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angel-eyes05 · 11 months

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to leave the warmest bed i've ever known (part 3)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

pairing: spider-woman!reader x miguel o’hara

summary: a fight you've been waiting for arises in front of you, but can you keep your guard up long enough to reunite with your teammates again?

warnings: ANGSTY (the next chapter is smut i promise), HUGE ATSV SPOILERS DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THIS MOVIE, mentions and descriptions of blood and injuries, this is so against canon its insane

word count: 1.8k

notes: ok ok i promise that the next chapter will have smut in it, i just wanted to do some enemies to lovers before we got to that point so thanks for sticking around during the past two chapters i know its not easy lmao. you guys will be rewarded well though, trust trust😌 😌 😌

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Bright ruby liquid dripped from your tricep as Miguel’s claws ripped through the fibers of your suit, slamming you into the cement floor. Any false confidence you went into this battle with quickly disappeared when each futile attempt to get Miguel off his feet failed. You’re not sure how long you’ve been stalling him, but it felt like hours. You were still putting up a fight though, managing to bruise one of his cheekbones that you used to love so much. But compared to the state you were currently in, it didn’t exactly mean much. You were bleeding from all sorts of places. The most noticeable places were where his claws has dug into you, first your thigh, now your tricep. At this point in the fight, you were just focused on defending yourself.

Images of your favorite moments with him flashed inside your eyes in between his strikes at your face. How gently he would hold you, the way he would whisper your name sometimes and moan it others. How nervous he would get if you took longer than usual to come back from a mission. But even with his mask on, you could see it in his face that that was all gone now. Any ounce of love he had for you was whisked away with you when you walked into that elevator away from him. Just like you, feelings of betrayment flooded his brain, making him lose all sense judgment as he sliced his claws across your stomach. He didn’t feel anything for you anymore. Which only made it easier for you to harm him.

He had you pinned to the floor below him, no escape in sight other than you to physically push him off of you, which didn’t seem like very much of an option considering his size and weight. Plus, he had your hand pinned down with his knees. He had taken a break from punching you to catch his breath, heaving hot pants into your face below him. His mask faded off in order to let him breathe better.

Your struggle out had suddenly paused.

Then you saw it. His mask had been hiding it from you before.

His eyes were red. And not his iris’ natural crimson glow. The pure white sclera of his eye had been stained with red. Had he been…crying? You felt your heart drop into your stomach. He had. A lot. You felt so guilty, knowing it was most likely you who caused this. You managed to slip your arm out from under his knee, but instead of using it to pushed him off, you placed it gently on the side of his cheek, brushing your finger over the horrible bruise you put there, blemishing his perfect skin.

His only movements from then on out were slight flinches from when your thumb would press too hard on the bruise. You wanted to badly to leave this all behind. To just go back home with him. To crawl into bed with him and pretend none of this ever happened. You wanted to embrace him again after all this time, you wanted to place your lips onto his again and remind him of your love. Both of you had been so full of hate the past few months. You needed to love again. You wanted to love again.

But you couldn’t. Not right now. And not in good conscious. To let go of this now would be to let go of everything you stood for. You couldn’t go back with him. Not like this. So while it was your heart that screamed out for him, it was your head that acted next as you grabbed his arm with your free hand and ripped his claws through his stomach. As he growled out in pain, he leaned over to his left side more, giving you your way out. You jumped to your feet and raced for the whole in the wall. You made it out, but not before Miguel made his final attempt to grab you.

He fell down in pain before you were in his clutch, but his reach out for you caused four large gashes to form into your back. You yelped out in agony as you felt his claws ripped through the fabrics of your skin. You kept running though, refusing to look back to see if he was following you. You prepped up the portal on your watch, sending out the Earth you were jumping to to the rest of your teammates. You had zero idea where they were or if they were okay, but your one concern right now was getting away from Miguel. Your back shot pain through your entire body with every step you took, but you had to ignore that right now. You had bigger matters at hand. For example, the growing sound of footsteps behind you.

Fuck, he was up again already? This was bad. Your allies were all missing, the portal wasn’t ready yet, and you could feel your consciousness leaving your body as pain overtook your mind. You had to keep running, but each step was sloppier than the last. God fuck, you couldn’t get caught now. He was close you could feel it. You looked at your watch with fuzzy vision, basically praying for it to work at this point. You tried to run faster, but that proved to be a fatal mistake. Panic zoomed through your body as you felt yourself trip over your own feet.

You looked behind your back mid fall to find a demonic sight, Miguel bounding towards you on all fours at full speed, a trail of blood leaking behind him. Just as you thought it was over for you, your savior appeared. A bright neon orange portal. You attempted to get back onto your feet to make it through, nearly scrambling, but it was no use. Every movement was more painful than the last, the lacerations on your back reminding your body of all your other injuries, all of them coming to life suddenly at once. This was it. You lost. Sorry Miles, you thought to yourself, I really did try. But you’re going to have to fight this battle without me.

You weren’t sure if the pain was making you hallucinate, but you could’ve sworn that you saw Hobie jumping into the air behind Miguel, and slamming his guitar into his face. Miguel was knocked off of his fours and onto his back, tumbling away into a building to your right. Your vision was confirmed when you felt Pavitr’s and Gwen’s hands latch onto your arms and drag you into the portal, Peter B. and the rest of the team behind them. The last thing you saw before fully passing out was Miguel’s limp body laying against the brick wall as you floated through the portal into whatever Earth you would crash into next.

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The sky grew a dark gray as your team gathered in a dark alley in whatever Earth you landed in this time. Peter B. had you in his own separate corner, Gwen taking care of Mayday as he stitched up your gashes with some spare thread Margo bought at the drugstore. Your tricep and and thigh were painful, but over faster than expected. Now he was on to your back. And fuck did it suck. Being the deepest of all three attacks, it was still bleeding while Peter was stitching it up, causing the thread to get stuck to your skin at some parts. You bit at your tongue through the pain, while Pavitr asked and answered questions to keep you distracted. “What happened?” he asked first. “Got..ambushed. Fought Miggy- Miguel I mean. Managed to hit him….before he tore my back..o-open. Yo-u guys s-saved me. Now w-we’re…where are we?” you said, gritting through your teeth. “Earth-42,” Margo stated, looking at the slightly orange glow on her wrist. You nodded slightly, but winced once Peter accidentally got the thread stuck on dried blood, and started yanking at it.

“Jesus Peter, have you never done this before?! Mayday could do a better job than this!” you yelled at him. You got a slight giggle out of the baby, as Gwen placed her in your lap to distract you.

“Who are you with right now?” Pavitr asked, pulling your attention away from your wounds again. “Uhh, Pavitr, Mayday, Peter B., Gwen, Hobie, Ham, Noir, Margo, and Peni,” you answered, playing with Mayday’s hands. “How are you feeling?” he asked next. “Other than the growing urge to punch Peter B. in the face-” “I’m doing my best here!” he shouted from behind you, getting a chuckle out of you. “I feel fine.”

You felt everyone’s eyes glue onto you. You stared back confused for a second. “....What, I do.” You were the only one severely injured out of the whole group, the rest of them making it out with scratches at the worst. Meanwhile you were sitting there, blood leaking out of nearly every crevice of your body and bruises quickly forming around your face. They had a right to not believe you. Because they were right. You weren’t okay. You felt a new emotion towards Miguel that you hadn’t felt towards him before. You were terrified of him. Watching him pounce towards you like a coyote hunting its prey. You now understood how all of his enemies felt towards him. Because you were one of them now.

You felt stupid for thinking you could beat him, much more kill him. Stupid for thinking for some reason he would go easy on you. You saw how he acted towards you. He pounded his fists into your body as if you single handedly killed his whole family. He didn’t care for you anymore. But then you remembered. How his eyes were for that split second you saw them. Why was he crying? Was it stress? Was it joy that he was about to finish his mission? Or…was it you? It felt self centered to think that was the reason. That he had been crying over the fact he lost you. You could imagine it now. Miguel sitting lonelily in front of all his monitors and scanners looking for you, ashamed in himself for letting you go as easily as he did. You dragged yourself out of that thought fast, convincing yourself that thats not what you were to him. You were just a pawn in his game. And you were done playing.

Pavitr decided to not push the question anymore and began to talk to you about other stuff until Peter finished up with your back. You stood up, ignoring the ache in your back, to peek out of the alley and into the city. Everyone’s attention turned to Margo’s wrist as it blinked a light orange. When her eyes lit up, you knew it had to be good news.

“Miles.” she said. “He’s here.”

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NEXT CHAPTER

a/n: OK OK NEXT CHAPTER IS THE LAST ONE AND EVERYTHING WILL BE WRAPPING UP THERE I PROMISE (there'll be smut too dw dw🤭🤭🤭). i also have a new idea for a miguel fic so ill be getting started on that after i finish with chapter 4 (it'll be oc x miguel cause i wanna get my character writing out there, but dw you can imagine youre her lmao). so be on the lookout for that whenever it drops, id appreciate the continued support!!!!

taglist: @sunfairyy @ladespedidas @jenniferdixon05207 @chalametet @khaleesihavilliard @sparklyphantom @sweetanimebakery @azxulaa @daimiyu @vinkar345 @pinkninja200 @luvstich @rin-matsuoka345-blog @lillunna @trying-2bcool @deputy-videogamer @chatoicboy @cookielovesbook-akie @impettywhenyouare @unnamedgayperson @sin4tra @twentysomethingwereyote @cherrymanhuas @sagejin @isaidoop @hysteriaabsd @autismsupermusicalassassin @persimmoned-fig @dcsuperheros @amodernarrietty @konniebon @barbi-e7 @venus1224idkpleaze @almondlocust @babybella777 @urmomcomsiimiamour @96jnie @cryptidwlw69 @mirrorball-6 @whosace16 @wolfiepirate @gobblegluckgluckgod @keenzinemugstudent @bitchotine @leopandabearsblog @blumin8 @malynn @mearss @yu-rylee @myhomethesea @ashjbu @skcj24 @joanne-uwu @y2ksitgirl @inosukesweirdwife @a-simp-20 @shibble @euphoricfics @hwanunjin @simp-nerd-16 @chucklefuvk @elwyn7 @thegroupsdeaddog @haileybxxr @ilovemymomscooking @lansy-4 @maxi-ride @d4rno @callsign-blue @obamnas-soda @sophipet @xiangping-28 @steveoscousin @violentlyneon @d1lf-loverrr @shylonelyleaf @babyspice6 @afro-hispwriter @kirke-is-my-name @ilovemiguelohara @lavnderluv @konniebon @msecho19 @kiamewrites

#miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #fanfic #fanfiction #fem!reader #spiderverse 2

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bridgetotheskyyy · 7 months

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Helping Friends - Yuji

Kinktober Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, yuji is the cutest thing ugh

A/n: This was fun! Day 7: Stuck in wall. But I'm tired so I will be taking a break! Kinktober is hard phew! Excuse the horrible title its 11pm and I'm seeing double asasdf

Word count: 1.4k

Read on ao3

“I need your help.”

“Hm?” Yuji blinked. “Sure thing. What for?”

“Just … Just come over.”

“But ―”

“You’ll see when you get here,” You said through gritted teeth, and of course you were frustrated, but it almost seemed like you were struggling against something.

“Okay, be over in a sec!”

You hung up. Yuji stared at the black square of his screen. Now, he was curious.

Yuji muffled a snicker.

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not!”

“You are!” You wiggled your ass at him. “I can hear you! I’m stuck, I’m not deaf!”

Yuji sobered. It really wasn’t funny if you took a second to consider the repercussions of it all. “It’s lucky I have a key.”

You sighed. “D’you think you can get me out?”

Yuji saluted. “I’m on it!”

He maneuvered around you, careful to avoid your ass sticking out of the wall. He swallowed; of all the days to wear a skirt. He gripped your hips and pulled ―

“Ow, ow!” You wagged your legs.

Yuji stopped immediately. “Sorry!”

You sighed. “God, I’m gonna be stuck here forever.”

“Don’t think like that!” Yuji said. “How’d this even happen?”

“Remember the hole in the wall I said I’d fix?” You said. “Well …”

Yuji brainstormed. “Maybe I need to loosen you up.”

“Well, obviously ―”

“No, I mean, with something …”

“I have some lube in the drawer of my nightstand?”

Yuji blushed, figured he better not ask, even though now his unhelpful images of you lubing up with your pretty pussy made his mouth water.

“O ― Okay.”

He strode to your bedroom and fished into the drawer, finding the lube without issue. Kneeling on the floor of the wall, he spilled lube into a puddle in his palm before fixing it around the outline of your body.

“Ugh,” You said. “This better work.”

He pulled, gently, using increasingly more powerful thrusts to exert you out of your self made hole. Still, you wouldn’t budge.

“Ah, damn, I can’t …” Yuji kept pulling, careful to not injure you, but continued to face resistance. “I’d end up taking this whole wall down.”

You whined. “What’s wrong now?”

Yuji reddened as he toyed with the elastic of your panties. “I think these need to come off,” he murmured.

He waited for your rage, for you to call him a pervert ― he’d deserve it anyway, he had to go and say it after all ― but instead you simply sighed.

“Do it.”

Yuji’s eyes widened. “What ―?”

“We have to get rid of as much friction as possible and I don’t wanna be stuck here forever!” You said.

Yuji fought the urge to eye the way your panties hugged your cunt and failed.

“But …”

“It’s okay, Yuji.”

With trembling hands, he hooked a finger under the elastic and pulled. They stuck on the fat of your thighs. Yuji bit into his cheek. Your cunt was right there. Perfect and plump and ― and did he detect a bit of wetness there, between the plush of your outer folds?

No, he was twilight-zoning. That’s all it was.

“What’s going back there?” Your voice took Yuji out of his reverie.

“N ― Nothing!” Yuji adjusted on his knees, desperate to avoid the raging erection making it hard to move much anywhere in any direction. “Okay, let’s try this again.”

Yuji hooked hands around your now-naked hips, tried a few jerky pulls. Your lower half budged if only by an inch.

“I think it’s working!”

“Good! Keep pulling!”

Yuji maneuvered behind you. Bad move. His gaze flickered to your perfect ass, and he could only imagine him in this position in a different context. His hips thrusting into you, your ass rippling with the power of his … Shit. Focus. Focus.

Yuji concentrated and tugged you toward one more time ―

Your lower half jerked, your ass colliding with his crotch.

“Ah!”

Yuji drew in a sharp breath, kneeled over his hardon. “Sorry …” His voice was so weak.

“Is that … Is that you?”

Yuji froze. “Wha ― What do you mean?”

“I mean …” Your sock-covered foot brushed against his leg. “Is that you, that I feel?”

Yuji hung his head in shame. “Ye ― Yeah …” He tried for a laugh, but it came out as nervous as he was. “I’m really sorry, I just ―”

“Maybe …” You trailed, rubbing your thighs together. “ … we can make the most of this situation.”

Yuji braved a hand against your thigh, caressing the skin. “You mean …?”

“I think we should fuck while I’m like this,” You said. Yuji had tunnel vision for your pussy and it was almost like it was talking to him, egging him on. Daring him to … “I mean, my panties are already down, aren’t they? You’d just have to …”

Your voice waned, most likely because you could hear his zipper coming down.

“You’d really let me, (Y/n)?” Yuji said, already freeing his aching cock to stroke. “You’re okay with this after all?”

“Yeah.” You sounded so breathless.

Fuck.

Yuji aligned his cock with your sweet, puffy lips. His eyes fluttered closed; his head slid against and between your outer folds, lathering his head with your translucent juices. Already, you felt so good.

“Mmm, Yuji …” His cock twitched to hear his voice on your tongue. “You feel good ― I bet you’re big.”

Yuji’s cheeks warmed as he eyed the way your folds rippled against his aching member. “I think so.”

You wagged your ass in his face. “Prove it.”

Fuuuck.

He slid into you with ease. His mind reeled as your walls hugged him, inch by inch. He settled a hand on one of your ass cheeks. “Feel so good …” he breathed out. He fixed a hand at one of your slippery hips to bring himself inside fully, his pubic hairs brushing against the plump of your ass.

“Ahhh …!” Your voice was heavenly. “Yuji ―!”

With one hand on your slippery hip and another on the crest of your crack, Yuji rocked into you. The wall hole wobbled and knocked in time with his thrusts. His breath lay trapped in his lungs at the tight hug of your cunt.

“Yu ― Yuji …!” You stammered, voice choked by surprise as he quickened his pace.

Yuji licked his lips. He hoped you were impressed with him. His eyes fell lidded as he slipped into a trance, single-minded and sidetracked by nothing but the feel of you around him. Yuji’s breath escaped at last in a gasp as you rocked back to fuck him, too.

Yuji lurched forward, chest against your back as he sped up, hips spanking into your ass. His sloppy hand spurred forward, past the curve of your abdomen to fox out your clit.

“Mmmm!” You fucked onto him messily, but it was impossible for you to keep up with Yuji’s pace.

He bent down to kiss the little bit of exposed skin from your ridden-up tank top, unsure whether or not you even felt it, would even know he’d done it. What you would feel is his fingers flicking at your clit ― and he was rewarded with a louder moan coupled with your legs quivering underneath him, and it was better than any praise you could’ve given him.

“Fuck!” Yuji heard a tap on the other side that must’ve been you slapping a hand to the floor. “I’m ― I’m close!”

Yuji left an even softer kiss to your ass cheek and straightened up again to adjust his pace. He nearly doubled over again at the clench of your pussy and knew instinctively you weren’t the only one.

Yuji crashed hips into you as you cried out. He grunted, holding your trembling lower half steady as you came around him, a jolt of inspiration spurring him to press a thumb into your gaping asshole.

“Yuji!”

He whined, spilling into you at the sound of his name. You milked him while he mindlessly thumbed you, lost in what he’d always wanted to experience: being inside you.

He gave a few more thrusts, falling over you again from the frantic stimuli ―

The hole around the two of you gave. Yuji face-planted on your back as you yelped. In an instant, he shielded you, sure the rest of the wall would give in and bury the two of you.

It didn’t.

Quiet.

“Well ― um …” Yuji slid out of you because it seemed the least he could do. “That worked!”

You faced the floor, your shoulders bouncing with mirth. “I can’t believe this.”

He joined you. The laughter didn’t stop as he helped you dress and shave the wall chippings clinging to your body. He was ready to offer you his jacket when you stopped him ―

“Yuji, I’m fine!” You assured him, stopping him. “Really!”

“Hmm.” He scanned you. “Okay.”

You giggled. “And thanks for coming ― stop,” You added as Yuji started laughing again. “Thanks for your help.”

Yuji grinned. “You can always count on me.”

#jjk smut #yuji smut #yuji x reader #yuji x you #yuji x y/n #yuji itadori smut #kinktober #jjk x reader

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nunalastor · 1 month

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The official hoof art and the beach art you reblogged has me daydreaming about a beach episode.

Not sure if the Pride Ring has an ocean, but Lucifer has canonically made a wildly popular theme park called Lu Lu World, so maybe he's made some water parks or (artificial) beach resorts too. So maybe after the construction of the new hotel's completed and Alastor's returned to the group, he decides to take his daughter and her new family to one of his water parks for some fun and relaxation after a really harrowing experience.

They get there and everyone's prepared to have fun, Charlie and Vaggie are cooing over how pretty/cute the other looks in their swimsuits, Angel definitely chose something racy and he's playfully flirting with Husk, and Husk carrying the cooler full of beers and rolling his eyes at Angel but has a knowing smile. Cherri Bomb joined in as well and is hyped to go surfing for the first time since she died and offers to teach Niffty who giggling like an embarrassed schoolgirl by the amount of skin on display. Lucifer's excited to show off his waterpark to Charlie and her friends and he closes it to the public for the day so that they can have it all to themselves. They get there and everyone is eager to jump into the water. Everyone except Alastor, who takes a seat in the shade and decides to read while everyone else is playing. He doesn't even take off his Hawaiian shirt.

Angel Dust teases Alastor for being a stick in the mud which just gets him grabbed by an underwater tentacle. Alastor has a laugh at Angel's terrified screams, but doesn't do anything more than scare him. Angel Dust decides he's gonna mess with Alastor in turn, so he gets everyone together and proposes a game; try to get Alastor's shirt off.

No it's not just 'cause he wants to see Alastor shirtless, shut up Husk.

It takes some cajoling, but eventually Angel's able to get everyone on board with the game. Mostly everyone. What follows is a series of Looney Toons style antics involving badly faked accidental tripping, booby traps, and at one point a giant fan. But whether through bad luck or Alastor's preternatural senses, he manages to dodge each and every attempt. Up until the very last moment when Niffty actually does trip for real and covers his shirt in fruit punch. Alastor's annoyed but he doesn't get mad at Niffty. He just goes to the changing room to clean up away from the prying eyes of the weirdos he's found himself in the unfortunate company of.

Lucifer feels kind of bad, realizing they may have crossed a line or three. So after Alastor's been gone a while, he grabs a towel and his spare shirt and follows Alastor to the changing room to offer him a hand.

But when he walks in he's stunned to find Alastor shirtless, running his shirt under the faucet. Nearly every inch of Alastor's torso is covered in horrible, rough looking scars. The moment Alastor notices Lucifer staring at him in the mirror he goes full demon, antlers elongating, bones popping out of place, and roars at Lucifer to get out. Lucifer isn't scared of Alastor exactly, but his heart is pounding nonetheless as he runs out of the changing room.

(No idea if Alastor's scars are still canon - or if they ever were canon - but god I hope they are.)

When Alastor eventually steps out of the changing room, back to his normal form, dressed, slightly damp, Lucifer is waiting outside for him. Lucifer starts to stammer out an awkward apology for barging in when he knew Alastor was changing, but Alastor cuts him off. With a perfectly pleasant smile that is at odds with the icy look in his eyes, he simply says, 'let's keep this bit of unpleasantness to ourselves, shall we?' and leaves to rejoin the group.

Since Alastor's determined to act like nothing happened, Lucifer goes along with it. Still, he can't quite shake the image out of his head.

(I don't think the scars are canon but who gaf about canon tbh.)

#hazbin hotel #huskerdust #radioapple #chaggie #alastor #lucifer morningstar #nunalastor asks #appleradio #radio apple #apple radio #niffty #angel dust #cherri bomb #charlie morningstar #vaggie #husk

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sturnioloskyline · 2 months

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smoke sesh

pairing: dealer!chris x fem!reader

warnings: use of marijuana, awkwardness, making out, not proofread

summary: you decide it’s finally time to smoke weed. you’re inexperienced, but maybe your dealer, chris, can guide you through it.

a nervous pit began to form in y/n's stomach as she paced around her bedroom. for the first time in a while, she was expecting a guest.

y/n's personal life was rough at the moment. she just moved out of her parents' house to live on her own, she was struggling to find what she wanted to do with her life, and, on top of it all, her love life was going terribly.

she tried it all — dating apps, clubs, frat parties, coffee shops — y/n couldn't seem to find love anywhere. her friends even tried to set her up, but all of her dates ended the same: y/n either had no interest in the men she was set up with or got horribly mistreated by them. all that y/n had been dreaming of recently was a hot guy who also happened to not be an asshole, but that seemed to be a rarity these days.

overall, y/n had been down in the dumps and was in desperate need of a pick-me-up. that was when she remembered her best friend recommending a soothing solution.

...

"seriously, it just makes you feel... better," y/f/n explained, sitting next to y/n on her bed.

"i don't know. it just makes me nervous, i guess, losing control." y/n said to her friend. "like i want to be in full control of my brain and my body at all times."

"you are in control. you're just less scared," y/f/n smiled at y/n. "y'know, i think you would really benefit from smoking weed."

y/n scoffed. she was an adult now, and she had never tried any substances before. she wasn't against recreational drugs, she just never had the urge to partake in them. "yeah right. as if you'd catch me casually with a blunt in hand."

y/f/n giggled at the image of her friend smoking. "yeah. but you would be a lot less stressed. if you ever change your mind, i have a dealer, just saying…"

y/n rolled her eyes. "yeah. I'll keep you posted."

...

and now here y/n was, in the middle of the night, chewing on her fingernails as she waited for a response from the man whose snapchat she'd gotten from her friend the other day.

y/n's phone pinged and she immediately brought the screen to her face to read the notification.

chris sturniolo

yeah i can be there soon

y/n's heart raced in anticipation. surprisingly, she was more excited than nervous. she'd been so tense, she was looking forward to anything that could take the edge off. y/n hearted the message and made her way to the kitchen so she could wait closer to the door.

y/n didn't really know what to expect for the interaction she was about to have. she assumed that it would just be like any other transaction: he'd show her the options, she'd pay him, and that would be that.

but as she waited, y/n grew more nervous about the purchase. she quickly pulled out her phone to google "what happens when you buy weed from a guy on snapchat", before she caught a glimpse of a certain notification.

chris sturniolo sent you a snap

y/n curiously clicked the notification, opening to a picture of chris in the driver's seat of his car, taken from his lap. he face hung over the camera but his blue eyes were focused on the road in front of him. his soft brown hair stuck out slightly under the grey beanie he was wearing, and a silver chain dangled from his neck.

y/n was left in awe. she didn't really know what she expected him to look like, but it was definitely not that. this guy looked good, the kind of look that made y/n's cheeks heat up from just one picture. y/n was only more anxious about the whole situation now that she knew a really cute guy was involved. before she even had time to process the whole thing, another notification pops up at the top of her screen.

chris sturniolo is typing...

y/n hesitated for a second before opening her chats with chris. he had only sent one word.

chris sturniolo

here

y/n silently cursed herself for her impulsiveness in inviting chris over. she was way too eager, and now everything was becoming way too real. soon enough y/n could hear footsteps outside her door, and three rapid knocks echoed in her ears. she apprehensively made her way to the door, opening it to reveal chris standing there with a backpack slung over one shoulder.

"hey."

"hi," y/n replied awkwardly, cracking her door farther open. chris took this as an invitation to step inside, and he walked in and glanced around the area.

"nice place." chris mumbled, making his way over to y/n's kitchen without any instruction. y/n just watched him as she locked her front door, unsure of what to do. chris took off his backpack and set it on the counter, beginning to take out various plastic baggies and laying them out.

"so... how does this work?" y/n asked, slowly approaching chris in the kitchen as she watched him move.

"um, what do you mean?" chris's eyebrows furrowed, but he kept his attention on the task at hand. y/n remained silent, unsure of how to answer. chris stopped and looked up at her. "have you ever bought weed before?"

"no..." y/n replied meekly, slightly embarrassed. chris chuckled and shook his head.

"well... do you know what you want?" chris asked. he tilted his head at y/n as she approached the counter, letting her take a look at the different strains, labeled by sharpie on the baggies.

“what’s the best one, for um, beginners?” y/n squeaked out, nervous under chris’s gaze.

chris walked up behind y/n, and placed his hands on the counter on either side of her waist. y/n breath hitched in her throat as she felt chris's abdomen press lightly against her back. he looked over y/n's shoulder at the bags on the counter sighing.

"i mean, personally, i don't think the strain matters," chris explained casually picking up a bag and examining the bud inside. "but i guess since you haven't tried anything before, you could try a hybrid first."

y/n nodded absentmindedly, not really focusing on what chris was saying. she was more focused on how his bicep slightly flexed as he flipped the bag of weed around in his hand, and the faint smell of cologne that wafted past her nose as she moved. her eyes drifted to his fingers, fiddling with the bag's seal. chris noticed, a small smile forming on his face.

"wanna try it right now?" chris asked, snapping y/n out of her trance.

"what? oh! um, yeah," y/n mumbled, stepping away from chris to face him. "uh, how much?"

chris chuckled and shook his head. "it's okay. on the house."

"oh no, you don't have to-"

"it's your first time, enjoy it." chris interrupted, setting the bag down on the counter and reaching into his bag for supplies.

y/n watched silently, butterflies swarming in her stomach. she had never felt this way about a guy before, let alone a guy she had just met who also happened to be dealing her drugs. it was something about the way chris's black tank top hugged his torso and the way his jeans hung low around his hips, revealing the waistline of his boxers. chris had undeniable sexual appeal, and y/n just couldn't help herself from feeling flustered around him.

chris pulled a grinder, rolling papers, filters and an ashtray out of his backpack. y/n finally ripped her eyes away from chris to focus on what he was doing. he took a bit of the weed and ground it down, turning his head quickly to glance back at y/n. he caught her watching him and flashed her a grin before focusing again. y/n blushed profusely.

a few minutes of comfortable silence passed as chris tightly rolled two joints, gliding his tongue along the wrapping paper to seal them. y/n was mesmerized, both by the meticulous process and the fact that chris was the one doing it. chris set down the joints and backed up from the counter.

"have you ever smoked anything before?" chris asked curiously, watching y/n's face. he could sense that she was nervous, from the way she was fidgeting to the way her voice was barely audible with every response she gave. y/n bit her cheek as she looked into chris's eyes, shaking her nead slowly. "do you want me to.. smoke with you?"

"would you?" y/n seemed to have a weight lifted off of her shoulders as soon as chris asked. the reaction made chris smile.

"yeah, of course," chris chuckled, sticking his hand in his jeans pocket and fishing out an orange lighter. "you're gonna want a water bottle or something."

y/n nodded, walking around to the fridge, grabbing two water bottles. she walked back over to chris's side, handing him a water bottle. chris flipped it in his hand effortlessly, thanking her soflty and picking up the ashtray, joints, and lighter in his other hand.

"is there a window we could sit by? don't wanna leave your place smelling too bad." chris looked around for a place to sit.

"yeah, here," y/n replied, turning around and leading chris to her living room. where she sat on a small couch just below a window. chris sat down next to her leaning over to the wall and helping her push the window open. they sat back down on the couch and faced each other as chris set down an ashtray on the coffee table in front of them. y/n took a deep breath as chris took a joint in his left hand, holding it between his thumb and pointer as he held his lighter in his other hand.

"okay. so," chris began explaining, looking at y/n's face as he did. y/n's eyes flicked up to meet his, and the two maintained eye contact as chris talked through the process. "i'll take puff first, i guess, to show you how."

y/n nodded, watching as chris brought the joint in front of his face and light it, bringing it down the tray and tapping it before bringing it between his pink lips. his cheeks hollowed as he took a long inhale. he took the joint out fo his mouth and passed it to y/n, who shakily took it in between her fingertips. chris's eyebrows furrowed from the slight sting of the smoke he was holding in his lung, watching y/n's hands to make sure that the joint stayed lit. he tilted his head to the window to release the smoke from his mouth, blowing it out into the night air. y/n watched the whole thing, only growing more anxious.

"so you just wanna inhale with it in your mouth, lightly," chris spoke, nodding to give y/n the go-ahead. y/n brought the joint up to her lips, her hand trembling. she stuck the joint in her mouth and tightly wrapped her lips around it.

"like this?" y/n mumbled around the joint. chris chuckled and brought his own hand to y/n's wrist.

"here, relax," chris moved y/n's hand away from her face a bit. "open your mouth more. just rest it there, gentle."

chris's voice was quiet as he readjusted y/n's form. she watched him as his face leaned in closer to her own. "better. now inhale."

y/n inhaled softly, feeling the smoke travel through her body, her throat scratching a bit.

"once it kinda burns, stop and hold it in your lungs." y/n brought the joint down, handing it to chris and holding her breath. her face scrunched up as she felt a burning sensation in her chest begin to grow. out of reflex, she quickly turned to the window and coughed out smoke. chris's hand flew out to her back for support. "woah! you okay?"

"yeah, just—" y/n cut herself off by coughing. chris kept his hand on the small of y/n back as she coughed. he set the joint down in the tray and reached over to grab a water bottle from the table, unscrewing it and bringing it up to y/n's lips, she reached out and took the bottle, taking a sip to sooth the fire in her lungs.

"it's okay, deep breaths, you'll be okay." chris murmured affirmations as y/n worked through her cough attack. eventually, y/n calmed down and brought her hand up to wipe the few tears that pricked at the corner of her eyes.

"i'm sorry, i think i inhaled too long," y/n chuckled awkwardly, embarrassed at herself for coughing like that in front of chris. it was then that y/n became hyperaware of chris's hand on her back, causing her to blush.

"it's okay, it happens to everyone," chris grinned at y/n, finding her shyness endearing. "we'll take it slow. you feelin' anything yet?"

"nope," y/n smiled awkwardly, watching as chris effortlessly took another hit. chris handed the joint back to her, and she took a short puff, blowing the smoke out the window with a few coughs.

"better!" chris grinned, causing y/n to giggle.

"thanks," y/n mumbled, taking another sip of water. chris tapped the joint against the ashtray and bringing it to his mouth. "so, when did you start smoking?"

chris chuckled at the icebreaker, smoke spewing out of his mouth. the two of them fell into small talk as they shared the joint, growing more and more comfortable with each other as they lazily passed the weed back and forth. suddenly y/n felt a wave wash over her, and her sensed heightened. her body stiffened, and chris noticed, his eyes flicking over her face.

"you okay?" chris asked for a second time, lightly reaching out and grazing his fingertips against y/n's arm.

"yeah..." y/n spoke lowly, her eyes landing on chris's. something about chris seemed different now. his features were more prominent and detailed, and she was definetly even more drawn to him. without thinking, she reached out and touched chris's silver chain, fiddling with it in her fingers, the sensation feeling unique. "chris?"

"yeah?" chris's voice was just above a whisper, his eyes not leaving y/n's face. something about the way her delicate hands pulled at his necklace made his breath hitch. he found himself craving her touch, but pushed the thought away, blaming it on the marijuana in his system.

"i think it's hitting me." y/n looked back up at chris, her eyes flicking between his. chris swallowed.

"how's it feel?"

"feels like... i'm in a dream," y/n spoke absentmindedly, not breaking eye contact with chris. chris smiled and nodded at her explanation. y/n couldn't help but smile back. "you're really sweet, chris."

"is that suprising?" chris asked, a heat slowly rising to his cheek at the compliment.

"yeah, kinda," y/n whispered. chris's eyes flicked to y/n's lips as she spoke, and before he could stop himself, chris was asking y/n a question.

"can i kiss you?"

y/n's jaw fell slightly open at the question, completely taken off guard. chris's own eyes widened, and he quickly pulled himself away from y/n, his face quickly reddening. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to say that out loud, i mean, i want to, i mean—!"

with a sudden boost of confidence, y/n leaned closer to chris and looked up at chris through her eyelashes, leaving chris too flustered to keep defending himself. "please kiss me."

chris needed no further encouragement, his hands finding y/n's face and pulling her up to meet him. his eyes quickly flicked to y/n's before he leaned in and pressed his lips to y/n's. his lips were surprisingly soft, moving slowly against y/n's. chris's tongue slipped past his lips, and y/n opened her mouth, allowing him in. y/n's hands moved to chris's neck, one of her hands travelling under his beanie to grip at his hair.

chris kept one of his hands on y/n's cheek, letting the other one fall down to hold her waist. he spread his legs apart, pulling y/n towards him. y/n broke the kiss to yelp in surprise, sending the both of them into a giggling fit. warmth spread throughout y/n's body as she watched the way chris's eyes crinkled as he laughed, flashing his teeth. the image only made her smile more. y/n leaned into chris, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. chris wrapped his arms around y/n's frame without a second thought.

it was all too natural, the way chris leaned back into the couch with y/n in his arms, holding her softly. y/n hummed in content, her eyelids suddenly struggling to stay open as chris sighed underneath her.

"thanks chris," y/n mumbled lazily, letting her eyelids flutter shut as she sunk deeper into the warmth of his body.

chris hummed back, peering at the girl on his chest. he was shocked he had ended up in this position, but lord, he was not complaining. chris smiled to himself before letting his own red eyes fall shut. the drugs in chris and y/n's systems lulled them both to sleep, and they stayed like that for the rest of the night.

...

author's note: wow that felt LONG. i need to smoke after that one. let me know if u want a (potentially smutty)part 2. 😚 love u bye!

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #fanfic #sturniolo fanfic #x reader #au #help

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drinkcrywrite · 1 year

Photo

Texts From The Crows 1/?

ID under cut

[image description: 9 large blended gifs of the Crows from Shadow and Bone. Each gif is a blend of 2 other gifs and are coloured bright green and pink.

Gif 1: A gif of Jesper when he first re-meets Wylan. Jesper tilts his head mockingly at Wylan. This gif is coloured pink. Blended over the left side of Jesper's face is Wylan in his workshop, wearing his goggles on the top of his head as he answers one of Kaz's questions. This gif is coloured green. A grey text bubble comes from Jesper, reading "safety goggles are for nerds". Two green text bubbles come from Wylan. The first reads "they're useful if you wanna have nerd things", and the second reads, "like EYES".

Gif 2: A gif of Inej standing on a roof at night with her hood up. She's looking up and to the side before looking forward and speaking. The gif is coloured pink. Blended over the left side of Inej is a shot of Kaz, lying on the ground in Pekka's club after being beaten by him. Kaz wearily lifts his head and looks up at Pekka. This gif is coloured green. A grey text bubble comes from Inej, reading, "are you alive". A green text bubble comes from Kaz, reading, "debatable".

Gif 3: A gif of the Tidemaker Fruzsi, staring in shock after realizing Jesper is Grisha when he used his buttons to cut off her fingers. This gif is coloured green. Blended to the left side of Fruzsi is Jesper, who grins at her and tilts his head to the side, holding his hands out to the sides. This gif is coloured pink. A grey text bubble comes from Fruzsi, reading, "so ur clearly straight from hell". A green text box comes from Jesper, reading, "I'm clearly bisexual from hell".

Gif 4: A gif of Nina in the café where the crows meet after Kaz blows up the Crow Club. Nina condescendingly holds out a slip of paper she wrote on to get the waitress to tell her what room was Pekka's. This gif is coloured green. Blended over the right side of Nina's face is another shot of Nina, while removing the Menagerie mark from Inej, guilelessly looking up at two of them after making a remark about Kaz's feelings. This gif is coloured pink. A green text bubble comes from her, reading, "the idea sounds great and all except for all the horrible flaws".

Gif 5: A gif of Jesper in the café where the crows meet after Kaz blows up the Crows Club. He sits across from Inej and gestures with one hand. This gif is coloured pink. Blended over the left of his head is Inej, sitting in the Crow Club and twisting her knife into the table as she mocks Jesper. This gif is coloured green. A grey text bubble comes from Jesper, reading, "we'll stand together even in life and death". A green text bubble comes from Inej, reading, "Probably death". A second grey text bubble below the first reads, "Death for sure".

Gif 6: A gif of Wylan in the café. He looks over at Kaz and crosses his arms, attempting to look firm. This gif is coloured green. This shot is blended over a shot of Kaz sitting in the café looking consideringly back at Wylan across the table. Kaz glances from Wylan's face to his crossed arms and back up. This gif is coloured pink. A green text box comes from Wylan, reading, "if you keep ignoring your emotions like this, you will eventually break down". A grey text box comes from Kaz, reading, "how unfortunate".

Gif 7: A gif of Jesper tied to chair in Dreeson's house, being interrogated by Sturmhond. Jesper tries to walk back a comment after realizing it didn't make sense. This gif is coloured green. Blended over the left of his face is another shot of Jesper, in Ohval's courtyard, trying to pull off the chain that Ohval set to choking him. This gif is coloured pink. Two grey text bubbles come from him. The first reads, "I need advice". The second reads, "Nevermind i already did the stupid thing".

Gif 8: A gif of Matthias in Hellgate, speaking stoically to Pekka after deciding to fight in the ring. This gif is coloured pink. Blended over the left of his face is a shot of Kaz tied to a chair in Dreeson's house. He's unbothered by his situation glaring up at Sturmhond. A green text bubble comes from Kaz, reading, "I could strangle you". A grey text bubble comes from Matthias, reading, "You aren't tall enough". A second green text bubble below the first reads, "You've sunk low enough for me to reach".

Gif 9: A gif of Nina in the street after saving Inej from the Stadwatch, Nina speaks haughtily and raises a brow before starting to turn around. This gif is coloured green. Blended over the left of her face is a shot of Jesper, holding one of the Komedie Brute masks over his face, before lowering it and grinning. This gif is coloured pink. A green text bubble comes from Jesper, reading, "being attractive is so inconvenient like how am i supposed to do thing is i'm surrounded by fangirls". A grey text bubble comes from Nina, reading, "open your mouth your personality will drive them away".]

#shadow and bone #six of crows #sabedit #socedit #shadowandboneedit #shadowandbonecentral #dailyshadowandbone #socdaily #userbecca #ughmerlin #userbbelcher #chewieblog #cinematv #tvfilmgifs #televisiongifs #*gifs #saballedit #*crowstexts

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flowercrowngods · 6 months

Text

shattered on the cliff’s edge, trapped by the tides

part 1 / 7 | or: read on ao3

The fog rolls in like a heavy cloud that morning, leaving the city in eerie darkness as Steve hurries toward the heavy door to the steel manufactory, scarf wound tightly around his neck to keep out the cold so uncommon for late September.

“Thanks,” he mutters to the gruff, broad man who holds open the door for him. He sees him every morning but has never had the chance to ask about his name. The question is on the tip of his tongue when, with a nod and a touch to his sturdy-looking hat, the man walks down a different corridor than Steve.

Where outside the fog was so thick that all noise seemed dulled, like cotton in his ears, the manufactory is a cacophony of banging and clanging, hissing and whirring, and Steve needs a moment to breathe the polluted, heavy air that’s always just a tad too hot for his lungs.

He doesn’t mind the work, is good with his hands and enjoys the single-minded focus it provides on a good day, the deafening noise loud enough to drown out most of the comments the other workers throw his way; comments about his father, his upbringing, and his rather sudden downfall when Richard D. Harrington decided to disown his eldest son three years ago without rhyme or reason.

Steelwork, engineering, intricate cogs that work massive machinery — they fascinate him, they keep him busy fourteen hours a day, and they leave him dead to the world when the shift is over and graciously let him sleep through the dreams that have been haunting him ever since he can remember being haunted.

It’s always the same dream, in the fall more than in the spring. A lighthouse trapped in the sea, waves rolling and crashing, water rising so high that it might as well swallow the lighthouse whole. And through it all, a beacon. And through it all, a voice he cannot make out. And through it all, a ticking that echoes through his skull even long after he gasped awake with a lungful of water that Robin says might be Tuberculosis.

He blinks away the gloom that has laid over his heart like the fog over the city, shakes off the trancelike feeling that overtakes him every time he tries to think about the lighthouse when he is wide awake, and rubs away the headache that comes with sleep deprivation. It’s fall again, which means he spends his nights haunted by ghostly images of a lighthouse he’s not even sure exists, robbed of all chances at resting if he doesn’t work himself to the point of absolute exhaustion.

They are earlier this year, the night terrors. Everything is a little earlier this year.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder as Emerson arrives behind him, leading him to their station with idle chatter about the weather and the horrible, horrible fog that Steve has not the patience to partake in today — which is just as well for Emerson and his sunny disposition, he’ll simply talk enough for the both of them. Steve is fond enough of him to let him be as he falls into the routine of working steel and breathing overheated, coal-stained air.

They work in unison until noon, the headache dull enough as long as he keeps busy, but almost blinding when he stops for even a second. A booming voice makes him look up from his station, though, as he is being summoned to the office.

It’s never a good sign, and Steve can feel the blood draining from his face, pulling the ache with it as it travels down his spine and settles in his centre in a pit of nausea.

“Oh no,” Emerson murmurs under his breath, even managing to sound genuine about it. “What did you do?”

Images assault his mind. Prison, if he’s lucky. Asylum and electroshock therapy if he’s not; if his father changed his mind about making it public that his eldest son and heir deserves punishment, or treatment for moral insanity. Steve tries not to think of that too often, tries not to look at men like that anymore — tries not to look at anyone anymore until the public forgets about him.

But every time he is reminded that he exists is another time of fear. Fear of being found out.

“I… have no idea,” Steve says after a while, looking up to where the door to the office looms above all of them, leaving them to feel like prisoners in a panopticon.

“Better not keep ‘em waiting, then. Probably too late to run, eh?”

“Probably,” Steve says, dazed, not really listening to Emerson as he kicks into motion and walks briskly up the stairs, pretending not to feel everyone’s eyes on his back.

It is out of a nervous habit that he pulls the watch from his pocket, its silver chain linked to his vest. It springs open in his hands as he takes the steps one by one, providing comfort for no reason other than it’s his. It doesn’t show the time, never has, but after losing everything at his father’s whim, the pocket watch stayed with him.

“Keep it,” Richard had sneered. “The blasted thing isn’t worth a penny!”

The fingers only ever moved incrementally over the years, and backwards, but still there is something about the watch that makes him keep it close at all times. Collecting himself, he closes his hand around the light metal and filigree ornaments and mentally counts to three before putting it back in his pocket and knocking on the door.

“Ah, Harrington,” the superior manager says, his voice sounding like gravel as per usual. The man has a habit of competing with the steel manufactory’s chimneys, only he smokes cigars instead of coal dust like his workers. Steve remembers the smell of fine cigars, and this office smells like the best among them.

It only helps to strengthen his disdain for the man.

Still he nods and aims for a pleasant smile. “You asked for me, sir?”

“Yes, yes,” the man says, leaning back in his thick leather chair and motioning for Steve to take a seat at the sturdy, delicately engraved mahogany desk. “Sit down, sit down, time is money and I give you more of that than you deserve anyway. I have a proposition for you and you are in no position to decline, yes?”

“Yes?” Steve says dumbly, taking his time to sit down just to spite him.

The man, however, is not as easily perturbed. “That’s what I want to hear, I have to admire your morale, Harrington. Here,” he turns and reaches for a cabinet, rummaging around for a minute before—

The blood in Steve’s veins freezes, leaving him cold and too hot all at once.

Underneath the beefy hand, he makes out a photograph — or possibly a postcard — showing a stark white lighthouse trapped in the sea, gigantic waves crashing into it, threatening to tear it down and carry it along to wherever the tides lead. The beacon of light is steadfast and stubborn, guiding and pointing at something that’s out of the frame, but what Steve can only assume is absolute nothingness out in the open sea.

He slides it over the table to lie in front of Steve, and he fights every urge to recoil, only gripping the arm rest far too tightly.

“See, we got a telegram earlier today that they’re having problems with the lighthouse up north. They say it’s something with the generator, not fit enough to last in the cold, where the air is made of saltwater more than oxygen.”

Steve nods, though he is only halfway listening, his heart hammering in his chest at the picture of the lighthouse, etched onto the paper like it has no idea it is also etched on the very forefront of Steve’s mind — has been, for almost three decades now.

“And since you’re the only one here traditionally educated in reading and writing,” the man continues, either unaware of Steve’s dizziness or delighting in it, “and you know your way around a machine or two, fixing the generator and handling the light shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

It’s not a question. It’s not even an offer.

Steve wonders if maybe he fell down the stairs and hit his head, if maybe the sleep deprivation is finally leading to hallucinations like Robin keeps warning him.

“You want me to fix the lighthouse?”

“That is precisely what I want, yes. Stay there a while, find out what seems to be the problem.”

He’s getting up, walking over to a cabinet, pulling out a half-empty bottle of what Steve can only assume is whisky. A biting, earthy smell floats through the room, thick enough to cling to his clothes if he stays here much longer.

“You’ll find yourself familiar with the equipment, as it is us who supply them. In fact, you have built generators and fixtures and engines like that. You’re a bright spark, Harrington, I can admit that. You’re the best fit. And I’m not asking.”

His jaw clicks shut, his hands clenched into fists beneath the table as he meets those dark eyes head-on.

“When do I leave?”

An ugly grin spreads the man’s face, gaining too much joy from other people’s powerlessness down the food chain.

“Tomorrow. If I remember correctly, and I usually do, you do not have much business to attend to, and even fewer things to pack. I trust you will find your place at the train station at five tomorrow morning. Emerson will know to fill your shoes in your absence.”

How long will I be gone? he wants to ask, but is too afraid that the answer will only be another cruel smirk and a sip of whisky.

He gets up, certain that he is being dismissed, and getting no sign that he’s wrong.

“Oh, and Harrington.” He stops with his hand on the door already. “Perhaps this is a good time to mention that the lighthouse is without a keeper. I have offered your services for the time being, seeing as you will already be there. The salary, of course, will be thrice as much as your usual.”

The daze is back, smelling of saltwater air and whisky, rushing in his ears like waves bursting on the cliffs.

“What happened to the old keepers?” he dares to ask.

“That doesn’t concern you.”

“Yes, it does. What happened to the old keepers?”

“I think you shall find out soon enough.” A beat of silence — horrible, tidal silence. Then, “You’re dismissed.”

***

The train ride is blessedly pleasant, the first class ticket providing the luxury of comfortable seating and relative silence, the wheels occasionally clicking along the railway loud enough to drown out the near-deafening rushing of the ocean in his ears — or perhaps it’s not the ocean, perhaps it is his own blood, pumped with fear and apprehension.

The only upside to all of this is the telegram he’s been gripping tightly all morning so as not to lose it, not to forget about it, not to think it was a dream. A childish, hopeless dream, a longing for company to battle the fear of the dark.

I’ll meet you there. 3 days.

Signed: Robin Buckley. She never took his name, said she did not want to be associated with Richard and the Harrington wealth that came with the Napoleonic wars — never mind that they happened almost a century ago.

Blood money isn’t wealth, Steven, she’d said to him on many occasions, and he loved her for it all the more.

Maybe it will be fine if Robin is there with him. Maybe they won’t end up succumbing to madness like people are wont to do, subjected to the endless loneliness of lighthouse keeping. Confronted with a darkness so deep it needs human invention to remain habitable. Maybe, he wonders idly and with shortness of breath, the world will end if all its lights are gone. Maybe all that will remain is nothingness and the ruthless sea — maybe, until the sun rises again and the light returns. But up north, the sun doesn’t stay all that long. Up north, they say the darkness is different. They say it’s sentient. They say—

A servant offers him some tea or coffee if he pleases, ripping hit out of his obsessive spiral of apprehension and fear.

“Yes, thank you,” he breathes, miming quiet politeness to cover up the lack of air in his lungs. The servant nods, not at all perturbed by Steve’s rather horrific disposition, and moves along.

The tea helps a little. It’s hard to think horrible thoughts when there is a steaming cup in your hands smelling comfortingly of herbs and just a hint at something spicy. It feels almost primal, his fear of the lighthouse — but just as primal is the comfort he finds in the warmth spreading from his hands all the way through his body. The shaking stops after a minute, and breath has returned to his lungs in a way that doesn’t leave him scared to let it out.

It will be fine. The sea will lose its terror, and so will darkness. He will read, and fix what needs to be fixed, and laugh at it all with Robin by his side, who will teach him about birds they will never see, about authors that don’t live anymore, and about the stars they get to watch.

It will be fine. He will be fine. Always, with Robin.

***

He arrives at the seaside town just before nightfall, and the first thing he notices is not the rushing of the ocean, but the crispness of the air that feels vastly different in his lungs to the grey and brown, polluted city air. It’s like he’s a babe taking his first breath in this world; and just like a babe, he is overcome with the urge to cry. He doesn’t, only pinches the bridge of his nose and grabs his bags — two of them, filled only with clothes and books to pass the time.

The walk to the next inn is a long one, and by the time he arrives there — guttural laughter coming even through closed doors and windows — he is frozen to his bones. If he’d thought that fall was quick to arrive in the city, he might as well have entered an arctic winter up here. The half suspects, though, that the cold comes from his empty stomach and the bitterness that replaced the fear just as well as the actual, biting cold.

And to think it’s only just early September.

He pushes the door open and finds it blissfully warm, a large fire roaring in the fireplace and in the hearth, leaving the food steaming on the plates. Silence settles almost immediately, and Steve freezes on the spot. Being perceived in a situation he has no control over has never been his strong suit, and he wonders just what these people have heard about him. If they heard anything at all.

“Come in or get out, but leave the cold out there,” a large lady says from behind the bar, an apron wrapped around her skirt and a towel in her hand as she eyes him with wary but not unkind eyes.

“Forgive me,” Steve says, stepping further into the inn and letting the heavy door fall shut behind him.

“Ahh,” someone says from where he’s sitting on a round table with six other, quite burly men. Fishermen, Steve assumes, or harbour workers, if their sun-tanned skin and general muscular build are any indication. He places his jug of beer on the table and eyes Steve rather closely. “You’re the boy they sent. Who will fix the lighthouse, aye?”

“Aye,” Steve says stupidly, internally cringing at himself. Then, turning towards the woman, “Have you a room to spare?”

“Have you money to spare?” she retorts, clearly mocking him for his odd choice of words — it’s hard, laying down his aristocratic upbringing, especially in a town auch as this.

“Of course,” he says. “For food, drink, and someone to bring me to the lighthouse in three days.”

Another man of the group snorts loudly, shaking his head and studying his ale like it would tell him the future.

“No way, boy. Ain’t no one gettin’ close to that thing.”

“She’s haunted. Has a mind and a life of her own, and she’s made it clear that no one is welcome to get too close. ‘S what lighthouses are for, eh? No getting too close. You get too close, you die. Simple as that.”

Steve takes it in, the pale faces of the men all nodding along, the thousand yard stares they all have in common — and his fear is back. But greater than his fear is his annoyance with men who insist on calling him boy and decide to speak in riddles instead of making sense.

“Haunted?” he asks, taking one of two spare seats at the table, nodding at the woman in thanks as she brings him an ale that only barely smells like piss. “How?”

“Haven’t you heard?” a fourth man, the oldest of them, speaks up. “There’s a curse on the lighthouse. No one gets out alive. We only ever bring her new stock, like cattle to the slaughterhouse. She takes. She takes and takes, boy.”

“So you do bring them,” Steve points out, far too tired and irritated to listen to a ghost story before he’s even had a proper, warm dinner.

The men still, and Steve places a tower of money in the centre of the table.

“It’s yours,” he says, looking at each of them, one after the other, “if you take us there in three days. Four, if the weather decides to play.”

“Us?”

“My wife,” Steve says.

“Fine,” one of them, the one who first spoke to him, grumbles, reaching for the money. “Now go. This table is for grownups, boy.”

With an eye-roll and an air of arrogance, Steve gets up and finds a seat at another table closer to the fireplace. Soon after, fresh stew is placed before him and he dives in.

***

The lighthouse towers on top of the cliffs and Steve watches, mesmerised, as he makes out its shape even in the pitch black darkness. It’s eerie, the power it emanates, the myths and legends that weave around it and its kind. Legends that would be fascinating learning about them in the safety of one’s bed, but which are horrifying to remember days before the nameless fates could be one’s own.

The darkness of the night really is endless here without the lights of the city, and he can only imagine how the lighthouse would help, how it would bring back hope and security, a promise of safe passage. It’s brings him a sort of peace; a purpose, imagining this town in the lighthouse’s beacon. Safe for the night, safe until the sun comes back.

Still it doesn’t ease his night terrors, filled with whispers as they are, growing in urgency and almost clear enough to make out.

Three days pass. Four. Five. There is no sign of Robin. Anxiety grows within him, because Steve knows Robin was going to take the seaside route from the Cunningham estate — well, one of them, at least.

She has a mind of her own. She takes and takes, boy. She’s haunted. Has a mind and a life of her own, and she’s made it clear that no one is welcome to get too close.

What if…

No. No, there is simply no way. Haunted lighthouses taking lives. There’s no— no way. He won’t fall for their ghost stories.

Unfortunately, however, they don’t fall for his charm either, and on the seventh day, when the sea is calm and the sun steady above them, the man who took they money — Old John, apparently — approaches him.

“We’re leaving now,” he says, shoving Steve ahead of him, deaf to his protest that they have to wait, they have to wait. “Your sweetheart ain’t coming, kid. Don’t think she’ll be coming anywhere ever again if she really took the ship. They talk of a ship that got lost in the storm, burst on the cliffs because there was no light. I’m sorry, kid, but I won’t risk waiting any longer.”

A ship lost in the storm?

But… No. No!

“No,” he whispers, letting himself be shoved onto a tiny boat and rocked this way and that, feeling nauseous for more reasons than one.

He’s wrong, Steve knows; feels it in his very soul. Robin is not dead. She’ll come.

She… She will come. She won’t leave him alone, all alone, in this place that has been haunting him for years and years.

She’ll come.

The lighthouse towers above them, perched on top of cliffs that make Steve understand why nobody wanted take him here. There’s no safe way of getting close, let alone climbing up the stairs carved into the cliffs, leading up to the door with no railing, no rope to hold onto. One large wave crashing into him, and he’d belong to the ocean.

He wants to cry again. Wants to curl in on himself and weep as the reality of everything begins to settle in the deepest, darkest places of his heart.

If he leaves the boat, he’ll be trapped with no way of getting out, no way of contacting the land they’ve left far, far behind. Supplies are said to last several months, he knows, he studied the file he got. Several months without human interaction unless Robin magically, wonderfully appears in a few days after all.

“Good luck, kid,” is the last thing he’ll ever hear of Old John as he pulls himself onto the cliffs, reaching for his bags from the old man’s hands. The sea is deafening here as waves crash and burst relentlessly, and he can’t hear what else Old John is saying, but he thanks him and salutes, which the seaman returns with an air of melancholy.

Steve climbs the stairs, soaked to the bones by the splashing water, but somehow — miraculously — malign his way up. As he turns around, fog is starting to gather above the water, but he can make out the tiny silhouette of the boat.

He watches, and it’s meant as a last goodbye, one last glance at his one way out. But terror fills him as he watches, helplessly, powerlessly, as Old John’s boat keels over and disappears. He keeps his eyes fixed to the spot, not daring to look away until there’s proof of life. But Old John doesn’t break the surface again.

And Steve is left filled with horror and the absolute certainty that he might not make it out if he sets foot inside the lighthouse.

Behind him, the door opens with a horrible, terrifying creak, and the beating of his heart is too loud for any other noise to exist in Steve’s world right now.

🌊 part 2 (coming 26 October)

tagging (trading tags for kindness): @klausinamarink @vampeddie @steviesummer @sharpbutsoft @auroraplume

#steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #spooky lighthouse au #dio words #this is so long i’m so sorry 😭😭 i’ll try not to let the other parts be so extensive with exposition hdhdh #it will go up on ao3 when i’ve had the time to proofread this but as things are rn we just fuck around and ignore typos #*frantically scrambling* does any of this make sense so far???

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charismaofobedience · 5 months

Text

Joseimuke fandom dashboard simulator

🦚 worldsbestessayist follow

heyy today i bring my analysis on the latest event and their impact on the characters lol

[very bad essay. the worst you've seen, even.]

( 8k2 notes ) ⇄ ♡

✒️ 1n28lsp9 follow

[the most beautiful and intricate piece of art you've ever seen in your life but you'll never be able to find it again due to the accounts name being just some numbers and letters]

rkgk

( 10 notes, 6 of which are you ) ⇄ ♡

🌄 sunnyimagines follow

s/i reader gets f*cked hard by [character] with a 43 cm d!ck hcs 💕

i won't let you escape now, kitten.........

keep reading

[most out of character thing you've ever seen]

( 600 notes ) ⇄ ♡

🐇 charactersirlblorbo follow

waah im so glad i didn't have to whale so hard for mongus newest gacha card... i thought i wouldn't be able to get him after i accidentally broke my leg and twisted one of my wrist while grinding for it on a public street and being fired from my job but after spending just some few money (200 dollars) he's home!!! isn't he such a scrunglo 🥰

[png of the most mid animeman you've ever seen]

🐍 shredoffandomsanity follow

I don't think that's normal.

( 103 notes ) ⇄ ♡

🌺 yourbestieskip

Hello! I'm skip and today I wanted to analyse blingus actions on the latest chapter of the event story since I've seen quite a big amount of people not understanding exactly why they acted that way and mischaracterizing them as this extremely evil and bad character! While they may indeed be someone flawed and who has done bad things, I think we should recognize they're not horrible and have a reason to act the way they do!

keep reading

[long amazing essay on the character and how the fandom can't understand character nuances at all because everyone has 0 media literacy. exactly because the fandom has 0 media literacy, people won't understand this at all.]

#fandom #character #analysis #please i hope i dont get canceled for this...

( 328 notes ) ⇄ ♡

💏 fujoshover follow

TIME TO SETTLE THIS ONCE AND FOR ALL.

👾 yurilover69 follow

Really telling how op is new to the fandom by now knowing that mongblos are basically siblings due to their circumstances and how they grew up while not even acknowledging how on the event with a Ligma reward card they said that they love each other and want to forever be by their side :/

[please leave this post before you get to see all of the insane amounts of discourse and drama on how "they're not actual siblings" that will happen eventually because characters can't have nuance.]

( 946 notes ) ⇄ ♡

💏 fujoshover follow

hii im really sad ill have to do this post :/ but this is a callout on @/yourbestieskip and how they're contributing to gatekeeping and toxicity in the fandom with the way they treat others and people who don't read any of the stories and are only there for how pretty the characters are and the ships!!! proof under cut

keep reading

🐍 shredoffandomsanity

Please get out of your phone and go touch grass.

( 2k4 notes ) ⇄ ♡

🐇 charactersirlblorbo follow

[10 images of a character, be it different images or not]

MONGUS. YOU AGREE. REBLOG

#oajwosbaoebfkdhoahdoshakebflduspskdljs #isnt he so pretty!!!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥺

( 6k4 notes ) ⇄ ♡

🕳️ rabbitbarrithole

god it isn't just me that thinks sometimes mongus fans can be a bit annoying right??? like I get it that it's the main poster character of the fandom and all but the others also exist :/

🐍 shredoffandomsanity

No, you're right. I understand enjoying a character and all but I don't think it's healthy to reduce your whole existence to a character? Fandom people really have to let go of things a bit and focus more on their well being...

🐇 charactersirlblorbo follow

SHUT UP you all just don't get mongie like I do 🥰

( 67 notes ) ⇄ ♡

💫 bellbellart follow

look i drew spinglus:) please and reblog to support me!!!!!

[meme drawing done on mspaint in 4 minutes]

( 4k7 notes ) ⇄ ♡

🫀everbeatingheart follow

Hiiii im new to the fandom and im looking for new moots to be friends with!!!! basic info and more under the cut ^-^

- hea, 19

- [extremely personal info that shouldn't be shared online]

- Mongus kinnie, so if you're a slimpoo kinnie interested in kindating...um 👉👈

keep reading

🐇 charactersirlblorbo follow

A REAL LIFE MONGUS KINNIE??? kyaah... as slimpoo irl you don't mean... 🥺👉👈👉👈👉👈

🐍 shredoffandomsanity

No. I can't allow this to happen.

🫀 everbeatingheart follow

Why not!?!?! I've seen you around and you sound annoying as all fuck goddddd just get out our safe space fandom 😡

🐍 shredoffandomsanity

Well the truth is... I, too, am slimpoo irl and... Just like their canon selves who fell in love through fights and issues, might have developed... Feelings, for miss irlblorbo......

🐇 charactersirlblorbo follow

waah...?!

( 536 notes ) ⇄ ♡

😃 fandomfunnyman follow

[10 textposts memes with pngs of the fandom characters above them. one of them is identical to the rabbitbarrithole post.]

yippeeee:) today's memes lol

( 749 notes ) ⇄ ♡

#I DONT KNOW WHAT THE FUCK TO TAG THIS AS. IM SORRY #dashboard simulator #unreality #ensemble stars #enstars #idolish7 #a3 #obey me #twisted wonderland #mahoyaku #hypmic #goodbye.#♡𑁬࿔ chii talks

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sister-lucifer · 2 months

Text

Who’ll Stop The Rain?

Tim Wright/Masky x Gender Neutral Reader

READ PART ONE HERE

READ PART TWO HERE

Genre: Comfort, fluff, slight angst but nothing heavy, not explicitly romantic

Summary: The thunder rouses you from a nightmare-filled sleep, and in your distress you run to Tim for comfort

Content/Warnings: None really, reader has nightmares due to unspecified trauma but nothing is explicitly written, Tim is a little emotionally constipated but does his best, no explicit romance.

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

You nearly jump out of your skin when the screaming thunder rips you from your fitful sleep. You sit up so fast you almost fall out of bed, your jaw hanging open like you’re trying to cry out despite no sound leaving your throat. Your chest is heaving so fast you start to choke on your breath. It takes a moment for your eyes to focus, and even longer still for you to remember where you are.

Do you recognize this place?

Home?

This isn’t home.

No. Not quite.

A home, yes, but not your home.

The TV is still on.

The wallpaper is still peeling.

The shag rug is still discolored.

You know where you are.

You look around for a second, taking in your surroundings and making sure your assessment was correct. It’s like a flood of memories coming back to you in an instant, and for a second it’s almost calming. That is, until you get to the part that made you so afraid in the first place.

The nightmares have been pervasive for weeks now. You’re not sure why. It’s some sort of episode you think, one of these days it’ll stop, but it’s been wearing on you. You’ve hidden it from Tim as best you can. You don’t want him to worry, that’ll only make you feel worse, and usually it’s easy enough to shake the thoughts from your mind.

Usually.

But this time it’s lingering, an unwanted guest meandering in the doorway for an uncomfortable amount of time, like dirty smoke permeating everything around it and yellowing the walls with its horrible malodor.

God, it’s everywhere.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bringing your knees to your chest and hiding your face in them. It’s a feeble attempt to calm yourself, to stop the images of your nightmare from flashing in your mind over and over again, but it does little to help.

The thunder cries out again and you yelp in surprise, the harsh noise cutting through the static buzzing taking over your mind. It irritates the pounding headache you can feel coming on. You’re exhausted, only being kept awake by the obscene amounts of adrenaline being pumped through your veins.

God, it won’t go away.

There are just some thoughts that can’t be forced out no matter how hard you try. They can’t be pushed away or covered up or cut out of you. You can only wait until they dissolve on their own, but right now they feel like a cement block weighing you down from the inside.

The headache is coming on faster than you thought, and you wince under the pressure of pins and needles in the back of your head.

God, it hurts.

You can’t stay here.

You can’t stay in this room.

It’s like the walls are closing in on you, the darkness barely shrouding their approach.

It’s not safe here.

You need Tim.

He’ll know what to do.

You jump from your bed and tumble to the floor, not even taking a moment to acknowledge the pain as you thrash your way out of the covers tangled around your ankles. You barely manage to stumble to your feet, slamming into the doorway as you flee the room. It stings, but you don’t care.

You’ve forgotten all pleasantries or manners as you burst into Tim’s room, slamming the door open so fast the knob rattles from the impact. Tim jolts awake with a grunt of surprise, and for a moment his hand jumps to grab the revolver he keeps in the dresser drawer. He only fumbles with the handle for a moment before he blinks a few times and pauses. He squints at you, tilts his head, then sighs in both relief and annoyance.

He collapses back onto the bed, rubbing his eyes.

“God…dammit, kid!” He groans, and you feel a pang of guilt that’s quickly washed away by the flood of tears stinging your eyes and burning your throat.

You rush to his bedside, collapsing against the mattress and gasping for air as you try to collect yourself. You try to breath in, but the air is forced back out of your lung before you can take a meaningful breath. You choke out a pitiful cry of Tim’s name, but with the old TV being the only light in the room and his vision still blurry with sleep he can’t see the distress that’s evident on your face.

He turns over onto his side, brows furrowed in annoyance and a hint of a scowl on his lips.

“What do you need, kid?”

You don’t get to answer before the thunder comes down again, making you flinch and forcing a surprised noise from your mouth. Tim turns and looks out the window, sighing and rolling his eyes.

“Is it the thunder, huh? You scared, kid?”

“Yes,” You finally choke out.

He pauses, his expression instantly shifting to one of concern. He scrambles to sit up, making room for you on the bed.

“Okay, okay,” He says softly, “Come on, get up here, I got you.”

You claw at the sheets as you climb up into bed with him, your hands immediately finding his body and grabbing onto his shirt. You pull yourself into him so desperately he almost falls over, barely managing to catch himself just in time to keep you both from going down.

He’s almost as frantic as you are, large hands fumbling with you as he clumsily pulls you onto his lap and into his chest. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, your fingers clutching the back of his shirt so hard your knuckles are getting sore. It hurts, but you can’t let go. You hiccup and your breath stutters as you fight for air.

“Hey, hey,” He whispers, trying to keep you still against him without crushing you, “Are you hurt or anything?”

“No,” You answer, not relaxing your grip for a second. You feel Tim nod.

“Okay, okay. What’s wrong, kid, what’s got you all worked up?” He asks. Hopefully you can’t hear that little shake in his voice.

“N-Nightmare,” is the only reply you can stutter out, but it says enough. It strikes a nerve somewhere deep inside of Tim’s being, and it hurts like hell. He knows what it’s like to wake up screaming, terrified and alone.

You’re not alone, though. Not this time. He won’t let you suffer like that.

…But god, he is so bad at this.

He loves you with everything he’s got, but he can count on one hand the amount of times he’s come right out and said it. It’s embarrassing for him, that’s all, the words taste contrived and sticky in his mouth and it’s just unbearable. It’s not something he can make himself do.

What else can he possibly say?

He ponders that question as he keeps you against him, almost afraid to let you go. He can feel your hot tears soaking through his thin night shirt now. He doesn’t know how to stop them. He’s always suffered alone, he doesn’t even have a frame of reference here.

Think, dammit, think, Tim.

He won’t tell you everything is okay. It’s not, it never will be, and he’s not going to lie to you.

He won’t tell you to stop crying. It’d be a horrible thing to ask of you, full stop. Christ, at this point, you deserve a good cry.

He won’t stay quiet. It’s completely out of the question, he has to say something, and it has to be the truth.

He has to tell you the truth.

“…You’re safe with me, kid,” He sputters, trying to get the words out as fast as possible, “You’re safe, I ain’t gonna let nothing happen to you. Not ever.”

You go quiet for just a moment, like you’re surprised to hear that. Then you hiccup and suck in a harsh breath, and the sobs roll in once more. He sighs and starts to rub your back in smooth circles.

“Whatever’s scarin’ you, kid,” He mutters in your ear, “I won’t let it get you. Nothing‘s gonna get to you while I’m here. You can sit here in my lap all night if you want, I ain’t lettin’ you go nowhere ‘til you feel safe.”

As he talks, you slowly start to calm down. It’s gradual, but when he stops talking your hiccups and sobs have gotten just a bit quieter. Your grip on his shirt has loosened a little, too.

You believe him.

God, you really do believe him.

And for some reason, that’s the most amazing thought that’s ever crossed his mind. You really do trust him to keep you safe.

He plans to keep it that way.

He adjusts you in his hold just a bit, moving to lean back against his pillows. He tightens his grip a bit just to keep you from moving. He doesn’t want you to think he’s trying to get away from you, he just wants you both to be comfortable.

Both of his hands rest on your back, slowly sliding up and down as you hide your face in the crook of his neck. Your body shivers against him, the heaving in your chest starting to level out bit by bit as you catch your breath. He can feel your lungs expand and contract with each breath.

He reaches up to scratch the back of your head, his other arm wrapping around you. He listens intently as your voice quiets until you’re silent, and then the only thing he can hear is your steady breathing.

He just sits there for a minute when he realizes he’s actually managed to calm you. He’s almost impressed with himself. In any other universe, that was probably a disaster.

His hands still and move to rest on your back once more. He doesn’t feel the need to keep you held so tight now. You’re not going anywhere.

Are you even awake?

He turns his head to look at you, and you stir a bit in response. He quickly turns his head back so as not to wake you if you are asleep. He’s not going to get up until you are.

He sighs softly to himself, his eyes turning back to the TV and whatever trashy sitcom he fell asleep too a few hours ago. He doesn’t really care. He won’t be up for much longer. Now that the adrenaline has worn off the exhaustion is quickly taking over, not to mention the warmth and comfortable pressure of you laying on top of him is more relaxing than he’d like to admit.

He’s only just allowed his eyes to flutter shut when he feels you stir, and suddenly they fly open again. He stays still, but alert. You’re not having another nightmare, are you? Shit…

He tenses as he listens to you, watching your movements carefully. You don’t seem upset, at least not yet, but that can change in an instant.

He’s ready to hold onto you if you freak out. He’s thinking about where he last left the first aid kit, just in case. He’s wondering what he’ll have to say this time if he can’t bring you down again.

But then you go still.

And you’re quiet.

And you’re breathing steadily.

And everything’s okay again.

Then Tim flinches as an unexpected mumble of his name falls from your lips, and he turns to look at you in surprise and slight concern.

“Yeah, kid? What is it?”

He gets no response.

Your eyes are closed. You’re asleep.

Thank God.

He huffs at his own anxiousness before laying his head back again. He pats your back softly, and his eyelids are starting to feel heavy again.

“You know what?” He whispers as he reaches to pull a blanket over both of you, “I’ll ask you in the morning. Sweet dreams, kid.”

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dovithedarklord · 12 days

Text

Stucked - Part 6

You're trapped in a game and a new threat is lurking.

..............................................

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader, König x reader

Tags: Mentions of death, Mentions of blood and gore, Blood and Violence, Sexual Scenes, Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Not Beta Read, AFAB Reader

Trigger Warning: Contains blood and gore, violence, injury, some body horror, description of grotesque creatures, some monster smut (light), and some dubcon (lightly). Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

......................................................

Author's Note

This part unveils a new evil!

There's a new threat, but your old friends are close by. Who knows what happens after...

Have fun! :D

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

.................................

Like a faded picture that has been imprisoned in the depths of a drawer for decades, the vision is projected as faintly on the canvases of your eyelids. As if it were just a vision born on the plastic soil of a dream, nothing else, the memory that takes shape in your head seems so unbelievable. This horrible place has been holding you in its embrace hot with the stench of death for so long, that the images left from the real world seem to your brain like the remnants of a life that never existed. However, you're sure that the melodious children's laughter ringing in your ears is real, and you know that it belongs to someone who was once important to you. In this friendly fantasy world, there is no decay and no blood, only the inviting rays of the sun, which guide you to the surface with warm fingers, as you frolic under the cool foams, mimicking a mermaid. You paddle nimbly with your little hands as the princess of the secret underwater realm, and each tiny shell and grain of sand greets you as a subject of your kingdom as you swim above them. And when someone pulls you out of your adventure and lifts you back into the air, warm from the summer heat, you sulk and argue, trying to get free, but whoever the stranger is, they only respond with amused laughter. And your heart almost sinks at the fact that only blurred spots dance in front of your eyes when you look up at the figure who kisses the top of your little head and hugs you so tenderly. Because you know you should know her, but nothing breaks through the darkness in your skull apart from the feeling of loss that gnaws at your insides.

Although for a moment you don't understand why your own mind is turning against you, but even your frozen shock is penetrated by a faint recognition, that there is a reason why this is exactly the memory that arose in you after the many horrors you experienced. And it seems a very cruel trick from your subconscious that now, when an unknown force drags you deeper and deeper toward the bottomless pits of the icy water, it calls up this exact one out of the many mementos slowly fading to nothingness. Because you know that now the sun-tanned hand won't rush to your aid to save you from the frosty, otherworldly empire that is drawing you closer and closer to its gate made of torn bodies with each passing second.

And as if you just woke up from an unwanted slumber, you realize that no matter how much you want to linger on the soft lap of soothing reminders of the past, and no matter how much all your instincts protest against letting the false security of the images dancing on your eyelids slip away, you have other things to do. Oh, how easy it would be to let it end like this, rocking in the heavy arms of the cool water, finally die without rough hands trying to bask in the warmth of your still living organs. But you have work to do. And this ultimately breaks your body out of the shock injected into you by the unknown attacker, which pulled you under the surface, heavy with rot and death.

As soon as your resolve finally pushes you back from the temptation of the soft, shapeless drifting of unconsciousness, the shortness of breath tightening your chest reaches your senses, and your mouth opens in a desperate gasp before you can stop the reflexive movement. And as the cold water breaks through your lips and you feel the musty taste of mud on your tongue, your jaw snaps shut with such alarmed speed that you swear that you feel your teeth cracking. However, a stray sip of water that has gone astray still finds its way into your trachea, and as it pushes along the soft tissues like a thousand tiny blades, you would instinctively start to cough, but you're only able to ease the pressure of a force squeezing your ribs for a few pathetic seconds.

Your eyes open in fear, and you can see the taunting invitation of the moon's pale light even through the sting of the water blurring your vision, and you can almost feel how mockingly the silvery beams laugh at your torment. And as you become aware of with what frightening certainty the last faintly twinkling trace of the starry sky starts to disappear, your brain catches up with the facts, and even through the lack of oxygen, you understand painfully fast that the fragile thread of your life will soon come to a pitiful end and break under the cruel weight of the waves gathering above you. And because of this, your body, for the umpteenth time during the night, surges you towards action, and as the cocktail of stress hormones in your veins revives, you try to propel yourself upwards with almost instinctive movements. But no matter how you paddle with your hands, just as your legs would also join in the frantic work, the alien creature wrapped around your ankle tightens its grip even more, and the suppressed scream that is born in your lungs only echoes in your skull, when you feel how cruelly its spikes drill into your bruised flesh. You can sense, quite horrified, how the poison, similar to liquid fire, creeps through the boundary of the skin and muscles pulsing with agony. And you know that whatever this formless beast tries to inject into your body, soon it will help tip you back into oblivion so that you allow yourself to be driven into the predator's waiting claws with a willing daze.

Your hands rush towards the wretched monster holding your feet captive, and even you're surprised when you grab hold of the sleek extensions of a seaweed-like plant. And even though the army of thorns rising from the slippery tissue cut into your palm, you don't care about how the suffering radiates through your arm like a lightning strike, instead, gritting your teeth, you try to loosen your shackles, because it's only a matter of time before your luck runs out and you're back in that goddamn car again. Crimson drops of blood emerge like snakes from under the wounded skin, and the more fiercely you fight with the cursed seaweed, the cerise fluid surrounds you like a vague mist, casting your figure, wild from the fury of the struggle, into the midst of blood-red clouds.

All your nerves are occupied by the heat of your battle, because you feel it all too well how the merciless iron fist around your chest is closing, as if someone had thrown you into a press, and the metal plates weighing on you were trying to slowly drive your ribs into the living flesh. And you would swear that even through the gurgle of liquid against your eardrums, you can hear the horrible, almost insidious snapping of the hair-thin cracks running down your bones, as if a heavy boot were treading on freshly fallen branches.

But even through your despair, it occurs to you how strange it is that the crackles travel into your ears through the roar of the water so clearly, even though you know that nothing but the sound of bubbles could penetrate the chaos created by your panic. And when you catch a pale spot moving from the corner of your eye, like an uncertain vision dancing on the edge of your consciousness, you stop chasing your release for a minute. First, through the hazy clouds cast by your blood, you see a broken form unfolding, looking more like the dried remains of a wind-twisted and battered tree than anything else. However, when the tormented figure seems to be approaching, and the scarlet veil finally fades due to your immobility, then the shock cuts through even the tension of air that is stuck in your throat. Because your brain, fighting with hypoxia, understands that the creature is swimming closer to you with measured laziness, which may have previously feasted on the disintegrating corpses washed to the surface.

A pair of milky white eyes take shape from the dark, endless void with an almost otherworldly light, and the hunger looming in them paints the mouth so dreadful, which stretches into an impossibly wide snarl with cruel joy when it discovers in you its prey frozen in fear. As if the corners of its mouth were trying to get around the elongated head, splitting the dry, ashy skin on its skull like grotesque cuts. Yet, your eyes are immediately drawn to the pale gums and the sharp teeth protruding from them, stained a dirty brown by the rotting pieces of meat sitting on them. And as the twisted, thin body floats closer, a series of dim, tormented blots appear behind it, like an army of faithful shadows, which absorb the rays of moonlight piercing the water, bringing an ominous night to the desolate realm of the lake.

And it doesn't take much time, just a mere fleeting second, and you become sure that you have to flee, because these horrible devilish beings will clean the pliant network of muscles and tendons from your bones before suffocation has a chance to push you into the saving ignorance of unconsciousness. That's why the fierceness of survival awakens in you anew, and even you yourself can't believe the power that terror stirs in you, when you almost tear the tentacles of the stubborn seaweed from you, and the adrenaline that settles on your nerves doesn't allow the pain caused by the attack of the thorns stabbing into your palm to reach you. And if you'd have time, you would burst into tears of joy when the damned plant finally releases your ankle, but you have no time to be relieved, because you see the cautious advance of the distorted beasts squirming in the corner of your eyes, and you can feel the small waves on your skin that their excitedly grinding teeth create.

You're almost desperately try to swim towards the surface, and although the force of the pressure gnawing at your insides increases with each hasty movement, and small black spots slowly crawl into your field of vision, you don't care about the agony that crushes the soft tissues of your internal organs. When your hand finally breaks through the mirror-smooth border of the lake's surface for the first time, and your fingers are caressed by the prickle of the cold night air, then all the suffering that has tried to push you into the silky lap of another death disappears. And perhaps you've never been so happy to see the moon sprawled out like a divine being in the middle of this imaginary world, and you're not at all bothered by the sardonic glee with which its sparkling, silvery gaze follows how you begin to swallow the life-giving oxygen like a pitiful fish on dry land. Although you forcefully cough out the remnants of the water that have strayed into your airways, as soon as the first sip of air fills your chest aching with burning stinging, and the specks squirming in front of your eyes vanish, you have the strength to focus on the way out. And you know that you don't have time to hesitate any longer, because you can see the moving outline of the unknown monsters gathering below you.

You run your gaze along the landscape shrouded in dreadful stillness, and you feel your stomach flutter with gratitude when you discover how seductively close the line of the shallow shore stretches behind you. You only wildly hope that you're able to outrun these horrible creatures, as you put each of your tired limbs to work and start swimming without any delay, because it only takes one of these awful beings to catch you, and your remains will be reduced to tiny crumbs of bones and viscera. And despite the fact that you've met your end countless times, you know that each of your deaths would pale in comparison to being torn to pieces alive by these infernal abominations. Perhaps this is the motivation that breaks through the last barrier in your consciousness and helps to get your body to move with an unprecedented urgency, and this is what dulls the ear-splitting scream-like noise of the frenzy unfolding behind you.

The few minutes seem like millennia until you finally reach the swampy ground, and you stumble to your feet, yanking your shoes from the mud's stubborn grip with an angry cry as you clumsily drag yourself ashore. And as you finally make it to the edge of the wet sand, you drop to your knees, panting, allowing yourself a few meager seconds to rest before you're forced to run again from the evils that stalk you. Because you’re sure that whatever the tentacled creature was, it's still lurking in the depths of the abyss, and the two murderers can also be breathing down your neck thanks to the terrible sidequest you've fallen into. Almost instinctively, your hand sinks into the pocket of the soaked pants, and when you find the disconcertingly untouched map, you feel a heavy weight lift off your heart. All you have to do is to lie low a bit, and then calmly set off to look for the next clue, which can finally get you out of this ever-deepening madness.

But when that bone-shaking scream blasts into the silence of the night once again, you wince reflexively, like a startled animal that has finally realized that the predator will soon wrap its foul-smelling jaws around its neck. And although by now you should have gotten used to the fact that this goddamn place always lulls you into a mirage-like illusion of tranquility with the promise of a moment of ease, only to avenge its mercy all the more cruelly, yet now fear claws into your insides with the same force as if you were experiencing the terrors of this nightmare for the first time. Because when you glance back, you see the cloudy eyes break through from under the velvety, rippling veil of the water, like faintly looming ghosts that were vomited out by the mouth of the lake opening to the other world, to drag you with them into the pits of insatiable hell. One of the gruesome figures emerges from the waves rocking like liquid obsidian, and its sickly thin body straightens amid gut-wrenching crackles, as if every single bone would slide into place on top of another, crumbling under the withered tissue. But even though the beast looks ungainly, when its mouth full of sharp teeth opens and that high-pitched, whistle-like screech rushes out of it, you clamp your hands to your ears to try to dull the pain of the head-splitting sound, and with the pain piercing your eardrums, you realize that if you don't get away now, then those teeth will be painted ruby by your intestines next time.

However, before you can even move, the howling stops, and it takes a few moments for your mind to register what is happening. And when you discover that pair of glowing red eyes appear behind the enraged army of monsters, you wish these bastards would rip you apart alive, because maybe that would be a more pleasant death than what those smoldering irises have in store for you. Because there is such a hungry temper dancing in them that settles into the aggressive movement with which the stranger takes hold of the head of the menacing water creature about to attack, lifting it up into the air. His huge palm swallows its face green from algae, and the way his strong hand clenches around the abomination's skull seems almost pitifully simple, as if the wretch would be nothing more than a worm to be trampled upon. And you feel how your insides convulse with nausea when the stomach-turning crunch, with which the bones shatter into pieces, reaches your ear canals, and you desperately try to swallow back the bitter bile pooling in your mouth, as, after a wet splash, you see the soft, pink flesh spilling out between the hooded monster's long fingers.

It seems that this makes the other grotesque entities understand that something more terrifying than them has arrived, and they swim back to the protective shelter of the lake with such ready submission, as if they were trying to hide from the sight of their angry king, before he would erupt into a frightening rage. Through the dread slowly bubbling under your skin, you realize that maybe this man really is their ruler, since the horde of malformed forces living in the water turned against you after he first surfaced behind the sea of mutilated bodies. And perhaps there is some woefully obvious logic in this, since the game wouldn't have allowed this new location to appear if there hadn't been an even more horrible surprise waiting for you in it. When the last of his terrified subjects finally disappears, the giant starts towards you with lazy steps, and with each passing meter it becomes more and more noticeable, how the hard muscles weave through every terrible corner of his tall figure, and suddenly it becomes painfully clear to you that even the bloodthirsty shadows skulking in the forest would offer greater safety if you threw yourself into the arms of formless darkness now.

You try to get up shaking, because you understand that you're just hanging another death flag on your forehead with your hesitation, but as soon as you put weight on your wounded leg, a bitter pain shoots into your ankle, as if someone were trying to twist your foot around its axis with their bare hands, and from the stars dancing before your eyes, you helplessly let your knees buckle and help you fall back into the mud with a dull thud. And even though you try to relieve the persistent throbbing of the white-hot pain with the air inhaled through your nose, by the time your head clears enough to be able to get yourself to move, your body, trembling with agony, is already swallowed up by the all-consuming shadow of the man towering over you, and you know that you’re done for. You don't have to turn around to know that the hooded monster has finally stalked you down, because you can see the black blanket with which his large figure covers the ground decorated with small stones and plants washed up on the shore.

You don't even dare to move for a little bit, and you feel ridiculously stupid for offering yourself on a silver platter with your person immobilized by terror. As if you were willingly present your chest to him so that he can tear out your scared, beating heart, but you can't even twitch, because, with the pounding of your pulse in your ears, the fear spreads through every inch of your body, pushing every muscle fiber into paralyzed helplessness. And you feel how the blood freezes in your veins, when a terribly sweet scent snakes its way into your nose, like the smell of the juices of rotten fruit left under the rays of the summer sun, which at the same time enters your head and covers the frightened upheaval in your skull under some inexplicable hazy fog, and tightens your stomach in a death-tight grip. Although this strange smell brings you closer to dizziness, even in the confused daze that descends upon you, you can perfectly detect when an unknown creature glides onto your shoulder with a damp springiness, then slowly slithers its way up the graceful line of your neck like a curious leech. You're unable to restrain the reflexive movement that makes you cringe in alarm under the curious touch of the uninvited guest, and even though every fiber of your body turns to stone, you raise your eyes to the intruder despite the anxiety gathering in the pit of your stomach. And when you discover the pitch-black tentacle shining with a velvety light, and the purple suckers lined up on them, which breathe unsolicited kisses to the valley of your cleavage, you yelp and charge forward to try to crawl away from the monster with such panicked clumsiness, like a wounded wild animal trying to escape from the wolf with its last breath.

However, no matter how hard you try to break free, the fear raging in your body only leads to an uncoordinated shuffling, and you fall to your stomach on the fish-smelling ground, hissing from the ache that rips through your ankle. Your mouth fills with tiny grains of wet sand, but you don't mind the sour taste on your tongue, because it penetrates your terror much more clearly when you feel the searing heat of another body behind you, seeping through the thin material of your soaked t-shirt like a contagious disease. And you know that the end of the night has arrived, because when you see a giant hand sinking into the mud next to your head, you recognize, along with the horrible delusions flooding into your mind, that you already lost your chance of survival when you waded into that damn lake.

And the newcomer doesn't leave you a moment to recover from your shock, because you just got rid of the intrusion of the sticky organ, you feel the tentacle breaking under the battered fabric of your top, and you can't stop the terrified tremor that moves into your limbs in time, when the probing caress of the feelers passes through the tense arch of your spine. The tenderness with which he traces the small valley between your shoulder blades is almost stomach-churning, because you're aware that with one careless movement, he could unfurl the row of vertebrae from under your skin like fresh peas from their shell. And you know that he only wants to lull your vigilance with the fleeting gentleness with which the appendage moves towards the line of your ribs to try to migrate to your chest, like a lover who wants to explore the lush curves of his beloved's body. And your brain, stuck in the fear of death, is relieved a little when the sleek arm finds an obstacle in the moldy ground, but the small joy that takes hold in you is pitifully short-lived, because your attacker only grabs your hips with a frustrated grunt and pulls you up with such light carelessness, which you wouldn't be able to fight even if the horrors of the night didn't weigh on your every cell like a leaden blanket. And as his fingers sink into the soft flesh, you feel that following the touch of restrained power, the mark of his hand will soon be ingrained into you with a purple color.

Still, you’re much more horrified, and goosebumps run over every defenseless inch of your body, as the clammy limb reaches your bra on its path, and a startled squeak gets stuck behind your quivering lips that is elicited from you by the attack of the slimy organ burrowing under the soft material. You don't dare tear your eyes away from the pebble shining with a dull light, which rises orphaned from a small sand dune in front of you, because you're terrified that if you follow how the monster takes what your vulnerable body offers to him unwillingly, you will sink even deeper in the muddy swamp of terror. Yet every nerve ending in you is sharpened when you feel the cold, slick flesh sliding against the soft mound of your breast. And there is something repulsively intimate about how one of the suckers latches onto your nipple with an almost insatiable hunger, as if this monster wasn't holding you in the trap of his strong body for the first time. As if he's got his hand on a delicacy, the nectar of which he has tasted at some point, and now the longing for the tantalizing aroma on his tongue would drive him forward. But your brain cannot understand why this absurd thought awakens in you, because it's unable to focus on anything other than the involuntary shiver that runs along your spine when it sucks the sensitive skin that has become its prey with an almost playful lewdness. And this small act is enough for the miserable moan, that has been crawling up your throat on foul feet until now, to finally break through your mouth.

And as if this one sound would feed the horrible man's unquenchable greed, for you shudder in horror, as another tentacle wanders over the nervously heaving line of your belly with slow laziness, and for a terrible moment it just flirtatiously skims along the waistline of your pants. But his patience doesn't last long, because he pushes under your jeans with an almost violent want, and you don't even have time to react, the limb sinks under the damp material of your panties with such insidious speed. Your consciousness can't keep up with the siege on your body, but it still fills you with agony as the lush flame of desire flares up in your stomach, as one of the suckers closes around your clit. And the muddled whine that creeps up your trachea is unfamiliar even to your own ears, when the wet pressure increases around the sensitive bundle of nerves, because you would rather bite your own tongue in shame, but the shock that rolls over you is too strong to resist the pull of the sensation.

But when you feel the feeler gliding between the silky petals and almost curiously circling the entrance of your pussy throbbing with scorching heat, then the fire of protest rekindles in you, and you set your hands on the damp ground to brace yourself against the beast. But even though your unexpected opposition gives you momentum, it feels like you hit a concrete wall, the man's chest swelling with hard muscles press against your back with such unshakable confidence, and you become aware painfully soon what kind of fun you've made him have, when the hardness that bulges in his crotch pushes against your bottom. And he, perhaps mistakenly, perhaps on purpose, sees your pathetic attempt as an invitation, and the deep, throaty groan rings in your ears, with which he thrusts his cock against you with impatient fervor, like a damned animal ready to mate. And as his huge hand clamp down on your hips with an almost vise-like force, even the stray idea of escape suddenly seems like a ridiculously far-fetched dream, because his fingers will crush all your fragile bones to dust before letting you get lost into the night. But even though the icy poison of dread sneaks into your every brain cell, you know you have to take flight, since the goal hasn't changed. You have to survive. And if you stay here, you voluntarily count down the minutes until the moment of your death, which, no matter what sweet torment the game promises, you know it's coming.

And as if he would sense that he cannot drive away the stillborn idea of resistance from you with his insidious tactics, that hurtful, syrupy smell appears again, which fills your nose with such a vicious intrusion that you have no chance to understand what is happening, because as soon as the dark fog spreads over your brain, the burning tingle that sends liquid flames into your core saturates every inch of you. An almost drunken intoxication settles on you, and it's only a dull fear in the back of your mind that he might be using some kind of pheromones to deter you from running away, but even though you recognize the diabolical method with which he traps you, you're no longer able to pull yourself together. The desperate demand of lust stirs up in you too strongly, and suddenly it doesn't seem alarming at all, as the tip of the tentacle that ventured into your underwear teasingly slips into your wet heat just for a moment. And you don't even have enough common sense to understand how terribly pitiful it is that you willingly squeeze your trembling body against the stranger like a bitch in heat.

And if the hooded man didn't suddenly freeze over you, you wouldn't even notice what was happening around you, because his presence settles on every single one of your senses, as if someone would drip hot wax on you, slowly closing you in an impenetrable shell, condemning you to eternal lustful suffering. But as vehemently as he started, your attacker ends his torturous game as abruptly, and as the impenetrable veil of the treacly essence in your head is inexplicably replaced by the metallic smell of blood, then your consciousness is able to clear. And although it takes a few excruciating moments before your brain is finally capable of receiving the stimuli from the outside world, then you can hear quite well the pain-filled, enraged groan that breaks out of the monster's mouth, as a large knife lands in the sand with a dull thud a few short seconds later.

And there is nothing tender about the way the long appendages terrorizing you disappear and one hand smoothes on your back to pin you down to the ground, almost ramming you into the cold embrace of the wet soil, and for a moment the air is forced from your lungs, as his huge palm spreads between your shoulder blades with warning roughness. And you understand the silent instruction even without words, and the revived stabbing of fear escaping into your limbs helps to force you into corpse-like immobility. And that's when you hear the soft crunch of the autumn leaves, as something treads through them to sneak cautiously closer to you in the distance. Your frightened gaze is immediately fixed on the trees rising beyond the shore, but for a tense second, you see nothing but darkness shrouded in eerie silence. However, the man notices what you don't, and his robust figure towers over you so possessively, like a rabid animal protecting its prey, and you don't even feel like more than a piece of meat, which the cruel world of the game has turned into such an irresistible reward.

"Get the fuck back into the lake, König!" A deep voice breaks through the heavy quietness of the forest, and you would recognize Johnny's hoarse baritone out of a thousand, because you have been lucky enough to taste the danger of its deceptive bloodlust too many times. But now, as the outline of his body unfolds from under the black veil of shadows among the vegetation, you recognize the murderous anger, the icy tension of which sits in the line of his broad shoulders. And although you only see a distant figure moving out of the corner of your eye, the anxiety in the pit of your stomach immediately tells you that Simon is the one who stalks through the tangle of wild bushes like a big cat about to pounce. "She's ours."

And you can feel on your back how that angry voice resonates through the chest of the beast holding you down, with which he finally responds to the appearance of the uninvited visitors. And for a minute that seems like an eternity, nothing happens, and being stuck in this horrible anticipation, the panic awakens in you, which makes your brain finally able to form meaningful thoughts, and you can spot that tiny little detail that has been resting in front of your nose until now so happily. Because the man's hand is still resting in front of you, digging into the mud, and when you see the row of red beads adorning the thick wrist, the spark of recognition lights up in your head. After all, this terrible place doesn't place anything unnecessarily, and the crimson glimmer that brings the bracelet to life under the silvery rays of the moonlight cannot be a mere coincidence. This is a clue, and perhaps this whole horrible torture has prepared this moment. And you feel in your gut that you have to get it.

Therefore, taking advantage of the fact that the hooded creature is centering all its attention on the enemy hiding in the thick of the trees, one of your hands moves with cautious slowness to crawl toward the jewel, and every single one of your senses is keenly focusing to see when will the creature above you, who is becoming more and more furious, notice what you’re preparing in such great secrecy. And as your fingers get caught in the thin cord of the precious object, you look up in terror at the behemoth above you, and the pounding of your heart in your ears quiets down slightly when you see how unceasingly it scans the emptiness behind the thick trunks. And you only see it in your periphery, as something with a metallic glint shoots out from the infinity of the forest, and that's enough for the tentacles lurking above you to act on their own, wild with rage, certainly working to save their owner from an attack intended to be fatal. However, this one act unleashes all hell, because the monster suddenly loses its patience and launches forward with an aggressive roar like a demonic beast thirsty for blood, and he doesn't even notice how the bracelet is torn off him as he pushes forward toward his opponents who are hiding behind the vegetation.

And you know that you have no time to waste, because it's only a matter of time before the bloodshed unfolds and you become an unwilling participant, from which there will be no way out, only certain death and another miserable awakening in the back seat of the car. So, forcing the will into your limbs, you push yourself up onto your knees, and a series of dark spots swim into your vision, as a knife-like pain shoots into your ankle even from this harmless movement. But you swallow the scream that is about to escape your lips, because if you draw the attention of these scumbags to you now, all your chances of escape will be gone. That's why, overcoming the throbbing ache, you reach towards the pearls scattered in the sand, and as you collect the ruby spheres in your palm, they glow up in red, leaving behind a cool tingling sensation. The smoldering light travels along your arm, and as if guided by an invisible force, reaches your tortured leg, and you watch in amazement as the bruises drawn by the violence disappear from the skin in the wake of the faint glow. It takes a second for you to realize what has happened, and when you notice the sounds of the fight unfolding in the forest, you hastily put your treasure in the safety of your pocket. You'll have time to wonder what the hell is going on when you finally manage to disappear from your pursuers again.

That's why you just spring up nimbly and head towards the multitude of trees, hoping that the battle, drowned in increasingly violent shouts, will drag on long enough for them to lose track of you. Because the night is still long, and you're quite sure that no matter where your path leads, more horrors will be waiting for you, because this damned place will do everything to lock you in the glass cage of its fictional world. But with the map and the pearls in your pocket, the hope, that you might live to see the dawn and you get out of here, finally rekindles in you.

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storiesofsvu · 8 months

Text

Five Nights pt 3

Aaron Hotchner x reader warnings: teasing, language, smut, oral, face sitting. pt 3 of 4! I did not proof read this so.... apologies if there are typos or shit lol.

After the way his day had started, Aaron thought he might finally be able to feel some relief for a bit, finally knowing what it felt like to have his cock buried deep between your lips, that the fantasy would no longer be plaguing his thoughts while he was supposed to be working.

As it turned out, he was horribly wrong.

The day was a mix of spending time in the office and time trapped in an SUV with you. He was almost second guessing himself while you were driving to a scene, you were so nonchalant about everything he was nearly starting to think that he’d dreamt the whole thing. That was until you let out that adorable giggle when you caught him staring and made a joke. It was almost instant he felt his cock twitch in his pants and he cursed under his breath, taking a deep breath to try and regain focus only to lose it once again as your perfume invaded his senses.

Back at the precinct he began to let his mind wander as he made his way through menial paperwork, images from the night prior flooding into his mind, he could feel the way your cunt squeezed around his fingers, practically smell your arousal from across the room. The noises that came out of your lips while he made you come undone invaded his hearing, the way you moaned around his cock, how eager you were to do so, the pleasure you took from getting him off. He was certain you’d been wet over the idea of swallowing his cum down, which meant you were currently sitting in ruined panties. If he was so wrapped up in the sinful thoughts of what went on in your hotel room there was no way you weren’t thinking about the exact same things.

Aaron was right of course, even if you weren’t showing a single sign of being turned on on the other side of the table. You could feel the tingling between your legs when you thought back to how fucking good his fingers felt inside you, your pussy aching to be filled with his cock. You were dying to get your hands on him, part of you wishing you’d been bold enough to make a move in the car earlier. You let out a soft sigh, stretching out your body in your chair before pulling your hair up off your neck. You could feel eyes on you while you refocused on the case file and you knew they were Aaron’s, a sly grin on your lips as you scanned the text. You were back in work mode a moment later, eyes blinking a few times to clear your vision, you weren’t even aware you were doing it when the pen in your hand found its way between your lips.

“Tease.” The taunt was quiet, almost unintelligible when Aaron spoke and you glanced up, almost surprised to find the room empty except for the two of you.

“Hmm?” Your lips closed around the pen and he shook his head with a small laugh.

“Keep doing that and I’ll be hard under the table.” He muttered and a grin broke out on your lips as you giggled.

“Maybe that’s my whole plan.”

“Based on this morning’s festivities I’d say it’s time for me to return the favour.”

“What?” You chuckled, “here in the briefing room?”

“No.” He reached across the table, snagging the folder out of your hands and flipping it shut, “it’s late enough, get in the car. I need to taste that pretty little pussy.”

Aaron’s suit jacket and tie were tossed over the back of a chair, hands swiftly undoing a few buttons and rolling his sleeves up to be more comfortable. He had your pants and panties off in one smooth motion, the hem of your t-shirt tickling against your bare skin, cheeks heating at the fact that your pussy was exposed to him while still being half clothed. Eyeing you hungrily he dropped down onto the bed behind him, shifting until he was settled against the pillows,

“Well, get up here.” He teased with a grin and you let out a huff of a laugh, climbing onto the bed, straddling his waist as you settled above him, hands braced on his chest. “Uh-uh.” He spanked at your ass, squeezing it and nudging you, “I said up here.”

“Aaron I—”

“Up.” He repeated firmly, spanking your ass again before his hands gripped around your waist and practically lifted you until you were hovering over his face.

His mouth lurched upward, tongue swiping out through your folds, groaning over your taste and you let out a gasp, the sensation enough to have you dropping down so you were properly sitting on his face. His mouth sucked at your cunt, pulling your wetness out, smearing it against his lips. He sucked one of your lower lips into his mouth, slowly shifting over to the other before pulling them both in, mouth massaging at you gently. His tongue delved into your pussy, sinking in as far as he could reach while his hands groped at your ass, encouraging you to start to ride his face and his nose bumped your clit.

“Oh fuck!” You gasped, hands shooting out to brace yourself on the headboard.

His tongue swiped through you, lapping up your juices as he moaned, the vibrations pulsing through your cunt and you fluttered around nothing, starting to grind down against his face. His hands continued to roll your hips, encouraging you to pick up the pace as your breathing picked up, pleasure prickling its way through your body. His mouth slipped upwards, tongue flicking at your swollen clit and you shuddered, one of your hands sliding up your body, groping at your chest through your shirt.

“That’s it.” He murmured into your cunt, “keep playing with yourself.”

“Yes sir…” You breathed out, letting out a low moan as you pinched at your nipple right as he sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue tracing delicate patterns against it. Aaron was purposely riling your up, teasing you with his mouth so that he could get more time tasting you, he knew he would never be able to get enough of your sweetness. He also knew that he if held out as long as he could before absolutely devouring you, you would be a whimpering, dripping mess unable to resist absolutely grinding down onto his face and that was what he truly wanted, to have you use him the way he’d fucked your throat earlier.

He sucked at your clit for only a moment longer, feeling your thighs twitch under his fingers as his mouth dropped back down, his tongue swiping through your folds, moaning as he swallowed down your juices. His face shifted, stubble scratching against your skin before his teeth sunk into the tender skin of your thigh, pinching the flesh between them before sucking it into his mouth, eager to leave you with a mark so you’d never forget this night. One hand squeezed at your ass, the other one shifting between your legs, lazily playing with your pussy as you began to grind down harder onto his face. It wasn’t enough to drive you wild, but more than enough to tease you, your pussy fluttering around nothing while his fingertips dared to spread your juices around.

“Oh fuuuck Aaron…” You moaned out, your head dropping back in pleasure, your body shivering when his teeth bit into your thigh again and you whimpered, earning a smirk from him.

Once satisfied with his work, he pressed a soft kiss into the already forming mark before his tongue plunged back into you and you cried out, whines and moans getting louder and more frequent as your pleasure soared through you. Your hips rolled harder against him, grinding heavier into his mouth. He brought a hand up, spreading your pussy lips so he could get better access before blowing cool air onto your throbbing clit and you gasped, a breathy moan escaping your lips. His mouth returned to your cunt while his fingers continued to toy with your clit, pinching it, rolling it between his fingers as he ate you as deep as he could.

“Oh god.. that feels so good!” You groaned out, hands gripping the headboard tighter as you continued to ride his face. With a dark chuckle his mouth returned to your clit, sucking it between his lips as it pulsed between them and a two thick fingers slipped into your pussy, twisting and curling, exploring you as much as he could. Your cunt clenched around him, a cry breaking free of your lips as his fingers crooked, brushing right against your g-spot and he sucked your clit harder into his mouth, his tongue flicking against hit. Your body began to tremble above him, a string of swears and moans leaving your lips as fire tingled right under your skin, at a loss for words, broken down to whimpers and whines.

“That’s it sweet girl.” He cooed, lips brushing against of you as he spoke, the vibrations of his voice driving you absolutely wild as you ground harder against him, “come for me. Can you squirt all over my face?”

As if his ministrations weren’t enough, his words were nearly too much and you let out a cry at the double sensations, his mouth sucking at your clit while his tongue wrote letters against it, his fingers deep inside your cunt. The coil built up tighter and tighter within you until you cried out, your hips stalling as your orgasm rocked through you and your hips twitched multiple times, juices leaking out of your pussy. Aaron groaned out in pleasure, drinking down as much of your release as he could, taking the time to gently clean you up as you shuddered above him, his hands soothing up and down your bare thighs.

You fought to catch your breath, finally collapsing onto the bed beside Aaron, your chest heaving as your body continued to shiver in pleasure. You let out a small laugh, your arm tossed over your eyes,

“Holy shit…”

Beside you, Aaron chuckled, his hand tracing patterns onto your thigh, “you ever do that before?”

“No.” You replied breathlessly, feeling the heat creeping into your cheeks, unable to want to meet his gaze as he grinned proudly.

“Well then I better try to see how many more times I can make that happen.”

“I won’t complain about that.” You laughed, finally moving your arm to glance up at him, still catching your breath.

Aaron smirked across at you, lifting his arm to wipe your juices off his chin before he leant in your direction. He was about to pull you to him, capturing your lips in what he realized would be the first time he’d kissed you when there was a brash knock at the door and the two of you jumped apart like lightning.

“Bathroom!” He hissed and you launched around the corner faster than you realized you could even move. Aaron managed to toss your discarded clothes behind the far side of the bed so they would be unseen, grunting quietly as he adjusted himself in his pants so his hard on wouldn’t be noticed before he pulled open the door.

“Oh, hey Hotch.” Morgan shot him a grin, “y/n here?”

“What?” You asked, your head popping around the corner, “I was just about to shower.”

“Oh come on princess.” He teased, “you promised me a game of pool, loser buys drinks, you can’t skip out on that.”

“Fine.” You rolled your eyes, praying your cheeks weren’t as hot as they felt, “give me five.”

“You make it down to the bar before I get hit on and I’ll buy the first round of shots.” Morgan laughed, waving quickly before disappearing, the door swinging shut behind him.

“Fuck.” You muttered, dropping you head and pinching at the bridge of your nose before you scurried through the room, grabbing your panties and pants, tugging them back on before you managed to turn back to Hotch, repeating his original words back to him, “this isn’t over.”

You were gone through the door before he even had time to blink, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he huffed, palming at himself through his pants. It seemed like tonight would have to be another one that he took care of himself, fantasizing about how it would feel to have his cock buried deep in your dripping cunt.

“No… no it certainly isn’t…”

____________

@alexusonfire @svushots @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @emobabeyy @daddy-heather-dunbar @mrs-ssa-hotch @hotchandspencearedilfs @mina2000alex @telepathay @darlingsfandom @ssamorganhotchner @hotchsdoormat @hopedoesntknow @thehauntingofbasingse @plaidbooks @the-hopeless-haze @niyizh @ababanana @tommyriddleobsessed @supercriminalbean @hotchs-bitch @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @emlynblack @ivyflowers13

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner fic

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dollfaced-erin · 8 months

Text

𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕠𝕟'𝕤 ℂ𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕖 (Blade x F!Reader x Jing Yuan)

PART 8

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7

A/n before we start ! :

I'm trying to make things a little better on my page , so currently the entire blog is under construction until the next few chapters ! I know I'm a little late to start this since I've already been running this page for quite a while now. but it doesnt hurt trying to change in the middle. we all learn from somewhere, right ? What do you guys think if i were to make shorter chapters ?

Taglist ! : -

@rebeccawinters , @nayukiyukihira , @pix-stuff , @fluffy-koalala , @swivy123 , @starxao , @kaoyamamegami , @kimura-uzuri , @rsvye , @seikouryuu , @just-here-reading , @matsulovesyou, @sincerely-aaronette , @prettyliliy , @chibiduck , @hermosacolibri , @la-diablas-thingz , @farelady-fate

"How did you sleep last night, (Y/n) ?" Jing Yuan asked as the two sipped tea at the breakfast table.

After Jing Yuan had brought (Y/n) to his room, he had let in the large feline in to keep (Y/n) company. (Y/n) was unsure at first, but gave in to the relaxing touch of the feline. And Mimi sure seemed to really like (Y/n).

And soon enough, that proved to be a trick. (Y/n) had fallen asleep after being comforted with her soft purrs, the vibrations that the feline emitted comforting the young dragon lady from all her fears. The horrendous past that came to her so suddenly had really thrown her off that night.

It was a relief that she was still able to fall asleep. Jing Yuan wanted to know more about what she had dreamt of, what she had seen. But after he saw how shaken up she was, he dared not ask her.

But now she seemed to be quite happy and slept soundly through the night. She didn't wake up through the entire night, even after Jing Yuan carried her off the floor and placed her on the bed.

And now here they were, sharing breakfast together in the dining hall. After waking up, Jing Yuan had sent some of his servants to help (Y/n) clean herself up as some were left to help him dress for another day of work. Thank the Aeons that the feeling of bathing wasn't too foreign to her.

Currently they were sipping some hot tea at the moment, admiring the scenery the scenery of the beautiful and lush garden from the open window in the grand dining room. They were told that Yanqing would join them soon, Jing Yuan decided to have a little chat with (Y/n) in the meantime.

"I slept pretty peacefully. Quite surprising after the gruesome recurring I had so suddenly last night." (Y/n) said, surprisingly calmly as she lifted the porcelain in her dainty fingers, bringing the cup to her lips, sipping the warm brown liquid.

Though she was pretty calm, that was not something she wanted to see ever again. All she remembered were snippets, pictures, images and the horrible feeling of pain that etched deep into her. But it was what she wished for. To see her past. To know who she was.

Be careful for what you wish for, they say.

"This smells nice, and tastes quite unique too. What is it ?" (Y/n) asked, looking at Jing Yuan who smiled warmly at her. She felt a little fluttering sensation inside and averted her gaze from the lion-like man, directing her eyes to the warm tea in her hands.

Jing Yuan seemed to notice the slight blush that appeared on (Y/n)'s face, who had refused to acknowledge but shutting her eyes with furrowed eyebrows and a soft frown as she sipped her tea.

"It's a jasmine-infused peach tea, (Y/n). It's not new creation, to be honest with you." Jing Yuan said gently, happy that (Y/n) loved the fruity taste in her warm tea, where the fruits didn't taste as sweet and have a slightly bitter aftertaste.

"I suppose I've been asleep for far too long, then. I don't recall having such a tea. But I guess there's good in it. I get to re-explore everything again." (Y/n) said with a slightly enthusiastic voice, albeit still being a little reserved in tone.

(Y/n) then gazed out the window, admiring the trimmed hedges and the sound of running water in the manmade stream in the garden. "I wonder why that dream was triggered so suddenly..." she whispered, her sweet melodious voice barely escaping her lips.

"And that man...that white-haired man..." (Y/n) said again. "Why does he call himself the way he does now...? What happened to him, that caused him to bleed endlessly in my memories..."

"Do you mean...Blade, (Y/n) ?" Jing Yuan carefully inquired. And the dragon lady nodded, her hair coming down from behind her ear to her face.

"That man...who Dan Jia held dear in the part, has now been stricken with Mara. He has only what little sanity left in him, memories being overridden by the curse. And dedicated the body and mind to a weapon that cuts and destroys, but never mends..." Jing Yuan tried to reason with (Y/n), tenderly pushing a lock of (h/c) hair behind her pointed ear.

"It seems that you've managed to piece quite a lot from a scattered and fleeting dream..." Jing Yuan said, feeling a little sorry that she had to experience what another person she didn't associate with. She had to see through her eyes, feel with her heart the same things to lost had to.

Though they were different people now...they were still one of the same...

Just like...her brother...

But of course. if she didn't desire to be associated with the person that body once hosted, so be it. They had their differences too...

"Blade...is the name he goes by now. the name we used to call him, is but a taboo to be even thought of." Jing Yuan said, shaking his head slightly. "That man...has been cursed with the gift of the Plagues Author...mad with Mara, but with an immortal body, there's only so much before he breaks down." Jing Yuan said, picking up his own cup in his fingers.

"Was he...Dan Jia...." "Yes, (Y/n). He was Dan Jia's betrothed. Once, in the distance past. Though...it wasn't sure if he still remembers you, with what capacity his Mara-riddled heart can store."

'But he does...' (Y/n) said, recalling their encounter in the alley just the night before. She raised a hand to her forehead, where she felt the kiss still burning into her skin in a loving and tender way, unlike his pierce and cold gaze.

'He still does...'

"Sorry I'm late !" a young voice chirped as the sound of door sliding open was heard.

"Y-Yanqing...? What happened ?" (Y/n) asked as the blonde boy entered the room and sat across from the two older figures. The boy was scratched up, with a few cuts on his face and hands.

"Just got a little rough with someone during training yesterday. She said she wanted a little competition with me. I have never seen someone with that skill." Yanqing said, shaking his head, but his eyes glowed in admiration. "I want to know how she did those moves too !"

Yanqing's head snapped to face Jing Yuan. "General ! Can you spar with me today ?! I need to show you my new technique !" he asked excitedly, hands on the table as he looked at Jing Yuan expectantly.

Jing Yuan smiled a little at the boy before shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Yanqing. But the Stellaron really needs my attention right now." he said with a sorry smile.

"I can go with you, Yanqing." (Y/n) said, putting down her cup. Yanqing turned to look at her, feeling somewhat...hesitant.

"(Y/n) here...was an adept user of close combat. In the past, well...perhaps you should see it yourself ?" Jing Yuan suggested with a smile.

And there the two were, in the open and more secured grounds of Stargazer Navalia. (Y/n) was given a crystal fan by Jing Yuan earlier, different than the one she had received yesterday. This one...was more sturdy, with beautiful art painted on the blades and looked...a little used, judging by the small scratches.

"Yesterday's fan was a decoration. A fan used for the purpose of shows and theatres. A prop, you may call it. But this one...is a fan used for battle. Why don't you try it out and have a feel ?" she recalled the voice of Jing Yuan when they had stopped at the place (Y/n) once rested in.

The Hall of Karma. A place where the souls of the undead or the dead are judged. But for (Y/n)'s case, she had been deemed to rest there, for she was declared neither dead nor alive, and was kept in a separate room in her honor of being sacrificed wrongly and declared innocent.

Yanqing stood a few feet away from her, his sword in his hand. (Y/n) readied the fan, unfolding it in her dainty fingers, revealing a design of the gales and streams. She took a stance, fan close to her chest, her left foot behind her to form a stance.

With the sound of a single flute blowing, (Y/n) felt a sudden gush of wind brush past. On instinct, (Y/n) closed her fan and swung it to the side of her neck, in time to block a sword from colliding with her neck, serious or not.

"You're....fast...." Yanqing said, eyes wide as he held the hilt of the sword. And he slowly dropped the sword to his side and stepped back from her, giving space between them. "I wasn't serious about attacking you, I just wanted to test your reflexes. And it seems you're no ordinary person, Lady (Y/n)."

"Now I'll be able to really put my skills to the test !" Yanqing said with a bright grin, showing off his pearly whites as he smiled in excitement. The air began to get chilly as Yanqing started to make ice swords out of his power, all floating in a stance around him.

"Let's put my own knowledge to test, shall we ? But Yanqing, don't go too rough on me, okay ?" (Y/n) said with a chuckle, for she too couldn't estimate her own strength and capabilities, mainly relying on instinct and muscle memory.

From her dream last night...she was quite adept with using the fan as her weapon, drawing the power of ice as she mercilessly froze and crushed her enemies, without an ounce of mercy. Perhaps she could redraw that power deep within her...?

The swordsman and the dancer clashed their weapons. The sound of metal against hardened glass struck their ears, ringing loudly as sparks flew. Ice shards littered the floor as the two of shredded of pieces of ice from their own respective powers.

(Y/n)'s friendly demeanor from before had completely vanished, being replaced by a cold and merciless gaze of ice. Yanqing too had taken notice of the drastic change of personality like the drain of warmth from their fight. But he found this enjoyable, a fight to help him test his skills.

Yanqing let out a battle cry as he struck his sword straight towards (Y/n)'s chest. (Y/n) swung her fan towards the young male, letting out gales of temporal blizzards his way.

"Too slow !" (Y/n) exclaimed fiercely. Her free hand went to her lips forming a circle using her index finger and her thumb, as she blew cold air through the shape. Shards of ice went in Yanqing's way to blur his sight, but Yanqing was not one to be underestimated.

As (Y/n) lunged towards the male, unfolding her fan once again as she swung the accessory, cutting through the cold air. Yanqing had foreseen the attack as he raised his sword to deflect the sudden offensive attacks from (Y/n). He was fast, but (Y/n) was faster.

Being a former dancer in the distant past, (Y/n) moves were swift and on point. Her feet never slipped their move, and her hand never stopped from lunging merciless and swift and elegant attacks. Yanqing never thought he would ever encounter such deadly moves to be laced with such beauty in them.

But what scared him was the intense glow of those (e/c) eyes. As if they were hiding immense pain and revenge behind them.

Eyes were the window to the soul, as they said.

Yanqing immediately stepped back, forming multiple ice swords, a move he had used on a woman who had taught him a lot yesterday. The woman that had beaten him in a bet. The woman that had taught him a specialty move.

As (Y/n) was busy deflecting the endless blades that Yanqing had directed to her, the young boy took this as an opportunity to use his specialty move. A move, the Transcendent One had enlightened him with.

A large ice sword appeared in the sky, descending quickly onto (Y/n)'s fighting form. Her eyes widened and a gasp left her lips, but not in shock. More of remembrance and nostalgia. A single tear fell down her eye subconsciously, as she swung her fan from bottom to top.

A lotus flower formed from ice emerged from the ground, its petals encasing the young dragon lady inside it, protecting her from harm. Although the attack was strong, it did not falter to (Y/n)'s shield that she had brought up.

She...remembers.

That sword...the famous formation from a woman who could cut through time itself. So graceful and mysterious like the moon that sits high in the sky. The woman who taught her the art of ice, who introduced her to the friends in her dreams.

She remembers those beautiful red eyes and silver hair. She can hear the sternness in her voice as she instructs her student. She can hear the light chuckle of pride in the air. (Y/n) felt as if her memories were slowly starting to clear up by the little reminders left in the world.

Of course, she couldn't forget how deadly that woman was.

As the sword disintegrated to nothingness, the barrier fell and (Y/n) looked at Yanqing.

"Where...did you find that move from...?" (Y/n) asked shakily as she stared at the young boy in slight horror.

"Someone...taught it to me yesterday. When I was tracking down Blade, I met this woman named Jingliu--" "You went WHERE ?!"

Yanqing froze. He had never seen (Y/n) so angry. (Y/n)'s eyes were wide with fury and with anger, for she had remembered the strength of that woman. The woman that made into a legend due to her time-travelling speed.

"Jingliu...that woman..." (Y/n) said, looking at Yanqing. No wonder that boy was so bruised and scratched up !

"Being able to escape her sword...is a feat you should treasure all your life." (Y/n) said, shaking her head with a shaky laugh. It seems that Yanqing knew not of Jingliu, which means...the vast majority has forgotten about her. But maybe...her title still remains...

"That woman...if you ever see her again...immediately leave, okay ?" (Y/n) said, putting her hands on Yanqing's shoulder.

The blonde boy looked at her in shock, but then his golden eyes immediately gleamed with pride and admiration. "Okay, but only if you teach me how to do that lotus thing !"

(Y/n) then relaxed, her eyes softening. "I suppose I can do that..." she said with a soft chuckle.

And for the rest of the afternoon, Yanqing and (Y/n) spent their time training new combat techniques, defensive wise. (Y/n) wasn't as fast nor as knowledgeable as Jing Yuan, but she was still pretty smart, Yanqing took note.

Just...who really was she in the past ? Other than being the star-crossed Saltator Lunae, the fallen Dragon's Cradle...? There surely must be more to her than meets the eye.

As the two were ready to leave Stargazer Navalia, they were suddenly met with another Starskiff arriving, and coming out of it was the Master Diviner herself, Fu Xuan, followed by a number of guards behind her. Yanqing scoffed and (Y/n) nudged him for being rude, even if they were parts away from the group.

"There must be something here if the Master Diviner has personally come herself." (Y/n) said, as the group walked by, not noticing the two pairs of eyes that were observing them from afar. "Perhaps she had foreseen an event ?"

"Who cares, Lady (Y/n) ? She's still a short-fused lady that wants power and position to herself !" Yanqing said as they headed to the docks, where a Starskiff Yanqing had called arrived.

"Sounds like a certain someone who wants to just keep on fighting to prove himself worthy for the Sword Championships." (Y/n) teased with a small, uncharacteristic smile playing on her lips.

Yanqing blushed and huffed, crossing over his arms. "I'm different, Lady (Y/n) !" he exclaimed in denial, like a little child refusing that he cried in front of his mother.

(Y/n) chuckled softly as the two entered the Starskiff, making their way to the Exalting Sanctum to roam about again to familiarize herself with the place.

As soon as they arrived, Yanqing had received a message on his phone (which (Y/n) just found out the name of), that Jing Yuan requested his presence in the Seat of Divine Foresight. So Yanqing brought (Y/n) to the Realm-Keeping Commission to look at some documents of her past self.

Hours had passed as she read through the submissions regarding the feats of Dan Jia. And from what she could gather, was that she was one of the best healers (so she read through quite a bit of medical reports), a well-renowned dancer on very special occasions regarding the clan, and a master of controlling ice, in contrast to her brother who could command the seas.

This was all...very new to her, as she read through the sad wive tales of the Vidyadharas and the historical entries of the Saltator Lunae. But there wasn't much about how she had...seen in her dream, or the people that she had seen. Had something terrible happened to all of them ? So bad that even their names hadn't been saved in the archives of the commission...?

"Lady (Y/n), perhaps you should take a break from reading too much. You should go out to have something to eat first. Cloud Knight Lieutenant Yanqing came by earlier and dropped off a bag of strale for you." Jingyan said, popping her head from behind the heavy doors that sealed the archives.

"Yanqing was here ?" (Y/n) said with a bright smile, finding love and adoration for that little boy in her thawing heart.

"He didn't want to disturb you and seemed to be in a hurry, so he only stopped by a moment." Guangda said, as he came over to the lady who was surrounded by scrolls and books of centuries worth of entries. Of course, (Y/n) had taken it upon herself to neatly stack up the ones she had read through, but it was still messy, nonetheless.

"You've been studying a lot, haven't you, Lady (Y/n) ?" the man asked the former high elder. (Y/n) merely wryly smiled with a nod and a small chuckle.

But as soon as she walked out, she saw a crowd gathering in the middle of the plaza, where a few cloud knights were laid down on stretchers, and a woman in a green uniform was watching over him. She also saw the familiar unique clothing style of the Astral Expressers, probably curious to the scene.

She came closer, curious as well to the crowd gathering, and right before her eyes...one of the cloud knights became deformed and rose. The armor stuck itself into the knight and hands turned into blades. (Y/n)'s eyes widened in horror as she witnessed the grotesque change in an individual with the scream of pain resounding in her ears.

The same scream she heard pierce Dan Jia's beloved friend.

So she ran towards the scene, with her fan in hand.

"Get back ! All of you !"

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr blade x reader #hsr blade x you #hsr blade #hsr x you #hsr jing yuan x reader #hsr jing yuan x you #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #blade x reader #blade x you

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charms-cat · 5 months

Text

Thoughts on TBOSAS

Disclaimers:

my memory isn’t the greatest + it’s been a couple weeks since I watched the movie + I only skimmed the book after watching

I don’t have the book on hand so I can’t fact-check this (my criticism is based on what I remember – feel free to correct me)

Buckle up bcs I’ve got an overthinking brain and a lot of opinions.

Coryo = Good, Other Students = Bad

They only had less than 3 hours for a movie that had enough content to be split into two (imagine if they’d cut it right when Coryo finds out he’s assigned to be a Peacekeeper). So I understand why they couldn’t flesh out every detail of Coryo’s relationships.

But lack of time doesn’t really explain why they couldn’t give the students some nuance. Obviously, we have the dehumanising comments/actions from Livia, Arachne, Felix, and Festus; a horrifying truth that hasn’t learned to disguise itself under ‘generous’ sponsors and ‘faith’ in a specific tribute winning. But why did they change the scenes of Clemensia and (more importantly) Lysistrata?

If you’ve read the books, you’ll know that Lysistrata is one of the kindest students. As far as we know, she didn’t suffer the same poverty as the Snows did and she doesn’t feel the same sense of kinship as Sejanus does with the kids from the districts. Still, she treats Jessup kindly. She brings him medicine when he tells her he’s in pain; she gets mad when Coryo’s angle for Lucy Gray’s image (that Lucy Gray’s more Capitol than District) meant that her angle for Jessup’s image (showcasing the District 12 tributes as a pair) would be jeopardised and thus his sponsors might be less; when she sees Jessup suffering from rabies, she offers to end his suffering by sending the water bottles; her final word about him, when it wouldn’t have given her any advantage to speak kindly about him and the Capitol had (until recently) been on high alert for ‘rogue tributes’, was to tell everyone that Jessup protected her when the arena exploded, even threw himself over her to protect her.

In the movie, she had one ‘prominent’ scene: Jessup’s attack. Maybe they were trying to showcase Coryo’s future ruthlessness by having him demand Lysistrata send the water bottles rather than use his own sponsors. But in the book, Coryo tries to send his own sponsor gifts before Lysistrata stops him and offers to send hers instead. In the original scene, Coryo’s care/affection for Lucy Gray is made obvious by how he’s willing to give up their hard-won sponsorships just to make sure that he can save Lucy Gray from Jessup; Lysistrata’s practicality also shows itself by how she willingly mercy-kills Jessup after seeing him going rabid on screen. He’s her tribute so she used the gifts that they won together.

It would’ve taken the same amount of time (or an extra minute) to keep her mercy kill and her final words on Jessup. Instead, we have Coryo’s demand + Lysistrata’s few seconds of hesitation to follow his words, despite them having an even better view of Jessup’s increasingly rabid behaviour.

Now, let’s talk Clemensia. She’s not particularly kind. Tbf in the book, she wasn’t around too long before she got bit by Gaul’s snakes. The next time she (properly) reappears, she’s cruel in how she withholds helping Reaper until he’s actually done something to ‘earn’ supplies. In the movie, she straight up disappears after getting bit (either that or the effects of the snake venom weren’t as horribly memorable as they were described to be in the book; if she really did disappear, then it also lessens the suspense of “what will happen to Lucy Gray?” later on since we don’t know the full extent of the venom’s effects). But the thing that cements my idea that “Oh, they’re trying to make Coryo look good compared to other students” is that they changed the circumstances that got her bit.

There are three key differences to her and Coryo’s meeting with Gaul:

1: when Gaul asks who came up with the ideas on the assignment, book!Clemensia claims that they both worked on it, but Coryo went by himself to drop it off; movie!Clemensia claims all the ideas for herself.

The decision to make Clemensia a selfish credit-stealer already deteriorates her likability to the audience, especially since Coryo (aka the person she’s stealing credit from) is our protagonist and, at this point in time, has ‘done’ nothing wrong. Hell, since the movie audience doesn’t know his less-than-flattering thoughts about Arachne, they only see that he was the one to rush to help her when she got stabbed. Clemensia, on the other hand, admonished him for seeming indifferent to Arachne’s death (when he told her that he had actually finished the assignment) but then goes on to claim credit for said assignment that she didn’t actually work on at all. Then the movie made it worse by changing Gaul’s dialogue from the book, namely:

2: Gaul asks/allows Coryo to fetch the paper first and

3: Gaul doesn’t explain the snake’s sense of smell until Clemensia has already put her hand in the tank (I’m 99% sure of this scene because I distinctly remember going “TAKE YOUR HAND OUT NOW, CLEMMIE” right as I read the lines).

Imo by making Gaul explain that “they won’t attack you if they’re familiar with your scent” before either Clemensia or Coryo could put their hands in the tank, it both lessens the suspense and makes it seem as if Clemensia is a very prideful person that would rather risk injury than admit wrongdoing. Which brings me to my next point ⬇

Gaul’s Depravity

There are three things I remember being weird about movie!Gaul

1: the aforementioned explanation about the snakes. The fact is that Gaul asking/allowing Coryo to take the paper first was her trying to lure Coryo and Clemensia into a false sense of security. If you don’t believe she was 100% baiting them, just remember that she doesn’t explain that the snakes might bite unfamiliar persons until it’s already too late for Clemensia to take her hand out. And when Clemensia does get bit, Gaul’s assistants rush in to inject the antivenom immediately, like they’re used to doing it. Gaul dismisses Coryo’s concerns by stating that it’s simply part of research. Then (just to drive in her callousness), Gaul dismisses him from her lab by saying it’s teatime. Coryo himself thinks Clemensia’s condition is a harsh punishment for such a simple lie.

2: she stitches up Coryo. I might’ve just simply forgotten about this, but I don’t remember a scene in the book where she personally stitches him up. After all, Gaul was willing to risk Coryo’s death in the arena (when he’s rescuing Sejanus) just to teach him the lesson that even he, with his good name and good education, would revert to predatory instincts to keep himself alive.

3: “rainbow of destruction” broadcast. Movie!Gaul indirectly warned the districts that there would be retaliation for the death of an Academy student. Granted, no one (except Coryo and Clemensia) would catch on to what “rainbow of destruction” meant, but she still warned them. When the snakes were released into the arena, people would know why they were released, why they were introducing a sudden new obstacle. Book!Gaul didn’t do that. iirc the Capitol didn’t even want the districts to know that they succeeded in dealing a blow to the Capitol (killing one of their top students/son of a prominent figure). Book!Gaul, as far as the general public knows, released the snakes for seemingly no reason than to make the Games harder. Book!Gaul didn’t even warn Coryo properly; she said there would be retaliation, but she never indicated that she would be specifically using those snakes. Coryo chanced upon the snake tank during the transfer; had he missed seeing the tank after hearing those words, he might not have made the connection that would eventually save Lucy Gray.

Positive point for the broadcast: they kept her cruel classism. They cut from the scene of the tributes killing each other to the broadcast where her opening statement was, “An important life was taken today”. I could’ve strangled her right then and there.

Modern Hunger Games

I’m sure other people have put it more eloquently than I have, but the 10th Hunger Games resembles the more modern (e.g., 74th) Hunger Games too closely. Imo the resemblance kinda strips away the initial point that the Games (without all the fanciful performance surrounding it) is a cruel and brutal punishment to force kids who don’t want to kill each other to have to kill each other to go home (does this sentence make sense?).

1: Communicuffs. In the book, the mentors used a glorified watch but, in the movies, they used TVs. You might think this is a minor thing and maybe I am overthinking it, but imo the use of a big screen makes the Academy mentors resemble the Gamemakers in the 74th/75th Games, who used big holographic screens.

2: Bloodbath. Now, I definitely remember that the 10th Games had no bloodbath. iirc Reaper was the only one ready to fight, but he took too long to get ready/get a weapon and, by the time he was geared up, everyone else had disappeared into the corridors of the colosseum. When no tributes appeared after a while, Reaper disappeared into hiding too. So, the focus was on Marcus who’d been crucified. The first death was Lamina mercy-killing Marcus.

If anything, changing the start of the Games into an actual bloodbath destroys the thesis that these kids don’t actually want to kill each other. Yes, they want to go home but that doesn’t mean they’re eager to get their hands bloody to do it. If anything, the bloodbath proves Gaul right that people are inherently predators who would do anything to survive; that compassion can be easily discarded in the face of survival. That’s the antithesis of what the Hunger Games are meant to be. Because we see time and again that compassion can exist among competitors for survival – Katniss singing to Rue, Thresh sparing Katniss in turn, Cato rushing to save Clove, Haymitch staying with Maysilee, Jessup protecting Lucy Gray, Reaper making a makeshift morgue for the dead tributes.

A bloodbath is only understandable in something like the 74th Games. Since, as far as anyone knew, the Games were here to stay. So Career districts trained their children, non-Careers grasped onto whatever knowledge they could take advantage of (Katniss’s hunting, Rue’s climbing/tracker jackers, Peeta’s camo, etc.) There were possibilities for sponsors if you were promising and a guarantee of a life of luxury if you won. So, what better time to cut down the number of competitors than when no one has supplies? Compared to the lack of…motivation during the first Games. You’d have the same type of trauma, but nothing to “soften the blow” like securing a better life for your loved ones after you win.

3: Cameras. What was with all those camera angles??? I understand having camera angles for the movie audience, but why did the Capitol audience see the same thing? One of the problems of the Games was that it wasn’t interesting to watch. The Capitol wasn’t chomping at the bit to watch an arena of nothing, for tributes they didn’t actually care about. That’s why betting was introduced, to motivate the Capitol to watch out for the tribute they were betting on, if only to confirm that said tribute was still alive.

Being able to know everything in real time undercuts the suspense of certain scenes – why was Lucy Gray running from Jessup? Why did Wovey(?) suddenly die after drinking from a water bottle? Why did Coral betray Tanner(?) In the book, we learn all this in time with Coryo. When Jessup attacks, Coryo quickly connects the aversion to water (I think Jessup swatted away the bottle Coryo was trying to send to Lucy Gray) + the bite Jessup felt on his neck + the rat poison needed around the zoo to conclude that Jessup had rabies. He had to come up with a strategy on the spot vs. when he already had an inkling by watching Jessup’s aversion to water and sudden aggressiveness to Lucy Gray in the barricaded room. As for Wovey(?), Coryo figured that the bottle was laced with rat poison vs. when we saw Lucy Gray dump in the poison. As for Coral’s betrayal, we never find out why in the book vs. when we see them having an argument in the movie (this one’s more minor, but the thing about “knowing ‘everything’ that goes on with the tributes” plays too much into the modern Games perspective; personally, her sudden betrayal made it more shocking compared to when their movie!argument already starts hinting to future betrayal).

4: Gaul’s Snake Mutts. I hate the decision to make the snakes gigantic (or normal snake size idk). The book!snakes were about as long as a ruler and were so thin that a single normal-sized tank could hold hundreds of them. They were meant for Gaul to play around with in the lab. Gaul herself didn’t intend to use her snakes in the Games.

But the reason why I really hate the gigantism of the snakes is that it dramatizes the Games in the same way as the sudden appearance of the dog mutts in the 74th. The shocking burst of the tank feels a little too close to how the Gamemakers added in mutts to up the ‘excitement’ vs. book!snakes that never burst out; they simply slithered their way out their opened tank and began surging towards all the unfamiliar smells.

Extra negative point for trying to convince us that a tiny handkerchief maintained its smell long enough to travel throughout the entire tank; this without even considering that Coryo inserted the handkerchief from the bottom. What, were the snakes passing the handkerchief up?

Infallible Coryo

Again, might be overthinking on my part, but I feel like the movie made it seem like Coryo was more strategic than quick-thinking. One of the things that made me like him was that he was intelligent in the way that he could come up with solutions on the spot. So it’s a bit disappointing that they replaced that trait, especially since it comes at the cost of Lucy Gray’s own intelligence/agency (I’ll explain this in the next point).1

1: Coryo checks out the arena the night before the Games. Again, might be misremembering but I don’t think he ever did this. Or if he even had the time since I think a lot of the Academy kids were hospitalised after the bombing and then the Games took place right after.

2: Coryo collects the rat poison vs. Lucy Gray collects it herself.1

3: one thing about Katniss’s Games that made it more realistic imo is that part of her survival relied on luck. If her dad hadn’t taught her how to hunt, she might’ve not even found water during those first days in the arena; if Cinna hadn’t chosen to be a stylist in her year and Peeta hadn’t made her look desirable, then she might’ve had less sponsors than she did. So, I don’t like that they changed how Coryo found out about the snake mutts.

As said in my previous point: book!Coryo chanced upon the tank transfer. If Gaul hadn’t called him for a meeting; if the scientists hadn’t left him alone with the tank; if he’d taken out the handkerchief beforehand – had any of his circumstances changed, Lucy Gray might’ve died from the snakes too.

But thanks to movie!Gaul’s broadcast, movie!Coryo knew/had strong suspicion of exactly what was about to happen. He knew where to go, he had an excuse to see Gaul (ig you could say the lucky part is that Gaul didn’t turn him away/direct him to the hospital instead), he knew he needed the handkerchief; all he had to do was execute his plan. If they wanted Coryo to look smart, I’d say it was more impressive that he could connect the tank transfer to Gaul’s retaliation almost immediately after seeing the tank.

Lucy Gray = Good, Other Tributes = Bad, Coryo = Worse

1: when I say other tributes, I mostly mean two instances –

Jessup’s abandonment. Like I said in my first point, Lysistrata said that book!Jessup protected her during the bombing vs. movie!Jessup attempting to run away/escape. Between Jessup’s constant protection of Lucy Gray and that Lysistrata had no reason to lie (especially about a specific action), I 100% believe that Jessup really did his utmost to protect Lysistrata at the time. It feels like a slap to the face that, in their attempt of making Lucy Gray look good, they took away one of Jessup’s kindest, self-sacrificial actions. It almost feels like they’re making him a bit classist himself since he doesn’t hesitate to protect a District kid, but they changed the scene where he protected a Capitol kid. Point is: they did my boy, Jessup, dirty bcs he (at the very least) wouldn’t abandon Lucy Gray while escaping!

Coral’s alliance. istg Coral’s alliance starting the bloodbath and hunting down Lucy Gray and Jessup was mimicking the scene of Cato’s alliance murdering in the bloodbath and hunting down Katniss. Especially since they also had a scene where one of them (I’m so sorry idk his name, but it was the kid that said he was scared to go through the door flap/Cato) tried to chase after them by going through the door/climbing the tree.

Idk if they were trying to ‘foreshadow’ District 4 eventually becoming a Career district, but no. They could be ruthless (forcing Lamina to choose who to fight), but they weren’t the same kind of ruthless hunters as the Careers in the 74th. (Going to repeat my point that these changes only prove Gaul’s point that we’re all inherent predators.) The worst part is that their bloodthirsty alliance is contrasted to Lucy Gray’s kind camaraderie with Jessup (her worriedly searching for him and dragging him away from the fight asap). Both Coral’s alliance and Lucy Gray should’ve been at the same ‘starting point’ – kids who resorted to killing, not ones who were so eager to get home that they start murdering as soon as they get their hands on a weapon.

2: Coryo does the thinking for Lucy Gray. Gonna elaborate on my two previous points…

Coryo checks out the arena. This one bothers me so much bcs can they really not give Lucy Gray something as basic as knowing how and where to hide? Why is it Coryo that has to tell her exactly where she can hide and how to get there? + for some reason, they added an underground bunker? Imo they could’ve had even more suspense if they kept the fact that there was no bloodbath and all the tributes were hiding in the stands/corridors. It also would’ve been the perfect scene to showcase Lucy Gray’s smarts by making it so that she had to figure out how to avoid/hide from multiple tributes in a confined, unfamiliar space.

Coryo collects the rat poison. This one bothers me a lot too bcs, even though Coryo gave the compact specifically to hold the poison, Lucy Gray is the one who decides to bring it into the arena. I feel like making movie!Coryo collect the poison instead of her takes away her agency how she wants to survive the Games. Book!Coryo doesn’t see her in the zoo so he can only hope that she’ll risk cheating by bringing in the poison; it could’ve been easy for Lucy Gray to lie and say that nobody took the bait or that she didn’t bring in enough poison since he had no proof whether she did or didn’t have poison during the Games. The fact that movie!Coryo pleads(?) with her to take the compact, knowing that it’s carrying poison, makes it feel more like he’s forcing her to take a risk rather than letting her choose. If the compact had ended up being empty, then they could’ve bs something like he wanted her to have a memento of him during the Games instead of it being an instrument in cheating.

3: Lucy Gray’s calculated kills. One of the things that makes Lucy Gray nuanced is that she does bad things of her own volition. She’s trying to survive the Games so it’s not as if it’s a despicable thing for her to be cunning. But movie!Lucy Gray’s too good to even be that, as proven by how she kills. Book!Lucy Gray kills Wovey, Treech, and Reaper; movie!Lucy Gray kills Dill and Treech (there’s supposed to be a third, but I don’t remember who).

Book!Lucy Gray was deliberate. She knows she isn’t as fast or strong as some of the others so she preps to take out the other tributes through other means –

Wovey: iirc Lucy Gray poisoned a bottle and then just dropped it in the corridor to make it seem like it was a lost bottle. iirc she says something along the lines of “Poor Wovey. I was aiming for Coral, not her”. Intended victim or not, she baited a thirsty tribute into drinking what seems like their only source of water.

Treech: he swings a weapon at her while she’s trying to retreat. In self-defence, Lucy Gray reveals that she kept one of the snakes and releases it on Treech. I’m highlighting the fact that she kept it bcs Lucy Gray keeps it despite seeing the frenzied assault the snakes launched on all the other tributes. (idk if this is before or after Treech, but she also counts the corpses so she must’ve seen the effects of the venom). Either way, she kept it with the intention of quite possibly using it.

Reaper: iirc she admits to poisoning the puddle Reaper was drinking from. Then, she makes the poisoned Reaper use the last of his energy to chase her. Coryo himself says that she was trying to “run him to death”. Unlike the previous two killings, Lucy Gray knew exactly who she intended to kill and what she’d need to do to achieve it. He wasn’t drinking from a bottle so she found out which puddle he was drinking from; he was protective of his morgue so she made him chase her by running off with the flag.

Movie!Lucy Gray still did things intentionally, but it felt more hasty than calculated. She killed Dill the same way she killed Wovey, but it felt less like deception (making her victim think that she dropped a perfectly good bottle) and more like force (every other bottle is empty so there’s really no choice). Not really much to comment on Treech’s death since it’s quite similar, just that her ‘last resort’ is different.

I get that they were pressed for time so they had to hasten the end of the Games, but it feels like such a pity to lose Lucy Gray’s cunning in the process.

Mentors

Quick aside here, but why did they make it so that the Academy kids didn’t know that they were going to be mentors? They already knew that they were going to be assigned a tribute. iirc Coryo was worried since he wanted a ‘good’ tribute and, when all the ‘good ones’ were gone, he hoped that Dean Highbottom forgot him instead of assigning him a tribute from District 12. It seems unnecessary, but maybe I’m missing something.

EDIT: got some thoughts on this movie change

Translating Thoughts to Expressions

I understand that a lot of Coryo’s more rancid opinions remain as thoughts. Esp since he’s constantly trying to look not-poor and so that he can gain any advantage he can get. So he doesn’t say anything about Sejanus (Strabo Plinth could give him money), Ma (she gives him good, free food), Arachne (he has tact), Gaul (have you met the woman?). But there is one thing that stands out to me; a good chance to show the movie-only audience that he’s actually putting up an act: Sejanus calling him Coryo.

I think it’s more obvious in the book, but only Tigris and his childhood friends ever call him Coryo. It’s a nickname reserved for people he’s close to. So, the fact that Sejanus says it so casually takes away the momentum of the moment where Sejanus feels like they’ve grown close enough for him to use it. Book!Sejanus says it in a moment of apology – “I’m sorry. Coryo, I’m sorry” – bcs Coryo had to save him from the arena and, not only was Sejanus’s action fruitless, Coryo ended up killing Bobbin and being hunted by the other tributes. Movie!Sejanus says it when Coryo finds him in the arena. I can’t remember the line, but it’s when he was trying to explain why he was there. He just blurts it out in the middle of the sentence like he’d always been calling him Coryo.

Anyway, the reason why I say this is an opportunity to show Coryo’s true feelings is bcs this is one of the few times where Coryo has the possibility and ‘safety’ to slip up. When book!Sejanus calls him Coryo, he’s emotionally overwhelmed and physically exhausted. He’s horrified by his murder of Bobbin, anxious about the tributes chasing him and Sejanus, frustrated/angry that the Peacekeepers didn’t help them until the last minute on top of his annoyance at Ma turning up at their house, disdain for Sejanus (Coryo being his only friend meant that Ma turned up at his house specifically), and his initial worry/fear of going into the arena. Sejanus assuming he could use Coryo’s nickname would be the cherry on top of an already hellish night. And when I say ‘safety’, I mean that Coryo’s expression could’ve easily been hidden from Sejanus by making it so that the shadows of the colosseum shrouded him.

Over-explanation

This might be my most overthinking one, but I feel like the movie treats the audience like they’re a bit stupid? Like they’re explicitly explaining rather than just letting us make inferences. There’re three changes I can think of for this.

1: Snake mutts. I won’t explain this scene again, but movie!Gaul specifies that the snakes would recognise the “sweat on your palm”. She’d already explained that the snakes wouldn’t attack familiar smells, like the ones that they’d been around all morning. This explanation + knowing the tank had been lined with their papers was (imo) enough info to clue in that “the snakes won’t attack bcs they’ve been smelling the papers”. The extra tidbit just feels like they’re not sure we’ll understand how lining the tank = snakes not attacking.

2: “rainbow of destruction”. Not explaining this scene again either, but the broadcast did make it seem very in-your-face about what was gonna happen. It doesn’t help that Gaul emphasises that distinct phrase.

3: Jabberjays. So, jabberjays singing like normal birds to blend in, but turn silent when they're recording. And while Coryo uses this knowledge of how jabberjays work, the scene falls flat a bit. Bcs book!Sejanus doesn't know how the jabberjays work. Coryo cleverly turns on the recording function and then gets rid of him quickly after he gets the info bcs he knows it'd be sus if Sejanus figures out that "hey, why was this bird silent the whole time but suddenly starts singing?" But, in the movie, they repeat the fact that the bird falling silent means it was recording bcs Coryo replays the recording. (Maybe I’m misremembering this)

Still, Sejanus dies without knowing Coryo was the traitor. Or he should, but they reveal the recording again right before they hang him. Just in case we couldn’t figure out why he was being executed ig 🙄

Well, that’s the end of my vent. If you’ve read this far, thank you fro reading, but also feel free to correct me if you think/know I’m wrong about something.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg meta #the hunger games #hunger games #ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird #volumnia gaul #lysistrata vickers #clemensia dovecote #jessup diggs #tbosas coral #tbosas spoilers #reaper ash #the ballad of songbirds and snakes spoilers

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One Day at a Time - Chapter 7 - Birth

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, SMUT, gratuitous smut, dubious consent (drunk sex), unplanned pregnancy, fluff, references to past miscarriages, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, age gap (~21 years), childbirth, fluffy baby stuff, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

It’s December. They passed the date Joel circled on the calendar three days ago and the waiting is slowly driving them mad.

Charlie wakes up restless and frustrated, unable to get comfortable, exhausted but unable to sleep. The baby is restless, too–kicking her ribs, pushing against her lungs, making it hard to take a deep breath. She’s snappish and moody and leaks tears over the smallest things.

They’ve run out of fruits and have settled on calling the baby Pumpkin because it’s the biggest, even though Charlie hates it, she tells him, because the idea of pushing a fucking gourd out of her vagina makes for a horrible mental image.

She’s ready for this to be over.

He’s not ready at all.

On the fourth day, Joel radioes Tommy and tells him to find someone to cover his patrol shift. Something tells him he needs to stay home. He putters about looking for things to do to fill the time. He nails down the loose floorboard in the upstairs hall and patches the tack holes in the wall and fixes the dripping faucet in his bathroom and oils the squeaky hinges on the doors. When that’s done, he goes looking for projects in Ellie’s garage, but she turns him away at the door.

“Nuh-uh, nope. Not happening. The last time you were in here to ‘fix’ something it took three weeks and I ended up with a wall of bookshelves.”

“But you love your shelves,” he says. He looks over her shoulder, eyeing a mostly empty corner. “You could use more storage–”

“You don’t have that kinda time now, dude.”

So he leaves, nesting instinct unfulfilled, and finds himself pacing the floor.

“You’re hovering,” Charlie mutters from her place on the couch after he’s asked for the fourth time if he can get her anything. “You should have gone to work.”

“Like hell,” he growls at the idea of being miles away on horseback, outside the walls and away from her.

They still don’t have a name, a cradle, or any clothes beyond the soft yellow sleeper. Maria, recognizing that the situation was delicate, had dropped off a stack of cloth diapers. They sit in a bag next to the front door, untouched.

That night they assume their usual positions; him propped up against the headboard with his reading glasses and the book, and Charlie on her side, pillows tucked around her in a makeshift nest. His hand finds her stomach, but the baby is quieter now, too cramped to move much.

Charlie squirms, grumbles, shifts, and retucks the blanket and pillows. It takes an hour for her to fall into a restless doze, and he keeps reading the same lines over and over, too distracted and keyed up to sleep. Her stomach tightens under his hand, the baby pressing the hard plane of its back into his palm.

Then it happens again. And again. Every few minutes.

He checks his watch by force of habit, forgetting for the millionth time that it hasn’t worked in twenty years. He notes the time on the bedside clock instead, 10:54.

11:06. 11:12. 11:25.

At 11:38, her hand clutches his fingers and she lets out a soft moan.

“Joel…?”

“M’here,” he says, knowing what she’s going to say.

“I think this is it.”

~*~

“I don’t want her here.”

“I know, but–”

Charlie’s eyes are bright and forceful. “Not yet, Joel. I will not deal with that woman. Not yet.”

He gets it. The midwife is the last person he wants to see, either. But she’s the one with the training and experience.

“We have to at least let her know.”

Charlie scowls, then shuts her eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Another one?”

She nods, distracted, and he looks at the clock. 1:03.

“They’re not close together yet,” Charlie says when the contraction passes. “The book says five minutes.”

“The book assumes we can go to a hospital,” Joel counters, and she shoots him a black look. “Look, I’ll tell her to stay put until you’re closer, but–”

“No,” Charlie says, soft but firm. “And would you sit? You’re making me nervous.”

He does then, sitting on the bed, forced to wallow in his terror. Had it been this bad with Sarah? No, because there had been nurses and doctors and an epidural that had eased the way considerably if he didn’t think too hard about the length of the needle and where it went.

He’d also been twenty-two and blissfully ignorant. He hadn’t known loss, hadn’t known just how bad it could get. He sees every little way this could go wrong and the fear clutches at his heart and holds fast.

Charlie takes his hand and squeezes. “We can do this.”

He doesn’t know if he can, but he squeezes back and watches as she folds over her belly in concentration when the next contraction takes hold.

~*~

She labors on the bed, walking around, rocking in the chair, pressing tight fists to her lower back. He fills her water glass from the bathroom tap and washes his hands fifteen times, even though he hasn’t so much as touched her beyond letting her grip his fingers during the worst ones.

Ellie comes in to get breakfast before school. He hears her downstairs, calling for him.

“Go,” Charlie says from her current position, curled on the bed with a pillow between her knees. “She needs you. I’m fine.”

He’s still dressed in pajamas; gray sweatpants and a white tee, hair mussed and eyes red-rimmed. Ellie takes him in, raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

“Yeah, she’s in labor,” he says. “Gonna be a day.”

“I’ll make coffee.”

“You don’t have to do that, kiddo.”

She eyes him up and down, scoffs. “You need it, dude.”

“Thanks,” he says. “I’m, uh, I’m gonna let Tommy and Maria know…if I can find the damn radio…”

“You brought it upstairs, remember?”

Right. He kept the radio by the bed just in case Charlie went into labor in the night. Of course.

“Thanks, kid,” he says thickly, suddenly awash in gratitude with a lump in his throat.

“Go,” she says, already scooping coffee grounds into the pot on the stove. “I can burn my own toast.”

He doesn’t taste the coffee, or the not-burnt toast Ellie brings up, enough for both him and Charlie.

The midwife shows up sometime before noon and does nothing to put them at ease.

“I need to make this quick. I’ve got another patient across town and it’s not good.”

Joel stands in the doorway with his hands on his hips. “Don’t you have a…a backup or somethin’?”

“Does it look like I have backup?” she snaps.

She proceeds with the exam with her usual curt efficiency as Joel paces.

“You’re three centimeters,” she says to Charlie eventually, shucking her gloves off. “It’s going to be a while. Get comfortable. Stay hydrated.”

And then she’s gone.

Joel wants to follow the woman outside and drag her back and chain her to the radiator until the baby is delivered safely. It’s either that or strangle her. But Charlie’s pitiful moan from the bed douses the flames of his anger immediately.

“Get comfortable? Is she fucking kidding,” she wails, gripping him tight. “I hate her.”

“I know, I know,” he says. “We’ll…figure something out.”

He calls the only other person he knows who has first-hand experience with childbirth; his sister-in-law.

Maria suggests a beer and a bath; something about the alcohol and warm water acting like natural muscle relaxants. Charlie, exhausted and in pain, is willing to try anything. She sips the beer and undresses as he fills the tub, grateful to have something to do.

He helps her into the bath and kneels on the floor beside it, resting his forearms on the rim and watching over her like a sentinel. Her belly rises out of the water, a glazed wet dome, every contraction causing the water to ripple around her as she grimaces and arches and groans.

Sometimes she comes out of her fog of pain and blinks up at him as if seeing him for the first time, and it makes his heart clench.

“I’m glad it’s you,” she murmurs in one of those quiet moments.

“Yeah?” He dabs a washcloth at her temple, urges her to drink while she’s relaxed.

He hears Maria downstairs, probably boiling water and sanitizing things and doing all the things he should be doing but can’t because he can’t leave Charlie’s side.

He’s scared. He’s never been this scared.

He remembers sitting in the hospital and praying when Sarah was born. He wasn’t a praying man, not even then, but it had seemed the only thing he could do. Now he thinks of her, of his first baby girl, and he silently asks for her help. He doesn’t believe in God, but he does believe in her.

~*~

“Joel?”

A hesitant voice at the bedroom door. Joel rouses himself from his place by the tub. Charlie has relaxed a little, but the contractions are still ferocious. Her cries echo in the small space and he winces every time, wishing he could do something, anything to take this away from her.

“Be right back,” he whispers, leaning over to place a kiss on Charlie’s forehead. She nods but doesn’t open her eyes.

Ellie is standing in his bedroom looking small and lost.

“Hey, kiddo,” he croaks. “What’s up?”

She hesitates at the door. “Maria’s downstairs. She, uh, said there’s dinner if you want it. We’re gonna watch a movie.”

He nods. “Good. I’ll eat…later.”

“Maria said you’d say that. She also said to tell you not to wait too long or you’ll pass out like your brother did when Izzy was born.”

Joel snorts. “Alright, I hear ya.”

There’s a groan from the bathroom, a low, primal keen of need that Joel has to physically restrain himself from answering. Ellie’s eyes grow wide.

“You okay, kid?”

She swallows hard. “I just…is this, uh…normal?”

“Yeah, sure, yeah,” he says, trying to imbue his words with a certainty he doesn’t feel. “The first one is always slow.”

“It sounds fucking awful,” she grimaces. “Was it like this with Sarah?”

“A little, I guess. I don’t…honestly remember. We had drugs back then,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. God, what he’d give to live in a world with epidurals again. He’d take a needle to the back himself if it meant Charlie didn’t have to go through this. He’d take worse.

Ellie looks at him then, soulful brown eyes, and her face crumples, mirroring the fear he’s kept an iron-tight grip on all day.

“Baby girl,” he murmurs, closing the distance between them and tucking her against his chest. “S’alright. It’s gonna be fine. Charlie’s doing good. She’s strong. The baby’s fine. Just…takes a while.”

“I’m never having kids,” she mutters in a watery sigh, muffled by the fabric of his t-shirt.

He huffs a soft laugh into her hair, rubbing her back. “Don’t blame you. You don’t have to be scared, though.”

He pulls away, cups her face in his hands, and kisses her forehead.

“S’worth it…can tell you that much.”

She drags a sleeve across her face and nods. “Should I bring up a plate?”

“Yeah. That’d be good, kiddo. Thanks.”

~*~

Hours pass. There’s a cold plate of food on the floor by the door and a melted bowl of strawberry ice cream next to the bathroom sink. Joel had three bites for dinner; chicken, mashed potatoes, and something green. Everything tasted like paste, which was not a slight on Maria’s cooking, only that he couldn’t take his focus off Charlie. She’d opted for the ice cream and had done better than him, eating half the bowl in slow, measured spoonfuls in between contractions.

Eventually, the hot water tank is drained and the bath grows tepid, forcing her out. She stands in the middle of the bathroom, leaning into Joel’s chest as he dries her off and wraps her in a robe.

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, rubbing her back as she shivers. “You cold?”

She shakes her head. “Just tired.”

“Bed?”

She nods, then digs her fingers into his arm as a contraction hits.

“Ohhhh, fuck.”

“I got you,” he murmurs, although he’s swaying on his feet, so tired he’s slurring his words. He’s been up for thirty-something hours; when he tries to do the math, everything gets fuzzy at the edges. Then he remembers he’s not the one with a vise grip rearranging his internal organs. He forces his eyes open.

“Bed,” he says firmly when she’s no longer clutching at him, urging her along.

She curls on her side and he faces her, giving her his hand to squeeze. She tucks it against her cheek, closing her eyes as her abdomen tightens again. The water and the beer seem to have helped; she’s quieter, at least.

“Hurts,” she whimpers, a permanent furrow taking up residence between her brows.

“I know,” he soothes, brushing a damp tendril of hair from her forehead. “What can I do?”

She shakes her head.

At some point, she slides his hand under her robe. The baby moves under his palm. For now, everyone is safe. For a little while, he can pretend this is any other night, just the three of them tucked in bed together.

Then she arches and moans, grabbing at him, drawing out his name into multiple syllables.

“Yeah, I know, baby. I know. M’here,” he says, feeling the panic inside begin to take over. He’s so fucking helpless he could cry.

Then she kisses him, pulling his mouth to hers, urgent and needy, and he tastes strawberries. She grasps at the hem of his t-shirt, urging it over his head, suddenly desperate to feel his skin. When she pushes his hand down to the small furnace burning between her bare thighs, the message is loud and clear.

“You want…that? Now?”

“Mmhm, please,” she moans, a breathy little hitch that, under normal circumstances, would have him rock-hard and struggling to restrain himself. As it is, he’s too tired to protest. He can’t deny her anything.

They’ve done this dozens of times since they started sharing his bed. She’s soft and swollen and slick under his fingers. The orgasms come easily and seem to dilute the pain. Soon she’s stretched out against him, one leg thrown over his hips, nuzzling into his chest, and neither of them can keep their eyes open.

~*~

He’s jolted out of sleep by Charlie’s fierce grip on his hand and a sound that’s almost animal from her throat.

“M’here,” he groans, cursing himself for falling asleep. “Right here.”

He sits up, glancing at the clock; they’d been given an hour and a half of respite.

“She means business,” Charlie mutters through gritted teeth, clutching her stomach and getting to her feet.

“She, huh?”

Charlie doesn’t answer, fumbling with the sash of her robe. “Need…this…off.”

He gets up, helps slide the robe off her shoulders and she leans back into him, naked, hips swaying.

Refueled by ice cream and sleep, she’s restless; no position can bring relief. Time stretches in front of them, a series of back-to-back contractions that force sounds from her throat that Joel has never heard and never wants to hear again.

She finally settles on her knees at the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around him, pressing her face into his neck. Her pained sobs wrench at him, something animal, and it’s all he can do not to cry in frustration. Instead, he babbles outright lies into her hair, doin’ so good baby, s’almost over, almost done, she’ll be here soon .

She , he thinks dully, then the pain comes and her groan into his neck washes the thought away. Her water breaks, a warm gush down her thighs, and he has the sense that things are about to move fast.

“We need to call the midwife,” he whispers, and he knows it’s serious when Charlie doesn’t protest, just nods limply into his shoulder.

He doesn’t remember calling for Maria, but she’s at the door, radio in hand. She meets his eyes over Charlie’s shoulder, gives him a tight look and shakes her head.

There’s no midwife.

Fuck.

“Okay, okay,” he breathes, quashing down his dread. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Time ceases to make sense; minutes pass in seconds, seconds pass in minutes. Towels and blankets appear on the other side of the bed. He’s vaguely aware of Maria’s movements on the other side of the door, thinks he hears Tommy and Ellie’s voices at times.

Charlie remains on her knees on the bed, arms locked around his neck, shuddering against him through every contraction. His back is throbbing from the lack of movement, but he won’t budge unless she tells him to.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that. He closes his eyes and holds her and whispers words he hopes she can hear from the depths of her pain.

Later, he’ll blame sleep deprivation for the visions. He sees Sarah, alive and smiling, wearing her favorite Halican Drops t-shirt and handing him a glass of orange juice. He sees Ellie laughing and holding out bright green leaves to a giraffe in the Salt Lake City park. They calm him, silencing the frightened voice inside that reminds him how much he stands to lose.

Eventually, Charlie pulls away, bracing her hands on his shoulders, grimacing.

“I need…I need–”

“Think you need to push?”

“I don’t…know. It feels…different.”

“Different bad? Or different good?”

“I don’t know,” she huffs. “I don’t…I just…”

He urges her backward away from the edge of the bed before another contraction hits. Her fingers tighten on his shoulders and she bears down, a tentative, hesitant little push.

“That was good,” he whispers, grabbing one of the clean towels behind her. “Let’s try again with the next one.”

~*~

The next hour passes in flashes, small moments he will remember for the rest of his life.

Joel’s hand covering Charlie’s as she feels for the baby, her panting as she bears down again and again and again.

The pressure of the baby’s head against his palm, the dark, slick hair emerging from the depths of her body as the baby crowns.

The warm, wet weight of a tiny body sliding into his outstretched hands in a sudden, slippery rush.

Charlie’s awed, trembling whisper in his ear, a girl, it’s a girl .

Clutching the child against his bare stomach with one arm as his other arm wraps Charlie’s waist and eases her back against the headboard.

The endless seconds of silence as he rubs the length of her tiny back with firm strokes, c’mon baby girl, c’mon, breathe for me .

The elation when he feels her first breath, feels her tiny lungs inflate under his palm as their daughter comes to life with a roar.

~*~

He vaguely registers a whooping from outside the bedroom, but his world has narrowed to three people. He’s kissing Charlie’s forehead, whispering nonsense into her hair, did so good, baby, so good, so good .

Then there’s the baby in his arms, his daughter, and she’s shaking, why is the baby shaking?

Then he realizes it’s him, his hands are trembling, the aftermath of the adrenaline rush hitting hard and turning his limbs to jelly. He needs to put her down, he’s terrified he’s going to drop her, but he can’t make himself let go, can’t stop looking at her, squirming, little legs and arms kicking and flailing as she arches against him, so strong, he thinks, she’s so goddamn strong–

“Please–” he grits out, trying to find the words, feeling frozen as the panic creeps back in.

Then Charlie is there, her hands over his, gently extracting the squalling baby and pulling her onto her chest with soft whispers, yes sweet girl, I know, tell us, I know .

He reaches for the closest thing he can find to cover the child–his t-shirt, worn and soft and smelling like him–and tucks it around her tiny frame. Then he grabs a clean blanket from the stack Maria left on the bed and drapes it over Charlie’s trembling shoulders and back, careful not to cover the baby.

Charlie’s silver eyes are bright and shining as she studies the little girl in her arms, drawing a fingertip down the tiny arch of her nose, her ear, the soft fur of her eyebrows. She smiles so big it makes something in his chest splinter and crack.

He wants to make her smile like that for the rest of his life. He wants to cover their bodies with his and hold them still in this moment forever, keeping the rest of the world at bay.

But he can’t, so he tries to make himself useful. He cuts the cord. He fetches warm washcloths, strips the soiled bedding, fusses, and paces until Charlie catches him by the arm as he’s checking her full water glass for the second time.

“Joel, stop,” she says softly. “Look at her.”

He’s afraid if he stops, he’ll break the fuck down, but she pulls him onto the bed next to them.

“Look at her,” she repeats.

The baby turns her head toward her mother, seeking, and Joel watches as Charlie attempts to latch her, the tiny mouth closing over one dark nipple, and his heart feels like it’s going to turn inside out.

~*~

He walks downstairs on wooden legs to expectant faces. Ellie, perched on the couch next to Maria, lights up when she sees him.

The words catch in his throat. “You’ve got a sister.”

The relief on her face is palpable. Then she’s off the couch, meeting him at the foot of the stairs. She almost reaches out, then hesitates, like something might have changed between them.

“C’mere,” he mutters, folding her into his arms, and that’s when the tears finally come, relief and joy and sadness all muddled together. He holds his daughter, a lifeline to his past and a gateway to his future all in one.

He meets Maria’s eyes over her shoulder and gives her a silent nod of thanks. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to do enough work around Jackson to pay for her kindness.

“You can, uh, come up and see her,” he sniffs when he can safely speak again. “Both of you.”

“You go,” says Maria to Ellie. “You need some time together. As a family. I’ll bring Tommy and Izzy by later.”

Joel’s throat closes up again. As a family.

“C’mon, kid,” he chokes out. “Let’s go meet your sister.”

~*~

The midwife misses the birth by three hours. When she finally arrives, she looks haggard, with dark circles under her eyes and her sharp tongue dulled. She assesses Charlie and the baby with her usual efficiency, but she’s quiet about it. Maybe she finally senses Joel’s mood, or maybe she’s just as exhausted as them.

She asks them questions about the birth, examines the placenta, and makes a few notes.

“The bleeding should taper off after about a week. Some cramping is normal, but if you’re soaking more than a pad an hour, you need to tell me.”

Joel still hovers, hulking over the midwife with his arms crossed, biceps flexing, jaw set. If he thought he felt protective over Charlie before, the baby’s presence has made him fucking feral. He’s practically vibrating when Joanie takes the baby to examine her and weigh her, and Charlie’s touch on his arm is the only thing that stops him from growling and spitting like a wild animal.

Joanie unwraps the baby from her bundle and listens to her breathing and her heart, tests her reflexes, and nods, apparently satisfied. Then she swaddles her back up and hands her to Charlie.

“She looks great,” she says flatly. “You’re lucky.”

The unspoken implication gives him pause; others had not been so lucky.

“Put her on the breast every hour,” Joanie continues. “Let her nurse as much as she wants. It’ll help your milk production and boost her immunity. If she starts losing weight or she’s not getting enough from you, there’s a donor program. We don’t have formula, but she won’t starve.”

Then she’s packing up her things, saying she’ll be back in the morning to check in, and to radio if there’s an emergency.

“And congratulations,” she says before taking her leave. Maybe he’s delirious from lack of sleep, but he thinks he sees the old woman crack a smile.

~*~

“So what’s her name?”

That evening, Ellie holds the baby in her lap in the rocker, cradling her bundled sleeping form along her thighs with her head cupped in her palms.

Joel looks at Charlie, raising an eyebrow.

“You still haven’t named the poor kid? Sheesh.”

“She’s eight hours old,” Joel grumbles.

“Consider us open to suggestions,” Charlie yawns.

Ellie considers the little bundle in her lap, sizing her up. “How about…Sally Ride? Sally Ride Miller.”

She looks at Joel expectantly.

“Uh…”

Then her lips twitch and she can’t hold back her smile. “I’m just fuckin’ with you, dude.”

“Oh,” he sighs, a hiss of relief.

“They’re too easy, kid,” she murmurs to her baby sister, still grinning. “Too easy. We’re gonna have so much fun, you and me.”

Joel feels his knees hit the back of the bed and he sags down, watching his children. There’s that pesky tightness in his throat and a fullness in his chest, and he distantly feels Charlie’s hand in his.

“But seriously…the kid needs a name,” Ellie says. She considers the baby thoughtfully, then softens. “What about…Anna?”

Joel digs deep into his tired memory. “After your mom?”

“Yeah,” Ellie says, then shrugs. “But she kinda looks like an Anna, too.”

Charlie smiles, squeezes his hand. “Anna? I like that.”

“Anna,” he agrees thickly, the only word he can choke out because he’s fucking crying again.

~*~

The first night passes in shifts. They don’t have a cradle, so they take turns holding the baby– Anna , he thinks, she has a name now, Anna –while she sleeps, in between feedings and diaper changes.

Joel knows he should sleep, but he doesn’t want to miss a second; Anna’s barely there weight in his arms, the way his hand spans her back, the softness of her downy head. She smells like her mother, all warm milk and honey. Sometimes she looks up at him with big, gray eyes that remind him of Sarah’s, and his heart cracks and mends itself and cracks again.

In the morning, he comes out of a doze to the sound of voices and the smell of food downstairs. Charlie is nudging him, baby at her breast.

“We have company. She’s done and I want to shower.”

He wipes at his eyes and takes the baby, holding her to his shoulder to rub her back. He whispers her name, marveling at how perfect it feels on his tongue.

Charlie moves slowly, visibly achy, and he gets up to wrap his free arm around her waist, giving her something to hold as she makes her way to the bathroom on wobbly legs.

“You okay?”

“Just sore. Hot water will help,” she murmurs, but she lets him lead her to the bath and leans on him when she strips out of her clothes.

He stays in the bathroom with the baby on his chest, trying and failing not to hover even when Charlie has stepped into the shower and turned on the water, steam rolling out from behind the curtain along with a groan of pleasure.

“I’m fine, Joel,” she says, poking her head out, then looking down at her feet with a grimace. “It’s a fucking bloodbath in here. You don’t need to see this.”

He leaves reluctantly, keeping the door cracked, then pulls out clothes–sweatpants, one of his t-shirts, underwear, wool socks, one of the thick cloth pads Maria must have brought up with all the other linens.

Anna begins to fuss, so he lays her on the bed and attempts to change her diaper, missing the ease of disposables and their velcro tabs.

“I know, kiddo, almost done,” he mutters as Anna protests the cold, kicking as he fumbles with the folds. It’s coming back to him slowly, the rhythm of the early days with Sarah familiar but also new. Eat, diaper, sleep, repeat.

After a thought, he pulls the yellow pajamas out of the nightstand and dresses her. The outfit is too big, bunching around her legs and arms, but he knows it won’t stay that way for long.

“Better?” he asks when she’s curled against his chest again, warm and soft in the fleecy pajamas. She doesn’t answer, of course, but she quiets, wide eyes blinking at nothing. He finds himself talking to her, low and slow as he paces.

“Been a long day, huh? Think you’ll let your mama sleep for a bit? You did a number on her. And me. Took your damn time,” he murmurs, smiling into her hair. “But that’s alright. Lotta folks excited to meet you, y’know.”

He doesn’t know how long Charlie has been watching from the bathroom doorway, wrapped in a towel, smiling faintly. Her eyes are dark-rimmed and there’s a trickle of blood dripping down her inner thigh, and he thinks she has never looked more beautiful.

She dresses slowly, then reaches for the baby, eyeing the yellow sleeper. “Where’d you get this?”

“Found it at the post a while ago,” he murmurs, ducking his head. “Reminded me of Sarah.”

“It’s perfect,” she smiles softly, then gives him a hesitant sniff, wrinkling her nose. “You need a shower, too.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Mmhm.”

The thought of being separated from them for even a minute makes his skin crawl, but he ducks into the bathroom and shucks off his clothes. He barely feels the water, probably doesn’t get the soap fully rinsed from his body and doesn’t care. Charlie has already taken Anna downstairs by the time he gets out, and he throws on sweats and a t-shirt, not bothering to comb his hair.

He hears their voices drifting up the stairwell—Tommy’s low rumble and Isabel’s toddler giggle and Maria’s soft cooing over the baby, Charlie and Ellie’s lighter tones mingling in.

The sounds stop him on the landing, where he grasps the railing and leans against the wall for support. For one bright, painful moment, he could swear he hears Sarah’s laughter among them.

#fanfic #fic recs #joel miller #the last of us hbo #the last of us #babyfic #pregnancy

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