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bakerstreet2018-05-04 07:40 am
reversesock) wrote in bakerstreet2018-05-04 07:40 am
Entry tags:
It's the end of the world as we know it
a post-apocalyptic shipping and smut meme  Calamity makes strange companions, but when the world's gone topsy turvy, beggars can't be choosers. The world has ended, apocalypse is nigh, zombies are here, the evil empire has won, or you've crashed into a hostile planet...all roads have lead to the same ugly place. Survival has become your only goal, and two heads are less likely to be on the chopping block than one, so no matter if you're a people person or a lone wolf, you've found one other survivor - or they found you and gave you little choice - to be an extra lifeline and source of safety. Your life before fades away into the gray. What remains is the drive to live through this, day by day, though you at least have someone to watch your back and help you with the grueling tasks before you. Of course, the mind is a strange thing, which means even when tunnel vision comes standard with your troubles, thoughts and feelings can get jumbled. Relying on someone is a form of intimacy, perhaps an ultimate form, and could lead to dependency or other deep, conflicting feelings...feelings the two of you may just keep shoving deep down because that line of thought is far from safe. Not the right place. Not the right time. Repress it. Until you just can't anymore. tl;dr: "Two people are partners in a post-apocalyptic or other dark/"rough" setting who have been traveling together for a long time, depending on each other for survival. They've also been ignoring the unresolved sexual tension/attraction between them. One night while taking shelter, they finally give in and have sex even though they shouldn't, or they worry about how it will affect their partnership." HOW TO PLAY
OPTIONS
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Scott Summers | Xmen movies | OTA
echo | the 100
Eren Jaeger | Shingeki no Kyojin | M/M
Iseul Song | Old World of Darkness (Corax) | M/M
jyn erso | star wars
Bucky Barnes | MCU | Canonmates preferred
Infinity War spoilers up in here
And then Steve glances down and sees his own hands crumbling away, with the same numb emptiness that has almost turned to relief by the time his vision browns out.
But then he blinks. And his eyes adjust.
The bright green of Wakanda is gone. In its place is brown - brown, as far as the eye can see, flat and stark under a yellow sky that never seems quite clear, even when the suns (there are two, and they stay up for what feels like much longer than they should, and stay down for just as long, once the second, smaller of the two sinks below the horizon) shine unrepentantly down and Steve develops a sunburn that keeps spreading red over his skin, then healing and peeling away, before it starts all over again, every few hours. It's cold at night and hot during the day, like the desert; and, like the desert, the entire place is devoid of life, and Steve wanders like that, for several of what pass for days, until he seems to reach the end of the desert and hits something else instead.
Calling it a forest would be generous; it's mostly huge boulders, big as a house, that jut up from the ground at odd angles, almost like projectiles thrown there by a giant during a temper tantrum. There's some kind of coarse yellow-green mossy... something growing on half the rock faces, and some of the dirt and dust underfoot start to give way to more of the same, peppered with something that looks a little too sad to be grass, but that's the best likeness Steve can muster. At least there's shade, and he finds a tiny, trickling excuse for a stream, just before his own superhuman stamina starts to give out.
He sits by that stream for a long time before he finally dips his hand in and dribbles a few drops onto his lips, into his mouth. He sits there and he wonders if it's even worth it, the sight and sound of Bucky calling his name and vanishing away into nothing playing over and over in his head, on endless repeat, like a movie you just can't turn off. He feels that same empty, yawning inside him; he's alone here, and he doesn't know if it's just better to stay here and leave this place the way he found it - empty.
But eventually, maybe after the water has finally hit his system, a few drops at a time, he comes to the conclusion that he can't. He can't lie down. He can't, because... if he's here, then maybe Bucky is, too. Maybe Bucky is somewhere, anywhere, and if that's true, then what the hell is Steve doing, sitting on his ass and feeling sorry for himself. What the hell is he doing. He's got to get up.
So he does. He gets up and he follows the trickle, and it grows wider; the "grass" starts looking a little better (and hell, even a little appetizing, he doesn't carry that many Powerbars in his belt and he's down to his last three, with extreme rationing), tired and lonely and starting to wonder if he's the only person on this godforsaken dead planet when he runs into the ruins - and Bucky.
If there was one person Steve Rogers would choose to be stranted on an (apparently, so far) uninhabited planet with, it would be Bucky Barnes. He's never been so glad to see someone in his entire life - and that's counting the time he tore the mask off the Winter Soldier and seen his best friend underneath.
It's close, granted. But then, Steve was lonely and lost in a sea of people, at least. Here, he's lonely and lost in a dead place full of nothing, replaying the entire bloody, terrible battle over and over, and then suddenly he blinks, and it's like - well. It's not like it didn't happen. But it's like that big, yawning, bottomless piece of himself has finally hit bottom, and been sealed over, filled up, just as quickly as it formed. Because at least Bucky is here.
That was at least a month ago. Maybe more. Steve's long since lost track of the days. They'd holed up in those ruins - square, blocky buildings that were so overgrown with the mossy stuff that they must have been sitting empty for decades, he figures - for a while, but then, after maybe a week, they'd decided they needed to keep moving. The two of them were here. What about everyone else?
Since then, they've covered miles - tens of them, maybe even a hundred by now, with the ground-eating pace only the two of them can keep up. Even then, they aren't moving as fast as they could, because they're sure as hell not really getting the calories they need, with what's at hand. It's all plants, most of which are dry and pretty sad, but either the serum's keeping them from poisoning themselves fatally or everything here is edible, because they seem to make out all right.
But it's still just the two of them. It's just the two of them, and as another month goes by, and then another, they stop moving and set up in the third ruined city they find, and they try to figure out what to do next. Because they've got to do something next - they've got to do something. Thanos still has the Infinity Stones, and half the world is... if not here, then someplace else - and they have to do something.
Even if this tiny, selfish part of Steve thinks he could be happy here, with just Bucky and no one else. Curled up together at night for warmth just like they used to, and talking about whatever, whenever, sometimes for hours or days, and sometimes lapsing into the companionable silence they used to share, and he never minded. He'd barely spent a couple of hours alone with Bucky since 1945. Maybe it's selfish to want so much of it now, to think he'll never get tired of it, when there's a job to do, and a world - a universe - that needs saving.
But he's just a soldier. He's not a scientist, or a god, or a magician, or... anything. He's just stuck here, he can't get them home, and as the days keep going by, and they carve out more and more of a little home for themselves here on this rock who knows how far from the sun and everyone else they know, Steve could maybe, maybe see resigning himself to this kind of life. In his daydreams, when he's feeling indulgent.
It passes. Usually. And he doesn't say anything to Bucky, but he starts to wonder what he thinks about all of this.
And then the storms start to hit, and Steve doesn't have much time to think about anything else, as they work frantically in the building, screaming wind, with dust and rain whipping their skin and lightning not far enough off for comfort, to lash the shutters they've put on the squat building they call home closed and pull all their extra kindling and firewood (there are small, scrawny trees here, that grow slowly but surely in the sparse rain and the blistering heat of the suns) inside and shut the door against the storm just before it hits. That was hours ago, and the thing hasn't let up at all. Steve blows out a breath, sitting on one of the grass-filled pallets they've put together that serve as both chair and bed, and splays his legs out in front of him, leaning back againt the wall and looking at Bucky in the dim light, punctuated by too-pink lightning flashes. "How long you think this's gonna last?"
no subject
Ignis Scientia | Final Fantasy XV | M/M
Yosuke Hanamura | Persona 4 | OTA
no subject
Not when he had work to do.]
C'mon, we've only got a few hours of sunlight left.
[There was always something to do: tend the small garden, repair the shoddy shack he had built high up in one of the many trees in the area, set hunting traps, set protective traps, gather enough water for a couple more days...the work never stopped.
It was nice to have a second person helping him, at least. That made the work easier. Those first few months had been pretty lonely.
Right now Satoshi is fixing a few rungs on the ladder up to the tree house, the one that they pull up every night to prevent anyone else from getting in. So far, 'they' haven't been able to climb the 30 or so feet up to the bottom level of the shack. Walls 'they' can topple, but trees are a bit trickier. So as long as they seal the exit hatch and stay quiet at night, they will probably be fine.
Probably.]
no subject
His companion seemed confident in what he was doing, so that also made Yosuke feel better. After all, being separated from his friends, especially his best friend Yu, still was a cause for anxiety for him.
Where were they? Were they alright? They had to be.
...Right?
Following Satoshi to their hideout, faithfully crafted by his new friend, Yosuke still found his mind lingering on his friends.]
So... still so sign of anyone else so far...
[Finally, Yosuke stares around at Satoshi's handiwork, amazed at what the other young man has accomplished. It did make Yosuke wish he could do more.]
Wow... um, love what you've done with the place...
Kylo Ren | Star Wars | OTA
Lucifer | Granblue Fantasy
andrew detmer | chronicle
Charlie Matheson | Revolution | ota - F/M*
[ooc: Given the meme, would prefer to stick to canon / canon-divergent. Allowances for dead characters to be... well, not dead. Any point in play is fine though I prefer Season 1 or late-post Season 2. I am comic-compliant.]
Peter Quill | MCU
Bucky Barnes | MCU
lucius malfoy | harry potter
no subject
That, too, went well, until one of the Averys, then a freshly-minted Infernius, had paused to think things over and eaten the Dark Lord's face instead.
It's been, Bella reckons, about a year.
They are fast, they crave meat, they stop at nothing short of being burned, they are resistent to most spells, they smell you and hunt you down with nothing, not water, not heights, being reliably able to stop them. All this Bella could handle, all this witches and wizards could have handled, sort of, if the lot of them weren't able to sense magic a mile away and come barreling down towards your hideout in groups at a frightening pace.
She hadn't known Lucius, before. She had spent her school years at Beauxbatons, at her mother's behest, and while she had joined the Dark Lord, he had kept his favourites separate – lest one got caught and interrogated and sold the other prized ones out. They had met, sure, that was inevitable, but they had shared a dance or two, maybe some performative chatter over dinner ––
She can practically feel her stomach aching. The fire flickers in its pit. She looks out of the window of the burned out muggle home they chose to occupy for a night, perhaps too. )
I reckon it is worth a shot. We still have one broom, we can cross the Channel and try our luck.
( Neither of them, she thinks, really believes in the idea that somewhere in Europe, there's safety, or at least an enclave. The States, she has heard in the early days, kill on sight if they find you entering through magical means, lest you are Infected, but she doubts that did them any good, in the long run.
She tears her eyes from the fire to look at him. He is still handsome, in spite of the hardships and the muggle clothing they settled for at one point, because it was easier to come across, and more practical, much as she loathes to admit it. Meeting him had been a stroke of luck – they had saved each other's lives only about a dozen times – but the close quarters are getting to her.
Oh, are they getting to her. )
no subject
Once, he'd been on the other side of the war, when the war mattered. Now? Well, he'd been alive two months ago. No telling now, and they could hardly afford to care.
They were together now because they'd happened to be in the hiding in the same bit of wood, and because he'd seen enough of her to recognize her and that had been enough for him to cast the fire spell that was the only thing that really eradicated the Inferni. There was safety in numbers to a degree, and she'd more than paid him back by now.
Lucius watches her, and she is too thin, dressed in those odd Muggle trousers made of heavy indigo-dyed canvas. Her hair is scraped back practically, not the intoxicating mass of black curls of a so-called society witch. But she's still stunning, and he notices it too much. It's better not to. ]
France is as bad as Britain, now. They do less well in the sun - we could turn south.
[ They are in Spain, too, of course - they're everywhere. But from Spain it might be easiest to slip across the Atlantic. Not to the United States, but Argentina or Paraguay, where the magical government is a bit less organized than the States and Canada. Just as curse-happy - but enough less organized about it that they might make it. ]
no subject
( Not that Spain was all sun and warmth year round, but Bellatrix wasn't keen on a replay of the last winter. It isn't that they can't use magic at all – but the risk that comes with it is hard to calcuate. Half the reason why Bella took to Muggle clothing as fast as she did, availability aside, was the fact that unlike the wizarding world, the muggle world relied on its clothes being suitable for the temperatures instead of relying on spells. It's all fun and games until it starts raining and the waterproofing spell on one's jacket breathes its last. )
The Yaxleys used to have a manor just outside of Brighton.
( If they area bout to leave the country, they may wish to try and stock up on artefacts, potions, maybe a weapon or two, anything they can get their fingers on. Here's another thing in which muggle homes have proven to be more convenient: muggles, it seems, were quite keen on foods that came in cans or bags, non-perishable. Bella, whose every food-related need had been met at the snip of a finger in the direction of a house elf in the world Before, has learned to appreciate that.
Cities, and anything close to cities, was a risk, of course. It's where there is, statistically, more of them than anywhere else. But it's also where most resources are. )
If you reckon its worth the risk?
( She has no intention of splitting up, after all, and that includes... taking his opinion into consideration. A lot. More than she normally would have, headstrong as she is. )
no subject
Its not that there's anything else going on here, not by any means. Lucius leans closer to the fire, staring into the flames as if he could read the future in them. ]
Everything's a risk, and we need an edge if we're going to leave Britain. Merlin knows what...
[ Well, he does not have to finish that sentence. He turns to look at her, and his gaze is searching. He's almost hesitant as he reaches for her wrist. ]
We can never come back if we leave.
no subject
( It isn't a question, not really. Even their friends, however loose those connections might have been in Bella's case, are more likely gone than they are alive and well, and even if the odds weren't against them, there is no way to confirm their whereabouts either way. Sure, magical messages could be sent – if one was willing to send every Inferni within a mile or two an invitation to dinner as well.
And then, what is there to do if anyone was found? It's another mouth to feed.
Even the idea that other continents may not be affected, or less affected, is based on news they received before communication broke down. Bella doesn't say that – she knows that Lucius knows that, and more than that, she knows how valuable having a plan is, even if it may as well fall through.
They don't usually touch. It's less their history and more their present, the close quarters, the what ifs, that force a distance. Her other hand darts up immediately, only for her to remind herself to breathe. She traces her fingertips over the back of his hand. )
Let's start at dawn, then?
( There's no point in travelling in the night, not really, the cover it gives them from potential human attackers isn't worth the risk of an infernius spotted too late. She is thinking about that, and mentally listing the contents of the enchanted satchel that started out as hers but now contained his possessions as well, magically reduced in weight and volume. She is thinking about that as to not think about how this might be the first time in... a long while since she's touched anyone, or anyone has touched her. )
no subject
No, there's nothing left in Britain for him, and the knowledge of it is in the bitter twist of his lips. The fact of how long it's been since someone so much as skimmed her fingers across the back of his hand is in the way his eyes dilate in the dark room. ]
There is nothing, of course.
[ He doesn't draw back his hand, and he should. He really, really should. Anything else s a mistake they've avoided for years, actual years now. And yet... ]
Bella.
[ He hesitates. ]
Be with me tonight.
no subject
Oh.
She doesn't withdraw her hand, and her expression doesn't change, but her fingers still. )
I was rather fond of Rodolphus, before we were married. ( She doesn't use the word 'love', it's bad enough that she got a soul-sucking sense of terror on the more recent occasions that Lucius has happened to come close to grievous bodily harm. ) It turned into an inescapable obligation.
( An increasingly pressure-ridden marriage, a stuck-on-a-desolate-island scenario, an inferni-riddled apocalypse where to go alone would be fatal. Can there be a difference, in the long run? )
You have seen me cast fiendfyre quite a few times. What are the odds of me really being unable to do so when the inferni stormed Lestrange Manor and had Rodolphus cornered? You can't have bought into that, you are smarter than that.
( It's not that she's unaware of the tension between them, far from, but a touch to the hand hadn't quite been enough to completely turn her mind from... her idea of reason. )
no subject
Of course you could have cast Fiendfyre to destroy them. It goes without saying.
[ She is the most brilliant witch of her age; he is the most brilliant wizard, and that's why they're still alive. He's also the last surviving heir of Lestrange blood, though hardly anyone is around to remember that anymore. Bella, however, would.
And Lucius knew his cousin well enough to...well, he knew him well enough to guess why his wife might not have been desperate to save his skin and flesh and bone. ]
Are you thinking I must have some ulterior motive, then?
no subject
( No surprises here – but that's because Lucius and her have spent plenty of time semi-acknowledging the end of a world where their previous motives would have mattered.
One of the reasons why Rodolphus and Bellatrix had fallen in together was one thing they had in common: the ability to convince each other to make the same, stupid impulse decision, usually through physical means. Arguably, some clever touches, kisses, and murmurs of murder are a better way to get Bella on one's side than the kind of adult conversation that would perhaps have lead her to take other measures regarding her shambling marriage.
In other words: Lucius is doing all the right things, unfortunately, he's just about the first, and therefore results aren't as easy as they could have been, had he taken a leaf from his cousin's book. Pleasure trumps logic, but only if it's in the present, and not a hypothetical future. )
I am thinking we will need to continue working together. We cannot afford to part ways, unless we both wish to not live to see another week.
( Or a month, perhaps, if the weather is good. )
Why act on this now? Why do you need everything to fall apart? ( Why is she having a hard time not yelling, and why is this the existential crisis that overcomes her? How could this possibly be his fault? Honestly, she's at a loss, too. )
no subject
He shifts his hand on hers, long fingers encircling her wrist, and tugs.]
I doubt it was the sex that made marriage to him intolerable, Bella. His other unfortunate traits had to play a part.
[ He wasn't in that marriage, he doesn't know, but he knows there were no little Lestrange sons - and he knows what all of their families are like. ]
We've lived in each other's pockets for two years. You already know the worst of me. I doubt the way it feels if you ride me on the mattress until we're both exhausted is going to change much that way.
no subject
( She resists, but that largely because she doesn't see where it's going until a moment later – none of her relationships, if they deserve to be called that, had been big on physical contact that wasn't either sex or a performance for gawking relatives.
She lets him pull her closer, then, if he's still inclined after her first words. )
Not until I grow tired of it in a month, or two, or a year. And then what? Or can you guarantee that it is a one time thing, no ill-begotten side effects, no consequences?
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He's become too good at listening, he sometimes thinks. ]
You know I can't guarantee anything, Bella. Not that it'll go well, not that it'll go badly, not that we'll even live long enough to regret it. Neither can you. I'm not going to bother sugarcoating it when you'd pick the sugar right off again.
[ He kisses her, then, a little hard and a little demanding, his fingers dislodging the clip holding back her hair. ]
Let's take something for us, for once. Something more than just surviving.
no subject
( It is just about the least seductive thing she can say, but he's already well along the way, and she reckons she could imitate an owl right about now and it wouldn't change his mind. It's not the sex she doesn't want as much as it is the consequences – 'more than just survival' rolled right off his tongue, and he made it sound oh-so-nice, but that hardly changes the fact that to have something 'more' than survival, 'survival' needs to keep being assured.
And there's a threat to that, when the status quo is changed.
Hence signing it off as a one time thing.
She is more responsive to the next kiss, and while he rearranges her hair in ways he finds more pleasant, she decides to test the waters on some matters that will... enhance the experience on her end. Not that he isn't attractive, not that she hasn't spent some time thinking about it, about him, but there were some factors missing from the image in her mind's eye.
Her lips trail up his jaw, and her voice has gone from cold business to warmer, more seductive turns. ) Tell me about your last kill. ( Two years back, before all they killed were legions of the undead. ) For the pleasure of it.
no subject
A child, six years old. Our lord wanted to send a message to his blood traitor parents, and coming in to find their only son in bloody pieces seemed about right.
[ He skims a hand under her jumper, and her skin is still so soft. Of course his nails need to dig in. Of course he scrapes them up her ribcage, watching her expression intently through narrowed eyes. All pleasure, no shock. ]
I started with an eye, actually. It seemed extra horrifying for his muddy mother to find.
no subject
In any case, her rebuff isn't sharp – evidently, she is trying not to take herself out of the mood. Her gaze is more clear than it was a moment ago. )
Something you did for your own pleasure, without orders.
( And in part, she is just showing a side of herself very few, really, barely anyone knows of. To kill in unnaturally cruel ways for the Cause was common, a necessity unless one wanted to fall entirely from the Dark Lord's good graces, but that is hardly what Bella kept to. Her needs and wants didn't quite stop there, and if Lucius' did? She can't know for sure, either way, but as far as she is concerned, as long as he can pretend sort of convincingly, it'll do. )
no subject
His fingers are deceptively gentle as he traces them along her throat. There's something in the gesture that is almost like he's reminiscing. ]
That winter I kidnapped a Mudblood and bled her dry, in her own house.
[ His eyes glow a little bit as he remembers. ]
She panicked and defended herself with a dagger instead of a wand and that, darling, just made it fun.
no subject
Did you flay her alive? ( Her lips find the point at his throat where his pulse is beating steadily. )
Gut her?
( She shifts in his lap until she straddles him, though she is awfully fond of just where his hand is right now – if he tries to move it from her throat, she just might guide it right back. )
Try to find out how many cuts it takes for her to expire?
( With her free hand, she finds the zipper of the muggle trousers, and she makes short work of it. )
no subject
I dissected her.
[ His hand does leave her throat, but it' because he needs to find the zipper on her practical denim trousers, something that is more practical than anything she would have worn since - even in - school. ]
Have you ever made someone look at their own kidney? It's an experience not to be missed, darling.
no subject
And now? Now it's getting colder, the elements are closing in on them, and so her shirt is buttoned up and her trousers are made of a material that can take a hit or two. )
Only on accident, I believe.
( This is one of those moments where she temporarily forgot that the convenience of magic isn't so freely available anymore. She shifts off of him, to rid herself of her pants, and straddles him again only after pulling his down enough to permit easier access. It's his hands she puts to work at the buttons of her shirt. )
I did rather like cutting them limb from limb while keeping them wide awake for the matter. I liked the screams.
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So many times they would try to escape into unconsciousness and not be able to. It was the worst part of the torture for them. I liked them knowing how close they were to death. I liked driving them to the point where they begged for it.
[ He flicks open the front clasp of the rather utilitarian bra she wears and imagines black silk and lace instead. He has the irrational thought that, if they make it out alive, he'll buy her some. But of course that's ridiculous. This is only once. ]
And then refusing to let them.
frank castle | mcu
Wolfgang Mozart | Amadeus | OTA
Morrigan | Dragon Age
Royce Melborn | Riyria Revelations
surprise it's me why do i have so many ocs we just dont know
Alas. It was not meant to be. She lived another day when a knife spun through the air seemingly out of nowhere and hit between one of the gang member's eyes. The hooded figure that emerged was like a blur — more so because of her concussion, but damn he was fast. They were dispatched quickly enough and he had said nothing afterwards. He started to leave, but Ella insisted he stay. Why? Company, mostly, and the fact that she was currently shit out of luck in pretty much every way. If he helped her get somewhere safe(ish), she could watch his back. She was a doctor, sort of, she could help somehow.
And she did. Royce had a penchant for danger and getting hurt and Ella was good at what she did. She had to be to survive this long on her own. They dealt with each other — didn't talk much at first, but eventually something had to give. Silence had to be broken and now it was... nicer, friendler, just a little warmer even though neither of them were particularly good at feelings.
Now, in the future, so long after that fateful meeting they're walking through an abandoned city looking for supplies. No sign of danger yet — oh, but that can change quickly, knowing these two. Ella returns after a run to their make shift base, dropping a bag of meager medical supplies on the table. Royce is nowhere in sight. Figures. ]
you say like i don't have 84 of them
It's not that he trusts her, because he doesn't, but Ella makes a suitable traveling companion. She knows how to treat injuries, and she knows how to fight well enough, and she doesn't ask him for a whole lot. She's not looking for a friend, which Royce appreciates. Or at least - that's what he appreciates at first. As they travel together, he gets a little more comfortable. She proves herself to be someone who isn't liable to stab him in the back at any turn. It gets to a point where he trusts her enough - enough to sleep, to not check his food for poison before he eats, to leave his things unattended.
It's friendlier. And it's nice not to be alone.
Ella hears no sign of him for a good half hour, and then there's the sound of the back door to their little base opening. He doesn't say anything to her, which isn't unusual, but he's favoring his right leg, and he's got his hand buried in the folds of his cloak as he limps past her to the bathroom. ]
fair
She's not worried, but she is still relieved when he comes through the door. Too bad he couldn't come back uninjured — but she'll take it. She's fiddling with something when he limps by, filling a syringe. She doesn't look up when she speaks. ]
You gonna let me look at that?
Jyn Erso | Rogue One | OTA