#life is a highway (cars' version) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alohastyles-x · 11 months

Note

Hi! I had a request for your cruel summer event if you don’t mind :)

Kate Bishop x fem!Reader, Wildest Dreams (like, all of it?), fluff/smut

Totally fine if you don’t want to!

“She said “let’s get out of this town, drive out from the city, away from the crowds” | “She’s so tall and handsome as hell, she’s so bad but she does it so well” | “You'll see me in hindsight Tangled up with you all night Burning it down Someday when you leave me I bet these memorie Follow you around | “Say you'll remember me Standing in a nice dress Staring at the sunset, babe Red lips and rosy cheeks Say you'll see me again Even if it's just pretend”

note: this is a part of my Cruel Summer (Marvel's Version) Project, running all summer long. "totally fine if you don't want to", nonnie how could i NOT?! I also was unaware how popular kate is for fics on here rn, so I will be hyperfixating hard thank youuuuu. Clearly I am using your ask nonnie to manifest tf out of some romance in my life that I am so lacking hahahah. anyways, I hope you enjoy bby! <3

wordcount: 1.7k

trope / pairing: kate bishop x Fem Reader , fluff&smut

warnings: smutty smut smut at the end, but like a sweet smut (still 18+ tho)

Materslist | Marvel Masterlist | Cruel Summer (Marvel's Version) Masterlist |

The full moon hung low in the sky, cascading the entire highway in a bath of moonlight. The sight was breathtaking, and Kate couldn’t decide which view she liked more- you sitting in the passenger seat, or the illuminated landscape before you two.

It had been her idea to leave the city in the dead of night and take a drive until you found a secluded spot for just the two of you. It had come to her when she saw you leaning on the balcony talking to Clint, overlooking the city. The sun was setting, casting a glow around you. You were so pretty, she knew she had to get you by yourself.

You were still in your attire from the charity event earlier, Kate in her sleek black suit, and you in your matching black dress. It was Kate’s favorite dress on you, as it hugged your curves in all her favorite ways. The two of you were still thriving off the energy of the charity event, unable to sleep, which is how the two of you ended up in Kate's car.

You instantly agreed, knowing damn well you’d follow her anywhere she wanted to go- especially in that suit. The way the dark material softened her pale skin made her look incredible. A sight before your eyes.

“Where are we even going?” You asked, a giggle following. If you knew Kate at all, you knew she had a plan. It may have been a loose one, but a plan none-the-less.

“Okay, so I remember seeing this cute little dinner a few towns over on my way back from the last mission, and I just knew I had to take you. So that’s what we're doing, were finding the diner.” Kate responded, looking to you hopeful. You stared at her, before busting out in laughter.

“Kate! It is the middle of the night!”

“It’s open 24 hours!” Kate defended herself, laughing with you.

“Do you remember anything else besides it being a ‘couple towns over’?”

“I remember it was pink and blue, like a ‘50’s themed diner, and that its open 24 hours. That is about it,” Kate responded.

“Alright, mission received, Hawkeye.” You saluted her, and turned your attention to the deserted highway.

There was nothing but trees in either direction, making it difficult to see far off in the distance. That didn’t stop you from trying though. The nearest exit was still five miles away, so you waited patiently for the signs showing local food spots off the exit, while trying to peer through the dark woods blanketing the highway.

Finally, a sign appeared, illuminated under some lights.

MCDONALDS 0.2 mi

DANS DINER o.3 mi

“Oh, look! There’s a dinner off this exit, should we try it?” You said, hopeful.

“Yeah, yeah lets do it!”

As the exit approached, Kate veered off, following the sign until the Diner appeared. It was decorated in browns and gold- clearly decorated by a man without a single interior design bone in his body. Kate grimaced as she looked it over. The parking lot was dark, with only a single, flickering street light on the property. The diner was empty, save for the cook who stared menacingly out the windows. You swallowed a gulp, afraid he’d hear it even through the glass.

“Definitely not this one,” she said, turning the car around.

“Oh, thank god,” you whispered. The diner did not look the friendliest, or the cleanest for that matter.

“There’s definitely at least one family of roaches in there,” you said, earning a laugh from Kate.

“Oh at least, but definitely more.”

The two of you drove for another hour, pulling off at any diner you spotted. None of them were even remotely close, all decorated horribly and didn’t look the least bit appealing. The search was becoming exhausting, and you were starving by this point. You were just about to ask Kate if you could turn back, maybe stop somewhere else, but she suddenly slammed on the breaks.

“Kate! What are you doing, you’re in the middle of the road, you can’t just stop like this!” You yelled, frantically looking behind you to make sure no cars were coming.

“I found it!” She squealed, pointing. Just ahead stood a tall sign, lit with neon that read “Callie’s Diner”. Below, sat a quaint little dinner, brightly lit with multiple guests eating there.

“Oh my god we found it!” You smiled. Your stomach rumbled just then, as if echoing your statement. With that, Kate began driving again, veering off at the exit.

She parked the car in the lot, and the two of you got out. It was just how Kate described it, like a time capsule from the 50’s. The booths were light blue and pink, matching the painted walls. Bright green plants sat in the corners, giving the place a lively feel to it. There was one waitress, who moved around on roller skates between the kitchen and the booths.

“Woah, this is so cool!” You said, as the two of you settled into an empty booth.

“Isn’t it? I knew you’d love it.” Seeing Kate enthusiastic about something she wanted to show you warmed your heart. The simple fact that she saw a place and instantly thought of you was enough to reassure any fears you may have had.

Kate was definitely the greatest thing to ever happen to you, and the feeling was mutual. She loved the way you could light up a room with just your smile, how contagious your laugh was. The way you drummed your fingers against any surface near you when you were bored. She loved every little thing about you, and couldn’t wait to spend the rest of her life with you.

The two of you ordered food and some milkshakes, and scarfed everything down in what should have been a record time. Driving and searching really exasperated the two of you. But no matter how tired or starving the two of you were, you couldn’t help but have fun, just enjoying being in each others company. Kate had stuck her finger in the whip cream of the milkshake, before bopping you on the nose, leaving remnants of whip cream on it. You scoffed, mocking offense, before attempting to do the same thing back. It just ended with Kate getting whip cream in her hair and on her suit- which just led to her laughing even harder.

Kate paid, and tipped the waitress, and the two of you walked back out to the car. It was still dark out, the kind of dark that is seemingly the darkest, just before the sun begins to rise. The parking lot was flooded in light from the street lamp, creating a perfect little haven out in the car. By now, the rest of the lot was empty, save for the employee cars on the side.

“What now?” You asked Kate.

“I have an idea,” Kate smiled sheepishly, before jumping in the backseat. You giggled, knowing exactly where her mind went. The two of you hadn’t had alone time in weeks, since Kate got sent on an extended mission across the country,

Kate folded the seats down with some effort, as the left one always loves to get stuck, and brought you close in her arms. Her soft lips found yours with urgency as she let her hands run all over your body. Your hands made your way into her hair, tugging ever so slightly as she deepened the kiss. A moan reverberated through your body as her tongue danced with yours.

Her hand slipped the straps of your dress off, moving to take it all the way off. A breath hitched in her throat at the lacy garments you wore underneath, anticipating this moment from the moment you got dressed earlier.

“So beautiful,” she whispered, moving to kiss down your neck, and then your chest. Another moan escaped you as you rolled your head back, her teeth nipping gently at your skin. You moved to straddle her lap, while taking her jacket off.

The two of you undressed each other fairly quickly, not wanting to waste a single second. As she tugged your lacy silk underwear to the side, she slipped a finger in between the folds of you, your wet slick coating your fingers.

“You’re so wet for me, baby,” Kate praised, as she began to rub you gently. The feeling was euphoric as she worked around your clit, her fingers finding their way inside you. You shuddered out a gasp as she pushed another finger inside.

“Oh god,” you moaned.

“You feel so good,” Kate moaned back, her breath hot against your own. She pushed you down gently, moving slowly as she made her way down your chest, leaving a trail of soft kisses. Her mouth was soft against your skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. A blush crept up on your cheeks. No matter how many times she had seen you like this, you were always nervous.

Sensing your nervousness, she gave your hand a squeeze, before dipping her head between your thighs. The sight itself was almost enough to send you over the edge, as she looked up at you. Her tongue worked its way around your heat, as she lapped you up- the taste of you exquisite against her tongue.

“Oh, god Kate, that feels amazing,” you whispered, reaching out to try and grab anything to cling to. Of course, there was nothing in her car aside from supplies from past missions, so you reached down to grab her hair instead, pulling her even closer to you. She moaned against you, glancing up to see your reaction.

“Fuck, Kate, I’m going to -” You couldn’t finish, as the familiar euphoric feeling rushed over you, your body spasming underneath the grip Ktae had on your waist. She held you down firmly, determined to let you ride your high all the way, until you were left panting and numb on her face.

She grinned as she moved to be above you, kissing you passionately.

“Come back to me, baby,” she whispered, her palm resting softly on your cheek. You leaned into her touch, trying your hardest to smile. Exhaustion overcame you as you laid helplessly beneath her. She grinned, leaning down to kiss your lips once more before putting her shirt back on.

“We will definitely be finishing this in the morning after a good night's sleep,” she said, finding your dress. She helped slip it over your shoulders, and down your body, the ghost of her fingertips sending shivers down your spine.

#kate bishop smut #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop fuff #kate bishop #kate bishop fic #cruel summer project #<33333 #alohastylesx #alohastylesx works #kate bishop fluff #kate bishop imagine #kate bishop fic rec #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x fem!reader #marvel fic #marvel x taylor swift #kate bishop x taylor swift #taylor swift inspired #nonnie baby🦋

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lastoneout · 5 months

Note

loo i'm screaming at you inadvertently causing the same psychic damage as the kids in the post jkashdkjas life is a highway is originally from the 90s but rascal flatt's version def rocketed it to more mainstream popularity. like how soft cell made "tainted love" more popular than the original. music is wild!!

bro I'm literally out here causing the same psychic damage I get when I hear gen z say Megolovania is from Undertale to other people dslkfjdlkj I'm sorry I just love Cars a lot

#Ask #punk-rock-yuppie #ANYWAY brb gonna go listen to the original!!#next thing you're gonna tell me is that real gone isn't even from cars I mean #(dw tho I know Route 66 isn't I lived in two of the towns mentioned in that song)

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moonlight-prose · 1 year

Text

HURT

➝ 04. LOVE LIKE GHOSTS

a/n: this chapter took way too long for me to write. mainly because i lost inspo for joel briefly but thankfully @sunflowersteves and @themarcusmoreno helped me find it again. so this one goes to them for being the best enablers and helping me find my love for joel again. chapter three ended on somewhat of a low note, but this paired with the interlude will help ease that pain. i swear. for this part i am going with joel's age in the game not the show.

summary: nearly losing you broke off another piece of who joel was, leaving the distance to remain like a cracked open chasm.

word count: 8.4k+

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI (we've made it people!), cussing, angst, fluff, tad bit of romance, grief, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), injuries, the insufferable stubbornness of two people.

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The streets were empty, rotting cars scattered along the side of the highway as if pushed out of the way. They were left there to decay, vines wrapping around whatever remained of the shell, the inside hollow of memories. Everything you knew from the old life, from a world that only remained in memories now turned bitter, was gone.

You could see the cracks in the roads where the asphalt couldn’t handle the weight of the tanks that were sent in. Because warfare was always the solution to a problem that was not intent on creating war. The infection did not see humanity as its enemy, but rather something to change. Something that it could alter—creating its own version of perfection. Funny how it looked like destruction to you.

Silence filled the car as Joel drove, sticking to the main highway. The two of you had barely talked since you packed what you could from the house and left it behind. Yet another piece of your memory that would vanish sooner or later. At first you thought it was because neither of you had anything to say. But then you noticed it. The deliberate way he refused to look at you—his eyes always cast somewhere else, focused on the task at hand.

Joel was ignoring you.

“How old are you?” you asked, turning to face him as you passed yet another open and empty field.

“Old.”

You snorted, watching the way his hands shifted on the wheel, his shoulder moving as if he was uncomfortable. Which he was. You’d been around him long enough to catch when you should change the topic. Today though, you had a goal in mind—getting him to look at you.

Tracing your eyes down his silhouette, you spotted the scatters of gray coming in through his sparse beard. The sight looked endearing to you. Perhaps it was the notion that he was aging despite the travesty of the world, or maybe it was just Joel. Him and all his stubborn antics wedged their way into your heart. Yet no matter how hard you tried to rid yourself of him, he remained.

“You can’t be that old,” you said, shifting until you were practically sitting to the side, your head leaning against the seat. “I guarantee we’re closer in age than you think.”

His eyebrow raised as he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “You were nineteen when this all started?”

Surprise ran through your body at the realization that he remembered your small bit of information. “That’s right.”

Joel nodded solemnly, his eyes once again focusing back on the empty road. “I was thirty-two.”

Silently you calculated the exact age in your head, coming to the conclusion that Joel was being dramatic, and you were only thirteen years apart. He was barely leaving his thirties and had the gall to say he was old. You chuckled softly, turning back to your seat by the window—the fields now shifting to broken buildings and destroyed cities.

“Forty-two isn’t old,” you mumbled, leaning your chin on your hand.

Now it was his turn to scoff. “Feels like it darlin’.”

The newer nickname filled your chest with warmth. You bit down on your lip to conceal the smile that threatened to break through. He’d shifted from calling you Boston very recently and you began to equate that to him being serious when he was talking. Yet your actual name rarely ever came up. The last time you heard him use it was…when he was in the bathroom, doing what you figured was none of your business.

Even after you caught him in the act, you still found ways to convince yourself you were somehow wrong. Joel did not go hide in a bathroom, simply to get himself off to the thought of you. He didn’t seem like the type of man to do that. Except you still heard him. Still pretended what his raspy tone would sound like if he were to say your name against your ear, in an entirely different situation.

You wondered if that’s why he was suddenly farther from you that you would have liked him to be. Even as you sat beside one another, you still felt as if you had to travel a great distance to get closer. Joel kept you at arms length for a reason—you were guilty of doing the same—but still the ache to have him resurfaced. It screamed at you, promised you that things would be different if you just gave in, but the world told you otherwise.

It told you the truth; this was always how it was meant to go, following a broken path beside a man who could no longer discern love from grief.

Yet even as you stared reality in the face, you refused to accept it. The both of you would one day become ghosts to a world that couldn’t protect you. So why should you relinquish the last bit of good you had left? Why should you give him up?

Sighing, you opened the dashboard’s compartment, finding a small stack of old tapes inside. All of them, dusty and nearly ruined. You recognized one above them all, and the sight of the country legend’s name made you smile. Joel might have been okay with sitting in silence as he drove, but you weren’t. So, you popped it into the player, settling into the seat as Johnny Cash’s rendition of Hurt began to slowly come to life on the shitty car speakers.

You quickly glanced at Joel, seeing his body loosen up some as the song continued. While its meaning was dark, you figured it couldn’t possibly be worse than the shit both of you had already been through. In a way, the lyrics felt cathartic as you gazed out at a broken world. You found yourself grinning, watching the sun begin to shift in the sky, the heat seeping into the car.

Even though your heart felt slightly crushed at Joel’s stubbornness, you felt the hope linger. That’s what you latched onto, what you kept close to your heart for fear of watching it fade away. You just hoped Joel would one day do the same.

Turning to watch him, you felt your heart flutter at the sight. He was so broken, yet so beautiful that you felt you couldn’t stare at him for too long.

“You know we’re allowed to want things Joel,” you said softly, your eyes once again fixated on the slope of his nose and how the sunlight glinted off his cheeks. “Even if it hurts to have them.”

You didn’t say anything else, opting to settle in the seat and get some rest. Eventually you’d switch places, finding somewhere to siphon some more gas and continue. He let you rest, staying quiet as the tape continued to play, the soft country songs slowly lulling you to sleep.

It didn’t take you long to fall asleep entirely, the soft puffs of breath you let out giving Joel some odd peace of mind. He wasn’t sure what it was about you sleeping in his vicinity—maybe the extreme trust you had to have when it came to that—but he found himself loosening up as you slept. As if all the worries he had about you and him vanished.

Your words still echoed in his mind, plucking at his fears like a guitar and playing your own tune of despondent tune of loneliness. He’d heard it before, knew it note for note, but couldn’t find it in himself to play along.

There was no doubt in his mind that he wanted you. Fuck, he’d give up whatever he had left to have you, but that’s not what his fear stemmed from. No, he knew that wanting you was a secret he wasn’t afraid to let free. He was afraid of what would happen when he could finally call you his, when the barrier you both erected to keep each other safe, fell.

Joel knew what came with love, had seen the horrors of it first hand, but you…you promised him one that was easy. The simplicity of being with you was unmatched; as if he found the other part of him he didn’t know he was searching for. He was terrified of what losing you would turn him into. What would become of him if you were no longer with him? If you were lost to him. He got a taste of it that night and barely survived.

Sighing, he turned his gaze to you, eyes soft as he traced the features of your face. If he didn’t know you, didn’t have some semblance of the life you faced before he met you, he would have thought you were innocent. Just a woman who had somehow managed to make it out of this hell unscathed. Someone who had a future ahead of her.

With Joel that future would end.

He knew he wasn’t being fair towards you, knew that you had already made up your mind about what you wanted from him. If only you could see how much he wanted exactly the same thing. He wouldn’t be the same man that continued to wallow in his fears. Couldn’t go on hoping that things would change, that the world would give him a chance again at some type of normalcy. There was nothing normal left to have, but he knew this. You were right beside him, telling him that the things he wanted weren’t something to run from.

So he wouldn’t.

The car was parked when you woke up, Joel nowhere to be found. Five seconds. That’s how long it took your hazy sleep-addled mind that came back to life to panic at the sight of the empty drivers seat. You scrambled to sit up right, shoving the door open with a push that was a bit too hard. But you couldn’t reason with yourself right now. Not when Joel wasn’t anywhere near the car, his bag missing from the backseat.

Your boots hit the ground, kicking up dust. Trying to keep calm, you did your best to stop the racing of your heart. Except there was no use. You were in the middle of hell where anything could have happened to him and you had no idea how to find him. His gun was still strapped to your hip, his jacket wrapped around your body. It would be something he came back for. This you knew.

However, that didn’t dispel the doubt filling your body. Was he hurt? Was he lost? Your mind jumped to every scenario possible, terrified that the man you were too afraid to love was now gone.

Catching your breath, you mapped out the best direction he could have gone in. You figured he was looking for more gas to siphon, possibly searching for extra supplies. It made the most sense. After all he wouldn’t leave you like this, abandoned on the side of the deserted highway. Right?

“Joel?” you called, slipping the gun from its holster and heading in the direction of the abandoned building that caught your eye. You’d have to trek pretty far to get to it, but the possibility that he was inside kept you going.

“Joel!” you shouted, wincing as your voice echoed in the distance.

You had to be careful of how loud you were being. The noise would no doubt attract unwanted visitors. You certainly didn’t need that happening while you were alone, halfway to losing the last bit of sanity you had left. The sun beat down on you, heat trailing down your body with each rushed step you made towards the place. Fear filled your chest, tightening around your heart and lungs until it was hard to breathe.

“Shit,” you spit, trying to keep your shaking hands steady as you entered the broken door.

You could recognize the remnants of a gas station store, the sign in the back listing the different types of alcohol they sold, even what food they used to have. Holding your breath, you listened intently for any sounds of infected—expecting to hear the familiar clicks and growls. But you were met with a steady silence.

“Joel?” you said softly, stepping over broken glass and pieces of the rotted ceiling that most likely fell during a storm. “You better be in here Texas.” The words were muttered under your breath, simply another way for you to rid yourself of the fear.

Standing still, you hoped to hear his deep voice respond with a drawl of Boston or darlin’, but when you were given nothing, your heart dropped down to your stomach. He had to be around here somewhere, had to have come in here to find supplies. But the longer you searched through the small building, the less sure you were about your odds. The sting of tears began to build in your eyes—the emptiness eating away at your insides.

Cursing under your breath, you made your way back outside, intent on waiting in the car until he returned. You had no real plan after that. Nothing to turn to if Joel never showed up. Except you couldn’t give a shit about a plan if Joel was missing. You had survived alone before, knew you could do it again, but that was the thing. You didn’t want to.

An echo of something in the distance stopped you midstep, your finger immediately falling onto the trigger. The sun blared in your face, blocking your eyesight, but you could see it. The tall form of a man heading towards the truck. Instead of immediately assuming he was Joel, you kept your guard up. Intent on being ready for something else entirely.

But then you heard it.

“Boston!” he called out, his voice ringing in the area and hitting your ears.

You began to run. Shoving the gun in the holster, you sprinted back towards him and watched as he frantically searched around the truck.

“Joel!”

With panicked wide eyes, he spun around to face you, relief washing over his face the second he caught sight of you. It only took him a few strides to reach you, his arms ready to gather you close. Only for you to shove him until he stumbled back into the truck’s hood, his grunt of pain twisting your heart briefly. The panic, the fear, it all blended into one thing you were tired of feeling. Pain. The pain of possibly losing him after all you’d been through.

“Darlin’ what—”

“Don’t do that to me again!” you snapped, no longer able to reign in all of the emotions you tried so hard to tamp down. “I woke up and you were gone Joel! I called for you, even went into that damn building to find you, but nothing!”

“Hey—”

The tears were streaming down your face, angry and hot. “I thought you were…gone o–or…”

He yanked you forward, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist and pressing you against his warm chest. “I’m sorry.” You can feel his face buried in your neck, his arms so tight you knew you’d feel it later. Yet that’s exactly what you needed from him. “I should have woken you up.”

Perhaps you were being ridiculous about this. Breaking down over the fact that he left you alone, but you couldn’t afford to lose another person. Your heart was broken already, but losing Joel…that would kill you. Whatever pieces you had left would surely vanish the second that the two of you were parted for good. You’d grown accustomed to having him around—a person that knew you. Could see through your facade of bravery you wore every day.

He was your tether to this world, the thing that kept you going. That realization—the understanding that Joel would mean more to you than you could ever express into words—terrified you. Suddenly you had something to lose.

Joel refused to let you go, his arms still wrapped tightly around your waist. Even as you stopped crying, he continued to hold you—his face buried in your neck. You could feel the shift in the air, the understanding that whatever this was…it wasn’t temporary. Neither of you were willing to part with the other, too attached in your own odd ways.

Which only made you clutch onto him tighter, your breathing evening out the longer you were pressed to his chest. You knew you were safe in his hold, but the longer you stood out in the open unmoving, the more you gained the chance for something to find the both of you. Reluctantly, you pulled back. Still you kept your hand on his arm, unable to let go of him entirely—the adrenaline of losing him not yet spent from your system.

“How long do we keep going for?” you asked, trying to shove the slivers of your vulnerability back inside, cutting off any pain you felt.

He seemed to understand what you were doing, opting to remain close yet never once pressuring you to open up. The thought filled your chest with warmth. You wondered what that feeling was, but drew a blank in your mind. Whatever it was, you hadn’t felt in quite some time—seeming to have forgotten it altogether. You chose not to dwell on what could not be understood, focusing back on Joel and the empty road you were still on.

“I can drive for another few hours,” he replied, his hand still pressed to your waist. It seemed that neither of you were too keen on letting the other go. “But we should find someplace to hole up for the night.”

You nodded. “Do you want me to drive?”

“No.”

“Joel, you've been driving all day and all night. I can take over for a bit so you can get some—”

“No.” He pulled you closer, shocking the hell out of you when his lips pressed to your temple. His hand running up your back slowly, as if he was trying to reassure you of the things he couldn’t say out loud. All of the emotions that were trapped in both your chests, unable to be set free due to the circumstances of your life.

You understood him all the same, smiling briefly against his shoulder.

“I’ve got you darlin’,” he whispered, his nose brushing along your head.

The sensation of him close made your eyes flutter shut, the breath you’d been holding for so long, finally being set free.

You wanted to tell him every emotion running through your heart as he pulled back to meet your eyes. The brown of his irises practically saw right through you, their dark nature burning your insides. Yet in their depths, you saw the emotion he could never say, the one that remained a mystery to even you. There it would remain, unspoken and restless.

Forever trapped with no possibility of escape.

“I want you to be okay too,” you said softly, letting him in a secret that was never really hidden from him.

To some degree Joel knew that you wanted him out of harm's way. That to see him hurt would kill you just like it had killed him. Yet the stubborn streak in him told you that no matter how much you wished it into existence, nothing would come of it. His actions whispered to you the truth. I’m here to protect you. I’d do whatever it takes. Even if whatever it takes was something far worse than a minor injury here and there.

He didn’t respond, simply helped you back into the truck, slamming the door shut to make sure the rusty piece of shit (as Joel affectionately called it) actually closed. You stayed silent as he started the car, the tape starting up again, acting as the rewind button for this situation. Except this time you felt the shift, the difference in how he sat beside you. Joel was no longer ignoring you; instead he chose to rest his hand on your knee, the weight of his palm obvious—the meaning behind it nearly cracking through you like lightning.

He wasn’t avoiding the burning want that spread through him. The ache that weighed on him daily the longer he was in your presence.

Joel wanted you, this much you knew. Only now he was no longer hiding it from you.

“Are you sure the roof still works?” you asked, staring dubiously at the broken ceiling—the glow of the moon practically streaming into the torn apart room.

“It’s not like anything is coming from the sky to hurt us.”

You scoffed, watching him check every crevice of the small cabin. “No, of course not. I’m just wondering if it rains, what do we do?”

Joel shrugged, sliding the worn down table up to the door. “We’ll dry off.”

“Hypothermia still exists, Texas.” You could see him biting back the smile, his eyes squinting slightly as he rested his hands on the table. The way he leaned over it shouldn’t have caused such a reaction in your body—your heart racing and mouth going dry—but you didn’t have control over what you found attractive about him anymore. It seemed that when it came to Joel, one look your way and you were instantly drawn to him. “Well?” you asked, lips quirked up into a smirk.

Standing to his full height, he let out a breath, his eyes practically searing into your skin. “Then we’ll warm up.”

His answer was nonchalant. Said in a way that would have made you think nothing of it, but then you caught it. The way his hand clenched at his side momentarily, his chest heaving as he took in a lungful of air. If what you heard in the bathroom was right, then both of you were affected by the other. You were just too fucking stubborn to admit it.

Smiling, you dropped your bag on the floor. “Careful Texas. I might end up thinking you like me.”

You turned away from him before you could see his reaction, too afraid of what you’d find. Part of him was glad you managed to miss how his whole body practically jolted, his jaw clenching as he staved off the heat. It slowly spread down to his fingertips, his body calling out to you. He managed to keep to himself in the car, his hand never going higher than your knee, but now he felt the insatiable need return.

Only this time there was no bathroom for him to escape to.

“Hey Joel?”

He snapped out his own thoughts, tuning into the present once more. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice huskier than he would have liked it to be.

“I should have said it before—” You turned, eyes glistening with an emotion that tugged sharply on his heart. “But thank you for saving my life.”

“Darlin’—”

“I know you didn’t have to. Shit, you didn’t have to do any of this for me, but I wanted you to know I’m not ungrateful.” Rather than look him in the eye, you kept your focus on what was once a fireplace. “If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be here. So thank you and I-I don’t know how I’ll ever repay—”

His hand cupping the back of your neck, pulling you closer cut you off. The words died on your tongue as he pressed his forehead to yours; the sigh he let out deeper than any you had heard before. Rather than keep going, you hesitantly rested your hand on his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you. If you had the strength, you would ask him why he did it. Why he bothered to save you that first night. But you knew the question was better left unsaid.

“There’s no repayin’ me,” he stated, pulling back slightly to meet your eyes. “You hear me?” He waited for you to nod, the movement small yet powerful. “I didn’t save you for any motive. I saved you because I…”

The words lodged themselves in the back of his throat, but you understood as if he had shouted the words from the rooftop. Because I care about you. Because when I’m with you the future isn’t bleak, it isn’t just a fantasy. Because amongst any means that make sense in this world, without you I’d cease to exist.

You would have saved him for the same reasons and that’s where this landed. The complications of your relationships were meant to go unsaid, because labeling this, putting a meaning behind the words you could never say, would ruin it. So, you nodded again, clutching his shirt in your hand and smiled to appease his nerves.

“Me too,” you whispered, feeling his heartbeat jump.

A moment passed between the both of you, simply surrounded by the echoes of nature, but then you saw it. Joel’s lips pulled up into a smile, his brown eyes looking just a bit lighter as he stared at you. The meaning of your words settling beneath his skin. It was a rare occurrence to see Joel smile, but whenever it happened you felt yourself melt beneath his gaze.

You would never tell him that he owned your heart entirely. But something in you wondered if he already knew.

“We should eat something,” he said, reluctantly pulling away from you to grab the probably expired food stashed away in his pack.

Nodding, you did your best to right your jumbled mind. “That’s a good idea.”

He tossed the small wrapped pieces of food, flicking on the single lantern he had. “I need to change your bandage after.”

“I can do it.”

“You’ll move too much.” He bit into the food and you found your gaze focused on the clench of his jaw again.

“I’ll be fine.” You ignored the chalky flavor of what used to be a protein bar on your tongue. “It’s only one wrap.”

He shook his head. “I don’t need you rippin’ open your wound, Boston”

“Joel—” His eyes snapped up to you, shutting you up instantly. “Okay,” you replied softly, biting into the bar.

Once more you allowed the echo of crickets to fill the voice between you, nature’s music becoming your background song. When you were younger, you couldn’t remember hearing the sounds of nature, too busy being overwhelmed with the chatter of the city. Yet now you felt like the world was finally waking up, allowing what remained of humanity to witness its beauty one more time.

You wanted to relish in it. To take in everything you otherwise might have missed before the outbreak, but the anguish of reality wouldn’t allow you to partake in such a peaceful act. So, you simply listened the best you could, hoping to commit the echoes of the forest to your memory.

“Do you think this is all we’ll get?” Your words caused Joel to pause. “The world. Do you think this is it?”

He wanted to say no, to tell you that he hoped for a better outcome than what they were left with, but the lie wouldn’t form. You both knew the truth of what the future held. Yet you wanted to live in the fantasy of something more just a bit longer. He wouldn’t be the one to crush that dream, to watch the small glint of hope in your eyes fade away as it had done before.

To Joel you were still dying in his arms, because he would never be released from that moment. Not entirely. That was his future. Forever stuck in a past he couldn’t change, sitting in a future he didn’t feel he deserved.

“I think we got more than we should have,” he said, squinting down at his hands. “Shows how fuckin’ stubborn humans are.”

His words settled in your mind and their cynical nature should have made you upset. But you knew this man. You could pick out his inflections just like he could see through your facades. Smiling, you put another piece of the food in your mouth, eyes tracing the slope of his nose and curve of his mouth.

“Hey Joel?” He finally looked up, molten brown eyes harboring a world of secrets you may never find out; you were okay with that though. “I’m okay with what I got.”

“Yeah?” he breathed.

You nodded. “Could have turned out worse. I could have ended up with someone from the midwest.”

He snorted, unable to stop it, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “The midwest ain’t bad.”

“I know. It's where my brother wanted to live.” Balling up the wrapper, you leaned back on your hands, legs outstretched on the floor. “But I got you to smile.”

He found himself watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, the way your head lolled to the side, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you looked at him. For a while now he’d been able to fight back the urge to kiss you. The ache that burrowed so deep in his body he wasn’t able to chase it away, but the sight of you so open and free. It did him in.

Taking in a breath, he tried to steady the fast paced beat of his heart. He shoved away the thoughts that slowly began to seep their way back into his brain—begging him to finally act on his wishes. Instead, he cleared his throat and reached for the somewhat clean bandages he had in his pack.

He refused to act on something you clearly weren’t interested in. Or at least something he hadn’t discussed with you yet.

“I gotta change your bandage.”

Rather than bicker with him again about whether or not you were capable, you simply clambered onto the rickety armchair. It creaked beneath you, the wood nearly ready to give out if you moved too much. You figured neither of you would want to sleep in it, save for the rather decent cushions that remained.

You peeled off your jacket, the heavy fabric making a small thump as it landed on the floor, your shirt being lifted and held tightly at your chest next. After you were injured, you could barely move from the bed and even then Joel remained a gentleman. Refusing to look anywhere beyond the wound. The same one that was slowly healing over. He made a grunt of contentment as he removed the dirty bandage, seeing the slightly raised skin where a scar would eventually take its place.

“It looks good.” He pointed to the bottom half that still continued to bleed every now and again. “This part’s bein’ stubborn.”

“Ah yes,” you said, shifting to give him space to work. “It gets that from me.”

“Damn right it does,” he muttered.

You laughed, nudged his knee with your leg. “Fuck you Miller.”

“Hold still.”

“I am.”

“No. You’re not.” You could feel the glare against your cheek. The very same one you were biting into, attempting to prevent the smile from blooming across your cheeks.

“Your hands are cold,” you said, shifting away from him as he began to slide the bandage along your skin.

“They usually are.”

“No. They’re not.” You caught his eye and shrugged to remain nonchalant about the matter. “I like when they’re warm. Keeps me warm.”

His hand pressed into your thigh, holding you still—eyes still focused on your face. “Darlin’,” he warned.

You sighed, head resting on the back of the chair. “Don’t worry Joel I know.”

“You know what?” His hand didn’t move, thumb brushing lightly along your pants.

“I’m not stupid Texas. The question earlier wasn’t about the world. It was about…” He stiffened, his hold growing tighter, eyes flicking back down to your bandage. The rejection punched you in the gut once more, a final understanding dawning over you. He would never go there with you.

“Boston…”

“I know. We’re lucky with what we’ve got and believe me I’m fucking lucky to have wound up with you in the middle of all this. But I just thought what I heard the other day in the bathroom—” Your breath caught in your throat as his head snapped up, eyes wide as he finally came to the conclusion that you did in fact hear him.

Not only did you hear him, but you liked what you heard.

“You…”

Nodding, you felt his hand slip a little higher up your thigh—heat streaking through your body and causing you to go a little lightheaded.

“I want whatever you’ll give me Joel,” you whispered, your hand sliding to cover his. “I want you.”

“Fuck,” he rasped, his eyes transfixed on how you dragged his hand up higher until his fingers brushed the crotch of your pants.

“Hey Joel?” you breathed, your eyes barely open as his raised to meet your gaze.

“Yeah darlin’?”

“Kiss me.”

The words were barely out of your mouth before he was surging upwards on bended knee, his hand grasping your neck and pulling your lips to his. You gasped, hand digging into his hair to hold him to you as he devoured you. Finally you felt like you could breathe again, the air being stolen from your lungs. Only for him to breathe life back into you. His lips slid along yours, a messy combination of teeth and spit and raw passion and you loved it.

Whimpering into his mouth, you grasped onto the collar of his coat, yanking him forward until he was practically on top of you. Yet the weight of his body against yours felt comforting. As if that’s where he was always meant to be. Joal groaned when you tugged sharply on his hair, his hips bucking into your thigh, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“Felt you wanting to kiss me that mornin’,” he grunted into your mouth, his hand gripping tightly at your hip.

“I-I did want to kiss you—oh.” His lips pressed a wet trail down your throat, teeth nipping along the vein he could practically feel beating beneath your skin.

He wanted to make you squirm, to have you completely and utterly branded with his touch. Joel wasn’t a possessive man by nature, but you…you made him want to call you his in every manner that was possible. Your hands fell to his belt buckle, leg hitching up around his waist, and he nearly felt his eyes roll back. While he may have touched himself before, he knew the second this happened he was done for.

So, he distracted you. He clasped your hands in his and dragged them back up to his hair, his lips finding their way back to yours. You panted softly beneath him, a searing ache beginning to form in your body, spreading down to your toes. With each spit slicked kiss he pressed to your neck, chest, anywhere he could reach, you felt yourself begin to grind against his hips.

“J-Joel,” you moaned, head falling back as his hands fell to the button of your pants.

“Yeah baby?”

The name made your toes curl in your boots, the involuntary reaction one he definitely noticed if the smile on his lips was anything to go off of. Shit he liked seeing you like this. Completely pliable beneath his palms.

“Want you to—” His hand dipped into your pants, fingers brushing along your pelvis and your hips jolted, body nearly coming up off the chair.

The husky echo of his chuckle sent sparks down your spine, the warmth you’d been searching for now returning and pooling in your stomach. He was toying with you. Trying to see how much you could take before you were a pleading mess beneath him. You knew that if he kept going, he wouldn’t have to wait long until you were begging. He lit you up on the inside, his touch merely brush added to the fire that had started burning the second you met him.

He dipped into your slick, his eyes fluttering shut and a pained grunt tearing from his chest the second he found how wet you were. Something in him snapped, the broken piece of his self control finally hitting the ground with a bang. You sagged into the chair, a high pitched keen echoing off the walls when his fingers found your clit—pleasure searing its way up your spine.

“I want to—” He spit out a curse, his chest heaving with each breath he took.

Your eyes flew open the feeling of his hand pulling away from you. Only for him to yank your pants down, stripping you of anything that could possibly be in his way. Doing your best to help, you kicked off your boots until you were bare from the waist down before him. You didn’t have much time for any semblance of embarrassment to wash over your body, because Joel was yanking you forward.

He pushed you open with his shoulders, hooking your legs over them as he finally sought the one thing he’d been craving since he saw you standing outside that bathroom door. Delving in, he licked a stripe up your cunt, grinning at the broken sound that he tore from you.

Grasping onto his hair, you felt the breath leave your lungs faster than you could take it in. “Fuck, oh fuck Joel,” you cried, your mouth dropping open in bliss.

He moaned into you, his eyes meeting yours as he sucked your clit into his mouth and rolled his tongue over it. The sharp sensation of the pleasure was almost too much to bear. It flickered to life in your stomach, burning a hot path through your entire body until you could barely make out Joel’s sounds. You heard a rushing echo in your ears, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

Yet it never ceased. Joel licked into you like you were the best dessert he’d had in years. A decadent meal he wanted to take his time with. You tugged on his hair, your hips rolling over his face as he pressed his tongue into you, thrusting it the best he could.

“That’s it,” he mumbled, his eyes glazed with lust and words slurred together. “Taste’s so fuckin’ sweet.”

“Joel I-I…” You tried to catch your breath, tried to say anything, but his thumb spreading his spit up to your clit made your head spin.

“What do you need darlin’?”

“I-I—hng—want you inside me.”

His lips pulled up into a smirk, eyes shifting between your face and cunt that practically weeped for him. “When I’m done.”

“But—” He pressed his thumb down harder, cutting off your words—a whine crawling up the back of your throat.

“Always so stubborn,” he mused and you could practically hear the smile in his words. It made your heart flutter, your head falling back as his mouth sealed over your cunt again.

The echo of your slick hit your ears, the sound mixing with your combined sounds of pleasure. Creating a euphony of tunes that you could listen to forever. Joel ate you out like a man starved, like a man who would never get to partake in this act ever again in his life. You hoped that wasn’t true.

Gasping, you felt it before he did. The clench of your walls against nothing as he moaned drunkenly into you, licking at you so loudly your ears burned. The pleasure built in your body until it nearly stung, searing into you with such strength that your body bowed off the chair. Joel merely grunted, grasping onto your hips to keep you still as he kept going. You wondered if he would stop even after you came and realized you wouldn’t have to wait that long to find out.

“Joel,” you warned, but he already knew.

His thumb slid along your clit, keeping a steady pressure as he buried his tongue in you, his broken moan becoming your undoing. Grinding against his mouth, you heard yourself cry his name, your head hitting the back of the chair as the dam with you shattered. White hot bliss rushed through your body, turning you into a mess of whimpered cries and pleas for Joel to keep going. Yet he seemed to not hear you. Lost in the taste of you that practically flooded his mouth.

Your legs trembled as he slowed down, lapping at your cunt gently so as to gather every bit of you on his tongue. Everything in your mind fell silent, the hum of pleasure in your veins the only thing you could focus on—a type of peace you hadn’t had in a long time. Joel pressed a wet kiss to your thigh, his teeth scraping over the skin as if he wanted to leave a bite mark so deep it would forever be a part of you.

A part of you wanted it to happen; wanted to feel the blooming pain as his teeth sunk into your skin. At least then you’d know you were still there, still alive. But then he pulled away, running his palms up and down your thighs as he waited for you to come back to him.

“Holy shit,” you breathed, unable to move a single limb in your body.

His laugh brought you back, the steady heat once again pooling into your stomach. “I want to do that again.”

Your stomach swooped. “Later,” you said, your voice shaking with a new surge of need.

Joel tugged you lightly, telling you exactly where to go without words, and you followed. Sliding off the chair, you cringed at the wet mess between your thighs, but the sight of his chin smeared in you washed that feeling away. He was covered in you and without thinking you pulled him closer, licking into his mouth and moaning at the taste of yourself on his tongue. That heady sensation returned, crashing into you like a tidal wave.

“Please.”

He maneuvered you into his lap, your knees pressing into the dirty ground beneath him. But neither of you cared where you were, because all of that vanished. Everything became nonexistent, leaving just Joel and the way he was looking at you.

“I’ve got you darlin’,” he murmured, helping you unbuckle his pants to pull his cock out. He stifled a moan against your shoulder as your hand wrapped around him, the throbbing ache he’d managed to ignore now flaring to life in his body.

He knew if you stroked him for longer than a few minutes this would be over before it began. But he also couldn’t deny how fucking incredible it felt to feel you touch him like this. He breathed your name against the shell of your ear, his hips bucking into your palm, heat streaking down his spine. Joel wanted to savor this, to remember what exactly this intimacy felt like.

Except then he felt it, the tightening in his stomach that signaled the end. Yanking your hand away, he fought against the release that threatened to spill over him, his body shaking with the effort. Grunting, he felt your hand run down his back, your lips trailing along his jaw as you murmured compliments to him. Words that made his face stain red and mind go hazy.

“You’re so pretty Joel.” Your hands curled around the large width of his shoulders, your hips grinding down into his lap. “So handsome.”

“Fuck,” he moaned pathetically, unable to stop himself from unfurling into your touch.

Your hand dug into his hair, tilting his head until his lips found yours again. Kissing him was like finding the missing pieces of yourself all in one fell swoop. You felt whole with him, like the person you could have been rather than the person you were. Smiling against his lips, you felt his hands slide down to your ass, kneading the flesh in his palms.

You still wore your shirt and he had barely undressed, but it still remained perfect. Neither of you cared about how special this was or whether it was on a bed or not, because this was all you could get. This is what the world gave you. The both of you were too greedy to ask for anything else, stealing away this moment until it disappeared beneath your touch.

“Want you to fuck me Joel,” you breathed hotly against his neck, your hips rolling over his. You gasped simultaneously as the head of his cock caught on your clit, the pressure debilitating.

“Yeah? You want me to ruin you?” Nodding, you felt heat spread up your neck. He mouthed at your neck, his hand wrapping around his cock to position it at your entrance and allow you to make the first move.

Which you did without hesitation. You scratched your nails along the back of his neck as you sunk down onto him, the stretch along your walls slightly painful with how big he was. It had been a long time since you allowed yourself to be like this with anyone and you figured Joel knew exactly how that felt. He struggled to maintain control over himself as you slowly took him into your cunt, your walls clamping down around him—nearly throwing him off the edge.

“Fuck darlin’,” he grunted, his fingers digging into your hips. “Squeezin’ me so tight.”

Clutching at his shoulder, you tried to steady yourself, the tremble in your legs nearly too much for you. But Joel wasn’t letting you go that easily. Nipping at your collarbone, he helped you take him all the way in small strokes. You felt the rapid beat of his heart pressed against yours, the way he tried to distract himself from the feel of your body wrapped around him.

“Wait, wait,” he panted the second you sat fully in his lap again, his cock throbbing along your walls. “I—oh shit—I want this to last.”

You nodded, pressing your forehead to his as you allowed your body to adjust the feel of him inside you. “We’ll go slow.”

He laughed, dropping a kiss to your chest. “Only need a minute baby.”

“I don’t want to wear you out.” The mischief in your smile could be heard through your words; Joel’s shoulders now shaking from laughter. “After our conversation earlier, you have me thinking you’re an old man—”

Him grinding you down into his lap cut off your words with a sharp gasp, the smile falling from your lips as your mouth dropped open. Something sharp, intense, unfurled in your core, blooming throughout your body and turning your mind hazy. Mimicking the movement, you felt it again, his cock rubbing slightly right where you needed him most.

“How about now?” he taunted, scraping his teeth along your jaw, his hands slipping beneath your shirt to cup your breasts.

“Shit.” Tugging on his hair you felt him smile against your cheek.

“Am I still old?”

“More,” you pleaded, rolling your hips in stunted movements, the position you were in only allowed you so much.

“Yeah?” Guiding your hips, he felt your walls clamp down even tighter, the pressure causing white to flash behind his eyes.

“Feels so good Joel.” Your eyes were half open, the lust burning in them so bright he felt it in his chest.

He wanted to stay there, forget the world existed and remain wrapped around you. Who would miss either of you? No one. Which is what made the idea so fucking appealing.

You leaned back, one hand pressed against the floor as you sought the perfect angle and as he pulled you back on his cock, a moan climbing out of his throat, he felt it. The way your whole body practically bowed out of his hold. A sharp keening cry ripping from you. He nearly lurched forward, the tight sensation in his stomach growing closer by the second, his body going as taut as yours.

“Fuck, fuck. Darlin’ I’m not gonna last,” he muttered, shifting you quickly until you were pressed into the ground. Your leg going up and over his forearm.

Scrambling to hold onto him, you felt your eyes roll back, the sharp searing heat now spreading rapidly through every single part of you. Whatever words or praises you might have said, turned into incoherent noises of pathetic whimpers and moans. Joel shoved his hips into yours, striking so perfectly right where you needed him, that you felt the pleasure mount until it nearly broke you inside.

You dragged his lips back to yours, attempting to meet his thrusts with small ones of your own, but the lower half of your body was already pinned to the ground. His hands kept you still as he drove into you so earnestly, you were certain your release would stop your heart.

“J-Joel!” you sobbed, your head falling to the floor and back going rigid.

“C’mon baby,” he grunted, his hand seeking out yours. Clasping his fingers around yours, he pressed your entwined palms into the ground, keeping it at his leverage.

The one thing grounding him as he lost himself in you.

An echo of your slick and skin slapping against skin filled the small cabin, his panted out grunts and your incoherent cries, nearly deafening to both your ears. Joel’s other hand found your clit and with one final devastating thrust, you broke.

The breath was punched from your lungs, the singular word—his name—turning into a ragged gasp. Your cunt clamped down, body shaking, as you forced him off the edge with you. Joel’s hand slammed to the ground, his hips thrusting into you the best he could while he spilled into you, the warmth of his cum practically leaking out. For a moment neither of you could breathe, lost in the sensation of pleasure thrumming in your veins.

Joel’s breaths matched your own, his lips trailing up your chest until he eventually found his way back to your lips. A smile spreading on his face. You laughed, your hands brushing his hair away from his damp forehead, and felt him twitch inside of you. The small grunt letting you know that the both of you were a bit too sensitive now.

“Hey Boston?” he asked, his nose brushing against yours—the smile on your face matching his.

“Yeah Texas?”

He stole another kiss, his thumb running along your cheek. “I’m lucky to have wound up with you too.”

Warmth filled your chest, that now familiar feeling you could finally place, returning with a new vigor. Except this time you welcomed it. Above Joel’s shoulder you caught the glimmer of stars through the broken ceiling, the clear night sky a beautiful backdrop to the man above you. Yet you still found yourself captivated by the brown in his eyes, the shine of hope that hadn’t been there before.

You would never be able to tell him what you felt, always keeping it close like a secret. But tonight you’d get to savor it.

Tonight you could pretend that just for a moment…Joel Miller loved you too.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #the last of us fic #the last of us #my writing

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yuri-official · 3 months

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give me a pitch for korekiibo!!! i wanna hear! :)

OKAY SO

Korekiyo's whole deal is being obsessed with the beauty of humanity, right? Studying how different people behave under different circumstances, sort of observing from the outside. Despite the love xe feels for humanity, there's this sort of alienation. Xe ends up watching everyone else from the edge of the room during class events, xyr this kind of tall, dark, unnerving presence with greasy hair and a mostly obscured face and unconventional interests. In a lot of xyr interactions with the rest of the V3 cast, xyr classmates seem really uncomfortable or even actively distrusting of xem.

And Kiibo's matches up really well with Korekiyo's, their through line is how disconnected they feel from humanity despite being like. The ultimate reflection of everything humankind is. Kibo aspires to be more human, and feels outright offended when their classmates insinuate that they're less than human, or that their life doesn't have the same value as any other person's. They feel like they need to be useful or provide something of value to their friends in order to deserve a place in their circle

(side note I am Not going to use he/him for either of these characters ever. transfem Kiibo + nonbinary Korekiyo supremacy. these are mostly the versions of them i’ve made up in my head anyways so who cares that's all shipping is anyways)

Korekiyo would be the perfect person to affirm Kiibo's value as a person and humanity imo, while Kiibo is a good in-point for Korekiyo to start socializing with more of their friends. I won't take this as an opportunity to shill for my Korekiibo fanfiction, but I have a whole speech from Kiyo written out talking about how Kiibo is the culmination of humanity's desire to share the experience of sentience etc etc

Robotlover Korekiyo Shinguji, you can pry this headcanon from my cold dead hands. What's more human than something created by humanity the way they were created in the image of 'god'? etc

It's really cute!! Korekiyo Does Not Shut Up but thankfully Kiibo loves listening, and there's a lot of substance in what xe says. Even if it rambles for an hour on end, there's information to be gained there, and that applies especially to Kiibo. I think xe would be really interested in the ways Kiibo tries to be more than just the ‘Ultimate Robot’, how they strive to be as close to humankind as they can despite being a robot.

I think Kiibo and Korekiyo would find comfort in each other's shared distance from their peers, too. Korekiyo clearly has a very non-traditional or even distorted view of intimacy and relationships, and likely an extreme discomfort with feeling like xyr out of control. Xe likes to be the person who has information and knowledge to give in xyr relationships, kind of taking up the role of teacher in most conversations in canon.

Kiibo is sort of new to the whole idea of interpersonal relationships, but still goes out of their way to seek out that king of intimacy, as shown in their free time and love suite events. They seem like the type to be eager to learn, which fits perfectly with Korekiyo's affinity for teaching. I can imagine them cuddling while Korekiyo infodumps for hours on end about the entire history of fortune telling or something lol

And now: Things I Just Think Are Really Cute About Their Dynamic

- Consider that Kiibo could probably pick up Kiyo and have xem perched on their shoulder like a weird bird if their strength limiters were turned off. That beast probably weighs about as much of a stack of paper cups wearing a military uniform, xe’ll blow away like a napkin if you roll down the windows of a car on the highway

- Korekiyo is Wife Guy: Evil Edition in my mind. Xyr the type to send xyr partner flowers and the first unlucky person to upset that partner a pipe bomb. Kiibo finds this very reassuring but is working on helping xem find ways of expressing affection that aren’t also felonies

- Korekiyo says things like ‘I think if I were to eat you you would taste like strawberry shortcake’ and Kiibo is just. Okay ❤️ Yay ❤️ All of xyr compliments are incredibly unnerving but Kiibo finds them endearing anyways

- The visual contrast between the two is just. Augh. Tall and flowy and gorgeous and a little terrifying and 5’3 robot with spiky white hair and chunky armour and shounen protagonist demeanour. They are so Connecticut Clark and Malfina to me

- Korekiyo is a BDSM aficionado and Kiibo does not know what sex is

- THIS IMAGE. KIIBO IS THE ONLY PERSON IN THE GAME THAT KOREKIYO CALLS ‘MY DEAR’. I AM INSANE ABOUT THIS

i have. more

so much more

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

#korekiyo shinguji #kiibo #K1-B0 #korekiibo #korekiyo x kiibo #💌

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sisterspooky1013 · 11 months

Text

Parallel, Chapter 4/6

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

Mulder bobs his head along to the radio as they fly down a sparsely populated highway. When she’s not admiring the ostentatiously large diamond that now adorns her left ring finger, Scully takes notice of a myriad of incremental ways in which this world is different from her own. The music on the radio is unfamiliar and has an edge to it. The backs of all the street signs are painted hunter green, and the speedometer in Mulder’s car—which is a make and model she’s never heard of—reads in kilometers instead of miles per hour. It all feels like a store brand version of her favorite childhood cereal: close enough to pass, but not quite the same. She’s a bundle of nervous energy, tapping her foot against the floorboard and chewing her well-manicured thumbnails to shreds. Mulder gives her a few sideways glances, but gratefully doesn’t ask why an impending lunch date with her sister has her so out of sorts.

She’s gathered that they live in Malibu, which surprises her; she never imagined herself to be that brand of Californian. As they travel south towards L.A. she keeps expecting them to hit heavier traffic, but it never comes. Perhaps Los Angeles doesn’t have the same appeal here.

“So what do you say? Are we finally gonna hit that ghost tour on the way back?”

She looks over at him and is momentarily surprised not to see a suit clad, clean cut man in the driver’s seat beside her—not that she takes any issue with his snug jeans and fitted white tee shirt.

“Ghost tour? Does that sound like something I’d be interested in?”

Her tone allows the question to strike as either genuine or rhetorical, given that she’s not sure where his version of her stands on the subject. Mulder shakes his head with a wry smile.

“Maybe if you took more interest in it, you’d agree that a high percentage of recorded paranormal activity can’t be otherwise explained. I know you think there’s some simple answer like air in the pipes or a lens flare, but you’ve never actually given it enough consideration to have an informed opinion.”

Scully scoffs.

“It’s difficult to have an informed opinion on something that has absolutely no scientific basis. What am I to read or study? Are there peer reviewed resources on the existence of ghosts, Mulder?”

He gives her an odd look, and she worries that she’s offended him. Perhaps he is more sensitive than her Mulder.

“Why do you keep calling me Mulder?” he asks with a curious glance. “I think that’s the third time today.”

She gapes at him for a moment, unsure what to say.

“Sorry, force of habit,” she mumbles. Which is true, but also doesn’t answer his question.

“Well, no offense to your colleagues, but I find it a bit impersonal,” he says as he checks his blind spot and changes lanes. “And to answer your question, probably not. But a lack of peer reviewed resources doesn’t mean that there’s no validity to the field of study, it just means that people are too afraid of damaging their reputation to risk putting their name to it.”

She considers him for a beat. Her Mulder has never been afraid to risk his reputation. Sometimes she wonders what his life could have looked like if he had been. Maybe she’s looking at it right now.

“Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials, M–Fox?” she asks, clearing her throat to mask her slip up.

He looks back and forth between her and the road with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Honey,” he says with mock sincerity, reaching across the console to give her thigh a squeeze. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The conversation that follows feels so comfortingly familiar that it distracts her from what lies ahead, and it’s only when he pulls into a pay-to-park lot and kills the engine that she’s overcome with excitement and nervousness. She exits the car and smooths out her dress, and Mulder steers her towards a sprawling outdoor restaurant with a hand pressed to her lower back.

They approach a podium just outside the restaurant entrance, and Scully allows Mulder to take the lead. A tall, stoic man in a suit gives them a cursory glance before grumbling, “POC, please.”

“Mulder digs his wallet out of his back pocket and flips it open to show something to the man. The man nods, and then turns to look at Scully. “POC, ma’am,” he says sternly.

“I’m sorry?” she asks, looking to Mulder for help.

“I need to see your POC, ma’am, or I’m unable to grant you entry,” the man repeats.

“Did you forget your POC?” Mulder asks quietly, looking mildly alarmed.

“Um, I don’t know,” she says, reaching into the purse that she found hanging by the door back at the apartment.

She pulls out a small wallet and Mulder takes it from her, then flips it open and shows something to the man.

“Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Mulder, go ahead,” the man says, then resumes a statue-like posture, staring straight ahead.

Scully takes the wallet from Mulder, and as she follows him inside she looks at what he had shown to the man. It’s clearly identification, but she’s so confused by what she sees that she stops in her tracks.

Proof of Citizenship

Territory of California

Dominion of Canada

“Dana,” Mulder calls from half a dozen paces ahead of her. “Something wrong?”

“Um, no,” she says, stuffing the wallet back in her purse and walking quickly to catch up to him at the host stand. “Sorry.”

“We have a reservation,” he tells the hostess as Scully stares vacantly, her mind racing. “Mulder, party of three.”

“Yes, I see you right here. Your other party is already seated. Right this way, please.”

As soon as they round a corner into the dining room, Scully sees her. Her hair is longer and pulled into a low ponytail, and when she stands to greet them Scully recognizes the flowing skirt and linen top that she would expect her sister to be wearing. Her face is slightly fuller, slightly more marked by the passing of time, but it’s undeniably Missy. Grief and relief collide in her throat, forming a lump that brings tears to her eyes before she’s close enough to open her arms wide. A flash of confusion passes over Missy’s face and she glances quickly at Mulder before she accepts Scully’s hug, patting her back comfortingly as the tears spill over and wet her linen top.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Scully whispers harshly, clinging to her like she’s wanted to do so many times in the years since her untimely death.

When she finally pulls away, both Missy and Mulder are looking at her like she’s sprouted a second head.

“Are you okay, Dana?” Missy asks very sincerely, her eyebrows knit with concern.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’ve just…I’ve really been looking forward to seeing you,” Scully says, swiping the tears away from her cheeks.

They sit down and Scully scoots her chair as close to Missy’s as possible without drawing more attention to her odd behavior, and she tries not to stare. They order their meals and Scully peppers Missy with innocuous questions that allow her to gather bits and pieces of information. Missy lives in Vermont. She does some kind of alternative healing work. She appears to be unmarried. Shortly after their entrees arrive, Mulder gets a phone call and excuses himself from the table.

“Okay, spill it,” Missy says, throwing her napkin down on top of her plate and crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?” Scully asks innocently, even as she feels her cheeks get hot and her heart begins to race.

“You’re acting completely bizarre, Dana,” Missy says resolutely. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Fox, but something is obviously up with you. So what is it?” Scully freezes, and for a moment she debates just telling her the truth. Missy, of anyone, might actually believe her, second only to the Mulder of her dimension. “Are you having doubts about the baby?” Missy finally asks, and Scully sighs with relief.

“Maybe, just a little,” she says, playing along. “The baby, but also…” She looks at her sister, who is listening raptly with an intensity in her eyes that has always reminded Scully of Ahab. So many times in the years since her death Scully has wished that she could call her for advice and guidance, especially when it comes to her relationship with Mulder. And now she’s here, for probably the last time ever. “Do you think Fox and I are good together?” she asks.

Missy is so taken aback by the question that her eyes go wide and she cocks her head back.

“You’re questioning that?” she asks, leaning in. “Are you having problems?”

“No, not necessarily,” she answers honestly. “I mean, we have our conflicts as anyone does, but nothing in particular.”

“So what would make you ask me that?”

“I don’t know,” Scully huffs, frustrated with herself. “We’re so completely different, Missy. Sometimes I wonder what he even sees in me. All I do is shoot down his ideas, and all he does is irritate the absolute shit out of me.”

Missy laughs, and Scully frowns at her. She didn’t mean for the comment to be funny.

“That’s why you’re good together, Dana,” Missy says with a sympathetic smile. “You’re like night and day in many ways, yes, but you can’t have one without the other. You balance each other out. I mean my god, think about how completely uptight you were before you met him. On your wedding day I thanked him for finally pulling that stick out of your ass.”

Scully’s mouth drops open in surprise and then curls into a smile.

“You did not,” she says, slapping Missy’s arm playfully.

“I absolutely did,” Missy teases back. “You need him, Dana. He’s your counterweight. And he’s so in love with you it’s disgusting.”

Scully sits back in her chair, feeling like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders. Missy checks her watch and the realization that they have a limited amount of time left makes Scully scramble for anything else she might like to ask.

“Can I see your POC?” she asks, and Missy quirks her head but hands it over.

Proof of Citizenship

Territory of Vermont

Dominion of Canada

Mulder reappears at the table and asks their server for the check, and shortly thereafter the three of them are back in the car en route to LAX. As they follow the signs directing them to departures, Scully’s chest starts to ache, and she wishes that she could slow time down. For the first time she thinks it might not be so bad if she never leaves this place. Staying in a world where Mulder is her doting husband and her sister is still earthside is hardly a downgrade.

“Call me soon,” Missy says, wrapping her up in a tight hug on the sidewalk outside the terminal. “And don’t do anything stupid,” she whispers.

Scully nods, pulling away just slightly so she can see Missy’s face.

“I love you, Missy. You’re a great big sister,” she says sincerely, blinking away the tears in her eyes.

Missy touches her cheek, then gives her a long look. Scully has the distinct impression that she’s seeing something that she hadn’t noticed at the restaurant.

“You don’t have to be perfect all the time, Dana,” she says softly. “It’s okay to make the wrong choice now and then, just to see what happens.”

Scully nods emphatically, then hugs Missy again. She doesn’t want to let go.

“She has to go, Dana,” Mulder says gently, rubbing her back.

Scully steps away, and Mulder pulls her close as they watch Missy walk into the terminal. When she disappears into the crowd, they get back into the car and drive in silence for a handful of miles. Scully feels shell-shocked and empty, and when Mulder reaches across the console and grabs her hand, tears begin to fall quietly down her cheeks.

“You okay?” he asks, and she nods.

“I just really miss her,” she chokes out, and he squeezes her hand.

“We’ll see her soon, Dana. She’s going to be at your parents’ house for Christmas.”

It takes a few seconds for her to register what he said. She turns her head toward him slowly.

“My parents’?” she repeats. Plural. Two.

“Yeah, your dad offered to pay for her ticket,” he adds casually.

Ahab. Of course he’s alive. Why else would she have his number in her cell phone? She has to find a way to be here for Christmas. She has to find a way to stay forever.

As soon as the thought enters her mind, she dismisses it. This isn’t her life. This isn’t her Mulder. He’s still somewhere out there, replete with scars and traumas and baggage beyond this tan, carefree Mulder’s wildest imagination. And she still loves him in a way that she’s only beginning to understand.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files #txf #xfiles

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toothpastecanyon · 1 month

Text

The Comfort of Agony, Chapter 7

For the first time in his eternal life, Alcor had been bound. He couldn't leave even if he wanted to... so it was just as well that he didn't want to leave, right? After all, this was what Mizar wanted.

He didn't know what she was so angry with him for, but he probably deserved it.

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

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It was dark outside the store, but Piper swore she could feel the fluorescent lights beating down on her. She stood in line, shuffling slowly forwards until it was her turn. Dumping everything on the counter, she watched the cashier take a long look at her items before his gaze flitted up to her. The lights buzzed loud in the stretching silence - she tried for a smile.

“Hi,” she managed. “Uh, busy day, huh?”

“Hmph.” He grunted, and picked up a box of chalk. “You got a lot of these.”

“Yeah! Um - sidewalk party! We’re, uh, we’re all gonna draw on the sidewalk!”

“I see. Lot of candles, too.”

Piper laughed - it sounded way too loud. “Yeah… power outage? At my house?”

“Uh huh. And the sigil ink is for school, yeah? I hear that one all the time.”

“It’s… i-it’s, uh…” She looked at his raised eyebrow, and stretched her smile. “Look… I really need this.”

The man stayed still a moment longer… then, with a sigh and a shake of his head, he picked up the scanner. Beep, it went, and Piper tried to take a deep breath. She glanced down at the mirror in her purse, her heart pounding in her chest.

Beep. Beep. The man stuffed everything into two shopping bags and tapped his screen.

“Comes to, ah, one ninety seven, sixty six. Cash or card?”

“Card?” Piper blinked. “Oh, uh, I mean, card, yeah! Here you go - or wait, I scan it.”

After fumbling through the payment, she snatched up the bags, took her receipt, and hurried out of the store. The parking lot was dark, with glass crunching under her feet and the roar of cars speeding through the nearby highway. There was a shadowy figure smoking against the wall, and Piper tried not to look like she was walking too fast as she made a beeline for her car over at the gas station.

Once she was in, with all the doors locked, she tossed the bags onto the seat next to her and let out a huge breath.

“Oh, my stars,” she said, patting her pockets for her keys. “He totally knew what I was buying that stuff for. Do you think he’s gonna call the cops on me?”

“Probably not?” Alcor made a face. “He probably wouldn’t have sold it to you in the first place, but, uh… we should probably go. Quickly. Piper?”

“I’m working on it, where’s my- oh! In my hand!” A nervous laugh as she put her keys in the ignition. “Sorry, uh… getting a little tired, I think. Been a long day.”

“I know. We’ll be stopping for the night soon, though.” Alcor strained to peek over the dashboard. “We passed a motel a couple minutes ago, right? If you drive back that way, that’s probably the closest one.”

“Yeah,” Piper said, a little distracted as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Yeah, that’s… I’ll do that.”

It was quiet as she accelerated down the ramp, and merged back into the highway. The road stretched out endlessly ahead of her, the streetlights passed her by one by one by one; stars, she felt like she’d been driving for a lifetime. She shifted a little in her seat, rolled her shoulders, rubbed her eyes. Glanced over at Alcor, and made a face.

“So, uh,” she started, if only to break the silence. A few seconds passed as she thought of how to follow it up. “I still don’t get it. We’re summoning demons… to bind an angel?”

“Exorcise an angel, binding’s just a part of that.”

“Uh, okay?”

“It’s, uh, different.” Alcor took one look at her expression, and sighed. “I get it, this is way out of your comfort zone. But I promise, this is the safest way I can think of to get the materials. We’re summoning weak demons with strong binding circles, and we’re not even making deals with them, okay?”

“Okay…” Piper turned the wheel as she took a gentle turn. “Then, uh, what are we doing with them?”

“Nothing. We don’t need them - we need their chalk.”

“Chalk?”

She glanced at the shopping bag full of chalk they’d already bought, and he seemed to anticipate her question. “Chalk from a used summoning circle - it’s imbued with a low level of demonic essence. Once we get enough of it, we should be able to use it to trap the angel like normal chalk can be used to trap demons. We’ll need more complicated stuff later, but it can wait for when you’re not exhausted.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Piper said, slowly. “But why doesn’t normal chalk work?”

“It’s, uh, complicated.” A short laugh. “But basically, angels aren’t drawn to the physical world the same way demons are, so they can’t be bound in the same way. It’s not exactly harder, but the materials for it are different - not exactly stuff you can just buy in a store.”

“Okay…”

“The simplest way to repel an angel is with demonic essence. That’s why we’re doing this tonight instead of waiting for tomorrow - summon a few demons in your motel room and he won’t come near. You can sleep easy!”

“Sleep easy,” Piper echoed, rubbing her eyes. “I hope so.”

She was starting to feel warm sitting back in her seat; she shifted around again, turned on the AC and blasted it right at her face. She kept her eyes fixed on each road sign as it came out of the black and sped past her, waiting for that motel. Come on, she thought, any minute now…

She was so focused on the road ahead, she didn’t notice the dark figure of a car merging onto the highway and smoothly pulling up behind her. The lights came on in an instant; Piper jumped in her seat at the sound of a siren, and then her stomach dropped at the flashing blue and red lighting up her dashboard.

“Oh, shoot!” Piper gripped the steering wheel; she realised she’d swerved a bit out of the lane and quickly corrected. “Shooot… Alcor? What do we do?”

“The cops - dammit, this is the last thing we need.” Alcor strained to look out of the side mirror. “Uh, stay… stay calm? Maybe he’s pulling someone else over?”

The highway was empty but for the two of them; Piper made a face. “I don’t think he is.”

She flicked on her signal and started slowing down; Alcor blinked. “You’re pulling over?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“You can’t do that!”

“What do you mean I can’t do that?”

“You’re a missing person! He probably recognised your car!”

“Maybe he’s just here for the demonology stuff?” Piper eyed the plastic bags. “We could hide those somewhere, right?”

“It doesn’t matter where you hide it if he runs your plates, Piper!” Alcor watched in panic as they kept slowing down - he banged on the glass. “Piper! Piper, he’s gonna take you into custody! Piper-”

“What am I supposed to do?!” She snapped. “Run from the cops? I’m in a fucking Camry, Alcor!”

Alcor didn’t respond to that. Piper took a few short breaths as she turned onto the shoulder; her eyes were burning, and she rubbed them.

“It’ll be - it’ll be fine, okay?” She came to a stop, grabbed the plastic bags, and opened her glovebox. “We just act natural, right?”

“Piper-”

“We just act natural.” She tried closing the glovebox; she forced it up a few times as the plastic bags bulged. “It’s not like they can arrest me, right? I haven’t done anything wrong - I’m the one who got attacked! They can’t arrest me for getting attacked, right!”

“Piper-”

“Agh, stupid little- this is just perfect!” She slammed the glovebox one more time, and watched through blurring eyes as everything came tumbling out onto the floor. “What am I supposed to do?! I’m screwed! I’m screwed!”

Alcor spoke quietly. “You’re not screwed.” He said. “It’s gonna be okay, okay? Take a deep breath.”

Piper took in a shuddering breath, and pressed her hands to her face as she let it out. “I’m so fucking tired.”

“I know. I’m sorry. We’ll be on the road soon, okay?” When she glanced over at him, she found a reassuring smile on his face. “Once this is over, we’ll be at the motel, and you’ll be able to go to sleep. You’ve done a traffic stop before, right?”

“...Yeah.” Another deep breath, in, and out, and then she set her jaw. She looked behind her, at the blinding white headlights shining through her back window, then over to the glovebox again. “Okay. License and registration.”

“Yeah!” Alcor watched her dig through the papers that had spilled into the footwell. “I’ll dim myself, too. I’ll look like a normal mirror, but I can keep an eye on things, okay?”

“Okay.” Piper heard footsteps just as she found her registration; she sat up, and put her hands on the wheel. “Okay, okay.” Glancing over at the mirror, she found it blank, just as he said. Chalk boxes were still strewn around the footwell, but there was nothing she could do about them now - hopefully he wouldn’t notice. Nothing to do about it now.

“Okay, okay, okay.”

She could feel her heart hammering in her chest as a bright light came up to her window. She couldn’t see the figure well behind the flashlight; but a hand reached out and knocked on the glass, and she rolled it down.

“Uh, hi officer, I just-”

Click. Piper paused at a strange noise… and then froze as the cold, hard barrel of a gun pressed itself against her temple.

“Don’t move,” said Mag’s voice with an eerie echo, and Piper didn’t dare to breathe. From the corner of her eye, she could see the mirror light up again, could see a furious brickwork demon come roaring into view.

“Y̵̛̘̼͛̿͋̊̏̈͘ö̵͇͕͕̩̹͉́͌́̀̄̀͌̽̄͘͘͜͠ȕ̶̮̦͒͒͆̐͐̔̈̚,” Alcor snarled as the angel put away the flashlight; the pure glow of his gaze cast its own light into the car.

“Ȋ̸k̷͖o̷̮ẅ̸̘́w̴h̷̠̓ã̴̲t̵̞́ ỵ̵̆ȏ̷̠u ̷̻͠d̴͚͗ĭ̸̼d. Ŷ̸̈́͊o̴̰͛̂u̸̬̱̮̇̔̐ t̴̑̈́̈͐̀̎u̵̾̈͌͋r̶̛̯͋̅̑͌̍̈́ņ̷͓̓͐̀͘̕͠͠e̶͐d h̷̀è̷r̸͂ ̵͔̃͆̽͌̾͜͠͝ Ä̴̝͇̼̮̋̋͝G̷̡̱̜̩̮̥̼̍̾̍͆͋̏Ā̴̠̽̌̈́Í̵̡̥̙̱̯͕̪̃̒͊̀̃͜N̸̗͚̜̱̤̈́Ś̶̩̻͖̺́͆̍̎̀̒Ṯ̸̨̻͍̜̹̀͒͌͗̚͜ ̵̘̼̾̃̈́̀͑̍͆Ṁ̸̪̟̍̈́̿̏̏͘̚E̶̺̝̝̺̮͕̎̅! W̷̝̲͎̥̮̪̄͒H̷̨̞͍̜͓͒̆͋̆́̈́͐͗̽̈́͋̓̈́̽̄̚ͅE̵̡̧̨̱̜͎̟̠͓̪̯̓̋͐̈́̊̂̔̀N̶̡̨̢̧̥͙̪̝̘͇̹͈̜͕̓̉̔̽̅̌̃̋͐͂̕͠ ̶̢̛̬̤̪́̈́͋̔̍̇̚͝Ḯ̵̡̩̖̺̘̩͇̞̖̣̣͐͋͑̌̐͊́̀̌̊͌̕͜͝͝ ̵̨̡̨̫̤̠̯͈̫̥̩̈́̓̒͌͜ͅͅG̶̨̭̣̤̩̼̣̩̘̹̥̼̫͊͆̋͒̈̾E̵̡̡̹̞͈̫͕̭̥͙͈̩̠̰̟͗̀̊͂̄̅̄̐͆̅͂̓̀̏̒̚͠ͅT̸̡͔͉̥̂̍̊ ̵̨̡̣͈̦̻̺̽͑̐̃͗̑̅̕͘͝Ǫ̵̨̛̪͙̫̰̤̻̟̩̰͕̍͐͛͌̈̉̃͂͆͜͝U̴̮͎̻̬̝̙̟̪͕̼͇̩̱̱̗̐̎̓̃̏͒̈͑ͅͅT̴̨̧̤͚̲̩̗͖̞͉̼̉̂̒́́͜ ̸̢̱̞̜͉̈́̿͛͊̀̊͛͛́̒̋͝Ȫ̸̱̲̪̻͈̩̫͙̮̥̠̼͐̓͘ͅF̸̧̝̼̣̮̼̾͊͗̂̎̔̇̈̄̄͜͝ͅͅ ̴̧̡̛͈͖̞̞͙̙͓̂͆͒̂̊ͅH̵̛̱͖̒̈̔͗̏͆̄̔̔̿̏̀̈́̚̚̚Ȩ̸̢̛̥͈̳̠̦̫̩̹̙̩̼̅̒̔̅̉̇Ŗ̶̛͈͈̯͖͇̖͓̟̼͈̖͒͜E̸̢̙̱̯͙̙̣̘̤̟̹̲͊̓̉͋̈̈̿͗̏̌̀̿̈́̚͜͝ ̴͖̹̜̣͚̋̈́̌̓̍̐̈̀͗̈́̕̕İ̷̙̲̺͌͛̌̋͐͘ ̸̡̨̧̝͈̹̠̦̪̞̗͈̱̪̟͇̾̉́̈̅̄̎̓̽͒̒̓̕͝͝ͅẀ̸̢͍̞͇̻̙̱̳̃̑̔͆͛̈́̔́̈́̎̚I̸͈͖̘̬̲̥̮͊͑͂͊̍̈̔͂̐̉̔̓̓͜Ĺ̶̜̯͉̪̗͕̘̳̺͙͖̊̊͐͐͒̃͗̋͊̀̿͠͝L̷̢̡͖̞̯͇̳͔̻̤̜̖̤̈́̑̒̏̉̏̉͂͘͘͝ ̸̨̡̛͓̦̳̮̺̦͉͈̘̥̓̅͂̌̓̑͑̅̓̍͠͝T̸̨̨͎͇̮͓̰̖͖̙̖̟͗̾̂ͅE̶̡̧̪̗̿A̴̢̮̺̟̭̺̝͇̲̫͔̓̒̔̅̀̅͒̄̉̇̄̿͘͝Ȑ̷̢͚̳̳͍̖̱͕̺͔̆̈́̍͋̌̃́͛͊̌̿͛̀ͅ ̴͖̋̂͌̀́̅͗̑̕Y̴̛̛̞̬̺̞̠̩͉̹̜͎̟̆̈́̿͆͑͘͜Ò̵̧̡̡͈̹̮̩͊̿͆̀́̃̊̚Ǘ̷̡̧̜̤̟͓̞̼̮̦͖͖͓̗͔̯͒́̎̽̓̏̊̀̈ ̶̢̧͙̞͉̺̱͎̙͔̠̟̲̹̠̼͆͌̾̎̈̊̅̽F̴̡̦͉̦̠͖̭̹̘̥̉̈͑̌̑̌͜͝ͅR̸̞̗̫̒͠Ȯ̴̙̳̙̽̅̾̇̐͂̈́͗̈͌͛̈̋͘̚͝M̶̢̡̨̠͎̬͉̺͓͕͚̖̮̩̗̖̒̀̂ ̸̧̢̪̞͈͍͖̠̞̱̙͉̹̳̔̊̊̈́͘L̵̢̨̡̠͉̪̼̣̲͖̜̭̍͛̔̔͆̏̅͑̋͋̒̐̊̅̀͜I̶̢̨̲̼̤̭̘͖̭̼̻̲̘̥̰̋̈́͆̉̂Ṃ̸̡̢̖̲͎̱͍̮͓̱͓̰͓̆̈́̂̿̽͆̏̔̇͐͜͜ͅB̸̧̧̢̛̛̬͖̭̖͚̥̣̖̞͖̫͙̪͐̇͐̽̀͂̈͋͆͂͑͌͜ ̵̡̛̳̲͓̟̩͕̏̄̏̽̐̌͑̾̍T̵̯̗̝̘̬̙̐̈́̆̿̀̀̈́̀͒́��̚͝O̴̼̯̊͐̅̌͛͘ ̶̨̛͚̘͎͉͛̊̍̔͒́̔̅̒̈́L̴̞̩̟̟̹͈̞̼̬̞̝͉̻̳͕̝͑̽̏̔͆̈́̾͒̓̽͘͘̕ͅI̷̡̳̜̬̠͈̭̥̥̙͖͚̫͔͌̄͐͐̃̆͋͜M̴͓̱̙̤̼̮͍͓͗͐̚͠B̶̢̲̖͙͕̊͛̇̐̀,̴̣̲͖͎̳͓̣̊̈́̽͗̂́̂͋̍́̾̈́̾ͅ ̶̞̟͖́̐̔̑Ǎ̷̛̜̻̥͚̲̫̲̩̥̗̘̩̳͇͍̇̂̈́̋͋̾̈́̕N̸̜͔͔͓̼̘̱͚̼͙̈̐̂̈̅͜͜G̶̻̘͖͙̣̃E̷̺͇̳̜̗̼͓̙̥̼̯̟̱̎͑͌͛̆̚͝͝͝L̷̰͓͛̅͊̏͆̓̋ͅ!̵̛̼̗̮͖̩͖̙̟̊͆̂͌̏̈͑̓͑̒̓͊̋͆̒͜͠ ̸̙͓̺͈͙̦͎̝̖̱͆̈́͜I̴̛̜͈͚̞̪͔͚͙̬͈̯͌͛͂́̉̈́̿́̊̈̚͝ ̸̡̧̨̫̞͈̥̳̠̰̰͕̙͚̺̈̊͗͑̇̾͊̍̈́̈́̾̑̄͛͝W̶̢̳͙̝͍͕̱͖̌̓͐̽̀̈́̕I̴̠̹͐̈́̐̎͑̓͐̈́̈́̚͝͝L̴̪̩̤͓̣̿͜L̷̢̛͉̪͍̾̿̀͊̏̓̌͊͊͗̇ ̸̮̫̺͙̹͉͖̺̻͙̤̙̜͖̋̂͐͛͒͊̅̅̐͝M̵̻̩̱̥̪̩͉̳͑̽͒̈́̅̏͊̔ͅA̸͓̱͇̫͛̂͊̑̃Ḱ̵̛͍̺͚̋͆̂̈́̀͗͑́̃̈́̒̚͝E̷̡͎͔͎̭̓̒́̕ ̵̪̠̘̿̆̀͂̈́̓̂͛͐̿͌̉̃͆̚͜Ỳ̸̢̛̼͕͈͙̟̩͓̼̣͇̹̀͛̍̔͑͆͊͋̑̚͜Ớ̷̧̠̟̺̘̜̖̼̫͇͔̣̣̦̫̥̝̏̈́͆̽́̔̊̿͆̂̍̕̕͠͝U̷̔́͒ͅ ̴̯͍͌̆͐̇̌͗͗͐̃̽̽Ẅ̷̧̢̢͔͖̳̤̳̜̦̖̝̱̺͖̲͔́̍̆̔̽I̶̛̩̫͈͍̬̤̗̹̽̚Ş̶̧̠̠̬̝̪̹͔̣̱͖̱̋̄̑́͝H̷͎̩͍͔̥̫̗̓̍̈́̄̉̉͂̀̅̏̾͗͐̓͜͝ͅ ̵̨̢͚̻̬̤̝̤̠̰̦̞̥̭̻͂̅̽̾̌͜͜Y̸̧̙̰͍̣̹͍̏̓̓͆͗̊̈́̇̈́̄̊̒͜͠Ō̵̞͔͈̜͙̂̅̅̂͗̏̀̂̑̕U̴̞͍͕̗̣͋̊̒͌͂̓̀̃̓͘ ̵̱͖͖̰͕̦̰̪͔̺̜̖̤̮̝̊̅̀̍͋̋̒̊̈́̋̔̓̕H̸̨̧̨̛̭̼̠̮̣̝̬̟̱̭͐̋̋̈͆̉̎͘̚ͅĄ̷̙̗͓̱̘̼̗͈̪̣͔̓͊̈̊̽̄̋̅D̵̠̝̗̖̱͓̋ ̵͕̞̪̎̐͛̒̀̋́̄̑̓̾͝͝N̵̛̛͙̮͙̠̗̲̥̙̬̻͔̱̘͍̐͛̿̾̎͗̅̎̎̎̈̃͝͝Ȇ̸̙͍̺̠̻̙̫͖̿̓͗̇̀̌̕͜ͅṼ̵̢̢̘̯̘̻̫̞̲͍̳̥͚̬̟͗͊E̸̘͚̣̲̱̭̪̥̱̗̔͌́̚͠͝͝͝͝R̸̘̜͇̈́͛̒ ̴̢̧͉̟̹͉̙͉͙̣͔̥͇͖̭̇̇̐̔̅͂̃̓͛̔̇͘̚͘͝͝͝B̵͇̬̮͚̟̤̹͕͙̫͒̀̐̃̏̽͊̇̕Ē̴̢̛͋̑̀̎̉̈́́͌͐̓͆̕͠͠Ę̵͍̟̭̬͋̒̔̇͝N̴̨̢̨̳̜̥͖̖̫͍̯̔̐̈́̉̋̓͗͐͑̊͑̑̅̀͆̑͊ ̴̠̟̖͓̞̲̊̆̈͗͛͂̄̌͑̔͘̕͘C̵̰̝̒̒̄̅̕R̵͕͇͓̫̭̘̯̦̙͖̱̱̬̙͑̋̿̓͑̌̌̈́̀͜͠͝E̸̲̰̰͙̼̟̼̥͂̅̽̋͌͗̋̐͜͝A̵̭̥͍͐͗̈́̐͋͝͝T̷̝̼̼͍̰̞͇̩̬̩̣͛̎̍̋͛̆̈̍̕͘ͅE̶̡̡͎̩̼͙͕̟̲̔̒̌̋̀̋͋̇́͋̆͗̽̌̋̕̕D̵̡̨̮̯̱̠͎̣̟̘̥̙͈͙̰́̇̊̓̍̏̔́̚ͅͅ!̶̛̤͙̖̌́̈́̌̌̐́̓̈́̿̕͘ ̸̧͕̫̺̠̣̘̥̫͖̹̐͌̊́̔͜I̷̺̼̪̲̥̣̘̎̾̇̿̄͐͘ ̴̫͔́̋͒̃W̵̺̊͐́͆̀̋̍̚͘I̷̛͓̝͓̖̤̬͕̣̙͚̊̆̒̑̇͐L̷͎̎͂̀͊̔̆̍͋͋̍̂̂̃̚͠͠Ľ̵̲̳͙͔̖̍̑̓̽̔̕͝͠ ̴̨͕̙̦̳̟͕̟̱̮̲̫̀̏̃̆̕͜͝͠H̶̟̥̤̖̐̓́̎͛͠͝ͅȖ̶̺̙͍̹͓̝͙̦̔̈͑́̋͝ͅǸ̷̹̼̪͎̤̞͓̝̦̰̿̍̈́͗͌͒̍̕̕Ţ̵̨̤͚̬̖̮̈́͊͐́̽̈́́̀̄̕͜͠͝͠͠ ̶̡͕̤̝̫͚̝̮͕͕͋̀̄͂̈̒ͅY̴͔͉̞͌̅̅̀̃͋̂̐͝͝O̴̢͑̉̒̽̒̍̿̌̌̇͛͆̌͠U̷̢̢̟̖͕͓̱̘̘̝̘̱͋̓͂̎̊̊͒̓̑̏̍͒͜ ̴͙̰̜̘͙̭̪͔̱̞̔͋̒͌́͛̂̈́͋̄́̐͗̕͜D̶̯̖̺̃́̈́̏́̈́͊͗̐͑̒̐̐̿̃͘͝O̵̧̳̟̜̳̞̐̐͋͊̈̒̇́͗̀̎͘͠͠W̸̧̟̱̹͈͇̰͔͈̥̠͔͔̔̐͌̈͗̓̀̈́̋̒͒̕͜͝͠͝Ṋ̴͕̩͌͋̒̅̚ ̶̧̛̩̝͎̗̘̊̐͒̂̃̍́͆́͝T̷̢̰̗̫͙̥͎̱͉͖͉̿͜͜ͅƠ̵͍̓̀̆̓̇̆͊̿͑̂̾̚̚͠͝ ̸̺̂͋̀Ț̶̛̠̰͈͕̗̗͚̭̜̈͐͋̈́͐͒̀̈́͘ͅH̸̛̻͙͚̱̪͖͚͚̟̾̈̓͆̇͌̍̎̊̍͝͝ͅÊ̶̦̝͖̪͖̗̻͚̼̥̓ ̵̧̮̻͚͚̪͛̊́͒̃̅͑͐̈̅͊͗̈́͝Ě̶̢̝̳̟̬̫͚̗͓̖̱̮̳̳͓̑̒̓̋̽̈́N̶̢̪͚̣͓͎͇̪͕͉̗̏̀̈́̑̂͑͘͝D̸̛̛̛͇̈̾̍̑̽̀̐̏̀͒̓͘͝S̴̡̨̡̛͕̰̼̠͉͇̗̥͇͖̳̈̽͌̒͗̎̾̈̒̇͊̋͝ ̸̲͈͎̄́̉̋̎̂̈́͘͘͠͝Ǫ̵͚̬̮͉̻̙̭̦̠̘̞̦̉ͅͅF̴̢̧̫̤̘͚͚̟̊͗��̈́̓͛̀͜ ̶͚̲̲̓̏̀̂͛͆Ţ̴͙̦̞͇͔̹͎̝̲̳͖̗̳̲̇̔̾̊H̴̡̻̺͖̘͈̩̭̦̤̪̱̭̭̙͇̿̂̉Ę̶̛͖̱͎̜͉̗͔̗̱̜̭͛͑̏̈́͛̎̈͛̐̋̔ ̴͍̟̘͈̩̞̩̄͒̋͊̍͑͋͆̊͒̆̋͒̓̈́̚E̵̘͗̃́̌͂A̴͍̳̩̪͖̠̭̼͔͍̳͐͗͝ͅŖ̵̪̙͔̲̱̀͋̒̾Ţ̸̨̛̫̬͕̾͂͆͐̈́̔̚̚͘͝H̴͓͍̗͗̾̈́̀,̴̧̼͕̪̦̘͚̦̺̹̼͈̣́̂̓̔̒̈́͝ ̶͖̺̈̇̈́̐̊͑̚̕

Piper squeezed her eyes tight as Alcor descended into a furious static - she could smell the burnt plastic of the car seat, could feel his words tearing at her eardrums. And the gun to her head… Oh, god, she thought. Oh, god, oh god, oh god. This couldn’t be real. She was dreaming. Please let her be dreaming.

But when Alcor’s fury finally died down, the gun pressed harder.

“Open your eyes.” Mag’s voice was flat. Emotionless. “Look at me.”

Her heart was beating like a rabbit. She couldn't get enough air in her lungs. Oh god oh god oh god-

“Look at me or die.”

Those icy words cut through her panic, and she opened her eyes, looked into the pure white light of the angel’s gaze. Mag’s face was completely obscured by the brightness; all she could see of him was the tattered orange jumpsuit on the arm holding the gun. A terrified whimper escaped her lips; she wanted to cover her mouth, but she didn’t dare move.

The angel stared at her for a moment, its alien gaze raking down her form. Then it spoke again.

“This is the end of the chase.” It said. “I let the air out of your tires. I cut your brake lines. I have total control, and I will kill you the second you step out of line. Do you understand?”

Piper could feel a sob welling up her throat. She just nodded.

“This is how you survive. I will tell you exactly what I want you to do, and you will do it immediately. Look at me. Do you understand?”

Piper looked at it, looked at those terrible eyes. And as she did, she realised she could see just the barest hint of something underneath catching its glow; she could see Mag’s lips, twisted up into a garish smile.

A smile. It was enjoying this.

“Do you understand?”

Piper swallowed back the bile rising in her throat, and nodded. From the corner of her eye, she could see something move in the mirror.

“Piper…” Alcor started - but what could he say? The barrel of the gun pressed ever harder against her temple, and he fell silent.

“The plastic bags.” said the angel. “Wrap them around the mirror, but do not touch it. If you touch it, I will kill you.”

Piper was terrified - terrified of the angel, and terrified of a hot, reckless anger building in her chest. Calm down, she thought. Don’t get yourself killed, she told herself.

(Like it’s not going to kill you anyway, it whispered back. You’re just another Scarlett.)

“Do you understand?”

Piper struggled to look at those eyes. She bit her lip, and nodded.

“Good. Do it now.”

The barrel pulled back a fraction, and Piper worked quickly. She dumped everything out of the plastic bag, spread it over the mirror, and turned it inside out to fit it in. Alcor watched her worriedly.

“Piper?”

The handle was still sticking out. Piper emptied the other bag, and pulled it tight over the handle. The plastic bulged a bit at the point; she picked it up, and looked back at the angel.

“Good,” it said, those eyes moving as it nodded. The gun was still pointed right at her head. “You may redeem yourself yet, child.”

(Redeem herself, snarled a voice inside of her. The fucking audacity.)

“Now hand it over, and I will let you go.”

“Piper?” Alcor’s voice was high and panicked as she started to move. “Wait, Piper, you can’t! Please, he’ll kill you, he’s lying! Piper, please!”

Piper paid no attention. The plastic crinkled as she presented the mirror to him, handle first.

“Piper, think of your Dad! Think of Mag!” A hand was coming forwards, reaching for the mirror. “Remember what he did to Scarlett, you can’t hand me over! Piper!”

Piper held the mirror steady as the hand came forwards, forwards, milliseconds passing like minutes as the blood pounded in her ears. She waited, waited until the hand was right over the mirror, waited until the fingers were curling around the covered handle and take him away from her forever - and then she moved. In the blink of an eye her hand tightened on a fistful of the plastic bag and she wrenched it back with all her strength; the bare handle pierced through the bottom of the bag just as the angel’s hand grasped it.

Demonic essence. For a terrifying instant, Piper thought it hadn’t worked; he didn’t burn, but after a moment his whole body tensed up like he’d touched a live wire. He stumbled back with a strangled yelp, tearing the mirror from her hands and dropping it on the tarmac as his hands moved up to grasp his head.

Piper didn’t want to get out of the car, but she had to; she opened the door quickly, scurried over to the mirror, picked it up, and rose to her feet just as-

“Piper?”

Mag’s voice. Mag’s voice, and when Piper looked up at him she saw his eyes, wide and confused, shining only dimly from the light of the moon.

“What…?” He blinked a few times, frowning as he tried to make sense of the situation. His arm was still extended, and the confusion shifted to a growing horror as he realised he was holding a gun, pointing it right at her. “Piper? I don’t- agh!”

His eyes flashed, and he dropped the gun and went down to his knees. Piper stood there frozen, but she could feel a spike of urgency from the mirror; Alcor’s presence was pooling into her whole body, not taking over yet but standing ready.

“We’ve got to go,” he said. “Now.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She bolted towards her car, jammed herself into her front seat, turned the ignition and felt it roar to life.

She stomped the accelerator, and the car started going; but only at a crawl. The engine revved loudly - the dial went into the red - but it struggled to pick up speed.

“Piper!”

“I’m going!” The car shuddered as she turned it back to the highway. “Something’s wrong with it, I don’t know-”

A hand slammed down onto the side of the window. Piper caught a glimpse of furious white; a gun aimed right for her face, but she made it onto the tarmac and picked up a burst of speed. BANG! Her ears rang, her windscreen shattered, and the angel was dragged off its feet, hanging onto the door by his fingertips as they made it to fifteen miles an hour.

“Oh, my god.” Piper said, but she couldn’t hear her own voice through the ringing. She glanced to the side and saw him still hanging on as they broke twenty. “Oh, my god!”

His hand was over the open windshield; she tried to roll it up, but he was too heavy for the motor. Twenty five, and the whole car was shaking and juddering - she didn’t know how much longer it was going to run. They needed to get away from him before it gave out.

Alcor was saying something. She couldn’t make out his words, but it made her look down at the mirror. She grasped it firmly, raised it up above her head, and brought the edge down hard on his fingers. They slipped but held; there was a cry of pain, and another BANG that felt like it was tearing right through her eardrums. She cringed as she raised the mirror again, and brought it down with all her strength.

This time, the angel was dislodged; Piper felt the car pull hard to the left as the weight fell off the side. She struggled to correct it - nothing happened when she tried to brake, but she had just enough room to turn away from the guardrails and right herself.

And there she was. Alive. She stared forwards, eyes wide, chest heaving, heart hammering in her chest. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The whole car was shaking; she could see broken glass from the windshield shuddering off the dashboard and falling onto her lap. The display was a flashing mess of warning signs.

She sat there for a moment, stunned. A sign passed them: COZY JOE’S CHEAP MOTELS - 5 MILES

A blink, and then a blink again.

Piper stayed there frozen for another moment, and then reached forwards, and turned on her hazards.

#transcendence au #toothwrites #alcor the dreambender #mizar #Magnus Wright #I added so much zalgo in this chapter I hit the character limit lol

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milo-is-rambling · 1 year

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I dream of public shootings and car crashes and airplanes going down in flames. Stuck in these cycles of hope and growth and breaking apart and trying to die. I am the snake eating it’s tail but every part of me is the mouth. All fangs and venom. I shed my skin monthly and still don’t grow. I am being swallowed by my own narrative. I need to start over. I need to feel alive. My hands out the window while I’m driving down the highway in a state I’ve never stepped foot in. I need to feel alive so I can forget what it feels like to be dying. I need to scream until my voice changes and I become unrecognizable. I need to change my name, pack my bags, book the flight, curse the ground I walk on, use it as an excuse to hurt myself. Need to run away and blame everyone else for leaving me. Need to change everything about me and kill the past versions of myself. Kill my future selves. Need to sink to the bottom of some distant ocean. Need to be on the wrong side of the gun, the steering wheel, the oxygen mask. Need to feel the freedom so I can accept that the only cage around me is the one I put up myself. The bars feel like home. My twin sized mattress and concrete floor remind me of who I used to be. The poster on the wall hides the beginning of a tunnel but I never make my way out. Always watching the getaway driver get better and leave without me. Somewhere in me I am rotting and clawing. There is blood on the walls of the tunnel from my bleeding fingers tearing a way out of this prison. One day I will escape myself. Escape my town. Escape my life. One day I will kill myself and my mother will forget my name. One day I will sink to the ocean floor. Or I will stop hearing the water calling my name. Or maybe one day it will all stay the same. I’ll be here. In this room. In this town. In this body. And I will be dreaming of running away. Or of dying. Or I will know that to run away is to die and to die is to run away. One day. One day I’ll know how this ends.

#escape tag in my head violent reoccurring nightmares in my bed

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johnwickb1tsch · 4 months

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The Night Nurse - Ch 7

A John Wick x Helen Fic

When nurse Helen Morgan is caught in the crossfire of a shootout and aids the injured John Wick, she’s faced with two options: serve the High Table, or be executed as a Witness. She tells herself her choice to work at the Continental has everything to do with survival, and excellent pay, and *not* her growing feelings for the Tall, Dark, and Handsome Assassin™ who got her into this mess in the first place, thank you very much. │ Masterlist / Chapter Map │

VII.

“You did good,” he complimented.

“I did good?” she scoffed. “That was like a movie. Is your life always like this?”

He thought a little bit about that while turning onto the ramp to the highway. “More or less.”

He didn’t get shot at in broad daylight very often. Usually his opponents were smarter than that. More discreet, at the very least.

Luckily, no blue and white sirens appeared in his rear view. There were certain cops in the area who would recognize his car and not pay his hijinx much mind, unless they absolutely had to. More likely though, he’d simply outrun any sluggish response the city might have offered.

Unless Igor and Alexei could get their ride flipped back over, he had a feeling they would be having an annoying little chat with the fuzz. The thought made him feel slightly better, though his overall sense of resignation didn’t subside. The fact of the matter was, they had shot at him, and that was a thing John Wick the Baba Yaga couldn’t let slide.

He would have to do something about it. That was a fact of their world. Any sign of weakness would be pounced upon. Usually this was a thing he would have dealt with quickly and efficiently, but…he didn’t want to go hunting that evening. He wanted to make dinner for this beautiful woman beside him, and linger over a bottle of good wine. Usually self-discipline wasn’t an issue for John, but this once, just this once…

The rest of the trip was uneventful—as uneventful as driving in the Big Apple could ever be. However, John didn’t really relax until the city views gave way to the pastoral, the landscape shifting from the angular grays and browns of buildings to the welcome softer lines and greens of early spring. It was about an hour’s trip, all in all, and Helen looked around curiously as they motored up his manicured driveway, slipping into the garage.

“Wow,” she said quietly as they went through the mudroom to the kitchen, the cavernous open living area filled with natural light from the wall of windows. “So modern.”

“I guess so,” John shrugged, dropping his keys in the bowl on the counter.

“It’s definitely not what I would have pegged for you,” she admitted as she stood on the cusp of the living room, looking around. There was no negativity in her words, more a statement about her own perceptions of him.

John joined her in looking around, curious if there was something he’d missed.

“What would you have guessed?”

“Something darker, maybe. More traditional. You seem to gravitate towards classics.” From his suits to his taste in books to his vintage car, he supposed she wasn’t wrong, and thus far those were the only things she knew of him.

With hands in his pockets he looked around. He realized he was about to share something he’d never told anyone; it came so naturally, with her. “I only realized this a few months after moving in…but I think I bought a luxury version of the Soviet orphanage I grew up in.”

He thought back on the cold concrete building that had been home for years of his young life in Belarus. The hard angles, the utilitarian design. Ugly, but cheap to build in a pinch when housing was needed for the numerous parentless children of the USSR.

This home took those design principles and made them into something beautiful. In this rich country, the most basic modern building materials of concrete and steel were transformed into luxurious commodities for the rich. It mirrored his own transformation in a way. The hungry but stubborn child, ragged but determined to survive—and now, a man of means, living comfortably. The American Dream, or some version of it.

She turned back to regard him, compassion in her eyes. He hadn’t imparted the information to garner sympathy; it was just the truth. She had a way of bringing it out of him. He realized he wanted her to know him. The real him, outside of the legend she’d been gossiped to about at the Continental.

But rather than coo over him, you poor thing, I’m so sorry, she simply canted her head. “So, this house is like your ‘Fuck you’ to Communism?”

It was also the exact opposite of the shabby elegance, the opulent but crumbling ormolu mouldings and dark enclaves of the Tarkovsky theatre, another place he did not miss.

He smiled a little, in spite of himself. “Yeah. Something like that.”

She nodded, looking around with approval. “Nice. So, you like it, then?”

He looked through the windows, across the expanse of his yard to the tree line. Beyond that, there was a glimmer of water in the distance. The travails of the city were a distant dream there. He’d bought this house under the name of a shell corporation; one could not easily look up where John Wick lived in the real estate records. It truly was a sanctuary. And now, for the first time, in fact, a beautiful woman was standing in his kitchen, looking through him with her wise, bright, eyes. It made this place feel like a home more than any couch or table or painting, and he wondered what it would take to convince her to stay.

“Yeah. It’s peaceful.”

“I’m happy for you, John.”

Strangely enough, he believed her. After that, he didn’t know where he got the cheek to tease her. “Thanks, for not calling me a rich asshole to my face.”

She rolled her eyes. “Just for that, I’m going to make you carry my bag.” Hefting the thing, she handed it over.

“Oof. What’s in this? Bricks?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” With an insouciant look over her shoulder, she began to wander down the hall like she owned the place. Allowing himself a borderline dopey smile with her back turned, John made to follow.

***

“I think we’ll start with the basics. Do you know how to throw a punch?”

Helen placed a hand on a spandex-clad hip, one eyebrow raised high. “Do I give the impression I grew up on the yuppy side of Boston? I’ve been in a scrap or two.”

They were in his home gym, a large room he used to exercise and train, and he was fairly certain the sight of her in form-fitting yoga clothes was going to be the death of him.

The corners of John’s mouth turned up, delighted by her sass, as usual. “Yeah? Have I got a juvenile delinquent on my hands here?” He couldn’t fathom a young Helen getting up to much, in the grand scheme of things. Shoplifting. Possession. The usual mischief teenagers amused themselves with. He’d been running guns by the time he was fourteen. Killed for the first time when he was sixteen. Most teen misdeeds paled, in comparison.

As soon as the words left his mouth Helen froze.

After a few awkward seconds she remarked, “Did Winston tell you?” There was a strain in her words, and he knew he’d stuck his foot in it somehow. Sighing heavily, she looked off to the punching bag hanging in the corner of the room, avoiding his eyes. “That man is a terrible gossip.”

“Tell me what?” asked John, feeling like things had jumped from point A to point F and he’d missed everything in between.

Helen, however, kept skipping ahead, talking to herself as much as him. “I wondered if that was why you mentioned blade training today. The record’s supposed to be sealed, but I guess he has his ways of finding things out.”

“I…am completely lost here,” admitted John, and only then did she look at him again. “Did you stab someone?” The suggestion seemed ludicrous, but Helen’s frown conveyed a multitude of words.

“Would you believe me if I told you he had it coming?”

To his credit, only a beat passed before John answered, “Absolutely.”

“That's something, I guess.”

“Give me a name.” It was becoming a theme with them.

“I would...but he's dead.” John’s eyebrows lifted at that. “I didn't kill him,” she quickly amended. “But...I would have. Still think I'm such an angel?”

He could tell that the possibility that he might think less of her hurt her.

“Yes,” he answered, unequivocally.

“Well. You do kill people for a living…” She tried to muster a smile, but it was an extremely watered-down version of her usual radiant offering. “I don’t think you enjoy it though.”

“No.” It was true. He thrived on the adrenaline of completing a difficult task—but the actual killing brought him neither joy nor much pain, these days. He’d numbed himself to it. “Did you enjoy…what you did?” He had to admit this was not a conversation he’d ever expected to have with this woman.

She crossed her arms over herself, sighing again. “In a way?” A nervous little laugh escaped her. “God, I’ve never told anyone this before.”

John simply waited, patient as the mountain.

“I guess I should give you some context.”

“Only if you want to.” What he’d meant to be a playful comment had turned into an ordeal for her, and he loathed himself for it. This was what he got for trying to flirt.

She nodded, more to herself than him. “My father died when I was in my early teens. My mom...was a drunk and an addict. It got so much worse after Dad was gone. Some of the men she brought home were very aware of the fact that she was a train wreck with two young girls in the house. Luckily I was older by then, but my sister…” She grimaced, and even after so many years, the flash of rage in her eyes could have started a wildfire. “I caught my mom’s boyfriend trying to corner my little sister in the kitchen. So I stabbed him with a kitchen knife. And in the heat of the moment…it felt good. I hated him. He was creepy and horrible and it felt so good to hurt him.”

John wanted to hold her in that moment, yet he could tell she didn’t want to be touched just then. He understood that all too well, so he simply nodded. “You did what you had to do to defend her.”

“I guess.”

“I think you’re amazing.”

There was a broken note to her laughter. “I know he deserved it. But I think in a way I’ve been trying to make up for what I did to that awful man my whole life. Nothing like Catholic guilt to make a bad situation worse, huh?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He thought for a moment about this information she’d offered up like a confession, eyes lowered. He had a feeling she meant it as a warning, but he couldn’t take it as such. He knew what true evil looked like. He saw it in the mirror every day. This woman was not it. “I do know that your sister is very lucky to have you for a protector. I never had anyone who would have done that for me.”

She took a deep breath, her long fingers holding her throat as she looked at the ceiling, picturing the conditions he’d endured as a child. The thought of him as a scrappy little dark eyed boy with hair in his eyes, fighting for the meagerest crust of bread, lodged her heart directly in her throat. Her voice came barely a whisper. “Was it as awful as I’m imagining it was?”

“Probably. But my point is…don’t blame yourself for doing what had to be done to survive. For your sister to survive. Blame your mother, if you have to blame anyone.”

That brittle laughter came again that broke John’s heart. “Oh…I do.” She swiped at a tear that escaped the corner of her eye. “Jesus, I’m sorry. Enough pity party. Teach me how to kick some ass.”

And just like that, she was back. He’d always known it in a way, but he found himself more convinced than ever that this woman was tough as nails beneath her warm exterior. Somehow, despite what had happened to her, she had not let the world turn her bitter or mean. That took a strength that John could barely fathom. He felt that he had survived the traumas of his youth out of pure spite. Spite for his captors, and his tormentors, and the dark world he owed fealty to through no real choice of his own. He’d killed and killed until he’d carved out an existence for himself that slightly resembled freedom.

But Helen—she resisted, and kept her heart full all the while, and he’d never admired her more than in that moment. This woman was precious, and he wanted to make sure she had the tools to fight anyone or anything that might dare try to quash that light. It was possible he’d never realized how much he’d numbed himself to the horrors of the world, until she’d entered his life. Now he felt everything to the power of ten. Desire. Fear. Rage. The thought that someone might even dare hurt her made him want to burn the world down. He knew it was crazy, but now that the box had been opened—he didn’t know how to put it all back.

He was realizing there was no going back, and if he’d had any sense left to his name, that would have scared him.

***

He knew it would take a lot more practice for this multitude of information to sink in, but hours later he was proud of Helen’s focus. She absorbed information like a sponge. She was already no stranger to the workings of the human body. As it turned out, taking it apart was almost easier than healing it. He showed her how to attack the vulnerable pressure points in a man’s body. The underarms, the throat, the eyes, the groin. How to break from certain holds on the wrist and how to turn joint locks against them. How to use an opponent’s momentum or own bodyweight against them, so it didn’t matter if they outmuscled you, if surprise was on your side.

Despite his earlier faux pas, he taught her some blade work too. As a student of anatomy, she already knew where the most vulnerable arteries were. The femoral in the leg, the carotid in the neck. The wrists weren’t bad either, and the belly would certainly usually make an aggressor pause and evaluate their life choices. With a small knife concealed in her pocket, he felt comfortable that she could do almost more serious damage than with a gun. He already knew exactly which one from his collection he would be sending with her.

He would have been a liar, if he’d claimed it didn’t move him to be in such close proximity with her. Touching her. Even if with such a specific purpose in teaching her how to defend herself, there was a titillation he hadn’t anticipated. Training had always been about survival. Now, after they had been at it all day with only a short lunch break, exhaustion and maybe a lowering of guard was setting in.

“One more time, then we’ll call it,” he insisted.

Helen answered with a pout of lips that played hell with his resolve. “But I’m tiiiired.”

“I know. You’ve done great, and I’m proud of you. Kick my ass one more time.”

“Yeah, right.”

She looked him up and down, taking in his lean form, the corded muscles of his arms deliciously bare in his black sleeveless shirt. He’d been slowly driving her mad throughout this training session. It took every iota of her concentration to focus on what he was trying to teach, with those large hands touching her. To not utterly melt, like in every delightfully bad bosom-buster romance she’d ever read. She’d known John was strong, in theory. He had to be, to do what he did. However, it was quite another matter to experience that inexorable strength first hand, even while she knew he was being exceedingly gentle.

“It will make me feel better about unleashing you back onto the world.” He couldn’t watch her back 24/7, as much as maybe he would have liked to.

“Ok. One more, then I will be officially pooped.” They assumed the position, the way they had countless times that day, John standing close at her back with his arm around her waist, his other hand resting lightly at her throat. After several seconds Helen released a shaky breath. Centering herself, John reasoned. Reviewing her options. Probably not enjoying the fleeting moment of closeness, the way he was, because he was a sick bastard.

The moments of stillness stretched on, their awareness of each other amplified by this exquisite nearness.

“Are you going to do something about this?” He didn’t mean to whisper it. He really didn’t. But she was so close, and her scent of sweat and that sweet honeyed herbal soap drove him to the edge of sanity.

In answer Helen leaned back slightly, closing the line of their bodies that were damp with sweat from the day’s exertions. Nerves he didn’t even know he had came to attention, leaving him painfully aware of this woman in his arms. He held her weight effortlessly, his grip tightening of its own accord about her waist.

He never wanted to let her go.

She turned her head, their lips agonizingly close to touching. One hard intake of breath was all that stood between them. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. “You make it hard to want to get away,” she answered in equally hushed tones, as though they were in a church, and not the place where he daily honed his deadly trade.

“Helen…” He didn’t know what he was asking for, in saying her name like prayer. Benediction, absolution, or damnation.

She touched the tip of her nose to his lightly, experimentally. How well they fit. John Wick was not a man to give in to nerves, but he realized his hand on her throat shook ever so slightly.

He’d never wanted anyone, the way he wanted her.

Her eyes fell to his mouth, a tell as to her thoughts if ever there was one.

Then her gaze dropped lower, and those beautiful eyes went wide as saucers. “Shit, you’re bleeding!” A smear of tell-tale red glistened across his shoulder.

The magic of the moment shattered like glass on stone as she turned in his arms, all business as she wrenched back the shoulder of his shirt to see. “You’ve pulled your stitches. I was afraid this would happen. John…you are a hazard.” The exasperation in her tone was mostly endearing.

Indeed, the newest wound on his shoulder had opened a little. Blood seeped from the small tear in his flesh, running down his pectoral.

“Sorry.”

She shook her fist up at him, though her smile belayed any ill feeling. “Well, you wanted to know what was in my bag. It’s mostly the Costco-size first aid kit I’ve put together for hanging around with you.”

“Lucky me.” He tried not to betray his disappointment, still feeling as though live electricity crackled over his skin, desire tying his insides up in knots. This woman would be the end of him. It took everything he had not to grab her up and kiss her silly, his noble intentions and his pulled stitches be damned.

“We’ll see. Alright, where’s my operating room? Bathroom? Kitchen?”

“How about…the dining room.”

“Okay, it’s your furniture.”

“I’m not bleeding that much.” He certainly wasn’t bleeding enough to want to stop what they had been about to do.

Maybe there was something wrong with him.

This was probably for the best, but why did it have to hurt so much? Worse than his wound, by far.

“Lead the way.”

<<CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 8>>

#john wick #john wick fic #john wick x helen #keanu reeves #helen wick #john wick x helen fic #john wick the night nurse #i have returned from antartica #plz enjoy this long ass chappy

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countrymusiclover · 1 year

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12 - Baby Number Three

Part 13

The Texas Tire Family

Tags just ask - @supernaturalgirl30 @bvbwestfall @bubble-blu @patriciaplictisita @liesanddreams

"Urgh...Georgie call an...ambulance...it's the baby I think...something's wrong!" He squeezed my hand grabbing his phone frantically trying to dial 911.

Gripping my stomach I take a few deep breaths feeling pain shooting through my lower back. Georgie was slamming on the gas trying to get the truck through the busy city streets but this wasn’t like Medford. “Come on. Move it dang it!”

“Georgie, yelling at them isn’t going to - oh fix it!” I winced, bending forward baring my teeth together. Somehow this felt exactly like how my last few months of Aurora’s pregnancy was. But this feels like double the pain of that.

“Darlin don’t you worry. I’m gonna get you to the hospital and everything's gonna be fine…uh.” He glanced in my direction moving his left hand to my knee for a second getting an idea that hopefully would work. He started turning the channels on the radio until the song he was looking for came on. “Life's like a road that you travel on. When there's one day here, and the next day gone. Sometimes you bend, sometimes you stand. Sometimes you turn your back to the wind. There's a world outside every darkened door. Where blues won't haunt you anymore. Where the brave are free and lovers soar. Come ride with me to the distant shore…”

“Life is a Highway from Cars…Georgie how is that supposed to help!” I grunted hitting the windseal with my fist wanting the pain in my stomach to go away. The baby kicks we’re getting bigger so that wasn’t making it any better.

He intertwined my freehand with his lefts even though he was left so he was driving with his non-dominant hand. His brown eyes locked onto mine for a brief second then he focused back on the road. “Cause when Rora was like four she loved this song. So I was thinkin’ that this would distract you to think about that.”

“Awe thanks ah!…oh I think it is working.” Shutting my eyes I leaned my head back against the headrest listening to the song praying that the baby was going to be fine.

Coming inside our apartment I was exhausted from work seeing that I had to deal with some rude customers at the restaurant. Dropping my bag at the door I closed it hearing a sneeze from Aurora’s bedroom. Georgie had stayed home to watch her seeing that I would be on maternity leave in a few months anywhere. “Georgie, how’s she doing. Any better?”

“Her fever has went down. But she has been whining all day to watch Cars with ya. I’m gonna go pick up Eve from daycare.” He carried her in his arms coming out of the room handing her to me since I was sitting on the couch.

She hugs her stuffed animal version of Lightning McQueen to her chest while I draped a blanket over us turning the tv on. “Oh I’m sorry my baby. Momma’s here now.”

I whispered seeing her face change to a smile when she started singing the words. And to my surprise it was a hundred percent correct. “We won't hesitate. To break down the garden gate. There's not much time left today, yeah. Life is a highway. I wanna ride it all night long. If you're goin' my way. Well, I wanna drive it all night long.”

“Through all these cities and all these towns. It's in my blood, and it's all around. I love you now like I loved you then. This is the road, and these are the hands. From Mozambique to those Memphis nights. The Khyber Pass to Vancouver's lights. Knock me down and back up again. You're in my blood, I'm not a lonely man.” I started singing alongside. She pretended to drive McQueen up in the air until she had to cough into my shirt, never dropping the smile on her little face.

We had finished the whole movie now watching the movie credits until the song came back on so I pulled my daughter up to her seeing that she was feeling better when I gave her chicken soup. “There's no load I can't hold. A road so rough, this I know. I'll be there when the light comes in. Just tell 'em we're survivors. Life is a highway. I wanna ride it all night long (whoo!). If you're goin' my way. I wanna drive it all night long (all night long)” Unknown to us Georgie had returned with Evelyn who ran over to join in our little dance party in the living room. Georgie took my hand in his holding Aurora’s other hand before the four of us were dancing around the apartment.

Georgie jumped out of the truck rushing inside the hospital waiting room coming outside with a nurse and a wheelchair helping me into it. Death gripping the handles I threw my head back seeing that he was walking right beside us while we found a room. “Georgie…”

“I'm right here, honey.” He squeezed my hand in his unit and we got inside a room where he lifted me bridal style onto the bed. He moved his hand up pushing hair from my eyes once I was laying down.

The doctor came inside the room not really sure of what to tell us since the history of my other pregnancies wasn’t in their system. They were back in our home town and it would take time before they would be sent over. “Mrs. Cooper, I have contacted your local hospital and we are waiting on the history records. But we will check your blood pleasure and everything that we can now.”

“What is that look for….what’s wrong please tell us?” A nurse put a finger reader on my left hand seeing that oxygen was normal along with everything else. But I saw concerns cross her face making me grip my husband’s hand tightly.

She called over her shoulder rushing out into the hallway. “Doctor, we have to tell them now!”

“Mr and Mrs. Copper, I hate to tell you this but the baby is currently in distress. According to the X-ray we did, the umbilical cord is wrapping around the baby, so we are going to have to rush you into surgery for a c-section.” The doctor entered the room again where I covered my mouth thinking I might puke from how bad that sounded.

Georgie lifted his head up trying to process what he just said. “Can you give us a minute alone, really quick. I need to be with her.” The doctor shut the door leaving us alone.

“Georgie, it’s happening just like when we had Rora. I mean what are we going to do... I’m scared.” I whispered wrapping my arms around him where he pulled me in for a short hug.

He broke the embrace resting a hand to my cheek while I was crying at the thought. I didn’t want to lose this baby considering I was so confident that it was a boy. I had also not lost a baby yet. “Hey look at me Y/n. You are going to get through this you hear me. You are the strongest person I know so we are going to have this beautiful baby inside you, I love you,”

“I love you too, Georgie.” I croaked out in tears wrapping my arms around him once more hearing the nurses come back and roll me back into surgery. I had no clue how long it had been by the time I woke up but I squinted my eyes open seeing that I was back in another hospital room. I had an iv in my left hand before I lifted up the blanket noticing that my stomach was no longer big like it was when I came in here.

The door got pushed open where I moaned attempting to sit up seeing Georgie bolt over to my bedside crying happy tears. “Thank god Y/n…I was so worried when they kept you in there longer than I cared for.”

“Oh Georgie…” Wrapping my arms around his neck I winced where I had to lay back down feeling some slight pain in my back and in between my legs. “Georgie, where's the baby. What happened during the surgery?”

He broke the hug sitting in the chair at my bedside making me shiver at his silence. That wasn’t a good sign where I stiffened my back against the pillows. I knew if we lost the baby I would feel so bad. “You can’t see him yet but he made it. I uh - named him while you were still asleep.”

“It’s actually a boy. What’s…his name?” Covering my mouth with my hands I started sobbing happily.

Georgie intertwined my hands with his smiling up at me. “Montana George Cooper.”

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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redisaid · 10 months

Text

The World Will Only Darken Without Candlelight - Chapter 1

The Fox and the Bird

Zelda thinks she’s in for a disappointing summer after she learns that she’s failed to get the highly competitive internship she wanted. That means she has to come back home…back to her father’s renaissance faire to be Princess Zelda for yet another year in a row. Only this year isn’t like all the rest, especially not with this weird new knight who's always following her around.

It’s a bird. It’s a plane. It’s a Hallmark Channel movie. It’s an episode of Scooby Doo. It’s a modern retelling of Breath of the Wild, but one where everyone works at a kinda shitty renaissance faire.

AKA, in which I fuck up again and start writing a new longfic for a fandom I don't normally write for. Oh, and it's another crackpot modern AU. This will also eventually be Zelink, because I can’t help myself after ToTK.

7040 Words

Read it on Ao3!

Shall we stay inside our shells, As the reaper takes his prey? The world will only darken without candlelight. With you I think I’ll try to get to the other side.

“Purah please. If you’re going to ask me all these questions, can you at least turn the music down?”

Red eyes peered at Zelda over the red rims of her ridiculous glasses. And not at the road. Definitely not at the road.

“Please?” she continued to plead. “And watch the road?”

“University made you so boring,” Purah sighed as she relented, fulfilling both requests by turning down the throbbing bass of her beloved EDM down and looking back to the road just in time to honk at the car in front of her that she’d almost rear-ended.

“I’ve always been rather boring, thank you,” Zelda said in her defense. “And while I appreciate you coming to pick me up, I was hoping to make it home alive.”

“Uh, bad news about that,” Purah said, biting her lip hard enough that Zelda could see it beyond the red streak in her otherwise snow white hair.

“Don’t tell me--”

“--Too late for that,” Purah conceded. “Daddy dearest wants me to bring you straight to rehearsal.”

Zelda groaned, then immediately let out a yelp of surprise as she held onto the handle above Purah’s passenger seat for dear life. Purah was swerving across three lanes of the highway to make the correct exit to get to the castle, and she was making it everyone’s problem.

The castle where Zelda’s father played King over his renaissance festival every summer, and she had been his little Princess Zelda for as long as she could remember. The ruined castle he’d somehow managed to purchase from the historical society decades ago, and had made it his life’s goal to turn into a venue for the ultimate renaissance faire. The best in Central Hyrule, so the newspaper ads always claimed. Really, it was always a sort of thrown together thing, with far more dramatics than polish.

Still, it was good fun, but definitely not how she planned to spend this summer in particular. Not how she had planned to spend any more of her summers ever again, if she could help it.

“He can’t just give me one afternoon?” she asked, even as Purah and her erratic driving had already made the decision for her.

Purah responded to that with as much of a shrug as she could manage while driving. “Apparently not. You know how he gets during the week before.”

“You know he told me he was going to pick me up from the airport? I bet he never had any intention of doing so,” Zelda noted, hugging the backpack that there wasn’t any room for in the trunk close to her chest.

“I, well, uh, I can’t say for certain,” Purah offered to that with a shrug. “He seemed in a hurry when he asked me, so at least I don’t think he planned that. He’s all in a tizzy about this new version of the Champions’ Tournament they’re doing.”

“Urbosa told me about that,” Zelda chimed in. “She said dad hired some new kid who’s really good. But that’s odd Purah, don’t you think? He doesn’t hire new people, especially not to be knights.”

“I mean, he is really good, that new guy,” Purah confirmed and began swinging an invisible sword across the dashboard. “Weird, but good.”

“Purah, no offense meant, but anyone who wants to work at a renaissance faire is weird.”

Purah, with her red-streak in her white hair, obnoxious glasses, little red hatchback that had more bumper stickers than bumper and a trunk so full of cables and costume parts that there was barely room for Zelda’s suitcases in it, just shrugged off this offense.

She’d worked for the faire since before she probably legally should have. This year would no doubt be the same as any other, with her taking charge of getting all the technology up and running--from speakers and lights down to the registers up at the ticket stands and food stalls--but also somehow finding time to create and manage an inventory of increasingly elaborate costumes for the cast. In fact, there had been no room in the backseat for Zelda’s suitcases either, because there was an entire Lynel costume in various states of completion stored there.

Purah shrugged, then offered a biting response, “Not as weird as people born into renaissance faire royalty.”

“Like I’d choose this,” Zelda sighed.

“Speaking of choices, I don’t get it,” Purah said as she turned onto one of Castle Town’s main thoroughfares, honking through her pause at the unfortunate soul who was going too slow in front of her. “I’m assuming you’re here because you didn’t get that internship. Besides me, of course, and maybe Robbie, you’re literally the smartest person I know. Why didn’t they give it to you?”

“I…don’t really know.”

It was an honest statement, maybe the most honest Zelda had been with both Purah and herself since getting into this car.

The director of the internship program had all but assured her that this last round of reviews was a formality. She was a shoe-in, what with her impressive academic credentials and the fact that she aced both rounds of interviews. But the email had come a week before the end of this last semester, saying she had been rejected in favor of more qualified candidates.

Who in all of Hyrule was more qualified than her? She’d worked her entire life to get into this field, with the goal of working for this very program. She’d studied and studied, filled her first three years at Hateno University with an insane course load that would make just about any other student break down into tears. Nevermind that she’d let those tears get the best of her sometimes, but never where anyone could see.

Though she certainly wasn’t proud to admit it, more than a few of those tears were shed that day she got the email. Zelda honestly didn’t remember much of that afternoon. She didn’t want to. She only knew that she managed to call her father in the evening, and he’d booked her a flight home.

Home. Was Castle Town really home anymore? Did she want it to be?

She shook her head to herself, lest she start spiraling in Purah’s car. The passenger’s seat of a cluttered hybrid, with still thrumming bass vibrating her bones, was not exactly the best place for a mental breakdown.

Plus, Zelda had promised herself she wasn’t going to do this. She was just going to have a normal summer. Well, as normal a summer as she could have, working at the renaissance faire yet again.

“You not having anything else to say about it speaks volumes, chatterbox,” Purah noted. “I’m sure your dad didn’t tell you this, so someone’s gotta. You know that you not getting this internship isn’t the end of the world, right? You’re still here. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

She reached out to squeeze Zelda’s arm, mostly missing and squeezing her backpack instead, with only two fingers making actual contact with the skin just beneath the sleeve of her blue and white blouse.

“I appreciate it Purah, but I’m fine,” Zelda assured her, back to lying again.

“You’re not fine. You’re almost as quiet as the new guy. And he doesn’t talk,” Purah told her.

“At all?”

Purah shook her head. “Nope. Or at least I’ve never heard him talk. Presumably he can. I know your dad interviewed him somehow. But that’s the whole schtick they’re using for him: The Silent Knight. He either just isn’t chatty to an extreme degree or very committed to the character.”

Zelda sighed, finding herself looking out the window as the city made way, buildings and busy streets alike seeming to step aside, opening up to a view of the ruined castle on the hill.

“It sounds like he fits right in with the rest of the Champions.”

“Revali hates him,” Purah stated.

“Revali hates everyone,” was Zelda’s immediate response.

“That’s very true. But Revali especially hates him because he’s this year’s winner,” Purah pointed out.

“You’re telling me that my father hired some new guy for the Champions’ Tournament, and that he’s making him the winner this year? Purah, you’ve got to be joking,” Zelda said, finally letting go of her vice grip on her backpack to turn fully toward Purah, or as much her seatbelt would allow.

While there had always been a bit of a revolving door of cast members in the Champions’ Tournament--the nightly knight show of jousting and stage combat that had been both the centerpiece and grand finale of every faire day--the honor of “winning” the scripted tournament was passed between her father’s four long-time knights. Mipha would win on feats of grace and compassion or from her deft skills with the spear. Cocky Revali would be handed a scenario where only his superior aim and archery knowledge could pull ahead of the other competitors. Daruk would impress the crowds with his raw strength. Urbosa arguably had the most skill with one on one sword and shield combat of all of them, and would get to show off for her win with a dramatic duel.

But never in the history of the faire had anyone else been allowed to win the scripted tournament.

“Look, I’m as surprised as you are, but I think it’ll be a fun change of pace. Maybe that old coot realized he’s gotta make some changes to keep people coming back year after year,” Purah offered with a shrug.

“That doesn’t sound like my father,” Zelda said, turning back to the view of the castle as the colorful banners and bunting that decorated the ruins joined the picture.

They always dressed the place up nice. She had to admit that. Nevermind that it should have remained in the hands of the historical society to be studied, and not made a spectacle of. But Zelda couldn’t really blame her father, or any of the others who made this faire possible every year. She supposed that was a good enough use of the ruins anyway--celebrating the past, when they were once grand and glorious and not crumbling away brick by brick, year by year.

“I guess he knew this kid’s dad?” Purah continued on. “That probably has something to do with it. He apparently was a knight way back. Maybe you’d remember him?”

“We’ve had so many knights, or at least so many strangers I’ve found passed out on my living room couch one morning and had dad explain to me that they were working for him now,” Zelda told her. “I doubt I’d remember which one of those he was.”

“You should write a book about it. Or get therapy. One or the other,” Purah offered.

“Believe me, I’ve thought about both.”

“There she is. I’ve been missing old sassy Princess Zelda,” Purah said with a grin.

Zelda didn’t bother to stifle the groan that followed. “Please don’t start with the princess stuff. I’m not ready for it.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Purah told her as she pointed to the road, and the fact that they were about to turn into the staff parking lot. “Because we’re here.”

“Shit.”

Zelda was really hoping for at least a day or two of some sort of reprieve. Some time to rot in her childhood bedroom. Well, that was still full of princess-themed decorations and accessories as well, so perhaps it wouldn’t have helped. Maybe she should have just stayed in Hateno--found a summer sublease or something, gotten a shitty summer job that didn’t involve wearing a tiara every day.

But Purah was right. It was too late. She was already here.

“Time to put on your crown, princess,” Purah said with far too much excitement as she turned off into the gravel parking lot at the back of the ruined castle.

---

“Oh good, you’re here.”

These were the first words the man known as “King” Rhoam Bosphoramus Hyrule had to say to his daughter. His daughter, who had just faced the biggest disappointment in her twenty-one years of life. His one and only daughter, who had come home in hopes of finding some comfort.

“You were going to pick me up,” Zelda reminded him.

“Sorry, princess. Things are very busy here,” Rhoam said as he gestured to the dusty tournament grounds. “I don’t know if Purah told you, but your old man had the bright idea to change the Champions’ Tournament around, so we’ve been stuck in rehearsal for the last week. But things are looking better. Even better now that you’re here to learn your part.”

“Don’t tell me you changed that too?” Zelda wondered.

She’d been doing the same bit since she was a teenager. She could probably recite it verbatim right there and now. In fact, she thought about texting her roommate back at Hateno University to ask if she did the entire scene in her sleep. There was a decent chance she did.

“Just a little,” Rhoam assured her with a wave of his massive hands. Zelda wasn’t sure how she turned out as small as she was, with this giant of a man being her father. “You still do the whole giving them the blessing thing, presenting them with their cloth. We made Link’s a tunic, so I don’t know how we’re gonna have him put it on without there being a big awkward pause for him to do so, but we’ll figure it out.”

“Who is Link?” Zelda asked, though she could already guess it was the new knight, she still wanted her father’s version of the answer.

“Oh right, you haven’t met Link. Well, I don’t know if you remember, but you did when you were little. His dad was one of our knights back in--”

“Father, there were so many of them. I can guarantee you that I don’t remember,” Zelda cut him off, lest he go on an entire journey through the last twenty years of the faire’s history.

“Eh, you were little,” Rhoam offered as an excuse. He scanned the tournament grounds over Zelda’s head, looking for something. “As was he. But he remembers you. Where is that boy anyway? Daruk! Where is Link? We’re starting up again in a minute!”

The massive boulder of a Goron on the field shrugged his answer and kept hammering at an actual boulder, no doubt practicing the same old trick he always did, where he’d break the rock to the raucous cheers of the crowd.

“He’ll turn up,” Rhoam said, turning back to his daughter. “He’s a good lad. Very responsible, at least when he isn’t wandering off to Hylia knows where.”

Zelda found herself scanning the grounds for anyone unfamiliar, but she knew most of the faces scurrying around the arena. Mipha was over watering the horses. Revali was very loudly explaining how great he was to some poor stagehand who also looked vaguely familiar. Urbosa was absent at the moment, and honestly had been the first person Zelda looked for. Purah had joined her sister, the slightly more serious Impa, who acted as the stage manager for most of the faire’s various performances.

“I’m sure he’s great,” Zelda offered. “I was hoping to talk to you before we went straight into the faire, though.”

“About the internship?” Rhoam questioned.

“I don’t know, dad. Maybe you could tell me that it’s going to be fine? That I’ll have another chance in the fall? That just doing my best is good enough?” Zelda asked of him, finding her hands balling into fists she went on.

Truth be told, he’d only offered her his disappointment so far. Just general displeasure and a plane ticket home.

His exact words on that fateful phone call had been, “Well, at least I can have you work the faire again.”

“I…I thought for sure you were getting it,” Rhoam offered. “Your mother was in the same program. Did you tell them that?”

“I’m not her!” Zelda nearly shouted, only holding back due to the openness of the royal box on the grandstand where they stood and the fact that there were at least a dozen people and five horses on the grounds. Zelda swallowed the last word like a bitter pill. This was the same battle she’d been fighting since she was six years old. Since her mother died. “Even if I was, I doubt that would change anything. I didn’t make it. I did everything I could and it wasn’t enough.”

“Well, you’ll just have to apply again in the fall,” Rhoam said, sticking to his guns. “I know you have it in you, princess. I was hoping you wouldn’t have to miss a regular semester for it, but hey, shit happens.”

“Shit does indeed happen,” Zelda told him, knuckles so tight now they were going numb. “I don’t know why I bothered asking what you thought. You’ve already made yourself clear.”

“I’m just worried about your career options, not to mention medical school,” Rhoam told her. “Money doesn’t grow on trees, Zelda. You need to be good scholarship material.”

“Money grows on trees when it’s for the--”

“--Now don’t start with that.”

A shout from the field stopped them from fully getting into it, thankfully.

“Hey little guy! The King wants you!” Daruk yelled at someone.

Zelda turned to find that who she presumed to be this Link character, was indeed a little guy. A Hylian like her, as small as her, maybe even a bit shorter, waved back at Daruk and started jogging up the grandstand stairs. His dirty blonde hair was pulled back into a wolf tail, and his mud-stained blue t-shirt and ripped jeans spoke of a morning spent practicing. He looked the part of a knight, and certainly of someone who worked at a renaissance faire, but in a very much bite-sized package.

“That’s Link,” Rhoam offered instead of an apology.

“He’s…short,” Zelda noted.

“He makes up for it,” Rhoam assured her. “Link, over here!”

Upon closer inspection, once he reached them, Zelda confirmed that Link was indeed a few inches shorter than her. Not absolutely miniscule, but still not exactly the picture of a tall, handsome knight. He had a certain curiosity sparkling in his blue eyes, and overall wasn’t bad to look at. Just…short.

And, just as Purah had warned her, he greeted them with only a wave.

“Link, this is Zelda. You probably don’t recognize her. You had to be, oh, maybe five? Six? I don’t know. It was a long ass time ago,” Rhoam said as his introduction. “But you said you remembered her.”

Zelda didn’t remember him. Her summers were so full of people. Long time employees acting as surrogate parents, guests fawning over the cute little princess, random vendors giving her ice cream and lemonade just to try to get her to smile again.

The tiniest of smiles lifted the corner of Link’s lips before he seemed to suppress it. His face turned to a stony neutral expression again before he turned to Rhoam and nodded.

“You’ll have to forgive the lad, Zelda. He isn’t much of a talker. But we’re playing that up in the show. He’s going to be the Silent Knight. Good stage name, right?” Rhoam went on.

“Fantastic,” Zelda responded, with purposeful flatness that she hoped her father understood to be a complete lack of enthusiasm for this entire thing.

And for the fact that he thought it was a good idea to have Purah bring her straight to a fucking rehearsal.

“Well, since you’re both here, and I see Urbosa over there, I think we have everyone we need to start again,” Rhoam said as he looked over the tournament grounds again before leaning over the railing to shout, his deep voice echoing over the dusty summer afternoon. “Impa! Get me a script for Zelda. Also say hi to her. And everybody else, places for the Champion’s Blessing scene! We’re doing this again from the top.”

And there it was again. The faire once again won out over her and her needs. Zelda knew it would happen. It did every summer. But still, it would be nice to hear from someone besides Purah that the world wasn’t ending.

It still felt like it was.

Rhoam walked off without another word to start doing what he did best, both directing and making himself the star of the show. Link, at least, offered her a wave goodbye as he turned to head toward the stairs again.

“Hey you! Catch!” came a call from below Zelda.

Which was followed by the fluttering of paper, as a script-shaped missile began flying from Impa’s hand straight toward Zelda’s head.

Only for a hand to reach out and catch it before it could make impact, reacting much faster than Zelda could ever hope to.

Link had turned back around in time to catch the rolled up script, and was presenting it to Zelda as if it were some sort of sacred artifact. He even had his head bowed a little.

As weird as that was, Zelda was grateful not to be smacked in the face with her father’s terrible writing, at least in the literal sense. No one could save her from the figurative smack now.

“Thank you,” she offered. “Oh…wait, um. Hold on, I think I remember.”

She signed for thank you, as no one had taken the time to explain to her why Link didn’t talk. She was left to assume. So she assumed that maybe he was hard of hearing? It was a decent enough guess.

But wait, her father had spoken to him. Link had responded to that. Was he reading lips or did he hear him? Oh well. Either way, she’d already made the sign. No taking it back now.

He lifted his head and smiled his little almost-smile again, but did not sign back. Instead, he offered the script more insistently.

“Right,” Zelda said, trying to summon all of her years of practicing her princessy grace to not inject any further awkwardness into the act of taking the script from his hand.

“Thanks for not letting me bean her, Link,” Impa said as she came up the rest of the stairs to meet them. “Rhoam would have had a fit if I gave her a black eye, even if it was with his shitty writing.”

Link nodded to that and then promptly jogged down the grandstand again. He was rather fast for as short as he was, Zelda had to admit.

“I promise he’s cool,” Impa offered as she followed Zelda’s eyes to him. “Well, as cool as someone who doesn’t talk can be. Anyway, how are you?”

“I could be better,” Zelda admitted.

Purah’s older sister was far more emotionally in tune than her, and had known Zelda longer. There was no point in attempting to hide anything from her. She’d been working as the faire’s stage manager since she was still in high school, after all. And now she was what, twenty-three? Twenty-four?

Zelda could hardly believe her own age, let alone Impa’s. She still felt like the same little girl she so often saw herself as in her dreams, riding on Urbosa’s hip and dripping her ice cream all over the colorful silk of the Gerudo woman’s belly dancer costume.

“Purah told me all about it. I’m sorry things worked out like that, but I’m glad you’re here. Me and the rest of the crew will make sure you still have an amazing summer, even if it’s not the one you wanted to have,” Impa assured her, reaching out to pull her into a quick hug.

“Thanks, Impa.”

At least that much she knew would be true. Her father couldn’t be counted on for much, but Zelda hadn’t given her faire family enough credit. They would definitely make this fun, even on the hottest, most crowded, and most miserable of days. They always did.

Still, it wasn’t what she wanted. Or what her father wanted for her. And, in a rare moment of honesty with herself, Zelda thought for just that moment, that perhaps it was getting harder and harder to reconcile those two things.

“People! I said places! Where is everyone?” Rhoam shouted from the field, as if on cue.

---

And so Zelda found herself in her usual spot, on the circle of stone tiles that had been arranged into a mosaic portraying the Triforce and the old royal seal of Hyrule’s ancient monarchy within it. Her father was nothing if not a stickler for having at least some historical accuracy at the faire, and had gone to great lengths to research and restore what he could of the original grounds. This mosaic and its imagery were among those projects.

Zelda blamed that for her true passion. As great as studying for medical school was, and wanting to follow in her mother’s footsteps as a research doctor, her medical textbooks didn’t quite hold her attention like archeology could. The history, the artifacts, the ruins like those she’d grown up around--Hyrule was full of these little windows into the past, just waiting to reveal answers to questions long forgotten. It was fascinating.

Fascinating enough that she’d managed to make it her minor, even though very few classes overlapped nicely with her pre-med track.

Fascinating enough that, at times, she could almost forgive her father for getting lost in the fantasy version of it.

So she did her best to put on her most regal Princess Zelda face as she read from the script, adding a new blessing for Link to his new storyline.

“Hero of Hyrule, chosen by the sword that seals the darkness. You have shown unflinching bravery and skill in the face of darkness and adversity, and have proven yourself worthy of the blessing of the Goddess Hylia. Whether skyward bound, adrift in time, or steeped in the glowing embers of twilight--Dad, really? This is so verbose.”

“We’re well past the review or rewrite stage on this, princess. The faire opens this weekend,” Rhoam shouted down from the royal box, where he’d taken up residence again once the scene started.

Zelda rolled her eyes and continued on, “The sacred blade is forever bound to the soul of the Hero. We pray for your protection…and we hope that--that you two will grow stronger together, as one.” She had to look up again from that one, addressing her father in confusion, “Wait, him and the sword or…?”

“Pretty sure it’s the sword?” Daruk answered, scratching his head. “Honestly I was lost when Impa was reading this part for you too, kiddo. You reading it doesn't make it make any more sense to me.”

“Yes, it’s the sword! This is all based on the legends of the Hero and the Master Sword. Come on people, you’re supposed to be acting out history. You should know it!” Rhoam complained from above.

“Ancient legends aren’t exactly historical, Rhoam,” Urbosa reminded him, then nodded toward Zelda. “Continue on anyway. We need to get you some sunscreen after this, little bird. The heat is vicious today, even for me.”

Of course she was worried about sunscreen. The Gerudo woman had been the closest thing Zelda had to a mother after her own mother died, but that didn’t mean she had to act like it.

Though yes, the summer sun was quite hot already. It made her dread sweating in the heavy fabric of her usual princess costume all the more, but thankfully, for today, everyone was still in casual clothes.

“Right,” Zelda said, taking a deep breath and reaching out again to hover her hand over Link’s shoulder.

The Silent Knight, for his part, was dutifully bowed and on one knee before her, and hadn’t so much as flinched for all of the disruptions. He was so still that not even a single new wrinkle had been added to his dirty shirt this entire time. Was he wearing cowboy boots under those jeans? Of course he was. Of course…

Zelda shifted her focus back the script in her hand and continued on with the increasingly flowery speech, but was finding herself losing steam over the words. Honestly, she just wanted to go home. She wanted a shower. She wanted to order a pizza from her favorite place in town, eat too much of it to the point of mild regret, and then pass out. She’d been up since six in the morning to make that flight. All for her father to just throw her back into this world without so much as a hug?

Really, why did she bother to come back here?

“Gee, this is uplifting,” she heard Daruk whisper under his breath as she droned on.

“Wasn’t this your idea?” Revali snapped back at him with far less subtlety, but still quiet enough not to stop the scene again. His deep blue Rito feathers spread wide from his wings as he went on, “You’re the one who told Rhoam to add all this pomp and ceremony and nonsense to this scene! And if you ask me, the whole thing does seem to be overkill. Really, who in our audience is going to care all that much about this boy?”

“Oh, give it a rest,” Urbosa quietly scolded him as she pushed her long red ponytail off of her shoulder. “That boy has been getting more attention from her father than she ever does. Well, at least she’ll find out soon enough.”

Great. Another thing to look forward to dealing with this summer. And for the other knights to be worried about her for it. Zelda really wanted that shower and pizza more than anything else right now.

But when the words on the page ran out, and her name no longer appeared on the script, Zelda couldn’t help but look down at him. At this Link.

He was just a kid. Well, not really. He had to be at least as old as her, if she was supposed to remember him that is. But he was scrawny and small. Honestly barely believable for winning a tournament over the likes of the other Champions. Sure, the audience loves an underdog, she could almost hear her father saying as much now--but really, this kid?

Zelda, of course, knew the legends her father was referencing in that lengthy speech of hers. They were where her name came from, after all. They were her favorite bedtime stories, back when she was young. Back when things were still okay, before her mother died.

But they were just stories. Stories that were mostly the same, but slightly different in each iteration. There was always a Hero, some bright young man with unmatched courage. He always found or was given some sort of magical sword. It talked to him in some of the stories, shot magical beams of light in others, or sometimes just emitted a soft glow in the presence of evil. And he always saved a princess named Zelda from some evil monster or corrupt king. Every time.

Only Zelda was pretty sure she didn’t want or need saving. Much less from some odd young man who didn’t even have the courage to say hello to her.

Some hero he made.

---

The following day--exactly one late night hot shower and an amount of pizza that Zelda wasn’t proud of later--the temperature was even hotter and the sun somehow even brighter. Her father, in all his kingly compassion and good judgment, had decided that this was the perfect day to impose a full dress rehearsal and costume review on the entire staff.

“No different from last year,” Purah informed her as she inspected her from the blessed air conditioning of the ladies’ dressing rooms. “You haven’t changed a bit, and the dress is still in good shape. Thanks for making my job easy.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing,” Zelda noted as she adjusted the flowing bell sleeves of her princess dress, trying to think of any other reason to delay stepping out into the heat in this ridiculous thing.

But it was no use. She’d be wearing this dress all summer, regardless of the temperature. Purah had made her another outfit a few years back with some leggings instead of the heavy skirts. It was a little better, but she could only get away with that one on days where her father was too distracted to disapprove. He didn’t think it was “princessy” enough, and wouldn’t take her insisting that the leggings were historically accurate fashion for Hylian nobility of the time period for an answer.

“I still have the pants version, you know. I don’t see why daddy dearest doesn’t let you at least do walkarounds in that,” Purah noted with a little frown as she looked Zelda up and down one last time.

She herself was in her full Sheikah getup, honoring her people’s heritage with a sort of pale gray robe that covered most of the red leggings and bodysuit she wore underneath. Unlike her older sister, she didn’t opt for the Sheikah eye symbol painted on her face, but she also had less of a chance of being seen “on stage”.

Honestly, it was all so ridiculous. Her father treated the entire faire as a theater production, or a theme park that warranted a much more expensive ticket price than they could ever hope to ask for. Referring to employee only areas as backstage, calling said employees cast or actors, forcing even the third party vendors to dress up in period clothes--it was all just overkill for what amounted to a pretty average regional renaissance festival.

But there was no telling that to the King.

“Remind me in a few weeks and I’ll see if I can get away with it,” Zelda said. She peered in the mirror of a nearby vanity and adjusted her tiara a bit. “For now, I think I’m stuck in this thing.”

“Sure thing,” Purah nodded, but then moved to step in front of her before she could leave. “Check it there a second. I’m putting us on TikTok this year, and I want to show the people your fit.”

“Purah, I understood about half of the words that left your mouth just now,” Zelda informed her.

Purah, however, was too busy pulling out her phone and grinning at the screen. “Look princessy.”

“That’s been my job since I was six years old.”

“Okay good, so do it.”

Zelda let out a brief sigh, but did her best to pose for whatever Purah was asking of her.

“Now turn or spin or something,” Purah said. “And don’t tell me you don’t know what TikTok is. You’re my age.”

“I’m usually too busy studying to mess around with social media,” Zelda said, repeating an excuse she told her fellow students so often that it was nearly as ingrained into her head as her speech for the Champions’ Tournament.

“That’s a lie. I follow you on Insta, you know. You take really pretty pictures. Boring, but pretty. Now spin,” Purah demanded.

Zelda knew she wasn’t getting out of here without a spin, so she spun. The action made her smile, remembering how she’d spin around with all the little girls who would come to the faire in their princess dresses. They were so excited to see her year after year, even after they grew out of those little dress-up princess costumes themselves.

Still, Zelda could always make guests like them smile. And maybe that was worth sweating in royal blue velvet all day.

“I still have the faire’s Instagram account,” Zelda realized as she finished her spin. “I should probably start posting on it.”

“I’m surprised you dad didn’t ask you to,” Purah noted, tapping on her phone with a little grin that told Zelda she must be satisfied with the footage.

“He still thinks the key to success is advertising in the newspapers, so I don’t think he knows enough to ask. Better it stays that way,” Zelda concluded. “Now, do I have permission to leave?”

Purah was still too busy smirking at her phone. “I’m gonna add so many sparkles to you.”

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Zelda responded and walked around Purah with no further resistance.

She gathered her own phone from her locker on the way out. Of course, there were no phones allowed on stage when there were guests at the faire, but the rule would not be enforced for the next few dress rehearsal days. It would be a great time for getting enough shots to fill up all the social media accounts for the rest of the summer. That meant a lot of pictures to be taken on top of all of the other wrangling her father expected her to do. But luckily for her, photography was Zelda’s second passion after archeology.

And doubly-lucky, her dress had pockets.

She loved a dress with pockets.

“I’ll head for Goron City first,” she announced to herself as she exited the dressing rooms. “Daruk will no doubt need some help getting his booth in order.”

She had a bad habit of talking to herself. She liked talking. It helped her organize her thoughts. And it wasn’t problematic if no one was around to hear her.

It was only when she’d rambled her way through the end of that second sentence that she noticed her footsteps were echoing. But that wasn’t possible? The crunch of the gravel was definitely bouncing off something. But there were only cloth tents, the gravel pathway, and the trailer that made up the dressing room behind her. Nothing to echo off of, unless…

Zelda stopped and turned, only to find that Link had stopped with her, and remained about five steps back from her.

He was decked out in his Champion’s garb. Her father had decided to scrap the gifting of the cloth to the Champions from the main show and just have them wear the tokens of Princess Zelda’s favor with their regular Champion costumes. Pretty much the entirety of Link’s costume was that token--a tunic of a slightly brighter shade of her royal blue, embroidered in white with his symbol, which was that of the legendary sword.

All very extra, as Purah might say.

The causal knightley look was completed with various belts and pouches. Of course, attached to one that was slung from shoulder to waist on him was a massive purple and gold scabbard, in which his prop sword sat--peace-knotted of course.

It would only come out of that scabbard for the tournament, of course. Zelda had yet to see what he could do with, as the previous afternoon’s rehearsal focused entirely on the opening ceremonies and not on any of the actual stage combat, but apparently even Urbosa was impressed with him, so he had to be decent.

“Hello Link,” she said as she looked him over. “Your costume fits you well. I see Purah’s been hard at work.”

He nodded to this, blue eyes earnest and expression neutral. Not even offering a hint of his opinion on the matter.

Well, that was going to take some getting used to. Especially if he kept just…staring at her like that.

“I suppose I’ll see you at show rehearsal in a bit. I’m going to check on some things and take some pictures for the faire’s Instagram,” Zelda explained, pulling her phone out of her pocket to wiggle it in evidence and waiting for him to give her some sort of sign that she could politely exit this one-sided conversation.

Link nodded again.

The awkwardness of his silence might kill her, if the summer heat and her own anxieties didn’t beat him to it.

Zelda decided that was enough and she could leave, only to hear the dual crunching of gravel yet again.

She stopped.

Link stopped with her.

“Are you…following me?” she asked, barely turning her head enough to be able to see him from the corner of her eye.

Link’s expression changed, only for the briefest of moments again. A look of concern passed his face for half a second, bending his eyebrows slightly downward and scrunching his nose, but it all smoothed back to neutral again.

He nodded.

Zelda turned to face him, not bothering to conceal her annoyance this time. “Let me guess, my father asked you to keep an eye on me? To make sure that I was doing what he asked?”

Link seemed to think about this one for a moment before he nodded again.

Zelda sighed. She wasn’t getting paid enough for this. Actually she wasn’t really getting paid at all. Her father had decided that instead of giving her wages for her work at the faire, that he’d put them into a bank account he would use to help with her tuition. And while she appreciated that, and had been able to save herself from taking much in the way of student loans for it, it wasn’t all that satisfying to have nothing in her own bank account to show for all this work.

She found herself pinching the bridge of her nose. This wouldn’t be the first time her father had assigned one of his employees to keep tabs on her. That had actually been Impa’s first job, but she’d been reassigned to stage management after Zelda became too good at evading her.

But Link. Link didn’t talk. Link couldn’t be distracted with a conversation. Link was new to the faire and didn’t have a friend she could foist him off on.

She was quite possibly stuck with him for at least the rest of rehearsal week.

“Well, come on then,” Zelda said, turning back to head for Daruk’s blacksmith shop. It was set up on the northeastern side of the grounds.

She didn’t look back.

Link, as he would continue to do without fail for the rest of the day, followed without complaint.

#zelda #breath of the wild #zelink #fanfic #the world will only darken without candlelight #i will come to regret how long that title is for sure #are we going to retell every single memory and then have link speedrun botw at the end?#you betcha

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