#(and/or i really should also mention the remnants at some point but like) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chishiyaisasnack · 8 months

Text

Shower time

Here’s a fic that I’ve been working on for a good while now and I’m finally content with posting it. It’s sfw even though it’s a shower scene. Mostly fluff (?) and a tiiiiiny but of angst.

Disclaimer! This story is based in the Borderlands and it mentions blood, wounds and trauma from it. It’s not about how they got injured, but more so very mildly describing that they are injured. I consider it sfw but it does contain nudity since they’re taking a shower, but I’m not describing bodyparts or anything. Also, small references to sex just for humor, but there is no smut whatsoever.

Oh, and the reader doesn’t know that Chishiya is a doctor.

I’ve written and am posting on mobile so I’m sorry for any formatting issues.

”I’m going to take a shower.”

With strong steps - actually more like a wobble - you walked into your room at The Beach, Chishiya following close behind you, watching your every movement just in case you would trip over your own feet, like you already had done about 30 times since you left the game area. It had been a rough one and it had left you wounded, exhausted and a bit lethargic. Not to mention the strain it had taken on your mental state, like the games always did, but you had turned off your feelings for now and had only one goal in mind: a long, warm shower to wash off all the remnants of the game.

”No you aren’t, it can wait until tomorrow.” Chishiya sounded like he always did, bored and condescending, but you knew that there was some worry in there somewhere. Otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered to follow you all the way back to your room, offering to catch you when you’d eventually fall.

”I feel gross. I’m covered in … stuff.” Blood. You were covered in blood. You raised your arms to make your point clearer, in case he missed what an absolute mess you were right now.

”Fine. Come on then.” Chishiya sighed, walked around you, and went towards the bathroom while you stood confused, watching him open the door and look back at you before stepping inside.

”Wait, what?” you asked, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Why was he joining you?

With slow steps you followed him, wondering if he got the wrong idea. He was gorgeous, but sex was the last thing on your mind, especially shower sex. Didn’t he say that you were in no condition to even take a shower to begin with? You stopped in the doorway and waited for a response.

”You most likely have a concussion, you’re wounded and you’re exhausted. You’re going to collapse by yourself.” He turned on the shower and let the stream of water fall, waiting for it to turn hot.

”Okay, okay, doctor.” The smirk you got back confused you even more. Did he have a thing for being called ’doctor’? It wouldn’t suprise you, he was a mystery. But even him would surely have preferrences. Wait, why were you thinking about sex again?

You shook your head as you walked inside the bathroom, limping past Chishiya as he was making his way out again. Or so you thought. In the corner of your eye you saw him stretch, but it wasn’t until you turned around that you saw what he really was doing.

”Uhh, why are you taking your clothes off?” Your eyes widened as his hoodie hit the floor. He had no shame, appearantly getting naked with you without warning was completely normal in his world.

”I’m getting ready to help you when you realise that I was right. Don’t worry, I won’t join you until you ask me to. Which will be soon, so I’m preparing for that.”

You didn’t know if you should feel thankful or offended by what he said.

Chishiya however, smirked again, cocking an eyebrow at your dumbfounded look. He was enjoying this. While still looking at you he started to pull down his shorts. Your eyes were fixed on the pile of clothes he had created on the floor, which thankfully wasn’t added with more pieces since he decided to keep at least his boxers on. The daring look he had on his face when you turned your eyes back up was annoying. Did he like that you were looking at him? Not that you were looking at him like that anyway. You just wanted to take a shower. Or so you told yourself.

With his shirt and pants off he sat down on the toilet seat, turning around so that he had his back against you and the glass wall of the shower.

”Go ahead” he said, a hint of amusement hiding in his voice. ”I won’t look.”

”You better not” you huffed back at him, watching him carefully while you started to remove your own clothes, ripped apart and stained with blood. Instead of putting them in a pile you threw them straight into the trashcan. Once removed, you looked into the mirror over the sink and you almost gasped at how wounded you actually were. Cuts and bruises covered your arms, legs and back. Patches of your skin were stained red, even your face still had traces of blood left on it. You looked terrible.

Sighing, you stopped studiyng yourself and looked over your shoulder. Chishiya was still sitting with his back against you, shoulders rising and falling slow with every breath, the muscles of his back tensing when he moved. He looked soft. You wondered what he would look like wet.

No! This was not the right time to daydream about Chishiya and his pretty back, his blonde hair that fell in waves over his shoulders, those shoulders that probably would feel great to hold on to while your lips were… Oh, for fucks sake, just get in the shower y/n.

After disrupting yourself from your thoughts you made your way into the shower, closing your eyes as the water started cascading down your body. The glass wall seperating the shower and the rest of the room was conveniently half covered with frosted glass so that it covered most of your body, from your shoulders down to your knees, making you a bit less embarrassed over being naked in the same room as him. Being naked in front of someone when it wasn’t sexual wasn’t your idea of calming, and even though he had no shame, you still had. This was too intimate, too casual. But if it was what it took to take a shower then you’d do it. Even though you didn’t like to admit it you did trust Chishiya to treat you with decency and respect. He might be considered one of the people you shouldn’t trust in the borderlands, a bad person perhaps, but not bad enough to overstep someones boundaries like this.

”Let me know when you need me.” Chishiyas voice rang somewhere in the distance. Not even a ’if you need me’. He was too confident and it just made you even more stubborn. You were definitely able to take a shower by yourself, you were damned to not let him win this one, you told yourself while reaching for the soap. With unsteady hands (no, they absolutely weren’t unsteady because you were tired) you started to scrub the dirt off yourself, one part at a time. You hissed whenever you discovered a new wound you weren’t aware of and eventually the pain from it made you a bit dizzy. No, you could do this.

You clenched your jaw as you continued, slowly moving from head to toe, covering yourself with suds. Finally, everything you could see and feel was gone, so you let the stream of water fall over you once again, closing your eyes, enjoying the warmth that it gave. You felt your muscles relax, your breathing slowing down, your eyelids getting heavier…

”Chishiya…” you mumbled weakly, mad that he was right, again.

”I’m here.” A voice right behind you made you jump. You turned around and swung your fist towards him, ready to punch him out of pure panic, but he caught it before it landed on him. The borderlands had really done a number on you, you were constantly prepared for survival and appearantly even Chishiya was a victim of your anxiety. ”Calm down, it’s just me.”

”How long have you been standing there?!” You wobbled to the side as you tried to fight your bodys urge to fall onto the ground from the sudden movements. Chishiya steadied you by holding your upper arms, and helped you turn back around so that your back was facing him again.

”You moved slower and slower so I was ready when you called for me. I haven’t been standing here ogling.”

”So you have been watching me?” You didn’t even think about the fact that you probably flashed him completely just now. Well, if he saw something he didn’t care about it, which was comforting in this situation.

”Of course. I couldn’t see anything other than your head anyway. It wasn’t quite the show you think it was.” Chishiyas voice was dripping with amusement.

Once again, you didn’t know if you should be thankful or offended.

”Give me the schampoo bottle.” Chishiya asked, or rather commanded, reaching his arm out next to you so you could hand him the bottle. Once he got it you could hear him shake it before opening it and pouring out some of the liquid in his hand, followed by a low thump as he put it on the floor behind you.

Slender fingers moved over your hair, softly massaging it with his fingertips, giving you full body shivers from the way his fingers drew circles between the strands. It felt nice. Safe. You couldn’t help but to close your eyes again and just relish in the warmth radiating from his hands. He was so careful with how he touched you, slow and gentle while he worked his way through all of your hair.

A part of you wished that he would step closer so that you could feel the warmth from his body wrap around you, so that you could lean back and relax in his arms, just enjoying how your body would feel so at ease while being comforted, but you had no idea how to ask him for that without it sounding sexual.

”Shower head, please.”

You did as he asked and handed him the shower head, turning up the water pressure while doing so to make it easier for him to rinse.

”Close your eyes and bend your head backwards. Tell me if you feel dizzy.” Chishiya didn’t sound so stern this time. His words were soft and comforting, asking you to trust him. So you did.

He rinsed your hair in silence. One hand holding the shower head while the other one kept massaging your scalp, making sure to rinse out the schampoo properly. Even though you desperately tried to relax and just enjoy the feeling of being taken care of, you couldn’t stop your emotions from seeping back into your mind. Pictures of the game were flashing before your eyes. People screaming. Fighting. Lasers going off.

”Chishiya…” you whispered, no longer able to stop thinking about what had happend earlier.

”Mhmm..?”

”There was a child there tonight.”

He didn’t answer but you could feel the movements in his hands stiffen as he continued to rinse your scalp free from schampoo.

”I didn’t know that there were children here” you continued, trying to get the thoughts out of your head so you wouldn’t be tormented by them during the night. ”I thought maybe we were sent here to repent or something like that, that we were getting what we deserve. But why would a child deserve this? Even if we are all randomly sent here, without any reason behind why it’s us in particular, why would they choose a child?”

”…I don’t know.” He sounded emtpy when he answered, not that you were expecting his words to be comforting. They rarely were. There was a long pause before he spoke again. ”Did the child make it?”

”Yeah…” A shiver ran trough your body when Chishiya stopped rinsing your hair, already missing the heat from the water. Another thump came from the floor when he put the shower head down. ”Some of us worked together and protected him as much as we could.”

”Do you have conditioner?” he interrupted, sticking his hand out next to you so that you could hand it to him. You placed the bottle in his hand and watched him retrieve it. A click of the bottle cap was followed by another thump when he put it down on the ground. You wondered how many times he must’ve stared at your ass by now.

”Anyway,” you continued, shaking the image of him smirking at your butt away. ”That’s why I look like this. I took the hits for him.”

”That sounds like you.”

You hummed at his words. It was reassuring that you were considered to be a nice person, even in this hellscape.

Gentle fingers threaded through your hair again and you leaned into the touch. It went by faster this time since he didn’t need to scrub, although you wished he would keep doing this for hours. Every time he let go of you - this time to pick up the shower head again - the ache in your body took over, making you tremble ever so slightly even though the steam from the hot water was surrounding you. You were relieved when you felt the water against your back, contently closing your eyes and bending your head back into Chishiyas palm.

”I envy you sometimes.” Chishiya mumbled, so quiet that the sound of the water almost drowned it out.

”You do?”

”I wouldn’t have helped someone else if it meant that I would have to work for it, let alone get hurt from it.” Chishiya paused briefly, like he was choosing his words carefully. ”Especially not a stranger. You didn’t think twice about doing so.”

”I don’t believe that.” You cut him off before he got the chance to put himself down even more. ”You’re better than you think, Chishiya. Just look at what you’re doing for me right now.”

”I’m washing your hair, I’m not saving you from dying.” You could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

”You don’t have to save me from death to help me. This is helping me. Besides, from the sound of your attempts to stop me from showering, I could die in here if you didn’t help me.”

”Maybe I just wanted to see you naked” Chishiya joked with such a monotone voice that anyone else would think he was serious, but you knew better. Well, if he was serious he had gotten his wish - paired with a fist coming at his face.

”Right” you snorted, too tired to laugh. A blush still crept over your cheeks, imagining his eyes on you in that way. ”Keep telling yourself that if that makes you feel better.”

”There” Chishiya ignored your answer and handed you the shower head. Cold air rushed to your skin as the water left it, leaving you almost begging for him to continue. Would it be so bad if you did?

”You can turn off the water now. I’ll get you some towels. Stay there.”

With a pout you put the shower head back into it’s place and turned off the water. Behind you, you could hear how Chishiya was gathering towels from a drawer, his footsteps making their way back over the tiled floor that would be cold and uninviting for your own feet in a second.

”Lift your arms a little.” You did as he asked and lift your arms halfway up, stopping waist high, only to see Chishiyas arms poking out from under them, holding up a towel that you thankfully grabbed a hold on and quickly wrapped around yourself to try to regain some of the warmth that the shower had given you.

”You’re safe to turn around now.”

”Thank you” you quitly replied as you gently spun around, just to be met by a still undressed Chishiya with his own towel hanging around his neck and a soft expression on his face. If you didn’t know better you would think that he was worried about you.

A smaller towel was in one of his hands - which soon landed on your head, covering your face at the same time. Your sour expression that was revealed as you peeled it off made him grin.

”Do you want help to dry it?” He asked, eyes shiny from amusement, and watched as you stubbornly started to squeeze the ends of your hair, too tired to lift your arms up and dry it completely.

”No, I’ll just put the towel over the pillow when I sleep. It’s fine” you replied, following his example and put your own towel over your shoulders. The chill in the air was starting to really get to you, and you decided that you couldn’t get to the bed fast enough. Just thinking about laying down, surrounded by warm covers, maybe even a pair of socks on your feet at first, burying your head on the pillow…

”The wounds on your back looked fine but I still need to cover some of them with bandaids. I need to examine your front too. Let me know when you’ve covered up so that I can check your arms, legs and stomach.”

Ugh, why did he have to interupt your dream about your bed with another naked request? You just wanted to sleep.

”I’m sure I’ll be fine Chishiya” you groaned back at him, slowly (and unsteadily) making your way past him and towards the bed. You could see the light at the end of the tunnel, just a few more steps and you’d reach the doorhandle, that doorhandle that would open the gate and lead you straight towards the nice, warm, fluffy….

You groaned even louder when you felt a hand grip your arm, stopping your weak attempt to get out of the bathroom and keeping you still while Chishiya made his way around you so that he was facing you again. That calm face was back and you didn’t like it.

”Please, Chishiya, just let me sleep” you pleaded but to no avail.

”Come here.” You had no choice but to move after him, not being strong enough to even attempt to break loose from his grip on your arm, that was keeping you somewhat steady as you plopped one foot in front of the other until you reached the end of the bathroom. Then - lo and behold - Chishiya opened the door and led you out into the hotel room, making your way straight towards the bed. Right as he reached the foot of the bed he stopped and slowly turned the two of you around in a circle so that your back was now facing the bed, and then pushed you back so that you fell down on the soft duvet cover with a yelp. It felt like heaven to finally lay down, like a cloud was enveloping you and taking you with it to the land of dreams.

”Where are your underwear?” Chishiya once again interrupted your inner monolouge.

”Why? Wanna see them so badly even though you’ve already seen me naked?” You rolled your eyes and leaned your head to the side so that you could watch him dig around in a dresser until he grabbed the first, best pair of panties he could find and threw them at you.

”Put them on please, unless you want me to examine you naked. I’m fine with either way.”

You just huffed at him, secretly liking the playful look he was giving you. When he turned his back to you, you managed to shuffle around and get your panties on, just to let your legs fall back down onto the bed with a loud thump. God, you were exhausted.

”I’m done, doctor.” Once again, he reacted with a grin and you were now positive that he had some wierd doctor patient kink and that you were so going to make him confess that. A mission for another day.

Chishiya sat down next to your legs and reached over them to pick up a first aid kit you didn’t even know was laying next to you. Was he a wizard too?

You kept still, listening to the opening of packets, a liquid poured onto what you imagined was a cotton ball, and then your own hiss as he touched the first wound on your leg. It wasn’t the liquid that hurt, it was just the tender touch from the gauze he dabbed against your skin that hurt enough to make you wince. He must have started on a bad one.

”Try to keep still” he murmured gently, sounding like he was completely occupied with his task of tormenting you just a bit more before letting you sleep.

You stayed as still as you could, trying to concentrate on his hands and fingers working their way over your legs, dabbing it with the liquid, letting it dry, then putting a compress and some adhesive tape over it like a home made band aid. His touch was so gentle that it was barely there.

Your eyelids turned heavier with every touch of his fingertips and even though your wounds were stinging, his warm skin eased the pain afterwards and comforted you without knowing so. Before falling asleep you murmured a ”thank you.”

The last thing you remembered was the feeling of being enveloped in something warm, probably the cover that wasn’t underneath you and a soft whisper.

”You’re welcome.”

#my writing #chishiya #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x reader #chishiya x y/n #aib chishiya #shuntaro chishiya #chishiya x fem!reader #chishiya imagine #shuntaro chishiya x reader #chishiya fanfic

630 notes · View notes

yandere-sins · 9 months

Text

The Orcas' Tale - Give up wanting to leave them (BE 2)

Sooo, finally another bad end, and a really long one at that! Please heed the warnings at always, and I hope you guys enjoy it ♥

Fandom: Original Content Pairings: Yandere!Orca Mermen x GN!AFAB!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Monsters, Violence (Scratching, Biting, Verbal Abuse, Mention of a tragic birth), Sexual Content (Fingering, Groping, Mention of monster cocks, Non-consensual touches), Pregnancy and Nursing mention, Baby mention, Baby death mention, Animalistic behavior, Mention of blood/claws/sharp teeth, Hinting at death, Long Post

Why should you even try?

Slowly, you let your breath slide out through your gritted teeth, the tension being pulled from your body as you exhaled. Until there was nothing. You simply felt nothing. No anxiety, no stress, no panic. The urgency from before was replaced by numbness, your mind turning blank as you stared at the pool, the water gently rippling. It was utterly dark, seemingly endless in its depth. Even with the light of the shining plant climbing along the walls, the only thing that got clearer by the second was that there was nothing you could do.

It was simply a fact. A fact you had tried to deny for so long but that those three had already pointed out to you countless times. You were weak; you were helpless. Without them, you'd still be out there on your little raft. No one would have come to save you. Being indebted to them was one thing, but you couldn't deny it anymore that the chance of going back to your life had already been very slim even before they found you. Of course they wouldn't want to risk their life for someone they barely knew. Make a tedious and dangerous journey for someone they had already saved once before out of the goodness of their hearts.

And you… couldn't swim there. You had no idea where you were, but there was a high chance it wasn't near land. Judging by how little light illuminated the water in the small pool, you'd have to dive and swim quite a bit before you'd reach the surface. And then what? Try to weather the moody waters until you'd either die from exhaustion, heatstroke, or drown in the waves? They already told you they wouldn't come for you if you left on your own, so aside from nature's cruelty, you'd also be subject to predators like the orcas. Not even a trained swimmer would have a chance. You certainly wouldn't make it back to land. Who were you going to fool?

Just like that, you realized the choice you had to make.

"Fine…" you mumbled, catching everyone's attention, Lyr even pried open an eye again to watch you. "I'll stay."

There was a moment of silence. Even your heartbeat was booming when there were no breaths or movements around you in the cave. The expectancy of a joke was loud and clear, even amongst these creatures that weren't supposed to be human enough to understand it. As if you were going to go back on your word any passing second now and throw another tantrum about how you want to leave immediately.

"Human," Nerrocan mumbled, sounding almost like a warning. "Let's sleep over it."

"No." Shaking your head, you cut off the idea. "I am done trying to fight battles I can't win! I don't have the strength to keep going like this. I have to make a decision now and be done worrying and agonizing about all the possibilities and consequences! I… I'll stay here. With you guys. You promised to keep me safe, so you better step up!"

You could feel the tears shooting into your eyes and quickly wiped them away, fed up with crying and too exhausted to care about the warning signs your body sent you. Your throat was clogged up, but you had said your piece, ready to lay the argument to rest. Just like you were ready to finally go to sleep and regain some of the sanity you had lost over the last few hours. Sleep that wasn't induced by panic or violence. Checking the ground behind you for stones or unevenness, you settled down, heaving a deep breath and trying to let go of any remnants of your conflicting feelings. All you wanted were a few hours of not having to think or feel before facing the new reality you chose.

"Human," someone purred to your left, ripping you out of the calm you tried to force yourself into. Opening your eyes, Krill's face hung above yours, his deep red eyes sparkling alongside his widely spread grin. Almost immediately, regret crept back into your conscience as you dragged your arms in front of your body, only for your wrists to be caught in one of Krill's hands.

"So you agree to stay? Give yourself to us?"

Before you knew it, he had brought his head down, his voice sweeter than anything you had ever heard, goosebumps surging on your skin as the sound tingled all over you. You gave a brief but firm nod, wiggling your body beneath him while Krill's body weighed down on you, the merman not wasting a breath to respond to your agreement. Lips crashing into yours, the strange sensation of his kiss reminded you of Nerrocan's when he first pulled you into the water. Domineering, confident, hungry. It didn't soothe the resurfacing anxiety, the thoughts swirling in your mind as you were forced to open your mouth for him, his plump tongue breaking through to lick at your blunt teeth and taste what you had to offer.

You could barely struggle beneath him, trying desperately just to get air. But with your hands pinned down, Krill only relented when he felt every muscle in your body tensing, briefly pulling away for you to breathe while he kissed along your jaw and the side of your neck laid bare before him. This wasn't what you wanted from this deal, but you neither had the strength nor the chance to hide the jerk that went through you when his teeth grazed over the spot between your shoulder and neck, your whine sounding awfully lot like a moan.

The three of them gave you no second to catch your composure as all their hands seemed to appear across your body, claws squeezing into your flesh while the pads of their hands rubbed up on your inner thigh. Their interest in you greatly outweighed their common sense, and they grew more and more eager to explore you with every touch that fell on you, never enough to quench their curiosity. It was then that you realized the full extent of your choice. The consequence of your actions.

"We'll take good care of you," Krill hummed, his voice sending shivers up your spine, causing a tingle deep in your core. You knew he was using his magical siren voice at you, and yet you could not reasonably explain the visceral need you felt to keep hearing it. Your whole body shivered when he added in a honeyed purr, "I promise."

You knew you couldn't trust him, the orcas' promises never actually being fulfilled. But you realized then and there that you didn't have the fight left in you to argue. To really make them promise. There was no time to concentrate on anything other than the sensations running through your body as his hand slipped below, a strong, clawed finger settling between your folds, slowly, rhythmically circling and pressing into your sex. The sensation left you writhing up to the moment when the tip of his claw got caught on the fabric of your wetsuit. You gasped, shooting upwards, only for more hands to grab your shoulders.

As if they coordinated their movements, Krill's body retreated, not out of sight, but out of your thoughts, the sound of water splashing as he sank into the pool, barely able to catch your attention as Lyr took over. With his chest in your back, he kept you seated, a smug grin playing around his lips as he looked down on you from behind.

"Who's a good human?" he asked, your brain fully aware that he was mocking you, turning your expression into a grimace. And yet… at the same time… his voice kept going where Krill left off, your gut churning with the need to hear more of it.

"I'm not your pet!" you hissed back, but the sound was more of a childish complaint than the confident reply you wanted it to be. However, before you two could argue, your focus was diverted, your eyes snapping forward to Krill's hands roaming between your legs, spreading them. With his body demanding space between your thighs, he used his hands to slip beneath the supple flesh of your thighs, lifting them up and out of the way, steading them over his shoulders. "What–!" you tried to argue when your head was forcefully pulled backwards, eyes falling back on Lyr, whose sharp teeth showed in the form of a large grin.

"That's where you're wrong," he chuckled, placing his hand, gently yet firm, around your throat, denying you the chance to look away as he leaned forward to kiss you, tongue swiping over your lips demandingly. You couldn't help but jolt and push your hands into his shoulders above you, but no matter how much of your left-over strength you used, he didn't budge a bit until you relented, letting him in, the merman exploring your mouth with his tongue to his heart's content, letting out little chuckles as he went about having his way with you.

There was no time to comprehend and work through everything that happened. Your clothes didn't last long with their hands clawing through the fabric until they could brandish your skin with their scratches. Tongues turned into teeth, salvia into blood. You gasped when Krill filled you with one of his fingers, moaning into Nerrocan's mouth, who had made it his life mission to ease you into their groping with more kisses, allowing you to breathe through him only. If you had to assess them, he was the only gentle one, and yet, even he couldn't stop himself from squeezing your breast needily when his grabby hands found them.

Even he couldn't hold back biting a bloody, possessive ring of teeth marks around your nipples when the chance presented itself, and neither could his packmates, the hot blood trickling from your shoulder and thighs mixing with your tears and juices while they licked the wounds devotedly. None of them was satisfied with just one bite, marking their territories on your body, their jaws stretching wider, teeth burying deeper, and tongues licking more fervently with every mark.

The claw inside your cunt made you anxious, your walls clenching around the thick finger involuntarily, even as you were distracted from the waves of pleasure and pain. You tried your best to keep yourself controlled and conscious, but you were failing miserably, their muttered voices lulling you into letting yourself fall, giving up your struggles. You hadn't yet loosened up enough when Krill forced another one of his fingers inside, cursing about your tightness.

"How's my cock supposed to fit inside?" he complained to no one in particular while your body jerked, sobs escaping you as he rampaged your pussy. It hurt! It was anything but lovingly! And yet, he fucked joint after joint inside you, triggering all the sweet spots you wished he'd never find. "It's like you want this to hurt! You're so much worse than our females!"

Every tear trickling from your eyes was licked up by the other two, and every complaint was swallowed by another kiss. You had already given in to them once, but letting go completely was harder than you thought. "Relax," Lyr purred into your ear from behind, sounding so damn convincing to your struggling brain and making you breathe out the air you've been holding in. His hand wandered below, teasing your body on its way until it found your cunt, spreading it and flicking his finger unintentionally over your clit.

"Do that again," Krill ordered, perplexed when you moaned out loud, your walls tensing and releasing with a shudder. You could hear the knowing chuckle behind you before Lyr began assaulting your clit with his fingers, twisting and circling over it, his touch so rough and mean, and yet distracting you from the hardship of Krill fucking you with his fingers until it came all together in harmony.

Nerrocan demanded entrance to your mouth once more as he played with your breasts, his claws stimulating and pulling your nipples alongside the pleasure given to you by the other two. That way, you were kept between heaven and hell until you finally caved, your orgasm rattling through your body violently, eyes rolling back as the three pushed you over the edge. Your songs of pleasure ripped through the silent cave, and the three joined in with cocky laughter and adoring whistles.

For a few moments, you were gone from the world, gone from the pain and agony that your decision had already given you. Someone laid you down into the soft fur as you convulsed, fingers popping out of you before you were enveloped in more tongues licking off the remnants of your orgasm, exploring and tasting you, forcing out whines from your throat whenever they teased a sensitive area.

You were doomed. So fucking doomed.

It was nice that you'd go out with a bang, pleasure overweighing pain. Still, you hadn't saved yourself with your decision, only putting you into more misery. It had never been an equal partnership that they offered. You were more of a pet than an accepted member of their squad. But when you focused your gaze, staring into three sparkling pairs of eyes, pearls of cum dripping from their erect cocks onto your body, you knew you were more than even a pet. You were going to be their personal pleasure toy. And outlet for their desires. A broodmare.

Their children's mother.

And your body did the only thing it could do to save you, forcing your conscience to drift away from you, your vision turning black as the sight of them closed in.

"It is so small. Again."

You didn't dare to pry your eyes off the little devil baby in your arms, even when his great aunt spewed her venomous words around you again. Even after baby two—actually three—she still had nothing nice to say about the half-humans you had given birth to for her sons and nephew. She had nothing but snide comments and derogatory words, and though every one of them stung, there was little you could do against her.

"I'm sorry," you muttered, flinching noticeably when your son accidentally bit instead of sucked on your breast, hungry and desperate for milk that you wanted to feed him but couldn't. Even if you were lucky to even produce milk, considering your child wasn't the only one feeding from it and the constant stress you were under, there was never enough for him. Compared to his brethren, your son was small, causing loads of fear and anguish amongst the pack if he'd even make it. Yet he fed like a champion, suffering from your lack of milk to the point of recklessly biting you.

"Come now, Dessi. Cut the human some slack."

Compared to her sister, Thalassa was much gentler when it came to you. Nerrocan's mother couldn't and wouldn't hide the smile on her face as she scooped up her first known grandchild from your arms, one palm enough to hold the little man. Had the three merely told you how massive the females of their pack were, you might not have believed it, but they towered over you, easily trice your size. Once the baby was out of your hands, you clutched your breast, the left-over milk mixing with blood as you winced. Unlike his father, the little rascal didn't leave deep and permanent marks, but your time pregnant and nursing was visible all over alongside the claiming mating bites, especially with the lack of clothes you were given, modesty not needed underwater.

"You're just happy it's your grandchild this time." Desdemona followed the statement with a loud huff, dissatisfied and annoyed as she always was when it came to matters concerning you, while she stared at the little baby in her sister's palm. Danger gleamed in her eyes as she watched Thalassa coo and bubble to the baby, almost looking like a human grandmother despite her statue-esque size and unmistakable skin pattern similar to Nerrocan's. But if you were honest, only a small part of you would try to save your child from her wrath should she decide to unleash it on your son. You knew better than to try and throw a tantrum around the matriarch of the pack, who wished for nothing more than for you to disappear.

"If only these three rascals would get their bums out there and have children with strong and healthy females instead of… that."

Her eyes shifted to you, and you instinctively hung your head in shame, knowing how unwelcome you were. In her eyes, you were a mere plaything of her children, not the respected mother of her grandkids. Your first encounter had been tense, Krill, Lyr, and Nerrocan having decided not to make a secret out of your existence but introduce you to their pack. They received a lot of retaliation from everyone, but when they made it clear through bared fangs and screeching that they would choose you over their family, the matriarch eventually relented.

She cared very little about the new position you gained in the whole pack as the mother of her grandchildren, though. And behind whistles and snarky looks from every merfolk you met in the months you had been here, it was pretty clear that the only reason you were even tolerated was because of your three mates, who wouldn't hear any reason when it came to their choice of partner. Yes, mates.

Another reason she hated you so, as her sons and nephew refused to find—in her opinion—better partners and make children that were worthy of being nurtured and taught the ways of the sirens. Orcas didn't tend to stay monogamous. To learn they actually had a word for it, hearing it the first time uttered in disgust from the matriarch, had been an awful surprise. Desdemona despised you for depriving Krill and Lyr of that possibility, blaming you for their focus ever only being on you. As if you asked them to obsess and impregnate you. As if it was all your fault.

When really, it was just another consequence of your decision years ago.

Being tolerated was better than being dead, at least, even if your body felt like it was dying. Siren-human babies were needy like a human would be, in the body of a mermaid, together with sharp teeth and a tail. The horror of birthing was still stuck in every bone, and you were exhausted from being up all night trying to get your child to calm down. Nerrocan tried his best, taking his son swimming or floating at the surface when he could, but he was duty-bound, away most of the day to hunt. And if it wasn't their child, Krill and Lyr weren't genuinely interested in it, only looking forward to the time you'd be ready to mate again.

"That's right," Thalassa chuckled, playing with the baby that looked like a miniature toy in her hands. It should have alarmed you, but who were you to derive the grandmother of what she enjoyed when she could crush you with one hand? "I am so happy it's my grandson this time. You already have one, Dessi! It's more than fair it was my sweet, little Nerrocan having a child this time. And look how cute it is! You're the cutest little thing in the world, aren't you?"

Your child was happily bubbling while you shrugged away from Desdemona, who seemed to slowly but surely lose her mind over her sister's affection for the little devil spawn she saw in your son. "At least it's a siren this time," she hissed angrily, reminding you of the painful memories you tried to forget.

This child was lucky to be born with all the traits needed to survive below the ocean's surface. Fangs, claws, gills, and a tail were enough to secure its place in the pack, unlike his sister, your second child, who was born human and not a siren. It had been another show of how cruel these creatures were, ripping her away from you the moment you had birthed her, never even allowing you to hold her. A delusional part of you wanted to believe she was still alive, but you had never even once seen her, the sound of her cries turning into gurgles the only thing you remembered.

Your relationship with Lyr had never been the same since then. After all, it was his daughter that just didn't make the cut with the pack. These memories were too painful to remember for both of you, but even when he showed up and slept in the same cave, bringing you food and gifts, you knew he couldn't forget them, either.

The water in the large entrance pool of the community hall—another cave, though larger and wider, with space for thirty or more orcas to assemble and often used by families to chat and linger—rippled before you as a familiar face broke through the surface, smiling politely at you when your eyes crossed. She was young and highly regarded in terms of merfolk's standards, some distant relative of your mates. But you never even learned her name as she only came to collect your children at your mother-in-law's request. She had nursed your first son for you and did it for the newborn now, but not without throwing you a pitiful glance when she thought you weren't looking.

To her, as to everyone else, you were nothing but a minor lifeform, unsuited and better as food than as mother for the children of their strongest warriors. Had she not been family, surely the matriarch had asked her to bear Krill's or Lyr's child, and she'd be the one sitting here with them, nursing and chatting with very happy grandmothers. Envy was not a good look on her pretty face, but could you begrudge her for it?

"Time for food!" Thalassa lilted, ignoring that you had just nursed him, at least to some extent. Lowering her hand towards the pretty mermaid, the latter scooped the tiny child into her arms, giving a well-mannered bow to the matriarch and her sister but sparing only a short glance at you before slipping under. Gone was your hungry baby, and you breathed out, trying not to make your relief known too much.

"Hah…" Desdemona sighed, looking after the younger female with longing in her eyes. "If you could at least produce enough milk for your own child, we wouldn't have to bother our lovely and kind daughters and nieces with providing for it. Do you even do anything but take from us, Human?"

Biting your lip, you knew arguing was pointless. What would you even say? Apologizing would only make her mad, and standing up for yourself had proved useless. No matter how many kills and victories her sons and nephew dedicated to you or how many gold chains and jewels they decorated you with, she'd never see you worthy of anything but her frustration and anger. Changing her opinion was nearly impossible if no one she respected argued for her.

"Now, now, Sister. Leave the poor mother alone. I have nursed your children too when they drained you of all your milk, don't you remember?" Thalassa came to your rescue, and you shot her a brief smile as a thank you that she returned in kind.

"That was something completely different."

"Sure it was, Desdemona. Isn't it more important that our sons are happy? Don't you like seeing them do their best for their beloved and the pack?"

Baring her teeth at her sister, Thalassia finally relented with her gentle scolding, raising her hands conciliatory at the matriarch whose word stood above everyone's, including her sister's.

"Only when the human finally gives Lyr the child he deserves will they truly be happy."

It stung. Hearing her underhanded insults at your lost daughter and yourself hurt exactly like she intended, especially when paired with a glare that could kill. Lowering your head, the tears stung badly in your eyes, even when you tried to hold them back, not wanting her to see your display of weakness. She still noticed, especially with the scowl her sister gave her.

"Everyone makes mistakes," she backpaddled loudly, not as much caring about you as she cared about the image she created of herself to the other few groups of female orcas lingering around but keeping their distance. How would she look in their eyes, making her grandson's mother cry? "Our sons and us included, Thalassia."

"After all, it was the human's choice to stay here."

Unable to hold back your sobs, you covered your face in your hands. You wanted to scream that NO! it wasn't your choice. Well… it was, but what else could you have done? Simply said goodbye to your life? Miserably succumbed to nature or the predators waiting for you? Died while on your journey and killing their sons while at it?

"Ah, the tears again," Desdemona sighed, defeated. As if it was her who was suffering a great ordeal. Knowing you were painting her in the cruel light befitting of her attitude, she resorted to brushing off your feelings, even going as far as to mock you. "What a pitiful creature. Truly pitiful. The only reason you are still alive is because our sons feed and adore you. They might buy into your crying, but I will not humor this any longer, let's go, Thassi."

Slipping into the water, her massive body disappeared into the depths you, too, called your home now, however unwillingly. You knew below you was an elaborate city of deep waters and caves, all belonging to the pack. Nerrocan had shown it to you, albeit over a long, long time, as you couldn't adjust your eyes properly underwater. Without help, you were lost, left to someone's goodwill to be brought from and to the cave you shared with your mates, stranding you wherever you were, oftentimes alone and hurting as no one would reply to your calls.

When she was gone, it was another big stone off your shoulders, her presence nothing but agonizing and dreadful. Thalassa scooted closer, her giant palm settling gently at your back. "It's alright," she soothed you, and you tried to compose yourself, wiping away the tears. "She's actually very happy with Krill being a father and her sweet grandson."

Her comforting words were nothing but pretty lies. However, you nodded, the pack's second-in-command still instilling a good heap of fear into you, even if she was pretending to be nice.

"Alas," she sighed, a thoughtful hum escaping her, no less melodic than any word anyone ever spoke to you. She leaned forward, the hand rubbing your back coming to a halt as her fingers wrapped around your body, claws placed against your skin. She didn't hurt you, didn't even press a mark into your flesh, but the sharp claws against your neck and above your heart were threatening enough for you to still, not daring to move and hurt yourself on them.

"You don't really have to give her another grandchild, you know? It would be a waste to strain your body for Lyr again. That boy is no good, not even as a father. How about you give my sweet Nerrocan another child? I don't mind if it's a girl or a boy, but wouldn't it be so nice if we could become a big, happy family? Bigger than Desdemona's. See, I can't have children anymore, but you're still fertile. Wouldn't you like to see me at the head of the pack instead of her? I know I'm asking much, but you could do me this little favor, and maybe I can put in a good word for you with everyone."

You glanced at her from the corner of your eyes, too afraid to turn your head. Her smile was no longer warm and welcoming. There was no kindness and no motherly care left in the calculated, forced expression on her face. Once again, she made you realize you were nothing in this world, their schemes and power struggles just as bad as humans, and if not a pet to her son and nephews, you were a pawn for her to rise to the position of the matriarch.

"Think about how happy Nerrocan would be if you chose him for your next mating cycle. And of course, I'd be so happy too if you'd give me another grandchild. It's your decision, of course. I am sure you'll make the right decision… this time."

You nodded slowly over her claw to prevent yourself from getting hurt. In the end, every kind word and gesture had just been to move her plan into motion, cozying up to you for her own gain. Thalassa was no different from her sister or everyone else, and when she slipped into the pool, the grand cave hall slowly emptying out with the other orcas leaving as well, an awfully familiar feeling of loneliness overcame you.

Looking up at the glowing plant light at the ceiling, silent tears poured from your eyes as you longed for the warmth of a real family and real friends surrounding you. Of any human, really. Of the warm sun and the cozy rain, clouds above your head instead of stone and water. Endless amounts of water. You missed days you were pain-free and cared for. Where someone asked for your thoughts because they liked to hear them. You knew what you signed up for by now, but the cost had been too great, too devastating for you to bear.

The trophies and gold you were adorned with wouldn't make you happy. Being pregnant and raising more children wouldn't make you happy. Being with your mates, not out of love, but because you needed them to survive, didn't make you happy. Being a pawn and popping out kids for some power-hungry orca lady wouldn't make you happy, regardless of her promises. You had a role in this pack, and as such, you were treated well. But just because you were tolerated and respected, you'd never be happy with how you were treated as nothing more than a mother to children no one wants you to have aside from Krill and Nerrocan, maybe Lyr.

Staring into the water, you couldn't see the ground below. It was there, you'd reach it eventually if you sank far enough, but you wouldn't live long enough to ascend from it again. No one would come to save you this time. No one would take you home and tell you they loved you. But if you couldn't be happy… then at least you could be free.

And finally, everyone would be satisfied with your choice.

500 notes · View notes

windvexer · 6 months

Note

Hi, I hope you are not too busy lately. May I ask for advice ? When it comes to hexing, I heard someone advising to but the remains of the ritual as far away as possible from the house (I can't but the remains of the spell near the targets house but I can put it away). But I also remember reading that one should keep the remains of the spell in case something goes wrong. Is it dangerous to keep the remains of a hex inside my house or would it better to keep it ?

Ooo! Resolving conflicting magical information, are we? :D Love it.

Short answer:

Longer answer:

IMO, both of these plans of action are predicated on some assumptions.

Taking the remains of a hex very far away from the home (and sometimes, as you mention, ideally near the target) is, from what I've seen, generally done by witches who are pretty much fuckin' done and are washing their hands of the situation.

Hex-casting is often an intensely emotional experience and can feel like a deep 'purge' on the part of the practitioner, a bloodletting of the poison within the practitioner to flow downhill to the person who, as far as the witch is concerned, ought to host it instead.

When the experience of the hexcasting is one of purification of rage, a practitioner may just want to get the fuck rid of the spellcasting remnants and get on with their life.

This is not an amagical action. Inasmuch as your magic probably should make you feel really good about the world you live in, your life, and your actions, deciding to be completely over it and get rid of spell remnants can be deeply magical, both in the personal and metaphysical sense.

Another reason people like to get rid of hex remnants is because they can reek of that nasty soul stank you've just bled out all over into the world, and hanging out with them can be uncomfortable and bring up unwanted emotions.

Fortunately, witches gonna witch, and if you desire to keep spell remnants without them leaking all over your nice life, there are many methods to contain and control magical objects.

All that being said, do I find that keeping hex remnants is actually dangerous? Well, no. I find it to be uncomfortable. They remind of of anger and injustice and all the bad things I felt that made me want to do it in the first place. "Negative vibes" spilling out into your environment isn't dangerous so much as it is a bit icky.

If we take a moment here, we should consider that most probably, the average hex should not be so dangerous that the spent spell remnants are actively generating danger for any random person who comes into contact with them.

I mean... do what you want to other people, I suppose. But if you are casting spells in such a way that they are so powerful and tumultuous that the little blob of burned candle wax or whatever is constantly generating harmful, dangerous effects even within a magically protected household, idk. Probably do just get rid of it at that point. Or try new spellcasting methods. Etc.

On the topic of needing to keep spell remnants so you can continually work over the spell, it's a decent option, but also:

On a personal level I'm not sure why you'd go out of your way to try and harm someone with magic, and then keep the remnants to make sure it's doing the exact kind of harm you want in foreseeable ways. Either get after 'em or don't, you know?

You can still influence and control prior spells you've cast even if you do not have the spell remnants.

Overall I really think that you should just do what makes you comfortable. I don't think you should feel obligated to hold on to hex remnants just because something hypothetically might happen down the road. If things can go to far you can do a reverse uno on your own magic and cast new spells to help.

On the other hand, if you feel like it's a good idea to keep the remnants around, set up a magical situation that safely holds these remnants in "jail" so you don't have to worry about the vibes leaking out into your house.

[None of this takes into account spells that dictate something specific must happen to materia magica, etc.]

#answered #baneful magic

88 notes · View notes

novantinuum · 9 days

Text

Pink Onyx AU- An Analysis and Theory Post, Part 5

[Part 1] | [Part 2] | [Part 3] | [Part 4] | [Part 5- You are here!]

Apologies for this post going up far later than intended!

This is the final part of my analysis series on the excellent @pink-onyx-au comic made by @ceephorsshitshow. If you haven’t already, please check out the first four parts- linked above- for more information on what these posts are all about. A lot of this analysis will build on what came previously.

Now, here’s where I’m really starting to take a big ol’ stab at some speculation.

Question Seven: Is Steven’s mental repression about corrupting ALSO causing him to physically repress post-corruption scars?

Not only has Steven as a whole continuously shied away from discussing anything about his corruption incident, but he’s been vocally downplaying it, too… his voice overtly growing smaller the one time he overtly references it.

(Episode 1: Page 6)

He briefly alludes to his corruption later when he realizes that Onyx bears their own corruption scars (and ones that defo weren’t Jasper influenced), but beyond that he hasn’t willfully mentioned this topic one bit.

Which… if we didn’t already know how much he Deeply Dislikes Talking About His Own Feelings… would be odd, given the fact that one of his big reasons for trying to fuse with Jasper is to “feel what it’s like to be each other” and try to foster a better understanding between them both. Like, Steven. Buddy. Corruption is a HUGE thing that you now have in common with Jasper. At some point, you’re gonna have to bite that bullet and actually sit down and process this reality.

Far earlier in this analysis series, I brought up a bit of dialogue from Jasper that I said I’d be discussing later.

(Episode 2: Page 15)

“That human form you wear must have been hiding your markings.”

Yeah, this bit.

Even if Steven isn’t vocally bringing up the elephant in the room himself, Jasper seems to immediately recognize what he’s gone through. (Something something, ambient thought sharing within fusion.)

And her theory here is interesting, albeit not entirely accurate.

Not only is Steven’s human form hiding his markings, but his Gem form seems to be, too. Because we’ve seen his Gem.

(Episode 3: Page 11)

He harbors almost no corruption remnants save for a set of noticeably sharp upper teeth (that full hybrid Steven does not have.)

Now, why is this? Why does Onyx present with what should be Steven’s corruption markings, but not Steven or his own components?

Let’s take a quick look to catalog which features are whose before we move on. Let’s start simple- with Jasper.

Jasper only has three notable post-corruption marks- one splotch on her left shoulder, one on her right hand over her thumb, and a pair of horns sticking up through her hair. They’re easily traceable on Onyx’s design.

(Episode 2: Page 12)

There they are! I’ve circled them in red for convenience. Of course, what the big bomb at the end of Episode 9 suggests to me (Steven suddenly showing evidence of corruption scars) is that every other trace of past corruption on Onyx is something that Steven brings to this fusion. Which means, what he’s bringing to the table must be:

Two separate splotches on the right arms, visible claws, and the arm spikes we saw his corrupted form with in “I Am My Monster.” (I imagine that Steven’s corrupted form also having horns influences how long Onyx’s are, compared to Jasper’s.)

Not to mention, uh…

(Episode 7: Page 7)

This gigantic ass geode scar on their back. Which we know for a FACT is Steven’s, because-

Something about being Onyx with Jasper results in these normally repressed features manifesting in full… even when he’s still avoiding conversation about it. Is it due to some sort of subconscious feeling of acceptance- the sense that he feels safer being his rawest self around her, since she’s been through the same thing? Or is it something else entirely?

Bottom line is, Steven may be able to repress these markings just as he does his own emotions… but Onyx does not. And with this latest episode, it seems that certain aspects of this fusion are already rubbing off on him.

(Episode 9: Page 22)

We at least have a visual on the large mark with two overlapping circles on his right arm in these frames.

But, uh… let me ALSO point your attention to-

Yeah. Y e a h. I think that’s the very tippy top of Steven’s version of the back scarring we see Onyx with. It’s hard to say for sure if it’s the same geode scar design, but it’s definitely something.

Anyways! The boy’s got visible scars now. Can’t really hide from the reality of your own experiences looking like this, huh? *twiddles fake and very mysterious mustache*

Where I think all this could be going:

Now. With all those discussion points out of the way, I’m gonna do a bit of theorization on where I think a few plot threads could be going.

Number one.

Onyx’s healing spit and “Jasper’s ugly plants.”

(Episode 4: Page 10)

While re-reading, I noticed that there’s a growing pattern of Onyx using their healing spit- either intentionally or not- and then their surroundings reacting very swiftly to their mental state. In the above panel, a fronting Jasper tries to use the spit to fix a broken rock. Then, when she speaks ill of the fusion after it fails to work, the spit begins to melt away at said rock as if it were acid.

(Episode 7: Page 10)

Something similar happens when Onyx spits onto the ground here. After Jasper speaks with intent to cause harm to the fusion to split them apart, a creeping vine begins to ominously sprout out of the ground while they’re not looking. (And then, it legit just gets. Sucked into the ground. Oughhgoughhgh spooky.)

I think this plant is the same one that Onyx puts on blast as “Jasper’s ugly plant” in the next episode, that venus flytrap lookin’ one.

And I think the reason it has grown so large and aggressive is that the results of Onyx’s healing spit usage is tightly intertwined with their emotional state. Thus, whenever Onyx says or thinks something negative about themself, the plants they’ve created leap in size. Or in the case of the spit on the rock, it starts to decay. It feels like a logical extension of the way Steven’s activation of his powers at ALL is linked to his emotions.

With all of this in mind, my theory is that over time these plants are going to cause more and more of a problem as Onyx continues to beat themself down- and that the growing urgency of this issue will act as a sort of visual feedback for them when it comes to trying to escape this cycle of negative self-talk and self-loathing.

Number Two.

Re: everything that's been discussed in previous posts, I think Jasper’s arc here is going to be centered around two things. First, I think she’ll have to finally reckon with the reality of her shattering and come to terms with the fact that she actually IS upset about what Steven did to her.

Second, I think she will- through what I’m hoping will eventually be a healthy fusion dynamic as Onyx- start working through her deep-rooted abandonment trauma.

(Episode 8: Page 9)

Said fusion may not be someone who gets to exist forever as she might prefer, but Onyx’s existence even for a SHORT time deeply matters, and this makes the experience alone incredibly worth it, in my mind. I dearly hope she comes to realize this too, one day.

Number Three.

I think the sudden surfacing of corruption scars for Steven is going to (in time) force him to stop repressing his own feelings about what he went through from the people around him and actually push him to start talking about this experience, to actually process it.

Crucially, he won’t be able to conceal these markings from Jasper, and they will finally see eye-to-eye on realizing they hold this experience (corruption) in common, and that they both in some way felt they deserved it for the people they became. Suffice it to say, I am very eyes emoji at the fact that an upcoming episode is titled “Self-Hatred,” with the description “Steven and Jasper realize what they have in common.”

Y e p. Yep, yep, yep. Whatever happens in that episode is bound to be VITAL to the trajectory of Onyx’s story.

Because only once they both recognize and vocalize what they both hold in common and stop running from these facets of themselves can their fusion truly find lasting harmony.

Lingering questions with no clear answers:

What I’ve discussed in these posts is for sure not exhaustive- this comic is very dense with potential lore musings and interpretations, and there’s plenty of lingering mystery even still. Here is a list of some of the questions I still have jangling about in my mind, off the top of my head:

What is the deal with that rabbit, and is it anything more complex than “Onyx healed it?” Why does it snap alert and glow whenever Onyx is active? I think this connects with my earlier healing spit musings in some ways, but I have not determined how yet.

Steven got nicked by a prickly vine in Episode 5, and a bit of his blood was lingering on the thorn afterwards. Where is this leading? (Also seems connected to the healing spit musings.)

What is the purpose of all the glitchiness at the edges of some of the panels? Is it merely an extension of the instability suggested by the butterfly motif, or does it mean something entirely different?

What exactly was Connie’s hunch about Steven when she reached out to Pearl? We know from the most recent episode that Pearl thinks Steven is trying to hide rebound transformations… and possibly Amethyst, too. But what about Connie? She has a lot more context from her text conversation than any of the others do, right now.

And what does Garnet actually know? We haven’t seen any of her perspective yet except that one ominous future vision timestream spread.

As a final little note to cap off this post series, thank you so much to @ceephorsshitshow for your incredible and frankly, inspirational work on this comic- and for allowing me to pilfer so many of your stunning comic panels to go absolutely hog wild analyzing your work. Regardless of whoever else reads these, I hope that at least you got a kick out of observing my Suffering in the Meta Trenches of your own story, ahahah.

Thank you to any of y’all who have read along with me- and for god’s sake, if you’re still here and you haven’t checked out this comic yet, what on Earth are you doing? Go, go- to the tumblr page with you! Check it out, holy shit!

You can read the Pink Onyx comic here.

Have a nice day/night, all!

Curtains.

#su #su future #steven universe #jasper #pink onyx #su meta #pink onyx au #my post stuff

35 notes · View notes

renaultmograine · 29 days

Text

AU where Balnazzar isn't stupid and instead of killing and impersonating Dathrohan during the Third War, he impersonates Calia Menethil

Calia is missing, either dead or intent on never showing her face again, making a prime candidate for impersonation

Being the princess of Lordaeron and the heir to the throne, the remnants of the Silver Hand would fight to the death for her, and with way more conviction than just for one of the first paladins

The amount of damage that could be done wielding the face of a powerful woman cannot be understated. I wholeheartedly believe that Calia-Balnazzar could make them whipped up into the Scarlet Crusade frenzy like. four months tops.

She's the princess. What are you going to do, argue with her? Tell her no?

None of the paladins likely know her that well, so Calia-Balnazzar could bullshit damn near anything she wanted to, while Dathrohan-Balnazzar would be constrained incredibly.

POV you're ill from a ~mysterious illness~ and the big tiddy priestess princess herself tends to you and comforts you and agrees that your dad really is shitty :( you should do something about that :)c

Realistically speaking, they would have to arrange a marriage for Calia-Balnazzar for when they reclaimed Lordaeron, and there's so many good options to pick from (for Calia-Balnazzar to have an easily manipulated husband). (Also no one knows real Calia is married with a child).

Taelan: sad man but he's well respected and the Lord of Hearthglen, where all their operations have been based out of. Too depressed about his dad to be any real hindrance to any schemes but that also means he might lack that driving force of pure insane zealotry.

Renault: younger, more emotionally unstable, clearly wanting someone to validate him. He's going to destroy whatever you point to with some hyping up, but he's definitely going to destroy himself at some point if he doesn't calm the down, and you're not going to want to be standing next to him when that happens

Darion: fairly younger, but that makes him more manipulable, and this whole 'recovering Lordaeron' nonsense is taking a while anyway. Sad about his dad so don't mention you encouraged Renault to kill him, but like. This is Darion we're talking about. Mister "I will interpret whatever you say into 'kill yourself for me' and then do it." He's going to be ride AND die if you don't fuck it up. You will need another man after he dies though. Well maybe not he's rather committed.

Decent chance Sally smites her. This crusade is NOT big enough for two bad bitches--there's a reason why Brigette Abbendis fucked off to Northrend--and it defintely isn't when Calia-Balnazzar is cozying up to Renault.

I want to say Sally/Calia-Balnazzar for the fun of it but I legitimately cannot imagine Sally doing anything more than tolerating her, even with the mind control shit.

Real Calia currently larping her tradlife with her unnamed husband and child finding out that the Princess has been found and that she's to be wed once the kingdom is returned and deciding she's not going to touch that with a thirty foot pole >>>> the FUNNIEST Before The Storm scenes imaginable if the crusade does manage to reclaim Lordaeron

#basically i think the problem with a lot of the dreadlord stuff is that its written from a male perspective #metzen i can fix that if you ever bring them back shoot me an email #also dont ever bring them back #warcraft

25 notes · View notes

josefavomjaaga · 4 months

Text

Ida meets Ney in Russia

I dimly remember that somebody (Cadmus?) mentioned they wanted to read more from Ida. So here’s a brief snippet of Ida – for once – getting in trouble with her hero, of Ney scolding her and … being jealous of Eugène?

The meeting takes place somewhen in late 1812 or early 1813, as much as it’s possible to tell from Ida’s chronological rollercoaster ride. In any case, after or at the end of the Russian retreat. Because of course Ida had joined the Russian campaign as well.

And not only she. If any tumblerinas here plan on learning how to time travel and want to go back to see the Grande Armée march towards Moscow, they don’t need to worry about incognitos. Most likely they would barely be noticed, as apparently there were wagonloads of groupies following their heroes around.

Okay: four. But that’s only those ladies Ida travelled with. Plus, two of them died on the way back.

Ida was particularly fond of a Polish-Lithuanian girl named Nidia, as madly in love with general Montbrun as Ida was in love with Ney. Not that either of the two got to see their idol much during the march. As a matter of fact, the first thing Nidia learned before entering Moscow was that Montbrun had been killed at the battle of Borodino. Other than that, Ida claims to have had a bad feeling about this city from the start:

As we entered Moscow, occupied at last by our troops, this immense city seemed to us like a vast tomb; its empty streets, deserted buildings and solemnity of destruction were heartbreaking. Despite the pomp of victory, I felt struck by I don't know what new kind of melancholy when I saw it; the flags seemed to me gloomy and almost surrounded by funeral crêpes and black forebodings. We were staying in Rue Saint-Pétersbourg, near the Miomonoff palace, which was soon occupied by Prince Eugène. The sight of this young hero and the cheers of the soldiers, who adored him, gave us back all the illusions of victory.

Okay, so I just added this because it’s so rare to see Eugène receive some praise. (I should also mention that the adored young hero was growing bald at an alarming rate and that his bad teeth were killing him.)

As a matter of fact, Ida claims that Nidia was especially interested in Eugène because he was rumoured to maybe become king of Poland (yes, another candidate). These rumours did really exist, Eugène mentions them in a letter to his wife before the campaign started. (And he also makes it pretty clear that these are just rumours and that he has not the slightest ambition to stay in this country. He may have used different vocabulary than Lannes but he didn’t like the region any better.)

The following night, Ida and Nidia wake up to a burning Moscow and are saved by soldiers of 4th corps. On the retreat, they seem to have followed headquarters as closely as possible, which was their safest bet to stay alive (because where the emperor is, there’s food and firewood and a resemblance of order) but still witness horrible tragedies. After the crossing of the Berezina, they apparently followed the remnants of Eugène’s 4th corps to Marienwerder, before Nidia says goodbye and goes back to defending Poland.

But before, on the way, at Valutina (?), Ida finally sees Ney again

At this point, after the retreat, Ida at least starts to question her decision to follow the Grande Armée around. Or something like that.

I have just recounted my fatigue, my difficulties and my perils in a war beyond human endurance, because of the new aspects it seemed to give to destruction and death. A powerful feeling made me undertake everything and endure everything. Why was I going to face the hazards of a campaign? Why was I going to expose the weakness of a woman to the rigours of a climate of iron? In order to obtain yet another glance from the one whose smile had always paid me for my military errands. This look was always like a world offered to my hopes; the dream alone of this reward had made possible all the impossibilities of time, distance, sex and fortune. My life was thus burnt for a few hours, still uncertain. I was giving up everything for a moment in space. Alas! this time, how I was going to regret this moment that had cost me so much to conquer! I had just gambled my existence for a flash of happiness, and this flash, the quickest of my life, became the cruelest.

I had to spend three fatal hours in a miserable shack on the outskirts of Volutina. My dress was so horrible that it was a real disguise. In a person dressed like that, one could hardly suspect a woman. Ney, however, only had to look my way to recognise me. To have been seen was enough to have been discovered. I was about to rush to the front of this first happiness; I was about to testify to the soul of my life how proud I was of this divination of friendship, of this perspicacity of memory, when words of an energy which was far from that of the feeling of which I was possessed, intimated to me the order of the most positive dismissal: "What are you doing here? What do you want? Go away quickly." With this address and a few short, curt rebukes about my reckless rage and my fury at following him everywhere, I only had the strength to reply: "It is a rage, indeed, but it is not at least the rage of pleasure or vanity," pointing to my coarse clothes and my face burnt by the sun and faded by fatigue. He took no notice of either the harangue or the costume. He was off and running. His displeasure at seeing me there was so great; he let it out so vividly that I thought he was going to push me back to the opposite bank of the Dniéper in his anger. Stunned by the reception, struck by lightning, I remained motionless for more than an hour, staring at him, thinking I saw him; he had disappeared without paying any more attention to me or worrying about me.

From which we can deduct that Ney was not a reader of Jane Austen novels. Otherwise he would have known that whenever you have behaved in a way that made a woman fall in love with you that’s f-ing your fault, monsieur!

In 1813, when I recalled to Marshal Ney this scene of such violent fury, followed by such cruel silence and abandonment, he told me that he had been so mortally frightened by the extravagance which had pushed me into the midst of so many perils and the licentiousness of an army, that he had even been tempted to beat me. Truth requires me to admit that the temptation had been so strong that he had, I believe, yielded to it a little; it was without his knowing it, for the great passions know neither all they want nor all they do. Anger is therefore still love, since it is as blind as fury.

Girl, get help. Seriously.

When we crossed the Dniéper at Serokodia, I could have had another word with him. A new laurel had just hidden his wrongs and healed my wound. I could have, I wanted to say to him: You have just added to your immortal glory here; you alone have just saved Frenchmen lost in deserts of ice; I would have liked to express to him what all parties repeat today, what posterity will proclaim on the ashes of the brave... But I stuck to the joy of hearing the distant cheers. There was then a little fear in my delirium for him, and I almost have the idea that I idolised him even more by fearing him in that way…

Did I mention the thing about getting help?

Yes, even the reproach was appreciated by my heart, and still seemed to me a tender interest. I found I don't know what pleasure in hearing myself scolded later for my association with Nidia, my marches and counter-marches with the Viceroy's troops. No matter how many times I told the Marshal that Eugène's protection had been focused exclusively on the young Lithuanian girl, and that I had slipped unnoticed into this benevolence, he took it into his head to believe nothing of these sincere protestations. To make him reconsider such a strongly conceived idea would have meant exposing myself to a repeat of the Dniéper order and military correction. I had no intention of trying the same pleasure twice. Finally, he saw the evidence of my attachment, and he found the generosity to prove this belated but strong conviction to me [...]

By calling her his brother-in-arms, by the way. And this, I believe, really meant a lot to Ida.

#napoleon's marshals #michel ney #ida saint-elme #memoirs #napoleon's family #eugene de beauharnais #russian retreat #russian campaign #russia 1812 #also #we have a phone call by a certain vice-queen interested in the exact definition of the word “protection” in this particular context

45 notes · View notes

strqyr · 2 days

Note

Tbh of all the stories in Fairytales of Remnant, I think The Infinite Man is the most fascinating one bc it's such a good read into Oz's belief system (old and new), what he's asking for now, and overall character. Granted, all of the stories are, I believe, good reads into Ozpins character, cause the whole book seems to be one big character study, but The Infinite Man is so INTERESTING.

I think it's set before Oz found out Salem is unkillable and thus before he gave up on his task. And that's really interesting bc you kinda get an insight into how he thought during this time period, seemingly only doing it because it would allow him to rest and that it was the 'only thing' he was here for, aka the only thing he's worth without Salem (It's mentioned that they will "make way for the final judgement" and that, as their message spread through Remnant, "This was what he was here for, he thought. Perhaps, in the end, he would be able to rest." <- probably lying to himself, he wasn't here for the task, he was here for Salem. Without her, what is he worth?).

Also the Circle is repeatedly stated to be a mistake he made, and if he was Still working towards his task, I'm pretty sure he'd say it was his greatest achievement, not a huge mistake. Also, he acknowledges that his task isn't what people want by including in that it (at least likely) WASN'T Salem who sent people to kill him ("Did someone send you to kill me?" He asked through gritted teeth. "Your mere existence makes you a target.").

And. I just. Gestures wildly at this: "I can't help what you've heard about me." The man shot the woman a pointed look. "But in my experience, Gods are far less than the stories told about them. I assure you, I am no God, and I don't want to fight you."

ALSO loudly gestures at "Some people still worship Gods, while others insist we must be our own salvation. But the world doesn't work in absolutes, so why can't it be both?". Oz knows the world isn't black or white, he knows Gods are fallible and imperfect, and he knows humanity can accomplish great things and replace the Gods with their own creations and ingenuity [gestures at The Gift of the Moon as well as The Infinite Man].

Also. Points at Ozpins notes at the end of The Infinite Man. He's pretty blatantly asking for forgiveness, for hurting Salem and for getting people killed during his old crusade. He's trying to say that he doesn't believe in that anymore, that he knows he did wrong; he had good intentions, but he was a fool and still got people hurt.

Sorry I'm clinically insane over Ozpin. I'm gonna turn this into a post

honestly i have nothing to add to this, gotta just appreciate how the whole idea behind the fairy tale book is oz not only making a collection of fairytales that's included in the curriculum of the academies, but getting some of his friends / colleagues to record some of them as well, and then the whole thing is just. oz telling on himself in multitude of ways lmao love that for him ✌

even in the introduction of the book he's like "i have discovered in this lifelong pursuit that if you wish to fully appreciate a story, you should consider its source and attempt to unravel and understand the storyteller's intentions. why did they tell this story? why now? yes, stories may be shared for entertainment alone; however, they also can disguise lessons, moral guidance, important historic records, moon-shattering revelations—and even dire warnings of hidden dangers in the world and difficult trials yet to come." <- dude's literally telling everyone to bring an extra oxygen supply because we're going Deep with this one!!

#nightmare-foundation #ask.strqyr

15 notes · View notes

unhingedlesbear · 28 days

Text

Okay fuck it yeah I'm making the post idc abt backlash. First of all the hidden agenda fandom doesn't exist anymore so whos even gonna have an issue. But if you do feel called out um. Maybe thats ur problem idk bc I'm not aiming at anyone in particular here.

Anyway long ass ramble abt the tiny dead Hidden Agenda fandom below the cut

This is mainly something I noticed looking through the very limited amount of Hidden Agenda fics on ao3, but it's VERY obvious on there. The vast majority of fics on there are centered on Adam and Finn, which I can understand more since they have an interesting backstory and are well written characters, sure. But then you look at the others and the other characters that are centered are... Riggs and Calvary?

In the actual game ofc Becky and Felicity are the main characters. Both of them not only are pretty objectively interesting characters on their own, and even more so together. On top of this they have the most shipping potential of any two characters in that game, it's literally basically canon, it's not even subtext atp it's literally just text. NO other two characters have that amount of chemistry in the game, and yet there is a noticeable lack of gravey fics in that tag. And I'll stress again bc I know how defensive people got last time I made this kind of observation, I'm not pointing fingers or calling anyone misogynistic/racist/homophobic BUT. but. When the two mcs are women, one of which is poc, and they're implied to be lesbians, and they get sidelined by the fandom despite being the focuses of the game... it's kinda hard not to assume there's some kind of bias there.

And on another point, it's similar when it comes to supporting characters too. In a way I'm disappointed but absolutely not surprised that Adam/Finn is prioritized in fan works over Becky/Felicity, but when characters like Riggs and Calvary are also given more attention than them it becomes way more suspicious to me. Riggs is a fine character, I like him enough and I can see why others might like him more, but wbk he doesn't really have all that much relevance. Calvary is even more confusing bc he basically JUST exists to be a creepy misogynistic asshole and as unlikeable as possible. Thankfully I haven't seen him getting a lot of attention but the fact that I've seen him getting any that isn't entirely negative is... hm...

Now there ARE in fact male characters that can be both relevant and likeable: Tom and Karl. (I talk shit abt Karl bc it's a joke I started with friends, I'm gonna drop that for this post obv bc we're being fr here) these two are pretty obviously more relevant than Riggs or Calvary, they're literally Becky's partners (Tom can even replace Riggs' entire role lmao, and if he's replaced himself it's by Karl) and I'd say they're also both likeable characters on their own too. And yet I'm pretty sure I found maybe one??? fic with them in it? Probably should have mentioned this earlier but yeah, they're both poc.

So like... I feel like it all comes down to what Becky/Felicity/Tom/Karl have in common and then what Adam/Finn/Riggs/Calvary have in common. It strikes me as questionable. But like maybe I'm just an annoying snowflake though idk🤷‍♀️ /s

This turned into more of a ramble than anything and I'm aware i'm also yelling into a void bc I'm posting entirely for a dead fandom that barely existed to begin with, but tbh this stuff applies to most if not all larger fandoms as well, i'm just looking at it from what I've seen in the remnants of the HA fandom. Again I am not attacking anyone here, I am making observations. If you're like mad or something I'm just gonna assume you didn't even read the whole post. Yes ur allowed to like characters, but I am also allowed to address what I've noticed about what characters seem to be more liked than others.

#uh oh #if I get burned at the stake for this one too then I don't even know atp #hopefully I won't be though bc not many people gaf abt Hidden Agenda #Hidden agenda smg #🏃‍♀️

13 notes · View notes

wordstro · 2 years

Text

[20] apocalypse + ex! san + "i can't fix this, can i?"

part 19 | masterlist

a/n: 9k words whew. also the final part! thank you everyone for showing so much support for this! i love you all!!! warnings for some very existential talks, mentions of su1c1de once again, and some setting-typical gore descriptions. i am very sorry for how this ends lol........i will say this ended a little differently than originally planned though.

"how does this thing always survive?" you ask san, fiddling with the beat up radio.

san chuckles, shrugging, "if the internet still existed, i'd give this thing five stars."

you flip the radio in your hands for a moment, the grooves and scratches scraping at the pads of your fingertips. the volume button is beginning to come off. you carefully clip to your belt loop and decidedly ignore the memories of the sanctuary the thing dredges up. you'd decided long ago that you wouldn't talk about the place. in fact, you're yet to visit the burnt remains, despite knowing how close it is to your cabin.

you look up at san. he sits on the remnants of a broken brick wall in front of one of the more damaged houses. someone crashed a small pickup truck through the wall. you both already scoured the house in search of anything salvageable. all that was left was broken glass and plates all over the floor. the walls were stripped as bare as the pantry. even the bedroom mattresses were stripped of all its bedding. you took great care not to look to far into it, as you usually did when you broke into abandoned homes in search of food or shelter, but five minutes ago, you both came upon a locked attic door and the stench of rotting flesh, maggots crawling along the hallway floor. how either of you can make jokes, or just...move on, when something like that sits mere meters from you is yet another thing to feel guilty about.

san kicks his feet, his hair falling into his eyes. you say, "your hair is too long."

"my hairstylist is all booked out this month," san says.

you can't help but laugh.

san gives you a small smile, his gaze lingering on your face for a long moment. you're unsure, sometimes, what you're supposed to do when you catch him lingering like that. you figure it makes sense. he thought you were dead for months upon months. he's going to look at you like he's trying to remember details of your face he'd forgotten. you give him a pass for that because, frankly, it's understandable. still, you find yourself trailing off, gaze falling to the radio once more. you don't want to deny him that, especially when you let him believe you were dead for so long, and you don't necessarily hate the lingering moments, but you don't know what to do with it. the way it makes you a little nervous, the way it makes you look away, you don't want to examine that. it's baggage you're determined to never ever unpack.

there's a beat of silence before san points at the radio clipped to your belt loop, "i'll bring extra batteries next time. i think the convenience store south of the bunker should still have some."

you sigh, "you really don't have to. i can find some on my own."

it's been four weeks since you saw san again, and you've seen him every week since then. four days. once a week. for four weeks. you'd both agreed on it after that first day, and maybe you were a total idiot to take on his offer, to let him back into your life after everything, but everything he had said that day was not wrong.

you'd thought about it all that first week. you spent so many nights wide awake, curled on your side and listening to the faint clicking noises beyond your barricaded door as you mulled over every single word san had said to you, and how he said it to you.

that second time, you'd stood far enough from san that you both had to cup your hands around your mouths to shout at each other so the other could hear, and you'd yelled, "i'm not going back to that bunker."

san said, "i don't blame you."

the look in his eyes was...sad. you'd wondered during your nights wide awake if he was ever upset with his friends for what happened. you'd wondered how that day went after he thought you'd burned yourself with the sanctuary to save him and his friends, the same friends who put you in that damned place in the first place.

you'd said, "and i don't want to go anywhere near the sanctuary. ever. understood?"

"i don't...i'd never ask you to go back there. i haven't been back since the day...since the day after. when i tried to find your body," san called, shrugging. he kicked at grass, hands in his pockets, lips pursed.

something in your chest curled at the thought. he'd even gone back there.

you'd also called, "you don't get to know where i'm staying."

san nodded, "i understand."

from then on out, the conversation faded out and you were both left in silence. somehow your weekly meetups turned into hours of rummaging through houses and stores for food and supplies to split between the two of you.

neither of you really said much, but the company was enough. at least for you. sometimes, san would hold a tree branch back for you as you trekked through trails to explore smaller towns and farms off the highway, or warn you of sudden steps. sometimes, he'd ask if you were hungry and conjure snacks.

your meetups consisted of the smallest of small talks, yet the silences were...comforting. perhaps, you've gotten used to having a companion with you - from spending most of your chore time at the sanctuary at jongho or san's side to all that time with mrs. kim - and that's why you've started finding yourself looking forward to seeing san every week.

that was something you did not wish to delve too far into. so you decided that your time with san reminded you of your time with mrs. kim. to an extent, it really did. it was as if you were both living in a little bubble of peace that did not make sense in a world like this, and it brought you a moment of serenity you thought had walked away with mrs. kim.

but the dread? the anxiety? it was still there. worse than when you sat in limbo with mrs. kim. it sat at the pit of your stomach and draped itself over your shoulders, whispering of how things were going too smoothly. how this was too good to be true.

now here san is giving you the same damned radio you'd left your apartment in the city with. it's like an omen, especially coupled with what you'd both left behind in that house. death always follows this radio, you've learned, and that thought has your stomach churning.

you glance over his shoulder, at the broken house, fingers curling around the radio.

"i know i don't have to, but i want to." san's voice drifts through the silence, "besides, i think we should have some way to communicate throughout the week."

"i..." you turn the radio over in your hands, once, twice, before you say, "okay."

you turn your gaze from san to the broken pickup truck lodged into the wall san sits on. there's a pair of fuzzy purple dice hanging from the crooked rearview mirror inside the car.

san says, "i wasn't going to give that to you, but..."

your gaze flits to san, from the way he fiddles with his fingers in his lap, to the way he turns slightly to look back at the house. he sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. the expression on his face is a familiar thing, something you'd feel lodge in your throat whenever you'd stare at that damned rifle for far too long. live with it, live with it, live with it. your own words echo in your head like a mantra, like a prayer, like a plead.

the thing about the end of the world is that death is a constant. every morning, you'd come upon mangled bodies that you believed were the fog's doing. oftentimes you'd come upon scenes just like the one in the house, bodies hanging from chandeliers and ceiling fans, or worse, with guns lodged in their mouths or knifes clutched in their fingers. it's normal, even, you'd say. each body was another guilty notch on your list of reasons to live, and maybe that does make you a naïve idiot, to let everyone else's problems become your burden. or maybe that's just what you're wired to do. either way, you find yourself frowning at san, at the clear unsaid words lingering in the air between you both.

you say, "i'm not going to kill myself, if that's what you're afraid of."

san blinks.

you roll your eyes, but your heart is lodged in your throat, and live with it rings loud in your ears and you say, "i killed all those people when i blew the sanctuary up, and that guilt eats me alive every single fucking day. i don't think i'm allowed to just...die. not yet."

san's fingers curl into fists in his lap. he says, "why did you do it? why didn't you just come with us?"

"if the sanctuary survived, they wouldn't have left us alone."

"that was never your burden to bear," san says with a sigh, dragging both hands through his hair. his eyes glitter with an unreadable emotion. those words make you come to a pause. no one's ever said that to you. not in so many words.

"should i have let jongho do it, then?"

san gives you a small smile. he says, "i guess not."

then you both fall into silence as he walks you to the edge of the forest and you both say your goodbyes.

~.~.~.~.~

with the radio comes conversations throughout the week. they're sporadic, but you keep the radio clipped to your belt even as you're wringing out laundry in the clearing outside the cabin or exploring the woods to find dry wood for fire. they start off as small pleasantries, reports even about your days.

things like:

"jongho is trying speech therapy. yunho says it'll work." san said one evening, while you were boarding up the door and windows for the night. your heart did a little flip at the name and the confirmation that he's alive and okay, despite everything.

"is yunho even a trained doctor?"

"not a paramedic like you were. but he was two years into med school when everything happened. doubt any residency would have ever given him half the amount of hands on training he's had since everything went to shit though."

and:

"mrs. kim tried to teach me how to make rabbit and squirrel traps, but we're both awful at it," you'd explained once.

san said, "i can teach you next time. apparently that's one of my talents."

"setting up traps?" you'd asked, "sounds about right."

san had groaned, "that's fair."

even:

"do you want me to bring you some books? no one reads around here."

"please," you said, "i've been reading the same book for months. i think i can recite it word for word now."

san laughed, "you can't just say that and not recite it word for word. go on."

and sometimes even just:

"good night."

~.~.~.~.~

three more weeks pass, and san's kept his word on taking you into the woods to show you how to set up traps to hunt for food.

he holds a low hanging branch as you edge past him. the ground is cold and hard, trees bare of leaves, and you both know you're not going to catch anything anyway. it's the dead of winter, and the animals are sleeping. still, san showed you how to tie secure knots, raising a brow at you in silence, waiting for your permission before he placed his fingers over yours and guided your hands through the proper motions. even Before, he'd never been quite so sweet, but you figured this was because he'd promised to start over, and the san you once knew is not the san of After. you used to think that was a strange thing, and it made you uneasy. and, maybe, it still does, to an extent. however, in the grand scheme of things, it certainly makes starting over easier.

san trips over a protruding root, and the little yelp that leaves his mouth as he catches himself has you giggling. san narrows his eyes at you, but his grin is contagious.

you don't know about forgiveness, or forgetting, or even trust, but three more weeks have passed and you think maybe you're both getting somewhere.

~.~.~.~.~

the trees start to bud around your clearing. you'd missed the foliage shading you from the sun, but the tiny pink buds of one of the trees brings a fullness to your heart you hadn't felt in a while. you'd never stayed in one place long enough to see the seasons change.

even then, winter does not seem to want to leave. it's snowing.

san blinks up at the grey skies, his nose and the tips of his ears pink, his cheeks flushed, and his hair falling into his eyes. white snowflakes stick to his hair.

you hold out a hand, and you find yourself smiling. "so pretty," you say.

"yeah," san says, and you look back over your shoulder to find san looking at you, his dimple peeking out over his scarf. he looked away first, his cheeks flushed.

you laughed. san grimaced at you, fighting a smile all the while.

maybe starting over isn't so bad.

~.~.~.~.~

only a week later, when the snow has melted away completely and the flowers are still tiny colorful buds, you trip over a familiar boot lodged in the bushes. san catches you by the arm before you can smack your face into the hard ground, but that still doesn't stop you from sinking to your knees.

you recognize that boot because you've spent too many mornings staring at them from your vantage point sprawled in the grass of the clearing in front of the cabin while mrs. kim cooked or cleaned or just sat in silence.

you and san hadn't ventured far from your cabin. you still have not shown him the cabin, but you've both been venturing the forest around it recently. the thought of mrs. kim's boot being so close to your cabin brings a sinking feeling to your stomach.

"y/n?"

san crouches beside you, his hand on your back.

you say, "this is mrs. kim's."

you never told san much about mrs. kim, other than the fact that she saved you and she left for the sea before you met san again. still, san's hand stills on your back.

"maybe," your voice sounds shrill to your own ears, "maybe she had a spare?"

and, perhaps you will always be the type to seek out more reasons to feel guilty. perhaps you really are wired for it.

because you stand up, and you start to look, and san his on your heels, quietly following you as you call for her knowing damn well she's not going to answer.

under a tree further north, you find her other boot. it's tied to the lowest tree branch by its shoelaces, the ratty black boot swinging lightly in the breeze.

you step forward, intent on looking further, when you feel a tug on your sleeve.

you turn, and san's hand remains on your elbow, squeezing lightly. his touch is reassuring. he says, "what are you going to do with yourself if you find her?"

you both know damn well you won't find her alive. you can't help the way your eyes start to sting. in fact, you try to stop the tears, fingers curling into fists. you want to shout. you want to cry. you want to understand how the hell she only made it this far.

"she was," you take a deep breath, "she was supposed to visit."

but your voice cracks as you say it, and you find yourself crumbling despite everything. you hadn't even cried like this when you saw san again and you two talked about starting over. as you stand here with one of mrs. kim's boots dangling from your fingers and the other one dangling from the tree branch, your tears do not stop. your chest hurts with the pain of it. your knees buckle. san catches you before you fall, and he wraps you up in his arms. you clutch onto him. he presses your face to his chest and you let yourself sob. you hadn't cried for a long, long time. you've forgotten how to, your breathing unsteady as you gulp for air.

you cry, and san strokes your back.

~.~.~.~.~

san sits on the steps of your cabin beside you, the two of you staring at the mound of dirt in the clearing. you'd dug up the hole and buried her shoes away. you hadn't dug the hole deep enough.

you say, "she told me she helped me because she owed you."

"oh," san lets out a small, breathless laugh. you watch him look down at his hands. the skin around his nails is rough, as if he's been picking at them. that is a habit he'd never had before. it's new. "before the bunker, i spent some time with another group. there was this girl, doyeon. i wasn't surprised she was mrs. kim's granddaughter. she was so nosy and loud just like mrs. kim. we all used to share stories and so many people talked about their grandparents, and doyeon used to say she wished she had the chance to get to know them."

san trails off, and you ask, "what happened to her?"

san closes his eyes. maybe you aren't the only one wired to carry the burden of guilt on your shoulders. he draws his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his knees. he says, "my old group found the bunker. there used to be a lot of in-fighting. i picked a side, when i should have tried to keep the peace, but how was i supposed to know this fight would be serious?"

san lets out a shuddering breath, his shoulders drooping. it explains why he maintained such neutrality between you and his friends.

"it was five against three that day. me, wooyoung, and doyeon against five guys. things didn't work out. they beat the shit out of us. i'm talking broken bones, lots and lots of blood... we were tied up like pigs for slaughter. wooyoung had a fucking knife in him. i had broken fingers - i don't even think they've healed properly. doyeon's jaw was broken, and she could barely talk. as night drew closer, it became increasingly obvious that it was either us or them. so -" san rubs his red-rimmed eyes, "so we came up with a plan. doyeon thought of it, actually, and sometimes, i wonder if she just...knew what was going to happen to her from the moment she suggested the plan. she lured them out to the front of the bunker. i'll spare you the details, but we managed to push them out of the bunker. it was going smoothly, until it didn't. as we were closing the doors, one of them dragged doyeon out with them. i tried so hard to save her, but...but the sun was setting quickly and she decided to let go. the look in her eyes - i think she knew. woo says it wasn't my fault. either way, she died that night and i couldn't save her. the next morning, there were only pieces left of them. ears and limbs and...and doyeon's hands. woo and i buried her in her favorite part of town and we decided to stay at the bunker anyway. we decided we wouldn't let something like that happen again. that's why it's so hard for the boys to trust people, y/n, and i understand that isn't an excuse, but i think you deserve that explanation. doyeon...i couldn't keep her safe even though i said i would, and i thought i could live with that too, but then i ended up at the sanctuary and met her fucking grandmother." you watch san let out a staggering breath, his eyes fixed on the burial spot, "if anything i'm the one who owes mrs. kim."

you don't know what to say about san's admission. you remember him telling you he'd done horrible things to end up at the bunker. you remember how irritated he had been when you let it slip that you felt safe in the bunker that first night, despite the fact that you were surrounded by strangers. he'd been so angry, and now you can see why. you don't know what to say, so you resort to an attempt at lightheartedness, your chest tight.

"join the club," you mutter, your voice shaky despite your attempt for nonchalance, "i owe her my damned life too, and instead of letting me repay my debts, she had the fucking nerve to die so close to home."

san laughs, says, "she could have at least made it to the sea."

you snort, letting your head rest on his shoulder as you both sit in silence. you say, "if it's any consolation, i'm sorry about doyeon. you tried your best."

he says, "i thought i'd come to terms with it, but when you...i promised i'd keep you safe, and i couldn't do that with you either."

"you tried," you repeat, "that's what matters in the end, i think."

"it wasn't enough."

"it will be."

you can hear the sharp intake of breath, the way san stiffens under your head, but he does not move. he does not say anything.

you hear a sniffle. he says, "you think so?"

you push away to look up at him. he peers down at you, his face inches from yours. his eyes are glassy, and his hair is too long, and his nose is tinged red, and he looks so otherworldly, like a painting. his honeyed gaze curls around your racing heart, and the sun casts gold over his sharp features. you think you understand why throughout history people went to war for pretty queens and kings.

he presses a thumb to your cheek. your heart pounds.

you say, "you really need a haircut."

san laughs. you could drown, you think, in his dimples and his glassy eyes and the rough circles he traces along your cheek and loud laugh.

he asks, "do you have scissors?"

"kitchen scissors."

his gaze flickers over your face. he says, "perfect."

he sits on mrs. kim's once untouched chair, and stares apprehensively at the rusty kitchen scissors in your hands.

he helps you board up the windows and door when the sun starts to set.

he opens the canned food for you. canned food tastes better, you find, when you share it with someone.

he sleeps in mrs. kim's once untouched bed, and you really do think trying is enough.

~.~.~.~.~

only three days pass when you start to notice things are...strange.

not between you and san, but in the woods.

"i think someone must have accidentally planted a shit ton of mint leaves around here. they were too small last time i saw it, so maybe now it's going to -"

you come to halt next to a giant oak tree. its bare branches stretch out to one side, trunk bowed, as if it is a giant looming over you. nailed to the trunk sits a purple piece of cloth. it's flag-like in its shape. it flutters in the breeze. a chill runs straight down your back. you hadn't seen a purple flag since that day you ran into san. you hadn't seen flags since your attempt to avoid the sanctuary. the fact of the matter is that this flag means that someone is out here other than you and san. and they are close.

san's voice echoes all around you, crackly and filled with static. "y/n? y/n? what's wrong?"

your stomach churns as you swivel on your heels, scanning the other trees. despite the beginnings of spring, the leaves have still not returned fully. there are so many bare branches and dead leaves. as you walk, the leaves crunch under your boots.

for a moment, you don't think you should say anything.

but you're starting over, aren't you? you're supposed to try. you don't have to -

a few hundred steps away, another purple flag is nailed to an old tree trunk. your heart jumps in your chest.

you press the radio, "what do purple flags mean?"

your voice is quiet. the ensuing silence rings loud as you step further through the forest, as you come upon another one. it's a trail, you realize, as you keep walking. maybe you shouldn't follow it.

yet you do, even as san's crackly voice fills the silence, "purple flags?"

it takes thirty-six seconds for you to recognize the trail as you keep walking, dead leaves crunching beneath your feet. you say, "there are purple pieces of cloth nailed to the trees, san. they look flags or markers or something."

a pause. "are you following them?"

"yeah," you come to a stop at the next nailed purple flag, your gaze falling on the familiar trees. the clearing. your clearing. you swallow the lump in your throat, your grip on the radio so hard you're afraid you'll break it. "fuck."

"y/n, what is it?"

you say, "it leads to the cabin."

"shit," san's voice is sharp, alert, with an undercurrent of terror curling underneath everything, "y/n, you need to leave now. get out of there right n-"

you turn off the radio, dousing yourself in the silence of the woods. it's not so peaceful now, and every crack of a branch, every rustle of dead leaves, makes the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end. you should run. every cell in your body screams at you to do so, but you find yourself stepping forward. you find yourself peering into the clearing.

wedged into the lump of overturned dirt where you buried mrs. kim's boots is a purple flag fluttering at the end of a wooden stick. there's nothing telling about it. it's merely a poorly dyed purple bedsheet, splotchy and lighter in some parts then others, wrapped around a wooden stick. still your heart pounds against your ribcage. it's as if the shoddiness of the person's work is more terrifying then if the flag was cleanly done, the way the sanctuary's had been. and a smidge of anger curls at the pit of your stomach. your eyes drift to your cabin. the door is wide open, swaying on its rusted hinges.

you back up, one step, two steps, three, until you're running.

~.~.~.~.~

you emerge from the trees to san out of breath, his hair windswept.

you blink in surprise. he surges forward, clutching your shoulders as he gives you a onceover, out of breath the entire time.

your stomach continues to churn, even as san says, "you're okay. you're okay."

you're not sure who he's trying to convince of that.

you are not okay.

you'd spent so many months in a bubble, thinking that everything would be fine. that the end of all things was this gentle, careful, serene thing where all that is left in the world is yourself and anyone you allow in it. that you could make a home somewhere and you would be okay. but the world is nothing like that. you're unsure why you ever thought otherwise. you were in that fucking sanctuary. you were robbed at knifepoint by san and his friends. you killed your mother. you've come upon dead bodies, whether by others doings or their owns. mrs. kim is dead.

you're no ghost, because at least ghosts wander peacefully. you will never find any peace. someone or something will always find a way to burst your bubble. they'll encroach on your space, and you will never truly be safe, and the realization, however late it is, is terrifying. maybe you are naïve. you thought you'd hardened after everything, but you still clung to hope. you look at still san. you still are. to have reprieve from the terror of the end of the world only to feel it so wholly all at once - it's fucking jarring. you hate yourself for ever believing the reprieve could be permanent. as long as those things float in the sky, you'll never find peace.

your hands are shaking. your vision is blurred.

your gaze slides over san's worried face.

wooyoung stares back at you.

you grab san's hands, placing them at his sides, and you squeeze them once before letting him go. you ask, "someone was inside my cabin. they fucking...they put a marker on mrs. kim's grave. purple. everything was purple."

wooyoung is the one to speak, his voice low, thoughtful, "i've been seeing purple markers all over the place, but they never led anywhere. i thought someone was just using them to help them remember places."

"you can't go back there," san's voice is a quiet thing, fragile almost, "it's not safe. i know you said you didn't want to go back to the bunker, but y/n, you cannot go back there."

"it isn't safe anywhere," your fingers curl around each other, "i'd feel safer squatting in one of these houses then staying in your bunker."

you give wooyoung a pointed look, even as you gesture at the dilapidated stone houses around you.

wooyoung rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he cocks his head to the side, "come on, y/n. wasn't robbing me enough?"

"no, actually," you turn fully on him, stepping closer. "let me get a few more punches in."

wooyoung laughs, eyeing you up and down as you round on him. "good to see you're back in tip top shape."

"you really want me to punch you don't you?" you say, fingers clenched into a fist.

"oh," wooyoung grins, tone dripping with honeyed amusement, "i'd love to see you try."

"wooyoung, shut the fuck up," san groans, dragging a hand over his face. san puts a hand on your elbow, and you realize that you are inches from wooyoung, fists clenched, all while wooyoung grins at you without stepping back.

you step back first, glaring at wooyoung for good measure.

san says, "i'm serious, y/n. we don't know who this person is."

"or group," wooyoung mutters, his grin turning into a frown.

san nods, "exactly."

"he's showing absolutely zero remorse, san. if wooyoung's anything to go by, i'd rather get eaten by those aliens then spend a night around your snake friends."

there's a long long stretch of silence. the hairs at the back of your neck still stand on end. the three of you are still at the edge of the forest, out in the open for anyone to watch from the woods. how could you be stupid enough to think no one was ever watching all this time?

"just one night," san says, pleads really, "that's all. just so we have time to clear your place together and find you a new, safer place."

your heart skips a beat at his words, while another part of you is angry you even have to find a new place. you're tired of wandering, and you're tired of feeling scared. you're tired.

still, you meet san's gaze and you sigh. "fine."

~.~.~.~.~

the walk to the bunker had been silent. wooyoung wandered ahead while san matched your strides, his shoulder occasionally brushing against yours.

"i punched him, you know," san says quietly.

you blink up at him. san nods his chin towards wooyoung's back as he leads the way.

"so many times, actually," san smiles a little, "and wooyoung didn't hit me back once. you know him. he always has something to say back, but for months he just...let himself be my punching bag, figuratively and literally, after i lost you."

"that doesn't mean he's sorry," you say, frowning at wooyoung's back.

"in his own way, he is." san purses his lips, "doesn't mean you have to forgive him though. i know i haven't."

you blink. oh. you didn't think he was ever going to hold his friends accountable in any way. you didn't think he even blamed his friends for anything. something churns at the pit of your stomach, and it feels like the strangest bout of guilt. you say, "you love him. you love your friends."

"i think we both know you can love someone and still never forgive them," san murmurs. he looks down at you.

"still," you say quietly, "i'm sorry. your relationship is strained because of me."

he shakes his head.

"it's strained because of their decisions."

"i'm still sorry."

"at least they're trying," san says, and his tone is soft and kind, maybe even a little sad, "they won't hurt you, y/n. please trust me on that at least."

wooyoung turns into a familiar alleyway, one you'd passed through a long, long time ago.

the metal door leading to the bunker sits straight ahead. it's blocked off by abandoned cars, hiding it from view unless one knows where to look. you know where to look.

you take a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. months ago, you wouldn't have conceded with san even on this point, but now you find yourself believing him. maybe that's stupid of you, but you find that you believe him. just a little bit.

~.~.~.~.~

the bunker is exactly as you remembered it. the strewn blankets and cushions. the comforting lights. the long hallway. the way the cold air raises goosebumps along your skin. the feeling that this place is lived in, despite being a metal bunker space.

"you can sleep in my bed," san says, from where he stands awkwardly across from you, next to the kitchen island stools. he fiddles with the hem of his shirt, though his gaze remains steadily on you, "i'll sleep down here."

wooyoung looks between you both in the silence that ensues afterwards, before he turns on his heels and disappears down the dark hallway without another word. you stare after him before turning back to san.

"no," you shake your head, "i'll sleep down here. it's fine."

san looks like he wants to argue, but he just nods. he opens his mouth as if he wants to say something more, but you hear the smallest of gasps.

you look up, and jongho is stands at the end of the hall. wooyoung is behind him, hand on his back. he meets your gaze, and you can't help but smile at him. wooyoung just rolls his eyes and disappears back into the hall, making you wish you could take back that second of gratitude.

jongho blinks over and over and over, and you can't help but let out a laugh. sure, jongho betrayed you, but he'd been a victim, and you couldn't blame him. you really couldn't. here he is, looking well-fed and like he sleeps well, and your heart feels like it's growing three times its size in your chest.

he hovers, and san steps aside, gesturing jongho forward. jongho just stares at you, waiting. you realize he is waiting for permission. that makes you deflate a bit. he likely thinks you hate him, and maybe you should, but you can't find it in yourself to hate him.

so, you hold out your arms, and jongho takes a step, another, before he walks into your arms, still so uncertain, and you say, "you're alive."

he glares at you, even as he wraps his arms around you and hugs you tight. he doesn't need words for you to know what he's thinking. he leans back, frees his arms, and makes a gesture of touching his forehead. he brings his arm down. he keeps doing it. you look at san in confusion.

"it's sign language," san explains quietly, "he says he's sorry."

"oh," you look at jongho. there's a sincerity there you'd always liked about jongho. the apology is something you realize you'd wanted until now. you press your hands to his, and you say, "i know, jongho. i know you are."

jongho nods, over and over and over, as he pulls you into another hug.

~.~.~.~.~

in a way, you expected this eventually. the bunker was only so big.

but jongho asked if you wanted to talk upstairs, and you ended up in that living room once more. san stayed behind downstairs. when you'd pulled yourself through the hatch to the living room, that same feeling you'd felt the first time hit you all at once. the coziness of the room, the home that was so obviously made here, it hurt worse this time knowing that you'd built something like it in the woods and it was encroached upon by intruders. it's like you lost normalcy a second time, and it makes you so angry, yet so fucking sad.

you'd sat on the couch and jongho took out a notebook, and he asked, how are you alive?

you started from the beginning, recounting mrs. kim and your time with her. robbing wooyoung and yunho. jongho giggled at that. you spoke of your time with san. it wasn't a very long story, but it was the first time you'd spoken of it all at once, and it was yours. you hadn't had much that you could call yours since the world ended.

where will you go after tonight? jongho asked.

"i don't know," you said. jongho put his hand over yours. he seemed to be thinking, his brows furrowed, but before you can say more, there are footsteps hurrying down the stairs in the corner.

you look up, and the person comes to a screeching halt at the threshold to the living room, his eyes widening as he meets your gaze.

it's yeosang.

you shoot to your feet.

yeosang frowns as he steps further into the room, his eyes narrowing as he glances between jongho and yourself.

he says, "are you fucking kidding me?"

his voice is loud, angry, and your fingers curl into fists. suddenly, all the anger you've ever felt, from wandering as ghost, from your time at the sanctuary, from learning of all the betrayals, from the death of mrs. kim, from the fact that your cabin was broken into, bubbles at the pit of your stomach, and all you see is fucking red.

"someone's been keep tabs on you and san's first thought is to bring you here?" yeosang grits his teeth as he scowls at you.

"is that really going to be the first thing you say to me?" you ask, matching his tone. you step closer to him, and he does the same. jongho steps in, putting a hand on yeosang's shoulder, and he shrugs it off, his jaw clenching as he peers at you.

yeosang says, "do you want an apology or something?"

"yes," you grit.

yeosang rolls his eyes.

you can't help it when you swing your fist at him. to be fair, it's been a long time coming, and you'd fantasized about this moment often while lying in the clearing in front of your cabin and staring at the clouds pass by. the sound of your knuckles hitting his face echoes all around you. pain shoots through your arm, but the way yeosang doubles over in pain is absolutely worth it.

yeosang clutches his nose - it's bleeding, you realize with a giddiness you haven't felt in a long, long, long time - and glares up at you with so much vitriol, it makes you laugh.

"didn't think i'd do it, huh, asshole?"

then yeosang lunges at you, fury in his eyes.

you yelp when your back hits the ground. yeosang gets a swipe in on your face, and the pain makes you angrier. you grab him by the collar and use all your weight to roll on top. it works for half a minute before he yanks at your hair. you smack him over the top of the head. he gasps. then he kicks you.

maybe this is stupid, or perhaps you should have predicted this. it's not like yeosang ever seemed like the type to take a punch without retaliating.

before you can retaliate fully, though, you're flailing as you're pulled back. you kick and thrash in the arms of yeosang's savior, only to find that he's also being pulled away. by yunho. you look up. mingi meets your gaze, expression unreadable. mingi promptly places you on the ground. you don't move from the spot.

yeosang's nose is bleeding and his lip his cut and there's a bruise blooming under eye, so you don't fight mingi. sure, your cheek is throbbing and he may have ripped out some hair, and if you get the chance you'll punch him again, but for now you're satisfied enough with the damage you've done to stop fighting back.

yeosang is glaring at you, chest heaving.

yunho scowls between yeosang and yourself, "what the fuck was that?"

"he deserved it," you say, with a shrug.

the floor hatch to the living room swings open, and both san climbs out. san blinks between you both. wooyoung only snorts as he remains on the ladder leading out of the hatch, resting his chin on his hands as he watches.

yeosang rolls his eyes, "they deserved it too."

"you're literally acting like children," yunho sighs, shaking his head as he plops down fully on the ground next to yeosang.

the living room looks small with everyone in it. with you leaning heavily against a wall and mingi seated cross-legged next to you, his long limbs taking up too much space, and yeosang leaning against the sofa, yunho groaning with his head thrown back beside him, rubbing his eyes as he does so, and jongho sitting on the couch where you'd left him, his arms wrapped around his knees, and san with his arms crossed over his chest, looming over all four of you, and wooyoung amused from his position at the hatch door.

you scowl, "so i'm not allowed to be angry? is that it? should i just ignore what you've put me through?"

yunho frowns at the floor. no one quite meets your eyes.

"that has nothing to do with this," yeosang snaps, "you have a fucking target on your back and you've dragged us into it."

you start to laugh, and the hollowness of it is jarring even to your own ears, "do you fucking hear your hypocrisy, yeosang?"

yeosang sits up straight, his lips pressed into a straight line. his fingers clench and unclench as he glares at you, "you should have stayed dead if you were just going to bring trouble with you."

"yeosang!" san's voice is sharp as a knife.

you shake your head at san, arms crossed tighter over your chest, "no, i want to hear this."

yeosang stays silent, clenching his jaw as he rolls his eyes.

you raise a brow at him, "go on. tell me how i'm the bad person here."

yeosang says, "every time we leave this bunker, it's dangerous. every week san spends hours outside the bunker with you. do you understand the danger that's putting not only him, but the rest of us, in?"

he keeps his gaze fixed on you, but you glance at san anyway. san looks angry, in a way you hadn't seen in a long long time. he opens his mouth to say something, but wooyoung tugs at his pant leg, shaking his head.

you sigh, turning back to yeosang, "i'm not putting a gun to his head and making him meet me every week, and i certainly did not give the wrong directions to -"

yeosang scoffs, "i did what i had to do to for my people, y/n. the sanctuary was necessary. i'm sorry you got caught in the middle of everything, but i'm not sorry for what i did. we got san and jongho out. we destroyed the sanctuary. everything worked out in the end."

the anger at the pit of your stomach is tumultuous. you want to throw up at how overwhelming the urge to throw another punch is. maybe, in this world, this makes sense. you are not included with yeosang's people, and you never would be. he doesn't owe you anything. not even just a moment of genuine remorse.

"are you even capable of remorse?" you ask.

you don't mean to say it out loud, but your words spill from your mouth, and the room goes so silent, you could hear a pin drop. san is looking at yeosang, waiting for a response. mingi shifts next to you. yunho bites his lip. wooyoung just watches.

yeosang's hard expression falters. it lasts for the blink of an eye, like the flutter of a hummingbird's wings, and you only catch it because you're watching. his gaze flickers to san, as well. for just a moment. it's a tell, you realize, that you've struck something underneath his hard exterior. he clamps his teeth over his bottom lip, lips stretching into a thin line, and his gaze meets yours again just milliseconds later. his face hardens more than you've ever seen it before. if you didn't know better, you could mistake him for a marble statue, carved into the picture of insolence.

he does not respond, though, despite his façade.

yunho frown deepens as he looks at yeosang.

no one looks at you.

so you speak into the silence, "i guess not."

you get to your feet, pushing past san, past the living room table. wooyoung climbs out the hatch, moving aside from you, and he doesn't say anything either. his expression is devoid of his usual shit-eating grin and unfiltered amusement.

in the dimness of the bunker room, you wrap yourself up in a warm blanket - it's the big fur kind you grew up with, right down to the giant floral decal - and you hate how the anger is still there, turning inwards instead. you should have known this would happen. you can't truly start over with san when you share so much history, Before and After.

~.~.~.~.~

you can't sleep. you want to - you'd learned your lesson last time, and if anything the bunker is safe from the aliens, and you should take advantage of it - but you're overheating under the fluffy blanket, and the battery powered light at your side, even at it's lowest setting, is too bright. yunho brought it down for you, wordless in his exchange before he headed back through the hall. you didn't hear the opening of the hatch, so you figured he must have gone into one of the rooms lining the narrow hall. you don't want to turn off the light completely. total darkness unsettles you.

you contemplate going up to the living room and finding a book to occupy your time. at least this time you wouldn't be sneaking around.

before you can, you hear the creaking of the hatch - you'd memorized the sound, a series of cranks and a long squeak followed by a full thud - and you go still in the blanket, peeking over to the dark hall. just in case.

moments later, a shadow appears at the end of the hall. the shadow stretches up onto the ceiling due to the light from your lantern.

your fingers curl around the edge of the blanket as you keep your eyes fixed on the figure, even as you continue to pretend to sleep.

"i know you're awake," san's soft voice fills the bunker. he sounds exhausted.

you sit up. san comes closer. you dial up the brightness of the lantern, illuminating his face. you watch, leaning back on your elbows, as san takes a seat beside you and the lantern, his arms winding around his knees as he chews on his bottom lip.

it's so silent for so long, before san murmurs, "i can't fix this, can i?"

"no," you tug the warm blanket closer as you shake your head, "but at least we tried."

"i can go with you and -"

"no," you interrupt him. you can see it in the furrowed brows, in the way he frowns, that he's going to suggest something stupid. something he'll eventually resent you for. "we said we wouldn't lose ourselves in each other this time, didn't we?"

"y/n."

"you love them," you say, and your heart feels like it's being ripped from your chest. this is worse, somehow, then the anger that had been churning in you earlier. "for better or for worse, you love them. wooyoung, yunho, mingi. yeosang. they are your family. you can’t forgive them, but you can still stay with them. i can't. so i will not and cannot ask you to leave them for me, san."

in the low warmth of the lantern, san's features are softer than ever. his eyes remind you of the earth after rain. you watch as he reaches out, as he slowly presses his fingers to your cheek. first the pads of his fingertips, light as feathers, and then heavier touch of his calloused palms, his thumb. he draws small lines along your jaw, and he looks at you like he is committing you to memory, like he is determined to etch your likeness into the recesses of his mind.

his thumb traces down your jaw, along your cheek, to your hairline. around and around and around.

his wet eyes dance in lanternlight.

he says, quietly, "i'm sorry i wasn't enough."

you shake your head, and you swallow the lump in your throat, "these past few months, you were more than enough. you were everything. you are everything." your fingers curl into fists around the blanket wrapped around you, "i'm glad we at least got a little time together. without all the fighting."

"i'm going to miss you," he says quietly, "i'm always going to miss you."

"me too," you whisper, unable to articulate fully how much you agree. you'll miss him in the next life, too, you think.

his fingers brush along your forehead. then he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead. it's short and sweet, and the warmth of his hand on your cheek is enough to make you truly feel like he's ripped the rest of your heart out with that alone. he already has so many pieces of your heart, and now he's taken the rest of it.

the silence between you both is heavy. loaded. it is everything said and unsaid all at once. everything and nothing. it's you and san as you were Before, and as you are Now.

you clear your throat, leaning away to pat the spot next to you, swinging the end of the blanket his way. you say, "tell me a story please."

san smiles, his dimple appearing as he scoots in beside you, his voice soft as he tells you something about mingi stepping on yunho. his voice is soothing, soft, and, just this once, you let yourself relax with him next to you. san brushes at your hair as you do.

the next morning, he is gone. the bunker room is cold and dark, despite the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. the feeling of home you'd felt here is gone, with san.

that morning, only jongho sees you off, and you're grateful for it. you don't think you could leave otherwise.

~.~.~.~.~

one year passes, yet the year feels like a decade. time is a funny thing when you're alone, and you'd forgotten that when you'd had constant company. the things in the sky are still there. the black fog at night is denser than ever. you avoid people now more than ever. you don't stay in one place for long, though the country is too damn small to not visit the same area twice. you've traveled far enough away from the bunker where the radio clipped to your belt loop remains out of range, not once straying north. you visit the shores to the south. you find wild vineyards to the east. you remain at the outskirts of the bunker, never within range, but not quite far enough away. still, it's as if nothing has changed, as if you've never even met san again or ended up at the sanctuary.

yet everything's different. you avoid going north in case you stumble upon the sanctuary's ruins. you avoid the west so you can stay out of the bunker's range and resist the urge to return to your cabin. but a year has dulled all that, and everything different starts to bury itself away until you can pretend it doesn't affect you anymore. you've gotten very good at that.

it's summer, when you finally have the courage to travel north. this will be your first step in letting go completely, you decide the night you make the decision to go north. did you already cry your eyes out the minute you'd left the bunker while crouched behind an abandoned car? yes. did you keep doing that for months and months after? maybe. but, now you're ready to really, truly start over. no san. no sanctuary. no bunker. no fears. you can truly let go.

the hike had gone well. you were sweating through your shirt, and your water was running low, but it was going well. you felt reborn, really, from sweat and the dense summer humidity and the feeling of your skin burning under the hot sun.

as you climb over the hill, your radio starts to crackle. you must have forgotten to turn it off. everywhere you go, you gather batteries for the thing, so it doesn't die. you don't wish to delve into the reasons as to why you do that when you're never in range of the bunker anyway.

you trudge up to the hillside, kicking rocks as you go, ignoring the soft crackle. the sound is more comforting then the silence and your heavy labored breathing, anyway, so you keep the radio on. besides the radio never picks anything up anymore anyway.

some nights, you'd clicked the talk button and tried to say hello. all you were ever met with was silence. it was understandable, but it still hurt more than you liked to admit.

you reach for the trunk of the lone tree on top of the hill, catching your breath, when you hear a voice over the radio. it's unfamiliar, cutting off between words, but the sound still makes you jump.

you'd forgotten what it was like to hear voices. especially voices that aren't your own.

you fumble with the radio.

...four boxes incoming....south....open....roger.......

you nearly drop the radio when you look over the hill. in the valley sits a sprawling camp, surrounded by wooden walls that were clearly built. there are vehicles and people walking the perimeter. you can hear laughter. it's the unmistakable sound of children giggling, playing. chills run down your spine at the sight. you see military trucks at the furthest end. not every truck is a military truck, but many of them are.

your fingers tighten around the radio. the walls have makeshift guard towers. for a moment, hope sparks at the pit of your stomach. you want to trust this place so badly. there are military vehicles. there's organization. it looks nothing like the sanctuary.

at least until your gaze lands on the guard towers. fluttering at the top of each makeshift guard tower sits a purple piece of cloth. it's identical to the purple pieces of cloth you'd followed back to your cabin, poorly dyed and the color of eggplants.

dread curls down your spine at the affiliation. this isn't a coincidence. it can't be. fear mixes with that spark of hope, and you start to back away. you don't know what to do. should you leave, or should you investigate further? are they another sanctuary, or are they safe?

then you hear a familiar voice through the radio, a crackly voice that will never leave your memories no matter how hard you try to drown it away. it's been a year, yet you remember the voice so clearly, even as he says, "yeosang...open....five."

your breath catches in your throat.

it's choi san.

it's always choi san.

#ateez scenarios #ateez angst #san #san angst #ateez #itpfl

238 notes · View notes

sallysellsseashellssundays · 8 months

Text

The Waters of Mars Rewatch

I've already ranted about this to @witchofthemidlands but just need to write down my thoughts after rewatching The Waters of Mars yesterday

When you write this episode, Rose, The Parting of the Ways/Bad Wolf, Army of Ghosts/Doomsday, Smith and Jones, Partners in Crime, Midnight, the entire S4 ending, THE END OF TIME you can have as many Slitheen fart jokes as you'd like Mr. RTD *bravo*

Also, I'm losing my mind as to why Ten went to Mars specifically, could it have been b/c Jackie and Donna always said he was from Mars?? And he really was making an effort to leave initially and not affect history...it's fascinating to see his final response as more and more people die compared to, for example, Voyage of the Damned. He's really at a point in his life where he's been broken down enough that he loses it completely

This SHOULD have been a two-parter episode there is so much to explore with the Mars crew and I even see parallels between them and the crew from the Impossible Planet two-parter it would have been wild to see the end of this episode paralleled with that storyline. Roman is like Toby, Yuri and Mia maybe like Danny, Ed definitely like Jefferson, Scheffi is like Scooti?, Adelaide like Zach etc. idk but I see a lot of parallels

My absolute favorite tiny detail is Ten expressing dislike for the robot but as soon as Roman talks about robot dogs he goes "actually hold up a moment" lol he will be loyal to K9

Adelaide is a badass I love her so much and I find the contrast between her and Lady Christina just one episode prior to be fascinating, I think Adelaide is exactly the type of person that Ten needed in his life at that exact moment

The Doctor speaking Martian...it's crazy how easily it could have turned into a Midnight 2.0 situation for him, I think Adelaide is the difference here she exudes so much authority

The fact that they took the time to focus the camera on Mia and Yuri holding hands, like 1 second only, but I go insane for that recurring theme in RTD's era especially considering how much that relates to timepetals and how distraught Ten is after losing Rose again and Donna

Speaking of Donna I love the Pompeii reference I could write essays about that as well as the mention of the Journey's End storyline with Adelaide as a child, RTD isn't hitting you over the head with it but you can definitely see all these links between what Ten lost in that episode and the Pompeii situation and his mental state in this episode aaahhhh what a masterpiece!!!

DT's acting in the final scene gives me CHILLS, he literally feels like an entirely different character as soon as he steps off the TARDIS, I feel the hairs on my body stand with the look in his eye. I am not a huge fan of Joan in the Human Nature two-parter but I think that was an interesting set of episodes and I also think it works solely b/c DT can very convincingly make you feel that John Smith is different from the Doctor even though there are some remnants there, same here in this episode. It's the Doctor but there's something there that is very un-Doctor.

#doctor who #the waters of mars #tenth doctor #rose tyler #donna noble #captain adelaide brooke #the mars crew my beloveds #cannot believe this episode is real what a freaking masterpiece #it actually managed to feel more intense on rewatch #like i remember it being great but holy cow #rtd really outdid himself #dw rewatch #my ramblings

30 notes · View notes

raccoon-eyed-rebel · 1 year

Text

Part 3

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 2 🟣 Part 4

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August and Sherlock

Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, Mentions of blood, biting, p-in-v sex, fingering and oral (f receiving), ultra light bondage, some manhandling, kinky vampire stuff I guess. It's pretty straightforward?

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: In honor of the immortal exchange:

"Is today a good day for vampire smut?" "Every day is a good day for vampire smut." (Never allow two Nina's to have a conversation. Ever.)

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @summersong69

Your conversation didn't let you go for a few weeks, and one night with Mike, your curiosity got the better of you.

You were just finished with your shower, and back into your room, wearing nothing but a bathrobe, when you found Mikey already in your bed. Of course he looked at you, he always did. When you turned the lights off, he flicked the switch on the light on your bedside table.

“Mikey...” From the beginning of your relationship, you’d always told him to turn the lights off in the bedroom, and he’d never made a point of it. Right now, he looked slightly uneasy, as if there was something on his mind.

“Now probably isn't a good time to tell you we can see in the dark, right?”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” He was. Dead serious. “Mike! You should have told me!”

“Listen, again, I always thought you knew what I was and what I could do, and I only just realized that you always wanting to turn the lights off was because you didn't want me to see you. Which I think is bullshit, by the way, because you are fucking gorgeous.”

“Mikey, I... Oh my god.” This was so embarrassing. Apart from a lack of knowledge on the occult, your parents had left you with some screwed up ideas about your own sexuality that you had largely sorted out in your best friends’ basements, but the remnants of the damage done to your body image were still very much alive in your brain.

“Just... Let me look at my favorite titties?” It was almost a plea. No, scratch that, this guy was absolutely one hundred percent begging to get a good look at your boobs.

“Dammit, Mike,” you said when he sat up and tugged you closer by pulling your robe.

“Boobies? Please?” He was on his knees on your bed now, and he was definitely begging, puppy eyes included. You thought about it for a moment. Somehow, the knowledge that he'd already seen you naked made it easier to make a decision.

“Are you gonna be good?” He nodded enthusiastically, and you didn't believe it for a second. Still, you undid the belt of your bathrobe and let the whole thing slide off your shoulders. Mike was clearly already pitching a tent, but he was more preoccupied with your boobs at the moment. His first instinct; dive in face first. You were surprised he checked the motorboating at the door, it seemed like a very Mike thing to do – alright, you knew for a fact that it was a very Mike thing to do, because he’d done it countless times before. Trails of hot, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses were pressed all around your boobs by a very eager Mikey who seemed hell-bent on exploring - and licking - every inch of your chest, until he finally made it to your nipples.

“I can turn the light off, if you want?” He said before you could even open your mouth to ask. And then you thought about it. It was obviously no use to hide from him, so what were you really trying to hide from? The ‘shame’ of having sex in the first place? You weren’t ashamed of that! You were crazy about this guy, and plus also; it felt good. You shook your head, and the thought of getting a clear visual yourself this time around actually excited you.

“You're making a mess, Mikey.” It seemed like you had taken that whole shower for nothing. The way he grinned back up at you showed you that he was proud that you let go of your hesitations.

“Am I now?” He very intentionally misinterpreted your words and brought a hand between your legs, sliding a finger through your folds. You were soaked, of course. A face like Mikey's between your tits left no one cold, especially if he worshipped them the way he could. “Do you like this baby?”

“Hmm, yes,” you hummed, gasping when Mikey's tongue landed on your nipple. “What gave it away?”

“Hm,” he wondered, “dunno. Could be the moans. Or the heavy breathing. Or - and this may be a bit of a stretch - this sinfully drenched fucking cunt.” Sinful… Just before your parents and their dumb ideas about sex and intimacy could worm their way to the forefront of your mind, Mike’s fingers brushed past your clit, and you forgot about anything that wasn’t you or him. Two of his fingers slipped in so easily you wondered if you should be embarrassed by it, but you abandoned the thought when he started moving them.

"Fuck, right there!" It was usually the only hint you had to give him. Mike knew what he was doing, and always did exactly what you wanted him to do, right before you opened your mouth to tell him what it was. It wasn't long before your legs threatened to give out, and he threw you onto the bed. His fingers found their way back with ease, and even a third one was met with little resistance. In a split second - using what was clearly inhuman speed, actually - Mike's face was between your legs and his tongue planted firmly on your clit. His mouth was warm, his tongue soft, and the sounds coming from Mike and the fingers that pumped in and out of your pussy were absolutely obscene. The result was just about the best goddamn orgasm of your entire life. Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over you until you were a trembling, sobbing, sweaty mess in Mikey's hands.

He came back up and kissed you. His tongue tasted of your juices and the taste incinerated whatever parts of you that weren't burning with desire yet.

“You,” Mike said in between kisses, “are amazing.”

“Amazing is the last thing I was expecting to hear,” you laughed.

“Well,” Mike grinned, “I wanted to call you my perfect little cockslut, but I wasn't sure how you'd react to that.” And then something inside you just clicked. Mikey was every bit as crazy about you as you were about him, and there was no need to hide from him – physically, mentally… You didn’t even allow yourself any time to wonder if you should be ashamed about all the things being called a cockslut did to you. Mikey could call you pretty much anything he wanted and you’d happily go along with it.

“Positively,” you said sincerely, “very, very positively. I'd probably have asked you to fuck me like one. But alas.”

“Hey!” He pouted, and you giggled when he did. Mike had a very strong talent for looking so sad you immediately wanted to give him the world.

“Oh, you want to fuck me like a whore? Go on, then.” You didn’t know what came over you when you said it, but it was kind of nice. His reaction was fantastic; eyes wide, he swallowed hard and squirmed in front of you… Mike’s soft hum turned into a loud moan when you traced a line from the dip between his collarbones, over his chest, and down the center of his abs until you reached the fabric of his underwear. You admired your squirming, lip-biting, excited, impatient idiot for a moment before you moved your hand.

“Shit... Shit!” You laughed as that second curse sounded a little louder because you wrapped your fingers around his thick cock. He rummaged around in the drawer of your nightstand. “Fuck! You're out of condoms. Fuck! Wait.” Before you had even registered what he said, or that he had left, he was back, holding a familiar looking box. He was in too much of a hurry to smoothly take one of the little foil packets out, let alone open that with any kind of agility.

“Give me that, you're gonna rip the whole thing!” You pulled the condom out of his hands and tore the wrapper off, flinging it somewhere. “Come here.”

Even his step towards you was hasty and caused the so-manieth almost-accident. “Mike I'm gonna need you to show me you can move at human speed. I'm all for you fucking me into the mattress but I'm not a fan of internal bleeding and a crushed pelvis, capiche?”

“God, yeah, I'm good. I'm good.” Again, you didn't believe him at all.

“Jesus, Mikey, lie down.” He did as you asked immediately, grabbing you and effectively yeeting you on top of him. “Mike! You're going to give me motion sickness if you keep this up. Stop. Stop. Stay still or you're not getting any.” Judging from the look on his face, that was the worst threat you could have possibly made. Ever.

When he finally stopped moving, you rolled the condom on. Mike looked at you very excitedly.

“Please come here, please get on top.” The eyes, the voice, the eyebrow, and that damn lower lip that stuck out just that little bit that made you very aware of it – and also made you want to suck on it a little, maybe. You had no clue what possessed you that gave you the confidence to actually do what he asked – his face alone had never been enough. Then again, you had never been able to see it clearly, because you’d always fucked with the lights off, but still. You slowly inched forward on your knees until your pussy hovered over his cock. Mike ran two fingers along your slit again and laughed.

“God, I wish I could feel how wet you are,” he mused, which made you wonder...

“Can vampires even have children?”

“Absolutely we can,” Mike said quickly. “Us guys, at least. Condom stays on, I'm afraid.”

“Loving the sense of responsibility, Mike,” you said as you tried to contain your laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm super-duper responsible! Now, please sit on my cock.” How could you possibly deny a man who was so desperately begging you to screw him? Of course, you could play with him a little longer... Slowly, extremely, excruciatingly slowly, you lowered yourself onto Mikey's dick, stopping every time he moved. You were fed up with his impatience when he tried to use his hands to pull you down onto him, and a firm smack on each of his wrists put a stop to that behavior fast. He didn’t need to know that it probably hurt your hands more than it did his wrists.

“No!” He cried out when you lifted yourself off him again.

“Tying you up is of no use, is it? You'll rip my headboard to shreds before you behave.” There it was, the goofy grin on his face that had made you fall in love with him in the first place. You suspected he kept it under lock and key for special occasions, now, and apparently, this was one of those.

“Eh, I'm not opposed to trying?” There was a twinkle in his eye that told you he was a lot more than ‘not opposed’ to it. You grabbed the belt of your bathrobe off the floor.

“Hands.”

“Yes ma'am,” Mikey said. His grin couldn't possibly get any wider. You tied his hands together, fixing them to the headboard, and told him once again to stay still. The smile on his face told you he was absolutely just humoring you; he could tear the restraints up without too much effort, but he was really going to try to not do that.

“God, you're cute.” You positioned him at your entrance again and slowly lowered yourself until he was all the way inside of you.

“Fuck,” you huffed as you leaned forward instinctively.

“You okay, Sweetcheeks?”

“Yeah, you're just a little too big for me to sit up straight,” you gasped. “Wipe that cocky fucking grin off your face before I help you.”

“Sorry baby,” he said, “I just love hearing you talk about how big my cock is. Does something to a man.”

You shut him up by smashing your mouth on his, drowning out the sounds he let out as you moved your hips up and down. His tongue pushed past your lips and slid into your mouth, exploring eagerly while he moaned loudly with every move of your hips. He was almost aggressive in how he sucked on your lips - and even your tongue, which was an interesting sensation, but mostly made you laugh. His hips fell into the same rhythm as yours with ease. It wasn't long before you began missing the feeling of his hands roaming your body.

“Untie me.” How? He always – always – knew. Dammit. You did listen, but that was out of mercy for your bedframe rather than a willingness to do as he told you. Ok, there was definitely some willingness to do as he told you. Fuck, fine, you loved doing what he told you, but this had still been a fun experiment. His hands on your hips felt about a hundred times more natural, though, and you almost cried from joy when he started using them to effectively slam you down onto his dick as he snapped his hips up to meet your body. Soon, you fell on top of him, hardly able to control yourself as Mike railed you into the next century in a position that should typically see you in control of things. But fuck that, this was heaven.

Mike laughed before he fucked you harder, the so-manieth thing you desperately longed for but never, ever asked for out loud. Your moans became cries, became sobs, complete with tears - of joy - in your eyes, and you chanted his name religiously while he kept going. He wasn't careful today, you were sure you were going to be sore tomorrow, but it wasn't important. A that mattered right now was the way his cock slammed into your soaked, tight cunt, and the moans he let out because of it.

“Baby you feel so good,” he murmured softly into your neck, “you're so tight, so perfect.”

And then he asked that question, and you said yes, and before you knew it he sank his teeth into your shoulder. It hurt when his teeth pierced your skin, but other than that, it wasn't bad. His movements slowed down, and he carefully turned you both around. He ground his hips against yours, and you cried out, overwhelmed by the sensations of his cock deep inside you and the gentle sucking on your neck. It didn't hurt – at all. In fact, you felt quite the opposite: it was extremely comforting, and a wave of warmth washed over you.

“Mikey,” you gasped as you grabbed the back of his head, twisting his curls around your fingers, gently scraping your nails over his scalp. Soft moans were lost against your skin as he continued his movements for a while longer until he finally came.

“I think I made a mess, babe,” he said apologetically.

“Condom first, Mike,” you reminded him, and he immediately left the room to take care of that. He came back with a washcloth and band aids. Now that you actually watched his movements, you were convinced you needed glasses. Over the past months, you had blamed the fact that you seemed to miss half the moves Mike made on being tired, or distracted, or generally imperceptive. You genuinely couldn’t believe you had been able to convince yourself that nothing was going on…

“Let me...” He cleaned your neck, examining the damage he'd done. “Messy bite, sorry. It eh… It should be mostly healed in the morning.”

There was a funny look in his eyes you hadn't seen before. It was excessively worried, almost scared. He put the band aids on you carefully, asking you a million times if you were feeling okay - and you answered him a million times that you were feeling perfectly fine.

“Hug.” The way he said it didn’t remind you of a question, but rather of a demand. And he was demanding something he found absolutely necessary. “Hug, please?” You let him snuggle up against you, with his head resting on your chest, and you wrapped your arms around him. It was your compromise for making him the small spoon, which didn’t work very well because he was quite a bit taller than you.

“I love you,” he said. That was a first, but it was so incredibly welcome after all that had happened. A part of you was relieved that you weren’t the first to say it, the other part just fell more and more in love with him with every passing second, as you stroked his hair and watched him almost doze off on your chest. That was when it first hit you how exhausted you were yourself, and how strangely calm. Usually the throes of passion – for lack of a less archaic description – had you kind of worked up for a while, and unable to sleep, and you’d usually spend some time goofing around with Mike until you eventually got tired. This time, both of you seemed completely and utterly beat.

“I love you too, Mikey,” you replied, “let's go to sleep, okay?”

“Goodnight, baby,” he murmured into your cleavage. It made you laugh. That was Mikey summarized: sleep and boobies.

#mike hellraiser fic #mike x ofc #mike hellraiser #mike (hellraiser)#hellraiser mike #mike hellraiser smut #mike hellraiser fanfiction #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill #henry cavill characters

87 notes · View notes