur, Clavis Leouch, Carla (OC); Leon X OC story; Tags; fluff, angst, feels, a few spoilers/oblique references from Leon and Clavis routes, references to death and slavery; Word Count: ~1750

Synopsis: Leon seeks to talk to someone very important in his love’s life. Clavis hides his pain the only way he knows how. Also, introducing (in passing) an OC paired with Leon Dompteur who works for Clavis—Carla!

Folks who might(?) appreciate this fic: @candied-boys @katriniac @leonscape @x-daedalus-x @reborn-elven @ae-yeongmi @ikeprinces-stuff

…

“So, you’re abandoning my seeker? Not very heroic of you!”

Leon resisted rolling his eyes at Clavis’s dramatics and the unofficial title given to Carla. As Clavis’s assistant, Carla’s main job was to seek things. Some items were simply those Clavis couldn’t be bothered to find himself—test tubes, compounds for explosions, Sariel-sized nets. A job with no end given Clavis’s antics. But Carla also found things of substance—missing children from Bloodstained Rose day, reunited with their parents; jobs for former Obsidian citizens crossing into Rhodolite; surpluses of food for the Leochian orphanage.

Carla was a seeker. A seeker of adventure. Of ingenuity. Of hope. This vibrancy was among the many things that attracted Leon to Carla. And it was that vibrant hope that made Leon want to do things right with her.

“It’s necessary.” Leon looked up at Clavis as he prepared for his journey.

“But you still need to pitch woo to Carla!”

“I don’t wanna hear you say anything about pitching after the lake incident.”

“But I saved the diplomat from drowning!”

“After pitching him in the lake in the first place.”

“Irrelevant!” Clavis cackled, unrepentant. “But more relevant, you’re deserting my seeker!”

“No. I’m leaving to talk with the most important person in her life.” Leon wrapped his cloak about his shoulders.

“Ah, so me!”

Leon raised an eyebrow. “Her father.”

Clavis inhaled loudly. He hid the rush of pain flooding his chest with a sharp bark of laughter. “Asking for dear old dad’s permission to court his daughter? How quaint!”

Leon stepped closer to Clavis, challenging the third prince’s mockery, seeing the truth behind the mask. “Not exactly. I want to tell him how I feel. The influence he’s had on Carla, the joy she brings. That though he last saw her in tears, she’ll live with a smile on her face. If she’ll let me.”

Clavis was silent for several seconds. “You’ll find it to be a very one-sided conversation.”

“I know. But still.”

Clavis’s gaze faltered at the resolute expression reflected in Leon’s amber eyes. Clavis turned his head to avoid his stare and whispered, his mask briefly slipping.

“Tell her father I’m sorry.”

“Hmmm?”

Clavis whipped his head back to Leon, plastering a smile back in place. “I mean, tell him I say hi, haha! You should thank me for distracting Carla while you go gallivanting without her!”

Leon huffed and began to leave. He turned around, hand lingering on the door knob. “It wasn’t your fault, you know.”

Clavis’s eyes rose in shock, the reflexive quip snuffed from his lips by the serious look in Leon’s gaze.

“Mr. Demandeur made his own choices. He chose a dangerous path—however noble. He made the choice to live that life—not Carla, not you.” Leon opened the door. “The consequences of that life are his and his alone.”

…

A lone rider trekked deep in the woods. The underbrush was thick with small saplings, broken branches, and rocks littering the forest floor. A horse stopped underneath a clump of mature trees; light filtered through the tree canopies, highlighting a meticulously cared for gravestone.

Richard Demandeur

Loving Father and Husband; Restorer of Freedom

The gravestone was the only thing not covered in moss, leaves, or other forest debris. Though the gravestone was several miles from Leouch, the reverence in which it was kept pristine showed the value the man had in life. A few conversations with the townsfolk of Leouch informed Leon that when Carla was not in town, Clavis paid for others to keep the grave clean.

Leon dismounted from the horse in silence, gathering his thoughts. The horse dropped his head, picking up on the solemnity of the moment. Three white roses were placed neatly on the ground by the stone marker.

“Hi. I’m Leon.” Leon knelt on the ground, lightly touching one of the rose petals. “I had hoped to meet you in person one day. Carla speaks of you so vividly, I didn’t know you were gone until recently.”

As a commander of soldiers, Leon was familiar with death. It was always in the back of every soldier’s mind—the notion that one day, you may never come back. That ensuring others security and safety meant risking your own. But he was trained for that life—as were the men that served under him.

Richard was not.

At an age where many considered slowing down, Richard sped up his life’s impact. In the last 5 years of his life, Richard and Carla had helped more than 100 people escape to Rhodolite—people seeking freedom, freedom from starvation, a slaver’s whip, Obsidian darkness. What he lacked in physical strength he made up in sheer determination and ingenuity (along with some well-placed Clavis traps) in secreting these people away from lives of despair. That bravery and idealism was matched in his daughter Carla, who joined him on his escape missions, and who worked afterwards to ensure these people were successfully integrated into Leouch into new jobs. Bakers, tutors, craftsmen, and their families were living their best lives thanks to a father-daughter duo who gave them that chance. It was an idealism steeped in practicality that especially earned Leon his respect. And admiration.

“Carla misses you. She always will. I hope to be someone to help ease that pain of hers.” The forest was eerily silent—not even the wind stirred. It was as if the trees and all the woodland creatures around them were focused solely on listening to Leon. He continued.

“I’m another prince in your daughter’s life. No, not like Clavis.” Leon could hear Carla’s laughter as he recalled her stories of Clavis and Mr. Demandeur. Richard had been a willing tester of Clavis’s inventions—the smoke bomb, the tickling fingers that made a soldier drop their weapon, the invisible shadow that made one able to blend seamlessly into the night. The testing typically resulted in disaster—tar stuck for days in his hair, skin turning shades of purple and gold (“Can’t you at least pick colors that look better on me!” Richard would lament to Clavis and Carla’s delight)—but the moment the testing proved positive, Richard was the first to sing Clavis’ praise—and mobilize another rescue mission with Carla with those inventions. The Leouch inventions were integral to the rescue missions, and had a 100% success rate.

Until Richard’s last mission.

“I admire people like you.” Leon sat on the ground and peered at the gravestone as if it were a person conversing with him. “People like you give hope to those without it. To people like me.” Leon clinched his hands as he recalled his childhood—his true childhood, a legacy that never left him, the days that weighted on him like a stone attached to his back.

Leon ran fingers through his hair, shaking away the tendrils of bleaknesses that gnawed at him. “You see—I’m a prince, but I wasn’t born one. I was a slave—like some of those you rescued.”

Little by little, Leon spoke. Of hands raw from work; of a back aching from unhealed whip marks and stones hauled from quarries; of a belly so empty he ate moss to quell its rumbling. He had only told one other person these things—Carla.

“I used to think life would always be that way.” A series of unending days steeped in drudgery. “But then, I was given a second chance. A chance to change my life—by taking on someone else’s.”

Leon closed his eyes, picking up one the white roses. He slowly opened them before going on. “You see—I thought I had to earn that chance. And that the only way to do that was to become king. To become Leon Dompteur. To dedicate my entire life towards the kingdom that took me in for a single coin.”

“That is, until I met Carla.”

Leon paused, his thoughts drifting towards the woman he loved. His heart squeezed tenderly at the image of her in his mind—her skirt twirling as she danced with him, the way her eyes sparkled as she talked with townspeople, the mischief in her voice at modifying another Clavis trap. Her stories. Stories of freedom. Stories that made Leon feel alive again.

“Your daughter is wonderful. I know, I’m not telling you something you’re unaware of.” Leon laughed. “She’s vibrant, brave, caring, passionate about everything. And everyone.” Leon’s lips quirked wryly. “Well, not everyone I hope.” The horse whinnied suddenly as a large branch fell to the ground; Leon’s shoulders jolted at the sound.

“Hey, there’s no need for THAT.” Leon placed the rose on top of the gravestone, his eyebrows lifting slightly. “I said hope.” Leon tapped his knee with his fingers before continuing.

“With Carla, I remember who I am. She reminds me there are different ways to dedicate your life with meaning.” Seeking life in the everyday—tavern dinners, town dances, talking with shop keepers—and the extraordinary—daring rescues and escapes, free from royal confines and restrictions—was profound.

“With Carla, I’m Leon. Just Leon. And she’s taught me dedication can be to a kingdom and to a person.” The man Leon was when he was with Carla was the most genuine version of himself—a man of unwavering passion, love, and commitment. And it was something he didn’t want to lose.

The feelings that threatened to spill from Leon’s lips were so overwhelming it was nearly impossible to distill them into words. He settled for simplicity. Words tumbled quickly, flowing with a winding warmth.

“I love your daughter. So, so much. If she’ll let me, I’ll always be there for her. And carry on your mission alongside her. I hope you approve.”

The air stirred gently, leaves twirling and landing on Leon’s hair and shoulders. Sunlight flickered from the treetops, lighting the grave and Leon. Leon’s eyes widened before he smiled gently.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Leon got up and nodded at the grave. His lips lifted slightly. “Thanks Dad.”

Another branch fell on the ground nearby, scattering a flurry of leaves everywhere. “OK, geez! I guess I haven’t earned the right to call you that yet!” Leon’s voice cut the revenant air with a laugh. “How about Richard?”

A strong breeze picked up. A few branches swayed perilously overhead. “Mr. Demandeur?” The wind slowed down.

“Mr. Demandeur. Got it.” Leon mounted his horse. “I’ll bring Carla with me next time.” Leon glanced upwards at the trees. “And Clavis.” The wind died completely. A beam of light streamed down on Leon and the horse.

“Good. Clavis misses you too.” Leon rode away, parting with one final statement.

“We’ll make you proud sir. All three of us.”

[wsdanon]

cellbit and felps as orpheus and eurydice

(reblogs appreciated)

Cellbit hates tunnels. He’s not particularly claustrophobic, but being chased and tortured with a chainsaw in one really highlights how little escape routes there are in them. 

Cellbit hates tunnels. He’s walking through one, anyway. 

He can’t feel Felps behind him but he is there. Cellbit has to trust that he’s there. 

Cellbit has to trust that this wasn’t all for nothing. That Felps is following him out of the underworld, and soon everything will be back to normal. 

That Cucurucho didn’t lie to him. 

It’s a long walk. Staticky silence echoes around him broken up only by the sound of footsteps. 

One set of footsteps. 

But Cellbit has to trust Cucurucho. 

“This sucks.”

There’s no response. Cellbit keeps walking. 

There’s a light in the distance. In the far distance. Just a pinprick more than anything. Once they reach that, they’ll be safe. 

And once Cellbit crosses over, it won’t be easy to get back down. If Cucurucho is just messing with him…

But, no. Cellbit has to trust Felps is there. Has to trust that Cucurucho isn’t just playing around with him. Again. 

…But if he was. This would be a good way to go about it. Cellbit is walking himself right out of the underworld. It’ll be a pain to get back in. Maybe Cucurucho is hoping that once he’s gone, he’ll give up because he won’t want to go through those same trials again. 

But of course Cellbit will. This is for Felps.

“Can you give me, like, any sign you’re here?” Cellbit asks desperately. “Tap my back. Something.” 

Nothing happens. 

It would be far easier to get down to the throne room and demand Cucurucho honours his words by giving Felps back if Cellbit never leaves the underworld. 

Maybe just… Maybe just a quick peak back—

—No. He can’t. Cucurucho may love to mess with him, but Cellbit has to trust that Felps is there. 

As much as it makes his skin crawl—as much as his brain is screaming at him—he has to trust that fucking bear. 

And if he lied, Cellbit will go through and do it all again. Easy. 

He really fucking hates tunnels. 

Rocky dirt crunches underneath his feet as he treks forward. Monotonous. Step after step. By now, it feels more like his body is moving without his input. Like his legs are just dragging the rest of him along. 

Unease has been curling through him the entire time. But it hits him, abruptly, how vulnerable he is. 

When he was dragged into that first hallway Cucurucho was behind him. Cellbit looked back, and it gave him precious seconds to run. Not enough to get away, but it was something. 

He would like the think he would hear a chainsaw coming up behind him—but then again, he can’t hear Felps. 

Assuming Felps is actually behind him. 

And it would be just like Cucurucho to do this. Make him feel hope—make him carry it with him for what feels like hours as he slowly makes his way towards freedom—only to crush it brutally. Thinking, maybe, that Cellbit will give up. 

Maybe he’ll even kill Cellbit properly this time. Right before he can reach the exit—a hand outstretched, fingers straining towards the light. 

Maybe that’s why he can’t look back. He’ll give up the game before Cucurucho is ready. He’ll escape, and come right back down, and demand Cucurucho gives Felps back properly this time. No games. 

“Felps?” 

No response. 

“You’re not even there, are you? I know you’re not.”

He keeps walking. 

“This is just like that fucking bear—this is exactly the kind of thing he’d do.” 

He doesn’t look back. 

“Just give me something. Please.” 

Unease curls through him. His skin crawls. 

“Felps?”

He’s walking into a trap, he knows it. Felps isn’t there, and Cucurucho is laughing at him. At his desperation, at his blind hope, at his naivety. Cucurucho is laughing, because why would he help Cellbit now? Why would he tell the truth now, when he loves to torment Cellbit?

When he’s dragged Cellbit into a tunnel, chased him down, laughed at his torn up body. Thrown him back up into his son’s safehouse miles away—the one he’s not supposed to know about—and then lied to everyone about what happened. 

He’s laughing, and Felps isn’t there, and Cellbit swears he can hear the distant sound of a chainsaw, and Felps isn’t there, and Cellbit—

—Cellbit looks back. 

And he watches Felps disappear. 

He stands there. Staring into the darkness. Blood rushes through his ears—his heart beating hard in his chest. 

Then he sighs. And starts the trek back down. 

Allegedly, Cucurucho was telling the truth. Which mean Cellbit will need to beg even more than last time for Felps’ revival. 

But he will. He’ll give up everything until Felps is safe. 

——-

hope you guys enjoyed \o/ and I hope everything formats correctly lol

[bonzos-number-1-fan]

TMAGP 18 Thoughts: Dead Letters

Another really great episode. Feels like the show has hit its stride now and it just keeps getting better and better IMO. I can't say I entirely get the episode's title though. This one feels fairly strained to me and I feel like it must be because I'm missing something obvious.

Spoilers for episode 18, and some lightly implied spoilers for TMA, below the cut.

Teddy and Alice being Teddy and Alice isn't something I have a huge amount to say. I'm never 100% sure how you're meant to read these two. Teddy having his own little story in the background is interesting though because the framing of this implies he's very important to the narrative. His leaving is the instigation for two of our main characters to be able to join the OIAR, his leaving party is the opening scene of the show, and every time he's been in it since something about him has progressed. It could just be a grounding element so that not every character is wrapped up in it but it seems fairly obvious that his story is going somewhere.

Fun Fact: I've mentioned it before but as it was name dropped, Robert Smirke was an architect for the Royal Mint.

Lena continuing to be very Lena about everything really does warm my heart. She could just be entirely disinterested, distancing herself from the employees for their safety, or other reasons beside. Either way "Oh, is that its name?" is wonderful and she should never change.

This statement was really great. Augustus being back is a massive highlight. Tim Fearon has killed both of his episodes and I want more of him than we're getting. A haunted house narrated by him is really a treat to listen to. The literal contents of the experience we hear narrated back to us isn't something I have too much to say on. It's got some strong Hilltop Road vibes but is at Church Street. Church Street itself doesn't have anything too important to mention about it. Milton Court, however, is interesting. Violet was seemingly the victim of the same thing that killed Drowning Victim a few episodes back, likely [Error]. But what's interesting about the Milton Court Open Space is that it's about 20 miles from where Drowning Victim was. These cases happened 3 days apart which is ample time to cover that distance but it's interesting because it's largely along the path you'd drive if you were coming from Manchester, where the Institute's ruins were, back to London and taking the M40. You'd drive passed Ickenham. I would not be surprised if we see a similar case from early further north along that route. Another thing of note here is the extreme malnutrition. I think a lot of people are going to link this back to Darrien from the last episode but I think it's more obviously a physical symptom of reliving said experience. Violet wandered though a house with no exit until she starved, like how Drowning Victim, well, drowned. No notes otherwise, great incident. Well, "Some figure reaching asking questions in an alley?" is curious phrasing but I won't get to into that.

Alice and Sam's chat directly addressing the contents of the case is something I love to see. Alice is trying her best to bury all that, bless her, but Sam is for sure never letting this drop. It's just great to see this stuff not washing over them now and it's all becoming more and more relevant. Although it does bring into question why Augustus read this one out. Chester seems to read things that nudge people to act a certain way but this one seemed almost cruel. Like Augustus was trying to get under Alice's skin. In any case its hard to find a thread between this and Taking Notes, at least as far as "motivation" goes.

Oh Gwen. Poor, poor Gwen. Finally opens up about her truly fucking awful experiences and Sam laughs in her face about it. To be fair to Sam leading with Mr. Bonzo is a perfect wind up and I would've laughed too. We all would've laughed if our co-worker said that. To be fair to Gwen, Mr. Bonzo has traumatised the shit out of her and who else is there to really lead with? And as always Anusia killed it here. What a glorious F-bomb too.

Backing up just a little bit, there is this quote during that interaction:

GWEN In the cases, you know how there are often things or places or people or whatever who… aren’t right? Who seem to be causing all the awful things to happen.

Which is fairly interesting if you've been reading theories. Specially about what CAT# means. The most common theory by far is "Person/Place/Object". Meaning that CAT1 indicates a supernatural person in the incident, CAT2 a place, etc. Now, I have written an essay all about this subject entitled "Putting the CAT# Back in the Bag: The Flaws With Person/Place/Object". So, y'know, I don't buy it. Gwen mentioning it now feels like a red herring too given how early it is. Obviously that feeling is rooted in my current belief about said theory. If I don't think it holds water I won't think this is a clue about that. But it's not just that. I think this is too early from a narrative stand point, CAT# standing for those things pointless from a narrative standpoint, and if Gwen has settled on those three things it's not much of a stretch to link it back the the case numbers and part of the point of them is they're inscrutable to everyone there.

Because all of the above isn't enough for this already stellar episode we meet two new characters. Georgie and Jack. Both at long last as they've both come up before. It's hard to talk about this without getting into TMA stuff. I'll try to be light on TMA spoilers but Celia and Georgie have history. Now, unlike with Celia, this very much seems like TMP's version of Georgie. She's a conspiracy theorist instead of a ghost hunt, she's paranoid instead of fearless, and she seems to know as little about Celia as you'd expect. The conspiracy angle is also really clever. TMA was very much just about supernatural encounters but TMP has the cast working for the government. So Georgie has stayed fairly consistent in this regard it's just the shows themes that changed. Celia finding Georgie makes a lot of sense to me though. Their history makes her a good touchstone here and as she's still podcasting about strange things it's a good cover as any. However whatever is happening with Celia is clearly getting worse and she's not lying about it well.

GEORGIE Celia, I’m saying you don’t need to lie to me. CELIA I’m not! [zzzzzt]

Sure you're not, Celia. Sure you're not.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Incident/CAT#R#DPHW Master Sheet and Terminology Sheet

DPHW Theory: 2374 not much to explain on this one I don't think. Spooky house that you can't escape from gets you spooky house you can't escape from numbers.

CAT# Theory: CAT1 is semi-interesting for the theory I think it definitely isn't (see here). Because for that theory to remain consistent corpses end up as objects. Which you'd think would put this in CAT3 if assessors were applying those themselves, and if they aren't all headers of this type being people seems very farfetched when we've seem objects that compel already.

R# Theory: C seems reasonably to me. Having a spooky memory and talking about it seems like the sort of thing no one would care about.

Header talk: Memory (Derelict) -/- Compulsion. Two interesting things here. Firstly, the section being Memory implies that this experience actually happened. Either to Violet or someone else. It could be a ham-fisted section choice if there isn't anything for hallucinatory experiences of this nature but I'd assume there must be. This system is so specific and as that would be a large oversight it seems unlikely that it isn't there. But it's hard to say how much any given assessor knows about what they're picking. Misfiles are always possible. The subsection is the other interesting thing. Derelict is such a specific subsection here that Memory must have 100s of them.

[supernaturalgirl20]

Hey beautiful! 🥰 I'm on a mission, which brings me to your blog tonight for a request. And there's no rush my love, so please take all the time you may want or need. I don't mind waiting at all ❤️.

Okay, picture this: Friends to Lovers kind of deal and Mutual Pining with F!Reader and Frankie Morales. They're out on a mission together but are only gathering intel so they're not planning to fight the enemy, and it's an exceptionally cold night wherever they are (could be an abandoned warehouse, a motel room, or in hiding in the trees etc, just somewhere where they're staying close to each other). She goes to tuck in for the night as there was no activity to record from the threat, but Frankie can hear how cold she is. Like, she is shivering, and the man just can't take it anymore. He tucks in for the night too but lays down beside her instead, placing his chest against her back to keep her warm.

Let the smut and/or fluff commence from this point onwards. I'll leave you to decide which route to take this story after this point. Thank you in advance and love ya bitch! 😏❤️

Chloe I LOVE this request 🥰🥰 Hope you enjoy 😉

Be my Lady?!

Pairings: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, PinV sex, oral (female receiving), mutual pining, one bed, unintentional teasing, cursing, fluff.

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

The static of the radio startles you as you gaze through your scope at Javi’s villa. It’s been quiet, thankfully but it’s been days out here in the thick jungle and the weather is beginning to drain you.

“Fuck, this is boring as shit. I think we’ve gathered enough information, wanna head out?”

“Fish, I thought you’d never ask,” you radio back with a smile in your voice.

“I aim to please half-pint.” You roll your eyes at the nickname he’d bestowed upon you back when you first joined the team. “Meet you at the starting point. Better hurry if we wanna get the chopper to pick us up today. The weather is getting real bad.”

“See you in five.” Packing up you head out to meet Frankie and once you make your way through the clearing you spot him leaning against a tree. He’s fiddling with the watch his daughter got him, something you helped her pick out and you take the opportunity to admire him.

His tack trousers hug his thighs just right and the way he’s leaning back with his legs slightly crossed over highlights his impressive package. The red shirt he’s wearing peaks out under his rain jacket and a smile works its way onto your face. It’s the one you bought for Kris Kringle one year and he always seems to have it on when you’re out together.

“A watched clock never chimes, Fish.” He smiles up at you, that dimple you love making an appearance. “Is that what they say,” he asks as he pushes off the tree and picks up his rucksack. “Winds picking up,” he says, tilting his head to the sky. “Don’t think we’re gonna make it back to base tonight.”

“Damn, I was hoping for a hot shower.” Frankie clears his throat and avoids making eye contact as he begins to lead the way. “Saw a cabin about a mile north, a little run-down but should be ok to haul up there for the night.”

“Once we get out of the rain I’m happy. Lead the way.”

***

When Frankie had said a run-down cabin you were expecting a shell of a building but it was actually in decent condition with a small bed and an open fire. Dropping his rucksack on the ground Frankie turns to you with a serious look on his face and his hands resting on his hips.

“There’s only one bed.”

“So?”

“Half-pint, there’s two of us and only one bed.”

“Yeah. So? We’re grown-ups, we can work something out.”

“You take it. I’ll sleep on the floor. I’m sure there’s some blankets around here somewhere,” he says as he begins to look around.

“Fish, it's ok. I’m not gonna make you sleep on the floor. You got a bad back.”

“Well, I ain’t making you sleep on the floor before you even suggest it.”

With a sigh, you take a step closer to him and rest your hand on his arm. “I was gonna say we could share the bed.”

His eyes move slowly along your figure before landing where you're touching him. He gulps loudly before meeting your gaze, “you sure?”

“Positive. Now, let’s get that fire lit. I’m freezing.”

Frankie helps you light the fire before heading out back and getting some extra wood to try and keep it going for the night. You take the opportunity to change quickly into dryer clothes but you can’t seem to shake the chill that’s set in your bones so you riffle through Frankie's bag and throw on one of his shirts.

“Hey got enough to keep us going and I’ve cut some extra out back just in case we…” Frankie falters as he turns and spots you standing there with his shirt on. Your gaze wanders and you can see the effect you're having on him through his trousers.

As soon as he realises what you're looking at his face heats and he drops some of the wood. “Fuck, is that my shirt?” He stutters.

Biting your bottom lip you nod your head, “that’s ok, right? I’m just really cold. Needed the extra layers.”

He clears his throat as he makes his way towards the open fire, throwing some logs into it. “Yeah, yup that’s fine…I uh…yeah.”

You try hard not to laugh at how cute he’s being and the thought that he might just feel the same way as you, passes through your mind. He removes his wet jacket and grabs some food from his bag before reaching out and offering you some. “Thanks,” you say with a soft smile, patting the ground beside you.

Huddled together by the fire tucking into the food the sound of the wind howling outside draws your attention. “Shit, that’s bad.”

“I told ya it was gonna get bad. The weather here is always shit. Don’t know why that asshole has a villa here.”

“Hmm, at least we can be back on base tomorrow. I’m missing my bed.”

Frankie snorts a laugh, “that’s saying something. Those things are hard as shit.”

You yawn and Frankie’s eyes flick towards you, “you should get some sleep”, he says tilting his head towards the single bed. “I’ll keep this going a bit longer.”

“You should rest too, Frankie.”

“I will, I promise.”

“You better Morales.”

He watches you wrap the thin blanket over you and settle on the bed before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He was so screwed.

***

A little while later you begin to shiver a little, the thin blanket doing little to alleviate the cold. Frankie notices from where he's sat by the fire and decides he’s going to have to brave it out and hop in beside you.

“Mierda. You better not show me up, you hear. We’re in this together alright. We can't scare her off.”

You realise that he thinks you're asleep but you wonder who he’s talking to. When you peak at him from under the covers he’s pointing at his rather large bulge. Jesus, he is big. When he stands you turn back around and wait as he strips out of his tack trousers before lifting the covers and slipping in behind you.

It’s awkward given how small the bed is and Frankie is a hulk of a man but he manages to fit behind you. He’s careful not to touch you, well any more than can be helped. You shiver again and suddenly Frankie’s arm wraps around your waist and pulls you back against his hard chest.

You’re nestled right up against him and a contented sigh passes your lips. “That better,Hermosa?”

“Hmm, yeah. You’re like a space heater.” You wiggle your butt unconsciously seeking out his heat and a strangled groan comes from behind you. His hand grips your waist tight, “half-pint…Mierda! You gotta stop…I’m not gonna…shit, I’m not gonna be able to control myself if you keep doing that.”

“Who says I want you to?” You turn your head slightly when he doesn’t say anything but then he’s pushing you onto your back as he nestles himself between your thighs. His breathing is ragged and his pupils are blown wide. “Are you sure you want this,Hermosa? I won’t be able to stop once we start. Wanted this…shit, wanted this for so long.”

You bite your lip and nod your head at him. He shakes his and moves your hands above your head. “I need to hear you say it, half-pint.”

“Fuck me Frankie, please.” His eyes close and he groans as he grinds his hips into you. “Fuck your huge, Fish.”

“Don’t call me that, not like this. Say my name.” He grinds his thick length against you again. “Frankie,” you whisper in his ear.

“Fuck. Want you so bad, baby. But I gotta get you ready for me.” He moves down under the covers and pulls your pants down exposing your aching cunt before lifting your legs over his shoulders. He buries his face into you, breathing you in. “Fuck baby you smell so good. Bet you taste even better.”

He licks a strip through your folds and you arch off the bed with a strangled moan. His nose presses into your clit as he devours you. “Oh fuck…Frankie.”

Ooh! You moan as your back arches off the bed, hand finding purchase in his hair. He grips your thighs as he buries his tongue inside you. Fuck he knows what he’s doing. He alternates between licking and sucking and shoving his tongue inside you that you are a complete and utter mess on the bed below him. Writhing in pleasure. That heat begins to form and you can feel yourself getting closer to that edge and you all but shout his name as the pleasure from your orgasm consumes you.

“Frankie.”

His tongue licks around his lips as he emerges from under the covers laying his body flush with yours. You reach up and kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue. You reach down and grip him tight in your hand. “I wanna taste you now.”

“I won’t last,” he breathes out as he shakes his head. “Next time, baby. Right now I gotta feel you wrapped around me.” He pulls his boxers off and quickly discards them before lining up at your entrance. “Ready baby?”

“Yes. Need you, Frankie.”

His hips thrust forward burying his thick length deep inside. “Mierda. So fucking wet baby. You feel like heaven.” He pounds into you, fucking you deep into the mattress below you, the bed squeaking from the force.

“Oh god….Frankie, I’m gonna….oh…fuck…I’m gonna come.” His hand holds your hip tight as he keeps hitting that sweet spot. “That’s it, baby. Come all over my cock. Wanna feel you.”

“Frankie,” you cry out as your cunt flutters around him. He groans as you squeeze him tight only thrusting a few more times before he follows you off that ledge. He comes hard with a grunt of your name as fills you full of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes out as he slumps on top of you. You both lay like that for a while, his cock still buried inside you as you run your fingers through his slightly damp hair.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that to happen on this mission.”

“Me neither,” he mumbles into your skin. “Fucking happy it did though. I owe Pope for swapping with me.”

“What?”

Frankie lifts his head slightly so he can meet your gaze. “Pope was the one who was on this mission with you but I asked him to swap. Wanted to spend some time with you, just you and me.”

“Got it bad, huh?”

He reaches up and places a soft kiss on your lips. “You’ve no idea, baby.”

“Well, I got it bad for you too.”

“Yeah? So does that mean you're my lady now?”

“I’ve always been your lady, Frankie.”

Everything: @maievdenoir @amneris21 @hnt-escape @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @jediknight122 @ayrusss @hayley-the-comet @sherala007 @alexxavicry @scorpio-marionette @donnaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @beskarprincessjenny @littlemisspascal @icanbeyourjedi @thatpinkshirt @maryfanson @sunnshineeexoxo @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog @athalien @its--fandom--darling @sara-alonso @doommommy @browneyes-issac @trickstersp8 @nembees @kaitieskidmore1 @mswarriorbabe80 @allthe-ships @tintinn16 @hungrhay @rosie-posie08 @manuymesut @all-the-way-down-here @iccedays @dindjarinswhore @tusk89 @graciexmarvel @pedrostories

[science-criticaltheory]

The chill is gone

Arctic sea ice cover retreated rapidly in July 2024, pushing the daily ice extent at the end of the month to the third lowest in the 46-year satellite record. Extensive low-concentration areas of sea ice are found in the Beaufort and East Siberian Seas, reaching 85 degrees North. In the Southern Ocean, sea ice is nearing the extreme low record extent set just last year, caused mostly by a large ice-free area in the southwestern Indian Ocean. As a result, global sea ice extent is at record lows for this time of year.

Figure 1c. This image from the Japan Aerospace Exploration Agency (JAXA) Advanced Microwave Scanning Radiometer 2 (AMSR2) shows sea ice concentration in the Arctic Ocean on August 5, 2024, highlighting areas of low concentration ice stretching north from the Beaufort and East Siberian Seas, and north of Greenland.

Credit: Japan Aerospace Exploration Agency, courtesy University of Bremen

Overview of conditions

Arctic sea ice extent averaged for July 2024 was 7.89 million square kilometers (3.05 million square miles), the sixth lowest in the 46-year passive microwave satellite record (Figure 1a and 1b). As of August 1, daily sea ice extent is third lowest behind 2019 and 2020, and just below 2012, the record low year. The July sea ice extent was 1.58 million square kilometers (610,000 square miles) below the 1981 to 2010 average and 600,000 square kilometers (232,000 square miles) above 2020, the record low July.

Ice loss during the month was greatest in the Kara and East Siberian Seas, Baffin Bay, Hudson Bay, and the Canadian Archipelago. Extensive low-concentration areas of sea ice are found in the Beaufort and East Siberian Seas (Figure 1c). A small patch of ice remains in western Hudson Bay, unusual for this time of year. There is still sea ice in both the northern and southern Northwest Passage routes according to passive microwave satellite data. On the Siberian side, the unusually packed area of sea ice south of Wrangel Island remains. Note that icebreakers and ice-capable liquefied natural gas (LNG) carriers routinely traverse the Northern Sea route along the Russian coast even with fairly thick sea ice.

Arctic sea ice retreat in July proceeded at a pace of 113,000 square kilometers (44,000 square miles) per day, faster than the 1981 to 2010 average pace of 87,000 square kilometers (34,000 square miles) per day and only slightly slower than the record pace of 117,000 square kilometers (45,000 square miles) per day set in 2020.

Conditions in context

Air temperatures at the 925 hPa level (approximately 2,500 feet above the surface) were near average overall, with several areas slightly below average. Relatively warm conditions prevailed over the Barents Sea with temperatures 2 to 3 degrees Celsius (4 to 5 degrees Fahrenheit) above average. In the Kara Sea, temperatures were only 1 degree Celsius (2 degrees Fahrenheit) above average. Below average temperatures persisted in a wide swath extending from the East Siberian Sea, over the Beaufort Sea, and onto the Canadian Archipelago and northern Labrador with temperatures 2 degrees Celsius (4 degrees Fahrenheit) below average.

July featured a large area of low sea level pressure centered over Greenland and the Canadian Archipelago, but covering much of the Arctic Ocean.

Figure 2b. This plot shows average sea level pressure in the Arctic in millibars for July 2024. Yellows and reds indicate high air pressure; blues and purples indicate low pressure.

Credit: NSIDC courtesy NOAA Earth System Research Laboratory Physical Sciences Laboratory

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[ausetkmt]

Meet the ‘sisterhood’ making noise — and history — for Mardi Gras

At the edge of the square, members of the St. Mary’s Academy Cougar Marching Band stood stone-faced as they awaited the parade in tight formation. The band’s drum majors, Gilbrelle Stokes, 18, and Charland Thibodeaux, 17, stood at the ready, blue whistles in their mouths, as they prepared to direct the school’s 150-member marching unit, complete with a band, color guard, majorettes, flag team, dancers and cheerleaders.

Thibodeaux, a senior who has been marching with St. Mary’s since the third grade, was unfazed by the pressures of commanding such a large group.

“I always feel ready,” she said. “I been doing it so long.”

Marching band culture in New Orleans is ubiquitous, with groups performing at parades, weddings and funerals alike. Most locals can name their favorite high school bands, which are a highlight of Carnival season for all. School marching bands also serve as a training ground for the pipeline of talented professional musicians who steadily emerge from this birthplace of jazz.

“Band is a culture here unlike any other place,” said Pamela Rogers, 66, St. Mary’s president and acting principal. Sharp. Witty. Thoughtful. Sign up for the Style Memo newsletter.

“Bands define schools,” she continued. “And everyone knows we’re the girls with the skirts.”

St. Mary’s Academy’s skirt-wearing band first formed in 1937, making it the oldest Black girls band marching in the city. Today, it is one of just a handful of all-girl bands to regularly appear in Mardi Gras parades.

The school opened its doors in the French Quarter in 1867 and is still run by the Sisters of the Holy Family, a Black Catholic order founded by Henriette DeLille in 1842. DeLille, a multiracial nun (and current candidate for sainthood), believed in providing education for girls of color even when doing so was illegal. St. Mary’s was the first secondary school for Black girls in New Orleans.

This year, the St. Mary’s band will don new skirts for the first time since 2005, when its blue and gold uniforms had to be replaced after Hurricane Katrina’s floodwaters destroyed the school. The new skirts are a touch shorter than those they are replacing — a move staff hoped might increase student interest in the band. They’re still quite long though, even by Catholic school standards.

This Mardi Gras season also marks the first time Raynice Crayton, 27, will be at the band’s helm. A St. Mary’s alumna who joined the band as a seventh-grader, Crayton has already more than doubled band membership during her short tenure as director.

The group’s 52 players have varying levels of experience, from novices to passionate musicians, and they range in grades from fourth to 12th. In New Orleans East, where the school’s campus has been located since the 1960s, Crayton spends hours teaching girls the 10 tunes they will perform this Carnival, ranging from traditional music to a Janet Jackson song to the group’s favorite this year: “Talking in Your Sleep” by the Romantics.

“A lot of people don’t understand this, but band is a sport,” Crayton said.

The group’s schedule is packed tight, with the band performing in eight parades this Carnival season over the course of just two weeks, in addition to their regular school obligations and band practices. Parades last hours and typically happen rain or shine. The girls must traverse tightly packed 3.5-mile routes, all while carrying heavy instruments, entertaining rowdy crowds and dodging beads, puddles and occasionally horse manure.

The Cougars carry fiberglass sousaphones, which are lighter than the traditional brass, and use smaller-size bass drums. Gayland Thibodeaux, 53, a nurse, St. Mary’s alumna and mother to the band’s drum major, provides medical support to students along the parade route. She carries the requisite wraps, bandages and medications, plus some extra “girl stuff” in case of emergency.

High school bands have been a part of Mardi Gras festivities since the 1930s, though predominantly Black bands like St. Mary’s were not welcomed into some well-known parades until the 1960s. This weekend, the girls marched in Endymion, one of Mardi Gras’ largest and most well-attended parades, a decades-long tradition.

Ra-Saiya Lovick, a 13-year-old seventh-grader who is new to St. Mary’s, said this will be her first time marching in Carnival parades, a lifelong dream. Lovick, a cymbal player, is thrilled to share the experience with her all-girls band.

“It’s so cool, because you don’t see no boys around. It’s no boys drama,” she said. “It’s like a sisterhood.”

n a city famous for its music, few local institutions have nurtured young Black female musicians quite like St. Mary’s.

The Original Pinettes Brass Band, founded in 1991, originated at the school and today plays regularly across New Orleans and beyond. Still, the band’s tagline – “the only female brass band in the universe” — is indicative of just how far there is to go.

Two years ago, Troy Sawyer, 44, an award-winning trumpet player and music educator who grew up marching with the all-boys St. Augustine band, founded Girls Play Trumpets Too in response to the gap he saw between how girls and boys fared in the New Orleans music scene.

“For a long time, I felt like girls and women could not play the trumpet on the professional level, because I didn’t see any doing it,” he said.

Sawyer’s organization aims to teach girls about overlooked female musicians in history while also fostering their musical skills.

In New Orleans, such skills can be more than a hobby: Crayton, the St. Mary’s band director, received a full-ride college scholarship for her tuba playing.

“When I joined the band, it was always, ‘Boys play tuba, boys play drums,’” she said. “So those were the first instruments that I went to, because you already counted me out.”

Back on the parade route, Rae’Lynn Walker, a 13-year-old eighth-grader, was excited to play her weathered sousaphone for the thousands of onlookers awaiting the bands. The instrument – now held together with a bit of tape – is the same sousaphone Crayton played when she was a student.

“We’re making history,” Walker said with a smile. “And the crowds notice.”

On St. Charles Avenue, Marie Bookman, 60, shouted, “Girl power!” as the Cougars marched by her. Bookman, a former magistrate court commissioner, said she loves seeing an all-girl band.

“It gives them the opportunity to reach higher goals,” she said. “They can compete with the men, and not just cheer for them.”

Crayton hopes the band will continue to serve that purpose for many decades to come.

“We are not here to see the parade,” she reminded her girls before Sunday’s long march. “We are here to be the parade.”

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Survivor Blues

Part Five : Souvenirs 

A/N: Ahhhh this has been SUCH a long time coming, and I am sorry for taking so long with it, but this is a very important chapter and I did not want to rush through it. I want to take a second to thank every single person who has been reading and supporting this story thus far. All of your comments and feedback mean the world to me, and I hope that you continue to enjoy the rest of this story and the places I’m taking it. 

Warnings: *PLEASE TAKE THESE SERIOUSLY* Blood, canon typical violence, injury, discussion of death by suicide, death of a minor, PTSD - if you are at all unsure please feel free to send a message and ask for more clarification as to what is included in this chapter.  

Word Count: 8,284

Summary: You and Joel finish your supply run, and it almost goes off without a hitch. 

May - 2037

The following morning, Joel woke up early. 

The creak of old hinges and the scrape of the warped bedroom door against the floorboards pulled your attention from the window you were watching the sky lighten through, and you turned in time to see him emerge from the hallway. That wasn’t a full four hours. He had insisted on taking the first watch through the night, letting you take the first block of rest in the bedroom while he remained in the living room with his shotgun in reach and his pistol on his person. Though you’d appreciated the chance to get some sleep before continuing the next leg of your journey, you hadn’t made full use of your four hours, either. I was already awake when he knocked to switch with me. 

“Mornin’.” His voice, though low, sounded clear, and not at all as though he’d just woken up. Not that you knew the sound of his southern drawl when it was weighed down with the gravel of slumber. But I wonder if he slept at all. “All good out here?” 

Setting your gun down and rising from your seat on the couch, you brushed your palms over your pants. “Hey. Yeah.” You gave him a nod as he crossed the room to stand in front of the window. “It was nice and quiet. Didn’t see anything.”

“Good.” He brought his left hand up to grip the frame, right one resting on his hip. You watched his shoulders rise and fall with his sigh, the back of his head moving slightly as he peered out into the trees. Early morning light caught in his hair, highlighting the silver strands against the deeper brown. “Boring is good.” 

You let out a short huff of laughter. “It definitely beats the alternative in this case.” He responded with a hum and you started busying yourself with small tasks that needed to be done before you could set out for the day. Folding the rickety old Coleman stove that you’d used the night before and locking the lid into place, you picked it up and carried it over to the closet Joel had taken it from. “Were you able to get some rest?” You asked the question over your shoulder as you kneeled down to slide the stove behind a crate, waiting until he answered to turn around. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I got enough.” Good. You heard the groan of weathered wood as he pushed away from the windowsill, his footsteps carrying him to the center of the room as you stood and closed the closet door. “I’m sure I’ll sleep like a log after today’s ride.”

It was as clear a segue as possible - he answered your question and made it clear that he wasn’t looking for a discussion on his sleep habits by bringing up the day ahead of you. Fair. I don’t exactly want to talk about why I don’t sleep well either. “Yeah,” you headed back to the table to pack up your mug as he reached for his to do the same, your fingers almost brushing his as they wrapped around the handle, but you avoided contact by swiveling your wrist and pulling your mug away. “What do we have to cover? About 25 miles?” 

“Give or take.” When he finished stowing his camp mug, he tapped a location on the map that was still laid out from when you’d discussed the remainder of your route the previous night. “We’re here.” Your eyes followed the motion of his pointer as he traced it south along the highway. “Eye doctor is here.” He tapped the wrinkled page again on a town called Alpine, right along the border with Idaho. “Rest stop Margo and Ethan told us about is close by, so we’ll stop there for the night, head back up here the following morning.” 

Nodding, you crossed your arms over your chest and stared down at the map. Right. Margo and Ethan. 

You hadn’t met either of them yet, but you had heard those names more than a handful of times since you’d been in Jackson, especially from Evelyn at the bakery. Though the town was remarkably self-sufficient, there were things that simply couldn’t be grown or found or made there - certain fruits, spices, salt, sugar. That was where Margo and Ethan came in, the pair part of a larger network of nomadic traders who traveled between settlements offering things that people might otherwise have to go without. They all had their loops that they stuck to, regions that they knew were relatively safe and people that they’d built trust with over time. According to Evelyn, they stopped through once or twice a year, everyone always excited about what they might be able to barter for. Supposedly they sometimes even had rarities like cocoa beans and coffee, along with medications smuggled straight out of still-operating QZs, clothing, and a selection of random knickknacks, books and miscellany. 

Like a traveling Walmart.

What they didn’t have the last time that they passed through Jackson, apparently, had been eyeglasses. Though there was a small stock of generic reading lenses in the town’s supply, pairs with prescription lenses in varying strengths were always in demand to replace broken ones or to accommodate for declining vision over time. They did, however, offer up the location of an old optometrist office that they’d discovered on their travels, as well as a safe place to rest along the way in a town that they claimed was practically clear of infected. 

Sounds too easy. You dropped your arms, splaying your hands on the table and leaning over them, a slight frown that you didn’t even feel causing your lips to curve downwards. What if it’s some kind of set-up? 

Your mind immediately flashed back ten years, to when you, Laura and Kyle were making your way southwest through Kentucky. You’d crossed paths with people claiming to be traders then, too, swapping a bottle of bourbon you’d come upon in an abandoned roadside bar for a few unopened cans of food. It was winter, and hunting had been scarce, and though it went against your better judgment to rely on a stranger, you and Laura had her then seven year old son to consider - and there was no way either of you would let him go hungry. So when the traders pointed you in the direction of the warehouse they said they found cases of edible food in - too much for us to carry, and we figure it should go to someone who needs it, the thin, lank-haired man who seemed to be the leader of their group had said through a toothy grin - you didn’t even consider not going to check it out. You did go alone though, instinct telling you that it would be safer if your family stayed behind. 

And I was right. Absently, your left hand drifted to the right side of your waist, just above your hip. There, under your clothing you wore a streak of scarred skin from where a bullet had grazed you from the lofted office area of the warehouse as soon as you’d been inside. They just wanted to lure us there and then… You cringed, trying not to think about what the band of marauders would have done to you had you not been a better shot than them. They may have gotten you, but you were the only one to walk away that day, leaving five bodies in your wake and returning to Laura and Kyle with a bag full of food. It could have gone so much worse. 

“Hey.” Looking up from the map, you found Joel studying your expression, his head tilted and his eyes narrowed. “We can trust them.” You blinked, eyes going round again with surprise at the way he correctly read your body language. “I’ve only met ‘em a handful of times, but Tommy said Jackson’s been trading with ‘em for years. They’re good people.” 

What little you knew of Joel from the limited time the two of you had spent together, including your very first encounter, told you that he was just as cautious as you were. And you knew that Tommy and Maria would never continue to work with people who posed a threat to the town. But what you knew of people told you that even the best ones were capable of terrible things under the right circumstances, so you were wary. 

Though there was a slight shiver of warning that ran down your spine, you didn’t press the matter, deciding to trust what Joel was telling you. With a sigh, you nodded again. It’s not the same as Kentucky. They were strangers and he… the town vouches for these people. “Alright.” And if he’s wrong… that’s why we’re armed. “Well, I’m about ready to head out whenever you are. Just need to fill these.” You grabbed the water canteens the two of you had brought. 

“There’s a stream that runs out back,” he responded, folding up the map and turning to tuck it into his pack. “We can fill ‘em on our way out.” 

Within ten minutes the two of you had gathered up your things and secured the safe house, shutting the garage door behind you as you left with the horses. Though the alert sensation that pricked the back of your neck faded some as morning bled into afternoon, you and Joel stopping midway through your journey to eat and rest the animals, it never truly left you, despite the fact that the trip didn’t yield even a single sighting of infected or people. Still time for shit to go sideways. 

It didn’t, though. You reached the town of Alpine without incident, your horses’ hooves clopping over the cracked concrete of the ruined road. At first glance it was clear that no one had called the place home for a long time - buildings in complete disrepair, cars rusted through in parking lots and driveways, saplings sprouting out of gutters and vines and bushes bursting through windows and broken porch floorboards. You chalked that up to the fact that it seemed that not many people had called it home before the outbreak, and you knew that small towns like this one were among the first to be emptied out by FEDRA in the early days. 

“Well, we’re gonna have to be real careful goin’ into any of these places,” Joel said, his voice calling your attention away from a sizable bird’s nest that had been built into a hole in one of the building’s roofs. “Don’t want to fall through a rotted floor. But it looks like a ghost town, so that’s good.” 

That thing that wouldn’t leave you alone stirred in your stomach, but you agreed. “It does.” You just hoped that no ghosts were still lingering. A sign that was visible behind him caught your eye then, and you extended a hand to point it out to him. He turned just enough so that he could see where you were indicating. It was missing a few letters, but there was no mistaking what it had said originally - Gas Gifts Beer Snacks  “That must be the rest stop. Wanna check it out before we find the eye doctor? Make sure its-” 

“Yeah.” Joel turned back to face you, head moving up and down as he did. “We don’t want any surprises later when we go to turn in for the night.” 

No, we do not. 

Twenty years ago, a surprise in a place like a roadside rest stop meant grabbing the most outrageous sounding flavor of chips that you could find, or reaching for a bottled drink in some crazy shade of electric blue. It meant buying some cheesy t-shirt or funny shot glass to remember your trip by. But now? A surprise almost certainly meant danger, and if there was any, dealing with it in the daylight was the smarter course of action. 

Keeping your eyes up and constantly moving, you scanned the windows and doorways of the surrounding buildings as the two of you guided your horses over to what remained of the gas pump. The only movement you caught was the flap of wings as a large bird returned to the nest in the roof. I guess Margo and Ethan were right. It seemed safe and quiet and completely abandoned. Joel seemed to come to the same conclusion, the man giving you a nod before climbing down from his horse. Following suit, you swung your leg over the saddle and stepped down to the ground. 

“Alright, Nutmeg.” You spoke in a soft, low voice as you patted the light brown horse’s mane and tied the reins loosely to the pump. 

Joel did the same. Muttering a “Stay put, Callus,” as he looped the leather straps around like you’d done, and then he directed his attention at you, pulling his gun from his belt. “You ready?” 

Bending down just enough to reach, you drew your knife from your boot, rotating the handle in your palm until you found your preferred grip. You rose back to your full height and met his eyes. “Yeah.” 

He took a breath in through his nose and released it slowly, the space between his eyebrows forming a deep furrow as they came together.  “Stick close. We should be fine. In and out real quick but-” 

“Just in case,” you finished for him. Releasing a steadying exhale of your own, you stepped up next to him. “C’mon, let’s get this over with.” 

With that, you headed towards the door, feeling as Joel fell into step beside you. As you reached for the handle, his arm flew out and beat you to it, his large hand curling around it. Oh. A gentleman. He cautiously eked it open, both of you sucking in a gasp and then holding it as the bell above the door jamb jingled. Shit. Seconds stretched for minutes as you stood there, silently waiting and crowded into the half-opened door with Joel. But the tingling chimes faded eventually, revealing only more silence on the other side. We’re okay. 

Joel turned to look at you instead of through the open sliver of door, your bodies only inches apart. “If there were any infected in there, they’d be on us already. Think we’re safe.” 

You squeezed the grip of your knife and swallowed. “I think so, too.” 

He held your gaze for half a beat, and then tore it away as he yanked the door wide enough for you both to step inside. Once you were, your eyes swept around the space, confirming that there were no infected or any other threats in the small shop. A few completely empty shelves were growing moss where bags of snack food and stacks of road maps used to be displayed. You figured that if traders knew about this place, they likely would have already taken all of the valuable items like food, toothpaste and motor oil. A small counter held a dilapidated old register, the drawer extended and cash laying all over the ground. Behind that, another door stood open that led to a combination break room and stock room, a pair of beat up old couches against two walls and PVC shelving on the other too. Guess that’s where we’ll sleep tonight. 

“Well,” Joel holstered his gun and rolled out his right shoulder. “Doesn’t look like there’s anything we can use here, but it’s clear.” 

You picked up your leg and sheathed your blade, letting out a dry laugh. “Damn, I was hoping for some hot fries.” 

He returned your laugh with a short chuckle of his own. “I haven’t thought about those things in years. They were good.”  

“They were.” You walked further into the room, spotting a fourth shelf you hadn’t seen at first, this one not empty but the contents of it making you let out another amused huff. Makes sense this stuff would still be laying around. Pointing out the shelf of grime covered souvenir mugs, keychains, shot glasses and mottled postcards, you spoke again. “But if you need any fridge magnets or beer koozies while we’re here, you’re in luck” You glanced over your shoulder as he came closer. “Or how about a new keychain?” There was a stand with rows of pegs, some of them broken, the others still holding replica license plate keychains. Flicking one of them, you peered more closely at them and narrowed your eyes. “I don’t see your name, but -” Pinching one of the last pieces hanging from the pegs, you slid one off and turned to hold it out to him. “We could always add an L to Joe with a sharpie marker.” 

His boots crunched over the shattered remains of a shot glass as he stepped up beside you, a small grin giving way to another chuckle. “Go figure. Some things never change.” He used his pointer finger to indicate a whole row of Tommy plates, and then it was your turn to laugh. “Used to piss me off when we were kids that his name was always so easy to find on stupid stuff like this.” 

“I bet.” You shook your head, a smile curving up one side of your face as you returned your attention to the display. “If it makes you feel better, they don’t have my name in stock..” 

Bringing his finger up to the top of the display where the names beginning with E were meant to hang, he clicked his tongue and tapped the peg containing a few cracked Elizabeths. “No Ellie, either.” 

You tossed the Joe keychain onto the counter. “Well this place doesn’t deserve our business then.” Knocking your knuckles on the surface, you sighed. “But it’s a fine place to sleep.” 

“It is.” He agreed, and then it was clear that the moment of levity you’d just shared was over. “We should head out for the eye doctor, see if there’s any other shops worth checkin’ out.”

“Alright.” You nodded, and that was all it took for him to turn and head back out into the crisp air. Alright. 

It was a short ride to the optometrist that the traders had marked on the map, and aside from a stray cat that slunk under a broken fence as soon as it saw you, you didn't see anything disconcerting. But for some reason, the prick of wariness along your spine was still present, even though you’d repeated the same cautious entry into the building as you’d done with the rest stop - Joel reaching for the door handle, pulling it open just enough for both of you to look inside, standing stock still and holding your breath for a full ten count. There was no movement, no groaning string of clicks, no distraught screeches. 

“Think we’re good,” Joel’s voice rumbled close to your ear. “Let’s see what we can find.” 

You swallowed as he pushed the door open, and once again when you looked around you saw nothing but furniture in various stages of disrepair and cases holding pairs of glasses. Yeah. And then let’s get out of here. Clearing your throat, you followed him into the store. “Pairs with prescription lenses are probably going to be…” You stepped over a chair that was on its side, making your way towards a long counter in the back. “Over here. Most of these -” you gestured to the various pairs around the room, “- are just rims with placeholder lenses. But…yup.” Reaching over the counter, you picked up a tray containing a pair of glasses with a faded, water-damaged but still legible handwritten prescription that had never been picked up. “There’s a bunch over here that have real lenses.” 

“Good.” Joel crossed the room, stepping over a different chair and coming around a smaller consultation desk. “Maybe I can find a better pair for readin’ than the ones I got at home.” 

You immediately pictured him with spectacles perched on the scarred bridge of his nose, using one finger to situate them better. Oh. That’s… that would be… The image conjured a quick rush of warmth that you did your best to ignore. There was no denying that Joel Miller was an attractive man. But I’m not looking for… I’m not ready for anything to… This is a fucking supply run. Stop. 

Clearing your throat, you cocked your head at the desk. “Yeah, come give some of these a try, see if any feel right.” 

You grabbed a few more trays, pausing as you looked down at the one on top - a bright yellow pair with purple and red daisies painted on the rims, the arms small enough to curl behind the ears of a preschool aged child. Telling yourself not to think about why that pair was still here in the shop or where the kid they were meant for was now, you plucked them and a few others from the trays and secured them in your bag. 

But as Joel rounded another one of the consultation desks, a loud crash rang from a doorless back storeroom that neither of you had noticed at first. Oh, fuck. The two of you barely had time to lock eyes before the misshapen form of a woman came lurching out. Veiny fungal growths sprouted from one eye socket and overtook the side of her face, but her opposite eye still seemed to be functioning. With it, the creature honed in on your position and threw itself at you, scrambling over anything it its way and snarling viciously at you. Shit, shit, shit. Dropping the tray you held, you reached for your knife, drawing it just as the infected woman threw herself over the desk at you. Here we go.  

You were vaguely aware of noise and motion happening on the other side of the room, but you couldn’t risk taking your eyes off the threat right in front of you. Deal with this one first, then check on Joel. You heard the shatter of glass and the sound of his grunts, but then the creature attacking you was crouching right on the desk in front of you, and you took your chance, thrusting your knife directly into the side of her neck that was not covered in plate-like growths.  

You’d done it so many times that finding that sweet spot of decaying flesh at the base of the skull seemed second nature to you. Your blade sunk to the hilt, slicing the fungal stem immediately, and then the body on your knife went slack. Fuck. Turning as soon as you were able to, you watched in horror for a second as Joel wrestled his way behind a second infected creature, stepping on shards of broken glass as he did. Just as you went to pull your knife free to go help him, though, he sunk his own blade deep into the thing’s neck the same way that you had, and it dropped onto what you realized was one of the broken display cases. It must’ve crashed through trying to get to him. It- 

Your frantic, thumping brain was muted as he spoke your name, breathlessly panting as he staggered away from the infected he put down. “You alright?”

 “Yeah,” you answered instantly. “Yeah, I’m-” You gasped, wide eyes snapping immediately to his arm. No. “Joel.” The sight stopped your heart and filled your ears with static. It dropped an ice cold lead weight into your stomach and froze your feet in place. No. His sleeve was torn, the fabric stained dark with blood and sticking to the skin beneath it, and then it was as though the room was collapsing. No, he - it didn’t… that’s not from- 

“Hey.” You registered a look of concern on his face, but not for himself as he said your name again. “Hey, look at me, are you-”

But all you could hear was your own breathing, the sound of your own heart pounding on your ribcage, and then you weren’t at the optometrist in Alpine anymore. You were thrown back to that afternoon- the frozen rain pelting the windows of that dingy roadside motel off I-80 in Nebraska, dust settling back into the carpet around the two of you where you’d collapsed onto the floor, the dilapidated T.V. stand shoved in front of the door in case the deadbolt gave out, and your nephew’s life speeding to a rapid end before your eyes.

“Let me see, Kyle.” You grabbed frantically at his forearm, tugging and turning it so you had a clearer view of the bite on his bicep. No, no, no, no. Panic seized your chest at the sight of the crescent shaped, once-human teeth marks that were visible through the bloody tears in his sleeve, the swollen, spidery veins of fungal growth already starting to form under his skin. No. I can’t let this… I have to- “M-Maybe we can…” Your breathing grew quick and shallow as you tried to come up with a way - anything - to save him. “If you… if we amputate your arm, maybe it won’t…” You knew that amputation didn’t work, that the infection was already replicating in his body, spreading through his blood with every beat of his heart and turning him. But I have to try. I can’t just… He yanked his arm from your grip then, scooting a few inches away from you, and it wasn’t until then that you realized he had been saying your name. “Kyle? Please, you have to let me-” 

“No.” His curls bounced fiercely as he shook his head, and in your mind he was four years old again, giggling as he chased rabbits through the yard at the farm, pudgy hands swiping untamable locks from his eyes. Oh, my little buddy. His nose twitched as he sniffed, upper lip snaring slightly as he fought off terrified tears, big brown eyes brimming with them but the stubbornness of a teenaged boy keeping them latched behind his lashes. God, he’s just a fucking kid, this can’t be h- He spoke again, clipping your naïve thoughts short. “No, Ti.” 

His voice cracked then, and so did your heart as he used the nickname Laura had taught him to call you by back when single syllables were all he could handle. Ti. He’d stopped calling you Ti or Ti-ti years ago, opting instead for your first name - a right of passage that made him feel more adult, you’d guessed, in a way that didn’t stain his soul like other adult milestones did since the outbreak changed the landscape of humanity. It was harmless, and if it made him feel stronger or braver to consider himself an equal, you’d let him call you whatever he wanted. But in that moment, hearing him call you by that name after so much time unlocked something in you, and you felt the fight drain from your body. 

“No.” He said it one more time, as firmly as he could, before  swallowing hard and then letting out a shaky exhale. “I don’t wanna draw it out. I don’t want it to h-” He winced as a fat tear went rogue and rolled over the freckled apple of his cheek, and since you were no longer trying to inspect his bite, he let you reach for his hand, let you take it and squeeze it tight in your own grasp. “Don’t want it to hurt more than it h-has to.” 

You felt his fingers tremble and saw his bottom lip quiver and all you wanted to do was wrap him in your arms and sweep him into your lap, fix everything by blowing raspberries over the still-wet tears until they turned into squeals of laughter. But he wasn’t four years old, and this wasn’t a skinned knee and there was nothing you could do to fix it for him. 

“And I don’t want you to have to…” He gave another quick toss of his curls, words starting to tumble and trip over themselves in the rush to get off his tongue. “Ti, I don’t want to turn into one of those things. I don’t want to do that to you, I don’t-” 

He broke into a sob then, the sensation seeming to come as a shock to him, and despite knowing that it was over, knowing that you’d failed him, knowing that all you could do was help him make it as quick and painless as possible, you didn’t stop yourself from hugging him close one last time, kissing those curls and trying to give him any little scrap of comfort that you could. “Shh, okay,” you gently soothed. “You’re okay, you’re not gonna… I’m not gonna let you turn into-” 

He was about to die. Seventeen years - most of them hard - was all he would get out of life. And yet he found a way to worry about you in his final hour. 

“I just want to stay me, Ti. I want to stay me, even if-” Oh, buddy. 

“I know. I know. I know, buddy. You will. Okay? I promise.” It was the last thing you could give him, and it would leave you wrecked beyond recognition, but you’d be damned before letting cordyceps claim him. 

In the end you helped him drag your blade up the inside of his wrist. You didn’t let go of his hand until it was cold. 

It was how it had to end. Just… not how it was supposed to. 

When you made the choice to leave the quickly collapsing Philly QZ - back before Kyle was even born - you, Gavin and Laura had sworn one another to abide by a code of sorts, a set of rules to live and die by. 

Never let someone you love turn. Whatever that meant, however that looked. The three of you had seen more than your fair share of newly infected victims of cordyceps. You had seen the way the light goes out in someone’s eyes the moment that the fungus takes over. You’d seen it make people attack their own families, maul their own pets. And since those early days, you’d seen the aftermath of time - the dried up husks of expired hosts, crusted over where they’d grown into the walls of abandoned buildings. It wasn’t a fate you were willing to condemn someone you cared for - or anyone, for that matter - to. Not if there was something any of you could do about it. 

Never make someone you love have to put you down. That one was more straightforward - take control while it was still yours to take. If you were infected, if you turned, Laura, or Gavin, or far worse, eventually Kyle, would have to kill the thing you had become. They would have to live on with the image of your rabid, snarling jaws snapping at them, would have to try to sleep at night as the moment that they shot or bashed or stabbed your infected body played over in their minds. Better to end things first, spare them the pain of having to do it later.  

Neither had come into play for Gavin or for Laura, sickness and injury claiming their lives. But in the few years that Ryan and Brayden had been with you at the farm, they had also come to follow that same code, and it had played a role in their deaths. Because when it mattered most they didn’t follow it. They had already left the farm, the pair of them heading west on the word of some passersby who you’d let pitch their tents on the far side of the property for a few nights. Something about a group of revolutionaries and doctors working in secret to find a cure. A pipe dream, but one that they both seemed to think was worth chasing. Maybe it would have been, had they made it to wherever it was that this secret Firefly hive was hidden. But as you learned one morning while out hunting in the woods that edged the far field, they hadn’t made it very far at all. 

You had to deal with both of them. And though they were far from the first two infected that you’d killed, they were the first - and only ones - that you knew and had grown to care for, first. They were the ones whose twisted faces you sometimes saw when you closed your eyes at night. 

But then Kyle had been bitten, and suddenly the rules you’d written two decades ago applied to you in the cruelest terms imaginable. 

“Hey,” Joel’s hand landed heavily on your shoulder, and you snapped back to the present moment, finding his eyes right in front of your own. Joel. He sighed, seemingly relieved that you’d checked back in, but concern still chiseled plainly between the lines on his face. “What happened there, you alright?” 

You dropped your eyes to the tear in his sleeve, his arm still bleeding through the fabric. But before where your brain told you there were teeth marks, you saw only a jagged piece of glass sticking out from his bicep. Oh, thank fuck. You brought one shaking hand up to his arm but stopped short of touching him. “You’re hurt,” you said it softly, but only because your throat was too tight for any volume. 

He grunted. “I’ll be fine,” he assured you. “Are you hurt at all?” You shook your head and he let out another, heavier sigh of relief. “Let’s get the hell out of here, then.” Releasing his grip on your shoulder, Joel reached over the desk and grabbed the few pairs of glasses that you hadn’t managed to pack up before the attack, and then the two of you left the office in a thick silence that continued until you made it back to the rest stop. 

Once inside, you secured the door as Joel headed straight for the back room with the couches, sinking into one of them and gingerly peeling his jacket off. You finished with the door and headed back to join him, entering the small room just as he gritted his teeth and sucked in a hiss, wincing at the piece of glass still stuck in his arm. Shit. That’s gotta come out. He must have come to the same conclusion, because he gripped the shard firmly and pulled, a wet squelching sound accompanying the removal of the shard, and a long, low groan coming from somewhere in the center of his chest. He threw the bloody chunk onto the floor and clapped his hand to his wound, cursing under his breath. Do something. Say something. Help him. 

“Can I…” His eyes had been clenched shut but they opened and focused on you as soon as he heard your voice. You sucked in a breath and stepped closer to where he sat. “Can I take a look at that? I… I can help.” 

“It’s fine,” he said, blood already pooling between his fingers where he was trying to squeeze his arm to stop the flow. “I’ll just wrap it up, have the doc look at it when we get back to town.” 

You shook your head and slid the straps of your backpack off your shoulders. “It’s just gonna keep bleeding, Joel, and we have another whole day until we’ll be back.” Unzipping your pack, you rifled through it until you found the zippered pouch that you used as a first aid kit. Opening that up, you produced a thin rectangular package, holding it up. “I can stitch you up now. Obviously the doctor should still take a look, but…” You trailed off as you showed him what you were holding - a surgical grade single use curved suture needle in its original packing. 

His eyes widened, mouth dropping open slightly in surprise as he realized what it was. “Where’d you get that?” He hadn’t said yes to your request to give him help, but he let go of his arm and started unbuttoning his dark blue and maroon plaid shirt, revealing a light gray tee underneath. Guess he’s gonna let me. Good. 

“Same bunker I found all the instant coffee packets in also had a couple unopened first aid boxes. The meds, aspirin and antihistamines and whatever else were all opened and they’d gotten wet. But the sterile stuff? Bandages and tools? Those were still sealed so I took what I could carry.” You pulled a small sealed package from the zipped portion on the inside of your backpack and held it up to show him. “Found a bunch of these disposable suture needles, figured they couldn’t hurt to have.” Peeling it open and setting the open package with the needle still in it on your knee while you pulled out a vial of moonshine to clean your hands, you went on. “I gave most of them to Maria when I got here so they could be added to emergency kits for supply and patrol teams, but I kept a few for my own kit.” 

“Smart.” He eased the ruined sleeve down over his torn skin and then you poured a little of the grain alcohol over the deep cut, Joel hissing as you did. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t have anything to numb it with or-” 

“S’fine.” He shook his head. “I can handle it.” A dry, mirthless laugh escaped him then. “Lord knows I’ve had worse.” 

“Okay.” You muttered the word under your breath, nodding at the curved needle pinched between your fingers. Testing the durability of the nylon, you pulled it taught to make sure it wouldn’t snap halfway through. The spring of tension you felt told you that it was good to go, so you lifted your eyes back up to the man seated next to you and nodded. “Ready?” 

He took a deep breath and clenched his jaw. “Go ahead.”

Though you’d done sutures a few times in the past - on Laura, on Kyle, even on yourself - it still felt strange to you when you thought about what you were doing. You tried not to think about the fact that you were sewing a man’s arm and not patching a hole in a pair of jeans. Don’t think about it. Don’t-

“You’re pretty good at that.” His voice was strained and you could tell that he was trying hard not to flinch with each pass of the needle through his flesh. He watched you work. “You’ve done that before.”

It wasn’t a question, but you gave him an answer anyway. “Yeah.” You sighed, working a few more stitches in for a total of 6 and then finishing the job by wrapping the whole area in a strip of torn bedsheet that you’ pre-cut and stuffed into your ramshackle medical kit ages ago. “A few times. Not good enough that you won’t have a scar. You pulled the knot you were tying and tucked the loose ends to secure them. “So it looks like you’re going home with a souvenir from our trip after all, Joel.” 

The words slipped out before you realized that you were saying them, and you shut your eyes against the memory that lanced at your heart - laying in bed with Gavin in your tiny apartment in Philly, the cordyceps outbreak of 2013 still two years on the horizon but Gavin’s open-heart surgery scheduled just a few days from then, your fingers tracing over the still unscathed skin of his chest, following the ridge of his sternum. Doc says I’m gonna go home with a pretty decent souvenir from this ordeal, sugar. You still gonna want me when there’s an eight inch scar slicing me in half? The catch in his voice, the weak tightening of the arm he had around you, the fear you knew he was trying to mask with his flippant question and the response you gave without having to think even though you were just as scared. Always, Gav. Always, always, always. 

Another memory bubbled up and overtook the first one, this one from much earlier in your relationship, and the first time you’d heard him use the quirky turn of phrase - a bad burn you suffered back when you still worked at the cafe where you and Gavin met, a new employee bumping you from behind and causing you to fumble the large, still-hot from the oven tray that you were handling, the metal scorching the soft skin of your inner forearm and a slew of swears flying from your lips as you managed to set the tray down without dropping it. Gavin chewing out the clumsy new prep cook for not using their kitchen chatter and calling out that they were behind you, then appearing at your side holding a slice of raw tomato that he’d grabbed from the line. His tattooed fingers wrapping around your wrist to hold your arm still as he gently pressed the cold tomato to your burn, the painful sensation soothed almost instantly, his thumb swiping absently into the cup of your palm as he ducked his head to look you in the eye. 

Don’t ask me why it works, Sugar, it just does. Enzymes or whatever. Counteracts the burn somehow. He’d peeled the tomato slice away from your arm then, peering down at the triangular shaped blister that was forming over the damaged skin and sucking a hiss through his teeth. Looking like you’re still gonna go home with a souvenir from the kitchen, though. Twisting his own arms, he pointed out a few marks between the designs inked on his forearms and fingers - smudgy looking swatches of lighter flesh where burns had healed, rougher, darker raised lines where he must have nicked himself with the slip of a knife. No one gets outta here without makin’ a few lasting memories first.

You hadn’t used the word souvenir when talking about a scar in years, and you weren’t sure why it came back to you in that moment with Joel. It’s just because we were talking about keychains and fucking shot glasses yesterday. It… it doesn’t mean anything. You weren’t sold on your flimsy explanation, but luckily, you didn’t have long to think about it, Joel’s voice interrupting the untangling of your subconscious. 

“Guess I shoulda gone with a magnet.” 

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you let out a short laugh. “Well it's not too late for that. Can always grab one before we leave in the morning.” 

He hummed. “Yeah. Maybe I will.” 

From there the two of you settled into a comfortable silence again as you ate the food you’d brought with you and settled yourselves in for the night. Though Spring was upon you it still started to get dark early, and before you knew it, the two of you were stretched out on the couches, preparing to catch a few hours of rest before heading back. Joel had suggested that instead of shifts the two of you both just sleep and as soon as it was light enough to see in front of you, head back and try to make it to Jackson in one day versus one and a half. You agreed, knowing that he needed to have his injured arm looked at, and the sooner that happened the better. Just as you thought he was dozing off to sleep though, he spoke your name and broke the silence. 

“Thank you. For takin’ care of my arm. Did a much better job than I would’ve done myself.” 

“Oh, yeah.” You shrugged and shook your head. “It probably would have been fine if you just wrapped it until we got back, but-” You stopped yourself from undermining his gratitude. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I was able to help.” 

He didn’t say anything else, and for a few moments you considered not adding anything else, either. But then you remembered the concern on his face when you checked out earlier, and you felt compelled to explain why seeing him hurt - and hurt in that specific way, on the arm while fighting off an infected - had caused such a strong reaction in you. Or at least apologize. 

“Joel?” You held your breath until you heard his acknowledgement, a sound somewhere between a hum and a grunt coming from across the darkened space. “I’m sorry.” 

The old springs in the couch creaked with his movement as he turned partially onto his side. “Sorry?” You glanced over and even in the low light you were able to see confusion etched into his expression. “For what?” 

“For freezing up like that today.” You sniffed, focus going back to the ceiling as he shifted fully to his side, uninjured arm bent beneath his head. “When I saw the blood on your sleeve, I thought you were…”  Closing your eyes, you let out a slow exhale. I thought he was bit. I thought I was going to have to tell Ellie and Tommy that he wasn’t coming home. I thought I was going to have to… You squeezed your eyelids shut more tightly, chasing off thoughts of coming up short again. That’s not what happened. Not this time. Blinking them open, you let out another shaky breath. “It reminded me of…what happened with K- my… my nephew.” 

The small room was still and quiet, but you knew that he was listening closely. When you finally tore your eyes from the mildew ridden tiles overhead and turned his way again, you saw that you were right. Though most of his face was in shadow, you still noticed the crease of his brow, the subtle downturn of his mouth. Cloud-muted moonlight struck his eyes as they met yours, and he nodded in a way that told you he understood - that you didn’t have to say that Kyle had been bitten  in the exact same place where the shattered display case had sliced Joel’s arm, that the sight of his blood-soaked sleeve after seeing him wrestle with the clicker once he’d sunken his blade into its neck sent your heart and mind racing to the worst possible scenario. 

“It’s alright.” Turning onto his back again, Joel let out a small groan to accompany the protest of the couch springs. “It… it happens. The freezin’ up, I mean.” He coughed to clear his throat, crossing his arms over his chest and settling into the worn cushions. “Used to happen to me, too.”

He doesn’t need to do this. Doesn’t need to reassure me. You’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t appreciate it, though, if you said it didn’t make you feel just a little better to know that he didn’t judge you for how you’d reacted. Because I don’t think he’d just say that.  

Keeping your eyes on him, you decided to take your opening. “Used to, huh?” The sole of your left boot caught on the torn upholstery of the arm of the couch you occupied as you stretched your legs out, stacking them at the ankle. “That mean it doesn’t happen anymore?” Maybe that means there’s hope for me. 

“Happens less now.” His scoff snuffed that thought, and you were almost glad. A full recovery from the things you’d suffered sounded too good to be reasonable. You had no idea what types of things Joel had been through before settling in Jackson, but you couldn’t imagine that they had been easy. No one who made it this long had it easy. 

You hummed and turned your head so that you were staring straight ahead at the wall instead of at him. “Well, I’d take less.” Less would be a good start. When the room went quiet again, you took it as a sign that you’d both said all that you needed to - or all that either of you were ready to, anyway. “Goodnight, Joel.” 

You said it low enough that you weren't sure that he heard you, but just as you were starting to drift, you heard his drawl just as low and soft. “G’night.” 

–  –  –  

In the morning, he was waiting when you woke up, the light barely starting to fill the room. “Shit, sorry, did I oversleep? Is it- is your arm alright?” 

“No, it’s… you’re fine.” He waved you off with the hand of his uninjured arm. “I was gonna wake you up in another ten minutes if you didn’t get up on your own.” 

You cleared your throat and sat up, swiping a hand down over your face to cover a yawn. “Okay,” you nodded through the involuntary expression of exhaustion. “Well, I’m up. Let’s…” You grabbed for your bag. “Let’s get these glasses back so you can find a better pair, hmm?”

He let a burst of air out through his nose. “Yeah.” Standing, he took a step closer to you and held something out in his hand. “Here.” You blinked your eyes fully awake and reached for what he was handing you, letting out your own little laugh as your fingers closed around it. “Like you said, I’m gonna have a scar, so I figured you should have somethin’ too.” 

Looking down at the small rectangular object, you turned it over so it lay flat in your palm. A magnet. You ran the tip of your pointer finger over the raised images and letters spelling out Wyoming. Lips twitching into a near-smile, you pictured it attached to the plain white fridge in your kitchen back in Jackson. 

Something to remember the trip by. 

You tucked it into your pack, and then within the ten minute window that he was going to give you for more rest, you gathered yourselves together and hit the road, headed for home.

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[semi-imaginary-place]

who left a bad first impression in fe3h? Lorenz hands down, he has a good heart once you can get past all the noble bullshit but wow is there a lot of get through. It took many playthroughs, but through his supports and a lot of time I started to appreciate him a little more he really does want the best for others and really does out of his way to help people its also just strongly filtered through the talk of noble obligations. Ferdinand to a lesser extent he's really obnoxious in part 1 and that ends up highlighting his character growth in part 2 all that much more. It only one playthrough to warm up to Ferdie but much much longer to come around to Lorenz. Sylvain is an interesting case in that I liked his character design from the start, and then he opened his mouth and I wanted to start waterboarding him until he respected women. After many supports and multiple playthroughs, like Lorenz I came around to Sylvain, so much in fact that he's now one of my favorite characters but I still simultaneously want to punch him in the face, he really does deserve it sometimes. I disliked Hubert immediately, grody ass wannabe vampire, and after 20 some playthoughs and thousands of hours I can say that: I never stopped disliking him.

Lorenz is more in your face obnoxious, Sylvain is more manipulative. Lorenz is more easy to detect as unpleasant but Sylvain probably does more damage. Lorenz has good intentions but is so caught up in his ideal of nobility and is about 15 miles deep into classism that he's insufferable. His ego is massive and he refuses to take no because of course he knows better than them, no woman can resist Lorenz! Hellman! Gloucester! Sylvain is on a self destruction binge and using women to feed into his self loathing. He sets up his relationships to fail and then when the woman inevitably gets fed up with his lying cheating bullshiting ass he turns on them accusing them of only wanting him for his family name, money, and crest. Which he uses as proof that he is useless and worthless and that.

Most people find him annoying. There's an unusually high number of Lorenz likers on the fe3h subreddit because there's a concentration of players there who have seen most/all of the supports and that's where his character shines. The average FE3H player plays 1 route or less and doesn't see many supports probably sees Lorenz being an ass once and then never sees any of his supports if they are on Golden Deer at all which is the least popular starting house.

Happy to see lorenzpilled people out there in the wild. Lorenz is obnoxious and infuriating but that's just the first layer and it's a shame how often he's overlooked and underappreciated. It took me over 3? 5? playthroughs before I came around to him, it was a slow and painful process but he grew on me, like a fungus. The Lorenz and Marianne supports are some of my favorites in the game, they really show his kind nature, he's always trying to look out for others, you see it in his Lysithea supports too. Like that moment in Marianne's support she's struggling with something and he says he'd rather not know if telling him pains her so much. Lorenz cares a lot and he spends his life trying to help people and make their lives better, he's really quite sweet, he just goes about it in the most infuriating way possible.

His jp voice actor is more over the top outrageous than his eng voice actor, he sounds like a cartoon aristocrat it's so funny.

[mariacallous]

On Sept. 19, Azerbaijan launched a large-scale military offensive against the autonomous ethnic Armenian enclave of Nagorno-Karabakh, known in Armenia as Artsakh. Within 24 hours, Azerbaijan secured effective control over Nagorno-Karabakh, and the Artsakh Defense Army was disbanded. These seismic events ended a three-decade frozen conflict, which included large-scale wars from 1988-1994 and in 2020, and resulted in the exodus of almost all ethnic Armenians in Nagorno-Karabakh to Armenia.

Azerbaijan’s dramatic takeover in Nagorno-Karabakh has far-reaching geopolitical implications. Turkey views it as a strategic victory but is wary of Armenia’s resistance to its plans to economically integrate Nagorno-Karabakh with Azerbaijan and Turkey. Iran regards Turkey’s win as its loss, as it fears Azerbaijan’s empowerment and opposes Turkey’s transport corridor projects, which could obstruct Iran’s shared border with Armenia.

While Russia was weakened by its refusal to defend its treaty ally Armenia, it maintains substantial capacity to destabilize and project power in the South Caucasus. Azerbaijan’s takeover of Nagorno-Karabakh could also create new opportunities for China’s Belt and Road Initiative. And Europe and the United States face an uneasy dilemma between providing humanitarian aid to Armenia and maintaining energy supplies from Azerbaijan.

Turkey believes that Azerbaijan’s takeover of Nagorno-Karabakh will enable its Zangezur corridor project. The corridor would facilitate trade between Azerbaijan and the Nakhchivan Autonomous Republic, an Azerbaijani exclave located to the southwest of Armenia. This would allow for direct commercial ties between Turkey and Azerbaijan via Nakhchivan and fulfill Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s vision of uniting the Turkic world.

Turkey also supports Azerbaijan’s plan to construct a railway from Horadiz, Azerbaijan, to Kars, Turkey, which would cross through 25 miles of Armenian territory. Due to its infringement on Armenian territory, Armenia and Iran strongly oppose this railway project.

Turkey also sees an opportunity to bolster its energy connectivity with Azerbaijan. On Sept. 25, Erdogan and Azerbaijani President Ilham Aliyev attended a ceremony to launch the construction of a Nakhchivan gas pipeline. This pipeline, which was formally proposed in December 2020 and scheduled for completion in 2024, runs 50 miles between Igdir, Turkey, and the Turkey-Azerbaijan border, and a farther 11 miles into Nakhchivan. The pipeline would allow Azerbaijan to provide natural gas to Nakhchivan, which is currently reliant on Iran for supplies, and aid Erdogan and Aliyev’s ambitions of converting the Zangezur corridor into an energy transit route.

The success of Turkey’s connectivity projects hinges on Armenia’s acquiescence. The November 2020 cease-fire required Armenia to allow for unimpeded trade between Azerbaijan and Nakhchivan. Despite this stipulation, both Armenia and Azerbaijan have disagreed on the necessity and location of border checkpoints. Armenia also fiercely opposes Azerbaijan’s plan to create a buffer zone on its territory, as it would result in no Armenian security officers being stationed within 2.5 kilometers (1.5 miles) of an Azerbaijan-run transit corridor.

To break the impasse, Turkey will likely highlight the economic benefits of Armenian participation in its connectivity projects. An Azerbaijan-Turkey pipeline that passes through Armenian territory would help Armenia divest from Russian natural gas giant Gazprom and increase Armenia’s value as an energy transit hub to Europe.

Despite these benefits and the reduction of Turkish-Armenian tensions since December 2021, domestic pressure could prevent Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan from accepting Erdogan’s proposal.

The potential outcomes of Armenia’s rejection of Turkey’s connectivity projects are unclear. Erdogan recently claimed that Iran was open to allowing the Zangezur corridor to pass through its territory rather than Armenia, but Tehran has historically resisted this idea.

If Iran proves uncooperative, then Azerbaijan’s Aliyev could seek to forcefully construct a land bridge between Nakhchivan and Azerbaijan. An Azerbaijani invasion of southern Armenia’s Syunik province would be the most plausible pathway toward achieving this goal. Armenia’s ambassador to the European Union, Tigran Balayan, warned on Aug. 6 that “We are now under imminent threat of invasion into Armenia.” While Azerbaijan may be well-placed militarily to vanquish Armenia, an invasion of Syunik could trigger Western sanctions on Azerbaijan and derail Erdogan’s South Caucasus reconciliation vision.

Iran treaded cautiously in response to Azerbaijan’s takeover of Nagorno-Karabakh. Iranian officials have engaged regularly with their Armenian and Azerbaijani counterparts. After Aliyev advisor Khalaf Khalafov and Armenian national security advisor Armen Grigoryan visited Tehran last week, Iranian officials called for an Armenian-Azerbaijani normalization and the expulsion of foreign forces from the region. Iranian Foreign Ministry spokesman Nasser Kanani voiced support for Nagorno-Karabakh’s integration with Azerbaijan, while the chief of staff of the Iranian Armed Forces, Mohammad Bagheri, demanded equal rights for the few minorities remaining in Nagorno-Karabakh.

Despite its neutral-to-positive reaction to Nagorno-Karabakh’s integration with Azerbaijan, Iran views the new status quo in the South Caucasus with consternation. The empowerment of Azerbaijan is concerning for Iran, as relations between the two countries have deteriorated sharply since Iranian President Ebrahim Raisi took office in 2021.

Israel supplied Azerbaijan with an estimated nearly 70 percent of its arms between 2016 and 2020, which was strikingly higher than Turkey’s 2.9 percent export share from 2011 to 2020. Iranian officials view this close security partnership with deep suspicion. Provocative moves, such as Iran’s holding of large-scale drills near its border with Azerbaijan in October 2021 and Azerbaijan’s periodic arrests of alleged Iranian spies, have escalated tensions. While Raisi told Khalafov that he wanted improved relations with Baku, and Iranian-Azerbaijani relations did flourish from 2014 and 2016, mistrust between the two countries remains high.

Despite Erdogan’s questionable claims of a shift in Tehran’s position, Iran is steadfastly opposed to the Zangezur corridor as it is currently envisioned. In theory, Iran should welcome the corridor’s new road and railway networks. Enhanced regional connectivity would link Iranian exporters to markets in the South Caucasus and reverse the economic damage caused by Iran’s severed access from Soviet railway networks in 1990. Yet even with these commercial interests, which Erdogan has cited in his appeals to Tehran, Iranian officials view the project with deep suspicion. Iran fears that the Zangezur corridor will block its ability to trade across its shared border with Armenia and recently warned Azerbaijani officials against an invasion of Syunik.

The Strategic Council on Foreign Relations in Tehran, which is headed by former Iranian Foreign Minister Kamal Kharrazi, has expressed fears that the corridor could allow Azerbaijan, Israel, and Turkey to foment instability in northern Iran’s Azeri regions. Iranian hard-liners view these destabilizing plans as part of a broader NATO strategy of encircling Iran, China, and Russia.

While the strategic picture is relatively optimistic for Turkey and potentially problematic for Iran, the implications of Azerbaijan’s takeover of Nagorno-Karabakh for Russia are less clear. Russia’s security guarantees, which date back to a 1997 treaty with Armenia, only apply to Armenia’s internationally recognized territory.

Even though Russia’s passive response to Azerbaijan’s May 2021 incursions into Syunik undermined these security guarantees, the security pact categorically does not extend to Nagorno-Karabakh, which is legally part of Azerbaijan. But Pashinyan, the Armenian prime minister, still denounced Moscow’s inaction. Pashinyan publicly criticized Russia’s unreliability as an ally and highlighted the degradation of Russia’s military capabilities in Ukraine. The relationship has continued to decline: After the deaths of five Russian peacekeepers in an accidental clash with the Azerbaijani Armed Forces, Russia dismantled its observation posts in Nagorno-Karabakh on Oct. 5.

Despite these setbacks, Russia is not a spent force in the South Caucasus. As Russian-Armenian relations soured, its partnership with Azerbaijan has strengthened. Russia’s trade with Azerbaijan increased by 55.3 percent during the first quarter of 2023, compared to the previous year. Under a November 2022 agreement, Gazprom agreed to ship up to 1 billion cubic meters of gas to Azerbaijan’s SOCAR, a state-owned oil company, which fueled speculation that Azerbaijan was repackaging Russian gas and selling it to European markets. Leonid Slutsky, the chairman of the Russian State Duma’s Foreign Affairs Committee,  recently described Azerbaijan and Belarus as Russia’s two most reliable partners in the post-Soviet space.

Russia has also expanded its presence in Georgia. While the ruling Georgian Dream Party is not explicitly pro-Russian, as it has spearheaded Georgia’s European Union candidacy and broadly complies with U.S. secondary sanctions on Russia, it maintains a working relationship with the Kremlin. Russia’s naval presence on Georgia’s Black Sea coast is also set to expand, as it constructs a base in the separatist region of Abkhazia.

While its South Caucasus strategy will likely pivot toward Azerbaijan and Georgia, Russia will play the long game to rebuild its alliance with Armenia. Through information campaigns highlighting Pashinyan’s futile forays toward the West and his passivity regarding the plight of ethnic Armenians in Nagorno-Karabakh, Russia can foment anti-government unrest and boost Kremlin-friendly alternative candidates ahead of Armenia’s 2026 parliamentary elections.

For its part, China has taken an ambiguous stance toward the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict. This ambiguity should not be confused with impartiality. Although China has historically exported weapons systems to Armenia, such as 130-km-radius AR1A multiple launch rocket systems, and viewed Pan-Turkism with suspicion due to its fears of Uyghur unrest in Xinjiang, it has strengthened its relationship with Azerbaijan in recent years.

Since 2005, China’s trade with Azerbaijan has increased by a staggering 2,070 percent. This far outstrips the 380 percent increase in Chinese-Armenian trade during the same time horizon. Chinese telecommunications company Huawei has expanded its digital footprint in Azerbaijan, and China has exported weapons systems to the Azerbaijani military, such as Polonez multiple launch rocket systems and Qasirga T-300 missile systems.

Due to Chinese President Xi Jinping’s courtship of Baku, China is well-positioned to benefit from Azerbaijan’s takeover of Nagorno-Karabakh. As the Belt and Road Initiative already has developed a transit route from Georgia to Europe, the Zangezur corridor could give China a second access point from the South Caucasus to European markets. Shortly after the fall 2020 war in Nagorno-Karabakh, Chinese Ambassador to Azerbaijan Guo Min controversially stated that the Zangezur corridor would contribute to China’s “One Belt, One Road” transport project.

Azerbaijan’s aspirations of becoming a trans-Eurasian telecommunications hub also dovetail with China’s so-called Digital Silk Road initiative. The new status quo in the South Caucasus could help Turkey market its “Middle Corridor” project to China. Like Beijing, Erdogan wishes to outflank the proposed India-Middle East-Europe corridor that was announced by multiple nations on Sept. 10 and would pass through the United Arab Emirates, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Israel, and Greece.

Shifting power balances in the South Caucasus present quandaries for Western powers. Tensions between Armenia and Russia create opportunities for closer Western ties with Yerevan. The European Union Mission in Armenia, which was established in February 2023 without Azerbaijan’s acquiescence, and the U.S. joint military exercises with Armenia reflect Pashinyan’s Western pivot.

While France is poised to send military gear to Armenia, many Western officials acknowledge their inability to rein in Azerbaijan’s alleged ethnic cleansing policy in Nagorno-Karabakh. Hungary vetoed a European Union joint statement condemning Azerbaijan’s conduct, which prevented the bloc from pushing back against Baku’s narrative that it wants Armenians to stay in Nagorno-Karabakh.

And Azerbaijan’s 18 percent increase in gas exports to Europe in 2022, which included a 41.2 percent uptick in sales to Italy, as well as its critical role in the recently completed Greece-Bulgaria natural gas pipeline, limit the West’s ability to influence Baku’s conduct. Aside from providing emergency humanitarian assistance to help Armenia’s resettlement of refugees from Nagorno-Karabakh, the United States and EU will likely be bystanders to Aliyev’s next moves against Armenia.

Despite the mood of euphoria in Baku and despondence in Yerevan, the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict’s resolution could benefit faraway powers even more than regional stakeholders. As external powers scramble to capitalize on new transport infrastructure projects and court an empowered Azerbaijan, human rights are likely to be put on the backburner. That is a tragic outcome for the more than 100,000 ethnic Armenians who saw their lives upended by Azerbaijan’s rapid-fire offensive in Nagorno-Karabakh.