#i would not say i was in any way triggered any exposure to them but jsyk where im coming from here
im gonna be honest making fun of people for having "weird" triggers is not poggers in the least
i really dont see the post as making fun of peoples triggers- just the weird dissonance that happens from being online that causes young ppl to dismiss real life threats and conversely inflate the danger of comparatively less severe things.
29 notes · View notes
Yandere “Escape Attempt” prompt - Xiao
I made a HC a while back about Xiao darling being hemophobic + the whole "escaping but being forced to call out for him" post, yeahh those two concepts kinda conjoined to make this
- fem reader, dubcon, attempted noncon (like reader almost gets gang-raped kind of thing, please be mindful of that), derogatory language, cum bulge, kinda stockholm-y
- Hemophobia, violence (mild/brief on reader, mostly on others) death, reader is mentioned as being hemophobic, potential emetophoibia trigger (just mentions of nausea), some gore, lots of blood, it's not exactly bloodplay bc it's not sexualized itself, but there is a lot of third-party's blood present, including during the fucc, there's context I promise
- And finally note that I'm not trying to be insensitive to anyone with phobias -- I have a phobia myself, and I realize exposure does not actually cure or decrease phobias, but this is fiction.
In Liyue, you remembered, you'd run across wives that shared a common sort of complaint. You never really payed close attention, you had no intention of marrying anytime soon, but it was the sort of idle chatter you'd listen to absent-mindedly as you went about your day, girls sitting in the next table over at restaurants, elderly women on rocking chairs muttering with each other whenever you passed by certain houses. It was human nature, you supposed, to find commonalities with one's peers, to complain together and groan over the same thing, it provided people with a sense of community, comfort, likeness. For that reason, wives whose spouses shared the same occupation tended to congregate, to complain, to sigh and empathize with their shared inconveniences.
It was always the dirt, coal, rock, whatever. The specifics varied - sometimes it was the smell, sometimes the actual presence of a substance itself. The farmers' wives would be complaining to friends about their husbands coming home covered in dirt and grime. The miners' wives complained as they aired out their laundry, you'd hear them as you walked down the road, grumbling about how they always found dust in their sheets, how in their house everyone washed clothes twice as often as anyone else from all the remnants of pieces of stone. The fishers' wives, in particular, complained about smell. They'd pull their friends into a corner and talk about what a headache the stench gave them, ask them to be honest and tell them if they smelled like it too. And those fortunate enough to be married to bankers and tradesmen, along with the unmarried, would mumble something about how they were glad that that wasn't them.
When you were on your own, you felt pity, but couldn't relate to them in any way. You'd listen to their sighs and grumbling and remind yourself to never marry a miner or a farmer or a fisherman. Carry on with your day.
One girl you lived close to, in particular, married the local butcher. You remembered her. She was young, she worked somewhere nearby in town. The girl down the street you never really talked to that much, yet through proximity and shared circles, knew just as much about her as anyone, listened to her talking to others. You remembered her voice, the grimace on her face, when people asked her about newly married life. How she would huff and say the others should consider themselves lucky, how she would greatly prefer to be stuck with dirt and grime, dust, the smell of fish. At least it's not blood! You could recall the way her face scrunched up when she said it.
How could a person walk around drenched in it like that, walk around and go about their day like nothing was wrong, as if they didn't even notice? In the past, it had been a rather strange image to picture in your head, humorous even, if not for your aversion. A person all red and bloody from head to toe, blank faced and going about other tasks as if they were not.
You had a much clearer mental image of what that was like now.
You remember being irritated by the attitude of it all. How she thought she had it so much worse than the others, how she would insist her suffering was superlative in comparison to all others'. You'd been annoyed at how she would take every opportunity to remind everyone that you think that's bad? Try being in my situation!
Yes, it had been annoying at the time, but you supposed that now, if given the opportunity, you'd shake her by the shoulders and insist that if she thought she had it bad, you could give her quite the competition. You'd even fantasized about such a scenario, when the bitterness got strong. You think animal blood is bad?, you'd say to her, and you could rant the same way she once did to everyone else.
She'd quieted down with time, though. When she first got married you remembered how she would go on and on in her complaint, she would take any opportunity to do so, but in your memory, after a while she talked about it less and less and less. You supposed, at that time, that the problem itself hadn't stopped, but that perhaps she didn't feel as upset by it. The last time you were in Liyue - however long ago that may be, you weren't certain - you'd briefly spoken to her. An old acquaintance, friend of a friend sort of deal. You remembered the way she laughed when you asked about her aversion.
'You get used to it.'
You found it hard to believe such a thing was possible.
The pillar of light disappeared right in front of your eyes, and you blinked as your eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness. You'd only reached out and touched it, only the faintest of hopes in your mind that it was actually some sort of exit, but not hoping for much, and thus it took you by surprise when it turned out to actually be just that. You stood for a few moments, only blinking in confusion, shock, staring straight ahead at what was now grassy hills and a starry sky.
The ground felt odd on your feet. You curled your toes, taking in the physical sensation. It was grass, cool and wet with dew, individual blades forming a specific textured feeling on your skin. At one point it might have felt like nothing, your mind would not register the sensation, but now you could only stare down at your feet and blink. Maybe your first instinct should have been that you should wear shoes, but even if you had had anything of the sort available, you imagined it had been so long that the feeling of wearing shoes would now feel odd to you too.
You looked around with wide eyes.
...You were outside. Outside on the ground. Outside in the human realm. You spun on clumsy, weak feet and looked each way, but saw nothing, no bizarre light pillar, no other signs of the realm you'd stood in mere moments ago. Nothing. You breathed in clean, fresh air that filled your lungs. You looked up and squinted. That was definitely the moon, the very same one you remembered.
It all felt too sudden to be real. As if your brain was jolted from a waking sleep, thrusted back into reality in a single moment that left you standing dizzy, disoriented, and numbly blinking out at the landscape before you. As if it took a moment to put the pieces together, the thought slowly emerged from your brain.
It actually worked.
You held your hand out in front of you, verifying that you weren't dreaming, that you could actually feel and see the world around you, that you were actually in your world. You turned your hand around in the moonlight, and then, the awe jolted into disgust as you grimaced at a particular sight.
You had always had an aversion to blood. You supposed it was natural, some human instinct, telling you to get away, a survivalist part of your brain that reacted to the sight. At one point, the very sight of blood would make you nauseous, feel faint. And for that reason, at the start of your captivity, you'd had some adverse interactions. Or perhaps that was an understatement.
In contrast, blood didn't seem to bother your captor at all, in fact, you were fairly certain he forgot it was there. You'd been a firsthand witness many a time to the fact that he could easily walk around for hours with blood coating his entire person, unbothered. It soaked through his clothes, dried on his face, clumped his hair together, stained his skin.
You were never certain, at any particular interaction, if it was the blood of a demon, a creature, a person -- you never asked, you preferred to not know, and always told yourself it was one of the former two. You weren't certain how it got everywhere, but you supposed it had something to do with the movement of combat itself, that that was how it the substance managed to end up on every inch of the boy's body, from head to toe. Splatters on the face, soaked into the clothes, drying and clumping hairs together, forming a congealed, sticky sheen over the flesh. You could have understood and tolerated the conditions better perhaps, if it weren't for the reluctance to get it off, the exasperated sighs and groans and growls you got as a response to your insistence.
There will just be more in a while, anyway. There's no point in washing it off yet. You're overreacting.
And for that reason, it was a constant presence in your living space. Traces of footprints on the ground, traces of handprints on the wall. When you went to light a lamp, there was a reddish stain and a stickiness on the handle. There were streaks and stains on the sheets. It was an inherent part of the way he lived. Everyone had a uniqueness that signified their presence, became a part of them, a familiar sign of their existence. Like the old men in the outer regions of Liyue that smoked from various sorts of pipes, always speaking in a hoarse voice and carrying a lingering hint of the smell. Like the farmers and their grime, the miners and their dust. And, for butchers and yakshas alike it seemed, the remnant traces of death. And no matter how much you tried (after being allowed cleaning substances that you'd insisted upon), you could never get rid of all those traces. Just when you thought you had a blood-free living space, you would inevitably find more.
Granted, some effort was made to do better. There was simply a disconnect, on his end a numbness and desensitization that kept him from understanding you discomfort in the first place, and as a result, said effort was not always effective, or even logical. It's fine, my hands are clean, he'd say, holding them in front of your face so you could see, a clear line dividing the stained skin and the clean skin. Otherwise covered in so much gore it stained his entire face and body aside from the appendages, but if the hands were clean that was all that mattered, right? He'd tried to develop a habit of washing his face and hands off in a river or the like before returning to the realm, hoping it would appease you. Or, it's not human blood, you won't catch a disease, so it doesn't matter if it gets in your mouth. Or, perhaps the most memorable experience, since blood usually soaked through his clothes to the parts and skin below, having to explain why blood getting in your insides would cause some sort of infection, so that, too, was now intentionally washed off before coming back. It's fine, see. Such attempts to reassure and calm you down usually had the opposite effect.
And worst of all, you were not exempt from the list of objects that would be marked by it. Sometimes you would run fingers against your hair and feel a familiar crusty clumped patch and cringe. Sometimes you would look down and see specks and splotches where it had transferred to your skin, sometimes you would touch your face and feel a stickiness. You used to hyperventilate, cry, squeal and squirm and desperately run to get it off. You were constantly aware of it, always searching yourself for it. You cringed when you felt it and would scrub and scrub until your skin was raw. These days, you sighed and slowly made your way to wash it off, knowing full well there would be more later. Sometimes you went hours without noticing. You had stopped really noticing the ever-present metallic smell entirely.
And now, as you looked down at your hands in this new pale moonlight, you noticed a darkness under the edges of your fingernails. At one point you might have fainted. Now, you huffed in frustration, reaching the fingernails of your other hand -- which you now noticed also had the dried blood beneath them as well -- and did your best to scratch it out.
You fiddled with the blanket wrapped around your frame, shivering as a cold wind blew underneath the delicate fabric and directly onto your bare skin. You had had no other choice. You hadn't worn clothes in... well, you'd lost track of how long it had been. The only clothes you had had were torn in the initial move-in process, and you'd been told there was no need for you to have any, it's not like you're going anywhere anyway, you were told, so, you never received any. Really, you'd gotten used to it, almost forgetting you needed something when you made your jailbreak. And perhaps you might have tried to find something more if you had believed that said jailbreak would actually be successful, would really result in being able to return to this world, but, well, you'd more or less set out with the expectation of simply aimlessly wandering and discovering there was no exit you could access, and being forced to turn back, either by your own will at the feeling of defeat or by physical force if you were discovered.
And so, you'd merely grabbed the only covering you had available. This blanket was the only one small enough to be carried around your body so perfectly, and it had, with time, become a sort of comfort object for you. Perhaps because it was obtained with you in mind, so you recalled. You said this was your favorite color. That was what he'd told you at the time of bestowing it upon you. The kindnesses and the cruelties often came side-by-side like that, a bizarre balance, an unexpected duality that often didn't make much sense, but then again, not much about your situation did make sense. You knew better than to try and explain what was without explanation.
Your mind was blank with awe, but the cold sparked a bit of conscious awareness. There was some excitement. You were very aware there should be more. You should be ecstatic, out of your mind with joy, but it was severely diminished. Still present, nonetheless, but not quite the jumping-for-joy levels of excitement you might have expected would come crashing down to you when you had your routine escape fantasies while you tried to sleep. If anything, a creeping sort of fear spread throughout your chest. You looked from side to side, as if expecting any moment to realize this was fake, that you were hallucinating, that you were being watched, but then you curled your toes again, and once more felt the grass. It was real, and just like you so faintly remembered.
... And what now?
You'd so often thought about the part already past -- how you would find a way out, how you would return to your own world, that you'd not had too much thought about what came after. You were at an impasse. There was only grass. You had no way of knowing which way home was. You had no way of knowing what was around you. And, as a soreness set in and you looked down to see trembling legs, you realized you were not in the best physical condition for walking any long distance. You were certain your leg muscles had long since begun to atrophy, you rarely used them. You had been aware of the possibility of muscular regression, though, and had hoped to counter the onset of atrophy by simple leg exercise you tried to work into every day, but it simply couldn't supplement walking. Your legs had deteriorated and you probably could not get too far without collapse. Even walking around the abode was strenuous.
In fact, you took one step forward on the uneven ground and immediately stumbled, falling down to your knees, pushing yourself back up on shaking hands before taking more cautious steps forward. As you looked out again, eyes now fully adjusted, you could make out what appeared to be a dirt road, which you quickly -- well, as quick as your walking speed would allow without falling -- made your way to the edge of. You stopped and looked to the left, then the right. You had no idea which way was north or south or east or west, and even if you did, you had no idea where you even were, no idea which way would take you home. No coins to flip to make your choice for you, no one to ask for directions, nothing. You took a deep breath, and decided at random to go... left. All you could do was start walking and hope for the best.
And that went on for a while. Slow, heavy steps. Grass. More grass. More road. More nothingness. You shut your thoughts down in an attempt to numb the ache in your legs, only walking forward. But you couldn't help the growing sense of despair as nothing changed, no signs of life or civilization came into view, and more importantly, your teeth chattered in the cold, cold wind swept under the blanket and onto your goosebumps-covered skin, your legs ached and the intensity of the pain increased with each step. What season was it? Was it winter, and that was why it was so cold? Or was the cold due to altitude, or just your lack of clothing? You had no idea. Hell, what year was it? There was so much you didn't know, so much against you, and the only thing you could do was walk forward and hope for the best. Maybe if you sat down, let your legs rest, someone, a traveler, a merchant, might find you...?
No, you couldn't do that, for that very reason. Someone else might find you, the last person you wanted to find you, and that would be, for lack of better terms in your tired brain, very, very bad.
And that thought made an odd series of sensations rise up, a bit of panic in your gut. You had been preoccupied with how you'd get anywhere that you hadn't thought about what was going on on the other end. It was only a matter of time before your absence was discovered. What then? You imagined the exit led to the same spot you'd landed in. Or was it randomized? Or did it lead to where the user wanted to go? You hadn't thought of that at the time, perhaps it dropped you off at a random spot because your mind had been absent as you touched the light, maybe if you'd thought of home, it would have dropped you off there.
But if it led to the same spot, it would not be hard to sweep the area, not for someone who could travel extensive distances in virtually no time at all. It would only take a very short time to find you.
You forced your legs to move faster.
You were aware of a growing sense of unease in the back of your head. Different from the dread of being found, different from the worry about finding civilization. Something deeper, more of a subtle, shallow feeling in your gut, something you were barely aware of. When you took a step into the grass, it felt odd against your feet. Wrong. Like it burned. As if your skin and body were repulsed by and repelled from the feeling itself. The wind felt wrong, unnatural. You tried to push the feeling back, whatever it could be was not as important as finding help.
At the same time, there was a feeling beneath the unease, the final feeling that sparked from the prospect of being taken back. Perhaps a warmth. Admittedly, in your unease in this place, so unknown and uncomfortable, the prospect of familiarity, of safety, had an appeal to it, even if it meant failure. You tried to shove that feeling back as well, telling yourself that home -- your real home -- would be even more comforting, even more familiar, than the thought of going back to captivity.
After some time, time that could have been minutes, hours, anything, you squinted at a speck in your field of vision. Off in the distance, a bright, burning glow. A campfire. A campfire meant... people.
You felt yourself halt in your steps.
You would have thought that, presented with such an opportunity, you'd be immediately bounding towards its source in excitement, that the prospect of seeing another person, no matter whom, would spark a joy so strong it would override any exhaustion or fear. And yet, you felt almost hesitant. Discomforted. It felt... wrong. The same feeling from the grass and the wind. A discomfort. Some sense that something was not as it should be.
How long had it been since you had last seen a human being? You had eventually stopped counting your days, once you ran out of spaces to put notches on the whatever wood and tools you could acquire. Not that you had a very good gauge of a day or night, but you went off of what seemed to be the start and end to something of a routine you managed to perceive. You'd run out... somewhere upwards of six-hundred. And that felt like forever ago. So it had been what, now, two years? More? It didn't even feel real. It seemed such an eternity, yet it was such a repetitive, uneventful, monotonous existence that it all blurred together as one occurrence, as if it was a single day. Freedom felt like yesterday, yet ages ago. You couldn't even remember who the last human person you spoke to was. Could you even speak to someone now? The very idea felt strange.
And yet, your feet resumed their movement, forward little by little, steps trembling and uneasy. It occurred to you that you probably looked, well, awful. You hoped you weren't going to be mistaken for some kind of crazy drunk hermit. You hadn't cut your hair since before you were last in this realm, nor did you have access to combs or anything other than your fingers, so it was definitely unkept and messy by now. And you were fairly certain that a year or more with no sunlight was probably not very good for your skin. You recalled looking down at your arms and legs a few times in the past and noticing your previous undertone had been replaced by a dullness, almost greyish, as if you were a corpse, and it certainly hadn't gotten any better.
The grass was soothing on your feet as you walked off the trail, cool and wet compared to the hot dusty road, and the dew wiped the dirt off your feet. You felt your breathing quicken as you came closer and closer, the light grew larger and larger, and you begun to make out what sounded like male voices laughing and talking. You saw horses tethered to a single withered tree a ways away.
They could help you.
Your entire body was trembling, and tears filled your eyes. A warmth spread throughout your chest, a long-extinguished flame you might have never expected to feel again, a hope.
This was it. You were going to go home. These guys could help you and you could go home, and then you could run far, far away from Liyue, you could be free, you could live a normal life, and it would be all thanks to these people, whomever they may be.
You were, of course, consciously aware that all you had was a blanket, which you wrapped more tightly around your body as you walked closer, now enough to see the outlines of figures against the light of the fire. You opened your mouth, but only a scratchy, choked sound came out, imaginably from not using your voice in the last few hours. You coughed and sputtered as you cleared your throat and tried again.
"H...Hello...." You coughed again. "H-Hello!" You used the arm that was not clutching the blanket around you to wave up in the air. "O-over here! Hey!"
The chattering stopped, and although you couldn't quite see their faces very well, the heads of the figures visibly turned. Five of them, all rather large, bulky men, a hunting party or some miners, likely.
One figure held his hand flat over his eyes to block out the fire light to see and muttered just within your earshot. "... What in the hell...?"
You stumbled on a rock, drawing a sharp breath as you nearly dropped your blanket, stuttering as you fixed it. "H-hey, I, I um..." You hastened your walk a bit, finally coming close, they sat only a few yards away. You felt a little bit of unease as they came into view -- they were rather... rugged looked men. Muscular, huge, covered in scars and tattoos and grime, and you now recognized what was clearly treasure hoarder emblems on their clothing. Nonetheless, they were just thieves, not crazy murderers or anything, and you really were not in a position to be picky about your choice of help. "Are you... headed towards a city?"
The men exchanged some glances. One chose to respond. "...Yeah, what's it to you?"
"I..." You took a deep breath. How do you even start? You supposed blunt honesty was the best option. "Um... I-I know this sounds, um, strange, but I, I need your help, I..." You tried to keep your voice calm, but couldn't help the stuttering, and your voice came out rushed, speaking fast out of nervousness, squeezing your eyes shut. "I've been, h-held as a... captive for a long time, a-and I just got out a while ago, and I've been walking down this road a long time, and, and, you're the first people I've come across, so... so..." You swallowed, opening your eyes and clasping your shaking hands together. "P-please... can you help me? I, I have money back home! I can pay you, if you take me to the harbor, I..." You trailed off, trying to steady your breathing. "Please..."
There was a silence. They didn't mutter among themselves, seemingly surprised by your words, but one chose to answer. "Wanna go to the harbor, huh? You were headed the wrong way. Harbor's in the direction you just came from."
Of course, just your luck. You opened you mouth, but another spoke again, muttering more to the man beside him than you.
"Is that... blood on her neck?"
You jolted, reaching up and grasping at your neck, feeling a crumbly, dried texture. You cringed, and rubbed at the spot. "I, I don't know, that's -- that's not... it's not mine. I'm fine." You shook your head. "I need to get out of here, you're... going somewhere, right? It doesn't have to be the harbor, just... just..." You ran out of words, trailing off into shaking breaths. "Anywhere...."
He shrugged. "Anywhere, huh... Sure, we can help you." His tone was amused, as if joking, an odd smile on his face, but it filled you with a burst of joy nonetheless. You saw the men exchange a glance. Smirking.
"Thank you!" You felt tears leak out of your eyes, your mouth pulled into a trembling grin as you bowed your head. "Thank you, thank you, I, I promise, I'll pay you back as soon as we get there, I promise-"
"Oh, no need for that." One of them, a particularly rugged-looking individual, stood up. He moved towards you. Something about the look on his face made you take a step backwards. Cold unease spread through your body. Your smile dropped.
"We don't want your money." Another one followed suit, walking towards you, moving a bit to the side, as if to close in on you from both sides. Like prey. They exchanged amused glances. Another stood up.
You stumbled back, grip tightening on your blanket. You felt your pulse pounding in your chest. "O-ok, never mind, I don't- I'll be on... my way..."
And you ran. No pretenses of misunderstanding, no pretending to not be less afraid than you were -- every muscle moved in panic as you bolted in the opposite direction in pure instinct. You muscles burned within the first few steps, so long unused and so unadjusted to merely walking, let alone running. They were sore and your steps were uneven, stumbling as you sprinted, and the slightest misstep would be enough to bring you to the ground. You heard them call out as your turned, but you didn't pay attention to the yells, only moving as fast as you could, but heard steps sounding behind you, quickly gaining.
It didn't take long, not even a full thirty seconds of running. A hand latched around the cloth you held together with one hand, and although it was ripped from your grasp, the resistance made you fall, hitting the ground awkwardly, and, to your horror, very much completely exposed -- the first man that had stood was holding your blanket in his hand, blinking with wide, surprised eyes, other catching up, stopping where you were and exchanging similar glances. You scrambled to your feet, instinctively wrapping an arm over your chest. Tears spilled down your face. "Give... give that back..." Your voice was strained. You made no move to lunge for it, couldn't risk actually getting close to him, you took a step backwards and sniffled.
He laughed. "Holy shit, are you some kind of whore?" He turned back to the others. "You seeing this?"
Your brain desperately sought a solution in your panic. You could run, keep running, hope to encounter someone else. Nudity was nothing in comparison to whatever these bastards had in mind, and yet.
"G-give it back!" In your tears, your face contorted with anger, a last-resort bravery borne out of desperation. "You... bastard, give it!"
You wanted your damn blanket. Running away would mean leaving it with them, letting them have it. That wouldn't be right. They didn't deserve the only source of comfort in this unfamiliar terrain. And, as you took a quick glance over your shoulder, you realized you had been coming up on a hill, you'd never get over the top before being caught, and the men flanked in from all other sides. You were effectively trapped, anyway. Frustration and desperation took over your fear and you lashed out like a cornered animal, lunging, latching a hand around the fabric. "I said give it back!"
A hand latched into your scalp, tugging at whatever hair it could grasp and lifting you up by it, and you cried out at the pain, muffled by the hand that latched over your mouth. He twisted you around and trapped an arm behind your back, another person's hand grabbed at the other arm. You jerked your body, muffled strained cries escaping your throat.
"Fuck, hold her still."
You kicked out, but they were all behind you, and you couldn't land a blow. You thrashed, and nothing happened, the grip was too strong and you only hurt yourself as it pulled more hair from your scalp.
A hand grabbed at your inner thigh, and you felt your entire body freeze up. It felt wrong. Wrong like the grass and the wind and the prospect of interaction. The same repulsion that it sparked in your stomach and chest, as if your entire body was electrocuted or burned. The hands were large and the fingers were meaty. Not small, not slender. It was too warm, the callouses were in the wrong places. Fingers pressed into your mouth, fingers that tasted like dust, and not leather. Unfamiliar. Foreign.
Wrong in a way you didn't understand. Wrong in a way that was different from the feeling of violation. Violation was a feeling you were well-acquainted with. But something about the feeling of the hand, the flesh on your flesh, sparked a repulsion, a nausea in your gut, like a spike of ice through your entire body.
A hand latched around your breast and squeezed. Not the right way. Maybe too soft, maybe too hard, you weren't certain which. Your breathing broke into panicked gasps, rapid hyperventilating as much as you could manage under the hand, your body shivered and jolted uncontrollably.
Your mouth was released and you were shoved onto the ground. You fell flat on your face, but more hands grabbed at your shoulders and flipped you over with force. You squealed and kicked and thrashed, your legs were grabbed, not pinned down, but pulled each to a side. You struggled, with every last remainder of force you could.
"Get off me!" You reached a hand out and clawed at whatever you could grasp. One figure, the one that had stripped you of your blanket, looming over you, recoiled with an angry, pained hiss. When he leaned back, you saw a red streak across his collarbones. Blood. It dripped down his chest. There was blood under your fingernails, this time fresh, bright red. You didn't feel overwhelmingly sick, but you supposed adrenaline and fear could override the aversion.
"Bitch scratched me."
Pain exploded in the side of your head as a fist connected to your jaw. Your vision spun, you were pretty certain you blacked out for a solid second. Tears came out harder and you gasped at the pain. Your resolve to be strong broke, your body wracked with a pain, scared sob. "Get off me..." This time, your voice was weak, a whimper. A coppery taste filled your mouth as you spoke. You were very familiar with it, even if it was usually not your own. The pain left you dizzy and disoriented, and you weakly lashed out again, but your hands were slammed down and pinned above your head. You thrashed once more, summoning all your strength and will as you took a deep breath and let out the most bloodcurdling scream you could manage, just hoping, praying someone heard you.
"She's just gonna keep screaming."
"Doesn't matter, we're in the middle of nowhere, no one's gonna hear her."
Hearing that, despair set in. Defeat. You went limp, slumping down onto the ground, panting.
It was a question you had asked yourself many, many times before. What had you ever done? Why did all of this happen to you? Was there some grave sin you'd committed and never realized? What could you have done that deserved this?
No one's gonna hear her.
It ran through your mind again and again as you closed your eyes, tuned out their words, shivered at touches to your skin.
It struck you so suddenly and with such a feeling of obviousness that your eyes snapped wide open.
That wasn't true.
The thought brought you a sudden sense of comfort. Safety. Your instinct was to reach out to that comfort, what seemed like a natural and logical act, as if you were drowning when the surface of water was merely one stroke away. It would only take one easy action, and then, everything would be fixed, and you'd be okay.
But you banished the thought, or you tried to. You couldn't do that. Not after coming so far. Two years, two whole fucking years and this was the first time you'd gotten far enough to even set foot in your own world again. Time after time you'd tried, and never found a way out, and to say the consequences of the attempts were usually severe was an understatement. If you went back, you might never end up in your realm ever again. You couldn't.
One of the men dropped to his knees and shuffled in between your forcibly spread legs, looking down at your body. It felt so, so wrong. You whimpered and thrashed, but he grabbed your hips and pushed them down. Your entire body was effectively restrained. You trembled and breathed in ragged breaths.
The man repositioned your limp body and drew you closer. He grabbed your hair and pulled the upper half of your body up a bit as you hissed in pain, but still loomed over you, so you were staring directly up at him. He smirked and spoke to you in a mocking, degrading voice. "Come on, be good and look at me."
It was wrong. The voice was too deep and too loud and so forceful and it wasn't the way it should be. It was foreign to your brain and body, it sent discomfort where you so desperately wanted comfort.
And that sparked such a spike of panic and adrenaline that your mouth acted on its own. You didn't actually think before you did it. If you'd had time, maybe you would have contemplated the action more, maybe you would have considered if you had any alternative.
But you didn't, only closing your eyes -- squeezing them shut as tight as your could -- and opening your mouth. You didn't even process your mouth moving or your voice, you weren't certain if you screamed or whispered or whimpered it out. Volume wouldn't make a difference anyway.
Although it always came close, the process was not technically instantaneous. It wasn't like the releasing of an arrow or the throwing of a stone, where the action you committed was itself the origin of momentum or the direct root of the consequence, but rather, an indirect action. And as a result, there was a split second of nothing, just one. Just enough time for you to take a single breath, a breath to brace yourself.
The first sound was difficult to describe. A sharp but deep sound, impact, ripping.
Something warm splattered on your face from above, and your face contorted with grimaced disgust. You heard a choked, gurgling noise, the gentle tapping as the sound was followed by more splattering on your face, your neck. Then a squelching, an inverse of the first noise - removal. Awful noises. Noises that you'd heard before, they haunted your dreams at night. Even as your tolerance for the sight and smell grew, you never got the noises out of your head, and they were as haunting, as disgusting, as repulsive as the first time you'd heard them.
With your body being limp, your bodyweight was dragged back by gravity when the hand on your hair released, and your back slammed into the ground with such a force that it knocked the breath out of you, and the collision of the back of your head to the hard ground left your head spinning, but your eyes shot open. You were looking straight up. Lots of stars dotted the night sky, no longer obstructed by faces looming over you. You could feel the ground under you, yet it felt far away. Everything was unreal, distant and distorted. The sounds were muffled, and you saw nothing but sky.
You laid on your back, body limp and numb, remaining where you'd fallen. There was no point in doing otherwise, in trying to run or even stand, and trying to stop the process that had already begun was, in your experience, simply not possible.
Your trembling hands instinctively moved to the feeling on your face, where blood pooled around your eyes and mouth, wiping without much thought. You closed your lips taut so none got in your mouth. You wiped it off the part of your face near your eyes and mouth, at least what you could manage. And then, your hands fell limp at your sides again. More coated your forehead and cheeks and neck for sure, but numbness had set in, and all you could do was look up, breathing. Sounds came from your side all the while. A few confused or frightened yells, but that was normal, that didn't really bother you as much. It was the other sounds that made your skin crawl and your stomach churn. The one you couldn't describe, no known words that you were familiar with, a nameless sound, sharp and somewhat fluid, sometimes accompanied by more of a pop, sometimes with more of a squelch, sometimes more of a crunch, but the primary sound itself had no name. Metal to meat. Penetrative, tearing.
And you felt a mass beside you where the primary assailant lay. Even if you hadn't been able to hear it, you sensed it, felt it. The sound from him, though, was equally awful. You gritted your teeth and your body shook with a sob, but you couldn't look, keeping your gaze at the stars. Nightmarish images from years ago already haunted you, clear as if you were starting at them right at that moment, and you couldn't bear the thought of seeing such a thing ever again. The sounds from the mass beside you, the man that had been leaning over you, were closer than the sounds off to your side. You weren't sure which was worse to focus on. The stars twinkled a bit, and the moon was bright. You tried to focus on how pretty they were.
Not the gargling, the choking. Ragged breaths contaminated by a fluidness in the lungs. Like a sick, congested person's breathing, a wetness to it, but so much worse. The breaths grew quicker, more panicked, and as they grew faster, they grew more garbled, more choked. A coughing, a shifting of the body in its last summoning of strength to move, a desperate attempt like always to rid their airway of the fluid. When he moved, you recognized the sound of more blood hitting the ground as he spat and choked and delayed the inevitable. You could see it in your head without needing to see it, the memories of images were clear in your mind. Grabbing at the gaping hole in their neck, or their collarbones. Judging by the sound, you guessed the neck. Eyes blown wide, desperately grasping at their chest as if it would do anything. Then -- yes, there it was, the sound of collapsing back to the ground as their arms gave out. The last weak, heaving breaths, defeated. And then silence. At least, from him. The sounds from a ways away kept going.
Yeah, the moon was pretty. What phase was it in?
There was a very blunt impact sound, a snapping of bone and a strangled choking.
It was one of the crescent shapes, but was it waxing or waning?
A coughing, copious amounts of fluid spilling onto the ground.
Waning, you were pretty sure.
A loud impact again, then squelching, choking, garbling. One by one.
You weren't one-hundred percent certain though, the crescent shapes kinda looked the same. And it had been a long time since you'd seen the moon anyway. You'd forgotten how nice it was. A very faint thought occurred that you might not see it again, so you savored the moment, even if looking up at it had just a hint of the same feeling of wrongness as the grass on your back and the wind on your skin.
The sounds got less and less. Quieter, with each successive kill. Your hands shot up to your ears and held them closed as hard as you could to drown out anything. The last one left was always pitiful. They realized their situation and begged to live, they always did, for a mere few seconds that they had. Covering your ears let you drown out the words, and that made it at least a bit more bearable, but even without hearing the specific words, you heard the strain of the voice itself, a desperation and fear that made your skin crawl and nausea grow in your gut. You braced yourself for it, but still cringed and whimpered and shook with a sob at the loud, squelching thud that cut the voice off.
But as much as you hated the sounds, you also hated the silence that was left.
And if it had been a slow transition next, you could have summoned a sort of hatred. If he sauntered over to you with anger or immediate violence, or taunted you, mocked you, as you were certain some people would do. Then, at least, you could summon full-blown resentment, you could lash out with the same fire with which you'd fought the others just minutes before.
But the footsteps were few, immediately materializing in front of you, dropping down to his knees in one movement, and your shoulders were grabbed, you were sat up. It was a rough movement, yet a gentle one. Not like the roughness from minutes earlier, a roughness of malice and disdain. This, you could feel an attempt of gentleness, an awkward sort of softness in the movement.
Through your own barely open eyes, you could see the slightest moonlit shine of his own eyes. Wide open, there was a fear in them. Concern. Worry.
His shoulders seemed to fall and expression return to a more neutral state, exhaling with relief as he saw you make eye contact, realizing you were conscious and, based on a quick sweep of the eyes over your body, mostly uninjured. His hand reached out and lightly brushed over the side of your face, and you felt the soreness in your jaw with the pressure. You held your own hand up to the spot and felt the swelling from where you'd been punched.
Your voice, breaking the silence, was hoarse and quiet, but you hoped it reassured him enough. He held out something in his hand, your eyes trailed down to it.
He had your blanket in his hand. It was somehow spotless, he used finger and thumb to hold onto it. He draped it over you shoulders, with a sort of cautiousness, watching your face, as if trying to gauge that you found it satisfactory. You realized, then, an intentional effort was made to keep it free of blood in the process, for your sake. How, you had no idea, but it was in perfect condition.
And you understood the extent of the contrast, as you opened your eyes fully and got a full view of him in moonlight, you grimaced as you made out the dark splotches all over the skin, dripping off his hair and face. His eyes widened a bit at your reaction, seeming to realize why you'd made such a face, and he leaned back, wiping his hands over his face, effectively smearing blood and bits of tissue over his skin, creating dark streaks rather than specks and splotches of it, then rubbing his hands onto his shirt, staining it with red.
It wasn't exactly any better, but you realized that he didn't even really comprehend the nature of your aversion in the first place, and was, for lack of better words, trying his best. Even if he didn't exactly do a very good job of it. You had to admit he tried to be considerate, albeit in the most morbid of ways, of your sensitivities, even if, again, the attempts often did not quite reflect an actual understanding of the issue.
And then you, too, realized the remaining fluid on your face, your eyes widened and you inhaled sharply as you felt it running down and dripping, the blood that had been coughed up on you when the one man had initially had the spike driven through his throat. You whimpered as you touched the spot with trembling hands, retching as you pulled them back and stared at the dark fluid on your skin. But you didn't want to use your blanket. You looked around for anything else, but fabric firmly pressed to your skin interrupted the attempt.
It was the clean part of his sleeve, bunched up and wiped over your face. Again, not in the way you'd expect from any normal person -- a person who understood gentleness might have lightly dabbed at your skin, soft touches that absorbed the blood into the fabric. Not quite the same roughness of grabbing your jaw in one hand and firmly wiping - no, scrubbing - at your face. And yet, over time, you'd come to understand it was a gentleness, you could feel the attempt to be so in the movement. For someone for whom any concept of comfort or softness were foreign, even something that might feel firm to you, was an attempt at softness. An effort to show a gesture of care. Trying his best.
And maybe, by now, such gentleness that anyone else might have given you would feel wrong.
Everything else -- the grass, wind, the people -- felt wrong. You became aware of the wrongness of the vast, open space, recognized it as another cause of the nausea that had been building ever since you set foot back in this realm. Everywhere was open space. It went on and on and on, it was open and endless and wrong. There were no walls to protect you, no floor and ceiling for you to feel safe. The blanket had been your only comfort in the vastness -- perhaps that was why it had felt so awful when it was stripped away. The wrongness of everything, of the touches -- the touches. It had been the worst thing you'd felt in your life. The memory of hands on your skin burned. It burned, it burned, and the wrongness of it all became overwhelming.
Much like the initial calling out, you didn't process your movements, body acting on its own. You threw yourself forward and latched on tight.
The action earned a soft surprised grunt, but no movement was made to pull you off. His skin was sticky. You could feel the sheen as the blood was halfway to drying, the slickness of the fluid. And perhaps a long time ago, you would have thrown yourself back, been repulsed by the sensation. But it was tolerable, simply a necessary condition to obtain the comfort of familiar skin, and, beneath the heavy scent of copper, a familiar smell. Or perhaps the copper was itself a part of that familiarity, you weren't sure. Firm, muscular arms wrapped around your frame.
Your body wracked with sobs. You felt a burning on your eyes as you so slightly opened them -- the base of the sky was beginning to turn a sort of pinkish color, there was the faintest hint of sun on the horizon.
It scared you. It wasn't right. It wasn't something you were supposed to see. You shouldn't be able to see it. The world was open and wide, the grass and the road stretched for so long, out beyond your field of vision, and it felt so, so wrong, you craved nothing more in that moment than the comfort of four walls, a tight enclosed space, dim light.
Xiao opened his mouth again to say something, but was interrupted by a sound that quite surprised you both -- a groan. Both of your heads snapped in the same direction, to the figure on the ground you'd long since thought dead. The one you had avoided looking at, and now, you realize that you had been right to do so.
There was more or less nothing but a gory, gaping hole where his throat once was, skin torn and blood pooling onto the ground with bits of tissue throughout. The body spasmed and the mouth gaped open, eyes franticly darting around, blood pouring out of the mouth, bubbling with strangled attempts to breathe. His fingers weakly clawed at the dirt. He had actually not died yet, not fully. Your body froze up at the sight, eyes wide as shock and horror replaced your comfort. The numbness would have been better. Now, you felt sickness quickly rise in your stomach and you retched, jolting as your stomach lurched and you desperately tried to keep the sickness down, latching a hand over your mouth as tears filled your vision.
You were in such a state of shock that you didn't close your eyes in time.
A pointed metal tip slammed into the side of his skull at the temple, your eyes shot wide open and you froze completely as it crushed the bone, flattening the front of the face. A second time. A third time. There was nothing of the face left, no recognizably human shape, only a mass of meat and bone. Blood and what you assumed was brain matter seeped out.
You couldn't look away, eyes wide and staring as a whimper escaped your throat. He had an irritated glare as he raised the polearm to skewer the head a fourth time, but turned back to look at you at the sound, face falling with realization. "... Sorry."
You shook your head, sniffling, tears spilling down your face as you buried your face into the crook of his neck.
It was too much. Your body trembled beyond your control.
"T-take me back..." You whimpered. "I wanna go home..."
For a moment, only your sniffling broke the silence. You supposed it was odd of you to say that as if you had a choice. Not that that was the only factor that made the statement such a surprise for him to hear. He took several moments to actually process your words.
"...Ok. We can... go back." He paused, turning his head and surveying the area to the side, taking into account the scene. Being considerate of you. Taking into account your discomforts, the things that bothered you that did not bother him, intentional effort to recognize how you might process and be affected by it all. Once again, trying his best. "... You should close your eyes."
You did so, closing them and burying your face into his neck. You folded your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, he locked his arms under your thighs and, with awkward maneuvering, stood up. Your head fell forward onto his chest and you felt a firm beating pulse against your face, could hear its low thumping. And that meant you were safe. Protected. Nothing more to fear.
When you thought about it, perhaps that was the unease that the surroundings had given you, the odd feeling of your skin crawling as you had traversed. Fear of the world, an unsafe place where you were all on your own and unprotected.
A few steps taken. You retched and cringed at the squelching of viscera under his feet, which did not go unnoticed, mumbling another apology.
There was a shuffling and a clamoring sound. Ceramic. Behind your closed eyelids, the light around you disappeared, and you were once more surrounded by darkness. Comforting. The smell around you was familiar -- where that of the grass and fresh air had created such unease. You felt like you could breathe again, letting out a deep exhale. The unease and discomfort settled and were replaced by a warmth. The next footsteps you heard were that of the familiar flooring, making their way only a short distance to the room where you'd come to spend the majority of each day.
The bed was somewhat traditional, low to the ground. The bedsheets had faint splotches here and there, faded reddish stains. You'd always made an effort to wash them out, but someone was too intent on immediate intercourse when returning from various violent tasks, and thus the collection of stains only grew. The way it should be, maybe. At least, the way that made sense.
And more were created, undoubtedly, as you were unceremoniously dumped onto it. You at least had the consideration to toss the little blanket to the side of the bed -- if you didn't, it would certainly be about to get messy.
Nor did you fight said process, understanding full well what you were supposed to do just from being placed there. There was no need to tell you. You went on instinct, the motions felt mechanical, routine, practiced, pulling your thighs apart and up to your chest on your own. The reminder that this was the same position you'd been in shortly before made a spike of discomfort rise in your chest, a phantom feeling of hands grabbing your thighs.
But new hands, just quickly degloved, grabbed at your thighs, and this time they felt right. Small, slender, callouses in the right places. It settled the unease.
It was always a quick transition from, well, whatever you were doing before, to being fucked - you were more or less always in a state of undress, and you had learned a long time ago that foreplay was, well, something that was not necessarily intentionally neglected, rather, that the concept did not exist within adepti minds at all. Or maybe it was just him. Yeah, actually, that seemed more likely.
And consequently, there was always some pain. The process was always repeated in the same way, and so frequently that you were to some degree in a constant state of soreness, constantly rubbed raw from premature friction on only barely-wet flesh. And that friction caused irritation, which caused soreness, which only served to create more pain when the cycle repeated. But it felt right, in its own way. Anything else would be uncharacteristic, foreign. This was familiar.
The only pause after setting you down was to peel blood-wettened clothes off, which took only a moment, and as soon as that was accomplished, the bed creaked with shifting weight and you were more or less pounced upon, and, without any other action preceding it, you felt firm, warm flesh (bloodless, to your relief) prodding at your slit.
And due to said quickness of the process, it never went in all the way on the first thrust, there was always an awkward maneuvering, catching the slightest amount of slick and making each following thrust easier and deeper than the last. The first got the head in, pulled back ever so slightly, and the second movement pushed half in, which was where you would always draw a sharp breath at the sting of dry friction, and the third usually more or less got the rest of the way, at which point, thankfully, your body always began to actually get wet and provide easier, smoother movement. You gasped in a slightly pained breath as it slid in to the hilt, feeling your walls clamp down. His breath hitched, you felt a shiver run through his body and into your own. Your fingernails clawed at his back to alleviate both the soreness and the spark of pressured heat the feeling of fullness created, some difficulty gaining grip as the skin was coated in sanguine fluid. You realized, as a passing thought, that must be how it kept getting under your fingernails.
And much like the flesh of your entrance, the insides themselves were sore and bruised, more so from, well, overuse. The tip of his cock hit your cervix with a sharp thrust, it stung with a lingering sore pain. The poor spot had already been abused mere hours earlier -- and once before that, a few hours prior still. And before that, a few hours prior, and before then, a few hours prior -- so on it went. Your insides were so frequently and repetitively battered that they were bruised.
That didn't stop it from sparking pleasure, nonetheless. A little sound, a soft mm! escaped your throat and you felt yourself clench.
Like usual, he fucked into you once or twice in sudden, jerking movements as your bodies adjusted, earning gasps and whimpers from you, and then, without any real buildup or pacing, latched fingers onto your hips and slammed in and out of your body at a brutal, forceful pace. You yelped, a shrill little sound and your body convulsed and spasmed from the sudden sparks of pleasure so intense you gasped and your eyes went wide, wrapping your arms and legs around him out of pure instinct.
He never talked much. You supposed one didn't need to talk during such an act, there were many things said in ways that didn't involve words, many things felt and heard and sensed. His breathing was ragged and panting, it matched your own well enough, but on your end, you couldn't stop the wanton noises.
His eyes would move all around, never staying in one place. Now was the same way, they moved from one part of your body to the next, staring at the bulge that would disappear and reappear on your stomach with each thrust where the head of his cock pushed at the skin, where your insides were too small to contain the length without pushing into the flesh. Staring at the bouncing of your chest with the movements, looking down at where your bodies connected, with an entranced, mesmerized gaze.
Until he leaned in more, wrapping arms under your body, pressing the fronts of your bodies together and burying his face against your neck, moving in you in more of a rolling motion than a rough thrusting. It rubbed at a different part of your insides, the same intensity as the last.
And the movement was far easier than it would have been, perhaps, for anyone else in any other scenario, as your stomachs and chests were easily made to slide against each other rather than causing a rough friction -- the lubrication of the blood took care of that. It spread from his body to yours, warmed by the body heat and the momentum. Everywhere your bodies touched, you felt the transfer, it soaked into your flesh. It wasn't as though you weren't aware of it, of the feeling, or that it didn't trigger some part of your brain in disgust and fear, but more that your brain couldn't focus on such a thing. The disgust and any horror the sensation should have ignited was overridden by the overwhelming heat that jolted and shocked your body and consumed every thought you could possibly have, your mind was wiped blank and unable to process anything else, not even the words you spoke.
"I'm sorry," your voice was strained and cracking. "Please, please, please..." You weren't certain what to follow the word with, a million possible thoughts briefly spun through your barely functioning brain. Please, please. It kept spilling out of your mouth as one hand clawed against his back still as the other reached upward and latched into his hair. It was wet in some strands, clumped and scratchy in others, depending on how dried the blood it was soaked in was. Your fingers clenched and held onto it, pulling inward. Combined with your legs and arm, trying to pull closer and closer still. One of his hands grabbed the underside of your thigh and pressed it as close to your chest as it would go, trying to do the same -- close in whatever slightest distance kept your bodies apart.
Still, your grip was weak. It always was, he said every part of you was, frequently reminding you there was no point in physical resistance in any form to anything. It was easy to pull his head up and out of your grasp, but doing the same grabbing and pulling to you, grasping at whatever hair he could with his hand and pulling your head backwards, exposing your neck. You barely had time to brace yourself before teeth sank down into the flesh, gasping at the sudden sharp pain. It lingered for a moment, then alleviated, then struck again, in a different spot than before. Not harsh enough to break the skin -- just barely -- but sinking in and leaving indents on the flesh that stung, you whimpered with each bite. Sucking at the flesh before pulling off with a pop and repeating the process. The pain was intensified by the fact that the movement of his hips didn't stop all the while, each thrust into you pulled your skin against his teeth. Each time he pulled away, you shivered at the cold that air on the wet spot created.
Tears spilled down the side of your face, still flowing despite how many you had already shed. Pain, maybe. It mixed together, the feelings in your body and brain, becoming all one sort of same feeling. Your body was compliant enough, only tensely clinging and not creating any resistance of its own, that the entire bed moved with the force, and you simply took the sensations in.
He let go of your neck and reversed the motion with your hair in his head, pulling your head forward instead, and latched your mouths together. There was an instinctive response, despite it all, it was the one thing that finally brought your sense of disgust to the substance back to the forefront of your mind -- you were certain your stomach lurched when the taste of copper filled your mouth, and you instinctively tried to pull your head back, but couldn't even budge. It consumed your sense of taste from where his tongue kept pressing onto yours. The disgust blurred. The feeling overrode again. And became stronger. Stronger, stronger, heat pooled in your core and your body began to quiver. He seemed to sense it, letting go of your mouth, somewhat sitting up and looking down at you with half-lidded eyes that quickly widened with realization, and, the action apparently being possible, fucked into you harder than before, grabbing on to your hips. Not with any technique or skill, but not needing any -- as with most things, he would simply substitute whatever was needed with brute, rough force and somehow, it worked out. You whimpered when you came, shivering and spasming, feeling your muscles clench down on the fullness and raking your nails down his back, hips bucking upward.
There was the softest of grunts, as if trying to stifle the sound, and his hips thrust harshly forward one more time, stilling as his fingernails dug into your hips. Semen spilled into your body, far more than a human could ever output, you could feel it in a way you could never feel a human's, it shot out with such a force and in such great volume that you couldn't not feel the warmth and the swelling sensation it created. So much you saw, as per usual, a bulge in your lower stomach where your womb was filled beyond its capacity. There was a moment of quiet, shivering, cold of the air against sweaty skin setting in, before he tugged his hips backwards and slid out, followed by several-human-orgasms' worth of cum that flowed out and drenched the sheet underneath your body. You'd always wondered why that... feature, function, whatever one would call it, was a trait he had, but it was only one of a thousand questions you would probably never know the answers to.
Cold set in. So cold. The surrounding air was not good for your body, coated in sweat and blood. Your teeth chattered with a shiver. You almost reached over for the blanket before remembering its spotlessness. It was sacred in its own way. So instead, you reached out and grabbed at the body before you. Warm. There was a silence as you took into account the appearance of it all. Even in the room's dim lighting, you could see the results of your coitus; both your skins had a coating of a reddish stain, thicker splotches in some places, a thin orangish sheen in others. The sheets and blankets of the bed had splotches and patches here or there, streaks where new red joined dark, long-lasting stains.
"... Don't do that again."
You almost jolted at the sudden interruption of silence. It was a similar phrase as always, some vague variant warning of telling you to never repeat your attempt, but something threw you off about it. It was not usually said so early. There was a process to these things. A routine. If fucking was part one, the warning was part three, whereas now, part two was oddly skipped in entirety. That, and the unusual tone in his voice. It was normally gruff, frustrated, growling. Now it was quiet, barely audible, spoken with an unusual softness.
"You're not....?" You paused. He looked at you with a flat expression, tilting his head. You swallowed. "You're not gonna... do anything to me?"
It wasn't as though this was the first time you'd ever made such an attempt. You'd never gotten out of the abode in the past, but you'd certainly made some efforts. In the past, though, your attempts did not usually end on such a... nonviolent note as this, rather quite the opposite. The part two, a physical punishment of some sort.
He looked down, seeming to actually ponder the question. For a moment, you nearly feared that perhaps the question was being taken as a suggestion. Most people could either give a sentimental answer, or an answer intended to make you afraid, or demand an apology, or threaten to do worse, but he simply responded, as he did with all things, in a very genuine, bizarrely honest way.
It certainly was not comforting, but he didn't seem to intend it to be the opposite, merely stating what he thought. Still, it confused you, and despite the dread, you questioned. "Why later?"
He reached up to his face and pointed at the spot where your own was swelling. "It's... Bruising." You couldn't see your face at the moment, but you had no trouble believing that, as it throbbed and, as you reached your hand up, felt slightly swollen. "If I do something, it'll be all..." He shook his head, huffing in frustration over a seeming difficulty finding the right words. "It'll be mixed together... Bruises from them and me. That would feel... strange." He looked down a bit. "I want marks like that on you to be... just from me. So I'll wait. Until you heal from that." He looked at your neck, where you felt the lingering sting of indents to the flesh. A different sort of marking. It occurred to you that it was far more bites than normal. Compensation, you assumed, for the inability to create any other sort. "... Even seeing that..." he looked back up at your face, "and that at the same time is... I don't like it."
Reasonable enough, you guessed. It made as much sense as anything else did. Which wasn't a lot, but it was something.
The silence was long and tense. There was something in his body language -- he fidgeted, you thought you saw him almost open his mouth. He had something to say, so you waited. It was not an uncommon occurrence for him to take a few minutes to think of the right words. But when he did open his mouth and finally spoke, it was not as long as you expected.
"And because... I'm less mad. Than normal." He gave a determinate nod, as if mentally confirming the thought.
You breathed softly, eyes half-open, voice empty. "...Why?"
"... I don't know."
More hesitation. He shuffled forward a bit, moving closer to you, and slowly, hesitating, as if you might jolt and pull away, leaned forward and wrapped arms around you. Even if you had any will to fight the action, there would be no point, and it was far, far too comforting to your weary body and mind to resist. You reached your own arms around him and did the same, hoisting yourself up on your knees, settling down so you were sitting on the lap of his cross-legged posture, and only then did you catch the sensation under your skin, against your body, nearly like vibrating it was so rapid. And at first, you thought it was your own body, aftershock of orgasm or panic subconsciously taking over, but one harsher shiver made you realize it was his body.
He shivered and trembled against your embrace, eyes dull and empty, staring down.
"I think..." he started, voice hoarse yet quiet, "it's because you... I would have thought you would rather just let... rather that than... I didn't think that you'd..." he trailed off, huffing in frustration. Leaned his head down and forward onto your shoulder, "...but you did, and..." his arms seemed to tighten around you. "I'm... glad."
The trembling continued for a while. You didn't move nor respond, kept your arms around his frame, until it slowly subsided. It took a few minutes, quietly breathing in and feeling the warmth radiating from the other's body. Both bodies limp and unmoving. Tiredness set in, and you were so, so sore, sore in every muscle, every inch of your body. Your arms and legs from the incident, your neck, your face that still throbbed, your insides that still dripped with cum, your mind and heart from a rush of panic, fear, shock, so many overwhelming feelings you'd felt so intensely earlier, a difficult contrast when you had grown so used to uneventful monotony. Sore and spent. You crawled backwards, tugging at his arm and falling to your side, soon followed, the bed beneath your creaked a bit with the shifting weight.
"Do you..." He seemed to struggle for words. "Want to go... wash it off?"
Trying to remember for your sake. You should have, characteristically speaking, leaped at the chance.
"...I'm tired... it's already on everything anyway."
Yes, the stickiness was there, all over your skin, it was drying on your hair and face, it coated your flesh. Your stomach churned a bit at the thought, ever so slightly, but the exhaustion was far more overwhelming than anything else.
He nodded. "Ok." Of course, it wasn't like it bothered him.
You laid your head down, thankfully the bruising was on the other side. It hurt, but to some degree you hoped it stayed that way for a while. The longer it took to heal, the longer you could evade whatever you'd face for your transgression. Still, you didn't feel the fear that the thought of the impending consequence should probably have. It couldn't be worse, you concluded, than what you would have faced otherwise.
...Would it have been worth it? For the possibility of being freed after, and then being able to go home?
You shook your head a bit and decided to not think about such a thing. It was already over. Thinking about it would do nothing now.
Feeling the stickiness of his skin on yours when your bodies were pulled together didn't seem to ignite any reaction, the wet spots where it soaked into the sheets was not noticeable enough for you to feel any need to get up. It was all tolerable. You supposed you did, to the extent you could, get used to it.
TAGLIST (Like the post in my pinned navigation post to be added)
372 notes · View notes
✎ … Miya Atsumu
word count: 5.2k
warnings: NSFW, pwp, daddy kink, a lot of degradation, spanking, choking, sexting, overstimulation, masturbation, he kinda spits in your mouth, just rough sex overall
All characters are 18+ !!!!
A/N: this is my first nsfw fic, so pls bear with me 🥺 I’m also dedicating this to @starboybokuto and @strawbericream for inspiring me and also bc they’re literally smut icons in the fandom and after writing this, I’m realizing just how hard it it to do and I just wanna appreciate them for all the effort they put in <3
His moans were like honey, pouring from his sweet lips and into your ears, as his thrusts became erratic. He was close. The sounds of your own pleasure filled the room before he swallowed them up completely with his beautiful mouth. You were close. This space that was inhabited by you two was the only dimension where time didn’t exist. Nothing else mattered in this moment, except for each other. You were so, so, so, so, so clo-
Your roommate’s exclamation breaks you out of your lust-filled slumber with a jolt. You groan and silently curse her as details of the dream gradually come back to you; she’d have to make a run for it if she valued her life, or at least avoiding getting smacked in the face by the pillow you throw at her with impressive force.
“Y/N, what did I do? she whines. “You told me to wake you up. I only did what you said!”
“Literally fuck you, I was having a good dream,” you fire back.
“MAN if you don’t… anyway shouldn’t you be in class by now?” Your eyes widen as you fumble for your phone to check the time.
“Shit!” Usually, you wouldn’t have bothered showing up if you were running late, but this class took attendance, and you were already on the cusp between two letter grades. A menial attendance point could be the difference between maintaining your GPA or tarnishing it.
You wash up in record time, throw on some clothes, and shove your necessary belongings in your backpack before slinging it on your back. You don’t even have time to fill up your water bottle; you’d just have to purchase one on campus later. You pop in your earbuds, select a random playlist, and fly out the door.
You don’t stop until you reach the lecture hall. You try not to cringe as you push open the door, slinking your way in the back to find an open seat; luckily, there was one near the door so your humiliation was short-lived. When you finally sit down and situate yourself, you take a deep breath for the first time that morning and collect your thoughts.
As your mind wanders, memories of your erotic dream come back to you. The faintest of color tints your cheeks, and you shift slightly in your seat as you subtly cross your legs. You pull out your phone, preparing to fire a text at lightning speed. You need your boyfriend.
Y/N: i miss you
Y/N: im not trying to gas ur big head up even more than it already is i’m just whore knee
Atsumu: OH????? aren’t you in class rn?
Y/N: i’d rather be choking on your fat cock tbh
Atsumu: naughty girl, why are you saying such things in the middle of class?
Y/N: what are you gonna do about it... choke me? spank me? make me cum over and over and over again?
Atsumu: Watch your mouth, baby...
Fighting the smile tugging at your lips, you set your phone on ‘do not disturb’ and refocus your attention on the professor’s droning voice. By the time lecture was over, you scramble out of the building, eager to make a quick call to your boyfriend so you could describe to him in specific detail everything you wanted him to do to you.
Alas, you heard the voices of your friends calling out to you, so you’re forced to sit through idle chit-chat until your next class starts. Of course, today was also a full day, so you would have to endure the rest of your classes, your position as a TA, and the study session your classmates were pulling together at the library for your next exam - which just so happened to be in two days, meaning you couldn’t opt out. At this rate, you wouldn’t be leaving campus until dark. And it was only 10 in the morning.
While you daydream in your next class, you’re broken out of your reverie by the realization that you had neglected to check your phone after effectively ending the conversation with Atsumu the way that you had. You unlock your phone, seeing that you have just one unread message from him - a photo.
You know what’s coming before you even open it, so you’re careful to ensure that your screen isn’t in anyone’s line of sight - luckily, you were sitting in the back again, so there aren’t any prying eyes over your shoulder. You turn down the brightness and open the conversation before practically salivating on the spot.
You have an idea of what exactly the photo was going to be of, but nothing could prepare you for the effect it had on you.
It’s evident that he had propped up his phone on something and taken the photo on self-timer. Bleached tufts of hair fell over his forehead as he winked back at you through the screen with his lips pursed as if he was going to kiss someone. The only thing he wore was a gold chain around his neck. He was flashing a peace sign with one hand, while the other was wrapped around a good sized erection.
You feel your mouth dry up and your thighs subconsciously squeeze together. The way this photo was triggering a physiological reaction from your body was astounding. You need this man, and you need him now. You whisper to your friend that you had to use the bathroom, that you might be gone for a while - it must have been the iced coffee going straight through you - and to let you know if you missed anything. You try not to trip over anyone’s legs in your haste to get to the restroom.
Since this was a fairly large building, there were multiple restrooms, and so you locate the one you know is always empty and secluded - the one below the main floor. Once you enter, you do a quick check in each stall to make sure you’re alone before locking the door. You go into the biggest stall and commence with your plan of action.
You take off your shirt and bra and neatly hang them on the hooks behind the stall door. The sudden exposure to the chilly air makes you shiver as your nipples harden in response. You then bring your phone up to your chest, so that your face isn't in frame and begin to record yourself lightly massaging your breasts. You make sure to softly moan Atsumu’s name when you pinch your nipple, rolling it between your thumb and index finger. After about thirty seconds, you promptly send the footage to your boyfriend.
He immediately starts facetiming you which causes your thighs to squeeze together expectantly. When you answer the call, you’re greeted with dark, lustful eyes and a shit-eating grin.
“I heard someone missed me today.” His tone is slightly mocking, indicative of something deeper underneath.
“I had a dream about you,” you inform him as you slowly begin to massage your breasts the way you had before.
“Yeah? What happened in your dream?” His eyes darken as he shrewdly observes the way you sigh as your fingers glide over your nipples. God, he wished he could just take them in between his teeth.
You bite your lip in response to his tone becoming increasingly huskier. “I dreamed about you… fucking me.” Your voice falters a bit as you suddenly feel a wave of shyness rush over you. Atsumu often had this effect on you - sure, there was no limit to the amount of things you had done together; however, he was still able to make you feel flustered, as if it was the first time all over again.
“How naughty,” he scoffs. “You love actin’ so innocent, but what would people say if they really knew what was goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours? What would they say if they saw what you were tellin’ me in the middle of class? Do ya know what they would say, dollface?”
You can’t bring yourself to respond, only managing a feeble shaking of your head.
“They would call you a whore. A filthy, depraved slut. And do ya know what sluts get?”
Again, another feeble shake.
“Nothing. Sluts get nothing,” he laughs mockingly as he angles his phone until you have an adequate view of the way he’s been stroking himself this entire time. “And now, dollface, you’re gonna have to watch me get myself off. I want your hands off of yourself entirely... If I catch you touchin’ yourself even once, you get nothing. But if you’re good, I might just play with ya later.”
You whimper at his order, but you have no choice; you had brought this upon yourself by getting him riled up with those texts in the first place. As you swallow thickly, he begins to jerk himself off - slowly at first, torturing you with each stroke as he looks directly through the camera and into your eyes. He then begins to pick up the pace as heavy pants and the occasional moan escapes from his mouth.
“See what ya did to me, baby? This is all because of you.” His breathing grows erratic as he edges closer and closer to his release. “And now look at you. Watchin’ a man jerk off in a public restroom, with your tits out, when you’re supposed to be in class like a good girl. Now tell me, does that sound like a good girl?”
You merely whimper in response.
“Answer me,” he practically growls. “Does. That. Sound. Like. A. Good. Girl.”
“No,” you whisper as you feel a surge of arousal rush to your core. You knew your panties would be suffering thoroughly by the time you returned to class.
“Then tell me, dollface. What. Are. You.” Each enunciation is emphasized with a hard stroke to his cock - the same way he would be thrusting into you. It takes absolutely everything in you not to sneak your hand down to your throbbing clit; he’d know if you did, he always did. The prospect of not being touched by him later was unthinkable, so you continue to helplessly watch him fuck his own hand.
“I’m a filthy whore, your filthy whore,” you whine in compliance as you watch him thrust into his hand a few more times before letting out a long, drawn out moan and spilling his release all over himself. You can’t help the moan that escapes your own lips as you take in the sight of his flushed face and heavy rising and falling of his chest.
“You actually listened to me for once? This is a surprise,” he chuckles once he recovers from his orgasm. “Hurry up and come over… I’ll fuck ya ‘til you can’t even remember your own name.”
For the rest of the day, you hoped you were doing a relatively adequate job of hiding your arousal as you went about your responsibilities. You were literally counting down the seconds until you were finished with everything so you could meet up with Atsumu and let him fuck you like he promised. At one point, you caught yourself almost drooling during your group study session at the library. You took this as your cue to leave, so you politely excused yourself by letting the others know that it was time for you to leave as you had to get up early the next morning.
After what felt like the longest and, thanks to Atsumu, the most torturous day ever, you felt completely ravenous. From the second you had woken up, you had been straight up horny, and the fact that you hadn't been able to take care of it was driving you insane. You had been rushed all day, never having a moment to yourself, and when you did, Atsumu had specifically instructed you not to satisfy yourself the way you needed to be satisfied. It was unfair.
To make matters worse, you missed the train that would take you to Atsumu’s apartment as he lived quite a while away from your campus. The next train would be leaving in an hour, which was just too much for you at this point. Delay after delay. You grit your teeth in frustration as you weigh your options: you could wait another painstaking hour for the train that would inevitably take you to your dick appointment or you could spend a fortune by calling for a taxi and getting there right now. While you mentally calculate your finances, your clit throbs just slightly when you cross your legs, which causes you to throw all thoughts of being a penniless college student out the window in favor of getting fucked mercilessly as soon as possible.
Of course the elevator in Atsumu’s apartment building was currently out of order at that moment, leaving you with no other choice but to climb the seven flights of stairs to his apartment. At this point, you feel like you’re running on some sort of primal instinct as you sprint up the stairs with the vigor possessed by only someone who’s about to be dicked down. By the time you reach his door, you’re already huffing and puffing, but your own exhaustion escapes your mind as you ring his doorbell impatiently. Once the door swings open, you’re greeted with the sight of your boyfriend smirking back at you.
The motherfucker wore nothing but loose gray sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips and the same gold chain around his neck from earlier. You chuck your backpack on the floor and throw yourself onto him, pressing your lips against his (minty?) ones. The kiss is sloppy and intense as you try to make him feel the desperation you had been forced to endure all day long.
Somehow, your clothes find themselves on the ground in a matter of seconds. He lightly slaps at your thigh, a signal for you to jump into his arms. When you do, your hands immediately find themselves tangled in his hair, and you tug at the roots lightly, earning a growl from him. You gasp and moan into his mouth when you feel his hands give your ass a good squeeze. He manages to carry you like this into his bedroom before gently dropping you onto his bed, where he palms himself above you as he gazes at your nude form. On god, you can literally see his dick print through his sweats, and it only fuels the wetness forming between your thighs.
“Atsumu, I’ve been waiting all fucking day long. Stop being an asshole and fuck me already like you promised,” you whine as you reach your hands up to rub them along his abdomen, relishing in the feeling of his abs beneath your fingertips. You were hoping that this would coax him into giving you what you want, but he merely ceases his actions and raises an eyebrow at you.
“Who do you think you are, talkin’ to me like that?” His eyes narrow, and he leans down so that he’s hovering directly above you. “Is my baby so goddamn horny that she actually forgot her manners?” His hand comes up to wrap around your throat, gradually squeezing it harder as he glares at you. “Looks like I’ll have to remind ya how to properly speak to me. Turn over - I want that ass up in the air.”
You pout as you obey his command and flip over on your knees so that your face is shoved into the pillow and your ass is sticking straight up for him, bracing yourself for what you know is about to come.
“You know the drill, since you wanna be such a goddamn slut - count for daddy.” Before you can respond, his hand collides with your left asscheek, causing you to yelp and moan, “One,” weakly into the pillow. The sting doesn’t last for very long, but you know better - by tomorrow, you won’t be able to sit properly.
He continues delivering powerful slaps to your ass and admires the way it jiggles with every smack and the redness blooming across the soft flesh. Every so often, he plunges two fingers into your now sopping heat, without warning. He removes them as quickly as he puts them in, causing you to whine in frustration. By the time you reach ten spanks, you’re babbling incoherently as you wiggle your hips in the air, clenching around nothing and desperate for anything to fill you up.
He flips you back over on your back and scoffs at your desperation. “Have you learned your lesson, whore?” It’s not a question - it’s a demand.
As much as you want to do or say whatever he wants so that he can fuck you already, it’s always more fun to see what happens when you piss him off. You jut out your lower lip in a pout and stare up at him defiantly. “No.”
Before you know it, you’re being flipped back onto your stomach. Another round of brutal spankings are delivered to your asscheeks, causing tears to prick your eyes as the burning pain sets in. You’re going to be sore for the next week.
“Leave it to a whore to be so mouthy,” he growls as he flips you over on your back again and thrusts two fingers into your cunt. “But you like this, don’t ya? You like pissin’ me off, because you like getting your pretty little ass spanked and you like being choked, whether it’s by my hand or on my cock. I should shut you up with my cock, since you wanna be so mouthy. Tell me, do ya like choking on cock, whore?”
“Yes, daddy,” you moan quite loudly. The combination of his degrading words and consistent thrusting of his fingers in and out of your pussy was sending you into a haze.
“Of course you fucking do,” he spits. “You told me so yourself when you were sitting all innocent in class. In fact, what else did ya tell me?” His thumb was now brushing vigorously against your clit during each thrust, causing your legs to shake violently. The whimpers falling from your lips grow louder as you focus on the buildup slowly forming in the pit of your stomach. However, your lack of response doesn’t impress him. He immediately pulls his fingers out and slaps your pussy, eliciting a jerk from your entire body and a drawn-out moan from the surprising sensation.
“Answer me, fuckdoll. Or you get nothing.” He literally shoves his fingers back in and continues his relentless thrusting, filling the room with the squelching sounds of your sloppy cunt. You scramble to remember the contents of the lewd texts you had sent him earlier that day, but your brain is so hazy from the orgasm you know is about to hit you, that you’re stumbling through your words.
“I-I said something about w-wanting to choke on your cock-” your sentence is cut off with a long moan as he applies direct pressure on your clit with his thumb.
“We established that already, dollface,” he scoffs. “What. Else.”
“I d-don’t remember,” you wail and thrash your head side to side against the pillow. Your release is so close, you can taste it. “Daddy, please let me cum - I’m going to cum!”
“Don’t remember? That’s a shame,” he remarks as he completely stops his actions and pulls his fingers out, yet again. You let out a scream of frustration at the fact that your orgasm was just cruelly ripped away from you. “Let’s see, maybe we need a refresher.” To your disbelief, he pulls out his phone and scrolls to the conversation from that morning. “Hmm, you told me to choke and spank you… Well, I’ve already done both of those, so what else?” His eyes narrow down at your quivering form and, to your relief, he puts his fingers back in you and continues thrusting. What was the last thing you told me, whore?”
“I-I told you to m-make me cum over and over a-again,” you gasp out as one final sharp thrust sends you completely over the edge. Before you know it, you’re screaming his name as you crash down from your high.
You moan in bliss as you feel the utter fucking release of the tension that had been building up inside you all day long. However, you barely have time to relax before you realize Atsumu’s still going at it in your now sensitive pussy.
“Tsumu,” you gasp as you feel your body jerking in response to the oversensitivity. “It’s s-so much… I-I c-can’t-”
The motherfucker literally laughs as he watches your face contort from the sheer overwhelming pleasure. “What? You asked for it. You’re droolin’ already and all I’ve given you are my fingers.” His jeering words ignite the fire building up for the second time as tears stream down your face from the overstimulation. “You tellin’ me you want me to stop?” He stuffs a third finger inside, stretching you even further and eliciting even more delicious cries from your lips. It felt like his fingers were thrusting even harder and faster, if that was possible.
“N-no, keep g-going,” you wail before you’re hit with your second orgasm of the night. All that you’re able to get out is a blubbering combination of “daddy” and “Tsumu” as your vision goes white and you hear the roaring of your own blood in your ears.
Atsumu finally slides his fingers out of your drenched pussy, eyes fixating on the string from your fluids attached to them. He takes advantage of your still panting mouth to stuff his fingers in between your lips. “You know what to do.” His eyes darken as he watches you desperately suck on his fingers, tasting your own essence on them. After he feels that you’ve effectively done a thorough job of cleaning them off for him, he smirks and pulls them out before leaning down so that he’s hovering above you.
“Good girl. Open wide for your reward.” Once you comply, he works up a good amount of saliva and lets it fall in your mouth, directly on your tongue. You moan as you relish the taste of his spit and swallow it all. “Thank you daddy,” you beam up at him.
He draws himself back in satisfaction as he pulls his sweatpants off, freeing his rock hard length and letting it slap against his abdomen. As spent as you are from your previous orgasms, there’s nothing you’re craving more than for him to be balls deep in your tight pussy. He just remains where he is, stroking himself as he watches you grow impatient for him to do something already.
“Tsumu,” you plead in the calmest tone you can muster. “Please fuck me already.”
He merely continues to pump his cock, much to your dismay. “How much do you want my big cock, whore?” Again, it isn’t a question.
“I want it more than anything in the whole wide world,” you beg. Each stroke to his cock only serves to increase your frustration.
You let out a groan and proceed to rub your tits, squeezing them together and rolling your nipples in between your fingers. In your attempt to please him, you notice the way Atsumu slightly picks up the pace of his strokes as he watches you play with your tits.
But it still isn’t enough for him.
“You can do better than that.”
Fucking hell. You let go of your breasts and spread your legs, hooking your hands behind your knees so that he has a perfect view of your pretty, spoiled pussy. Your cheeks burn as you bring your hand down to spread your lips, offering him access to your slick hole. “C’mon, Tsumuuuuu… I’m all good and ready for you.”
Atsumu swallows thickly and finally relents. He grabs your thighs and holds them open as he positions himself at your entrance and pushes into you. You’re so wet from your previous orgasms that he slides in easily, burying himself to the brim as he loses himself in the feeling of being fully sheathed inside you and lets out a long moan. It feels like your pussy is literally swallowing him up as he bottoms out. Your eyes roll back as you feel yourself being deliciously, oh so wonderfully, stretched. His fingers were heavenly on their own, but nothing in the world could compare to the feeling of his thick cock hitting all the right spots in you.
“Fuck, yeahhh. You’re so tight, fuck. How are ya so tight?” Atsumu’s breathing is heavy as he squeezes his eyes shut, relishing the sensation of your walls clenching around him. He starts thrusting slowly, checking your face for any signs of discomfort. However, you grow impatient and start wiggling your hips, urging him to go faster. He scoffs and slaps your breast in response. “Be patient, dollface. You’ll take what I give ya.” You whimper, but cease your actions. Atsumu must have apparently decided that was enough for him as well, because he picks up his speed.
His hips slap against you from the brutal way he fucks you into oblivion. His strokes are deep and hard, causing you to turn into a sobbing mess. The room is filled with the sounds of his balls slapping against your ass and your cries begging him to not stop and go even harder. The way he pounds into you has your entire body rocking back and forth as you moan at the feeling of his pelvis meeting you with each movement.
“M-more, daddy!” Drool is seeping out of the corners of your open mouth and your eyes are glazed over from the sheer feeling of him being balls deep in you.
“You love being fucked like this, don’t ya?” Atsumu’s grunts fill your ears and you clench even tighter at his words. “An’ it’s never enough for you. Insatiable whore.” He delivers a particularly sharp thrust at the word “whore” which makes you blubber nonsensically. You want to tell him that you’re his insatiable whore, but your words are jumbling together as all your senses are devoted to the way his cock is slamming in and out of your cunt.
At this rate, you’re about to cum again in no time. Atsumu picks up on this and makes you wrap your legs around him so he can pound into you even deeper from this new angle. The tip of his dick now hits your g spot with each brutal thrust, making you literally scream in delirium. He’s more than pleased at your response, which is why he suddenly halts his movements and tilts his head at you in the cockiest manner. You want to scream and swear at him in every language possible, but you’re in such disbelief that all you can muster is the dirtiest glare at him. He laughs at the way your hips involuntarily move around him.
“Look at ya, you’re so fuckin’ cockhungry. I’m not even doing anything and your pussy’s tryna suck me in.” Before you can protest, he suddenly pulls out so that just the tip of his dick is inside you and slams back in with no warning. He’s back to thrusting into you, hitting your g spot with immense force.
Before you know it, the knot that had been forming in your stomach completely snaps. His eyes train on the way your tongue lolls out of your mouth and your eyes cross together as your mind goes completely blank when you cum yet again. Your pussy clenches around him, causing him to swear profusely, and your fluids gush out involuntarily. Your cheeks are flushed and your chest is covered in the sheen from your sweat. He lets go of your thighs and leans over to meet your lips with his, never stopping the steady rhythm of his thrusts. You pant into his mouth as the sound of your heartbeat pounds in your ears and the cool metal of his chain dangles against your skin.
“C’mon, make that face again for me.” Atsumu begins to rub your clit harshly, eliciting a high-pitched mewl from you as your entire body shudders.
“I-I-I…” Your teeth are clenched and your eyes are squeezed shut as pressure fills your head from the overwhelming sensation spreading throughout your body. It’s all too much, and you’re not sure you can cum again.
“Give it to me one more time, pretty girl. I know you can do it, I gotcha.” Atsumu starts sucking on the sweet spot behind your ear and continues to fuck you with the vigor of a possessed man. The bedframe shakes uncontrollably from the way he pummels into you. His thumb rubbing furiously at your clit sends shock waves of pleasure throughout your overly sensitive body and before you know it, the familiar pressure is building up in your stomach again.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my go-,” you chant as your eyes roll back in your head and you scream out his name while your vision goes completely white. Atsumu groans at the feeling of your tight walls milking his cock for everything he has. Your whole body is shaking, and you’re so wracked with pleasure that you can scarcely process the way his thrusts grow sloppy as he gets closer and closer to his own release.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His groans fill the room as he erratically pummels into you to chase his high.
“Cum inside me, daddy. Want you to fill me all the way up.” Your words are slurring together at this point due to the heady arousal clouding your mind, but they’re enough to tip Atsumu over the edge. He lets out a moan and his hips stutter to a stop as you’re overcome with the feeling of his cock twitching inside you and suddenly filling you to the brim with his cum.
Atsumu collapses on top of you and pants heavily in an attempt to catch his breath. The two of you are silent for a good few minutes before he gathers whatever strength is left in him to pull out of you. He remains somewhat on top of your utterly spent body and peppers kisses all over your face. “You good?”
“Never better,” you reach a hand up to stroke his hair, and he hums contentedly in response before rolling over to your side. He throws an arm over you, hugging you to his body and just stares at you lovingly.
“I wasn’t too rough on ya, was I?” His hand reaches down to your ass to rub soothingly at the marks left by him.
“You were perfect, babe.” You grab his hand, intertwining your fingers with his own. “I’m sleeping good tonight, thanks to you.” He smiles at this and positions himself so that his head is tucked in the crook of your neck. He closes his eyes for a while as he savors the feeling of you stroking his hair and planting kisses on the top of his head.
“Ya wanna order food?” His eyes are still shut and you chuckle. “Yeah.”
“Who’s callin’?” He snuggles a bit further into you.
“Not it.” His eyes open and he looks up at you before literally pouting. You can’t believe this is the same man you were calling “daddy” just a few minutes ago.
“Why do I hafta do it,” he grumbles.
“Sorry that my phone’s out there and yours is literally at your feet because you wanted to be theatrical and ‘teach me a lesson.’” You smile as he continues to grumble under his breath, but pushes himself up to grab his phone and dial the number of your favorite takeout place. “Love youuuuuu,” you sing-song and flash a toothy grin at him.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I love ya too.” He rolls his eyes and lies back down next to you as he speaks to the worker on the phone. The entire time he absentmindedly plays with your hands as you sigh contentedly and bask in the feeling of being with him.
masterlist ｡･:*:･ﾟ rules
3K notes · View notes
Choices - Part 2
Word Count: 4,259
Requested: by me; inspired by a TikTok POV
Story Description: After the snap (Y/N) and Steve decided to shift their friendship into a romantic relationship. After the Battle of Earth, and Thanos’s ultimate defeat, Steve had to travel back in time to return the stones, but what (Y/N) doesn’t know is he’s not returning. The man leaves to his best friend the hard task to break the news to his lover. But what will happen if Steve returns in an unexpected manner?
Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: SMUT (18+ only), female receiving, unprotected sex,
A/N: I know I said it would be two parts but I got carried away and now it's three , I think 😅
Another week had gone by and (Y/N) was starting to go back to her usual self. She had gone back to training and had started spending more time with the rest of the group, her energies lifting after a month and a half.
Until an unexpected visit had her falling in a downward spiral.
Wanda, Sam, Bruce, Bucky, and (Y/N) were all sitting around the couch, enjoying a bit of downtime, when a struck of blonde came barreling out of the night sky.
“THOR!” (Y/N) jumped up from the seat and went to give the god a hug.
“Lady (Y/N), how I’ve missed you.” He picked her up easily and spun her around.
The rest of the group smiled seeing the usual (Y/N) again. Thor put the girl down and went to say hi to the rest of his friends. It had been a while since they all had caught up with each other and were glad to see the god once again.
“So, Lady (Y/N), where is your captain?” (Y/N)’s breath hitched in her throat. The group present had done a good job of not mentioning his name in front of her, and it had been a long time since she had heard it. She couldn’t muster up any words, and she felt like the whole room started spinning. Thor grew worried and was thinking back to what he said, he had gotten a variety of reactions to the things he said but this had been extreme.
“Woah, (Y/N) stay with me,” Bucky tried to keep her attention. “You gotta breathe, darling. Come on, in and out.”
(Y/N) followed the breathing exercises Bucky was modeling in front of her. Inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. The tears came quickly, quicker than Bucky could dry them. Bucky decided that the best thing he could do was remove (Y/N) from the situation and tuck her in for the night, leaving Thor with a dumbfounded look on his face. He had been away for a while and had no idea what had happened.
“Lady Wanda, I’m afraid I may have overstepped in a certain topic, but I do not understand how. I thought Lady (Y/N) and Steve Rogers were an item.”
“They were, but Steve went back in time to have a life with Peggy,” she answered. Realization washing over Thor’s face. “It’s been a long time since she’s heard his name and it’s taken a lot for her to get back to normal.”
“So, the captain is in the past, having another life?”
“Well, technically, he should already be in our current time as an old man, but we haven’t found him anywhere,” Bruce interjected. “We’ve had some leads but nothing too concrete. He’s been flying under the radar.”
“If I understood correctly, Rogers traveled back in time to have a full life with a past love, without telling his current one what he was doing. He’s out there as an old man, leaving no trace of where he is. Lady (Y/N) is saddened because he left with no explanation and left her to mend her heart by herself.” Wanda nodded. “Whenever you find Captain America, let me know. Old man or not, (Y/N) does not deserve to suffer in the way she has. He has to pay.”
“As much as I agree with you, Thunder, there’s not much we can do,” Sam sighed. “All we have been able to do is just be there for (Y/N). It’s been a hard month.”
In the dark room, Bucky soothed a sobbing (Y/N) as warm tears streamed from her eyes. After two weeks without a major breakdown, she felt all her progress had crumbled down.
“I’m sorry, Buck. I’m sure you’re tired of me crying over the same thing.” She spoke, her voice trembling as she struggled to inhale correctly.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, darling. This is just a little setback, you’re stronger than you think. You’re gonna have days when this happens and that’s okay, I’ll always be here to pick you back up, okay?”
The girl nodded her head and laid her head back on Bucky’s chest as he rocked them back and forth.
The sound coming from the door made both of their heads perk up. After a "come in" was heard from inside, Thor opened the door. An evident sorry look on his face.
“I hope I am not interrupting anything, Lady (Y/N).”
“Of course not, Thor. Come in.”
“I just wanted to apologize for what I triggered back there. I was just filled in with what happened a month ago, and I just want to say I am on your side. 100%.”
She chuckled. “Thank you, Thor. And it’s okay, you didn’t know. Surprisingly enough, this has been the lightest one I’ve had.”
“Unfortunately, my stay is a brief one, I have to join the Guardians again. But I am just a call away. I’ll be here for whatever you need, Lady (Y/N).”
“Thank you, Thor,” she got up to hug the man. “Hopefully, you visit soon.”
“I will be sure to do so. It was good to see you, Bucky.”
“You too, Thor. Safe trip back,” he said. The blond man nodded and left the room. “You ready for sleep?”
The girl nodded and settled back on the bed, her head lying on Bucky’s chest and him humming a lullaby while rubbing her back.
(Y/N) was in a gala in the middle of the dance floor looking around. She was surrounded by people she didn’t know, and she felt alone. Her dress swished as she turned round and round looking for just one familiar face. The music stressed her out and the figures around her kept bumping into her.
Then she felt hands on her waist, spinning her to look at them.
She smiled up at the man she loved and stared into his baby blue eyes. They both swayed to the music, feeling like no time had passed between them.
“You look radiant tonight, baby doll,” he smiled.
“You clean up nicely yourself, Captain.” He leaned down and gave her a kiss. “I’ve missed you, Steve.”
“What do you mean? I’m right here.”
“You left me, Steve. You left to be with Peggy.”
“Oh, (Y/N),” he said devilishly, running his hand across her face. The scene around us changing. We were now standing in an endless, dark void. “Of course, I would leave you for Peggy. You have always been destined to be alone. All alone.”
His voice started fading as his figure dissipated. (Y/N) tried to reach out to him, but his figure had completely vanished by now. All she could do was scream his name, even if nothing came out.
Bucky woke up to (Y/N) thrashing around, clearly experiencing a nightmare. He started shaking her awake when the screams started. He gently shook the girl awake and encircled her in his arms as she woke up gasping for air and crying. Bucky shushed the girl and rubbed her back.
“Listen to my heartbeat, darling. Focus on that,” he shushed. “Just focus on my heart.”
This technique seemed to ease the startled girl and she quickly settled back down in Bucky’s arms. Seeing her hurt maimed his heart in a way he never thought possible. Bucky had a good handle on distancing himself from his emotions to cope with everyday life, but the hold this girl had on him made it difficult for him to not feel her pain.
In the morning, (Y/N) awoke to an empty bed. Bucky had training today and had left earlier, leaving her to sleep in and recuperate her energy. He left a kiss on her head and the hope that she woke up in a better mood. But (Y/N) did not, she woke up with the lingering memory of the man she had the opportunity to love and be loved by for five consecutive years. She craved his touch even if just for one last time; to be in his arms where she felt the safest. And she had an idea of how to do it.
“Yes, Miss (Y/N)?” The AI powered up in her room.
“Could you tell Wanda to come to my room?”
“Of course, Miss (Y/N). She’ll be here shortly.”
In a few moments, Wanda walked through the door into the dark room. “(Y/N), you called?”
“I want to do it, Wanda.”
“Do what, (Y/N)?”
“I want to do the spell. I want to see him again.” The redhead stood still, a cold shiver running through her body. She had offered to do this spell a month ago, a way for her to get closure, but now it seemed like a step in the wrong direction. “Please, Wanda. Just one last time.”
Wanda couldn’t help but feel for the girl. She understood the loss of your partner, she had grieved her own. And as her friend, she wanted to do her best to help (Y/N) with what she needed. The girl was asking for a strong love spell, a trance-like vision that would project only the image of the person’s love. (Y/N) described it as a way to do exposure therapy, confront the fear or person in order to heal by yourself.
“Alright, (Y/N). Just this time,” she sighed. “But please remember, he’s not really here. He’s just a projection of your avid imagination, nothing more.”
“I know, Wanda. I know he’s gone.” The witch provided a pity smile and stood behind the girl.
“Okay, I’ll be starting now.”
Wanda moved her fingers close to (Y/N)’s head as a red streak of light emerged from her hands. (Y/N)’s body relaxed, and her eyes turned red, a comforting image playing in her head.
(Y/N) was standing in the middle of their room, the song “It’s Been a Long, Long Time” playing from the sound system. Her body was clad in a short, flowy red dress still barefoot, waiting until the last minute to put her shoes on. She was staring at herself in the mirror, applying the finishing touches on her makeup, a dark red lip to bring the whole look together.
“You’ve always looked gorgeous in red, baby doll.” (Y/N) raised her view from her lips and smiled at the figure behind her.
Steve was dressed in an all-black attire, a black leather jacket sitting atop the dress shirt and his dog tags shined in his chest. His face was adorned with his renowned bright smile. His body moved towards her, his big arms encircling her waist, leaving kisses on the exposed skin of her shoulder. (Y/N) smiled at the closeness of his body, leaning into the warmth of his touch.
“It’s been a while since we’ve danced, you know?” She commented.
“Then why are we standing around?” He took her hand in his and turned her to face him. “I have always loved dancing with you.”
Her head was pressed to his chest, her hand circled around his neck and his on her waist. The sound of the trumpets, a comforting welcome of his past life. Their bodies swayed from left to right, enjoying a simple turn occasionally. This was a pastime they would enjoy at night, after a long mission, or when one of them was feeling down.
“I wish we could stay like this forever, Steve” she whispered against him. “I want to always be with you.”
“I would love that more than anything, baby doll.” His hand rested on her chin and lifted her head. His lips pressed against hers, laced with love and passion.
“Then, why did you leave?” Water started pooling in the corner of her eyes, and Steve raised his hand to wipe the tears away before they fell.
“What do you mean, darling? I’m right here.”
“No, you went back in time to be with Peggy. You left me here with no explanation.”
“Oh, baby doll. That wasn’t me, I would never leave you.’’ His hand stroked her cheek, a touch she leaned into. “I’m always here with you. Always.”
He leaned down once more to have their lips make contact, until…
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” Bucky stormed in. (Y/N) jumped back, startled by the sudden entrance. “Stop it, Wanda!’’
“Wanda? What are you talking about, Bucky?” Steve asked but got no response from Bucky.
“Buck, please. What’s going on?” She questioned.
Suddenly, the scene around her started disappearing, like a fine mist had settled in her vision.
“No, what’s going on?” She freaked. “Steve don’t go. No… NO!”
The image finally dispersed, and she was back in her dark room, no Steve in sight. (Y/N) broke down and fell to the ground, fat tears flowing down her cheeks. Her beautiful memory had stayed just that, a memory. The witch was stood flabbergasted at the fact that (Y/N) was able to see Bucky inside of her vision.
Wanda kneeled and tried to comfort her friend with a hug, but Bucky did not allow it. “Don’t you think you have done enough?”
“I’m sorry, Bucky, I thought I was helping her. She…”
“Clearly you weren’t. Look at her now.” He looked down at her figure, curled up in his arms. “Just go.”
“I’m sorry, I really am.” Without another word, Wanda left the room wiping away a few stray tears.
“Why did you do this, darling?” He stroked her hair.
“I wanted to see him one more time, Buck.” Her voice trembled as she tried to speak between sobs. “I miss him so much.”
“I know you do, but mental manipulation is not the way to do this. Darling, you deserve so much better.”
“I’m sorry, Bucky. I didn’t know what I was thinking, I just…”
“I know, darling. I know.” He kissed the top of her head and held her closer.
“But you didn’t have to go off on Wanda. She didn’t deserve that, I practically forced her to do this. She didn’t want to.”
“I will,” he sighed. She looked up at him, knowing he wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t now. “Fine, I’ll be right back.”
He knew he had blown everything out of proportion and that the witch didn’t deserve his misplaced anger. He cared deeply for (Y/N) and seeing her in that delusion struck him hard. Bucky found Wanda sitting at the kitchen island, her head in her hands.
“Look, Bucky, I’m really sorry I allowed her to do this. I was against it at first, but she kept begging and I…”
“I know. I came to apologize for blowing up. (Y/N) explained everything to me and you didn’t deserve how I came down on you.”
“Thank you, Bucky, and I understand. But there’s something I think you should know.” The man furrowed his eyebrows. “The love spell I was doing only allows the person to see the person they love, like truly love. You shouldn’t have been allowed to show through the vision.”
“What are you saying?”
“That I think you and (Y/N) have to have a talk.”
Bucky walked back to (Y/N)’s room, Wanda’s words heavy on his heart. Could it be that (Y/N) felt the same way he did?
In the room, (Y/N) had exited the bathroom wearing fresh clothes and a towel on her head.
“Want me to brush it?” Bucky asked. It had become a comforting action for the man to brush her hair after she showered, his braids had improved greatly.
She nodded and sat on the stool in front of her vanity. Bucky sat behind her, hairbrush on his left hand and his right to smooth it down. Unknowingly, (Y/N) had started humming alongside Bucky the Russian lullaby he’d use to lull her in moments like these. As much as he was enjoying the moment, the man needed to confess now.
“(Y/N), I need to talk to you about something.” He stopped brushing and turned her around.
“What is it, Buck?” Worry filled her eyes quickly. “You know you can tell me anything.”
“Wanda was telling me about the love spell she was doing.”
“Yeah, you get a corporeal recreation of the person you love.”
“Yes, and you can only see the people you truly love.” The confusion was evident in her face, not understanding what his point was. “You saw me through the vision.”
Realization fell on (Y/N). She had seen Bucky through the vision, it even interacted with him. She hadn’t had time to analyze the shift in her emotions had started. She had always loved Bucky as a friend, but the spell didn’t apply to friendships. Her sentiments towards Bucky ran deeper than that. “I did.”
“I need to tell you something, (Y/N), and I don’t want you to feel forced to do anything about it.” He took her hands in his and stared deeply into her eyes. “I have been in love with you since we were on the run from the Avengers because of the Accords. You turned your back on your family for someone you barely knew; you accepted me for everything that I was and am, and I am forever grateful to have you in my life. You looked past my flaws and embraced me for what the rest couldn’t see. And I don’t know if you even feel a sliver of the same, maybe you don’t and the vision was just a slip up; maybe that’s why you saw me, and maybe…”
(Y/N) crashed her lips into him, in part to stop his rambling. But really because she felt the same way. He had seen her at the lowest point in her life and stood by her no questions asked; he had taught her to smile again. “I feel the same way, Buck. Not for the same time, but I do.”
Bucky smiled at her and closed his arms around her waist, spinning her around in a hug. She looked down at him and grabbed his face to bind their lips together once more. This time the kiss they shared was deep and filled with passion. They both smiled into the kiss, Bucky slowly settling her down. Their forehead’s rested against each other as they caught their breath.
“What does this mean for us now?”
“We take it one day at a time, Buck.”
He smiled once more a kissed her lips, happy that he was finally able to do so. He peppered her whole face with small kisses, having (Y/N) laughing at the show of affection. His rough persona quickly melting away.
Bucky’s lips left her face and landed on her neck, nipping at her most sensitive spots. Her hands flew to his hair, gripping at the base earning a low growl from the man. His hands pulled her closer by the waist, latching onto her, afraid it was all in his head. He was getting hungry, but he wasn’t sure it was the right time.
“Wait, (Y/N), wait.” He pulled her back.
“What’s wrong, Buck?”
“We don’t have to do this if it’s too much, too fast.”
“Bucky, it’s okay. I want this. I want you, now.”
A fire was lit inside of him, animal energy emanating from within. Bucky closed the distance between (Y/N) and him, attacking her lips ferociously. Their hands discovering places in their bodies they had not touched before. Bucky wrapped his left arm around her and softly laid her down on the bed, never breaking the kiss. (Y/N) pulled at Bucky’s shirt, needing to feel him closer.
He broke the kiss to remove his t-shirt, (Y/N) taking advantage of the moment to remove hers, exposing her bare chest. Bucky came down once more and devoured the newly exposed skin, earning a soft moan from the girl. A sound that told Bucky he was doing something right.
His right hand distracted himself with a breast, while he took the other in his mouth. Bucky feasted on her body leaving wet kisses on her skin after feeling satisfied with the work he had done on the now perked mounds. When he reached the waistband of the pants she was wearing, he looked up at the squirming girl for permission to take it further. (Y/N) bit her lips in anticipation and nodded at the man between her legs.
It had been a long time since she had partaken in this game of limbs, enjoying the ecstasy that came from every move that was made. Bucky pulled her pants down, alongside her underwear, throwing them to a corner of the room. He worshiped her legs with kisses until he landed on her wetness. His breath teased the next movements he would engage in. A breathless moan left her lips when Bucky pressed his tongue flat and licked upright her entrance. Her back arched when his mouth landed on her clit, closing over it and using his tongue to draw an 8 figure on it. (Y/N)’s hands flew down to Bucky’s hair, pulling every time she felt the nerve endings responding to his touch. And the more she pulled, the more he moaned, the more the feeling reverberated through her body starting the cycle all over.
“Oh, baby, don’t stop,” (Y/N) moaned out. She could feel Bucky smiling, pressed to her skin. Then he inserted a finger into her dripping entrance. “Oh, fuck.”
Bucky was proud of the work he was doing. (Y/N) was a whimpering mess and that excited the man even more, the erection he had painfully squashed in the pants he was wearing. After pumping a single digit, he decided to introduce another, earning a gleeful groan from the girl.
(Y/N)’s breathing was becoming more staggered as Bucky continued pumping his fingers. “Fuck, baby, I’m close.”
“Go ahead, darling. I want you to come for me.” Said Bucky, before sucking on the swollen mound that he had been enjoying. His fingers started moving at a quicker pace, and so did the moans that escaped from (Y/N)’s mouth. With a few more pumps and a scream, the girl let go and enjoyed the peak of her climax. “You did so good, baby.”
He joined her on the bed and kissed her once more. She could taste herself on his tongue, and that only excited her more. She looked deeply into his striking blue eyes and told him all that he needed to hear. “I need you, Bucky. All of you.”
He unbuttoned his pants, finally unleashing his punished length. (Y/N) stared at him, hungry to feel him inside of her. Bucky aligned himself with her body, the head teasing the opening. “Are you ready, darling?”
“Yes, Buck!” And he entered her in one quick swoop, a loud grown leaving both bodies involved.
At first, his thrusts were slow and accommodating to allow (Y/N) to get used to having him in her. But once she acclimated to his above-average size, he thrust into her at a punishing pace. The sound of skin-on-skin contact was drowned out by the arousing sounds that came from (Y/N) and the animalistic groans that emanated from Bucky’s throat. (Y/N) felt her head going hazy from pleasure and couldn’t imagine feeling any more, until Bucky changed positions.
Somehow, he shifted their bodies to a stance that allowed him to go deeper and harder, hitting all the right spots. Bucky was seated on the edge of the bed, his left arm grabbing her waist to assist in her movements, as (Y/N) was bobbing up and down on his lap, their foreheads pressed together. Both of their breathing had become staggered, exhaling at the same time (Y/N) fell upon his lap, taking him completely in. Bucky stared in adoration at the woman in front of him; if this was a dream he did not want to wake up.
They were both reaching peak euphoria, the sound they were producing a testament to it. Bucky’s tempo picked up as (Y/N) clenched around him, climax knocking at their door.
“I’m so close, baby.” Bucky whimpered.
“Me too, Buck. So close,” (Y/N) breathed into the crook of his neck. His grip on her waist tightened as he got seconds away to release. A few more strokes and they were both yelling out each other’s names.
While they worked to regain their normal breathing rhythm, Bucky wrapped (Y/N) into a tight hug. The warmth of their bodies becoming a comfort blanket for each other. Their chests rising and falling at the same time; they were connected in more ways than one.
The man couldn’t help but smile at the figure lying next to him. He propped himself up by his elbow and basked in the view before him.
“What are you looking at?” She chuckled. She looked radiant to the man under the light of the sunset that slipped through the window.
“I just can’t believe this is actually happening.” He grinned. “I never thought I was the kind of person to get a happy ever after, as cliché as it sounds.”
(Y/N)’s gaze softened as she heard that. She stroked Bucky’s cheek, and she melted as his eyes closed to lean into her touch, committing to memory the feeling.
“You are deserving of that and much more, James Barnes.” She kissed his lips as a promise of her statement. “Now, I’m gonna go take another shower. Someone got me all riled up.”
“Maybe I’ll join you,” Bucky teased.
“Maybe you should,” she winked. Bucky smiled and threw her over his shoulder, (Y/N) growing out of breath from laughing too much. She could get used to this feeling, especially if it was with him.
Tag list: @marvelfansworld @coldhvrt16 @bluemoon-icecream
234 notes · View notes
Some suggestions for elf skin color
I think a lot about the logic of elven skin color. Elves were born before the sun existed, so it makes sense that they’d be pale, since sunlight is literally the only thing that leads to different skin tones. But we don’t want all our elves to be pale, do we? It’s boring and racist. And the sun eventually rose, so do we have a lot of sunburned elves? The problem is, there aren’t enough generations, especially generations after the sun, to evolve different skin tones.
There actually aren’t enough generations of Men to do that, either: Men have been around for roughly 7,000 years by the War of the Ring, whereas in the real world, homo sapiens have been around for an estimated 200,000 years. That’s easily excused by saying that Men awoke in several places (similar to a theory that used to be believed by scientists, though I think it was falling out of favor by Tolkien’s day) and Eru created them to have the right skin color for the place they live. It’s a bit more complicated when everyone awoke in the same place like elves. They did wake up in different groups, though, at least according to the one story about Cuivienen we have. (I’ve mentioned in the past that I think that’s a myth, but it probably has some basis in truth.)
Anyway, here are a few ideas I have for elvish skin color (and other racial characteristics).
1. The easiest one: forget science and just choose whatever colors you want for your characters.
2. Different races within the elves have different appearances. Keep in mind that the Avari are made up of both proto-Noldor and proto-Teleri, so they’d be mixed.
3. The different groups of elves who first woke at Cuivienen each were a different race. So the Vanyar (consisting of one group) were mostly all alike, whereas the Noldor and Teleri had two groups each, so they each have two different races mixed up within them. This and #2 suggest their society would probably be racist in a similar way to ours.
4. Everyone is dark skinned because that was the first human skin color and they haven’t had enough generations to evolve anything else.
5. Everyone is light skinned because they were developed for a world without light.
6. The elves at Cuivenen had random skin colors, because there was no evolution to demand one or another. So there are all sorts of what we’d consider mixed-race elves, and skin color doesn’t have any sort of cultural significance to it.
7. The rising of the sun triggered skin color genes within elves to express themselves, and within a couple of years, everyone had changed to darker skin tones, even though they’d previously all looked alike. The implications would be interesting. Would they not care because there’s no pattern to it? Or would they prefer people who had lighter skin because they looked more like everyone used to look?
8. The genes were only triggered in the generation born after the sun rose. If you have really pale skin, everyone knows you’re old. That could either be good (old people are respected) or bad (you’re not adapted to the sun and burn all the time).
9. Their skin changes significantly due to sun exposure, especially considering how long they live. It’s not like us getting tans or freckles: they can go from very light skin to brown skin if they’re out in the sun. (I think there’s canonical evidence for elves having changes to their skin if they’re exposed to sunlight, because Tolkien specifically mentions Galadriel and Arwen having white arms. This was commonly used to show that a lady was high class, because she didn’t have to work in the sun and could choose to use a parasol or something when she did go out. So presumably he’s signaling that they’re nobility by saying that, which means they must tan or something? Anyway, if the changes are big, this would matter more.)
10. Evolution happens with the cells in their body rather than on a species level, so if cells with more melanin survive better, the elf turns dark skinned over hundreds or thousands of years, whereas if they’re not getting enough vitamin D, they turn lighter again.
11. This only affects where the light touches, so they have really, really noticeable farmer’s tans.
12. Their skin is determined by how much sun exposure they get in their first few years. People living in the woods (e.g. Maeglin, who is canonically pale) have lighter skin than people living on the coast.
13. Their genetics are triggered by how much sun their parents got just before they were born.
14. Lamarckian evolution is true for elves, so if a parent tans, their child gets that skin tone rather than the parent’s original skin tone. A lot of elves are born freckled or sunburn red.
15. Elvish evolution goes at warp speed compared to ours, with noticeable evolutionary differences between a parent and a child. This could relate to non-racial traits, too.
16. Laurelin’s light counts as sunlight, so the Noldor exiles have much darker skin than the Sindar they come across.
17. Laurelin’s light does not count as sunlight, and in fact, elves interact with sunlight in a very different way than Men because of their history with the Trees. They don’t need sunlight for vitamin D (likely true, otherwise all pre-sun elves were vitamin deficient), and they also don’t get burned by it, so skin tone doesn’t matter and is either completely random or somewhere in the middle.
18. Since they have to create babies with a conscious use of their fea, elves have designer babies, where they get to influence things like height and what color their skin and hair is. A child’s appearance is based on their parents’ aesthetic choices. I don’t even know where to start with the cultural implications of this one.
19. Elves can change their skin color over time to whatever works best for them, because they have conscious control over their bodies.
20. The differences in elves’ skin is imperceptible to mortal eyes, and they don’t understand why we think they all look alike when OBVIOUSLY he has stripes and she has patches and so on.
21. If you really want to go off canon, you can have some wild things, like elves’ skin matching the colors of the things around them, so wood-elves have green skin and Noldor have gold or gemstone-colored skin and the Falathrim have stormy gray skin.
22. Or elves just have green or gold or gray skin, nobody’s stopping you.
23. Or they’re like octopuses or chameleons, changing skin color to blend in or communicate.
24. Elves don’t have skin, they have exoskeletons. Or environmental suits that cover their skin 100% of the time. Or something else sci-fi. (There are plenty of possible explanations here for their glowing eyes, too.)
25. I don’t know, you fill this one in.
72 notes · View notes
AMHL – Masterlist
WARNINGS: PTSD, domestic violence & abuse, panic attack, anxiety
“I feel like you’re torturing me now,” Y/N groaned as she put the bar back down on the bench press.
Dick chuckled. “You gotta gain some strength before I teach you, otherwise you’re just going to hurt yourself.”
“You callin’ me fat, Grayson?”
His eyes grew three sizes and his jaw dropped in shock. “No, no, no, no, no. I would never!”
Then he jumped into a tangent about how beautiful he was and he loved her for how she looked and never wanted her to change, unless that’s what she wanted. And it went on and on and on.
Y/N finally took pity on him and started laughing.
“Dick, I’m just fucking with you.”
He pointed an accusatory finger at her. “That was cruel.”
But she only laughed more.
“10 pushups for that,” he demanded.
Her jaw dropped. “Noooo!”
“Yeah. Come on.”
She did as he instructed, knowing she did kind of deserve it.
Afterward, he led her to the training mats. They had done weight training for about 30 minutes or so, and Dick insisted that was going to be a big part of all this. He was right: some of the self-defense moves would only hurt her if she didn’t prep her body.
But when Dick turned to find Y/N standing at the ready on the other side, his tough-love coaching style disappeared.
She looked so small and fragile, clearly nervous for the actual fight training.
Sometimes Dick forgot that Y/N wasn’t like his family or his teammates. She didn’t graduate from field work to sitting behind a computer. Hacking and computer science was her first and only exposure to this life.
“What?” She asked.
“Nothing. You just…look nervous.”
“I am,” she admitted.
With that, Dick walked across the mat and planted a kiss on her lips.
He stepped back with a smile, “Ready?”
She beamed at him and nodded.
For the next half hour or so, Dick taught Y/N all the basics of self defense: how to get out of holds, where to hit an attacker for the most impact, and how to prevent herself from getting injured in the process.
“Things are going to be quicker in real life. You’re going to have to get over the feeling of panic and calm yourself down enough to properly react,” Dick explained.
Y/N nodded with her back to him as she returned to her spot on the other side of the training mats.
But she didn’t reach it before Dick surprised her with a chokehold from behind her.
Before now, Dick had been walking her through moves step by step. But he clearly was trying to prove the point that she would most likely not be expecting these attacks. And he wanted her to get used to reacting to the surprise of it all.
Except…Dick didn’t think this training tactic completely through.
Dick hadn’t taken into account that his student and girlfriend was also a victim of domestic violence.
Since she first escaped from underneath her parents’ roof, Y/N’s had improved a lot when it came to treating and handling her PTSD.
It used to be so much worse.
Loud noises would throw her into panic attacks. People just lightly touching her without her expecting it made her jump feet away. Anytime she got a whiff of alcohol that smelled even a little bit similar to her father’s preferred brand could set her off.
Over the years, it got better.
Therapy helped. Dick helped – his whole family had helped.
But Y/N knew it would always be there, waiting inside her.
And in this moment, it decided to reveal itself once again.
Y/N’s vision blurred. All she could hear was her heartbeat making its way to her ears.
It wasn’t until her entire body was trembling that Dick realized something was wrong.
He let go.
But before he even completely let go, Y/N dodged away so quickly that she almost tripped over her own feet.
She whipped around, eyes so wide. Like a deer facing a hunter, fully aware it was about to be slaughtered.
And Dick realized how much he just fucked up.
Without even realizing what she was doing, Y/N slowly lowered herself to the ground, not trusting that her knees to not give out at any moment.
“Y/N,” Dick whispered desperately.
It was hearing how sorry he was already that made Y/N’s eyes fill with tears.
As soon as she was shakily lowered to the ground, she hugged her knees to her chest and hid her face in them.
“Can we stop?” She begged, as if she had no choice and Dick had complete control.
Her voice and sob was muffled by her knees.
“Yes, we’re stopping,” Dick immediately answered with a clear voice. "You’re safe. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”
But Y/N only nodded, not helping to convince Dick that his words comforted her in the slightest.
Her entire body was trembling as she continued to squeeze her knees as tightly as she could.
Dick kneeled but didn’t move any closer to her.
“Can I…Please…Can I touch you?” He whispered.
But she shook her head.
Not because she didn’t want him to, but because she felt like she had no control over her body right now. And she had no idea how it was going to react to being touched again.
And she was already mortified and confused and terrified.
“OK,” Dick sighed as he lowered himself to the mat as well. “I’m just going to sit here. OK? I’m not going to get anywhere near you.”
Y/N didn’t respond. But her body was still clearly trembling.
“Can you just breath for me?” Dick asked softly. "Deep breaths in, slow breaths out.”
She still doesn’t respond. But he can hear her trying to do as he asked.
Dick didn’t think he should say any more, worried that his talking was just making the whole situation worse. But then he remembered a tactic Bruce had taught him to console victims who were going into shock or scared of them.
“Can you count backwards from 100 with me?” He then asked.
“What?” She sputtered out, confusedly.
But it was good that she was clearly able to even process that he was talking to her.
“Countdown from 100,” he repeated gently. “100, 99, 98,” he started.
She eventually joined in.
When they reached 1, Y/N went quiet again.
It seemed to have worked.
After a few minutes, Y/N finally stood up.
“I-I’m s-s-sorry,” she whispered quickly, but it was so quiet that Dick almost didn’t catch it.
The next second, she rushed out of the cave.
Now that her PTSD had calmed down, she was clearly embarrassed.
“Y/N! Wait!” Dick called after her in a panic and jogged after her.
When they got to the main part of the manor and Y/N reached the stairs to go to the second floor, she had flown past a very confused and concerned Bruce Wayne.
Dick paused when Y/N sprinted up the stairs with her eyes blood shot and cheeks tear stained.
“What did you do, Dick?” Bruce grunted, not even considering that it could also possibly be Y/N’s fault.
Dick sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. “I was showing her some self-defense…and I…I trigged her PTSD and she had a panic attack.”
“You need to be more careful,” Bruce reprimanded.
“I know, I know. It was stupid.” Dick already knew he messed up.
Bruce remained disappointed by Dick’s mistake.
“I’m going to go check on her,” Dick mumbled and passed Bruce with his head hung.
Dick returned to his childhood room, the one they always stayed in while visiting.
The shower was already running.
He figured he should give her some time to herself and not rush into the bathroom.
Y/N was most likely crying and wanted to hide it from him. Even though she already realized Dick would know that’s exactly what she was doing.
10 minutes later, Y/N came out of the bathroom with a cloud of steam and a white towel wrapped tightly around her.
Dick’s heart broke even more when he saw her red, bloodshot eyes.
“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, desperate for her forgiveness.
He should’ve realized that certain things in typical self-defense training could trigger her.
Bruce had taught him to always expect the unexpected. And Y/N’s PTSD should’ve be expected while he put her under such a tense and rigorous circumstance.
Y/N hung her head in shame. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Dick.”
Her voice was so small, so vulnerable. Dick had to hold his breath to hear it.
“Y/N, you have nothing to be embarrassed about,” he insisted and he slowly stood up from the edge of the bed.
Dick wanted to go to her, but he was so scared of making things worse.
“Will you please come here?” He finally asked in a whisper.
She practically tiptoed to her boyfriend, while she held her towel tightly to her body as if it were some kind of armor.
As soon as Y/N was a few inches away, Dick gently tugged her onto his lap.
He was a very tactile man, and not being able to give her physical comfort was slowly killing him. And he felt utterly useless to help her.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed or sorry. I knew better than to surprise you like that. I was an idiot. What happened was my fault, OK?”
She nodded slowly.
Eventually his words would get through to her.
“Can you still train me?”
Y/N finally shocked Dick with her question.
“Of course, Y/N. Let’s just take it slower next time. I promise to be more careful.”
She nodded quickly, fully believing him and trusting him.
Now he put his arms around her, holding her to him tightly.
Dick had always been protective over her. But when she showed signs of being triggered, he went full mama bear on her. But that was also Dick as a person. He was so caring of everyone in his life. He was a big brother, a leader, a stand-in father sometimes even.
But it often led to Y/N’s guilt when Dick felt the need to treat her like a piece of glass. But sometimes…she was. And that was OK.
“Wanna get to sleep?” He muttered into her hair.
She nodded again.
Dick carefully moved her from his lap and placed her on the bed before he stood.
Y/N watched with love in her eyes as Dick moved around the room and grabbed some of his clothes to give to her to sleep in.
What had she done to deserve him?
“I’ll give you a minute,” Dick told her as he handed the clothes to her.
Not that he hadn’t seen her naked hundreds of times before. He was just treading carefully now.
“Want some tea?” He asked as he walked to the door.
“Sure,” she agreed quietly.
When Dick returned with two cups of tea, Y/N was already underneath the covers of their bed.
Dick watched Y/N as she took her first sip.
“You want to talk about it?” He was ever so careful in his tone, making sure it was obvious that Y/N didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to.
“There’s not much to tell,” she admitted with a shrug.
“That’s alright though.”
Y/N sighed. “As fucked up as it sounds, I sometimes forget about all the things he used to do to me.”
She chuckled darkly, “Guess that’s repression for ya.”
Dick winced slightly.
“He used to grab me by the throat. Constantly. Because he hated whenever I tried to talk back or fight him with words. So he made sure I couldn’t talk at all. It was all about control.”
Despite being trigged and having a panic attack earlier, Y/N talked about her tragic past without any emotion, and it sounded so casually. She was numb to the memories, but the scars manifested themselves in different ways now – and that was proven today.
Y/N looked up when Dick hadn’t said anything.
She was taken aback by how he looked as if he was going to be sick.
“I’m fine, Dick. Really.” She insisted as she cupped his cheek.
It hurt Dick to hear these things more than it hurt Y/N now.
“You were dealing with your past all by yourself long before you met me,” Dick answered. “But I just need you to know I’m never going to let anything like that ever happen to you again.”
He took in a shaky breath. “Even if – fuck – even if something happened between us, and we weren’t together…I’d still keep you safe. Do you understand?”
Oh, Dick. His gentleness never stopped amazing her.
“I know that, Dick. I’ve always known that.”
Before he could answer, she added, “Now enough talking. Can you just cuddle me now?”
Dick laughed at her demanding and teasing tone.
“Get over here,” he pulled her into his chest.
Soon his grasp was so soothing to Y/N’s body that she reached the ultimate level of relaxation, especially after being drained from her earlier panic.
Y/N felt Dick kiss the top of her head before she fell asleep in his arms.
ALL BONUS CONTENT CAN BE FOUND: HERE
163 notes · View notes
Pairing: Dark Sliver fox!Steve Rogers X reader.
Warnings: Noncon/dubcon, mention of death, fear play, horror themes, voyeurism, blackmailing, mention of physical violence, stalking, degrading, cyber bullying, language. Trigger warning 18+.
Special thanks to @angrybirdcr for letting me use the Silverfox Edit ❤️
Ps: Check out her amazing edits of Silverfox Chris Evans and his characters
This is written for my baby, @imdarkinme 😘 I'm sorry I made you wait so long 🥺♥️
Phil Coulson was one of the most talented and intelligent Forensic Psychologists and writers. He worked with the FBI most of his life and later retired to become a writer. He interviewed the mobsters and psychopaths and brought out their stories to the world. Sometimes it would be an autobiography or sometimes just a fiction inspired by true stories. His crime and psychological thrillers were always best sellers. He was a true inspiration and icon, especially for a budding forensic psychologist as yourself.
You met him through his wife Melinda May. She was your professor in SHIELD University. When she saw your talent, passion and hardwork, she insisted you meet then FBI Agent, Phil.
Your relationship with May was that of mother and daughter and when you met Phil, he became the father. You spent your mornings studying with May and your nights around Phil working and studying the cases under him. You based your research on the people you met working with the FBI. Phil and May gave you the exposure needed to become who you were today, a successful forensic psychologist and writer. You worked with local police for a few years but soon you realised you’d be a better writer than psychologist. Both May and Phil were more than happy with what you choose for yourself. You were the child they never had. And they were the parents you wished you always had.
You were known to interview the most brutal and psychotic criminals and then write about their stories. This time it was Brock Rumlow. He was known for killing women and using their body parts to make various artifacts. You were sent to the most securely protected institution for criminally insane. While you were staying there your schedule was very tight. They had strict policies and hence your phone was confesticated for the entire time you were there.
For seven days you were there interviewing and writing your book away from the outside world. And when you stepped out of the world of madness, you were pushed in the world of grief and regret.
May had fallen down the stairs back in the house which caused brain hemorrhage and she died 2 days after being admitted to the hospital. Phil couldn’t take the loss and had a heart attack. He knew there was nothing else to hold on to. In the time when you should be focused on the career and your own relationships you'd be forced to take care of him and hence he was giving up on his life. In his last days, Phil wrote you a letter telling you how much both he and May loved you and how proud they were of you.
According to the couple's wish, the funeral was held in their penthouse in Avenger’s town which you were unaware of. The town was one of the elite colonies and the residents were FBI agents, army, navy, air force officials and marines and even spies & assassins who worked for the government. To your surprise Phil and May were very social and knew a lot of people and almost all of them were here, attending the funeral. The couple had kept you away from their work life, especially from people of Avenger’s town and vice versa.
May wanted their will to be read in the funeral itself. They left the house they lived in to be given to the FBI to make it a witness protection and safehouse. You smiled as the lawyer, Nick Fury read the sentence. They were always so kind and thoughtful. And their penthouse in Avengers town, the one you all were present in, was to be given to you. You audibly gasped. You hadn’t earned this beautiful house. Neither did you belong in a place like this.
You thought about giving this place up to the FBI as well, but Fury reminded you it was their last wish. You reluctantly agreed and decided to move in here.
Just like you, there were many who thought you didn't belong here. Few of such people were Natasha Romanoff and Steve Grant Rogers.
Natasha was a redhead woman in mid 30s. She was a spy and assassin. She had lost a lot of things in the process of becoming who she was today. She had lost family and the chance to start one. She simply didn’t see a lame writer as yourself fit to be in the town.
Steve on the other hand was an old chap who thought the same. He knew about you since the day you stepped in the office for the first time with Phil. He simply thought you were using a lovely couple to your own advantage, to gain fame and position. He was there when May was admitted in the hospital. Just as he was there when Phil collapsed in front of him. Your absence made him think you didn't care enough. But the most infuriating thing was, you were bringing out Brock’s story to the world in the form of fiction.
Steve was the one who had spent sleepless nights to read files on Brock and arrest him. His dedication was the reason Brock was behind the bars. It had cost him the death of his marriage with Peggy who left him with their unborn baby.
Others who lived in the town and were close friends of Phil and May included Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, James Buchanan Barnes, Bruce Banner, Maria Hill, Thor and Clint Barton. They welcomed you with open arms and honoured the wishes of the dead couple.
Three days after the funeral you moved into the house. This was the first time you actually explored the interior and the rooms in the house after the funeral. White color was dominating most of the walls. The furniture was minimal but paintings, artifacts, lights and vase decorated the place beautifully. The house wasn’t too big, there were three rooms, one of which was a study/library room, two bedrooms, a living room and kitchen. The laundry was in the basement.
Since the house was already well furnished you decided to discard your old furniture. You also decided to not buy any new piece of furniture simply respecting and caring for the old one. You chose the small room located on the ground floor beside the kitchen leaving the master bedroom upstairs.
As for the colony, each block had two houses. You shared your block with Natasha Romanoff and the next block was of Steve. The rest of the houses were slightly far away, 10-15 mins walking distance.
You spent your evening hanging photo frames of Phil and May in the master bedroom and treated the room as if they were still there. After you came back and found out about their death, you had so many things to take care of, you didn’t get any time to grieve. So when you moved in and settled down, you hugged one of both their pieces of clothing and cried your eyes out. And somewhere lost in sobs you dozed off to sleep.
Steve had spoken about his disinterest and unwillingness of your stay with Tony, who simply said, “We should be honouring the dead. If they wanted her to have it, then there must be a reason, besides she was a forensic psychologist.”
Listening to Tony, Steve decided to give you a chance. That night he made one of his famous meat pies and decided to drop by at Phil and May’s place. This way he could get some company and get a good look at your real self. He knocked at the door that night. It was the same night you had cried your eyes out and went to bed.
Steve knocked once, twice and thrice. No response. He took a peek inside the house and saw how you didn’t bother to bring furniture of your own. Infuriated by your behavior he scoffed and walked away vowing to never let you live in peace.
The next morning you woke up early. May never liked you laying in bed till late. Smiling at the memories that rushed to you, you looked back at the photo frame and smiled.
“I’m up early ma. Today I will bake cookies and visit the neighbours and thank them for the support and welcome.” Making the bed you began your day.
As promised, you freshened up, wore one of the summer dresses May had gifted you and began to bake cookies. Ten cookies to each of the nine neighbouring houses who had attended the funeral and were close to Phil and May.
Each one of them welcomed you with a smile. With each you spent some time talking and giggling. Everyone except Steve Rogers and to a certain extent Natasha Romanoff. She was cold but at least she was civil.
Steve on the other hand had a scowl on his face. You could visibly see him clenching his jaw and fists balled in irritation. He refused to look at you and looked everywhere except you. You were never this uncomfortable. For you Steve meant a lot.
Phil had always admired Captain Steve Rogers. Yes, Steve had served in the army before he became an FBI agent. According to Phil, Steve was an orphan who lived on streets and had plenty of health issues, despite the conditions he worked hard to be where he was. His skills were out of this world, Phil would say.
Part of you had started admiring Steve as well and once you saw him in the office you developed a little crush on him. He was much older than you but a tiny crush hurts no one right?
A part of you was disappointed and hurt. The man with whom you spent half the afternoon wasn’t the same Phil told you about or you developed a crush on. Steve had made you feel small and worthless, hiding your disappointment you went back home arranging your stuff and writing your book.
A kock on the door in the late afternoon was unexpected for Steve, especially after his retirement. Opening the door he saw you, wearing a summer dress barely covering your thighs. The moment he saw you smiling innocently holding those stupid cookies, he had lost his mind, more like his cock stiffened.
His mind took a dive in the river of lust.
Steve thought you would just give those cookies and walk away. But no, you had to stay over and talk, thank and blah and blah. Like a gentleman he invited you inside. And you had to take a seat opposite to him of course. Your dress hiked up revealing your legs, your posture with a slight slouch made your cleavage visible to his lust blown eyes. At that moment he knew his cock had swollen and turned blue.
Steve knew if he looked at your body he wouldn’t be able to control. You were young and naive. And he was a touch starved beast.
The way you spoke, politely, innocently and something about you being thankful for acceptance and support took him to Peggy. She wasn’t like you at all. If Steve was a woman, that was Peggy.
Part of him wanted to bend you over the couch and spank your ass raw and fuck your brains out as a punishment for the pretentious behavior of yours, while other just wanted to slap you and throw you out of the house.
Steve somehow controlled himself. He hummed occasionally. There was a scowl on his face and with your every move he clenched his jaw and balled his fists as his cock got harder. Finally you took the memo and left him be. After you left, he rushed in his bathroom and stroked his cock imagining you spread under him, moaning and begging him to fuck you. This was after a long time he had imagined someone and touched himself. With a loud moan he came and cleaned himself up.
After the lust was flushed out of his system Steve once again began thinking clearly.
He could never have you. You were his old friend’s daughter, daughter like to be precise. But you were young and you were writing a pathetic story on Brock who definitely didn’t deserve that. You had to go. You didn’t belong here. If you can’t be his, he was in no way letting you stay and torturing himself.
You forgot about Steve as you busied yourself in work. Rest of your day was peacefully spent. And so was the rest of the week. You had set yourself a routine, waking up, going cycling, having breakfast, taking a bath, writing or researching, cleaning the house, a small nap in the afternoon, then cooking or grocery shopping if needed, watching Tv and then sleeping.
As peaceful as you felt, you could sense someone watching over you. But you brushed it off, after all you were in the colony of people who were meant to protect the country and the people.
This feeling lasted even in the second week, things looked okay until you started feeling someone was watching you even as you bathed and slept. In the nights, you heard growling and howling sometimes. You would get creepy texts and blank calls. You couldn’t trace the number but the person was becoming bolder and bolder as each day passed as they sent you videos of dead bodies and gore. When you attempted to save or show it to someone, they just vanished leaving no trace of ever existing.
You shared your experience with Tony, he suggested you to change your number and go for a small holiday for maybe two three days, which you listened to. All that time you were on a holiday, none of the things happened. No texts or calls, no prying eyes, no eerie feeling. You came back happy. But that didn’t last long as the events repeated all over again. And this time, it was clearly alarming.
Such a stupid baby you are, thinking you can change your number and I won’t find out? I’m coming for you. I see you. You are better off away from this place.
You were scared but where will you go? You had given your apartment for rent, even if you decided to go live there, you at least had to give the tenant 3 months notice. And considering the texts and threats, you wondered if you would survive that long.
A phone call pulled you out of the reverie. Caller id read “private number”, you knew it was the same caller who gave you blank calls. Always calling from different private numbers leaving no trace of the caller or location of the caller whatsoever.
Not picking up the call seemed tempting, but you had learnt your lesson once.
You once ignored the calls for an entire day. That night your phone dinged, you opened the text which had a video attachment. You clicked open and your heart stopped beating.
It was a video of you touching yourself. Your panties were pulled aside, your breasts were free from confinement of the lacy bra and you were shamelessly moaning. Moaning Steve’s name. It had happened when you saw him work out and lust clouded your mind. Coming back home you relieved yourself moaning and groaning his name.
You were scared. Someone took that video of you and you couldn’t tell anyone because you moaned Steve’s name. And if that video went viral? You’d lose everything. Name, reputation, plus the shaming. That person had warned you once so you were at his mercy. Reluctantly you picked up the call.
There was shrieking, loud and heartbreaking. A woman was sobbing, begging someone not to rape her. Her cries were followed by sounds of the clothes being torn apart and then it stopped. You were relieved it did. Soon there was another text,
You could be the next :)
Should have left the place when you had a chance.
Without thinking you ran out of your house scared, anxious and crying. You made a run towards Tony’s house but you couldn’t reach far as your road was blocked by three hunter dogs who were growling and grunting. They barked and began running towards you and instinctively you began running back to the house.
Opening the door with a haste, you locked yourself inside as the dogs surrounded the house giving you no chance to escape. You hugged yourself and cried. With shaking hands you began calling Tony, but he never responded.
Your only saviour could be Natasha but you knew she wouldn’t help. You took a peek outside those dogs were still roaming around your place. You decided to make a run towards Steve’s place. Sure he hated you, but he was your best option.
Wiping your tears, you ran towards the kitchen, grabbing some raw chicken. You decided to distract the dogs, making three of them fight for a piece so you could run in the meantime.
You opened the window facing the backyard. A dog began barking and soon two others followed his suit as they too got distracted by the meat. Taking a chance you ran as fast as you could. Pumped with adrenaline your legs didn’t focus on any particular path. You kept looking behind for the mutts as your legs dragged you. You consider yourself lucky when you see no one behind.
Your luck was short lived though.
Looking behind you didn’t see angry Steve who looked disappointed by your escape. You crashed on to him much to his dismay.
You were looking bewildered. Your hair was messy, face was covered in sweat and your breathing rate almost matched the speed of your run.
A part of him was satisfied looking at your pathetic self. Other part wanted to turn you around and fuck you senseless right there.
“Please Mr. Rogers. Please help me. Please..” you begged him.
“Dogs… those dogs… please… help”.
Steve hugged you. For a moment you felt calm but soon your vision got lost in the darkness.
You woke up in a room that looked like a basement. Your eyes scanned the room and you were greeted with nothing but silence and dim lights flickering occasionally.
Your body was numb, maybe the adrenaline was finally settling down. You almost limped towards what looked like a door, but before you could reach, those wild mutts that attacked you jumped over at you. You flinched back as they continued to bark at you trying to attack you. They were tied but were just as scary and deadly.
You hugged yourself and began to cry. Those mutts were really scaring you. Their bark was loud and screamed agony. If that wasn’t enough the room went dark and a video began to play on the projector which lay across the walls of the room. It was the same video that was sent to you, a woman who was crying begging her attacker or attackers not to rape her.
You recognised it and covered your ears trying to block the sounds of her crying and pleading. This time the video kept playing. You could hear the woman getting raped. The sound of her clothes being shredded, her cries and moans, those men grunting in pleasure and calling her all sorts of names.
You wanted to run away but those mutts began barking again making you curl into a ball and cry.
“STOP! STOP STOP.” you chanted over and over.
And suddenly the room went quiet. The video stopped playing. And those mutts calmed down. The room was now filled with your sobs and whimpers. Suddenly you were picked by two strong arms. You looked up to see Steve. In that moment you knew all this was Steve’s doing. Those texts, videos, threats, those mutts and every eerie feeling you ever got was all Steve.
“Wh.. why.. Why..?” you asked broken.
“You don’t belong here. You were never the resident of Avenger’s Colony. But you became one by parading around with your kindness and sweetness. And those slutty clothes you wear? You became a nuisance to my cock.” Steve growled. “Gone, I wanted you gone, but your stubborn dumbass wouldn’t leave.”
“Please… please I...I will.. will leave…. I will leave now..” you begged. “I… i.. Will tell no one…”
Steve chuckled. “It’s too late for that.”
Steve tore your shirt off, his nails leaving deep bruises. You whimpered in pain and began fighting him off. But his silver hair fooled you into underestimating his strength. Steve’s grip tightened as he pushed you down and tore off your skirt and inners.
You now lay naked struggling under him. Steve had firmly caged you under him as he pulled his own shirt and undid his belt and pulled his pants down. His cock was hard and erect. He assaulted your neck and breasts with bites having no intention to shower any kind of love or affection. He wanted to ruin you. Fuck you out of hatred. Your whimpers were rewarding. Your pleas encouraged him further and he began groping and manhandling you.
You couldn’t bite him nor you could scratch him and so your hand wandered over the surrounding looking for something to hit him with. To your luck there was a nail laying around, without any hesitation you stabbed Steve’s shoulder. He screamed in agony and you used his distraction to kick him and run.
In the haste you forgot the presence of the three mutts. Just as you reached near the door, they attacked you but before they could hurt you you flinched back right into Steve’s arms. He was pissed.
‘You fucking bitch.” Steve turned you around and smacked you making you fall down.
Without wasting any further time, Steve spread your legs and thrusted inside you. You gasped as he fully thrusted inside. Without giving you any time to adjust Steve began pounding into your channel. It was either sweat or the adrenaline that excited your body but you were wet.
“Fucking slut is turned on by fear huh?” Steve mocked you as he thrusted in and out. He hit all the right places and made you moan. Throwing one of your legs on his shoulder, Steve picked up his pace. His thumb rubbed circles over your clit as rutted in you.
You were reaching towards the bliss. Your pussy clenching around his cock making him growl and grunt. Steve squeezed your breasts as he himself was nearing his high.
Moaning loudly you came. Steve still continued to rut and chased his own high. Pulling you close, he held you tight as he came deep inside you. Overstimulated you clung onto him and sobbed.
You felt someone caress your hair. You knew it wasn’t Steve as his hands were resting on your waist and back.
You turned to look behind you.
“Welcome to the neighbourhood sweetheart.” Natasha smiled.
Tags ♥️: @gotnofucks @aleemendoza2425-blog @marvelfansworld @jack-skellingtons-stuff @ironlady1993 @mariahill2001 @captainrogersbucky @itgetsdarksometimes35 @ozarkthedog @what-is-your-wish @tian-monique @deathismylifesaesthetic @candylover10 @ba-arish @notyourtypicalrose @villanellevi @imsonick @imdarkinme @jtargaryen18 @arielwalters @stuckys-whore @momc95 @saiyanprincessswanie @briarrose125 @shadowcatsworld @heartislubbingdubbing @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @auroussss @captainsbxbygirl @thefandomlife-221b @xoxabs88xox @searchforanotherway @jtargaryen18 @mcudarklibrary @imma-new-soul @yanderedarkfics @chaoticfiretaconerd @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @readermia @simsadventures @creepylittlemarvelgirl @mrs-sargent-barnes
I'm unable to tag the bolded one's ☹️
395 notes · View notes
What Doomscrolling Does to the Brain
Not knowing anything at all will make you anxious, but so will reading all bad news all the time
It’s not hyperbolic to say that almost all the news these days is bad news. A deadly, economically crippling pandemic has now dragged into its seventh month. Wildfires sparked by climate change are still ravaging the West Coast. The country’s political landscape has descended into republic-threatening chaos, and racial, cultural, and economic inequalities are as stark and divisive as ever.
Not only is it all bad — it’s also all around us. Social media usage has increased as people spend more time at home due to Covid-19, and likewise, Nielsen reports that weekly TV watching grew by 1 billion hours at the height of nationwide shelter-in-place orders in April. We’re taking in more media than ever. And often, that means reading or watching gloomy story after gloomier story, or, as New York Times tech columnist Kevin Roose called it back in March, “doomsurfing.”
Taken together, this is a dangerous formula. Consuming too much bad news on your phone or the TV can be harmful — studies find it’s bad for your physical and mental health — and the constant bombardment only raises the risk.
Roxane Cohen Silver, a professor of psychology at the University of California, Irvine, first studied the effects of exposure to negative news after the 9/11 attacks. “We found that people who were engaged in more television exposure in the first week after the attacks were more likely to develop mental and physical health effects in the aftermath,” she says.
At the start of the pandemic, Silver and her colleagues published an article predicting that the mental and physical health consequences of the coronavirus news deluge would be similar. But actually, she says, it’s worse. First, the way we consume news is totally different now than two decades ago — endless scrolling wasn’t a thing in 2001.
“But it’s not just that the media landscape has changed,” Silver says. “It’s that the pandemic is a chronic, slowly unfolding disaster. This is a different circumstance because it’s unfolding and escalating. We don’t know how bad it will get, but we know it keeps getting worse.”
Reading the news is a defense mechanism
The human brain is hardwired to consume the news. In times of uncertainty, your brain’s evolutionary instinct is to seek out as much information as possible, says Pamela Rutledge, director of the Media Psychology Research Center.
“When you’re anxious about something, you want information, because it’s how we make our environment safe,” she says. “Because we are inherently wired to try to protect ourselves, it’s a biological imperative to understand the environment.”
Fear of the virus and its effects — or of any of the other negative things in the news, such as political divisiveness or reports of police brutality — can lead to hypervigilance, just like any other phobia.
“People who are afraid of spiders monitor their environment to make sure they don’t see any spiders,” says Silver. Apply that to the current state of affairs, and it’s like being constantly on the lookout for spiders, and actually seeing them — everywhere. And despite your brain’s desire for the information, having it doesn’t actually make you feel any better.
Getting caught in the bad news cycle
“The more you see bad things, the more worried you are about bad things,” Silver says. “That worry is associated with more media. That media is associated with more worry. It’s very difficult to extricate yourself from this vicious cycle. It’s very difficult to stop it.”
In research conducted after both the 2013 Boston Marathon bombing and the 2016 shooting at Orlando’s Pulse nightclub, Silver and her colleagues found that “distress can increase subsequent trauma-related media consumption that promotes increased distress to later events.” In other words, the more you watch, the worse you feel, and the worse you feel, the more you watch.
People who get caught in the cycle, Silver says, are far more likely to develop anxiety and depressive symptoms. “In the 9/11 work, we also found that people are more likely to develop cardiovascular and neuromuscular problems,” she says.
Rutledge adds that the circumstances of Covid-19 intensify the cycle.
“Covid is really an interesting and different thing, because as psychologists we know what happens when people are traumatized by events, and we know what happens when people are isolated,” she says. “We haven’t done those things together before, and the outcome for both combined doesn’t make a pretty picture. One kind creates acute stress, one creates chronic stress.” And when we’re stressed out like that, we’re more eager for news and more negatively affected by it. “People who are more anxious are more likely to search for more news, and more likely to be triggered by it.”
Self-care means knowing when to turn it off
Most news sites and social media apps are deliberately designed to keep you scrolling, which makes it even easier to fall down the rabbit hole. It’s happened to almost all of us: You’re planning to just check the headlines before bed, and before you know it you’ve been reading anxiety-inducing articles for an hour.
No one’s suggesting you stick your head in the sand; in fact, being totally uninformed is likely to have the opposite effect, making you even more anxious. But you do need to break the “doomsurfing” cycle, and the first step is to take accountability.
“The truth is, you are the person scrolling,” says Rutledge. “You have the remote. You could be watching silly cat videos.”
Reduce the amount of news you’re consuming, Silver suggests, and be more deliberate about where it comes from.
“I don’t watch television — I haven’t for decades,” she says. “I don’t have social media accounts. I don’t watch videos, and I’d argue I’m as knowledgeable as the next person. But I carefully monitor the amount of time I’m spending engaged with media. It’s a very conscious decision on my part. I typically check the news on a computer or on my phone in the morning and at night.”
Going cold turkey on TV and social media might seem drastic or unrealistic, but you don’t have to constantly surround yourself with it. Turn off push notifications from news apps on your phone, and try to only check them at predetermined times, once or twice a day. You can also set limits, using apps like Flipd, AppBlock, FocusMe, and others to lock yourself out of select apps after you cross a certain screen time threshold. Timing matters, too; Rutledge says reading bad news before bed contributes to sleeplessness, which only worsens stress and anxiety.
It’s also a good idea to cut down on the number of channels you’re viewing or accounts you follow, and make sure the ones you choose are delivering reliable facts. Too much slant can make your media experience even more anxiety-inducing.
“When you undermine trust in information, it increases conflict at the social level,” Rutledge says, “because everyone has their own story and there’s no overarching narrative. But all of these things conspire to raise the general anxiety and general stress level of pretty much the entire population.” Most news sources, Rutledge adds, have a tendency to rehash the same stories over and over. “People need to be careful about what they’re watching, and say, ‘am I getting more information from this?’ and actively stop when there’s no more information to be had.”
But even when you do take a break, Rutledge says, it’s important to do something that actually takes your mind off the negative. “You could stop watching the news and go to the grocery store with everyone in masks and people behind plexiglass and that’s going to be anxiety-provoking. It’s important to take deliberate actions to de-stress; to relax and find ways to reframe things.”
That means finding sources of entertainment and distraction that let you check out — at least briefly — from current events. Watch Netflix, Rutledge suggests, go for a walk in the woods, or hang out with your mom on Zoom.
The more you monitor your consumption and cut down on the time spent reading or watching, the easier it becomes to break out of the bad news/anxiety cycle. In short, doomsurfing is bad, so knock it off. “Not knowing anything at all will make you anxious, but so will reading all bad news all the time,” Rutledge says. “So, figure out how to get as much news as you need to stay informed, and then turn it off and up your cat video consumption instead.”
By Kate Morgan (Medium). Illustration: Shira Inbar.
258 notes · View notes
Easy Way Out, Pt 1
Pairing: Porco Galliard x Fem!Reader
Rating: Mature (18+ only)
Warnings: Death Stranding AU, Violence, Blood, Mention of Suicidal Thoughts, Cussing
Word Count: 7.4K
Part one | Part Two
A/N: This is my contribution to the Smut Pile Apocalypse Collab! Please check out all the other incredible pieces that everyone has worked so hard on.
This is a Death Stranding AU and my first ever collab fic, so please be gentle on me haha. Pt 1 focuses pretty heavily on world building and minor events to set up the story. It gets more Pock-centric in later Pts, I promise! You don’t have to be familiar with Death Stranding to follow the plot so I hope that doesn’t scare anyone off.
I want to say a huge thank you to my wife @dabilove27 for encouraging me to the max and seeing this piece through its many stages, I would have given up by now if it were not for you! I love you forever 💙 also a huge thanks to @gixxie for reading my intro and being a constant pillar of support. And of course, to you my darling @pleasantanathema who told me I was absolutely doing this collab and held my hand throughout, your belief and encouragement means the world to me. I love you bbys 💙 P.S. I know nothing about motorcycles, especially electric ones, and it shows. I’m so sorry 😂 and finally, I hope you enjoy!
You stand on the mountain's peak, wind whipping around you in a chaotic dance, tugging at your hair and loose fitting bodysuit. You tilt your face to the heavens, lids shut and inhale deeply; cold, delicious oxygen filling your lungs. There is so much air up here it is almost impossible to breathe, the wind stealing the breath right from your chest.
It reaches out to you with a blustery hand and offers you promises of flight and freedom. You teeter on the rocky edge of life itself. You know the second you comply, the short-lived euphoria will be dashed against the rocks below, triggering a devastating Voidout.
How cruel of the universe to set you down in a post-apocalyptic nightmare with no means of escape. You would not take your own life if it meant taking countless others with you.
That was one of the many curses of living in the Death Stranding, the new world. Any human life that ended, resulted in a Voidout, a giant explosion that could wipe out whole cities, leaving nothing but a gargantuan crater in its wake. Of course, those too, disappear eventually; fading away with every drop from the sky. Whatever the rain touches on impact immediately ages, accelerating time itself. Nothing lasts long in the TimeFall.
You open your lids slowly, eyes immediately watering and then going dry at the sudden exposure to the vicious air. Before you is a vast expanse of green landscape surrounded by mountains, spidery blue veins scattered below, feeding water from the mountains out to the sea.
The verdant valley is dotted with greys and browns, rockery extended from the scraggy peaks to the base of the hulking cliff-face and tumbled down the grassy slopes, converging at the water's edge.
The sky is a pale, cold blue, semi hidden from view by fluffy, off-white clouds. They seem to move with speed and purpose in the strong winds, flashes of aquamarine visible as they dance and weave above you. It's fair and clear today, not particularly warm but not cold either.
Except at the summit of this smallish mountain, where the temperature has dipped slightly and the wind adds to the illusion of it being much colder than it is. The sun is high in the sky, obscured mostly by clouds, giving out watery yellow rays.
It isn't the sunniest you have seen it recently but this is optimal weather for on the job. Strong, direct sunlight means you get too hot in your standard issue, fully-body Porter suit. It is simple in design, cheap grey material just strong enough to endure several bouts of TimeFall and keep your skin safe from scrapes and cuts while you traverse the rocky wasteland. It doesn't protect you much from the fluctuating temperatures however.
You were a freelance Porter for the expansive company, Bridges. You transport cargo through the barren wasteland and deliver it safe and sound to small pockets, or communities, of survivors, known as Knot Cities. With the dangers of TimeFall and the entities known as Beached Things, essentially dead souls trapped in the land of the living, it's not safe for civilisation to exist above ground. Hence, humankind is connected via Bridges, and Porters, who make communication and trades between cities possible.
You admired the view for a moment longer, the delicate beauty of nature laid bare, before heaving a sigh and hoisting your cargo further up your back. You have a backpack of sorts with a system of straps that secure your packages to the back of your suit. You adjust them, pulling the straps tighter, before finding a suitable place and pulling out the rope kit tied to your left side. You brace yourself and drive the metal stake into the rock-strewn earth as deep as you can.
You throw the attached rope over the edge of the cliff and test it's stability with a harsh tug. Now satisfied it can take both the weight of you and the cargo, you grab it with thick, glove-clad hands and begin to descend, disappearing over the lip of the mountain.
You carefully weave the rope between your hands as you descend, special gloves giving you extra gip, feet planted firmly against the solid, almost black-grey surface in front of you. You go one foot down at a time, the rugged cliff-face providing perfect purchase for your sturdy boots, hands soon following.
Left foot first, right hand follows. You do your best not to look down, eyes trained on the rock in front of you, only wavering to scan for footholds. Right foot down, left hand follows. You repeat this over and over for what feels hours, but can only be minutes, until one of your boots hits solid ground with a dull thud.
You look back over your shoulder to make sure you are able to put full weight onto your legs. You can just stand up here despite the steep slope leading down to the valley. Making sure you are stable on your feet, you drop the rope, roughly memorising this location for future reference when you make the return journey.
Grabbing the straps around your shoulders, you exhale a puff of air. Now time for the slope. You pick your way carefully down the uneven decline, using larger rocks and boulders to steady yourself whenever you teeter or slip on loose rubble.
After ten minutes or so, you make it to the bottom unscathed, now standing in the valley. You are surrounded front and back by dark, rocky borders, dozens of small estuaries winding in front of you. The steady burbling of running water reaches your ears, as it rushes over and around pebbles, in its' great escape to the ocean.
Speaking of, you are thirsty. You have been travelling for a couple of hours and had another hour at least until you reached your destination. Standard emergency rations supply for a neighbouring waystation in the high mountains.
You grab your flask from the utility belt at your hip and twist off the cap, raising the cold metal to your dry, chapped lips and gulping down the cool refreshment. After you've had your fill, you lower your arm and look out towards the sea. You scrunch up your eyes from the bright white overhead, the sun isn't visible from down here, but the sky is bright and harsh.
Well, time to carry on, the cargo won't deliver it yourself, you think as you replace your flask in its holder and continue your hike across the valley, boots kicking loose stones across the ground with a clack, and toes scuffing the grass. You make it across and start your ascent, slow and steady, up the other mountain.
By the time you haul yourself over the last edge, you are covered in a light sheen of sweat and are about ready to sit down for a short rest.
You find a nice flat rock to sit on and haul yourself up onto the surface. Sitting cross legged, you fish a field supply ration out of your pocket and begin munching on the cracker ravenously. Not much taste but it serves its purpose.
The rock you now sit on, is nestled like a jewel in the middle of a large ravine that seems to extend round the mountain. You aren't far from your destination, the Waystation is in these mountains somewhere. Just a little further, you tell yourself.
As you are about to take another bite of your snack, you hear a noise behind you. Something that could have been a footstep, a boot knocking a stone. You tense and spin towards the sound but your new friend is faster and a large, strong fist connects with the side of your head, sending your body flying.
You hit the ground hard, ears ringing and your brain a little foggy. Your vision is blurred with tears as you struggle to roll over and pull yourself up onto your knees. You hastily scrabble at the straps around your back with clumsy fingers, to make sure your cargo hasn't come loose. All good, you note.
As you look up, you come face to face with your assailant. You are met with large and startling green irises, a bright and brilliant emerald that flash dangerously as a hand reaches out to grab the hair at the nape of your neck, yanking your head back hard. You bellow at the pain as your roots threaten to rip from your scalp. Tears stream down your face as you speak your first words of the day "Get your filthy hands off me!" you choke out, as you glare up at the man standing in front of you.
He is decked out in a bright yellow bodysuit, long baton with a glowing electrified tip at his side. A MULE. He isn't wearing a mask though, his hood down and long brown hair tied in a messy bun at the back of his head, baby hairs hanging loose around his face. Shit! He's here for the cargo, a classic hit and run. Typical MULEs.
He has scarily calm eyes that stare back at you, no expression clouds his face, no emotion flickers in those jade orbs. His lids hang heavy making his eyes look smaller than they are, giving him a bored, tired look. He points his electropole at you slowly, expression unwavering and stays silent.
There is a relaxed but dangerous vibe about him that sets your teeth on edge, as if this violence didn't even phase him. He isn't apprehensive or excited about it or crazed like most MULEs are, dependent on the courier system and driven mad, obsessed with transporting and delivering cargo. Their only purpose.
No, he isn't anything really. There is nothing you can glean from this man by his appearance or his demeanour, other than he wears the suit of a MULE. He looks young too. Too young to be wearing the empty, hopeless face that stands before you. You feel an immeasurable sadness wash over you as you look into those pretty eyes. Calm, vacant, bottomless. He is attractive, no doubt about that, beautiful tanned skin, as if he spends all his time working in the sun.
You think to yourself that you have never seen someone so alluring who radiates such an aura of despair. Lost in thought you miss his words when he speaks. When you look at him blankly, he shakes your head with his hand that is fisting your hair and repeats himself "I'm sorry it has to be this way, but if it's between you and me, then I choose myself".
Now that was unexpected, you thought, most MULEs don't even bother with words, much less apologies. There's something off about this whole interaction…who is this guy?
As your thoughts spiral, he lets go of your hair suddenly, causing you to slump forward in surprise. You stick your hands out to break your fall when you feel him begin to tug at the straps holding your cargo.
Usually you avoid confrontation, MULEs aren't worth the struggle, and it's a guarantee someone will find the cargo eventually and deliver it to its intended target. But something about this man has you angry. He didn't just stun you, rob you and leave. He punched you, a woman much smaller and clearly weaker than him, in the side of the head. Like wtf dude? Fuck you, you fume inside your head.
You wait a few seconds with baited breath as he fumbles with the straps, you hear him curse lightly under his breath, fully engrossed in his task. He is leaning over your frame, legs either side of your head, his boots inches from your fingers that are curled into the earth beneath your palms. Now's my chance.
You throw your head upwards into his crotch as hard as you can. As he lurches away from you, curling around himself in a protective stance, you scurry backwards and haul yourself to your feet. Head still swimming faintly, you sway on your feet slightly as you take off in the opposite direction.
Your legs feel like lead, cargo weighing you down and jostling uncomfortably against your shoulder blades, every step feels like it is in slow motion. You growl in annoyance as you struggle to run. You aren't even sure this route will take you to your destination but you don't care. You just have to put distance between yourself and this strange, beautiful man.
As you have that thought something grabs your hood and yanks you backwards, choking off the shout that rose in your throat and sending you tumbling to the floor. You groan as your back hits the floor, the impact rattling through your bones. You narrowly avoid whacking your head against the ground, a small blessing and lay there with your eyes closed as you contemplate why the universe has it out for you.
A low whirring followed by an electric roar causes you to shoot upright in a sitting position, only to be stopped short by a buzzing electropole, orange light inches from your face, the colour searing into your brain. You blink and hold up your hands slowly in surrender. You follow the tip of the baton all the way up to the person attached and boy, is it a long way. The woman standing over you is giant and willowy, the definition of statuesque. The roaring grows louder until another MULE riding on a motorbike comes whizzing into view, stopping inches from your outstretched feet.
Their hood is up, mask covering their face. They stop, feet resting either side of the bike, casually perched on the seat.
Their gloved hands reach up to pull the hood down. It is a man.
Sandy-coloured, wavy locks fall around his forehead, his eyes a piercing, cool grey, rimmed in thin wire frames that perch on the bridge of his nose. He grabs his black face mask and tears it from his face, so that it rests around his neck. He has a full beard, the same sandy blonde as his hair and his features are angular but heavy. He's handsome. Very handsome.
He leans to one side and jabs the heel of his boot against the kickstand before swinging a long, muscular leg over the bike and walking towards you. He stops right in front of you, your boots toe to toe. You raise your eye level to his, making sure to keep your head still so the pole being held by the woman in front of you doesn't touch your skin and fry your last few remaining brain cells.
He is tall. At least 6ft and he fills his suit nicely without it looking impractical. You breathe in deeply and meet his gaze, peering into the cool, grey. Those eyes held stability, grounding you, almost bringing you a calm sense of peace in this bizarre situation. It felt weird and wrong. Those eyes, lacking something, remind you of the other guy with the green eyes who attacked you first. But unlike the latter, the former has some unknown fire dancing in his eyes. What is up with these people?
Speaking of, the pretty man bun slowly approaches the blonde man from behind, a slight uncomfortable shuffle to his step as he walks. You grin in satisfaction, that will teach him to punch me in the head, you thought with glee.
If you are to die here, you realise in surprise, you will not die without a fight. You had been through a lot of shit already, and although this life isn't exactly ideal, you hate entitled men who think they can run around doing whatever they please.
Suddenly, now that someone else is threatening your life, you realise you don't want to give it up so easily. Not like you had in that moment on the cliff, peering down into the abyss of peace and freedom. Because that is a selfish choice. The easy way out. Besides, your death will be on your terms only.
You know what you are prepared to do. You are sure this group of misfits won't kill you, MULEs never did. For obvious reasons. These guys seem different but not completely insane….you hope your intuition is correct.
You lift your chin towards the electropole at your throat and glare at the man in front of you with renewed purpose. He chuckles at your open display of defiance and runs a glove through his dishevelled waves before crouching down in front of you, his arms resting across his knees.
"Yelena, lower that thing for christ sakes" he speaks in a low, smooth baritone, words slipping from his tongue in a lazy drawl as he leans in to examine your face. You flinch at his proximity and try to lean your head back away from him but the blonde giant, Yelena you correct yourself, next to you forces your head forwards to meet him head on.
You study the giant woman above you. She has a rather ridiculous blonde bowl cut and a crazed look in her eyes, smiling down at you sadistically. Great. I'm screwed.
A tap to the side of your face has you turning your gaze back to the man in front of you, jerking away from his touch. This earns you a 'tut tut' from him, and he nods his head at Yelena who moves the pole closer to your throat threateningly, a sick smile twisting her features. This bitch is enjoying this far too much, you grit your teeth and this time when he places a finger under your chin, you do not flinch away.
"Such a pretty little thing. " He comments quietly, almost to himself rather than you, after a long uncomfortable silence of studying your features. He says it with certainty, like your beauty is a well known fact, not subjective. He makes no move to touch you further or say anything else.
You bristle instantly at the comment, despite its seemingly innocent nature.
"I'm not little," you out emphasis on the word, "and did I ask for your opinion on my appearance you bearded fuck. How about you tell your minions to stop threatening me and get the hell out of my face!" You spit out, rage rearing its ugly head. Like hell you are gonna play nice with your attackers.
Yelena does not like this and swiftly pulls a dagger from a concealed slit at her hip and before your eyes even have time to widen, she slashes you across the forehead. You hiss at the new stinging pain and snarl at her savagely "You fucking bitch!"
She raises the knife again but this time Blondie throws out an arm, raising his voice at her "DON'T!"
He speaks with such authority that you both stand down, growls seizing. Yelena reluctantly sheathes her dagger and looks sheepish at being scolded. Still has that damn pole at your throat though, what a nuisance she's turning out to be.
Blood is now running down your face in red rivulets, dripping off your brows onto your cheeks and staining your lips rouge. The man turns his gaze to you slowly, eyes softening and crinkling at the corners as he takes in your bruised and bloody appearance.
You tilt your head down slightly, blinking beads of blood from your lashes and breathing heavy. He takes off a glove and once again reaches out a large hand towards your face. You suck in a breath, heart pounding as he leans in and you anticipate his touch. He gently runs a thumb across your brow, your blood collecting along the rough pad and slowly running down his palm.
"Look what they've done to you…still so beautiful." The words tumble from his lips in a sigh, dark pupils blown wide as he gazes at you with an unreadable expression. Is he…getting off on this? You realise in horror, although not without a shameful pang of heat rushing to your core. Damn, this is the most thrill you have had in a long time.
"Let me apologise for my companions, they have no manners." He gestures at Yelena with his other hand and she draws a cloth from her breast pocket hastily and hands it to her leader. He slowly wipes the blood from his fingers and looks at you over his spectacles expectantly, waiting for a response.
You gather the metallic tang in your mouth and spit at him, a mixture of saliva and blood hitting his cheek with a splat. Yelena sucks air through her teeth and man-bun lets out a bark of laughter, the most emotion that he's outwardly shown since he ambushed you. You glare at the man in front of you, satisfaction flaring in your veins as you look him dead in the eyes and say "I don't need your empty apologies, fuck you."
Blondie looks at you, a feral glint in his eyes and slowly smiles, you suppress a shudder of excitement and fear. God, it really has been a long time since I've gotten laid if this is my standard now.
He wipes at his face with the cloth and hands it back to Yelena, the momentary flash of danger gone from his expression. He whistles long and drawn out before standing up again, looking round at green eyes and exclaiming "You caught a feisty one Eren".
Eren stares at you with a new look on his face, one of mild amusement but with a hint of annoyance in his angled brows.
"Not a minion by the way." He mutters at you and then turns to the blonde man and addresses him, "That's what you get for playing with your prey Zeke, just grab the stuff and let's go." He turns away, shoving his hands into the baggy pockets of his yellow jumpsuit.
"Ignore him, he's just mad you crushed his nuts and demoted him to minion." He grins at you with a warm and too-familiar smile, like he has known you for years. You are sure others are probably charmed by this façade. Not exactly immune to it myself unfortunately, you think bitterly as you shift your eyes to look around you. How are you going to get out of this one? These people are unhinged and you have a strange sense that you recognise those names. You need to find a solution and fast.
"Anyway, how about you come with us?" Zeke asks in a jovial tone, like he thinks you might actually comply based on your interaction thus far.
You scoff and roll your eyes at him before commenting dryly "Sure. That one punches me in the head and this one," you gesture at Yelena who's face so far has never wavered from that sick grin, "tries to impale me on that glowy stick before cutting me open, if you think I'm coming willingly, you've got a screw loose. Like this giant bitch." You mutter the last part under your breath and flick your eyes towards Yelena with a wicked grin. You realise you must look deranged, grinning wildly, face and teeth red with blood as you antagonise your attackers.
This instantly draws a reaction from Yelena who jerks forward, leaning her insanely long body down to meet your eye level, practically folded in half. Nose swooping above you, crazed eyes inches from your own,
"How dare you address our god and future hope like this? Do you even know who you are talking to? I've had about enough of your smart mouth." She snarls, spittle flying from her mouth, face beet red.
You reach up a hand to wipe her spit from your forehead but otherwise ignore Yelena, turning your attention to Zeke instead and drawing sarcastically "This your girlfriend, god and future hope? You might want to refrain from flirting with strangers in front of her, scumbag. I don't think she's thrilled about it". Yelena straightens immediately, bowl cut fringe swaying stiffly, almost comically as she does so, cheeks reddening even further in a furious blush.
Zeke laughs again, a deep, rich sound that bounces off the rock surrounding your motley crew and echoes back to you.
"God no, Yelena is just my right hand accomplice. Nothing more, nothing less."
You grunt in response, like you gave a fuck, you just need to get out of here. You need to keep him talking, distract him. Eren has come up behind Zeke and mutters something into his ear, seeming to get angrier at Zeke's response. While they are busy, you flick your eyes sideways to Yelena, who is pointedly not looking at you, still blushing. Clearly embarrassed, you have called her out on her blindingly obvious crush on her boss.
You formulate a plan in your mind and turn your attention back to the two men, they are still engaging but clearly coming to the end of their discussion. It is now or never. You count to three and then throw yourself towards Yelena, grabbing her hand holding the stick and forcefully swinging it down so the charged end hits her shin.
She releases a guttural grunt, before falling to her knees, whole body spasming. You waste no time in raising the stick high before swinging it above you in a swooping arc and slamming it into her head as hard as you can. It makes a sickening thunk! as it connects with her skull, Yelena slumps forward, face buried in the grass and you spin around to face the men. Heart thumping erratically, body thrumming, liquid adrenaline whizzing through your veins and making you wild.
You swing the stick in front of you and point it at Zeke, "What's it gonna be Yeager? Do I have to castrate you as well or are you gonna be a good boy?" you are breathing hard, eyes wide and wild as you look between the brothers. The names are indeed familiar and while you were planning your escape, you remembered exactly why.
Zeke raises his hands slowly in mocking defeat and smiles a slow, devious grin, "So you do know who we are. What gave it away sweetheart?" He winks at you slyly and you curl your lip at him in disgust.
"You two are hard to miss, stick out like a sore thumb. You're not like the usual MULEs around here. Plus you're kind of famous 'round these parts, sweetheart." You fling the pet name back at him with as much venom as you can muster. "Who hasn't heard of the infamous Yeager brothers?" You look at Zeke pointedly, irritated that he has underestimated you. You aren't an idiot. You have heard the tales of the bandit brothers who travel the land, stealing, ransacking, generally causing nuisance wherever they go.
Eren steps forward so he is beside Zeke and you shift the stick a fraction so it points towards him "One step closer, pretty boy, and you'll end up like you're little groupie here." You nod your head in Yelena's vague direction somewhere behind you.
Eren huffs at your use of "pretty" and speaks low and even, in his husky voice "That your idea of flirting, Porter? Never had someone be so bold before when we've been robbing them, huh Zeke?" He addresses his brother but his eyes never leave yours, boring a hole into your skull with his gaze. His eyes finally show a flicker of emotion, danger and intrigue as he looks you over.
"Yeah, never met one quite as feisty either. See most people that know the name Yeager, also know that we don't go easy on our prey." Zeke's tone is matter of fact as he pulls a zippo and a cigarette from his pocket and proceeds to light it. You have no doubt the words he spoke are true.
However, his eyes bear a spark of mischief, he looks at you as if this is all some inside joke, as if you know he won't really hurt you. You furrow your brows imperceptibly, confused.
You don't have time to decipher this man's cryptic messages. Trust your luck to meet two of the most notorious crooks out here, you just need to make your delivery before nightfall so you can hightail it back to base and rest for a night before picking up more work tomorrow.
"Well, I wasn't told that the notorious Yeager brothers are so attractive," you start, slowly inching to the side, "under different circumstances maybe we could have had some real fun?" You smirk at the men standing in front of you, tone suggestive.
Zeke stands casually, one arm loose at his side, the other holding his cigarette carelessly between two fingers. His stance drips carefree nonchalance but his stormy pools swim with a possessive lust.
Fuck. I just had to go and get myself a fan boy.
Eren's hands are still shoved deep in his cargo pockets, he's scowling at you, brunette brows furrowed darkly and those pretty eyes carefully blank. Although you are 99% sure this is his everyday look. You continue shuffling around the brothers, making your way towards the abandoned motorbike, stick still outstretched in front of you, glowing in warning.
Zeke licks his lips and takes a long drag from his cigarette, making no move to stop you. He blows a puff of smoke into the atmosphere, watching it curl upwards before turning his head round to you and saying "Well what a shame indeed, that today isn't under different circumstances."
He smiles at you with that knowing look again, eyes crinkling at the corners, bangs blowing in the slight wind rushing through the ravine. He looks almost gentle now, albeit creepy as hell. You don't understand this man, what is his deal? You reach the bike and move to sit astride it.
Eren looks at his brother quickly before he starts forward but Zeke flings a hand out stopping him. Eren looks at him in confusion and irritation but says nothing. He relaxes his posture and watches as you check the bike over before starting it up. The electric engine whirs to life and you look Zeke dead in the eyes.
"Yeah, a real shame." You speak loud enough that he can hear you over the hum, before twisting the throttle with a harsh tug and speeding off without a backwards glance.
The bike shoots forward faster than you anticipate and your heart, and just about all your vital organs, fly into your throat as you attempt to stay relaxed and stable on the vehicle. The scenery passes you in blurs of green and brown, your hair thrown back behind you, whipping the air fiercely. You fly through the ravine in the mountain and think that perhaps you ought to slow down, you're not sure how far you've travelled and although it's fairly flat here, you are up pretty high.
Just as you begin to ease the throttle and start to brake, the front wheel hits a chunk of rock with brutal force. You are flung forward violently, hands ripped from the grips, flipping over yourself in the air before you land with a sickening crunch. All the breath expels your body in a wheeze, but you have little time to react before you carry on rolling, slipping and sliding downhill rapidly.
Rocks and stones jab into your side painfully, tearing at your cheeks and forehead savagely. Your mind is a whirlwind, dizzy from the rolling and the previous impact. You can't do anything but feel every poke, every scratch, every smack. You manage to manoeuvre your arms around your head, protecting your skull and squint your eyes tight, weathering the pain as you tumble down and down.
Finally you hit an angle in the ground and are thrown forward once more, your body stops when it connects with a mound erupting from the earth. Your back hits the mound with a thump and you lay there crumpled in on yourself, arms around your head, in foetal position.
Your body is singing to you, crying out all it's aches and pains, your brain thoroughly rattled in your skull. You stay curled against the ground for several minutes, unmoving.
Your ragged, panicked breathing slowly lessens to whimpering sobs, a hiccup here and there as you come down from the adrenaline high.
It's now that the pain really hits you. Every inch of your skin has been scraped, scratched and bruised and your back aches like a bitch. As you slowly unfurl from your protective ball, it spasms, sharp pain shooting through your lower back. You gasp, sucking in air at the fresh wave of pain. Every time you move, even a twitch, it feels like there is a taut rubber band pulling at your back muscles, threatening to snap and ping around inside you.
You inhale a deep breath and slowly rock yourself over onto your hands and knees. The pain increases sharply, almost unbearably so and you still, gloved fingers curling into the soft, earth beneath you. You feel nauseous. I swear if I throw up, you mutter internally, breathing through the pain.
Deep breath in, hold a second. Long breathe out. Deep breath in, hold a second. Long breath out.
You slowly let your body relax, assessing the damage from feeling alone, as you continue to breathe deep and even. Other than your back, the rest of your limbs seem okay. You wiggle your toes in your boots and flex your fingers against the ground. Your arms and legs are able to hold your weight and other than feeling very bruised and sore, you are okay. Well, maybe luck is on my side after all, you ponder as you stretch your back out a little as a tester. It hurts but you think you can move a little now.
You slowly sit back on your legs and raise yourself to an upright kneeling position. You blink at your surroundings. You are sitting in a lush, green forest.
You were stopped by a sizeable, mossy protrusion in the earth. The ground is covered in moss in fact, soft and spongy beneath your knees. Thick, brown trunks raise from the ground all around you and shoot upwards, beautiful green foliage blocking out the sky. Soft light streams through the gaps and hits the mossy earth, lighting the floor in a warm glow. It's so beautiful.
You stare around you in wonder, taking in the scenery, nature. It is windy even here, the soft susurration of leaves in the breeze bringing a sense of calm clarity to this space. You feel grounded, a part of nature, a part of life…for the first time in a long time. And it feels good.
You smile and close your eyes, breathing in the damp, earthy scent around you. Letting it fill up your lungs, a hint of pine teasing your nostrils. You revel in the peace for a few seconds before using the mound next to you as leverage to haul yourself to your feet.
Now standing up, you look behind you, where you fell down the incline into this wooded area. Judging by the wind overhead, you are going in exactly the right direction towards the Waystation which contains a small wind farm onsite. Small blessings. Although you can't help but mourn the loss of the bike, that would have been handy to hold onto.
A thought wanders into your mind and you blink, eyes going wide before you curse aloud and start yanking at the pack on your back, shrugging it off your shoulders and down your arms. Finally freeing the cargo from its very loose straps, you spread the packages out before you to assess the damage.
Fuck. The metal containers are covered almost wholly in scratches, the paint worn away. There are a few noticeable dents but it doesn't seem as if the contents inside have been compromised. Thank the gods. You smile at your turn of phrase and then you laugh. Laugh at how absurd it is to pray to any deity when this land is ruled by a demonic power. Any higher, benevolent being that possibly exists has given up on Earth, written it off as the devil's domain.
You return the cargo to its rightful place, in almost mint condition but safe nonetheless, and loop your arms into the straps readying yourself for the last walk to the Waystation so you can collapse and tend to your wounds.
Just as you begin to walk further into the forest, rubbing the back of your sore head gingerly, a flash of what looks like watery rainbow glints through the gaps in the leaves above you. You stop abruptly and tilt your head to the side, peering through the canopy above to ascertain whether it was simply a trick of the imagination. You take a few steps forward, still staring up suspiciously every now and then, as you navigate your way down the slight mossy decline in front of you.
It's when you reach a patch of trees that aren't as densely packed as the others, providing a clear view of the sky, that you notice the grey clouds rolling overhead angrily. You stop in your tracks and stare at the sky in dawning horror.
"No no no NO!" you trip over your words in panic, the last 'no' tumbling from your lips in a half-shout. Suddenly the clouds decide to part, a full rainbow emerging behind them and winking in the bright light. It is gone in the next instant, obscured by cloud cover. As the first few drops of rain begin to fall, spattering your beaten suit and windswept hair, you hastily pull your hood over your head to protect your skin. It was specially made to stay up when pulled forwards, supported by plastic rods woven into the material.
You curse loud and colourful as tears sting your eyes and your throat closes in a silent sob.
"This can't be happening, this can't be happening, this can't be happening." You babble to yourself under your breath as hot tears cascade down your cheeks.
You whisper angrily, "You've got to be fucking kidding me!" You grit your teeth and curl your hands into fists at your side. Of course, of course, they would show up now of all places. Seems you can't catch a break today.
The pretty refractions of coloured light accompanied by TimeFall always signal the arrival of BTs. The temperature plummets to icy degrees and your breath puffs out in front your face, curling in the cold atmosphere. The sky darkens considerably, washing over the once warm and bright scene in front of you, colouring everything in a despairing, dull haze.
You stand in the TimeFall, staring ahead into the endless array of muddy brown trunks. The rain is a cacophony of sound as it hits the treeline, dripping off the veined leaves above and tapping the material of your suit in greeting. It splashes across the many rocks dotted amongst the forest, droplets splattering the weathered stone and bouncing upwards with the force.
Life is cruel, you think to yourself in resigned dismay, but still so damn beautiful.
You have to keep moving, there is no escaping the spirits now. You stifle a groan as you crouch low to the damp ground, slowly sliding over the moss and grass as you lower yourself down the decline into the small thicket of trees below. The rain increases to deafening proportions, obscuring your view and you know that they are here. Their presence makes your skin crawl, gooseflesh tearing along your arms and the back of your neck in an instant.
You shudder in terror as you turn your head to the right and catch sight of them.
Ghostly, inky black creatures vaguely resembling the shape of a human figure, suspended in mid air. Three of them. The particles of antimatter that make up their being, drip for their lower half towards the earth and spiral up from their "head" towards the stormy sky. They move in a slow, eerie dance across the forest floor, anti-matter continually undulating and rearranging itself as it moves, still keeping that vague humanoid shape.
You are one of the lucky few who can see these lost spirits, afflicted by a higher level of DOOMs, you can see their true shape and appearance unlike lesser sufferers or non-sufferers. You don't know why you are graced with this gift but it does mean you are able to avoid them better than most. A high level of DOOMs means that you are more attuned to the land of the dead, on the same wavelength, or however the fuck it works.
Even though you have seen BTs plenty of times during your travels, they never get any less horrifying, any less unbelievable. The sight before you is otherworldly, unnatural, unsettling. They are almost impossible to describe to someone who hasn't witnessed them.
You slowly creep forwards through the trees, heart drumming against your ribcage in an attempt to break out of your chest, doing your best to stay silent and remain undetected. Your breathing is shallow despite your attempts to remain calm and as you plant a step in front of you, a loud crack rings out. I stepped on a fucking twig.
You freeze, body clenching in fear, as the shadowy heads of the BTs turn towards you in unison. Terror shoots through your spine, crawling along your arms and legs and brushing the back of your neck with phantom fingers. Your heart stops as you suck in a gasp and hold your breath, stuck in your crouching position on the floor, rigid in fear. But it's too damn late for holding your breath and freezing up, they know you are here and they are coming for you.
Their heavy footsteps thud against the wet earth as they rush towards you, viscous, black liquid splashing upwards in their wake. The earth turns into a dark, wavering floor of oil-like creatures wherever their presence touches. The ever-growing mass of liquid bodies crawls towards you frighteningly fast and you whimper out a quiet sob as you fall onto your ass and scramble blindly backwards. Panic has set in and fully overtaken your senses.
You cry out in terror babbling nonsensically, whether to yourself or the devil's children on your tail, you are not sure. As the creatures rush you, thundering across the earth and bringing waves of damned souls with them, determined to drag you to hell, you feel a warm sensation slowly seep between your legs, wetting your thighs. This is just fucking great, faced with death that I've hoped for since gods knows when and I'm reduced to a weeping, urine soaked mess.
As you kick out desperately one of the many mutated, blobby hands grabs your ankle in a vice-like grip. You scream in fright and anger, yanking your leg back and forth, bellowing obscenities all the while. Your eyes widen as you struggle in vain, more and more deathly hands gripping at your suit and limbs, antimatter seeping over your entire body as they pull you down into the hellish nightmare below.
You grunt and growl, all you can manage to get out through grit teeth, as you pull against the force with all your might, ripping away from the hands and clawing at the grassy earth to your side. Adrenaline is pumping through your veins like fire, igniting the primal will to survive within your bones, animalistic roars tearing through the thunder-clapped skies.
Just as you feel yourself being sucked back into the abyss, you hear a shout and a series of small bangs go off next to you. You throw your face into the earth and away from the sound, inhuman screeches filling your ears. You feel the hands loosen their grip on you and you take your chance, pulling away from them, fingernails digging into the dirt painfully as you haul yourself back onto solid ground with a huff and a groan.
The forest goes quiet again as you roll onto your back staring up into the leafy, emerald canopy above.
You lay there coming down from your adrenaline high, heart rate slowly returning to normal as you breathe in and out deeply. You hear a grunt not far from you followed by shuffling and clinking. Must be the nutter who decided to help me, you think.
"What do we have here?" a cheerful, mocking voice rings out beside you.
At the top of the cliffs edge, where the woman plummeted off mere moments before, two men stand; staring at the treeline below them.
“You think she survived?” Eren asks, arms crossed in front of his chest.
Zeke puffs the last of his cigarette and then flicks the butt over the edge, watching it tumble down after the woman, glowing orange tip still visible. Silence hangs in the air momentarily, the only sound the whistling of the wind, as it blows through his straw-coloured locks.
“Probably. It’s not that far down.” He notes, smoke billowing out of his mouth with his words. He scratches the tip of his right ear with a pointer finger absently.
“So, what’s our plan? You want her right?” Eren drawls in a tone lacking actual fucks to give. He slides his gaze over to his brother, emerald eyes assessing the older male.
“I’m that obvious, huh?” Zeke chuckles, “Don’t you worry, little brother, we’ll find her again. I’ll make sure of it.”
128 notes · View notes
hello i have
✨hetalia sciency headcanons✨
so. you know about the space time continuum right? that its a real thing and not just in sci-fi? no? well today’s your lucky day!!!
basically, space and time are connected, and massive amounts of matter like planets, stars and black holes warp it.
like this. the graph lines are space-time.
Many people have headcanons that things around the nations-clothes, letters, objects, people- tend to last longer. this is why. the nations are an entire mass of history and culture and language and ideas all forced into a small human shape-sort of like a black hole, which is a mass of matter packed into a tight space. they are obviously not a black hole, but they warp space time similarly on a smaller scale. people that spend too long near them don’t age as quickly.
Second ! Nearly everything has a magnetic field. most of the time it is too weak to do much. for things like planets and such, they are so dense that it does matter a lot. in fact, the earths magnetic field is the only thing between us and a shit ton of solar wind that could fry every computer and electronics instantly. any way as stated before the nations are very dense like small black holes and they, too, have one. it’s not enough to screw with average electronics (usually) but sensitive scientific equipment will be affected by it. Alfreds presence had to be accounted for during his time at nasa. none of the nations are allowed anywhere within 50 miles of the Cern Large Hadron Collider bc we don’t want any escaped atomic particles driven off course by a personification of a country.
there is also such a thing as a friendliness field. all it does is make their own citizens only be more likely to help them out or be nice to them. they cannot really consciously control it, nor make it go away. it doesn’t mind control anyone either-all it does is make it more likely they’ll be friendly. ppl are still free to think, “hmm that man seems friendly but idk. still sus.” some nations think its an evolutionary defense mechanism because they die so often.
i have a personal headcanon that while they cannot really consciously control the magnetic field they emanate, nor the friendliness field, they all have a Presence. The Presence they can control, and it’s basically just the entire legacy of a nation staring you in the face - centuries of every event, idea, person that made them them. among nations, shoving it at someone is rude. it’s considered aggressive, like two deer locking horns. if a nation does it to a human, that human better deserve it, and it better not be for long, because exposure to centuries of memories is not good for human brains.
the Northern Lights are also created by the earths field! the solar wind goes around the earths magnetic field, but at the poles where it emanates from, some solar wind gets in and interacts with the magnetic fields to make the northern lights. (and the southern lights). imagine the cold war, russia and america are glaring at each other, locking metaphorical horns with their Presences, and literal sparks fly, as the interaction between their Presences creates something akin to the northern lights.
theres a not as common headcanon that they weigh more than the average human. I agree with it. it scientifically goes along with the other things on here. most of their “density” is in things not physical- it’s mostly the “weight” of centuries of history, and memories, and culture, and ideas. however, they do weigh quite a bit more than a human of similar height/weight would. not too much that several dedicated people couldn’t move them, but enough that you’d probably need a couple people to move them.
all of these are somewhat connected. i said that the friendliness field and magnetic field are not consciously controlled, however, they can be unconsciously triggered. like when they get pissed off, for example. they don’t completely lose it often but when they do you know. you will say something assholish and suddenly the lights flicker from the magnetic field strengthening, the walls groan as the wood or stone or metal bow ever so slightly towards them, the floor creaks under their feet as their density increases and the nails in the floorboards bend slightly, any countrymen of theirs nearby feel an urge to back them up, the clocks and electronics skip a beat, and you are now feeling extremely claustrophobic under the weight of several hundreds of years of history snd culture.
Also the older you get as a nation the more control you have over it. China is old af and his presence is just so strong you could feel it without him trying. he’s also got tricks up his sleeve and is capable of increasing his friendliness field or magnetic field a little bit, consciously. Also imagine china increasing his magnetic field in order to summon a metal weapon from across the room. his magnetic field probably really strong anyway, from the density of literally millenia of history and culture.
This is sort of like the nations 6 sense. they can tell what nation it is based on the “feel” of it (as long as they already know the nation) and its likely how they find each other. i don’t think the “range” is that big- probably something within 10 miles when not on their home territory. when on home ground though, they can feel the presence of another nation anywhere in it.
anyway!! im sure there’s more y’all can do with this. i hope the explanation was understandable. if not feel free to send asks.
113 notes · View notes
Last Night Alive (Ethan X MC)
Description: What if Ethan was in that room? AU to chapters 10-11.
Warning: Major character death(s).
Word count: 4,687
Art by @churning-the-sea-of-milk
“Stand back! I mean it!”
Travis’s voice echoed in the room, making everyone freeze in their steps.
From the bed, Ed spoke up. “Travis, please… think about what you’re doing…”
“It’s not over… not yet…” Even as Travis’s voice lowered in volume, it did nothing to lessen the threat of the situation.
Olivia found her voice, willing herself to sound more confident than she felt. “Killing Ed won’t bring your brother back.”
Travis turned his icy glare on her. “You think I don’t know that? I tried to move past Johnny’s death for years, but it destroyed my family. My parents. Me.”
“Travis, let’s talk about this…” she urged, taking a deep breath and keeping a stoic expression plastered on her face.
Travis shook his head. “There’s nothing to talk about. If I leave this place, I’m going to jail. So I might as well die and take Ed with me.”
Olivia’s pulse quickened with panic. Her eyes glanced to the canister in the aide’s hand. “Travis, what’s in that can?”
“Justice,” Travis snapped. His arm trembled as his finger tightened around the canister’s trigger. Slowly, he lifted the can.
“Travis, for god’s sake!” Ed interrupted. “You’ll get someone killed.”
“Like you got my brother killed?”
“My brother is dead because of your cost-cutting, backroom deals. He was just a kid-- I went to sleep every night for years dreaming of how I’d make you pay… I planned this for years.”
Olivia gasped when he whirled around to face her. His steely eyes met hers as his face curled into a scowl.
“It didn't have to be this way. You could've just let him die. You heard his phone call. You knew what kind of man he was.”
“I’m a doctor, Travis. I had to do my job.”
“Olivia is right, Travis. Come along with me. Let’s end this thing.” Bobby reached for Travis. Travis’s finger squeezed the trigger, releasing a spray directly into the security guard’s face.”
“No!” Olivia knelt next to his side and pressed her fingers to Bobby’s neck. “Travis, this has to stop now. He’s going into cardiac arrest!”
She reached for the defibrillator, but Travis raised the can again. Rage contorted his features as he aimed the nozzle directly at her.
“It didn’t have to be this way.”
Before his finger pressed the trigger, strong arms pushed her out of the canister’s direct line of fire.
She heard a hissing sound as the can’s contents deployed into the air. In the commotion, the door slammed shut as Ed fled the room.
Olivia felt a light mist land on her hands. A second later, her skin tingled and the smell made her throat tickle. Olivia raised her head to meet Ethan’s eyes. Her stomach dropped when the light reflected the clear oily sheen clinging to his skin.
“Ethan… what do we do?”
Ethan returned her worried gaze. “I don’t know.”
At his words, her stomach churned. She coughed, trying to ease the itch in her throat. The canister sputtered as the last of its contents spilled into the air. Her eyes travelled, falling on Bobby’s fallen form.
If the can’s contents had triggered immediate cardiac arrest, she couldn’t fathom what was inside it. Her only reassurance came from the fact that she and Ethan were younger and not exposed to a full blast straight to the face, but there was no denying the severity of the situation.
“All I know is we can’t leave or open the door. They’ll need to have this floor evacuated and the vents sealed.”
“Right.” She nodded tightly and stole a glance through the window, where a crowd already gathered. She pressed the button on her pager, gripping it tightly to stop her fingers from shaking.
A minute later, Baz and June worked through the crowd. Ethan held a hand against the door.
“Travis released some sort of chemical into the room. Get every patient moved off of this floor. We also need to call the CDC and Naveen. Nobody can come in or out until we know what this is.”
“Oh god…” Baz blanched. “How are you two?”
Olivia stood next to Ethan at the window. “We’re fine right now, but Bobby took a full blast to the face. Whatever’s in that can triggered cardiac arrest. All we know is it’s dangerous. We didn’t get as much on us, but it’s in the air.”
“We’ll get the patients taken care of and make those calls. You two hang in there.”
Olivia nodded and stepped back. She glanced across the room, where Travis curled up on the floor, shaking. Glancing away, she turned her focus to the window and watched as every staff member on the floor helped in getting patients moved.
A shaky smile crossed her features. “Not how I planned on spending a Friday afternoon.”
Ethan gave a tight smile in return. “Me neither.”
She took a deep breath and reached for his hand. After a couple of seconds, he returned the grip. Left with nothing else to do, they let quiet fall between them as they waited.
Olivia had to glance at the clock on the wall to remind herself it had only been a little over an hour.
They’d since changed into hospital gowns. Olivia scratched at her wrists, trying to rid herself of the itch that wouldn’t leave no matter how many times she’d scrubbed her hands.
Her eyes drifted, fixating on the spot where Bobby’s body had lain. The CDC had removed Bobby and Travis, but it didn’t make the room feel any safer.
A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed hard and looked away. She stopped pacing a few feet in front of Ethan and glanced at him.
“Are you having any symptoms?”
“No.” Ethan shook his head, but his hesitation betrayed him. Olivia narrowed her eyes at him and he sighed. “A sore throat, headache, and mild nausea.”
“I only have a sore throat. You were exposed to a lot more of it.” Her worried expression gave way to an accusatory frown. “What were you thinking?”
Ethan hesitated. He inhaled sharply and ran his fingers through his hair. “I saw that he was aiming for you and I did what I had to lessen your exposure.”
“And by doing that, you put yourself in danger!”
“Once they determine what this is, they’ll know what antidote to use. You’re…. We’re going to be fine.”
The worry didn’t leave her eyes. “I thought you didn’t believe in false hope.”
Ethan fell silent for a long moment. His hand found hers and squeezed lightly. “I don’t. But right now, I’m choosing to believe that they can figure out what this is. My symptoms aren’t severe, at least not yet.”
Olivia’s eyes wandered, focusing on their hands. She laced her fingers through his. “I just hope you’re right.”
“I hope so, too.”
She fell silent, unsure of what to say next. For now, all they could do was wait and hope that there was an answer.
It was just a matter of time.
Night fell and they were no closer to having an antidote than they were hours ago.
All they knew was they’d been exposed to a deadly maitotoxin with no known cure, and the clock reminded them of just how fast time was running out.
Olivia stifled a cough and glanced over at Ethan. He didn’t announce when new symptoms started, but he didn’t need to tell her for her to know that the effects were progressing.
A slowly tightening pressure weighed on her throat and chest in addition to the painful pulse in her head. Ethan tried to keep his discomfort hidden, but she saw through it. With the amount he’d been exposed to, his symptoms were inevitably progressing faster than hers.
“How are you feeling? And don’t try to make it sound better than it is to avoid worrying me. I’m way past that point,” she cautioned.
He leaned heavily against the window, gazing into the night. “It’s… uncomfortable. Very much so,” he admitted, his voice hoarse with the hints of a wheeze.
Olivia slipped her hand into his. She bit her lip as she looked him up and down. Even in the dim light, she could make out the paleness of his skin and his red-rimmed eyes. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead even as a chill coursed through his body.
A glimpse of her reflection in the window told her she didn’t look much better and she tried to crack a smile. “Deadly poison isn’t a good look for us. We look like we haven’t slept since 2009.”
A somber smile curled his lips. “I don’t have any arguments against that.”
“You? No arguments?” She shook her head and tried to laugh, but it fell short. She joined Ethan at the window and tentatively rested her hand on his arm. “I’m just trying to lighten the mood. I know it’s pointless.”
Ethan turned to face her. Her heart skipped a beat when his eyes softened, gazing at her with eyes more tender than she’d seen before. He hesitated before speaking, his voice low.
“I… I don’t know how this is going to work out,” he agreed. The affection in his eyes flickered into wistful yearning, along with fear she knew he was trying to mask. “And I want to say I’m glad you’re here, but if you weren’t, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“I was here first. You didn’t drag me into this. It would have happened to anyone who was in this room today.” Her voice quavered and she took a deep breath to steady it.
Wordlessly, Ethan settled his hands on her waist. He closed the distance between them and silenced her with a dizzying kiss. Olivia paused for just a moment before she gave into the longing and cupped his face in her hands.
Her heart skipped when Ethan deepened the kiss. His hands gently tugged her closer until their chests touched. After several moments, their lips parted and she touched her forehead to his.
Olivia opened her eyes to meet Ethan’s. She shivered at the longing he didn’t even try to hide. “Ethan…?”
He took her hand into his and squeezed tight. “I… I felt like I needed to do that.”
Hearing the unspoken reason, Olivia tightened her grip on him. She brushed her thumb against his stubble. “Promise me something.”
“What is it?”
“Promise me you’re not giving up. Promise me we’ll do that again. Please?”
Ethan’s throat tightened. He didn’t respond right away. His jaw clenched as he glanced away, blinking his eyes against the threat of tears. How could he make a promise he wouldn’t be able to keep?
“I can’t do that.”
Olivia shook her head. “Ethan, promise me. Even if you feel like you can’t mean it, I need to hear it. Please?”
He returned his focus to her. His expression faltered when he took in the pleading in her eyes. “I… I promise,” he relented, the lie making his chest constrict with guilt.
Nodding shakily, Olivia leaned up and kissed him again. Ethan closed his eyes and sank into her, taking solace in the tenderness even if he knew the comfort wouldn’t last.
“You… should lie down,” she whispered when he leaned into her. “You need to rest.”
Before he could protest, she took his elbow and gently steered him toward the bed. Olivia urged him to lie down and pulled the thin blanket over him. Her hand brushed against his clammy cheek.
“Here.” Ethan edged over and patted the empty space next to him. Without hesitation, she occupied it, turning onto her side and lying next to him.
“Are you sure you’ll be comfortable this way?”
Ethan nodded. He shifted onto his side so they faced each other. He leaned closer and cupped her cheek in his hand. “I’m sure. If this is my last night alive, I want you next to me.”
Tears threatened to fill her eyes, but she blinked them back. “I’d want the same.”
A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but there was a sadness to it. His fingers laced through hers. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
“Mm hmm.” Nodding, she touched her forehead to his. “I… I hope we have more time.”
“I do, too.” Ethan let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “But there’s no antidote. If they find one, it might not be soon enough.”
She shivered at the weight of the truth behind his words. There was no cure for the toxin, and even if some medical miracle led to one, it almost certainly wouldn’t be in time for either of them.
“I know I should try to think of something happy, but all I can think about is what I should’ve done differently. Things I didn’t do that I should have.”
“Like what?” Ethan’s thumb brushed a stray tear from the corner of her eye.
“I should have travelled more. Loved more. I spent a decade of my life focusing on my grades, on my job. I turned down opportunities so I could study. I kept my heart on guard because I never knew if I’d be in the same city the next year.”
Ethan nodded softly and gently smoothed his hand over her hair. “Since we’re sharing regrets, do you mind if I share one of mine?”
He bit his lip, hesitating. “I wish I hadn’t asked you to stay away.”
“We’ve wasted so much time.” Ethan paused, shaking his head to correct himself. “I’ve wasted so much time. I should have held you in my arms every day and told you much I… how much I care about you.”
Her eyes softened with affection as she took in what he left unspoken. “I… I always thought we should be together,” she admitted.
She nodded. The genuine happiness in his eyes made her eyes blur with tears. Her smile trembled as she wiped them away. “Even though I was… am a colossal pain in the ass and I like to get under your skin, all the time we’ve spent together… it just made me want to be with you.”
This close, she could feel his chest rumble comfortingly when he let out a quiet laugh. The worry in his eyes faded, giving way to something sweeter.
For the moment, Ethan let go of the magnitude of their situation. He smiled gently. “The feeling was very definitively mutual. When… if we get out of here, I don’t want to waste more time.”
She chuckled, blinking back fresh tears. “If we survive, I’m holding you to that. I expect a romantic date and everything. No changing your mind.”
Ethan let out another laugh, this one weaker. He blinked, forcing his eyes to stay open against the heaviness of his eyelids. “I wouldn’t. Not again.”
“I know.” She fell silent. Then she looked up again. “Ethan?”
“You mean a lot to me. In more ways than one. You’ve helped me become the doctor I am today. I just want you to hear that.”
His expression softened. “I know.”
“I came to Edenbrook to work under you. I never thought we’d fall for each other. But then I met you and even though you were an ass sometimes, I still fell for you. I never thought you’d reciprocate it.”
“I did.” Ethan’s voice softened. “And I hope that you know I’m sorry for being an ass when I first met you.”
“Well, you did teach me a lot. If you’d coddled me, I wouldn’t be the doctor I am. Was. I’m still not sure about that part.”
Ethan’s smile faded into a sad one. “I’m not, either. But what I do know is that if some breakthrough happens and they find a cure, even if it’s not in time for me, you’ll do great things. You’ll far surpass me.”
Her eyes glistened. She wiped her hand across them and forced a watery smile. “And if a huge breakthrough happens and we both get out of here alive, I’m going to steal your job the day I finish my residency. So watch out.”
Ethan chuckled wistfully. “I don’t doubt that at all.”
Olivia bit her lip and furrowed her brow in thought. Her smile faded as she remembered that could have been wouldn’t happen. The reality gripped her heart painfully, and for a moment she couldn’t find the words to say.
“I just… I just wish we could see it happen. I know we won’t be making it out of here.”
He didn’t respond right away. Ethan had known for hours that they wouldn’t have enough time, but hearing the words out loud magnified their gravity. He swallowed hard and nodded slightly.
“I… I think you’re right.” Ethan wanted to will himself not to believe his own words. He couldn’t, not anymore. Time wouldn’t slow down to allow a medical miracle for a toxin with no cure.
All they could do was delay the inevitable. Until now, Ethan hadn’t recognized the cold enormity of his own words. Now time was running out and he realized how little the words helped. Life didn’t follow a set of rules, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that everything did.
When he met Olivia’s eyes again, her stomach twisted at the sight of tears. Ethan cleared his throat and gently tilted her face toward his. He brushed his lips against hers, the tenderness of it making his heart ache with longing he should have acted on sooner.
When their lips parted, his eyes brimmed with tears. His arms looped around her and drew her closer. The walls he’d spent years building fell as he took in the warmth of her body next to his.
His words rolled off his tongue before he could talk himself out of saying them.
“I love you.”
The words hit her with the force of a tidal wave and she inhaled sharply. “I.. I love you, too.”
The tension Ethan didn’t know he was holding left his body. He sighed shallowly. Whether it was from relief or fear, he didn’t know. Maybe saying the three words meant admitting defeat, but he’d be damned if he didn’t let himself say them before it was too late.
“I...I needed… wanted to say that. I wanted to make sure you heard it.”
“I know.” Olivia rested her head on his shoulder. Ethan kept one arm circled around her waist. His other hand gripped hers, their fingers gently intertwined.
Sleep clouded his mind. Refusing to close his eyes, he tightened his hold on her hand.
Olivia smiled wistfully. “You can sleep… I’ll keep an eye on you. I’ll slap you if I think… you know.”
He managed a small chuckle. “I’m trying not to.”
“I know.” Olivia rubbed his hand with her thumb. Taking comfort in the touch, Ethan brought her hand to his lips and lightly kissed her knuckles. He blinked against the weight of his eyelids.
Ethan fought the urge as long as he could, but soon the ache in his head won and he slipped into sleep.
It wasn’t much longer before Olivia felt sleep threatening to take her. She refused, not taking her eyes off Ethan’s sleeping form. She rested her head against his chest, taking some reassurance in the gentle rise and fall as he breathed.
She wasn’t sure how long she stayed awake or when she closed her eyes, but some time in the night, or maybe it was early morning, she startled awake when Ethan coughed roughly.
Dizzy as she lifted her head, Olivia leaned closer to him. When his eyes opened, she heaved a weak sigh of relief.
“Hey…” she greeted quietly.
Ethan turned his head toward her. The cloudiness and pain in her eyes made her freeze, ice gripping her heart. For the longest moment, neither of them spoke. Finally Ethan coughed and spoke up, his voice rough.
“How long have I been out?”
“I don’t know for sure. I fell asleep.” Her eyes stung and she blinked. “I… I know it’s been a while. I was starting to think…”
Ethan’s thumb brushed against her cheek, wiping away the tear that escaped. “Shh…”
Olivia covered his hand with her own. Haunted by how far he’d declined in those few hours, she closed her eyes for a second before opening them. She gently ran her hand over his hair and forced a tired smile.
It left as Ethan’s eyelids fluttered shut, a weak breath passing his lips.
“No, no... don’t close your eyes. Ethan!” Her voice trembled as the plea barely escaped her swollen throat. Panic tightened her chest when his eyelids fluttered. “Look at me…”
A sharp gasp jolted his body. His lungs tensed, struggling to inhale. Olivia grabbed his hand and squeezed tight.
His fingers curled weakly around her hand. Pain twisted his features as another gasp clenched his chest. Even with the oxygen cannula aiding his breathing, his lungs tightened with pressure. His vision clouded, leaving his surroundings a blur.
Olivia’s heart froze. Anxiety gripped her lungs, sending a tremor down her spine. The unspoken meaning of his words made her heart slow to a crawl. As she tightened her grip on his hand, her head spun.
Wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around him. She gently guided his head to her shoulder and combed her fingers through his hair. “I’m right here…”
His chest trembled with sporadic breaths. The pained wheeze behind the ragged gasps clenched her heart. Olivia rested her hand on his chest and rubbed gently. Tears pooled in her eyes. She didn’t try to stop them from escaping as she tightened her hold on Ethan’s weak form.
“I’m right here,” she whispered again. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… just try to relax.”
Ethan tried to contain a shudder. His lungs burned, fighting against his attempts to breathe. Darkness fogged the corners of his eyes. His breaths escaped in short, shallow gasps.
“Shh…” Tightening her arms around him, Olivia squeezed her eyes shut. Tears still slipped through as she continued stroking his hair. His lips parted, but no words formed.
His eyes closed as a weak breath escaped his lips. When he went still in his arms, Olivia froze for several seconds. Her heart pounded against her ribs as her fingers lightly touched the side of his neck, feeling for a pulse. She felt nothing and in that moment, time seemed to hold still.
Her heart beat violently, then slowly. Then the reality hit her all at once and a sob took her breath away. Her body trembled as she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut. It wasn’t enough and tears flowed freely.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
She was supposed to spend her day treating patients. She was supposed to end the day at Donahue’s with her roommates. Another tremor wracked her body as she reminded herself that she couldn’t predict the future, that life had a way of crashing down in a moment’s time.
Olivia’s hand trembled as she reached for her pager. She pressed the button and tried to blink back a fresh wave of tears. Her head ached with dizziness as she tried to take a deep breath.
How was she supposed to tell Alan his only son died doing a job that should have been safe?
The thought stopped as soon as it began. All it took was a pained gasp to remind herself that she wasn’t making it out alive.
She wasn’t sure who came into the room or what they said to her. Her surroundings blurred, the voices near her nothing but incomprehensible, distant whispers. When Ethan’s body was removed from the bed, she cried out and buried her face in the pillow, letting her surroundings fade into nothing.
When the door closed, she wasn’t sure how much time passed before it opened again. It could have been minutes, an hour, or several hours; she didn’t know.
Through the haze, she faintly recognized Jackie and Sienna in hazmat suits. They sat on either side of the bed.
“Hi,” Jackie greeted softly.
“Hi...” Olivia whispered. Her eyes stung, dry but red and swollen. “Ethan…”
“We heard.” Sienna grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly.
She coughed, wincing when it sent a sharp pain through her chest. “I’m dying…”
Jackie’s face fell. She nodded slightly and blinked back tears. “We tried everything…”
Olivia shook her head. “Don’t blame yourself. Please…”
Sienna’s eyes glistened with tears. She bit her lip and leaned in, gently hugging her. A moment later Jackie joined in and Olivia leaned into them. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt her eyes sting at the realization that this was the last time she’d hug them, that she wouldn’t be going home to their apartment after this was all over.
“We love you,” Sienna whispered, burying her face in her best friend’s shoulder.
“I love you guys, too…”
Jackie sniffled and hugged her again before she pulled back. She cleared her throat and let out a shaky breath. “We… we just wanted to see you. I think the scalpel jockey wants to see you, too.”
“Send him in…” Olivia released Sienna, feeling her heart twist painfully at the tears in her eyes. Jackie put her arm around Sienna and led the way out of the room.
A few minutes later, the door opened again.
Olivia groggily as someone else made their way into the room. As her bleary eyes adjusted, she made out Bryce’s features through the plastic hazmat helmet. “Hey…”
“Hey.” Bryce leaned over the bed and hugged her as tightly as he dared. Then he grabbed a chair and moved it closer to her bed. He sat down in it and gave her a grin, but she could see the sadness behind it. “I thought you might want some company.”
“I do…” she murmured, nodding shakily. A rough sigh escaped her when her throat swelled. “I… I don’t wanna be alone right now.”
“We can’t all come in here at once, but everyone’s out in the hall. If they had enough hazmat suits, we’d be surrounding you.”
She laughed quietly. “I’m sure… I just hope everyone knows… how much they mean to me…”
“Yeah? Tell me your favorite thing about everyone.”
Olivia thought, the pain leaving her eyes for a second. “Jackie’s the toughest woman I know. She may like to compete with me at everything, but… she always has my back. She’d throw hands for me any time…. any time I needed it.”
He smirked. “That sounds about right.”
She continued, grateful for the brief distraction. “Aurora is the friend I didn’t know I needed… selfless, caring… Elijah and Sienna are the sweetest people I’ve ever met…”
“Am I chopped liver or something?” Bryce teased.
Her lips flickered into the ghost of a smile. “You’re okay, I guess... a little dorky, but you’re one of the first and... most loyal friends I’ve met here. You’re always there when… I need a friend… or an accomplice.”
“That’s better.” Bryce paused, trying not to let his smile fade as he extended a gloved hand toward her. Olivia took it, weakly curling her fingers around his hand.
A sharp pain shot through her stomach. Olivia winced, a gasp catching in her throat. Her weak grip on Bryce’s hand tightened almost unnoticeably. The pained breath she released made her lungs wheeze as the pressure worsened.
“I’m… I’m glad you’re here…”
Bryce nodded, his eyes glistening. “You’re my best friend. I wasn’t about to let you be alone right now.”
“Thank you…” Her voice lowered to a whisper, almost lost in a cough so strong it made her head spin. Bryce’s face blurred out of focus and moments later she felt numbness pushing the pain from her body.
Her breathing shallowed to weak gasps. As her eyes slipped shut, she didn’t feel afraid anymore. Surrendering, she let out one last breath.
Note: I’m still not sure how satisfied I am with this. I love writing angst but I feel like it’s not my strength because I don’t know how emotions work. Feedback, please! I may end up deleting and re-writing.
Tags, part 1
@princess-geek / @lapisreviewsstuff / @msjpuddleduck / @silverlitskies / @paulfwesley / @dr-brianna-casey-valentine / @junehiratas / @choicesstanblog / @trappedinfandoms / @justanotherrookie / @bellcat2010 / @desmaranj / @lion-ess24 / @nooruleman / @caseyvalentineramsey / @xee-na / @edith-eggs1 / @oofchoices / @schnitzelbutterfingers / @tefigranger / @jlynn12273 / @laceandlula / @crazy-loca-blog / @somegdchoices / @sanchita012 / @forthebrokenheartedthings / @lilyvalentine / @parkerattano / @drramseysownsme / @misswhit12 / @drethanfreakingramsey / @juneiswriting / @macy-ray85 / @swimmingauthordreamerbonk / @myusualnerdyself / @siaramsey / @takemyopenheart / @queencarb
130 notes · View notes
For the Lobster of Loki
Summary: Exposure to terrigen mist during a mission-gone-wrong results in you developing some newfound aquatic abilities. Unfortunately, this opens the door for your Avengers teammates to make use of the bane of your existence: fish puns.
Word Count: 2,850
Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader (first person)
A/N: I can’t believe I actually wrote this.
For those of you wondering what the hell this is: a few weeks ago, I had autocorrect change the word "love" to "lobster" while writing a fic. I found this hilarious and made a joke about it on Tumblr and it kind of turned into a meme on my blog. A couple of my friends told me I needed to turn this into a story and so now I present to you the stupidest thing I have ever spent precious time creating. Also, I usually don't like writing in first person at all, but my go-to third person limited just did not feel right with this nonsense, so I decided to experiment with a different style
Thanks for reading! :)
Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae
If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)
Read it on Ao3!
I was going to murder Tony Stark. I was going to murder all of them, but I was going to murder him first because he was the one who started this nonsense and now it had been going on for two weeks and I was one fucking smirk away from scalping myself.
It all started when I woke up with gills. Waking up with gills is a strange experience. Don’t get me wrong—I realize all things considered, I had it pretty good. I’ve heard about some really horrific transformations since I experienced my own— people who came out of the midst having lost their eyes or their limbs or their minds. There have been people who came out of the mist looking, sounding, and feeling like completely different creatures than when they went in. And there have been people who don’t come out at all.
No, I know damn well I was lucky to come out of the experience with nothing more than a pair of gills stuck in my neck. Still, it was an odd feeling—there was a heightened awareness every time I breathed in, pinprick chills trickling across the newfound ridges as I exhaled. It didn’t feel right, but it didn’t feel wrong either—it was a stiff feeling, a bit like putting on a new pair of shoes for the first time, if that makes sense. I didn’t know what to make of it.
When I woke up, there was about a hundred doctors hovering around me, each with some new sterile terminology to throw my way about my condition, none of which made anything close to sense. I was losing my mind until Bruce showed up. He was able to put it simply: during the mission, I had been exposed to terrigen mist. Instead of killing me, it triggered a transformation in my DNA. I was inhuman.
My inhuman gift, it seemed was the magical blessing from the Black Lagoon. I had gills now—that was the most immediate realization—but there was also the fleshy webbing between my fingers and a weird film over my eyes that I didn’t notice until I tried to rub them with the heel of my palm. All of these wondrously fishy attributes added up to one glorious result: I could swim like a fish.
That was the first thing they tested. As soon as the doctors said I was good to go, SHIELD dumped me in a pool and told me to have fun. And I did. I had never been a fantastic swimmer or anything—the extent of my swimming knowledge came from the lessons my mother had forced me to take as a kindergartener because she was afraid I’d fall into the pond at the park down the street from our house and just die, which … fair. I still hated those classes. But now, now—oh, it was a completely different experience! I cut through that water like a knife, like Michael Phelps who? I was a bullet, shooting back and forth across the pool and just hanging water for as long as I liked.
Because I could breathe underwater now. That’s what gills are for, I guess, although it doesn’t really feel like breathing. Like, I’m not inhaling water while I swim. I’m just … I don’t know, my lungs are still filling with air, my chest is still going up and down, but it’s not through my nose. I don’t know how to explain it, it’s weird. But it’s really fucking awesome.
The team was very supportive of everything. I had only been living at the Tower for a little while, so I had still felt like something of an outsider—I didn’t have powers, and I certainly didn’t have the years long rapport that they had with each other. But they were really cool! Tony designed me a sleek new suit that was able to move well in water while still offering protection, and everyone had the time of their life trying to think up a pithy new code name for my newfound superhero status (we still haven’t quite decided, but I’m leaning towards Torpedo, because isn’t that the coolest thing you’ve ever heard?). Everything was great.
Well, almost everything. There was one thing that was kind of bothering me. Loki hadn’t talked to me since I got hit with the mist. That might sound like a weird thing to get hung up on—oh no, the psychotic extraterrestrial terrorist is ignoring me!— but Loki’s not really like that. He doesn’t really talk about the whole New York thing much, but he’s said enough to make it clear that it’s not something he did of his own volition. If you saw it you’d understand what I meant, the way he tenses up whenever someone brings up the Chitauri and his eyes go all glassy like he’s not really there behind them. You can just tell that whatever had been waiting for him on the other side of that portal, it wasn’t good.
We never talked about New York, but we talked about other things. I’m not really sure how that happened. He does this thing where he acts all annoyed with everyone, like he’s just so over everything, and it irritates everyone so much that they all avoid him like the plague, which of course is what he wants. I guess I just didn’t avoid him when I arrived—I was too busy avoiding all the other superheroes who made me nervous to bother trying with him—and he grew to tolerate my presence.
We started talking about stuff one day, random shit like the purpose of nutritional facts on the side of poptart boxes and the boiling point of water on Earth vs on Asgard because apparently that’s different. And then we’d do things like make fun of the way Steve talks because he’s just so easy to make fun of, and Steve would overhear and tell us to knock it off and that would just make the whole thing funnier and Loki would mimic his voice and say something stupid like “I can feel the righteousness surging!” and Steve would just shake his head and walk away while we laughed like idiots. So yeah. We were friends. Or at least, I thought of him as a friend.
But I was starting to think that maybe he didn’t see me in the same way. We had been partners on the mission where I got hit with the terrigen mist, but he didn’t even come to visit me while I was still in the hospital. And literally everyone came to visit me. Friggin’ Director Fury came to visit me, although I’m pretty sure that was more because he wanted to see what my transformation had entailed and not because he had any particular interest in my wellbeing, but still. And then when I got out, he never said a word to me and everyone else wanted to talk to me so I didn’t say anything to him, but I was worried about him just the same. He was avoiding me too—he wouldn’t ever look at me when I was looking at him, and a lot of times he’d get up and leave the room if I came in. And I didn’t know what was going on.
I probably should’ve asked, but I don’t know … I was afraid, I guess. Like, what if he was really mad at me for something, and just me trying to talk with him would make him upset? So I just didn’t say anything—went through my day pretending everything was normal and ignoring the ache in my chest constantly reminding me that it had been weeks since I got my powers and Loki still hadn’t asked me if I was okay.
But I kind of forgot about all that when Tony started this bullshit. Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t start it sooner, because it was the type of low hanging fruit that had his name written all over it, but once he started it there was no going back.
He started it one day when we were in the kitchen. I had been making a sandwich (tuna fish, because I’m a cannibal) and Tony was leaning over the counter watching me, and we were just talking about my general fishiness.
“I’m jealous, really,” he was saying. “It’s definitely something that would come in handy. You need to get something underwater, you just dive down—no tanks, no masks, no suits. Very sophisticated.” His eyes lit up, which is never a good thing. “Sofishticated!”
I groaned. “Stop it.”
But Tony was cackling. “Sofishticated! That’s rather gilliant, if I do say so myself.”
“It doesn’t get any betta than this!”
I waved the bread knife in his face. “I will throw this at you.”
“Alright, alright.” Even as he held his hands up in surrender, he was giggling like a child. “I’ll stop.”
He did not stop.
The next morning, it was fish puns. Everywhere you turned, it was fish puns.
“Can you get that report back to me soon, or do you need more time to mullet over?”
“Just let minnow when you’re ready to try on the new suit.”
“Don’t trout your abilities, we all know you’re fintastic.”
It was only breakfast and I was inches away from crushing my face against the china cabinet.
Natasha raised her eyebrows. “What the hell have I walked into?”
Tony grinned. “It’s fish puns!” he said. “Because, you know—” he gestured vaguely in my general direction. “It’s her brand.”
I moaned, face in my hands. “Just kill me now.”
Clint perked up. “Don’t you mean krill me now?”
Laughing, Tony gave him a high five over my head as I writhed in pain. “That’s the spirit.”
I don’t know how he did it, but in the matter of hours Tony had the whole damn tower on the pun train. Natasha was joking about how she was having a whale of a time with this new game. Clint was telling me to clam down and enjoy the fun. Steve asked me if I could get kraken on my o-fish-al business. Even Bruce—Bruce, who always made a point of staying out of Tony’s nonsense—even he was coming up to me with shit like “Cod you come help me with somefin in the lab?”
I glared at him. “Why would you ask me that?”
He hesitated for a moment. “Well …” Bruce inhaled. “Salmon had to.”
I stormed off as Tony roared with laughter from behind the corner.
It was inescapable. Wherever I went there was someone armed with some new fishy atrocity. You’d be surprised at how many fucking fish-related words exist in the English language. JARVIS was so overloaded with the amount of Internet searches for “fish puns” that he started bookmarking lists for easy access. It was an absolute nightmare.
“Don’t play koi, sweetheart,” Tony teased one night while we were waiting for Clint to choose a movie. “We know you lobster it.”
“Lobster?” I scoffed. “That doesn’t even make sense!”
“You just don’t appreciate my ingenui-sea.”
“Ignore them, my lady.” Thor smiled gallantly “They are only jesting. You should just relaks.” He grinned, stepping back as he waited for a reaction. We all just blinked at him. He frowned. “You understand, yes? Re-laks? Laks? That’s a fish!”
“Lak is not native to Midgard,” Loki interjected without looking up from the book he was reading. I jumped. He had been so quiet I had forgotten he was in here too. “Their oceans are too warm.”
Thor was surprised. “Truly? But I thought we’ve tasted lak since we’ve been here!”
Loki rolled his eyes, still without looking up. “That’s salmon. It tastes similar, but it’s much smaller.” He turned the page, muttering something that I didn’t quite catch. I was suddenly struck by the fact that it was the closest we had come to talking since before the mist, and that ache came back, gnawing at the edges of my heart. He didn’t look at me. I didn’t say anything.
About a week later, it was my birthday. I don’t really like birthdays in general, but I had really been bracing myself for this one all week because there was no way in hell these morons weren’t going to something infuriatingly stupid to mark the occasion. I guess I didn’t do enough bracing, because when I walked into my bathroom that morning to find a big fat lobster scuttling around in my sink I nearly had a fucking heart attack.
Across the mirror, someone had scrawled a message in red lipstick.
Sending you birthday fishes and lots of lobster!
And that was the moment I decided I was going to murder Tony Stark.
I stormed out into the hallway with no weapon, no plan of action, nothing except the pajamas on my back and the lobster in my hand. Additionally, this was the moment I decided that I hated lobsters more than any other creature on this earth. This thing looked like something from outer space, with its antenna and its bulging eyes and its spindly spider legs—that what it was, an overgrown spider in a slimy red shell. It was disgusting.
I was on my way to Tony’s floor, so engrossed with this half-baked notion of busting down his door and throwing this extraterrestrial arachnid on his face while he snored in bed, that I didn’t even see the Asgardian prince until I walked right into him.
Luckily, Loki grabbed me before I stumbled backwards, because I recoiled so quickly I probably would’ve gone flying. He raised his eyebrows as he took in the sight.
“I assume there’s a reason for the crustacean?” he asked.
There was something ever so slightly condescending about his tone, and I bristled. “They left this thing in my room! I swear, I’ve had it up to here with this fish bullshit—”
He hushed me, pulling the lobster from my grasp. With a wave of his hand, it was gone.
I inhaled. “You didn’t kill it, did you?”
“Oh no. I merely moved it to a more preferable location.” He frowned at the moisture left on his palm, conjuring a handkerchief to wipe it off with. “You know,” he said slowly. “The more visibly upset you allow yourself to become over this, the more encouraged they’ll feel to continue.”
“I know, I know. I just—” I sighed. “It’s so annoying. It’s been going nonstop, for two damn weeks! Puns are the absolute lowest form of humor, it’s just obnoxious.”
Loki only nodded as he turned to make his way down the hall. “I’ll take your word for it.”
And just like that, it was back to ignoring me. I watched his retreating form, the ache in my chest quickly bursting in to flames.
“Why are you avoiding me?” I snapped.
He froze, slowly turning around. “Pardon?”
“Why are you avoiding me?” I repeated. “You won’t talk to me anymore, you barely even look at me— did I do something wrong?” Maybe the fish jokes really had fried my brain, because I was dangerously close to tears. “I don’t get it Loki, I thought we were cool and now you just hate me!”
“I don’t hate you!” he said. “I just—”
“Just what? What is going on with you?”
“You could’ve died!” Loki yelled. I had never heard him speak that loudly before, and guess I was shocked into silence. “With the mist, on the mission. It was only pure chance that you didn’t.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
“I was supposed to cover you. I should’ve realized sooner that they were using terrigen crystals. Instead I miscalculated and you nearly died.” He let out a shaky breath. “I thought you were dead. When I found you, enveloped in that shell …” His voice trailed off and I realized with a start that his eyes were glistening with tears.
“Loki …” My gills tingled on my neck as I reached out for him. Is that what this was all about? Guilt? “Loki, you can’t blame yourself for that. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. And besides, I’m fine now. It all worked out in the end.”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand. You didn’t see yourself. You were gone, I was certain you were gone—”
I griped his hand. “I’m here now though. I’m here and I’m fine. Stop beating yourself up about it. I want to be friends again. I—” For a moment, the words caught in my throat. “I missed you.”
He gulped. “Truly?”
“Of course! Besides, I need your help getting back at these idiots.”
He smirked. “Oh, I’ve already started on that.”
A high-pitched scream broke out across the floor. “How did the fucking lobster get in my shower?” Tony bellowed from his bedroom.
We exploded into laughter.
“Oh,” I wheezed. “That was fucking perfect!”
Loki grinned, squeezing my hand. “Only the best for you, my lobster.”
107 notes · View notes
As iron is eaten away by rust
Wilbur plays his guitar to help Tommy go to sleep, and when Wilbur's hand's shake too much from radiation exposure, Tommy returns the favor.
(A fanfic based off of the SBI rust server)
Tommy huddles closer into his blankets trying to find warmth in his body heat. The sound of gunshots echoing around the small wooden shelter and Tommy shivers, begging his mind to ignore the sound. It doesn’t work. There is no way he’s going to be able to sleep. Not with the throbbing in his side and the hunger pains growing inside of him. Tommy sits up in bed unable to stand the sheer restlessness anymore.
‘’Tommy? What’s wrong?’’ Wilbur questions peeking his head into the makeshift room. Tommy hesitates, staring back at the man a few feet away from him. Wilbur has been with him since the world fell apart. Since global warming increased the severity and frequency of storms. Since the storms tore through everyone’s homes and left them completely blank slates. Tommy vaguely remembers staring at the fuzzy T.V screen as the news person talks about crime rates skyrocketing due to the human population being too high. He remembers the day his mom found they no longer had enough rations to split between them. She started acting weird after that. She was different. Then the men with guns came to the door and Tommy had no choice but to run. Escape. Survive. Tommy didn’t even know where he was running, he just hoped it wasn’t towards any wreckages left from the nuclear wars.
Wilbur found him not long after that freezing to death in a ditch in the forest with nothing but a stick to defend himself. Tommy always wondered why Wilbur took pity on him, specifically since their first interaction was Tommy trying to bite Wilbur’s ear off while hitting him with a pointed twig. Though after Wilbur proved he wasn’t a threat, and that Tommy wasn’t much of one either, they formed an uneasy alliance. At first, Tommy barely talked, but it wasn’t long before they fell into an easy banter as they searched for resources and built a shelter. Wilbur never left him or sold him out. They collected valuable scraps to sell for guns and invaded other’s camps with Wilbur pretending Tommy was his ‘’young little brother’’ to grab some pity donations. But Tommy has never dared let Wilbur see him vulnerable like he was on the first night they met. Tommy knows that Wilbur would never leave him behind but it doesn’t stop the little doubts to allow the fear to crawl across his skin. His mind can’t help but worry that if he lets Wilbur know he’s weak, that if he can’t uphold his keep, then Wilbur will discover he’s a burden, he’ll abandon him.
Wilbur is still watching him now, his dark brown eyes overflowing with concern. Tommy raises his head to meet Wilbur’s eyes. They are so sincere, it’s enough to make his chest clench. Tommy doesn’t know when this change happened, when in this ‘every man for himself’ world he started to trust Wilbur.
‘’It’s just…’’ Tommy stutters, pulling the thin sheets closer. ‘’I just can’t sleep.’’. Tommy shrugs his shoulders as if it’s not a big deal as if this isn’t a nightly occurrence, as if sometimes he’s too exhausted to remember his name. Wilbur’s eyes continue to study Tommy, it’s a challenge. Wilbur can push, but only if he’s willing to learn Tommy may not be a good idea to keep around in the process.
‘’The guns are loud,’’ Wilbur remarks his voice trailing off as he stares into the distance. He says it as if it’s just the gunshots as if it isn’t the screams of others being stabbed, shot or eaten alive. As if the gunshots don’t trigger vivid memories of the last war, as if anxiety doesn’t run through all of their veins.
Tommy nods in response to Wilbur’s observation, huddling in on himself. Wilbur gives Tommy a sad smile before swiftly ducking out of the room. For a moment Tommy thinks that is it and he’s alone with bloodthirsty cries and self-directed anger, but then Wilbur comes back. He enters the room, slowly closing the creaking door behind him. Wilbur’s also clutching something in his thin fingers, it’s a guitar.
‘’What are you going to do with that?’’ Tommy questions fake judgment shielding his confusion. Wilbur walks over and plops himself delicately down on the right side beside Tommy.
‘’I’m going to play it.’’ Wilbur declares with almost real excitement spiking inside him. Tommy tilts his head to the side for a second rolling Wilbur’s words over in his head.
‘’That sounds stupid,’’ Tommy announces, but he falls back onto the bed and starts making himself comfortable. Wilbur reaches out ruffles Tommy’s messy hair and for some reason, the boy doesn’t have the energy to swat him away. Then Wilbur starts playing, he strokes the strings of the guitar, plucking each note exactly right. The calm melody fills Tommy’s ears and eventually, he starts to drown out the sounds of bullets flying through the air. At some point, Tommy thinks that he hears Wilbur start singing. Then Tommy realizes that he’s fallen asleep. Ever since that day, Tommy hasn’t had a problem sleeping as long as Wilbur could play his guitar.
‘’Come on, Wilbur hold on we're almost home!’’ Tommy urges, a sharpness edging his voice as if Wilbur can control his condition.
‘’Tommy…’’ Wilbur mumbles, more of his weight falling so he’s almost entirely being carried by Tommy. ‘’I think I’m going to throw up again.’’.
‘’No, Wilbur you’re fine. You’re...it’s going to be okay.’’ Tommy promises, his voice breaking with emotions as sweat beads down his forehead. Wilbur shifts slightly and starts moving his feet forward again, his arm still resting on Tommy's shoulders and Tommy’s hand wrapped around his waist. Wilbur’s eyes flutter and Tommy can see that he’s struggling to keep standing through his nausea. ‘’Look Wilbur we made it home! You’re going to be fine!’’ Tommy strains to make his voice sound positive when in reality his brain is cursing his ignorance.
Tommy practically drags Wilbur inside as he recalls the past few months. He wishes he said something when he noticed the ‘’rust’’ which he now knows are radiation burns started growing all over Wilbur. He wishes he said something when Wilbur’s hands started shaking so much it was hard to hold something. Tommy wishes he put together the pieces when the notes on Wilbur’s guitar could never come out quite right. Tommy knows he should have realized when Wilbur started teaching him how to play the guitar.
Tommy lays Wilbur down in their bed watching as the man curls up in obvious agony. Wilbur has been going into the radiation areas. He’s been giving Tommy all these surprisingly good supplies and Tommy's never questioned it. Wilbur has been running into dangerous areas, poisoning himself to keep Tommy safe. Tommy stares down at Wilbur’s broken form, guilt bleeding from his eyes in streams of tears. He knows there’s no way Wilbur is going to be able to sleep like this. That’s when Tommy gets the idea.
‘’I’ll be right back,’’ Tommy promises, about to walk away before a shaking hand reaches for him.
‘’Tommy…’’ Is all Wilbur is able to croak out and Tommy just forces a smile discovering this must be how Wilbur felt like all those nights ago. He knows he’d do anything for Wilbur, for his brother. He’d tear down the world.
Tommy slips out of Wilbur’s grasp and runs out the door. He scans the house until his eyes lock on exactly what he needs. He pushes open the bedroom door rushing back into the room. Tommy ignores the smell of vomit in the room and pulls himself up onto the bed beside Wilbur. Tommy knows he’ll never be able to play as well as Wilbur could, but he knows a few songs. So Tommy reaches out and squeezes Wilbur’s hand before moving to play the old guitar. He plucks the string in an abrupt rhythm, and then Tommy starts to sing.
130 notes · View notes
Question for people with trauma
Curious how any of our followers that are willing to share handle this, but how do you handle walking the line of wanting people to know what had happened to you so you can admit and recognize and accept that it did happen, and not trauma dumping / over sharing in a way that is unhealthy, dangerous, and/or toxic / problematic?
A large part of a certain one of our traumas involves having to keep it a secret, and I do feel a large part of the parts that hold trauma from then feel stuck in it because there isn’t a good way to tell people and let it out without possibly putting themselves in danger, or putting unfair and undue pressure / duty on the other person or risking triggering them.
I know the path of thought would next be to question why it feels necessary to tell people and to see if there was another behavior / action that could fill the same emotional need without the personal exposure, but whenever we go down that route, it doesn’t seem as though doing that would be sufficient.
I would really like to hear what others have to say on the topic and how they have handled it!
Thank you for your time!
-Jii (Protector / Caretaker)
21 notes · View notes
Important online safety message to minors.
I’m almost 40. I’ve seen some scary stuff online.
It’s a sad world that someone has to tell you to be more situationally aware of creeps, but I hope this advice helps you be safer online.
You don’t have to specify your age, but make sure it’s clearly known that you are a minor if an adult engages you online.
If it makes you more comfortable, you can put something on your profile like “I am a minor, 18+ please do not interact.” Add it to your posts too if you have room (it depends on the site). One unfortunate part of Web 2.0 social media is not everyone checks a profile before they retweet / reblog / share someone’s stuff.
If an adult keeps engaging with your stuff and you don’t want them to, it’s okay to block them.
Stay away from spaces adults have marked as nsfw, off-limits to minors or unsafe for minors. Chances are there is material in those spaces that you may not be ready for, or it will shock, offend, frighten, disgust and/or trigger you.
Some adults will pretend to be minors, and unfortunately I don’t know what kind of “tells” give away that they’re lying about their age, but I’m sure someone who knows more about that can reblog this and add that info.
Now, here’s what to do if a creepy adult starts creeping.
If their profile states they’re a MAP or NOMAP, block instantly. MAP / NOMAP means Minor Attracted Person / Non-Offending Minor Attracted Person. These people are pedophiles. Some of them identify themselves with the acronym PEAR or the pear emoji. 🍐 Be wary if you see this in someone’s profile info.
PEAR stands for Pro-Expression Anti-Repression. That’s something you apply to fiction, NOT reality. Fiction can be turned off, flicked off a screen, a book closed or otherwise disengaged from the moment someone doesn’t like it. Real life doesn’t work that way, and don’t trust anyone who claims it does.
It doesn’t matter if a MAP / NOMAP claims they’re getting “help” for their pedophilia or not, they should not be engaging you in any capacity.
If you engage them and discover they’re a MAP, disengage and block.
If an adult sends you anything that is sexually explicit, no matter the form, be it art, fanwork, videos, audio, roleplays, etc, screenshot it for evidence, block that person and tell someone you can trust.
Even nudity that is not sexual (this includes furry art with exposed genitals) should be treated as suspicious if an adult knows you’re a minor and still sends it to you despite being told you’re uncomfortable with it. They might be trying to desensitize you to the sight of nudity so they can show you more and more explicit stuff. Do as above; screenshot, block and report to someone you trust.
+ Part of the grooming process is the adult tries to reach you somewhere private, like DM’s or a messenger app and desensitize you to stimuli you would normally reject by exposing you little by little to it. Think of it as a twisted form of exposure therapy for phobias, but you don’t want this exposure. They want you to get curious and will up the ”intensity” of the explicit material.
The media itself existing is not the problem (unless the adult using it on you made it), the real problem is adult using it specifically to desensitize you into thinking that kind of stuff is okay in the real world. If an adult engages you, shows you media with questionable material in it and tries to tell you “see, it’s okay because it’s being done here” screenshot it, tell them fiction is not the real world and break off contact.
Most creeps stay hidden, so their blog may not contain a trace of anything weird, but when they engage you they send you all kinds of creepy adult stuff. An adult who is engaging you to groom you will use pretty much anything to try to make you think it’s normal and okay for them to do that to you. Remember always that it’s not. Remember the line between fiction and reality.
No adult should be sending a minor any pictures of naked people (or naked furry art with visible genitals) of any age no matter how innocent it seems!!!
If an adult sends you pictures or videos of themselves in their underwear, naked, showing their genitals or showing themselves doing sexually explicit stuff, screenshot the evidence, block them and report it to someone you trust.
If an adult asks you about sex toys or sends you info about them, that is really suspicious. Screencap, block and report to someone you trust.
If an adult asks you questions about your body, like what your hair ‘down there’ looks like, or how you’re developing, or if they ask if you touch your private parts, screenshot the evidence, block the adult and tell someone you trust.
If an adult asks you questions like “do you know what a (something sexual here) is?” or any questions that are sexually explicit or makes you uncomfortable, screenshot that crap, block them and tell someone you trust.
If you’re a creator and an adult tries to commission materials with nudity or sexually explicit stuff, refuse and tell them you’re a minor. If they persist, take screenshots, block them and tell someone you trust.
If an adult sends you violent or gory stuff and you don’t like it, demand that they stop and block them if they don’t. Screenshot anything they say if they keep doing it, and tell someone you trust.
If an adult demands you get on camera for them, do not do it. Screenshot the evidence, block them and tell someone you trust.
If an adult is threatening to reveal secrets you told them unless you do what they say(ie “send me a closeup of your private parts, or I’ll email all our chatlogs and your old naked photos to your whole school”). DON’T DO IT!! Screenshot the evidence, block them and tell someone you trust.
If an adult threatens to hurt themselves if you stop talking to them, stop talking to them anyway. This is especially true if they actually harm themselves and show you pictures or videos of it. That is a classic abuse tactic and it’s not your fault if they hurt themselves. Block them.
If an adult you blocked makes more accounts to keep contacting you, or starts showing up on other sites you visit trying to contact you, screenshot all the evidence and tell someone you trust.
If an adult (or anyone)tries to smear your name because you wouldn’t obey them, use any evidence you have against them in your defense and tell someone you trust about the situation.
If you run a blog talking about your abuse or experiences and an adult engages you to ask uncomfortable probing questions about the details of your trauma / abuse, be very suspicious and block them.
If an adult talks to you like you’re their special friend, or if they say you’re their very special friend, be very suspicious.
Acting like a sole source of kindness is one way an adult can groom a minor. They want you to feel like they are the only source of good that you can trust because they want you to gravitate more and more to them.
If you tell an adult you don’t like it when they swear while talking to you privately and they stop, but gradually start to do it again, be wary! An occasional oopsie slip or typo is one thing, but slipping in swear words when they know it makes you uncomfortable is suspicious. They may be testing your boundaries.
If an adult tries to set up an in person meeting, refuse it and talk to someone you trust about it.
If an adult (or anyone) tries to tell you that you should only trust them and nobody else, expects you to behave a certain way to be accepted, or if they act as if you’ve wronged them for trusting people other than them, that is a huge abuse warning sign. They are not safe to be around and you should break contact immediately.
If an adult compliments you in ways that makes you uncomfortable, break contact. A grown adult should not be telling a minor “you’re sexy” or “you’re hot.”
If an adult makes frequent comments about how mature and grown up they think you are, be suspicious.
If an adult learns you’re trans / non-binary and asks questions about your private parts or whether you plan to get surgery, be suspicious.
If an adult asks if you’re alone at home, say no even if you are.
If an adult asks if they can come visit you, say no.
If an adult asks for your phone number, don’t give it to them, no matter how nice or tempting they may be.
If an adult is making you uncomfortable in any way, it’s okay to block them and disengage.
Do not approach an adult with nsfw stuff you made. If they run across it in public on your blog that’s one thing. Sharing it with them in private can get both of you into trouble. Don’t do it.
Note: if you, a minor, did any of the above because you didn’t know better at the time, know that you are not a bad person. No adult should take advantage of your youth or innocence to hurt you.
To adults out there:
Do not approach minors with anything sexually explicit!!! This should not need to be said.
If you send something and find out they’re a minor after the fact, apologize and don’t do it again. If you think it’s proper to avoid any more private contact, do that. If you think breaking all contact period is proper, do that.
Make sure minors know you are over 18, whether it’s somewhere on your profile or tacked onto your posts. Something like “over 18, minors DNI” is helpful. I personally have my year of birth (1980) on my profile because that’s easier than changing a number every year.
You can’t prevent minors who fake their age to see naughty stuff from engaging with your stuff, but you can make it clear that you will not engage them back. And do not engage them. In fact, if you’re worried about that, block them when you discover them.
Private conversations with minors is okay, but make sure you tell them you’re not comfortable talking about something if they mention something sexually explicit. Even if it’s fandom related stuff, keep the conversation away from anything more than talking about characters dating or kissing or whatever.
If something you ship has an underage character, do not talk about it in private with a minor, not even if the character is aged up to adulthood.
Got nsfw stuff on your blog? Tag it that way.
I use “n s f w post” for stuff I want to show up in other related tags, “nsfw post” for reblogs, and “nudity” for nonsexual nudity like mermaids with bare chests or artistic nudes. Those tags are specifically for minors to blacklist or mute. (I don’t usually reblog nsfw artwork, but sometimes I post nsfw fanfics, create nsfw text posts or reblog nsfw text posts / fanfic. If I feel it’s nsfw, I tag it such even if most people don’t think it’s nsfw.)
If it’s fanfiction, I make sure the rating is listed and that it’s nsfw, and I try to warn for triggers as best I can.
If your blog or website features a lot of adult or violent content, mark it 18+ and tell minors to not interact.
If a minor approaches you and tells you a harmless secret, fine, keep it secret. You, the adult, should never approach a minor and tell them you will keep their secrets.
If a minor is expressing a desire to harm themselves or someone else, don’t keep that secret. Tell them to talk to someone they trust irl or put them in contact with a hotline or website where they can get help. Be supportive in talking them down from immediate harm, but do not become their therapist. (It’s tempting, you see a kid in trouble and want to help, but always be careful!)
If a minor tells you they’re being abused by an adult in their life, put them in contact a website or phone number where they can seek help. Be supportive and listen, but don’t become their therapist.
If you run a role play blog, state explicitly that you will not engage in nsfw rps with minors.
If you’re roleplaying with a minor and the story takes a nsfw turn, tell the minor you will not role play a sex scene with them no matter how much they want to. Either fade it to black with a time skip or bail out of the rp.
I say this because I forgot the age of someone I was rping with on AIM a long long loooong time ago and it got explicit, and they got in trouble with their parents for it. Their parents contacted me on AIM without their teen’s knowledge and reamed me out so hard I was scared for weeks. They were right to do so! I told them they were right, apologized profusely and swore to never rp with or speak to their teen on AIM ever again, and they agreed to those terms. I kept that promise. Any contact with that former rp partner was done in public, such as via deviantart comments or LiveJournal comments. It was a major learning experience for me and it stuck because this happened almost 20 years ago.
As an autistic adult I feel more like a kid with all kinds of adult knowledge and privileges (ie can gamble, drink, visit adult places) that most kids don’t have. I relate more to people who are younger than me, but that doesn’t give me the right to assume their level of knowledge or lived experience is equal to mine.
What I’m trying to say is always be aware of the age of the person you’re rping or speaking with!
Do not commission sexually explicit or violent stuff from creators who are minors.
Do not engage with a minor who sends you sexually explicit stuff. Tell them that’s inappropriate or you’re not comfortable with getting that from them.
It’s okay to agree with a minor that an adult celebrity or character they have a crush on is attractive or whatever, but if the celebrity / character is a minor or the minor talks about wanting to have sex with that character / celebrity, tell them that’s not an appropriate topic of conversation because of your ages.
This also applies to them sharing fanworks with you depicting explicit nsfw stuff. Deflect them and tell them it’s not appropriate due to your ages.
Do not ask minor for personal info like their school, phone number or address.
Don’t do any video chats with a minor unless they’re family or it’s a group thing like a Zoom event.
‼️ TAG YOUR STUFF APPOPRIATELY!! YES, EVEN STUFF YOU RESHARE!!
‼️ USE APPROPRIATE WARNINGS!! YES, EVEN STUFF YOU RESHARE!!
1K notes · View notes
Reader(Fem) x Alcina Dimitrescu
Written by cannibal_witchh
Story contains: Gore, sexual elements, vulgar language, violence, elements of sub/dom behavior, and captivity.
Notes: This is the 2nd part of the story and it will progressively get more sexual, and the elements between the reader and Alcina will become more dom/sub. It is a little bit of a slow burner so bare with me. It will get juicy soon! I want to add, I do not support in any fashion abuse, and or non consensual actions. ⚠️ I have clearly placed trigger warnings to indicate there may be elements that are not for every reader. I heavily gravitate with dominance and submission/gore so thats where the relationship in the story will go ⚠️ Again, limited information so nothing in the story really is canon.
The reader is referred to as:
Y/N- your name
Y/L/N- your last name
She/her- in italics and bold
Her blood boiled as she felt the weight of humiliation and rage filter through her. She was in poor shape, bloodied up, bruised, and very little hope could be found within her. She stared at Alcina with a hateful expression, but the vampress had full awareness beneath that thin surface of loathing was absolute fear. "Don't be foolish. I will not say it again.", she continued a smirk as she rested her elbows up on the edge of the bath. Even in absolute indecency she was wicked and intense. Her body at full exposure, water glistening off her porcelain skin, and gentle beads of water trailing down her breasts. The moon was illuminating off her soft tall figure, as she tipped her head back and relaxed it on the edge. "I think I've been more than patient with you."
Y/N, had so many emotions cycling through her, there was disgust, hatred, and anxiety. But she had concluded that there was no point in stalling. Alcina would grow tired and eventually kill her if she wasted anymore time. She began to strip, peeling an article of clothing at a time, trying desperately to cling on to every second. Her hands trembling as she slid her panties down her ankles before the wicked vampire.
She submerged her body in the warm water, blood began to scatter out from her knee, and she watched fragments of the water become crimson. Fuck. "Relax, I'm not a shark. I can smell your wonderful nectar but I have no need to feed at this exact instance just because you're coloring my bath water red.", she teased pulling her head up. Loose black waves stuck to her wet skin, spreading out like a small web on her smooth pale skin. Her intense bright eyes focused on Y/N, her eyes looked so preditorial, and so hungry. Those eyes burned deep in Y/N's soul, it was haunting.
After about forty minutes of soaking and cleansing, Alcina decided to privilege Y/N by showing her the cellar room. She held a lit candlabrum guiding them deep inside. It smelled foul, there were variations of fresh corpses everywhere, limbs lost in other areas of the large hallway, and it was incredibly dark. The walls and floor were built with thick cobblestone, and there were numerous cellars with rusted bars. " Now, I believe I have treated you kindly with allowing you to stay in an actual guest room.", she said as she continued to lead Y/N deeper into the cellars. Abruptly, an incredibly dry groan echoed through the cellar, it sounded as if it was in absolute suffering and pain. Y/N darted her head in the direction she believed it came from but it was too difficult to really distinguish actually where it sounded. " Relax, I won't allow them to touch you.", she assured as she stopped and turned to face her. "Those are family.", she stretched a pearly grin, her fangs teasing under her satin red lips. Alcina instructed with just her hands for Y/N to come closer to her, and she obeyed the demand. "You look much better being cleaned up, pet.", that name alone flooded a pool of humiliation in her, being stabbed, bitten, and beaten countless times to this nonsense- it just delivered a wave of embarassment to her. Alcina let out a soft giggle, and for moments there wasn't words being exchanged.
Thud! With swift impact, there was a heavy hit that landed to Y/N's head, and she flew several feet back away from Alcina. She tried to gather herself but her vision grew blurry, and her knee still in poor condition to make quick movements. Dwindling in and out of clear vision, the sounds of agonizing groaning reverberated through the corridor infront of her. She felt shivers, hair raise, and another dose of adrenaline greet her. What could this be? Within moments, a strong smell of decay flooded through the damp cobblestone hallways, and echos of pain continuing to sound. A group of corpse like creatures swayed in, their bodies detierating, bones exposed, long sharp aged nails, and hollow dark eyes. Her family. Absolute horror welcomed Y/N, Alcina had lied, she wasn't going to protect her. The creatures began to hobble towards her, surrounding her, their stench choking her, and their groans ringing in her ear. She was fucked, no available escape was present for her to attempt. She closed her eyes and she felt the stroke of long thin nails brush against her face and arms. Felt the cold breath of their hissing near her ears, as she tried to control her panic. This was it. "Enough!", Alcina screeched, and immediately the creatures shrieked and fled away in the tunnels. She relaxed her hands on her hips and walked over to Y/N with a pleased expression. " This is what will become of you but worse if you do not submit to me. Do we have ourselves clear?", Alcina watched as Y/N nodded trying to control her panicked breaths, and maintain her shivering. "Good."
Without effort, Alcina had carried Y/N in her arms all the day back to her captive room. When they arrived, she locked the door, and rested Y/N on the sheets. Y/N felt some release of tension the moment she establish this was her room. She spread her arms out, tracing the creases of silk that collected under her. The presence of the fabric brought her slight comfort. "Honestly, you truely are pathetic.", she sighed as she sat the candlabrum on the wooden nightstand beside the bed. Y/N felt beside her sink, Alcina had sat beside her and began to run her fingers through her hair. Despite the cruel treatment, this minor kindness felt relieving to Y/N. She let out a small sound of relief as Alcina continued to lace her fingers through her hair. "I feel despite some tension, you have gathered an understanding of your place as my feeding pet. I appreciate that submission. I have mutually contributed. I awaited feeding until you were cleansed and in the comforts of your room.", a sharp spike danced in Y/N's stomach, she felt acidity well up, and her knee twitch with discomfort. It was time.
This time, Y/N did have opposition towards the situation this time. She fully gave in to the unfortunate circumstances. Her pants were removed, revealing a blackened knee with blood stains feathering out from the site. "I'm quite surprised how quickly you've adapted to your position to me. I have to admit, I am pleased with you.", Alcina leaned to her side, hovering over Y/N's wounded knee, her large breasts nearly spilling out from her nightgown. The closer she leaned towards her knee, the more her alluring breasts pressed gently against Y/N. "Despite my daughters, I have control over my hunger. I will treat you well, and I will know how to savor you slowly.", she looked down at her knee and let out a sound of disappointment. "So much for being patient. Its scabbed. I suppose I will make a new feeding site."
"My f-femoral atery?", Y/N muttered as she felt her cheeks grow hot. A major artery, not even her daughters had fed on. The violent feeding they did more than likely would've killed her if they attempted to. " Yes, now please relax. I have fed in this location before and no one has ever died. I have lived a long life and acquired quite the knowledge on self control.", she began to move close to her upper thigh, her nose brushing lightly against her skin, and her mouth leaving light streaks stained from her rouge. The sound of skin break was heard through the cold air, Y/N let out a pained moan and held her breath. The pain was unpleasant, it was like having a canine bite but with small thin teeth. She tried focusing on the candle wicks, watching them sway and dance softly in the distance. The warm occasional crackle it did from time to time. It was the closest thing to resemble peacefulness during this taxing time. Alcina began to feed, siphoning Y/N's blood, she made sounds of utter bliss as the sweet flavor danced along her desperate tongue. Her body stiffening in surprise as pure satisfaction greeted her mouth. Her nipples growing erect through her night gown, brushing against Y/N's leg. Y/N felt light headed, feeling blood leaving her as she grew quickly cold. Strangely, she had no presence of panic, perhaps, the loss of blood delivered her brief emotional insensitivity. Alcina stayed down there for quite sometime, muttering muffled sounds of bliss, occasionally latching off revealing a bloodied chin, teeth, and lips. She met Y/N's eyes and immediately flashed a wide smile, it was almost sickening but in a way bewitching. Maybe the lack of blood was making Y/N confused. " W-why am I so relaxed?", she muttered feeling a heavy weight of tranquility possess her. " Shh...its the lack of blood. Soon I will stop.", Alcina whispered as Y/N felt her tongue lick her inner thigh. Her long tongue tracing and prodding the bite marks. Desperstely trying to drain whatever was left of the site.
" I believe, I am full. Thank you for the meal.", she wiped her crimson stained lips and chin with the back of her hands ,now tarnishing it with red. " I believe, I owe you a thank you, pet. You have been surprisingly obedient the whole time, and quiet too.", Alcina slowly adjusted herself until she was on all fours above Y/N. Her large smooth breasts draping down reaveling down her well tailored gown. She began to crawl slowly towards Y/N's face, her chest lighting brushing against Y/N's body. It was incredibly soft yet cold. " I am going to need you to open your mouth, won't you, pet?", without hesitation, Y/N dropped her mouth open for her. Alcina licked her lips and pressed her right fang into her plump bottom lip. Blood began to trickle out and run down her chin and onto her chest. Her hand traveled slowly up to Y/N's neck, gentle gripping it, and holding it against the mattress. Her opposite hand, explored under her shirt, and rested on her heart. Y/N, felt the a wave of heat flush away the cold that was residing in her. What was she about to do? "Can't let my obedient food die on me, yet.", Alcina leaned herself forward, pressing her lips against Y/N's. Her tongue inviting itself into her mouth, brushing metallic crimson inside. The flavor was terrible but Y/N did not seem to object. Alcina continued to kiss her, muffled sounds escaping between their lips as a warm blanketed feeling continued to lay over Y/N. Blood had managed to escape their lips, trickling down Y/N's chin, it was incredibly cold as it traveled down. Alcina ceased the kissing, her face revealed itself to be flush and pink. Strange for a creature of the undead. She moved her long delicate fingers along Y/N's blood covered lips and chin. Collecting whatever escaped under her finger tips. "Don't waste it.", she whispered softly nudging her fingers against Y/N's lips, as they slipped their way inside her mouth. More of that bitter flavor met Y/N's tongue, and she felt her body grow warmer and warmer. Alcina took her fingers out after a few moments, examining there was no trace of remaining blood present. She made a sound of approval that trailed with a small smile. An overwhelming amount of insatiable hunger found Y/N, she felt her body perk with energy, her senses incredibly alert, and her heart accelerate as if it was injected with caffeine. She brought a hand to Alcina's cheek and drew her to her own. Lips reuniting again, her tongue pressing its way into Alcina's mouth, and Y/N biting her lower plump lip. She was hungry, the introduction to Alcina's blood was intoxicating, addictive, and restoring. It brought her energy and she needed more. A small line of red flowed from Alcina's lower lip, and Y/N quickly licked it from her face. Her tongue returning back to Alcina's mouth the moment she collected all of her crimson. Alcina muffled a small moan, as her hand tightened around Y/N's neck, the opposite hand no long resting on her Y/N's heart but traveling down her stomach. Her incredibly sharp nails dragging into her sternum down to above her navel. She felt blood seep from those insicions, and she let out a pained moan. She buried her lips against Alcina's for a few more passionate moments until she broke it. Her lips pressing against Y/N's neck and her tongue dragging down her neck to the freshly bloodied cuts on her sternum and navel. She kissed and licked the bloodied wounds hungrily. Little delicate moans left her mouth as she glanced up at Y/N with her appreciative smile. Still continuing to clean the newly made cuts with her tongue. "Dont act as if this is an invitation of making love, foolish one. Vampires have restorative blood that gives humans the ability to briefly recover, replenish energy, alertness, and on some occasions enhance their libidio.", she rolled her eyes, " In this case, you acquired all of it. What a headache. I just wanted to make sure you didn't die of blood loss.", She sighed. " I suppose I will find more uses for you, pet. But don't think it will entirely feel good."
To be continued...
116 notes · View notes
slytherin house dynamics under snape hc
this was inspired by this post by fuocogo that stated that slytherins probably know sign language because they need to communicate with the creatures living in the Black Lake and that tickled my imagination.
this will also focus on slytherin house specifically with snape as the head of house, because i like to think that after his own experiences he would have reformed a lot of what goes on inside, especially with him aligning to the light.
disclaimer: i haven’t reread the books in over a decade. i also don’t play any of the games so everything is really just based on how i remember the material i read, with some bits from the movies, as well as other hcs people have
snape does not tolerate bullying and any slytherin caught will answer to him personally. draco gets away with it a lot because i feel like it’s either he does it where the teachers don’t/can’t see, or snape makes a judgement call on the ones he does see (like the ones in potions where draco taunts the gryffindors). he definitely will not have tolerated draco calling hermione mudblood though. not even lucius’ son can get away with that
he keeps strict tabs on his little snakes - he interviews first years personally and at the start of the year assigns each one an older student to act as both a guide (like a mentor) and a guard. he does not encourage slytherins to walk alone, and each slytherin is assigned to and responsible for another.
he doesn’t openly encourage inter-house friendships but also doesn’t say no to them either. he turns a blind eye when he sees any of his snakes consorting with ravenclaws for homework help or hufflepuffs for trading sweets, but it does grate on his nerves a bit when he sees them interacting with gryffindors in a friendly manner. he doesn’t stop them however
slytherins do not lie to their head of house. the older students are quick to tell the first years that snape always knows when they lie and it’s just not worth it
snape advocates for his snakes’ continued and expanded learning - he’s well-informed of their background before they attend hogwarts and assigns them learning materials with homework as first years to fill in gaps that they may lack. this is especially useful to the half-bloods and muggleborns who may not have had any magical exposure prior to hogwarts (not unlike himself). as they grow older he also keeps an eye on their likely strengths in different fields and suggests to them possible materials for advanced learning
knowing that a lot of his snakes are from pureblood, bigoted families who would rat out any suspicious anti-dark lord dealings within the house, he encourages them to duel once or twice a month, but with very strict house rules: (1) he always has to be there; (2) hexes and curses only, no Unforgiveables; (3) to not tell the other houses that they are doing such and; (4) to not use any of the more harmful hexes on any of their fellow students or teachers. as a side effect, slytherins are actually quite good at DADA because snape also sneaks in a lesson or two and he knows it’s these students that will need them the most
they have a distress signal (maybe a small item?) that the students can use to contact their head of house directly if they’re in trouble. students have been known to trigger it even during the hols, and snape always assists in the best way he can
he never addresses problems nor gives praise in public. everything is discussed in his office and is always strictly confidential
his snakes are used to the rule that ‘whatever happens in hogwarts, stays in hogwarts’ so even if they see snape at any of their parents’ parties or meetings, they either ignore him or only acknowledge him subtly
he has a potions cabinet that’s for slytherin use only - these contain the basic first-aid potions and other solutions that the students may need and that he or they can use within the safety of the house, away from prying eyes
any student showing budding interest in the dark arts will be mentored by snape personally (he’ll give them a hell of a time to subtly discourage them from continuing)
slytherins are loyal to snape because they know they can trust him and are safe with him
discussions about the dark lord are not forbidden, in fact they’re encouraged, but only within the house. it gives snape a chance to gauge where his snakes stand and an opportunity to change their mind should they be in treacherous waters
he watches every game, every contest where a slytherin is represented and makes sure to sit in a spot where his student would see him
any internal issues are resolved by him mocking up a trial court that comprises the entire house. students are given a chance to plead, defend, allege, bargain, and stand as the jury. he stands as the judge
218 notes · View notes
“Why do so many old-school FFVII fans think that Cloud took Zack’s memories?”
Alright, so first things first. We gotta start from the beginning. We gotta start with Jenova.
Jenova is the name given to the alien entity known as the Calamity. “Heaven’s dark harbinger.” This being, assumed to be female because of the body she was in at the Crater, was basically godlike in her natural abilities. Historically, she was able to shapeshift. She was telepathic. She had a nigh indomitable will. And she used her abilities to infect the race of human(oid)s that happened upon her crash site--the Cetra.
Now, Ifalna, within the English translation of the OG, states that Jenova turned the Cetra into monsters, nearly wiping them all out, and that the wee few that remained basically had to be sacrificed to seal Jenova away before she could do anymore damage to all life on the planet. The notes Sephiroth finds within the Shinra Mansion seem to corroborate this version of events, as he tells Zack that the Cetra chose to fight the Calamity while the other humans “hid”, thus being spared Jenova’s shenanigans, allowing them to become the dominant race on the planet, but ultimately being cowards unworthy to be the shepherds of any star, to quote Emet-Selch from FFXIV. Stay with me now.
We also know that the notes Sephiroth reads within the Shinra Mansion do not, in any way, call Jenova the Calamity. They still refer to her as a Cetra. Meaning that those notes are outdated, before the discovery of a living Cetra, a Cetra who is 2000 years removed from her own people’s history. Right? So.
(’Ah, but what about Genesis point-blank telling Sephiroth the truth? He knew what was up!’ Yes, because Hollander and Hojo found out from Gast’s recordings, and Ifalna herself, what Jenova actually was, and then Hollander told Genesis, who then said some stupid ass shit to trigger Sephiroth into looking into the wrong information, and now Nibelheim is not Nibelheim anymore and Cloud is missing one more family member than he was when he joined Shinra. Also, fuck Genesis. Anyway.)
HOJO, yeah? Hojo, in two separate novels written by Nojima himself, states to Aerith and Tseng separately that Jenova 1) will inevitably infect all life on the planet with her “cells” because of the very nature of the Lifestream and 2) turned the Cetra against each other via subtle manipulation and illusions of their loved ones, dead or alive, conceived from their own memories. She didn’t show up looking like the Eldritch horror with the eyeball nipple, she showed up looking like a run-of-the-mill Cetra. And she would further disguise herself as people a Cetra knew in order to gain their trust. And then, after she had gained that trust, she would say shit like, “Hey. Your friend over there hates you,” or, “Hey. Your friend over there wants to kill you.” And thus the Cetra, at the very least morally but probably also physically, became monsters and tore themselves apart.
You ever wonder why everything the Cetra had was booby-trapped and hidden behind riddles and self-sacrificial bullshit like their Temple? My guess is because Jenova made it so they couldn’t trust anyone, even themselves.
“Why did I read all that? What does that have to do with Cloud voring Zack’s memories?”
Because we gotta understand the mechanics of this bitch first so that we know what to look out for.
Now, we have an alien in stasis--presumed dead but definitely not--and a buncha scientists who really want a coveted spot sucking President Shinra’s dick as head of the Science Dept. who all think that taking the genetic material of a Cetra and splicing it into a modern-day human’s DNA will give them a Geiger counter to the Promised Land. Which they want to use as fuel because only some of them really understand what mako is and the others are just fucking stupid. Anyway, my guess is that they archeology their way to Jenova’s still-kinda-alive corpse and do some DNA testing and go, “Ah! We’ve found a Cetra. It has to be one! She’s by the crater, after all, and that’s where some of them were nuked by a Meteor! :) We’re geniuses!” And Jenova, in the Lifestream, went, “GOTCHA, BITCH!”
And through the power of dino DNA, out pops a lot of nonviable lifeforms, some monsters, and, eventually, a relatively normal kid with a flare for the dramatic who will become wholly obsessed with apples and very boring literature that he will insist on repeating every five goddamn seconds. As he was no Geiger counter to the Promised Land, out pops another relatively normal kid who will grow up to have dreams, and honor, and steal food from his neighbors because he was so damn honorable that he just could not ask for a handout.
With Hollander and Gillian’s experiments not producing anything of note other than children that need love and support, Hojo and Lucrecia decide to take a slightly different sample of Jenova’s cells and just start sticking them everywhere. They’re in Lucrecia. They’re in Lucrecia’s fetus. And...something strange starts to happen.
Lucrecia starts to feel the effects of Jenova. Lucrecia’s mind and body start to kind of deteriorate. Not the way that Genesis’ and Angeal’s do later on, but she is plagued by shit like severe depression and fatigue. She falls out on the floor multiple times. Her bodyguard is a little late on pulling the trigger of the gun aimed at her husband and, instead of doing anything productive about her husband proving he’s an amoral murderous fuckhead, she just decides to play doll with her kinda undead bodyguard, get even sicker, and then, finally, pops out a very strange looking baby. In fact, he looks a little alien.
“No, seriously, what does this have to do with anything?”
Genetics. How Jenova cells work. Whatever clump of cells they injected into Lucrecia, clearly different from those used in Project G, seemed to focus more on the mental fuckery aspect of Jenova than the physical, shapeshifting aspect of Jenova. I would also argue that one of the reasons Lucrecia was so adversely affected by the cells and Gillian was not is their mental well-being. Gillian, even when we meet her, seems very upbeat and doing pretty okay despite her husband having died from exhaustion a coupla years back. Lucrecia was depressed and very subservient even before she married Hojo. Losing her mentor--Vincent’s father--probably exacerbated that. And, later in Advent Children, that sort of mentality--hopelessness and despair--is what Sephiroth’s Geostigma feeds off of. That and thoughts of death/dying. But that is more speculation than anything.
So, Sephiroth’s cells are different from Genesis’ and Angeal’s, and they were all three bred differently, but they’re all kinda chimeras of Jenova’s. And once Genesis learns about his origins, it’s like the lightbulb goes off. This guy’s creating clones by infecting his 2nd and 3rd Class SOLDIERs with his own cells. And when he does that, their physical appearance becomes his own. As does their will. Whatever Genesis wants, the clones also want. And then he just grows a wing for shits and giggles. Once he tells his BFF Angeal the sitch, behold! He’s got monster clones--maybe because he realizes how fucked up overwriting a human being with yourself is--and wings, too. ...Why?
The power to do all of this shit was always there. It was genetically always there. They just had to be made aware of it, to have the puzzle piece put into place. When Sephiroth dies, that puzzle piece is put into place. And then he starts fuckin’ with shit. And turns into monstrous angels. And then dies again. And then comes back and finally grows himself his own wing. He did it, fellas. He’s a big boy now.
But we’re not here to talk about Sephiroth--ignore how much I talked about Sephiroth and his mommies previously--we’re here to talk about ZACK and CLOUD.
“What’s up with Zack and Cloud?”
First, what we must realize is that even though Hojo says that both Zack and Cloud are failed clones because they 1) didn’t take on any physical characteristics of Sephiroth, 2) didn’t seem controlled by Jenova (or Sephiroth) and, 3) didn’t exhibit the other signs of a Reunion impulse like the other clones in Nibelheim that does not mean that Sephiroth’s cells, Jenova’s cells, are not working on them.
As we’ve observed in other 1sts, abilities do not always manifest immediately or even noticeably. Clearly, Sephiroth’s physical appearance is a bit of a hint, but Genesis and Angeal look pretty damn normal and, if it weren’t for their mako injections, they probably wouldn’t be showing that much of an increase in physical capabilities. Theoretically. Maybe 10-year-old Angeal had biceps the size of a man’s head. I mean. Pff.
Zack’s tolerance to Jenova was strong due to his previous exposure in the SOLDIER program. Cloud’s mind broke pretty early on. Neither of these results matter to the fact that they both now have Sephiroth’s cells within them--just as Genesis’ and Angeal’s clones had theirs--and that their very wills are now going to be affected by Sephiroth’s. But they are also going to be a little bit like him in terms of power.
Zack’s hair, when ingested by a Genesis clone, a clone of a Type-G SOLDIER, transforms that clone into a monster. Zack doesn’t even have to do anything. The Jenova/Sephiroth cells within his body can just Do That, cause that change in another life form, of their own accord. I’m honestly shocked that, whenever they gave Zack these S-cells, HE didn’t turn into a monster. But that’s neither here nor there. I wanna talk about Cloud.
Cloud has mako poisoning, which the Remake describes as his spirit/soul being stuck between his body and the Lifestream. Weird. Anyway, he’s not fully aware of his surroundings at all times, and he clearly can’t control his body that much. He somehow has the ability to kinda get his feet shuffling, and I’m going to go on a limb and say he can chew whatever food Zack gives him, but most of the time, he’s a puppet with cut strings.
But he is also still recovering from a mind break caused by Jenova cells. The same cells that are just chilling in his body, like they are in Zack’s. And all the months Zack is dragging his ass across a continent, an ocean, and another continent, they and Cloud are listening to whatever the fuck Zack is saying. Cloud is also constantly in physical contact with Zack.
In The Kids Are Alright: A Turks Side Story, Kadaj has the power to not only read surface thoughts and memories just by being near someone, but he can also read deeper ones by making physical contact with someone. Because Jenova. And Sephiroth, whose cells Cloud and Zack have, in the OG demonstrates that he, too, can glean thoughts and memories from others. Because Jenova.
If this power is a genetic trait, as it is with Genesis and Angeal, then, sitting pretty underneath their skin, Zack and Cloud have this ability. Dormant. Snoozing. Kinda like the 1st Class Trio’s wings.
But Zack has a high tolerance and a high ignorance to Jenova and just what he might be capable of. Cloud’s mind is floating in and out at best. He’s not in control of himself. And when you have a situation like that, it is very, very easy to come to the conclusion that Cloud’s Jenova cells are passively absorbing the memories of Zack’s time in Nibelheim. That they are knitting these memories together with what little remain in Cloud’s head. That when Tifa comes across Cloud at the train station and calls him by name and remembers who he is that Cloud’s Jenova cells latch onto those memories in Tifa--as Sephiroth tells them they did--and they knit those memories with Zack’s and Cloud’s and the end result is the man we get at the beginning of the OG.
Because Cloud has visual memory of shit he never saw. It’s not just a visual medium telling a visual story. You wanna know how I know that for a fact? Because, in the Remake, Cloud remembers Sephiroth walking up to Jenova’s tank in the reactor from Sephiroth’s perspective. He is looking through Sephiroth’s eyes, through his memory, up at “Mother.” In that moment in the Remake, Cloud is Sephiroth. He’s not Cloud anymore.
Cloud sees Sephiroth delivering the speech of being an Ancient. Cloud wasn’t there. Cloud didn’t see that. Zack did. That is Zack’s memory.
The man writing the Remake is the same man who’s been at the head of MOST FFVII writing. He was on the OG, he wrote Advent Children, he wrote the novels, he wrote Crisis Core, he’s writing the Remake. He knows what these cells can do because he’s crafted this world-building for decades.
Cloud didn’t take all of Zack’s memories. He didn’t need to. Kadaj, in the novel, doesn’t glean everything from someone right off the bat. Because he doesn’t need to. Only when he needs to learn something else does he go digging. The same is probably true for what Cloud’s cells most likely did to be able to know what he knows. Hell! Kadaj gets punched in the novel and he ACCIDENTALLY picks up the emotions and memories of the guy who punched him. He didn’t want ‘em but he got ‘em!”
There is evidence within the OG, and even more within the Compilation, that lend weight to the theory that Cloud unintentionally read Zack’s mind when it came to the events of Nibelheim.
For years, people have wondered, “How the hell does Cloud know that if he wasn’t there?” For years, people have wondered, “How can he use the Buster Sword if he was just a little grunt that used a gun all the time?” The logical answer is, “Because of his Jenova cells. They can just do that shit.”
118 notes · View notes
Learn presence for negative thoughts and emotions
This can be applied to any feeling. I’ve tried this with my anxiety, depression, dpdr (depersonalization/derealization), CPTSD, PTSD, anxiety attacks.
there’s always a reason as to why you feel the way you feel. Some event in your life made you where you would be seen by someone else as being “irrational” if something remotely related to that initial stressful event would happen again. So technically our body isn’t being irrational, but trying to protect us. Even though we understand at that irrational moment nothing is actually happening that should be making us be feeling this way—even if it’s ridiculous and isn’t connected to any type of event prior—it is still happening. The fact our body is reacting to it and is feeling overwhelmed we shouldn’t feel that we are being irrational but be gentle with ourselves like a parent soothes their child.
I’ve started validating how I was feeling and accepting that something triggered me even if I don’t know what it was and/or just an over exaggeration. Because If you tell yourself “I’m overreacting I’m just being irrational why can’t I just be calm like everyone else”, this completely gaslights yourself (denies your own reality). In essence our body freaks out more because instinctually this does feel like a reason to be anxious to our body. When I validate I accept that this is happening even if I think it’s wrong and I shouldn’t be feeling this. I validate and accept that this is how I’m feeling even if it’s from something small.
Then I dive into the feeling. This part feels very impossible to do if you’ve never done it before but trust me the fear of facing/feeling fully the fear is greater than actually feeling it. Over time the more we deny our feelings and thoughts, we become more and more disconnected with ourself. It becomes hard to enjoy life fully and numbs out a part of us we actually really need to pay attention to. Our negative emotion is a direct path to finding how to make us feel better. It’s like a symptom from a cold, you have to first accept that you have symptoms of an illness to then be able to diagnose and then treat that sickness. You have to first accept you are having this emotion to be able to find the root of the problem and to then come up with a plan to “fix” the problem.
When I first validated and dived into my anxiety I very quickly felt calmer. It was the first time I was ever actually present with myself and I’ve been having panic attacks since I was almost 5 from abuse. It took me awhile though so what I’m saying here is it isn’t easy at all. In fact if you believe you can’t do this by yourself do this with a therapist or a family member or friend that understands you and what you’re going through. When I first did it I had been crying and hyperventilating for over an hour then suddenly I remembered something I read about being present with yourself through hard moments. Then I just decided to try it, because what the hell I already am losing my shit why not try something different for once. So I validated myself and made myself open to feel whatever it was that felt like it was going to burst in my chest. I closed my eyes and I heard silence, my rushing thoughts had stopped, the room had stopped spinning, and I felt better.
Not every time does this happen. One time I did this and instead of feeling relief I actually felt the pain inside of me first. It was so painful! I have no idea how else to describe it but it was so much grief it felt like the pain of losing your soulmate and your family type of grief. When I opened myself up I allowed however much time I needed. So I felt this pain for 40+ minutes; just ugly sobbing on the floor in my kitchen. I was trying my best to let me handle this situation naturally without forcing myself to do anything or to feel anything. I just wanted to let my emotions flow through and out of me. At one point I naturally felt the urge to accept whatever upset me. I accepted that it happened and I decided to use the rain to grow and not to be drowned anymore by it. So .. I hugged myself. I hugged myself and kept saying “it’s okay. There is a reason why I’m feeling this and it’s okay. I’m here now with you (myself) I’m here. I’m not leaving this time.” I said this to myself 7x before I calmed down. A few times after this event I did the same method again but I didn’t have to cry so much to feel better. But another time after I had cried a bit more. Based on how big the situation is impacting you depends on how long you need to sit with yourself to do this process. I’m sure in my future I will have to sit with myself for days, months probably years before I can accept and let go so I can form a plan to move forward. And this is completely fine if you feel this is you.
So I learned that telling yourself you shouldn’t feel the way you feel, and think the way you think is the biggest form of self betrayal you could ever do. So with the example of anxiety: when I read a ton of times people saying facing your fears will help you overcome it I would get pissed off because obviously in my mind they didn’t understand anxiety especially anxiety disorders. What I learned though is that phrase can be looked at another way: it’s not always literally facing your fear physically, but facing the fear mentally.
For people with anxiety disorders it can take a couple to a whole bunch of times to get past that one fear. Which is why exposure therapy works so well for anxiety disorders: it’s the only time you ever have to purposely try to be in that moment with the fear, to be with yourself in that moment. Where overtime the fear gets less and less. Our body isn’t scared of the actual fear most of the time, it’s usually scared of what we think will be the outcome of that fear based on an experience or hearing something bad happening to someone else. It’s all in the mind and that’s the first place you should learn to be present with when all you want to do is run or disappear from whatever’s causing the anxiety. What’s the first thing a regular parent does when seeing their child upset? They sit with them. Then they tell them it’s okay to feel the way they do: giving them permission to feel. And then they give advice to move forward. This process should be done with every relationship we have with others and ourself.
All of this can be applied to any emotion good or bad. I say good because some people find it hard to accept happiness. The first step is to validate your feelings! Accept that this is happening and it was caused by something big or small or nothing at all and that’s fine. Working towards moving on would to be to be more open to future happiness.
You can take this model of validating, accepting, letting go/moving forward, and transform your entire life. being present with your own thoughts, feelings, emotions has to be done first and only then can you work forward to heal, grow, or let go.
My advice is to do this when you’re in a crisis and can’t reach any help. Do this when you have a very strong emotion that you find yourself to be pushing against. You can do this actually whenever you want. You can start off with small emotions and work your way up. For DPDR (depersonalization/derealization) do this whenever you want. DPDR is an intense form of disconnection that causes dissociation. Learning to be present with any emotion will help you to over time become more and more connected with yourself. If you find yourself really hesitant to do this, that’s perfectly fine. Just know that the more hesitant you are the more you know in the future you need to attempt this process. The more hesitant you are the more intense the emotion is from past self rejection: your body can become so disconnected from continuous self rejection that your subconscious doesn’t trust you to stay present and therefore will make it harder for you to access that part of yourself. This can be done by creating extreme fear and panic the closer you get to feeling. This can be done by blocking a memory you can’t access. Theres lots of ways your mind can block or distract you from reaching a memory or feeling that was too painful for your past self to handle. This is done out of protection for that part of you and for yourself as well, so both parts within you don’t have to confront whatever is causing your intense emotion. This is why I strongly suggest doing this under the guidance of a therapist whether in session or not.
☀️💛 Good luck stay safe beautiful angels 💛☀️
59 notes · View notes