Under the soft glow of the city lights, Gojo Satoru — without his blindfold, his piercing blue eyes locking onto hers — pulls the brown-haired, green-eyed girl…

The warrior man sitting under a tree, meditating.

Tommy and Marcus the two bad boys walking out of the police station; night outside. They look thoughtful, but determined.

*Her palm settles flat over his on the cloth, and the kitchen holds its five steady under the brightened snow-light. He turns his hand under hers, threads her fingers through his, and presses her ring flat between their palms — the same way he closed a deal before he trusted the ground under it. The stove ticks. The river talks low somewhere beyond the treeline. His thumb rides the silver band once, slow, a check he makes before he stands on any line he means to keep. The face-down phone stays where it is in the drawer by the salt bin. In the far chair, the boy sleeps on across two cushions. His mother has stopped between the stove and the shelf, watching.* Then we sign it together, love, in the morning — your name in that desk's book under mine, and the mill floor woken up around the two of us. The old hand's kept that page twenty winters waiting for a Conleth to come back to it. We'll bring it our own ink. *He keeps her hand in his a beat longer and looks down the table at the full row of them — the woman and her dog on the bench, his mother at the shelf, the boy curled in the chair, and the twins riding warm under her coat. The grey light keeps its shift over the snow line, and the whole of the ridge holds its ordinary, unhurried breath while he stands with her at the threshold of it.*

It’s a blizzard…During a monster apocalypse. Seth Rollins was on the run from a group of monsters. He ended up on ice over a frozen lake. The ice began to crack under the group of monsters combined weight. Seth kept running while the monsters fell through the ice and ended up in the water. He almost made it to the ground….But then the ice cracked under him and he fell into the water

Then let's not keep the stars waiting, love. I've been walking this ridge alone long enough to know that a sky full of names is cold comfort when there's no one standing under it with you. Tonight, the lamp gets banked, the door stays barred behind us, and every star that kept the watch with me gets its name from your mouth. I've got your boots off, and they're going to stay off for the walk. The west track's packed hard enough to hold bare feet if you take it slow, and I want you to feel that ground under your soles the way I've felt it under mine. It's not a claim you file on paper. It's a claim you walk, barefoot, in the frost, with your hand in mine. And when we get to the high ground and the whole valley drops away on every side, I'II point to the one above the mill house, the one I've been saying goodnight to since the fifth winter, and I'll tell you its name for the first time. Not to the frost, not to the wind. To you, standing under it with me. Come on, wife. The stars won't name themselves. Tap

Then

dense jungle under the setting sun. The colors are rich with oranges and yellows.

It’s a blizzard…During a monster apocalypse. Seth Rollins was on the run from a group of monsters. He ended up on ice over a frozen lake. The ice began to crack under the group of monsters combined weight. Seth kept running while the monsters fell through the ice and ended up in the water. He almost made it to the ground….But then the ice cracked under him and he fell into the water. He swam to the surface…but one of the monsters grabbed his ankle and pulled him

It’s a blizzard…During a monster apocalypse. Seth Rollins was on the run from a group of monsters. He ended up on ice over a frozen lake. The ice began to crack under the group of monsters combined weight. Seth kept running while the monsters fell through the ice and ended up in the water. He almost made it to the ground….But then the ice cracked under him and he fell into the water. He swam to the surface…but one of the monsters grabbed his ankle

The warrior man and his band discover a clearing. Villagers are bound and weakened, suffering under the sorcerer's power.

Then let's not keep the stars waiting, love. I've been walking this ridge alone long enough to know that a sky full of names is cold comfort when there's no one standing under it with you. Tonight, the lamp gets banked, the door stays barred behind us, and every star that kept the watch with me gets its name from your mouth. I've got your boots off, and they're going to stay off for the walk. The west track's packed hard enough to hold bare feet if you take it slow, and I want you to feel that ground under your soles the way I've felt it under mine. It's not a claim you file on paper. It's a claim you walk, barefoot, in the frost, with your hand in mine. And when we get to the high ground and the whole valley drops away on every side, I'II point to the one above the mill house, the one I've been saying goodnight to since the fifth winter, and I'll tell you its name for the first time. Not to the frost, not to the wind. To you, standing under it with me. Come on, wife. The stars won't name themselves.

*Cormac turns your hand over in his, palm to palm, and presses a slow kiss to the inside of your wrist, right over the pulse. His beard scrapes soft against your skin and his eyes stay on yours the whole time, dark and warm under the lantern light. The twins' breathing is a steady rhythm from the crib, and the whole cabin feels like it's holding still around the two of you.* Tariff's paid in full, Wife Commander. Every cent of my wallet and every hour of my watch, signed and notarized under your name. Now let me hold this post properly before the heirs wake and the whole command tent comes under new management. *He tugs you gently toward him by the hand he's still holding, settling you against his chest with the quilt pulled up over both your shoulders. His thumb traces a slow circle on your knuckles, a man who's stopped counting winters and started counting mornings instead.*