#ALSO WAIT WE HAVE THE LAST OF THE FOUR ELEMENTS!!!

[unstable-samurai]

LOVE IS INTENTION

pt.2: A long Dinner With The Frogs

Sana x Male Reader

word count: 18k

part 1

The superintendent's office resembled more a funeral chamber, suffocated in constant dimness. The cold, relentless glow of fluorescent lamps was the only thing piercing the darkness. The smell of stale coffee and musty papers permeated the air, a perpetual reminder of decay. Smith, with dark circles that looked like craters on a face sculpted by exhaustion, stared at the superintendent. Frustration was the only visible mark on his worn expression.

"Superintendent, we need to talk about the case of the victims," Smith said, his voice heavy as lead. "The fourth woman was found today. The modus operandi is exactly the same as the other three. Unless you haven't noticed."

The superintendent, the personification of coldness and impassivity, leafed through the documents before him with an almost supernatural calm. His eyes slowly rose, fixing on Smith with his well-known bony and unfriendly face.

"I saw the report, Smith," he said, his voice as cold as the room. "But this last victim had a Dharma Wheel symbol. That’s a new detail, don’t you think? It might indicate it's not the same killer. Don't jump to conclusions."

"Oh, so now we're collecting exotic symbols?" Smith retorted, acidity dripping from every word. "I understand your concern, but the rest of the details match perfectly. The profile of the victims, the crime scenes, the way they were approached and killed. This can't be a coincidence, unless you prefer to ignore it."

The superintendent maintained his calm and steady gaze on Smith, as if watching a detective character from a black-and-white noir film.

"I agree there are similarities, but the introduction of a new element might suggest a change in pattern or even the actions of a copycat. We need to be cautious, Smith.”

Smith narrowed his eyes, his hands clenching into fists on the table. “The victims were found in desolate locations, all in seldom-visited urban parks. All four women were between 25 and 35 years old, Caucasian, short in stature, and had a history of ‘nightlife’. The approach was meticulous. Do I need to remind you how it was?” Smith didn't wait for a response and continued: “First, the killer drugged them with benzodiazepines to incapacitate them without raising suspicion. Then, he tied their hands and feet with nylon ropes and strangled them with a thin wire, possibly a piano wire.”

Smith’s voice remained merciless, necessary to make the superintendent understand his point. “The bodies were left in specific, almost ritualistic poses, with their hands crossed over their chests and their eyes open. The only difference in this case is the Dharma Wheel symbol, marked on the victim's forehead with something that seemed to be a cauterization tool, as the forensics confirmed.”

"Dharma Wheel," the superintendent repeated, with a slight inflection of curiosity. "If we initially thought we were dealing with some kind of complex, puritanical misogynist sneaking around brothels, now what is it? A religious fanatic?"

Smith took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. “Well, the Dharma Wheel is a Buddhist symbol, representing cosmic law and order. But it also has mystical connotations. Some believe that incorporating this symbol into a ritual is an attempt to impose a kind of purification or karma on the victim. As if the killer were trying to justify his actions, giving them a higher meaning, almost... religious. Damn, I don’t know. I’ve never been a spiritual guy.”

The superintendent frowned, clearly skeptical. "So you think the killer sees his actions as a form of divine justice?"

"It's a possibility," replied Smith, with a spark of intensity in his eyes. "No detail is added by chance. If the killer included the symbol, he might have evolved in his thinking, or he’s trying to send a message. Maybe he believes he’s correcting some moral imbalance. Sees himself as some kind of Messiah or enlightened one. We need to understand his mindset to anticipate his next steps.”

“And what if we’re dealing with a cult?” questioned the inspector.

"A group of people walking around in white robes killing women would attract a lot of attention, don’t you think? But I admit there might be something bigger behind it. Though it’s still too early to raise such a suspicion. In any case, waiting for another corpse is not a brilliant strategy," Smith insisted. "We have a clear pattern in four cases. We’re dealing with a serial killer. If it’s a cult, we catch one and we catch them all. We need to adjust our operation. The team needs to know we’re dealing with someone methodical and dangerous, unless, of course, you really prefer to wait for another corpse."

"Are you suggesting we formalize this?" asked the superintendent, unperturbed.

"Yes!" affirmed Smith, determined. "Let’s change our mode of operation and inform the team to update the patterns we have. We need to be prepared to anticipate this killer’s next move, with or without the symbol."

There was a note of desperation in Smith’s voice, something even the superintendent, with his impenetrable emotional armor, could not ignore.

"Very well, Smith. Let’s formalize the change and reinforce surveillance in the suburbs. But keep your eyes open for any variation in the pattern. It happened once, it can happen again. Of course, if it’s really the same person. We can't rule out anything," agreed the superintendent, his tone remaining icy. “All this is weighing on me, Smith. I can’t afford to stay in the same spot.”

"Of course, superintendent. We’ll catch the bastard," replied Smith, exhausted. “Well, I think I’ll get some coffee, if you’ll excuse me.”

"Get some sleep, Smith," advised the superintendent, his voice as cold as a tombstone. "We’ll need a better spirit than this to deal with this case."

“I need to sort out a few things first,” Smith said, opening the office door. “After years in this profession, sir, your body gets used to and even learns to function in exhaustion.” And with his usual stubbornness, Smith left the room.

Although the conversation had ended, the funeral-like atmosphere lingered in the air, heavy and striking. The dying cries of the cold wind lashing the window glass seemed to protest against the sick city, as both men prepared to face another long night with no easy answers.

You waited for the document to save automatically, then saved it again manually. Trusting automation 100% has never been your style. You closed the MacBook screen and pushed the chair away from the table, rubbing your tired eyes after three hours of nonstop writing. The now-empty coffee bottle had been your greatest ally in this torturous and solitary mission. All true artists are, at some point, masochists. You heard this from a close friend who was also a writer. A word wizard, you considered him, despite the man never achieving the success he deserved. He was always sensible in his ponderings and could ridiculously well use sex as symbolism for any topic he was discussing. A damn depraved genius is what he was. You wish you had paid more attention when he said function should give a blowjob in form, not the other way around.

You gave a deserved stretch after so many hours sitting, feeling terribly tired, and, unfortunately, there was still a long time until nightfall. It was your third day in the cabin; on the first night, you slept poorly because the place was new, your body and mind needed to get used to such abrupt (though carefully organized) isolation. On the second night, you slept poorly because, well, you don't know why. Just a weird feeling of not being alone, something or someone watching you in the darkness of the room, a sudden perception of there being something else in this place. Whether it was a damn Wendigo or the witch of the woods, you weren’t sure, but regardless of who it was, you were going to sleep well that coming night, no matter the cost.

You took off your clothes, standing in your boxers in front of the bedroom mirror. Not bad for a man about to turn 40, truth be told. You always looked younger than you actually were, and some people found it impossible that you were over 35. For some reason, it was sad to stare at yourself half-naked in front of a mirror, so you refocused and put on your running clothes, the idea being to exhaust yourself to the point that at night you would die in bed, and nothing would bring you back to life, demon or spirit.

Perhaps you drafted the character Smith in such a tired and exhausted way so that he wouldn’t think more astutely than your own mind was capable of at that moment.

In the kitchen, you ate your banana with oats and took your creatine. Deafening silence. Leaning on the sink, you looked around the interior of the cabin; the only thing separating the kitchen from the living room was a counter. There was a small bathroom next to a small bedroom, and nothing more. It was a modest and rustic treasure, and you were more than happy to invest your money to renovate the entire cabin’s plumbing. Artesian well, submersible pump, lift piping, cistern to store water and distribute it to the points of use, pressurizer, and all those filters with strange names and different types of filtrations that, in the end, made it seem like the groundwater had passed under Chernobyl before reaching your cabin. But the bottom line was: drinkable water straight from the tap.

The nearest town was 12 km away. It was almost certain that no one was in the other cabins in the area, as most belonged to hunters and hunting season had not yet opened. The others, the ridiculously large and expensive cabins of rich folks wanting to enjoy nature without giving up extreme comfort, were apparently unoccupied, considering that the vacation season for most people with conventional jobs had already passed. In a way, this made you one of the only slackers in the region.

‘Artist’ might be a less degrading word.

As you headed to the cabin door, you were surprised to notice a small green thing on the wall near the window. As you approached, it moved. You were about to go for a run without your glasses, so eagle vision didn’t match your eyes at the moment. But getting a little closer, you realized it was a frog. When the little visitor noticed your presence, it ran up the wall to hide in an opening between the window and the wall, the spot where it probably came through. Shy little fellow.

“I’d better not see you around here at night, buddy,” you warned it, trying not to sound threatening.

Well, you didn’t hate frogs, but you weren’t a fan either. There was something about them that deeply bothered you, and if it weren’t for that, you might even consider them adorable creatures. The problem was their unpredictability; they could either run away when they saw you coming or suddenly jump on you. It’s not like you were afraid of frogs, maybe just the poisonous ones, for rational reasons, but those were rare to find by chance. The real problem was the feeling of being caught off guard by one of them; it was irritating to you. And this had roots in your tumultuous childhood. As a child, you hated spending holidays at your grandparents' country house because almost every night some frog would jump onto your bed, waking you from deep sleep in the worst possible way: cold, sticky feet on your face. It was always a challenge to get the frogs out of the room, and with all the adults asleep, you couldn’t turn to anyone. A small battle you had to fight alone every night. If only it were daytime, but damn, at night. Why did things seem so much harder at night? Once, three frogs jumped onto your bed within an hour. You woke up the next day with dark circles too deep for a 12-year-old boy and a lot of irritability in your voice. After that misfortune, you started sleeping with the room light on, even after leaving the country house; a habit that triggered issues with your uninterrupted sleep. That was when you first noticed that one event could trigger another completely random one. However, after two months, your father discovered the room light stayed on all night and forced you to turn it off at bedtime, making you lie in bed swallowed by darkness, dreading the sneaky steps of those amphibians so cute yet so damn annoying. It was a pretty embarrassing thing to admit. Ultimately, an irrational fear of something harmless, a product of the unconscious or a malfunction of the reptilian brain, where reason doesn’t operate, only primitive instinct or some crap like that. Regardless of what it was, the sensation of those little cold feet on your forehead was still incredibly vivid in your mind. No wonder you always admired Tiana's courage when she kissed that frog.

The fact was you’d prefer fat, slow toads crawling around your cabin to sneaky frogs inside it. At least this one in particular was smaller than usual, and it looked at you with bulging, curious orange eyes.

“Get out of here, little guy. The insects are outside,” you informed it with leniency, but the green fellow stared at you with a clueless look.

You headed outside the cabin. The fresh air filled your nostrils as the wind tousled your hair. The day was cloudy. According to the weather forecast, the week would be very rainy. You stretched before starting your run; your route would be to walk to a lake five minutes from the cabin and then run around it while listening to your rock playlist. After that, you would have to go to town to buy a new air filter for the generator, and maybe new spark plugs, as the current ones didn't seem to be working properly since the generator was consuming more fuel than you had previously calculated.

Which was strange because it was new.

Oh, and masking tape to cover that crack so the little green guy or one of his friends wouldn’t come back to bother you.

As you walked there (the background music playing in your ears), you revisited the idea of your story in your mind. It was a crime thriller, your first adventure in the genre, perhaps not as commercial as the books Grandma Agatha Christie wrote, tinged with a gloomy and almost nihilistic atmosphere, if not for the satire of the thing in some moments. The draft of the first chapter seemed good enough to you; it set the tone the story would follow. Smith, the classic detective destroyed by his own job and with a few vices, was quite fun to write because of his sarcasm, and the slight satire you intended to put in the subtext of the story lightly worried you about how the audience would receive the book. It wasn’t serious and dark, nor was it a comedy, or a proper satire, but rather that hard-to-reach tone in art: the bittersweetness of real life. Detective Smith cracked good jokes, but despite that, he was a guy committed to his job and, above all, focused on catching the serial killer. Obsessed, so to speak. Which often leads to character flaws and missteps along the way. A human.

Just because what he says is funny doesn't mean he isn't serious.

That was how you wanted to continue the story, and you needed to remember to never underestimate the reader to do it right and stay on tone. The fact that the story only really begins after the fourth murder was different and interesting, placing the reader in the middle of the mess would make the pace intense, while the past events would be given to the reader through flashbacks. The idea could work, as long as you don't ping-pong between the past and the present.

Before you knew it, the lake already stretched out before your eyes, calm and majestic. As you approached, it became clearer, even though distant things weren’t very precise on your radar. Near the shore, you started to run. The sensation was invigorating, close to absolute freedom, making you smile to yourself as all the irrelevant things seemed to fall behind. Perhaps this was the beginning of your solitude, after all. Finally erasing that weird feeling of resentment that had taken over you since you arrived at the cabin, a sense of being somewhat sick, with an inexplicable urge to vomit. And all because of damned Facebook forcing you to see a picture of your ex-wife, remarried, holding her baby in her arms. Countless times she said she didn't want kids… Yet there she was, looking like the happiest woman in the world. Without you.

And you without her! Happy in your solitude, the perfect return to your writing career, except for that one small, insignificant detail. It was all fine as long as you kept running because with every step: all those stupid things grew more distant from you.

Well…

Which actually didn’t make sense.

You were running in circles.

And just when you were about to complete the second semicircle around the lake (man, you must have been really into that solo from Shine On Your Crazy Diamond not to notice earlier), something reflected inside the lake, blinding your vision. You stopped running to see what it was and had to squint to see clearly; truth be told, it took a while for you to believe there was someone swimming alone in the lake at the far end from where you stopped running. You thought it could be anything else, but well, you weren't blind yet. The person had long hair, which could be black, dark brown, or even light brown, darkened by being wet. And you were almost sure it was a man. Thinking with common sense, no woman would be swimming alone in a cold lake in the middle of the forest. Maybe in a teen horror movie where a hot young girl lures a guy or a group of them into a deadly ambush; complete with over 30 minutes of explicit violence, numerous creative deaths, and lots and lots of nudity. You wouldn’t buy the ticket, but you’d watch it on some streaming service on a random night. Thankfully, something like that would never happen in real life. Right?

You paused the music and looked around. There was no one else nearby, and the lake was completely silent, the person swimming slowly and stealthily, like a crocodile — ah, I get it! The person was diving constantly in the lake, which explained why you hadn’t seen them easily.

You resumed running, determined to turn the second semicircle into a full circle. Maybe you’d interact with the person in the lake if you got the chance, but you didn’t think it was a good idea to deliberately bother them in the middle of their dives. You also avoided looking too much at the lake, knowing that person must have noticed your presence from the beginning, so you just decided to ignore the unusual situation and go on with your life.

You completed the second circle by passing by the diving person, but it was nearly impossible not to sneak a glance. That’s when you saw on the lake’s shore some clothes that looked — holy shit! — feminine.

And, of course, the fucking phone that reflected the sunlight in your face.

Your fear grew as your eyes identified each piece. Sweatshirt, jeans, sandals…bra…panties…

This woman couldn't possibly be naked, could she?

Splish!

She suddenly emerged to the surface, tossing her hair back and wiping the excess water droplets from her face. Her breath was heavy as she filled her lungs with oxygen again. The sight was as strange as it was beautiful, like a painting with indecipherable forms, a mirage in an oasis.

“It can't be… Damn it! No, it can't be!” you stammered, your mind going blank.

“Hi, dear! Isn’t it a shame we always meet in such cold weather?” Sana asked, excited to see you. “You’re sweating a lot, huh? Why don’t you stop for a bit and come swim with me?”

She was submerged up to her shoulders, and the faint sunlight piercing through the gray clouds penetrated the lake’s surface, creating a vision of pure delirium. Through the clear water, you saw Sana’s body, refracted and distorted by the rippling surface. Her arms moved gracefully, and each movement seemed amplified and softened by the water. The ripples created a hypnotizing effect, making parts of her body appear to change shape and size. It was as if Sana was wrapped in a cloak of liquid glass, the details of her body dancing and fragmenting into kaleidoscopic patterns. You were mesmerized by the sight, and your mind, often too associative for your liking (a lapse consequent of your work), made you compare Sana to-

“Calypso!” you suddenly said. “You look like some kind of freshwater Calypso. Beautiful and terribly lonely here in this lake.”

You weren’t flirting, just trying not to show the mortal fear you felt at that moment. A mere defense mechanism.

“And you are like Ulysses. You seem not to have been content with my love,” she said. “But unlike him, you don’t have another woman waiting for you far from here. So you have no reason to run from me.”

You squatted to observe her closely. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but watch her, fascinated — perhaps her naked body contributed to it.

“Actually, Sana, you’re more like a limnatide, you know? Those are the nymphs that inhabit lakes. Salmacis was a limnatide."

“You’re so smart. I never get tired of hearing you talk,” she said casually, just to please you. “But who is Salmacis? I don’t remember her.”

“Oh, you know, she’s the one who raped and cursed Hermaphroditus by merging their bodies into one,” you explained and saw her smile fade. A small victory. Standing up again, you asked, “What the hell are you doing here? And how did you find me?”

“A magician never reveals her secrets,” she said, running her hand through the water, making it ripple.

“You know I can call the police, right?”

“And what will they arrest me for?” she asked, seeming very amused by the situation.

“Stalking.”

“And what are your proofs, darling?”

“I have witnesses who can testify they saw you at the book launch. It’ll be easy to prove since your name was on the list. At the very least, they’ll find it odd we meet again in a new location almost 2,000 km from where we were before.”

“Is that all?” she asked, laughing. “Honey, I think you don’t know how things work. And the proof of a real threat? You can also add the security camera footage from the hallway, where they can see me entering your room at night and leaving only in the afternoon the next day. That will help you a lot, Mr. Integrity,” she flashed you a smug smile that made you look away for a moment, because it was beautiful, Sana was beautiful, and you were very angry with her at that moment.

“You know it’s illegal to swim naked, right? This isn’t a damn nudist beach.”

Sana squinted and smiled; she was really enjoying this argument or whatever the hell this conversation was.

“I thought I was being accused of stalking, now it’s public indecency?” she questioned, caricaturingly putting her finger on her chin. “Look, I think you even have better chances with the second option, although it probably won’t result in anything substantial. I can already imagine my defense saying something like,” She cleared her throat and changed her posture. Simulating a formal tone, she continued: “‘I do not understand that the accused, with her conduct, intended to shock and violate the decorum of the man who witnessed the scene. In my view, the defendant was bathing to refresh herself, however, she did so in a place exposed to the public, though remote, once she believed she was alone at that moment due to the cold weather, which was not inviting to most people, besides the popular hunting season had not started on the date of the incident.’ And I can go on: ‘despite having taken the risk of being seen naked, I see the defendant’s conduct as naive, with no offense to be punished under the law, as she did not commit any obscene gesture.’ And it can get better, look-”

“I get it!” You exclaimed, irritated. “You’re very smart, Sana. I admit that. But know that anything reckless you do will be used against you in court.”

Her expression seemed to change a little.

“I was acting like a peacock, dear. I just wanted to show you my hidden feathers. Believe me, I don’t want us to get to that point.”

“But seriously, where the hell are you staying? It’s 12 km from here to the nearest town and I haven’t seen any tire marks around except my pickup’s.”

“I have a cabin nearby.”

Hearing that, you swallowed hard. It was fucking difficult to keep your head in place in this kind of situation, you simply didn’t know what to think. Simply didn’t know.

As if this insanity wasn’t enough, Sana did nothing to help by displaying her small and delicate body, a structure that seemed almost sculpted at first glance. Her build was slender, with subtle curves that accentuated her femininity without exaggeration. Her skin was smooth as porcelain, slightly pale and flawless, with a natural glow that captured the light like a deity.

Her shoulders were narrow, gracefully shaping into thin arms and delicate hands. Her breasts, though small, were perfectly proportioned, firm and slightly lifted, complementing the harmony of her torso. Her belly was smooth and flat, leading to a finely chiseled waist that gently widened to form narrow hips.

Sana’s legs were long in proportion to her body, slender and well-toned, ending in small, delicate feet. These details were still clear in your mind. One night had been enough to capture a bit of her essence. Writer��s habit.

“That’s a lie. There’s no cabin nearby. I would know.”

“It’s true. Don’t you want to go there with me? I can prepare a picnic basket and we can eat here by the lake. Like our own blue lagoon. Isn’t it cute?”

That was too much for you.

The laugh escaped your mouth like a cough, compulsively laughing in front of her.

'Just because what he says is funny doesn’t mean he’s not serious.'

“Sana, you know there are companies eyeing this lake, right? They want to buy the surrounding area to stock fish in that water and make a fucking recreational fishing park.”

“In that case, it would be epic to fight against the privatization of this lake together. Like a couple of activists.”

“Take it easy, Yoko Ono,” you said while thinking about what to do. The fatigue made everything harder. You asked as sincerely as possible, “You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

“I’m as sad as you are, but this was the only way for us to have some time alone. Give me a chance to explain everything and I—”

“What’s your last name?”

“What?”

“What’s your last name?” you asked, irritated. Maybe the direct approach wasn’t the best option, but you were incredibly impatient.

“Please, let’s have dinner at your cabin tonight,” she said, completely ignoring your question. “I’ll explain everything. You’ll get to know the real me. You’ll know my last name and much more. I just don’t want you to be afraid of me. Please.”

“It’s hard not to be afraid when everything you do is the most psychopathic thing a human could do.”

“You don’t understand. It’s hard for me. I don’t know how to act like other people, but I’m trying. There are so many little social conventions that are hard to remember.”

“How did you know about the perfume my ex-wife wore? Fuck, I was so stupid to think it was all just a blessed coincidence!”

“You mentioned it in an old interview. The question was: ‘Is there a smell that brings you good memories?’ and you answered that it was that perfume. The one your ex-wife wore since your first date. The dress… There were pictures of her next to you wearing it.”

“You’re a freak, Sana.”

“Wait! Let me fix this.”

She started swimming towards the shore.

“Stay away from me!”

Sana stopped.

“I’m alone in this world, and I have nothing to lose,” she suddenly confessed. “I literally have no one. Except for you.”

“You don’t have me! You never did. You don’t even know me, Sana! You made this up in your head. You need help, do you understand? You need a lot of help!”

“I just need you... Wait, where are you going?!”

“To town! I swear to God, if I see you again, I’ll call the police.I don't give a fuck what I'll need to do to prove you’re a danger.” You spoke, then turned your back and started walking away from the lake.

Then, in the distance, Sana called your name. You shouldn’t have looked. But you turned towards her again, Sana walking slowly in the land, every drop of water lazily trailing down her curves, as if even nature wanted to feel her.

“I have nothing to lose!” she repeated the warning. It was a warning from the very beginning.

And that vision was dangerous evidence: Sana’s body was exactly as you remembered.

The smell of damp earth mingling with the freshness of the surrounding trees. The dirt road stretched out before you, winding between tall trunks and dense branches that formed a natural tunnel. The crunch of the wheels on the gravel and the sound of the old pickup truck’s engine echoed as the only constant sound in the forest, occasionally interrupted by the distant call of a bird or the cry of a small mammal.

As you progressed, the trees began to thin out, leaving larger gaps between them. The sunlight, once filtered through the canopy, had disappeared, giving way to a light rain. The dirt road turned into a narrow paved highway, with the dense vegetation replaced by open fields.

On the horizon, spaced-out farms began to appear, with wooden fences marking pastures where cows and horses grazed lazily. The sky grew darker. Rows of rain-laden clouds marched towards you, and sporadic thunder sounded like war drums. The highway, now straighter, ran parallel to rows of crops that stretched as far as the eye could see. The landscape was dominated by shades of green and gold, occasionally punctuated by red silos and barns.

A few kilometers ahead, the first signs of the town emerged. A small gas station, a grocery store, and a few modest houses lined the road, signaling the approach to the urban area. The main road led directly to the center of the rural town, where life seemed to move at a slower pace.

You drove to the hardware and auto parts store, parked your old pickup truck, and looked both ways before entering the store, the feeling of being watched now believable enough to heed what you previously considered paranoia. There was only a short, elderly man in the store, paying for his purchases and leaving. You walked to the counter to speak with the attendant, a young guy with acne, poor posture, and a cap with the store’s name on it that didn’t fit properly on his head.

“Good afternoon, bro. Tony’s Hardware and Auto Parts. How can I help you?”

“Are you Tony?” you asked, skeptical.

“Nah, man. Tony’s my uncle, I’m Johnny.”

“Okay, Johnny. I need an air filter for a generator.”

“Sure thing. Do you have a sample of the air filter?”

You put the piece on the counter, and Johnny looked at it for a moment, then went to the shelves behind him and spent two minutes searching for the right model.

“Here it is, man. All set!”

“Thanks. Look, I was having issues with the spark plugs in the generator. Yesterday, it took several tries to start it. Then I opened the generator and saw the spark plugs were a bit dirty, I cleaned them, and it started working again, but the generator isn’t running at full power. Do you think the problem could still be the spark plugs?”

“Hmm, could be, buddy. I’m no expert, unfortunately.”

“Also, it’s consuming more fuel than it should.”

“Hmm, yeah, sounds like it could be the spark plugs. I’d recommend buying new ones and replacing them, just to be safe.”

“Do you think I can do this without fucking up the generator?"

“Just shut everything down and don’t go touching random wires. I trust you.” Johnny said, giving you a false sense of confidence.

“Look, you seem like a smart guy.” Actually, he seemed kind of dumb, but he had the profile you were looking for. “Do you know if it’s easy for someone to hack a person?”

“Ah, man, I don’t know anything about that stuff. My brother’s the tech guy. But, I mean, it depends on who this someone is.”

“Someone very dedicated and willing to learn, let’s say.”

“In that case, they could spend hours on internet forums reading about it, man. The information is out there for anyone, no lie.”

“So, hacking someone remotely isn’t too difficult, right?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“And if you had physical access to their devices for a while?”

“Oh man, that’d be a piece of cake! There are some programs you can install on someone’s computer or phone that stay hidden among the files, like a virus, and this software sends a link that opens a page with all your folders for the hacker to access remotely… wait a second,” he said, his expression changing suddenly, “is someone hacking you, or are you trying to hack someone?!”

“The first one.”

“Ah, what a relief. I mean, damn, man, that sucks! You should, like, go to the police or something, right?”

“Right now, I don’t think the police can actually solve my problem. I don’t want to do anything rash,” you tried to explain. “By the way, have you seen any Asian girl, also not from around here, walking around town?”

“Look, man, you can bet if there was a hot Asian girl around here, I’d know.”

“Can you do me a favor?” you asked, and Johnny leaned over the counter to listen. “Can you and your brother look up some info about someone online for me? I’ll pay you.”

“Hey, man, that sounds shady as hell. I don’t know about that.”

“I’m not the creepy one here. There’s a girl, and she’s, like, an obsessed fan of mine. Somehow she found out I was here and followed me. She’s probably at some hotel in town, and I’m staying in a cabin near Crystal Lake. I need to know how dangerous she is. But I couldn’t find anything when I searched her name.”

“Bro, don’t be crazy, call the cops already!”

“The police won’t do anything efficient without solid proof of a real threat. If I involve the authorities, she might get pissed and easily bypass any protective measures just to, you know, get revenge.”

“Wait, if she’s a fan, then you’re famous, right?” he connected the dots, the genius. “I think I’ve seen you in some action movie…”

“I’m not an actor. I just write stories.”

“Oh man, you’re a writer, bro? That’s so cool! Are you friends with Stephen King?”

“Friend is a strong word. We’ve exchanged ideas at a conference.”

“Damn!!” he exclaimed. You could predict what was to come. “Look, I’m shaking, I’m such a fan of his, man! I’ve seen almost all the adaptations of his books. Can you get an autograph from the master?!”

“If you do what I asked, I can try.”

“Deal.”

You shook hands, and the devil knew this wasn’t the best of alliances.

I won't find anything better than this in this place.

“Damn, man! I just remembered I don’t have any of his books at home. I’ll need to buy one.”

“I’ll get you one.”

“Cool. Don’t worry about paying, I’ll cover it. I won’t screw you over or anything. So, buy the It book, it's my favorite film of the adaptations of his books.”

“Alright, alright! Forget about that for now. The girl’s name is Sana, keep it in your memory.”

“Got it. Do you have a picture of her or something? My brother will need a face to know if he found the right person."

You had deleted all those selfies she took with your phone while you slept, but there were still the photos from the book launch, where everyone gathered for a group photo. You took your phone out of your pocket and selected the best picture, Sana was way in the back, she knew how to be discreet when she wanted, you zoomed in on her face and showed it to Johnny.

“Holy shit man! She’s really hot! Look, I wouldn’t mind having a girl like that spicing up my life,” he joked, but you didn’t laugh along.

“Give me your Instagram, I’ll send you this photo so you don’t forget her face."

And he did so.

“When I get some info, I’ll message you.”

“Is your brother trustworthy? You better not fuck with me, okay?”

“Hey, man, you can count on me. I can see the exhaustion in your eyes. My brother is solid. Actually, I’d like to ask you one more thing besides King’s autograph. So, me and my brother have a podcast, it’s about movies and stuff, if you could give it a shoutout, speak highly of it, it’d be awesome. We’re getting close to 100 concurrent viewers during live streams, man. It’s growing nicely.”

You looked for the joke, but even Johnny wasn’t laughing this time. You were really desperate to go through with this.

“Alright.”

“And look, if you do that, it’ll mean a lot. It’s almost like a pact, you know, we’d never screw over someone who helped our podcast, you know? So you can feel safe with this. For real.”

“Fine, Johnny. I’ll trust you.”

“Oh, one more thing!” You tried not to roll your eyes. “You said you’re staying in a cabin near the lake, right? I recommend you buy everything you need, especially fuel to keep the generator running, because you might get stuck there for a while. There’s a hell of a storm coming, and when that happens, that road gets all muddy and almost impossible to drive on, and with that pickup of yours,” he pointed through the store window where your truck was parked, “you’re not going anywhere until the rain stops. That’s why no one stays in that area during the rainy season. You got unlucky.”

“Damn, I should’ve rented a better car. I thought this one would do the job.”

“Sometimes humility is our downfall, bro… Hey, that was a damn good line, you should write it down for one of your books. Consider it a gift.”

“Uh-huh. Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll stop at the gas station and buy some gas cans.”

“Alright. When my shift ends, I’ll go home and tell my brother everything, he’ll do some digging on your fan. Maybe we’ll find some police records or something, who knows, maybe a lawsuit she’s involved in. I’ll get something for you, man. Trust me.”

You were starting to regret this idea.

“Don’t tell anyone about this, got it?”

“The secret between friends dies with the friends. Take care.”

You paid for the air filter and spark plugs, then left the store. As you got in the car, Johnny waved at you through the store window. Everything happened too fast for you to realize the level of recklessness you’d inflicted, but, damn, there were no manuals teaching how to deal with this kind of situation. Either way, you didn’t have a good feeling, and it was hard to tell if it was a bad omen or just fatigue. The roads would soon be messed up, and once you returned to the cabin, you might not be able to leave for a while.

Was it a sign from the universe or just bad luck?

Well, whatever it was, you still needed gas.

The trip to town had been frustrating but necessary, as thanks to Johnny's warning, you managed to stock up on gasoline for the generator. And food, of course. If everything you bought wasn't enough, then you would resort to self-cannibalization while writing an essay about the experience to be published posthumously. Now, the truly frustrating part of the trip had been your search for Sana. You looked for her in the tiny hotels, inns, hostels, and even motels. Fortunately, the town was small and there weren't many lodging options. Most of the conversations with the receptionists went like this:

“Good afternoon. I’m looking for a friend of mine, Sana. Is she staying here by any chance?”

“Good afternoon, sir. I’m sorry, but we can’t disclose information about our guests for privacy reasons.”

“I understand. It’s just that she’s not answering her phone, and I’m worried. Could you at least confirm if she’s checked in recently?”

“I really can’t confirm if someone is staying here, but I can try to help in another way. What’s her full name?”

Here is where you’d seem like the most suspicious guy in the lobby:

“Look, it’s funny, I always forget her full name. The last name is difficult to remember, and I’m not really good with names in general. But there can't be many women named Sana around here, right? I just want to know if she’s okay.”

When you gave this flimsy excuse, the receptionists would give you a very judgmental look.

“Let me check something for you. Just a moment.”

Then they’d start checking the system. Or pretend to.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t provide that information. However, if she left any message for you or indicated she was expecting someone, I can let you know. Leave your name and contact here.”

“I understand, thank you. Actually, I’ll keep trying to call her. Sooner or later she’ll have to answer, right? Thanks again for your help.”

You and the receptionist would exchange an awkward smile, and you’d leave knowing she was watching you from afar.

Leaving your information at receptions would only plant evidence of you stalking Sana, and just God knows how things would go if that ended up in court. Besides, if Sana were really staying in one of these places, she would never contact you. It was pretty clear that wouldn’t work, but you had to try anyway. The idea of Sana being in another cabin in the forest was inadmissible and didn’t make sense to you. During the days you spent in your cabin and wandered around the surroundings, you didn't notice any smell of food being prepared, no human noise, no footprints, no trash. But... she had invited you to her cabin, which you logically refused. There might be some kind of trap waiting for you there; you couldn’t trust her. The most plausible thing then was that Sana's cabin was relatively far from yours, hidden and camouflaged in the dense forest. Your mind elaborated a thousand and one theories as you returned to the comfort (not so comfortable now) of your home.

Then an absurd idea crossed your mind and you caught it with your hand, while the first drops of rain hit the car's windshield.

Night fell over the forest with the storm.

It took you a little over an hour to change the air filter and the spark plugs, but when you finished, the feeling of satisfaction at hearing the generator's engine purr like an orange kitten made you smile, cutting through some of the tension that was stiffening not only your muscles but also your spirit.

A big thank you to YouTube tutorials.

Anyway, the joy was short-lived, the raincoat you were wearing felt like a black shroud given to those summoned to explore the borders of hell. You needed to find out if there was indeed another cabin near yours. It was safer to go during the day, but you couldn’t risk Sana seeing you. Who knows, maybe there was some surveillance equipment in her cabin, although it was unlikely to keep such a thing running 24 hours with just a simple generator. But images of you sneaking around her cabin would be all Sana needed to blackmail you.

What the fuck am I doing…?

Where were the boundaries between your pragmatism and your neurosis?

You thought that by the time you figured it out, it would be too late.

With one hand you were holding the flashlight, with the other you opened the cabin door.

As you ventured deeper into the forest, your anxiety grew in a pulsing manner, like a parasite inside you, but a good parasite, pulsing in your temple telling you to turn back. What lay ahead were trees, trees, trees, and more trees. No sign of a cabin.

The forest was nothing more than a labyrinth of shadows. You advanced with uncertain steps, the flashlight trembling in your hand. The rustling of leaves sounded like distant laughter. You looked back, but the darkness had already swallowed the way back. If there was a cabin, you should have found it by now. There was no sign of an open field where a cabin or any structure could be placed. Your heart beat erratically, in a sudden delirium you wondered if you were alone or if someone was watching you. The forest closed in around you, it was hard to admit it, shit, it was terrifying to admit that you were lost. Your breath quickened as the cold bit into your skin, rationally, the despair set in. Then the flashlight in your hand flickered, the weak light trembled like a candle about to go out.

No, no, no!

You pressed the button repeatedly, but the beam of light weakened even more. The uncertain steps made your foot encounter something solid on the ground. You stumbled and fell. The pain was sharp enough to know that the injury was serious, at least given the situation you were in. After all, what the hell was that? A twisted root? A rock? It didn’t matter, it wouldn’t change the fact that now your left ankle was sending you jolts of pain, and standing up was torture, making you hate Sana with all your might. Limping in the middle of the dark forest like a stupid clown. You were tremendously irritated, an unexpected urge to drink seized you.

I could drink and die right after. I’d give anything for that. Fuck this life!

Suddenly, your hearing sharpened when you heard a terribly high-pitched sound coming from behind you. Screaming, screaming, screaming, calling you. It sounded like a… Whistle? It couldn’t get any better. Maybe a soccer match was going on nearby and you were the idiot who didn’t buy a ticket. The whistle seemed to have a life of its own, it was continuous. Well, someone was killing their lungs trying to save you. Either that, or the witch of the forest was whistling in a very, very weird way. You followed the direction of the incessant whistle, except for the regular pauses for whoever was whistling to catch their breath. Sporadic lightning occasionally revealed the way for you, giving you glimpses of a trail you had already traveled, although, the way it was shown – fleeting and blurred by the wet lenses of your glasses – seemed more like hallucinations in your head. But you had to believe you were returning to your cabin. The whistle. The call.

It was Sana, wasn’t it?

A lightning bolt flashed across the sky like at a large outdoor festival, in the distance, still through the trees, you saw your cabin flicker in the dazzling light.

The whistle sounded like a gesture of despair.

The trees gradually spaced out, the surroundings became more visible, the ground less uneven, you were out of the dense forest, your flashlight failing as it tried to illuminate in a single beam of light the figure of the girl dressed in a long dress, holding an umbrella with one hand and a whistle with the other, looking like a character straight out of a Koreeda film.

You walked up to her, your left foot practically dragging on the ground, you couldn’t think of anything to say, the anger being crushed by gratitude, the fury devouring the complacency alive, the urge to cry usurping the relief.

“Let’s go inside!” exclaimed Sana urgently, sharing the umbrella with you as you both rushed to the cabin (well, you tried).

The door opened with a dry snap. You exhaled like a dying horse, throwing yourself onto the cabin floor to lie down, practically your white flag against the wild nature. You didn’t want to think about anything. There was nothing to think about. There was no reason to think. You’d been doing that your whole life and were tired of it. You wanted to throw your brain away. Pull the back of your head like a damn mailbox and remove that electrified ball of flesh. There had to be a way to make it stop thinking.

Well, there was a way, but it was, let’s say, off-key.

You started to get up, your damn ankle sending you jolts of pain to remind you of your stupidity. You looked at Sana, beautiful, while you: destroyed.

“There’s no cabin, is there, Sana?” you asked, pronouncing each word slowly, trying to space out the anger you felt. But it was hard. God, how hard it was.

“I’m sorry!” she said, crying. Fuck, she was already crying. “I didn’t think it would go this far. I can explain everything. I’m sorry! You were out for so long! I was so worried about you. Are you hurt? My God, I’m sorry!” she repeated, screaming.

“Get out of my cabin. Now!”

There you were, throwing her out again.

“Please, no…”

“I said I’d call the police if this happened again. Get out, you psychopath!” you yelled at her, and Sana stepped back, scared.

You approached her in a threatening manner, making her walk backward, cautiously, and with each step she got closer to the door. Before she realized it, she was at the doorway.

“You better disappear before the police show up,” you warned her, and then slammed the door shut with brute force.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. What a day. Everything fell apart so quickly that you didn't have time to see where you went wrong. Now 3% calmer, you noticed that the kitchen table was set, hot food, candles, the fireplace warm, two glasses, and a bottle of Coca-Cola (no wine for Mr. Writer). She had prepared dinner while you were facing the two longest hours of your life. Spaghetti carbonara. That's what it seemed like, at least. A relatively quick dish to prepare if you had made it before. The smell was great, the ambiance emphatically comfortable while the world outside was collapsing. It seemed intentional: a terribly cold end-of-the-world assaulting the planet and you denied shelter to one of God's angels. Even if she might be Lucifer's younger sister

Oh, come on, I'm not like that. She didn't deserve to die from hypothermia or whatever the hell.

You took off that stupid raincoat and went back to the door, leaned your head against the wood before deciding if you were actually going to open it or not. The primary mistake was opening the hotel room door that day, and here you were, repeating — now aware of what would happen — the same mistake, about to formalize a new heuristic pattern. And, fuck, it was really funny how one event could trigger another totally random one.

You saw Sana's face light up when the door opened, the glow of the lamps behind you reflecting in her brown eyes. She hadn't moved an inch since you expelled her. Because she already knew you would open it again or because she didn't know where to go?

"Come in before you catch a cold," you said, extending your hand into the cabin.

She seemed slightly confused by your kindness but entered immediately.

You asked her to sit on the couch while you quickly walked to the bedroom and grabbed two towels. You wrapped her body with the bath towel and started drying her hair with the face towel.

"Sorry, I don't have a hairdryer."

"It's okay. Thank you."

Sana's makeup was running down her face, a sad sight, but somehow, it became incredibly erotic on that precious face. Two beautiful lines running below her eyes, the mixture of eyeshadow and mascara, as if Sana had cried tears of dark indigo. A living portrait where the artist displayed his tragedy.

"Excuse me," you asked, and she allowed you to dry her face, cleaning one corner and smudging the makeup even more in another. "Why do you have a whistle?"

"Hmm, i found it here."

"Really? Well, it's actually the least weird thing that happened today."

"I saw you limping," she said, her voice still wary, like a child who knows they've done wrong and now has to face their parents. "Are you okay?"

"It's my fucking ankle. I think I tripped over some exposed root or something. I must have twisted it."

You hadn't taken off your boots yet to see the damage. After drying Sana's face, that's what you did and — oh boy —, it wasn't a pretty thing to see.

"Let me check," said Sana, kneeling with difficulty because of her dress. "It's quite swollen and red; it might turn purple. I'm going to press a little, okay?"

You gave permission, and the slightest touch made you groan and sigh, and maybe you were starting to go crazy because the pain that pulsed from your ankle was terribly pleasurable and stimulating, seeming healthy to self-inflict for your own satisfaction, like scratching a persistent itch. But you weren't quite insane enough to enjoy that kind of thing.

"I don't know where to start treating my ankle," you admitted, frustrated.

"Where's the first aid kit?"

"In one of those cabinets," you pointed to the kitchen.

Sana got up and went over to rummage through the cabinets. She soon found the small white box with a red cross on the lid. Sana opened the freezer and took out a bag of ice, grabbed some cubes, and wrapped them in a cloth, bringing everything back to the couch. Sana gently took your leg and raised it, placing it on a pillow on the coffee table.

"Open the kit and look for a painkiller," Sana said while holding the makeshift ice pack on your ankle. "Take ibuprofen if there's any."

Fortunately, there was.

"How long do you think it will take to heal?"

"It wasn't a severe sprain. Maybe two weeks. One, if you behave and take care of it."

"Are you a nurse?"

"No, but I took some classes on 'how to be a functional human being and survive in society.' Oh, do you need water to swallow the pill?" You shook your head. "Believe me, where I came from, I needed those classes. They just didn't teach us much about medications. For safety."

"You're my Annie Wilkes, I guess. But more attractive than Kathy Bates, at least." You joked, and the bitter sarcasm felt much like the taste of a horrible medicine you needed to take to endure the moment.

Sana chuckled, but she was still focused on her task.

"Don't be silly, I'm not going to keep you here or anything like that. I'll take care of you. It's my fault you got hurt, after all," she sadly admitted. Apparently, psychopathy wasn't her problem. Sociopathy, maybe. "I suppose you don't have a crutch here in the cabin," she said while rummaging through the first aid kit. "Tomorrow I can buy one... Oh, look, this elastic bandage will do for now." She showed you the small roll of bandage with a gentle smile.

"I wouldn't count on going to town tomorrow. With this rain, the road will be impassable. We're stuck here," Was it safe to pass this information to Sana? After all, you still didn't know her true intentions.

"Oh, I kind of suspected that. So, in that case, we'll improvise a stick for you tomorrow morning. We have plenty of wood at our disposal. Well, now I'll bandage your foot. This might hurt a little, but it will help," she warned, unrolling the bandage.

Holding your foot with one hand, Sana started wrapping the bandage firmly around your ankle, starting at the base of your toes and moving towards the heel.

As she worked, she made sure the bandage was snug but not too tight to avoid cutting off circulation. "I need you to tell me if you feel too much pressure or pain," she said, focused on what she was doing.

You smiled without realizing it. Her serious expression while focusing on the task was actually very cute. She had agile and gentle hands, and her care not to hurt you was evident.

Sana continued wrapping the bandage, overlapping the wraps evenly, creating stable compression around the swollen ankle. When she reached halfway up your calf, she secured the end of the bandage with the clips provided in the kit.

"Done," she said, observing her work. "Now we need to keep this elevated and continue applying ice. It will help reduce the swelling," she informed you, putting the makeshift ice pack back on your ankle. "We'll do this every few hours, 20 minutes at a time."

"You're incredible," slipped out of your mouth. You shouldn't be encouraging her. But you were voluntarily doing so.

"It was nothing. Now, I think we have some things to talk about, don't we?"

You smiled with your lips, a humble smile of Tiredness. Or a smile of defeat, like someone who, with a certain pride, acknowledges their weakness towards something or someone. In your case, it was her. Sana.

You patted your thighs and sighed. Was there anything else to do, after all?

"Bring the spaghetti over here. I'm not going anywhere.”

Terribly fascinated you were. Maybe it was too early to say 'terribly enchanted'. You were enveloped by the long, deep, melodramatic lull that was Sana's past. Slightly distressed to know how it all happened until it triggered the moment where you both were, but it was necessary for the story to be told from the beginning to fully understand the impulsive acts of this girl - this fan - passionately obsessed with you.

Oh, and by the way, the spaghetti was good. But a bit cold.

You looked at Sana, melancholic and distant while she watched the flames in the fireplace. She had gone to the bathroom to wash her face properly. Now with a clean face, nothing was covering it. Determined to delve into her wound for you.

“First of all, my last name is Minatozaki,” she said, in a mere attempt to break the ice. You told her it was a beautiful last name. “I was 11 years old when everything started to fall apart,” she began in earnest. “My mother suffered from severe depression. She was always absent, even when she was present, if that makes sense.”

“It does make sense,” you commented. “And your father?”

“My father was a ghost, always working. He never had time for me. Soon I started to feel invisible, as if I didn’t matter. Then the anger started growing inside me. I became more and more impulsive and aggressive,” Sana paused. She looked at you, as if to make sure you were really listening. “They didn’t know what to do with me. The school couldn’t handle my behavior. The breaking point was when I pushed a classmate down the stairs over some silly argument. I don’t even remember the reason anymore, just that she broke her leg. That’s when they decided to institutionalize me.”

“Damn… That must have been terrible for such a young child.”

“It was. At first, I hated being there. The psychiatric hospital was a cold and strange place. The atmosphere forced to be welcoming, it was an expensive hospital after all, but if you’re there alone, it’s terribly distressing. I felt isolated from the world. The other kids had similar problems, but no one really connected. Everyone was fighting their own battles there.”

You tucked a strand of hair behind Sana’s ear and then asked:

“And what was your routine like there?”

“We had classes inside the hospital. There were teachers, but the classes were small. They tried to adapt the teaching to our needs, but I always felt like I was missing something, you know? The occupational therapies and the playful activities helped pass the time, but it was never enough to fill the void.”

“I imagine. And the treatments?”

You didn’t realize it, but there was a calmness and kindness in your voice that motivated her to continue.

“At first, they diagnosed me with Oppositional Defiant Disorder. I was always provoking the adults, causing trouble. But as I grew older, my symptoms evolved. In adolescence, I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. My emotions were a roller coaster. I felt empty, but at the same time, any small thing could trigger a storm inside me.”

“It must have been a constant battle.”

“It was. They tried everything to control my anger and impulsiveness. Psychotherapy, behavioral therapy, medication... Every day was a struggle to stay stable. I was always being watched, always under surveillance. I had few chances to feel really free. Over time, my parents’ visits decreased. Not that I cared, we were never close anyway. The only things that brought me some relief were books. And that’s how I discovered you.”

“Me?” You swallowed hard. “Well, sooner or later we’d get to that.”

“Yes. Your books were an escape for me. I read and reread every word, trying to find some meaning, some connection with myself. When you wrote about pain, about loneliness, I felt like you understood exactly what I was going through. Catarina, the protagonist of your first book, when she attempted suicide and was hospitalized… That story changed me… But not all of your books were allowed for us.”

“It’s understandable, God knows how many triggers that could unleash in vulnerable people. But wait, how did you get my books then?”

“There was a doctor, Dr. Collins. She sympathized with me. I think she saw something in me that others didn’t. She brought me your books secretly, even those considered too sensitive for patients like me. Besides, she managed to get teen magazines where you were interviewed. The questions were trivial, but for me, every detail about you was a treasure.”

With a slight smile, you said:

“I was contractually obliged by the publisher to do those things. I don’t dare to flip through any of those magazines nowadays,” You saw Sana’s face soften a bit. “So, Dr. Collins was your accomplice, right?”

“In a way, yes. She also knew I tried to listen to your radio show. There were nights when I stayed up late, trying to fix the signal on the old hospital radio to hear you talk about movies with your friend. Sometimes, I even managed to hear a full episode without missing anything.”

You held her hand. A gesture that made you uneasy, but Sana’s response by squeezing your hand made it seem right.

“I never imagined my books and other nonsense I did could have such an impact.”

“They did. I wasn’t joking when I said that day that you were my peace of mind. But anyway, my parents died in an accident shortly before I left the hospital. I was the only one to inherit their estate. Living in society I found myself lost and lonely again. I tried to find someone like you, but no one was enough. They all disappointed me. They were older, like you, but they just wanted to use me. I hate admitting this part of my life, but I slept with several men hoping to find one who made me feel what you made me feel. It didn’t work, so that’s when I decided I needed to find you, needed to somehow make you understand.”

Your gaze shifted from hers. Terribly melodramatic for your taste, terribly visceral, and terribly your complacency acted without your command.

“And now we’re here. And I finally start to understand the depth of what you went through, Sana. I'm sorry about your parents, I had no idea. What a fucking journey you lived..."

She gave you a sad smile.

They were the beautiful eyes of a tragedy looking at you.

“Yes, we’re here. And maybe, now that you know I’m not a monster, we can really get to know each other.”

The hand of reason tugged at your ear. Was this beautiful, seemingly vulnerable girl manipulating you again?

Either way, there were still loose ends.

“And at the book launch, when you appeared… Your dress, the perfume… Everything so intentional… Why did you do that, Sana?”

She looked down, embarrassed.

“I planned everything. I wanted you to notice me, to see me as someone special. I thought if I wore the same dress and perfume as your ex-wife, I could make you feel the same as you did for her. It was a desperate way to try to get your attention, to make you fall in love with me like you did with her. I know it sounds crazy, but… I was willing to do anything for you to notice me.”

“Sana, that is…” What was that? So many layers, so many branches, you didn’t know what you were feeling anymore. You didn’t know how to judge. Even having written troubled, depressed characters, the real bastards, you never approached from a psychoanalytic perspective. You were just a person writing other people. It was never your place to judge your characters’ actions. It was never your place to judge anyone. “I understand a little better now, Sana. You just wanted to be seen, to be loved.”

A sudden desperation took hold of her.

“And you’re the only person I felt could really understand that! That’s why I did what I did. I didn’t want to scare you, I just wanted you to see me.”

You wanted a drink of something. Your throat dry in that cold weather. God, how a whiskey would be nice. Just one glass. Maybe two. Why not? You asked Sana to serve you a little more of that damn Coke. Your eyes were a little heavy, the train of thought slightly losing the objective.

Oh, more questions…

"you were bluffing when you invited me to your cabin, correct?"

"That's right. I knew you would never agree to go there with me. My real plan was to have dinner together, and slowly I would explain everything to you. Like now."

“But Sana, I need you to explain to me: if there’s no other cabin, where the hell have you been all this time? I swear to God you were scaring the shit out of me. I went to several lodges but couldn’t get any information about you. Then suddenly you show up here at night like out of nowhere. I hope that psychiatric hospital isn’t really the fucking Xavier Institute.”

“I’ve been here the whole time, silly. Watching you,” hearing that sent chills down your spine. “Sorry, I know it sounded weird. Just kidding. But it’s actually kind of true.”

“Are you a ghost or something?”

“I’ve been hiding in the basement.”

But what the hell is she talking about?

“Sana, this cabin doesn’t have a basement.”

“Did Mr. Goss tell you that?”

Jesus fucking Christ, she never stopped surprising.

“How do you know the name of the former owner?” you asked, trying to disguise the fear on your face.

“The night we slept together… You know I took your phone. I checked everything that might be important. I saw your emails about the cabin documentation and all that. At the same moment, I looked for nearby cabins I could rent, but there were none available. Well, the original listing was still active, it was favorited in your browser. The description didn’t mention anything about a basement, nor did the documentation. Since it was so well camouflaged and without hiring an inspector, you would never find out.

"And how did you know?"

"I was watching that interview you did for Book Tools that happened shortly after our first meeting. You mentioned you were planning to go on vacation and write a bit in nature, but you were going to delay it a month to get better organized."

"I guess I'll never comment on my personal life again. Holy shit..."

"Well, I decided to take advantage of that time and see your cabin before you did. It was easy to find; people gave me information without suspecting a thing. I was researching how to build an even simpler cabin on the other side of the lake for us to be 'together,' and I found information about the history and importance of the cabins in the area on the county's website. Among that, there was a blueprint showing how the cabins were originally designed. Most were built according to this model, and it included the existence of a basement."

"But why did Mr. Goss omit that?"

"After staying in the basement, I have the answer. Down there, you can see some structural irregularities. I think he feared that if they were discovered, they could cause legal problems or decrease the property's value. So, he decided to simply forge the documentation, stating that the basement had been dismantled and no longer existed since doing so for real is quite expensive."

"I could sue that old man for this!"

"I read your conversation with him about the purchase. You said it would just be a retreat for a few weeks. He probably thought that by the time you discovered the truth, he would already be six feet under."

You paused to digest things, refilled your glass of Coke, and downed it in one go. Calmer, you then asked,

"Structural irregularities, huh? That could be dangerous... And with these rains..."

"Despite the irregularities, I think it's safe enough to stay there for a while. You can deal with it later. If it hasn't collapsed before, it won't collapse now."

"That's a spirited way of looking at things."

For some reason, this made her smile.

"Someone has to, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose so... Anyway, where's the basement entrance?"

"Under this rug," Sana replied, pointing to the shaggy rug in the living room.

"Of course it would be in the most visible place in the cabin. I feel like an idiot."

"There's an additional exit from the basement that leads directly outside, behind the cabin. It's where the old plumbing system was. It's camouflaged by vegetation, so it's hard to see."

"I really bought Area 51, huh?"

"The rest is no mystery. Through the external exit, I brought in food, blankets, a sleeping bag, clothes, and everything else I needed. I knew the basement had small ventilation openings, so there was enough air to breathe. And most importantly, an outlet to charge my phone."

"Damn! That's why the generator was consuming more than I calculated."

"Er, sorry!" she said, then theatrically bit her lower lip as if that could make up for things. Maybe it could. A little.

"It's been a long day. A long and weird day. But, in a way, it's nice to have you here. I guess."

That seemed to spark something in Sana's mind.

"Really?"

"While I was wandering lost in the forest, I felt strangely alone. I think being stuck here for days would be too lonely for my taste. At some point, I would wish for company."

You smiled at Sana, her eyebrows raising in surprise.

"Since I talked about my past, why don't you tell me a bit about yours? You know, the stuff that never made it into interviews. What might only be revealed in your biography."

"Well, know that you outdid me in the difficult past department. There are some things that were never told. Some painful memories. But it's already very late. How about I tell you tomorrow while we have a picnic by the lake? We need to save some for the next chapters."

"Great idea!" her smile lit up, and at that moment, she seemed like nothing more than a girl to you. "And what kind of story are we writing here?"

"I don't know... I want you to help me figure that out."

"You're... not afraid of me?"

"Not anymore. I think you got what you wanted. Come here."

You opened your arms a bit. Sana, like a wary puppy, gradually gave in and approached. She sat sideways on your lap, slowly, uncertain, looking at your ankle extended on the coffee table.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"No. You can sleep with me in the bed tonight. Or on the couch, if you prefer—"

"In the bed. Please."

"You don't need to do the weird perfume and dress thing anymore. From now on, I want you to just be yourself. Can you do that?"

"Of course! Of course I can! But... you don't hate me anymore? The way you expelled me earlier... The anger on your face... it broke my heart."

"People are strange, Sana," you began, the prelude to a speech you didn't know you were capable of giving, "feelings, they are weird as hell. A single feeling can have a million facets," you explained, and Sana looked at you with a mix of fascination and curiosity. Dangerously adorable on your lap. "The simplest way to see this is to think of a child who, after years of living with their parents, is ostracized for some reason, be it for coming out with their true sexuality or taking a political side contrary to the family's. It's easy to imagine the child's emotional pendulum swinging between love and hate for their parents."

"I think I get the gist of it."

"The point is: I understand what it means to find solace in something to take refuge from the untamed wild world. That's what I did with writing. And, in your case, you found refuge in me. It's our first point of connection."

Sana's hand trembled as it reached your face, her lips pressed together and her eyes shining with tears.

"You're exactly as I imagined," she said in a whisper, the most her voice could manage, as if every cell in her body was working to keep her from falling apart at that moment, "there's no other explanation but fate. It brought us here."

You thought that Sana might have nudged fate a bit to bring things to this moment. But so far, what you had seen of this girl with such a fragile appearance was a tragic and relentless force of nature, so maybe she did have her cosmic connection with destiny.

You brought Sana's face close for an Eskimo kiss. She seemed shy about the gesture but undeniably loved your initiative, and the sensation of her skin against yours, her weight on you, and her warmth enveloping you was irresistibly addictive. Sana's fingers played indiscreetly with your hair, her smile directed at you... When was the last time someone had smiled at you with love? It all felt so pure, so beautiful, so romantically erotic (the privileged view right in front of her neckline, her small and perfectly formed breasts pressing against the fabric) and so, so good. God couldn't be testing you, could He? Because, well, this was beyond any human limits.

Her eyes marked your mouth as a target, but she couldn't go further because what preceded the desire was a need to affirm something greater.

TOUCH ME

KISS ME

The words that flew like magic into your ear that night, now implied by a thread of feeling. You were kissing Sana, rediscovering that the truth can be a sweet ruin or, perhaps, she was the last soul to fill your emptiness. The kiss started gentle but soon intensified, becoming a deep and wet exploration. Each movement of your tongues carried the urgency of months of repressed desire. Mutual. The way Sana's lips molded to yours, the slight pressure and shared moisture creating an almost chemical reaction that could lead to combustion. Your fingers intertwined in her brown hair while Sana's fingers traced soft lines on your nape, sending shivers down your spine. She moved closer, pressing her breasts against your chest as your tongues intertwined, exploring and teasing. Her taste was a refreshing mix of sweetness and desire, an intoxicating combination that made your heart race.

Suddenly, you felt her lips open a bit more, and her tongue slid into your mouth with a firm motion. She started sucking on your tongue, pulling it gently into her mouth, creating a warm, wet suction that sent waves of pleasure straight to your core. The sensation was almost overwhelming, indescribable, indeed. Sana could leave a writer speechless. But the fact was that every movement of her tongue created a deeper connection, a current of desire that seemed to run directly to your cock.

"Your taste is delicious. I've missed it. It makes me want more, so much more," Sana whispered against your lips, fatally beautiful as a thread of saliva spontaneously trickled down her chin.

Sana's eyes were closed, her face surrendered to the pleasure of the moment as she did a perfect job driving you crazy. Each time she sucked your tongue, you felt a pull in your stomach, an almost primal need to fuck her hard in response to what she was doing to you.

Sana moaned softly, her sweet sounds of pleasure resonating against your lips, increasing your arousal, your hands gripping her delicate waist firmly, as if fearing she might escape. But Sana had no intention of going anywhere. She wanted to carnally explore every part of you.

You pulled her body closer, your hands sliding over the smooth curves of her back until you reached the firmness of her ass, soft through the texture of her dress, squeezing it shamelessly, feeling Sana's response in a muffled moan.

She released your tongue for a moment, just to murmur against your lips: "I want your cock fucking my tight pussy soon. It's getting so wet for you, my love."

"You have no idea what you're doing to me," you murmured, your voice husky, your mind... completely devastated by her.

"Oh, I do," she replied, a smile of pure satisfaction on her lips before diving back into your mouth. And in that moment, with Sana sucking your tongue with an almost painful precision, you knew you were totally, irrevocably surrendered to her.

"Now... Is this real? This time, is it real?" Sana asked, as if speaking of a distant dream, her eyes half-closed in pleasure and longing.

"It's damn real," you replied, feeling your heart race uncontrollably. "I can't resist you anymore."

Sana shifted position, slowly sliding to face you, her legs delicately wrapping around your hips. Her eyes met yours, and the lascivious and determined gleam in them was unmatched. She began to move her hips in a slow, sensual rhythm, pressing against your cock. By then, it was painfully hard inside your pants, throbbing with expectation.

Sana moved closer to your ear, her voice low and sweet, whispering: "I can feel how much you want me." Her hot breath against your skin. The smile... completely disloyal.

"What you're doing to me," you groaned, your voice heavy with desire, "is more than I can bear."

You couldn't hold back any longer, and with eager hands, you pulled Sana's small breasts out of her dress. Her nipples were hardened, inviting, and you couldn't resist. With your hands, you gently squeezed them, feeling the soft yet firm texture. You teased them with your thumbs, playing, provoking. Your mouth soon found her nipples, and you sucked on them, nibbling gently, each movement drawing moans of pleasure from Sana. She arched her back, pressing her breasts against your mouth, wanting more.

"Oh, yes... like that," she moaned, holding your head against her breasts. "Mmm, you suck so well."

"You're so hot," you murmured against her skin, the words coming out between kisses and nibbles. "I want to devour you whole."

Your desire to mark that moment as yours came to the surface and, terribly vulgar and perhaps even pretentious, you tilted your head and sucked on Sana's neck, leaving a visible mark, tasting the salty flavor of her sweaty skin.

"You're mine," you whispered, your voice full of possessiveness, you noticed, "that's a fucking fact now."

Then a smile escaped your lips. Acidic and ironic, ricocheting right back at you.

"What is it?" Sana asked with a curious giggle.

"Nothing," you replied, avoiding mentioning that you saw the current moment as a contemporary and subversive erotic reenactment of the myth of Hermaphroditus.

Sana, equally possessive, marked you too. She bit and sucked on your skin, leaving marks that affirmed her possession. The sensation of her teeth against your skin was undeniably pleasurable pain.

Finally, Sana got off your lap and grabbed your cock, a gesture that could only mean one thing. You unbuttoned your pants, pulling them down along with your underwear, just enough to free your cock from the terrible web of fabrics imprisoning it. The excitement in Sana's eyes increased, and she lay back on the couch, a look of satisfaction on her face.

She started giving you a blowjob, moving her mouth skillfully and intensely. Her lips wrapped around your cock, her tongue exploring every inch. She began with slow, deliberate movements, teasing every throbbing vein. Each suction, each slide of her small tongue was a reminder that you were alive, that you were touching the edge of paradise.

"You're incredible," you groaned, throwing your head back, your voice full of pleasure. "Keep going... don't stop."

She used her hands to stimulate what she couldn't reach with her mouth, alternating between fast and slow movements. Sana then began to play with your balls, licking and sucking, alternating between gentle caresses and intense pressure.

"Oh, Sana... that's so good," you groaned, feeling the pleasure course through your body.

She looked at you, her eyes shining with desire and satisfaction. "I want to make you cum hard," she whispered, returning to sucking your cock with renewed intensity, while her hands continued to caress your balls. "I want you to fuck me so badly," she said, looking at you with a mix of desire and determination. "Let's end this wait."

"Fuck, let's!" you replied, knowing that surrendering to her had been your best decision in a long time.

You moved to the bedroom. With your fucked ankle, you knew some positions would be challenging, but the latent desire surpassed any pain. Slowly, you began to undress. Sana, noticing your difficulty, knelt in front of you, with a terribly indecipherable look. She unbuttoned your pants with deliberate sensuality, her fingers brushing against your skin, making your entire body shiver.

"Leave it to me," she murmured, sliding down your pants and underwear. On another occasion, with another person, you might have felt embarrassed, but this time it seemed so... normal? The last time you had shared this level of transparency and vulnerability had been with your ex-wife. Although only at the beginning of the relationship. Soon everything got so... strange.

After Sana helped you slide your injured leg into your pants, you managed to finish the rest yourself. Completely undressed, you kissed her deeply and lovingly, then slid both straps of her dress off her slender shoulders at once. The fabric rippled as it slid down on its own, revealing the beautiful artwork that was Sana's petite, half-naked body. The only piece of clothing that remained, and truly captured your attention, was the cute pair of panties she was wearing.

Totally intentional.

A pink pair of panties, almost innocent in contrast to the fervent passion she was capable of emanating, adorned with a small bow at the front. The thin fabric was damp, a clear evidence of how much she was enjoying the moment.

"You're so fucking hot, Sana," you murmured, your eyes fixed on that small detail that seemed to encapsulate all the desire and tenderness that made up Sana's essence.

She smiled, a shy yet mischievous smile.

"Do you like it?" she asked, her voice filled with sweetness and boldness.

"I love it," you replied, unable to resist her charm, running your fingers delicately over the bow, feeling the softness of the fabric. "And you're so wet," you added, your fingers gliding over the material, feeling her reaction in the slight tremor of her legs.

"That's the effect you have on me," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "And I used to masturbate thinking about you... Always you."

You smiled provocatively and slid your fingers over the fabric of her panties, feeling her dampness increase with each touch. Your mouth began to kiss and lick her belly. With slow and provocative movements, you started rubbing your fingers over the wet fabric, pressing lightly against her clit, without ever removing the panties.

"I can feel how excited you are," you murmured between kisses, your tongue warmed by her heated skin, each touch of your lips sending sparks of pleasure throughout her body. "You like it when I do this, don't you, Sana?"

Sana moaned in response, her hips moving involuntarily against your hand, seeking more friction. "Yes... please, keep going!" she pleaded, her voice trembling with desire.

"You want more?" you asked, already knowing the answer. "You want me to keep teasing you like this?"

"Yes, please," she moaned again, her voice full of need.

You continued to rub your fingers over the wet fabric, pressing harder, faster, until you felt she was completely soaked. The panties were drenched, the moisture trickling down the insides of her thighs.

"I can feel how much you want me," you murmured against her skin, your fingers now sliding along the edge of her panties, pulling them down slightly, just enough to tease but not enough to remove.

Sana panted, her moans loud and filled with pleasure. "Please, don't torture me anymore," she begged, her eyes closed, her head thrown back.

You obliged, finally pulling the panties down, exposing the glistening wetness of her pussy. The musky aroma of Sana filled the air, intoxicating and irresistible.

"You're perfect," you murmured.

"I want to feel you," she whispered, her voice laden with need. "I want you to eat my pussy. Look how creamy it is."

Sana propped her right leg on the bed and with two fingers she opened her tight pussy, and it was so delicious, so perfect, so, indeed, creamy.

In a moment of pure synchronicity, you both lay on the bed, as if connected by a greater bond, and assumed the 69 position. Sana positioned herself over you, her hot, wet pussy directly over your mouth. You started to lick her hungrily, savoring each moan that escaped her lips. Your tongue explored every fold, every inch, while your hands held her buttocks, pulling her closer to you.

"Yes! Lick my pussy! Just like that," she moaned sweetly.

As you savored Sana's creamy pussy, she enveloped your cock with her mouth, her tongue gliding over the head, mercilessly stimulating your frenulum, causing precum to leak out, which she loved. All the while, her hands massaged your balls, amplifying the sensation to the highest degree.

"Oh, fuck... If you keep doing that, I'm going to cum, Sana," you groaned, unconsciously thrusting your cock slightly into her mouth.

Sana then stopped sucking you and changed position.

"First, I want to cum on your face, love," she said, crawling over you, positioning herself, and opening up in front of your eyes until she finally sat on your face, her pussy now completely accessible to your tongue and mouth. You held her hips, guiding her movements as she began to grind against your face. Your tongue explored every inch, while your fingers caressed the insides of her thighs.

"I want you to lick me until I cum," she whispered, her voice trembling with excitement.

"I'm going to make you cum so hard," you murmured, your lips and tongue moving with precision against her.

Sana moaned loudly, moving her hips more intensely, pressing herself against your mouth. Her moans were loud and filled with pleasure, her body experiencing small spasms.

"Fuck, you're so good at this," she moaned, her eyes closed, the tension increasing.

Your tongue moved faster, firmer, each movement bringing her closer to climax. She held your head tightly, her fingers tangling in your hair, as her moans grew louder, more desperate.

"I'm almost there," she panted, her body entirely sweaty. "Don't stop, please, don't stop!"

With one last firm move of your tongue, you brought her to climax. Sana screamed with pleasure, her entire body trembling as she came intensely, her juices covering your mouth and face. You continued to lick her softly, helping to prolong her orgasm, savoring every moment.

"You're amazing," she murmured, still panting, that inherent satisfaction of making a girl cum taking over you.

Recovering, Sana slid down again. She began to ride you slowly, her movements erotic and calculated, each rise and fall rhythmic and sound. She leaned forward, her breasts bouncing as she increased the pace.

"You're so sexy," you groaned, holding her hips, helping her keep the rhythm. "Keep going, princess, don't stop."

She increased the speed, her entire body working to bring both of you to ecstasy. Her pussy tight around your cock, the heat and friction creating an indescribable sensation.

"Oh yes, Sana. Fuck me harder," you murmured, your voice hoarse with pleasure.

"I'm gonna cum... fuck, I'm gonna cum on your cock," she screamed, her movements frantic, her pussy pulsing around you as she reached orgasm, trembling with pleasure.

She collapsed on top of you, her head resting on your chest. You gently brushed a sweaty strand of hair from her face. Until then, you hadn't noticed how beautiful she was without makeup. You kissed the top of her head, a gesture she returned with equal passion by kissing your chest, saying: "I love you so much."

The room was dark, except for a soft light coming from the living room filtering through the half-open door, enough for you to see the sparkle in her eyes when she finally looked at you.

You didn't say anything. Words were unnecessary now. Instead, you let your hands do the talking, tracing the contours of her body, every curve, every perfect imperfection. She mumbled something inaudible against your chest, and you felt a smile form on your lips despite the fatigue.

She raised her head, her gaze serious but with a spark of something untamed. "Don't leave me," she pleaded, as if that were a real possibility. You smiled, kissing her lips, soft and prolonged, a kiss that promised much more than simple words could.

"I'm not going anywhere," you replied, the certainty in your voice unwavering.

You nestled close to her side, you behind her, your injured leg resting. You entered her again, slowly, savoring every inch that went in and out. She leaned back, allowing you deeper access. Your hands caressed her breasts, playing with her nipples as you fucked her from behind.

"Sana... I'm falling in love with you," you murmured, your voice laden with a strange possessiveness and love, a love you never imagined you could feel. But the act of kissing Sana's shoulder so tenderly while penetrating her could mean nothing but passion.

"You are my everything," she moaned, her voice trembling with pleasure.

You gripped her hip tightly, your thrusts becoming faster and more intense. The sound of your bodies colliding was erotic and highly stimulating.

"You're so tight... so wet," you confessed in her ear, your breath ragged. "I'm gonna cum, Sana."

"Cum, baby. Cum for me," she begged, her moans loud and filled with desire.

Feeling your climax approaching, you pulled out of her. Sana quickly knelt by the edge of the bed, looking at you with intense anticipation and lust., ready to receive your cum. You sat on the edge of the bed and started masturbating quickly, the sight of her so exciting that you were soon on the verge of orgasm.

"Cum for me," she whispered, her voice soft but urgent.

"I'm gonna cum," you groaned, your voice hoarse with pleasure and urgency. Sana smiled wickedly, knowing exactly what you needed.

"I want to feel you cum on my face," she whispered, her voice dripping with lust. "I want to taste you."

The sight of Sana waiting eagerly, her eyes fixed on you, made your cock throb even more. You sped up your strokes, your movements fast and precise, while she watched you, her hand casually caressing your balls.

"I want all your cum on my face, baby."

You felt the pressure building, each movement of your hand bringing you closer to climax. The moans intensified, your muscles tensing as the pleasure built to an inevitable crescendo. Sana looked intently, adorably seductive, ready to receive every drop from you.

When the orgasm finally hit, it was like an explosion. You let out a deep groan, almost a scream, as your body convulsed with pleasure. The first spurt of cum hit her face. Sana moaned with satisfaction, her eyes closed as she felt the warmth of your semen spreading across her skin.

"Oh yes, just like that," she murmured, her voice full of delight. "Cover my whole face." You continued to masturbate, each spasm sending more jets of cum onto her face, while she used her fingers to spread it, mixing it with the sweat still glistening on her skin. She opened her mouth, her tongue out to taste what she could, her eyes half-closed with pleasure.

"Wow! Fuck! that was fucking amazing," you groaned, reason slowly returning to your mind, your eyes fixed on the erotic painting in front of you.

When the spasms finally subsided, you stopped, panting. Sana looked at you, a smile of pure satisfaction on her lips, her face gleaming with your cum. She licked her lips, savoring the taste.

With a mischievous smile, you couldn't resist and, holding the base of your still-sensitive cock, started rubbing it on her face, spreading the cum already covering her skin. Sana closed her eyes, moaning softly as you slid the head of your cock over her cheeks, forehead, and lips, marking her completely.

"Yes, baby, rub that big hard cock on me," she murmured, her voice full of satisfaction. You rubbed slowly, savoring every moment, feeling the heat and moisture of her skin against your cock. Sana opened her mouth, licking the head of your cock, tasting the mix of your semen and sweat. You let out one last muffled groan, terribly sensitive.

"You look so hot like this, covered in my cum."

"I’m better than your ex-wife, aren’t I?"

"In ways that are immeasurable, princess," you murmured, your voice heavy with lust.

She smiled at your compliment.

"I guess I better wash my face before I go completely blind," Sana commented, her eyes half-closed. "Want to shower with me?"

"Sure! I- uh, I'll need your help anyway," you said, looking at your messed-up ankle.

"With me here, you don't have to worry, silly."

After the bath, the curiosity to see what the basement was like was obvious and natural. There was no way to resist such a mystery, and Sana, still a little shy about the somewhat... reckless action, revealed the secret room to you. She pulled the rug, and to your surprise, there was nothing there.

“It’s really a secret passage because I can't see anything.”

“It’s very well disguised. Mr. Goss did a good job camouflaging it. Look, the trapdoor is framed in a way that it blends perfectly with the surrounding floor. Covered by the shaggy rug, it’s almost impossible to see with the naked eye, especially since the edge aligns with the floorboards, without any protrusion or visible handle.”

“Yeah, I see. Or rather, I don’t see a damn thing!”

“There’s a small opening that can only be accessed if you know exactly where to look. I used a thin blade like this one to lift one of the wooden boards where there’s a small concealed groove. Once I knew that, it was easy to open the trapdoor and hide down there.”

And that’s how she did her magic. You really would have died without knowing about that damn basement. Once the trapdoor was opened, there was an old wooden staircase leading down to a kind of concrete room; although previously neglected, it now seemed like a carefully arranged refuge, perfectly ready to secretly shelter someone. Sana helped you down the creaky and worn wooden steps, a slight and cold humidity pervading the air below, common in places that rarely see sunlight. However, the signs of a recent attempt to make the space habitable were evident in every corner.

The concrete walls, probably once gray and mold-stained, had been partially cleaned. Though still rough and marked by time, they were now free of superficial dirt, and some parts had been covered with old, worn but colorful tapestries, adding a touch of warmth and humanity to the environment. The cement floor had been meticulously swept, and a large, thick rug had been placed in the center, providing a more comfortable and insulated surface than the cold concrete.

In one corner of the basement, there was an improvised bed made up of a sleeping bag, washed cotton sheets, and a wool blanket to face the cold nights. Next to the bed, a book whose title you couldn’t read from where you stood, an almost finished open bag of chips, and a (possibly dry) can of iced tea, although you doubted Sana had actually drunk it cold.

Lightly rusted metal shelves leaned against the walls, housing provisions and essentials like canned food and bottles of water. Some clothes were carefully folded in one corner of the shelves, with some sanitary pads nearby. A small wooden chest with a rusty lock held Sana’s personal belongings.

“How did you bring all this down here?” you asked, astonished.

“It took time, but I’m patient.”

On the opposite side, an improvised washbasin with a metal bowl and a water jug for basic hygiene offered a minimum of comfort. Clean towels hung on improvised hooks, and a cracked but still functional mirror was fixed on the wall above the basin.

“Please don’t tell me you-”

“No way! I was using the cabin’s bathroom,” she replied preemptively. “I was mindful of your schedule, and even though you take a long time to fall asleep, once you’re out, nothing wakes you up.”

A small oil heater was strategically placed to combat the cold that seeped in at night through the concrete floor and thick walls, probably responsible for secretly consuming the generator’s fuel. Next to it, a simple wooden chair and a small table offered a place to sit and perhaps write or read, with a few books carefully stacked beside it.

Despite the age and condition of the basement, Sana’s effort to make it habitable was commendable. Every detail, every item carefully placed, reflected her urgency and care, a diligent effort to transform the basement into something minimally livable.

“This is absurd as hell, Sana. Completely insane… But... Well, I’m glad you won’t be sleeping here anymore. There weren’t any bugs, were there?”

“Thank God, no! When I cleaned, I only found cobwebs and abandoned moth cocoons. I couldn’t have stayed here if there were bugs. Ew!”

You managed a slight smile. It was funny to think that despite being calculating, methodical, and patient, mere insects scared her. No one was really safe from that irrational fear thing.

“Alright then! You’d better take all your stuff up,” you said. “I can’t think of any use for this basement. In a future renovation, maybe I’ll just close it up and fulfill what’s written in the document.”

“Nah, you should just reinforce the foundation and keep the basement,” Sana suggested, moving closer for a hug. “You never know when you might need a little place to store something.”

You two were in bed. Sana, with your MacBook on her lap, was deciphering the draft of the first chapter of what might become your next novel. Untitled, without a definite form. She liked what she read, unraveling the unfinished subtleties that challenged the conventions of the genre. Letting her read the draft was a huge gesture, an exposure comparable to sex. And she knew that. She knew everything about you, after all. It was your goodwill gesture, a sign that you were open to her, willing to make this relationship stable, serious, healthy.

You had gone to the bathroom to brush your teeth. When you returned, Sana followed your steps with her eyes, waiting for you to lie down beside her again to ask:

"Promise you won't give up on me?"

"I promise. Sana, you're already strong on your own for having endured everything you have. And from now on, you can count on me to support you too. We'll break the circle together."

"You're everything I dreamed of and more," she said, hugging you, giggling.

"And you're an unexpected but very welcome gift," you comforted her in your arms. She was incredibly cuddly and emotional, which wasn't a bad thing. "So, I think we better sleep to enjoy the picnic tomorrow," you said, pulling Sana to snuggle into the pillow with you. "Damn, I'm completely exhausted, and it's partly your fault."

She giggled.

"And there's much more to come, Mr. Writer," Sana commented, turning off the lamp. "We can sweat a little tomorrow at the lake, if you know what I mean."

You fell asleep earlier than you imagined. Sana kept talking in your ear, excited about everything (you couldn't blame her), her words dissolving into the darkness. Her sweet, serene voice fading as you drifted off.

A perfect way to fall asleep, you thought, before slipping into slumber.

Then a scream sliced through the night like a blade, cutting the silence and your eardrums. Sharp and piercing. Sana, in a leap that defied logic, turned on the lamp and flew out of bed. Her hands frantically groped the wall, searching for the switch. The raw light illuminated her pale face, wide eyes filled with fear, and trembling hands.

"What's happening?!" you asked, confusion shaking your head.

"Something jumped on me! Some kind of bug!"

Your eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of movement. Nothing made sense, everything was blurry.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course! It jumped on my face. It was cold!" She was on the verge of tears, you on the verge of falling back asleep.

You got up with difficulty, each movement sending jolts of pain through your injured ankle. Your eyes fixed on the nightstand, where a small dark green figure stood on the right edge, like an unexpected sentinel.

"I see it."

"What is it?! You have to kill it!"

"It's just a small frog."

"You need to get it out of here!"

"I saw it before. It came in through a crack. I bought some duct tape to seal the hole, but I forgot to do it."

"It can't stay here!"

"Are you afraid?"

"It might jump on me again at any moment."

You laughed, a rough, low sound, almost a release of relief. You understood what she was going through, that primal terror of being attacked by something unknown in the middle of the night.

“Why are you laughing? That's not funny!”

"Hey, don't worry, this little guy won't disturb my girl's sleep anymore."

Slowly, almost ridiculously slowly, you walked around the bed, each step a struggle against the pain. You approached the small invader, the frog, still and cold. When you tried to touch it, it jumped straight onto your neck, like a biological missile. Sana let out a high-pitched scream, as if the frog had jumped on her.

"It's okay," you said, trying to calm her, but Sana was already at the door, ready to flee, eyes fixed on you as if you were her last safe harbor.

You approached the window, opened it, and a cold breeze hit your face, refreshing. Carefully, you removed the frog from your neck, feeling its cold, moist texture against your skin. You held it in your hand, offering it the vastness of the night outside.

"Go live a little," you said, with a flick of your hand, watching the frog leap to freedom. "It's all good now," you said, turning to Sana. "We can go back to sleep. In the morning I'll seal the crack."

"God, I think I hate frogs now."

You laughed again, a laugh that was both relief and exhaustion. The room finally sank back into silence, except for the soft sound of your breathing and Sana's, slowly returning to normal. Tomorrow, you thought, tomorrow you'll deal with the crack, but for now, the only thing that mattered was that she was safe and the terror had been expelled. And you... Fuck, you could get some sleep.

In the kitchen, you were busy packing the picnic basket, feeling a strange happiness performing such a mundane task. It had been a while since you felt this way — almost like a young boy again, experiencing the thrill of a new romance. Everything would be different now. Fuck solitude, you would be happy alongside someone. And a simple yet significant action representing your care for this new relationship was in this picnic basket you organized. Every sandwich carefully wrapped, the biscuit container tightly sealed, each juice bottle adjusted, and the bowl of fresh grapes waiting for a decision...

You both believed that your ankle would indeed be 100% recovered in about a week or less. Fortunately, the damage wasn't that bad. Until then, you would walk supported by a broken broom handle, pretending it was the staff of an old monk in a cabin with satellite Wi-Fi.

In the bedroom, Sana stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her earrings with an untimely smile. The morning was heavily overcast, threatening rain, but you both were counting on some weather support for a few hours, and although the day wasn't bright, Sana was. Ready for a perfect day with you.

Everything, absolutely everything, seemed to be in place.

As she turned slightly to check her look from different angles, your phone on the dresser lit up with a notification. The flashing light caught her attention. Curious, she leaned in to see the message on the notification bar.

And then her world crumbled. The smile melted away from her face like hot wax. Everything around her slowed down.

You called out from the kitchen, almost singing: "Sana, what do you think? Should I take grapes or not?”

Her eyes widened instantly as she read the message, and for a moment, everything around her disappeared, leaving only a cold void. The happiness she felt evaporated, the fog in the forest remained.

In the back of Sana's mind, the read message echoed like a dark warning:

"Dude, stay away from that girl!!"

"My brother found out some creepy shit about her"

"Btw her real name isn't even Sana 💀”

You asked again from the kitchen, your voice sounding distant, almost like an echo:

"So, Sana? Grapes or not?"

She took a deep breath. She was a battlefield between panic and forced calm. The messages were deleted with fingers that didn't want to believe what they had just read, while she replied with a voice that could barely stay steady:

"Yes, take the grapes! I love grapes!"

She turned to the mirror again, but the image she saw was no longer the same. The sparkle in her eyes had disappeared; it was just the reflection of someone. It could hardly be called a face.

A mask.

A mask desperately trying to stay calm.

She put the phone back where it was, making sure the messages were indeed deleted and the sender blocked. Something would have to be done soon. She forced herself to smile again in front of the mirror to see if she could maintain it. But a crack slowly widened in her mind, threatening to shatter all the false stability she had built.

She left the bedroom, walking towards the kitchen with hesitant steps, trying to maintain composure. There you were, waiting, with the picnic basket in your hands and an expression of affection that now seemed almost cruel to her eyes.

As she approached, she simulated a smile, everything buried behind her beautiful brown eyes. She greeted you with a quick kiss and casually asked:

"Did you remember to put the strawberry jam in the basket, honey?"

[renjunphile]

freedom ain't nothing but missing you ☆ jung sungchan

ᯓ★ WORD COUNT: 13.6k

ᯓ★ PAIRING: riize's jung sungchan x female!reader

ᯓ★ TAGS & WARNINGS: college!au, second chance romance, college antics - partying, drinking, brief mentions of vomiting, reader has mad commitment issues you wanna punch her in the face, pining

ᯓ★ SYNOPSIS: the last time you saw him was when you looked over your shoulder at his weeping figure one last time at the airport. four seasons have passed and your heart tightens at the sight of his smiling face, wishing it was directed at you.

ᯓ★ NOTES: what would a renjunphile fic be without a second chance romance element ! sorry it's my favourite trope i can never let go of it :') all my stories are really the same now ! also me *handshake* using aespa members as side characters lol at the start of story, y/n and hyung line are going into 4th year, sohee and seunghan into 3rd year and anton into 2nd year.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

You hear your best friend's voice before you see her. If you had just looked a little more to the left, you would've spotted her immediately anyway as she waved a large piece of pink card-stock with your name displayed in a glittery explosion.

"Y/N! Over here!" she cooed at you loudly from behind the barrier, "Y/N!!!"

You quickly weave around the other passengers as expertly as you could with your trolley of bags, but Minjeong is quick to meet you at the exit. She drops the sign onto your cluster of suitcases and wraps her arms around your neck, squealing into your ear with glee.

"I missed you too, Jeong," you giggled at her embrace, "I told you that you didn't have to get me!"

She scoffed at you as she pulled away, "What kind of best friend would I be if I didn't welcome you back home after a year away! You said your parents couldn't come and meet you, so I came!"

You think back to your conversation just before you got on the god-awful long flight with her, recalling how your parents thought it was too far for them to drive up from your hometown when they were already coming the week after for your birthday.

"Thanks babe," you thanked her sincerely, bumping your hip against hers while the two of you began to push the cart together. You couldn't believe that you were able to pack your whole life in just two large suitcases and one small one, "By the way, how are we getting back into the city?"

Minjeong didn't drive; she'd rather walk to her destination in the wind, snow, hail or storm than learn how to get behind the wheel. She was a self proclaimed "passenger princess", which you admired and envied from the way your friends (including her) used you like their own personal taxi service when you had your car. Sadly for your friends, you were not hesitant when it came to selling your car at the end of your second year of university, just weeks before you packed up your life and moved to New York for the new school year. While you sometimes missed your slightly beat up Hyundai on the days that you had to get on the subway with arms full of groceries, you couldn't justify the purchase of a car again for your final year of university.

"I assisted the help of a special someone," Minjeong winked at you happily, watching your face contort in horror immediately, "Wait, no. Not that one. I promise."

You let out a sigh of relief that you didn't even know you were holding back as you cramped together in the car park's elevator. There were many people you haven't seen in a year. There were many people you've missed and wished to see. But you didn't think you could face him right now, at this very second.

"Who is it?" you prodded curiously, but she just gave you an innocent smile and pushed the cart out of the elevator and towards a shiny car about 30 steps from the doors

You couldn't make out the figure sat in the driver's seat, no matter how you craned your head until he got out and faced you straight on.

"Chanyoung!" you gasped in surprise, welcoming him in a tight hug, "Since when did you learn how to drive?"

"Just this year, noona. Welcome home!" he chuckled from above you. You wondered if he grew any more since the last time you saw him, cause it definitely felt like it.

Chanyoung was Minjeong's little cousin that began his studies at your university as you were leaving. Despite that, he grew to be a familiar presence as he lived nearby and always dropped by the apartment you shared with his cousin. He was truly one of your favourite people since he was so sweet and caring.

Before you could finish your greetings with Chanyoung, Minjeong had already loaded your (very heavy) bags into the trunk of Chanyoung's new car and had collapsed in the back seat, "Let's go guys. I'm sure Y/N's tired, but you can sit in the front."

Without another word, she dropped her head to the window and began to doze off. You clambered into the front seat and gave Chanyoung a thumbs up to head out.

"How was your first year at university, 'Ton?" you asked.

"Super good, actually. It was really helpful to know all of your friends before I entered so I never felt alone or lost or anything," he recounted the times that you missed, "By the way, thank you for letting me stay in your room. My first year definitely wouldn't be the same if I still lived at home."

You shared a two-bedroom apartment with Minjeong just off campus during your second year at university after meeting her on the first day of first year and becoming fast friends. You had warned her that you probably would have to find a temporary replacement while you were halfway across the world, but when word got out to her little cousin, he begged to take over your room while you were gone. Since he lived in Seoul already, his parents weren't very willing to let him test his luck and go into dorms with a stranger, but they were much more open to letting him live with his older and allegedly more responsible older cousin until he found friends to live with for the next year.

"No worries; I'd rather it was you than a stranger," you shrugged, "Who are you living with again?"

"Sohee and Seunghan," he tapped his finger on the steering wheel to the beat of the song quietly playing on the radio, "You know them, right?"

Your heart squeezed again at the thought of the boys you got to know in the year before you left, "Yeah, a bit. Haven't spoken to them in a long time, though. I hope it's not awkward to see everyone again, otherwise I'll just lock myself in my room until I graduate."

"Everyone misses you, noona," Anton assured you softly, "I know that for sure."

You opened your mouth to say what your heart desired, but closed it again hesitantly as your brain came to the rescue of your emotions. Anton flashed a look at you from the driver's seat, but chose not to comment when he saw the conflicted expression on your face.

"Tell me about your time in New York," his soft voice pulled you gently out of the mess that was unravelling in your head.

You gave him a small, knowing smile and began recounting your favourite memories and your life in the city that never sleeps.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Around 4PM, you waved your parents away as they pulled out from the car park under your apartment complex. They had a pretty long drive back to your hometown with work early the next day, but you were grateful they made the drive up in the morning to celebrate your birthday with you. You had taken them to your previous favourite Italian restaurant for lunch, but after tasting more authentic cuisine in New York in the predominantly Italian neighbourhoods, you weren't sure if the restaurant was as good as you remembered it to be. Still, you enjoyed the lunch and catching up with your parents with what had happened in the last 6 months since they came to visit you abroad. With a hug and a kiss goodbye, they were driving away from you once again.

When you returned back upstairs to your apartment, Minjeong was waiting for you patiently on the couch with her legs and arms crossed and a mischievous smirk on her face.

"What?" you groaned in anticipation.

"I picked out an outfit for you while you were out. It's on the bed. Get ready," she grinned, clapping her hands together, "We have dinner plans. Meet back here in an hour and a half."

"That's really not necessary, Jeong," you pleaded, but she just turned her nose up at you, reiterating her instructions.

To be honest, you had planned to spend the rest of your birthday cuddled up on the couch with your best friend, probably watching a chick-flick or a horror or both. She stomped away to her room and you fearfully tiptoed to yours. Knowing her, she would have picked out something a bit more showy than you would like.

However, you were pleasantly surprised at the dress laid out on your bed, with a note in her handwriting. It wasn't something she picked out of your closet- it was a dress she had bought for you. It was a flowing mini dress with ruffles extending from the skirt and a corset bodice you knew would flatter you. You sent her a grateful text and began to freshen up your hair and makeup from your morning outfit.

From your outfit, you guessed it would be in a sit-down restaurant that was more refined than a bbq restaurant whose smoke would cling to your hair, skin and clothes for days. However, knowing Minjeong, you couldn't put anything past her. After all, she was the one that convinced you to drink soju with her at a stall on the side of a dirt road in your floor length silk dresses after your first year ball. An hour and a half later, you had curled and then re-curled your hair, did your eyeliner twice and marvelled at how the light pink dress your best friend bought you fit you like a glove. When you heard Minjeong calling out your name, you were finishing buckling the heeled Mary Janes that you loved and made sure that everything you could need for the night was in your purse.

In the week you had been back in Seoul, all you had done was unpack your suitcases and make the room feel like yours again. School wasn't starting for another week, so all the friends that you tried to meet up with told you that they were still in their hometowns, due to come a few days before the fall semester began.

"Urgh, I knew it would look amazing on you!" Minjeong analysed you in awe. Trust the fashion design and marketing major to have an eye for these types of things.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" you eyed her suspiciously as she looped her arm around yours and dragged you out of your shared apartment.

"You can find out when we get there," Minjeong tapped on her phone, "The taxi's outside, quick!"

The destination set for the taxi was somewhere you weren't familiar with. The street name definitely didn't ring a bell. Perhaps a new restaurant had opened in that area while you were gone and Minjeong was just trying to catch you up to the city again.

Speaking of the girl beside you, she spent the whole ride with her eyebrows furrowed together as she furiously tapped away on her phone. You wouldn't say that you were a particularly nosy person (lie), but her privacy screen protector made it impossible for you to see who she was texting. It was probably Heeseung anyway- her on-again, off-again boyfriend of four years, but more like two.

"Are you guys fighting again?" you teased.

"Huh?" she looked up at you in confusion and her face flashed with recognition, "Yeah, yeah. It's nothing. Don't worry, but look we're basically here."

Apparently 'here' meant on the street that was lined by endless blocks of high rise flats and a few convenience stores dotted about.

"Did you make me dress up to eat ramen at a GS25?" you prodded your finger in the direction of the store.

Minjeong laughed heartily, "No silly! I made you dress up to eat ramen at a 7/11!" she pointed at the stripy neon sign at the opposite end of the street. She captured your arm in hers once more, tugging to make you walk with her, "Just trust me. It's the hottest place in town."

You don't think that the hottest place in town was Block 7 of this high rise complex, but you say nothing as she buzzed for apartment 08 and caught the lift up to the 4th floor. Minjeong was known to find all the hottest spots in town, so you really try to keep it to yourself as she knocked on the door that looked far too much like an apartment door, including the mail next to the door mat.

She didn't even wait for someone to answer, just pushed down on the handle and nudged for you to enter into the darkness.

"Surprise!"

You clasped a hand over your mouth as light flooded the room and a group of about 20 people screamed at you. From behind you, Minjeong was cheering, pushing you further into what now seemed to be an apartment instead of a restaurant. With 20 pairs of eyes staring at you all at once, it took you a few seconds to shake yourself out of the shock and recognise anyone. The place was decorated with banners and balloons of your favourite colours, with steaming food on the dining table in the corner of the room.

"Happy birthday! Welcome home!" Karina, Yizhuo and Giselle were the first to crush you ina hug.

"We're sorry we declined your plans to hang out," Yizhuo pouted, "We thought we would give away the surprise that Jeong planned if we saw you."

You waved a dismissive hand at your younger friend, "It's okay. This is so sweet of you guys!" You felt Minjeong join the embrace.

"We thought you deserved it since we didn't get to spend your birthday with you last year," Giselle added on as the group pulled away from you.

Last year, you had spent your birthday alone, wandering around New York City for the first time and procuring free birthday goods from all the establishments that offered it.

"Happy birthday, Y/N!" you heard a deeper voice coo at you as you were pulled away from your girls. You were suddenly face to face with one of your closer guy friends from before.

"Eunseok!" you accepted his side hug, "Hi!"

"Welcome home! We all missed you so much," at his words, you dart your eyes around the room and find 5 boys hiding behind Eunseok's tall figure. They each hug you one by one, ending with Chanyoung who gives you the cheekiest grin.

"Welcome to our apartment," he grinned proudly, gesturing at himself, Sohee and Seunghan.

"Where'd you get all this money from, huh? I should've charged you more rent," you teased, eyeing the modern, open-plan space. The floor to ceiling windows on one wall of the room with a view over the river really sold you on the idea that this was an expensive apartment.

"You can throw as many parties as you like here," Shotaro giggled, "We know we're going to!"

"Yeah, whose birthday is it next?" Wonbin pondered.

"Oh! It's-" Eunseok smacked Sohee in the stomach before he could finish his words, laughing nervously.

The 6 boys in front of you watched in despair as your smile fell ever so slightly before you recovered it again.

"I'll go say hi to everyone else," you murmured softly, catching Wonbin's regretful face.

"Y/N, he's-"

"It's okay, Bin," you smiled softly, ignoring the pounding in your heart and head, "I wouldn't have expected him to come. He probably hates me, right?"

You turned around without letting any of the boys say another word, joining your group of friends from your dance club. While your friendship with them was something you treasured deeply, you fell out of touch with them in your year abroad quite quickly. You didn't put much thought into the people that did or didn't keep in contact, considering you were focused on making friends and trying to live in the moment abroad. Besides, you were coming back anyway. What's a year in the grand scheme of things?

Your heart panged at that thought, but you tried to push it away as Jisung tackled you in a tight hug. Ryujin and Yeji had to physically peel the towering kid away from you as you dove into conversation about what you had spent the last year doing.

As the conversation came to an end, your eyes fell on the 6 boys stood around in a circle, whispering hushedly and stealing quick glances at you. When you caught Seunghan's eye, he just chuckled nervously and dismissed you, but the sight of them, incomplete, caused your heart to tense up.

All the most important people in your university life was in this room. All, except one.

"Jeong, I'm just gonna catch some air. Just quickly," you tapped your best friend on the back, just before waving and greeting her potentially current boyfriend Heeseung.

"Oh, I'll come with!" she began to untangle herself from his embrace, but you just clicked your teeth and shook your head.

"No, it's okay. I can go alone; I'll be quick. Just buzz me up when I ring?" you requested. She gave you an unsure look, but settled back into Heeseung's form.

Ignoring the stares on your back, you ran down the two flights of stairs and pushed open the door to outside. Since it was the start of fall and 6pm, the sun was beginning to go down. The sky wasn't yet pink and purple, but instead glowing an ethereal gold, bathing you in light rays. You fiddled with the phone in your hand, grasping it tightly as you debated what to do. His contact was staring up at you, almost taunting you to do something with it. Call it? Message it? Delete it?

Your finger hovered over the phone symbol. Surely he'd want to hear from you, right? The way you ended things wasn't... satisfactory. It gave neither of you closure. You needed to speak to him, right?

Fuck it, you think to yourself. It's your birthday. You can do whatever you like. As you pressed the call button, you shakily lifted the phone up to your ears, counting the rings.

Ring ring, ring ring, ring-

"Y/N?" his voice is familiar, soothing the nerves that plagued you at the thought of him letting your call go unanswered.

"Sungchan," you began hesitantly, "I'm not sure if anyone told you, but I'm uh- I'm back in Seoul."

"Y/N," he repeated, making you aware of the sounds of his feet hitting the pavement through the phone and his laboured, shaky breaths.

"Shit, are you busy? Am I interrupting something?" your stomach folded in on itself as you realised he didn't answer your statement. He was probably at the gym- Minjeong told you he'd taken that up in your absence.

"Y/N," he breathed out again, the patters of his feet coming to a stop, "Look up."

You tore your eyes away from your feet- the only thing that was distracting you from internalising too hard that you were calling your kind-of ex-boyfriend.

As you lifted your eyes up, a tall figure came into view across the street from you. Sungchan was stood panting, one hand holding his phone up to his ear and the other holding a bouquet of flowers.

"Sungchan?" the call dropped as the figure took a step into the street, hastily running over to stop just shy from you.

"I don't hate you," it's the first time you're hearing his voice in one year, "The boys- they said that you said- I wanted to come, but I didn't know if you wanted me here."

He's trying to maintain eye contact, but he's clutching the flowers to his chest as he pants. You were at ease enough to chuckle, "Sungchan, did you run here?"

In this light, his eyes shined and sparkled. You've missed looking into them and getting lost all night in his gaze. You missed the way he would look at you like you were the most precious thing on earth to him.

He flashed you a toothy smile, "Mhm, didn't want to make you wonder. Just wanted to tell you that."

"A text would've sufficed."

He analysed your expression and took one large step back, "Ah, am I reading this wrong? Did you not want me to come?"

You took one step forward, "I'm sorry I didn't call as soon as I got back."

Relief flooded Sungchan's whole body as he stretched his arm to offer the bouquet to you, "It's whatever. Happy birthday, Y/N."

"Thanks, Sungchan," you smiled sincerely, "Do you want to head up now together? I'm kind of hungry and I think there's pizza."

"Yeah, sure!" his face is practically lit up at your invitation, but he hesitated to follow you, "Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"I missed you," he whispered shyly, "Just so you know."

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

You met Sungchan three weeks into your first year of university. Minjeong's boyfriend Heeseung had joined the soccer team in the first week and their first game came around quickly. The two of you were like two peas in a pod, bundled up together in matching scarves bearing your university's colours and logo, shivering on the school's bleachers.

Your friend's eyes were trained on her boyfriend from home, but you had the lucky status of being able to cast your eyes on each player and make your judgement. The game had been going on for about 30 minutes with your school being 2-0 up. Both goals had been scored by the team's #23, a scrawny tall boy whose name you could just about make out from your distance.

"Jung's pretty good," you hummed to your friend.

"#23? His name's Sungchan, I think. Hee says he's really nice. Want me to get you two acquainted?" Minjeong wiggled her eyebrows at you, but you rolled your eyes.

You were determined to find love as naturally as possible at university. Back home, you'd been on a few first days with a few guys set up through your friends, but they were all the same to you- not cute enough, not interesting enough. You hadn't been desperate to get into a relationship, especially knowing that you were going to apply to spend your third year abroad if you kept your grades up. But when Sungchan slid in to the seat beside yours for your shared lecture meeting your GenEd requirements, you had lost all semblance of that.

"Hey, you're Y/N, right?" he had offered his hand out to you, "I'm Sungchan. I've seen you around with Heeseung's girlfriend and I've seen you in this lecture a few times."

You had taken his hand in yours, gripping firmly and giving him a shy smile, "Yeah, that's me. Nice to meet you,"

When he continued to sit beside you for another few weeks, asking you questions in hushed whispers and explaining concepts to you when you looked lost, you said nothing. When he started asking if you wanted to study in the library together in your two hour gap after your shared lecture, you said nothing. When library study-seshes turned into studying at a cafe where he'd buy you a drink, you said nothing. When that turned to just two hours of the two of you chatting and getting to know all about each other's lives with your laptops abandoned on the table, you said nothing.

It then turned into butterflies slowly erupting in your stomach as his face lit up the second he saw you in the theatre. It turned into your heart beating a little faster whenever his hand brushed against yours on the walk to the café you now frequented with him. It turned into finding comfort in him as he slowly began introducing you to his best friends, who would tease you endlessly. It turned into nervous giggles and pink cheeks as you spent the whole fall and winter denying anything was going on with you and Jung Sungchan.

When spring of your freshman year began to roll in, Sungchan had mustered up the courage to take your hand in his whenever your fingers did graze each other on the walks. Whenever you'd look up at him to question it, he'd just smile slyly and look off into the distance, quickly changing the topic before you could address it.

Spring break had you realising how much of a presence he was in your life. Walking through the parks of your hometown felt melancholy without him by your side. Studying at a cafe alone was productive, but you would miss the way that every time you looked up from your screen, he'd already be staring back at you, a soft smile permanently etched on his face.

Cherry blossom season was your favourite time of the year. So when you returned to your campus and found out the main square was lined with these bloomed trees, you had dragged Sungchan there immediately, even if he had just arrived from his hometown.

The joy in your eyes must have been so evident, reflecting back in his eyes as sparkles. When Sungchan had placed his hands on your shoulders to stop you bouncing, and then leaned his head down closer to yours, you didn't stop it. You had long been used to the way he made your heart race. It was a welcome feeling as he softly planted his lips on yours for the first time under the falling petals.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

"Y/N," the sharp voice plucked you from your daydream, a bag making a thud on the wooden table, "What are you thinking about?"

"Huh?" your eyes focused in on Karina taking a seat in front of you at the café, "Nothing, nothing. Did you just have class?"

"My class ended early and I was just walking to my next class in 15, but I saw you through the window looking all sad and aloof," she explained, her eyebrows drawn together in worry, "Are you okay, girl?"

You met Karina with Minjeong at a club in the first week of your freshman year. She had been throwing up in the toilet with the door open and no one holding her hair, so Minjeong did that while you rubbed her back and cooed reassuring words. After confessing that she was getting drunk because she had just broken up with her high school boyfriend, the two of you captured her in your little group.

"It's just weird being back," you admitted.

She pouted at you sadly, "Aw, don't tell me you like your New York friends better than us?"

"No!" you squealed, laughing, "It's not that. I love you guys. It's just weird being back with Sungchan."

Her eyes morphed into a mix between empathy and sympathy, "Aw, babe. I'm sorry; I know it's weird. Whenever I meet my friends back home, I get a weird feeling seeing my ex there too. I imagine it must be worse for you since you ended on better terms than me and Mark did. It must be confusing, huh?"

Out of all your friends, Karina was the best one to be having this conversation with. While you loved Minjeong more than anything in the world, she was famous for breaking up with her boyfriend for random spats, but calling him and asking to get back together the very next moment she missed him. Absolutely no sense of longing in that department.

"I just don't know how I should act around him. Do we just go back to being friends like in first year? Should I pursue him again? Why does it feel like we're strangers to each other?"

During your party, you had thought Sungchan would stay by your side, but he quickly excused himself to join his friends and only gave you reluctant smiles through the night. Where had all the confidence disappeared to?

You saw him one more time in the two weeks after your party at the library. Eunseok had booked a large private study room at the library and texted you to come. Sungchan was already there when you came, his head stuck in a textbook. Other than shooting you a greeting and sliding the box of cookies in your direction, you got nothing else from him in three hours.

"You just need to get the worst of it over and talk to him. He must be just as confused as you are, to be honest," Karina sighed.

"He hasn't found someone else, right?" you asked reluctantly. Even if he had, it would have been your own fault anyway after the way you left him for dust at the airport.

Karina scoffed and rolled her eyes, "The only thing he's found in the past year is the gym. Taro says he's gone crazy. You know- post break-up glow up? He's become quite the heartbreaker, actually. All these girls started to notice him, but he never gives any of them the time of day."

You fight the scowl threatening to display on your face, "Oh, really?"

"Please, Y/N, he was always going to wait for you. I'd never seen a man so down bad and I know Heeseung." she scrunched up her face at the thought. Heeseung was famously untouchable by the girls at university, no matter how much they threw themselves at the football captain. Anyone else would be embarrassed by getting broken up with by their girlfriend every couple of months, but Heeseung always took it with stride and came crawling back with on his hands and knees towards her every time.

"Hm, you're wrong. I don't think anyone can beat that man," the memory of him scoring a hat-trick in the regional final with the words 'Take me back, Minjeong' written on his undershirt that he flashed while he celebrated the last goal cemented his position of number 1 loverboy in your mind.

"Potentially, but Sungchan drove four hours overnight to your hometown when your pet hamster died to comfort you in the summer between first and second year," Karina reminded you, "He charmed your strict parents so hard that by the time the night came, they let him stay in your room with you!"

"He brought expensive melons," you rolled your eyes, "I don't even know where he got those from at 2 in the morning."

"Exactly. Even I wouldn't gift my in-laws that expensive of a fruit no matter how much I wanted to impress them," she countered, "Just talk to Sungchan, I beg. I don't want to watch you go through the whole will they-won't they song and dance of first year again. I gotta go to class, but text him now, yeah?"

You dumbly nodded at her instruction, watching her race out of the cafe and waving goodbye through the large window. Everyone always teased you about how much Sungchan seemed to like you. They never knew that you were equally as smitten.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

You made it to the café before Sungchan. Unfortunately, that just gave you more time to panic and stress over what you were going to say to him after all this time. Your chocolate frappe and his iced americano sat in front of you, slowly melting in the unrelenting sun. You asked to meet at 1 and there was still 5 minutes 'til then, but Sungchan had the habit of being early. That was one thing he passed down to you.

"Y/N," Sungchan gave you a gentle smile as he slid into the seat across you. It was hard to meet his eye, but you held eye contact for as long as you could (not very long) before you tore your eyes away and slid his drink over to him. He thanked you sincerely and took a sip, giving you the chance to speak first.

"Thanks for meeting me, Sungchan," you began nervously, "I know it's been, um, confusing recently- at least for me. I just wanted to catch up and see where we are or get some closure, I guess. I feel like you deserve more of an explanation than what I was able to give you."

In an instant, you're transported back to one week before your flight to New York in the comfort of his bed. You had tearfully explained how hard you thought it was going to be to do long distance even when you had spent a better part of the situationship deluding yourself and each other that it would work out not matter what.

You don't think you could ever forget the look of heartbreak plastered on his face as you spilled your worries to him that night. You don't think you'd ever forgive yourself for making his body shake with sobs, pleading you to think about it again.

That's why it's hard to face him right now- because of all the shame and guilt.

"To be honest, Y/N, you told me before we got involved that you were doing your year abroad and that you didn't think it would be in the best interest of either of us to be in a new relationship by the time you left," Sungchan hummed, swirling his straw in the ice of his drink.

Suddenly, it's a year and a half earlier in your head as you and Sungchan celebrated and 'not really 1 year anniversary' because you two refused to label yourselves as a couple despite functioning identically to one. You remembered the cake, the flowers, the candles that you blew out together.

"I feel like I led you on," you admitted.

"Maybe," he shrugged, "I don't feel that way. You didn't want to get into a relationship, but I kept pursuing you anyway until you fell in- until you liked me," he coughed.

Your demeanour softened as the words slip from his mouth. When Sungchan tried to utter those three words to you at the airport for the first time and you stopped him before you could, you instantly knew you were making a mistake. But by the time you had gotten through security and settled yourself at your gate, you had manipulated yourself to think otherwise.

"Stop being so nice about it, Sungchan. I did you so wrong," you frowned deeply at him, picking at your nails in nerves. Your heart and stomach honestly ached in displeasure every time you thought about what happened.

"We made choices, and I guess we're better people now for it," Sungchan returned a tight-lipped smile, turning his head to stare out of the window and into the street.

When you left, Sungchan was shy and awkward with his limbs flying all over the place and never seeming like he had control over them. His hair fell around his eyes in an adorable cut and it would take him a while to muster up the courage to look anyone in the eye. That wasn't to say he wasn't a friendly and amazing guy- just one that had to warm up to you.

The Sungchan you returned to walked with confidence and seemed like he was now sure of himself. He kept his head up, initiated conversations with people and just moved through life more freely. You can't help but think that you were the one thing holding him back.

You didn't know what to reply with. Were you really better off? You had spent the past year trying to enjoy your life abroad, but grovelling with guilt for the life back home that you left.

Before you can open your mouth, someone beats you to it.

"Channie?"

The affectionate nickname falling from another person's mouth instantly conjures a bitter taste in your mouth. Your heads snap towards the guest standing at the edge of the table, smiling down at the man in front of you.

"Ah, I knew it was you," she beamed brightly, "Haven't had the chance to talk to you- how was your summer?"

Sungchan's eyes flickered to you so quick that you almost didn't catch it. You could tell he was hesitant in his reply, "It was good, Jiyoon. How was yours?"

She clapped her hands a little and nearly let out a squeal, "Awesome! Went to that mountain you recommended climbing! You're playing at the game tomorrow, right?"

Game? Oh, he was still on the soccer team, of course.

"Yeah," his grin was lopsided and awkward as he turned to you, "Um, Jiyoon, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Jiyoon. We met in class last year."

"Nice to meet you," she extended a hand down to you, which you reluctantly shook with a terse smile. You could practically feel the uncertainty and jealousy bubbling in the pits of your stomach as she continued, "Me and Channie were seat mates in our lectures last year! It's such a shame we don't share any this year."

The feeling is so unfamiliar that it makes you uncomfortable seeing the way she grinned and looked at him. He used to look at you like that too- the longing and the pining in the gaze when you wouldn't give into him. It was clear they weren't dating, but it felt like there was something more.

"Nice to meet you too," you clutched your drink tight in your hand as you picked up your bag, "I actually have to run somewhere so why don't you take a seat and catch up? Seems like it's due. Bye Sungchan."

In your rush away from the table, Sungchan caught your wrist again, "Y/N, don't-"

Once again, you'll never forget the face of heartbreak written all over his face as you pulled your wrist away with a sigh, "Thanks for speaking to me, Sungchan. Good luck for tomorrow."

You don't dare look back as the bubbly Jiyoon slid into the chair you were once occupying.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Minjeong has her arms crossed in your doorway with a pointed look directed at you.

"Why aren't you ready?" she squinted her eyes menacingly at your slumbering position on the bed, "We're going to be late! You're lucky I asked Sunghoon to save us two seats."

You pulled the covers over your head, "I'm not going. Leave without me."

The little pitter-patter of her footsteps on your hardwood floors echoes before she ripped the sheets away from you, "And why is that?"

You made grabby-hands at the duvet, but she tossed it behind her. You gave her your best innocent look and produced a cough, "I'm sick?"

Minjeong scoffed loudly and tugged on your arm, "I'm not taking no for an answer, missy. This is your final first game of the season! And we're playing our rival team, so show some school spirit."

"But 'Jeong," you whined in protest as she threw open your wardrobe and began to search for your school merch.

"You don't have to see him if you don't want to," she sighed empathetically, "We'll run away as soon as it's done, but you loved school football games, right?"

It's about the time you realised that Minjeong wasn't going to let up on her insisting, so you slipped on the crop top and jacket with your school's logos and shimmied into the skirt she was making you wear, despite the temperature outside. Arm in arm, but in measured silence, the two of you fast-walked to the football arena that was only 15 minutes from your house. Thankfully the game hadn't yet started when you two clambered into the seats between Sunghoon, Heeseung's friend, and Anton.

"It's nice to see you again, Y/N!" Sunghoon grinned, taking you into a hug, "Did you miss Korea while you were gone?"

"Of course, but it was nice to experience a new culture for a bit," you replied, trying your hardest to keep your eyes off the pitch where the teams were getting into their positions, "How's the skating?"

"I won college nationals this year," he said proudly, to which you clapped and congratulated him. He was truly one of the school's pride and joy, but he didn't want to take it any further than collegiate sport, "Anyway, are you going to the after-party later? It's at the Rho Zeta house."

Minjeong's face planted into your right shoulder, "We are!"

"Jeong! You said we're leaving straight after the game!" you protested, turning your body to face her's.

"Yeah, to the party," she cackled, slapping an arm around her cousin's shoulders, "Tell her, Chanyoung. We're going to the party, right?"

His eyes suddenly turned pleading and you knew you were doomed for, "C'mon, Y/N! It's the first party of the year win or lose so you have to come."

Sunghoon looked at you with expectant eyes too and you honestly believed they were about three seconds away from begging on their knees when you rolled your eyes and dismissed them. Minjeong took this as a win and began to cheer, while also redirecting your attention back to the game in front of you.

When you were dating/not-dating, you used to come to every one of Sungchan's games wearing his jersey rain or shine. That's how you gained the status of being one of the most notorious couples in the grade. You didn't know why, but you were glad to see that no other girl was sporting his name and number on their back from what you could see. They weren't a famous team; they didn't sell jerseys with the players' names in the school store, so you were a little bit relieved to realise Sungchan wasn't giving out his jerseys to girls left, right and centre in your absence.

What was evident though, was the rambunctious screaming every time the ball fell at his feet. He was one of the team's star players along with Heeseung and Lee Minho, so you weren't surprised. However, the cheering had definitely stepped up a notch ever since he checked himself into the gym while you were gone.

The game passed by pretty quickly. Both defences were very good, so there weren't many goals scored. Heeseung had scored two both assisted by Sungchan and the other team had done the same. Though the game ended in a eventful tie, the crowd was still buzzing with pride and school spirit. Through the streets around the arena and the campus, you could hear them chanting some school songs.

"Are we meeting Heeseung there?" you asked Minjeong curiously as you walked together towards Greek row. Sunghoon had disappeared after the win to find some of his friends before the party, meanwhile Chanyoung was whisked away by Seunghan into the crowd

"Yeah, they'll be a while before they get to the house, I think. I know I was heavy persuading you earlier, but you're actually fine with coming to the party, right? You can tell me if not," her eyebrows are stitched together in worry, but you just link arms again and continued walking.

"It'll be nice to go out and do my normal things," you reassured her.

The Rho Zeta house was one that was very familiar to you. It was a house you had spent many a nights in during your second year when Sungchan lived at his frat house. You wondered if he stayed there or moved out with his friends.

There's some rushing freshmen on the door duty and you were let in swiftly when Minjeong uttered your names. Though Heeseung was a member of a different fraternity, the friends and partners of the football team were always invited to the post-game ragers. Making your way down to the basement where most people chose to spend their time, you waved to Eunseok in the kitchen making cocktails.

A fair few spectators had already made it to the party after the game finished, knocking back their third, fourth or fifth beer or beverage of choice already. When Wonbin pressed a shot into your hand and clinked it with the one in his, you had no choice but to chug it down with a grimace. Before you knew it, Eunseok was tipping back a cup of mojito down your throat and you and Minjeong were doing shots of tequila with your arms intertwined.

The Rho Zeta basement was expansive, but very busy. There were people playing beer pong in one corner (Sohee was losing badly to a grinning Anton) meanwhile sober monitor Shotaro was trying to pry the darts out of a drunk Seunghan's grip before he could try to throw them and potentially hurt someone. You swore that they kept those locked away in a cabinet during parties, but Seunghan was always a crafty guy.

Endless bodies swayed in the gaps of the basement to the rhythm of the music- the music being the mixes that Nu Sigma Tau alumni Johnny Suh was producing from his speakers in the far corner. He was truly a man stuck in his college days, but he always provided the best tunes. You had lost track of time early into the night before losing track of Minjeong completely when the football team arrived. You hid behind Johnny's equipment, making small (loud) talk with him about what he had been getting up to. In the corner of your eye, you had spotted Sungchan hovering in the crowds since he was probably a whole head taller than most of the attendees.

"I heard what happened to you and our bambi over there," Johnny uttered nonchalantly as he prodded at some buttons that you could never grasp the use of, "How's that working out?"

"It's the consequences of my own actions," you hummed sadly, "I've never regretted anything more."

"Does he know that?"

You flick your glance to the guy chatting with his best friend Eunseok by the wall, "I think I owe it to him to let him move on. There's so many girls interested in him since I left."

"And clearly he rejected all those girls if he came alone. I'm banishing you from my booth, so go talk to him." Johnny cooed at you before pushing you lightly away and into the crowd with a wave.

After the fiasco that was the café and Jiyoon, you certainly weren't prepared to face Sungchan. What could you even say to him? That you were burning with jealousy that you couldn't help but run away?

Yizhuo and Giselle occupied your time for a little bit on the couches, but once the smell of sweaty party goers began to invade your senses even while getting progressively drunker, you dashed/stumbled up to the second floor living room that was always much more chilled out.

"Y/N!" Soobin cried out excitedly as you entered the large room. He was already reaching over to offer you a beer, which you took. Behind Soobin's tall stature, you don't even notice the people sat in a circle behind him, "We're playing truth or dare."

Soobin was one of your friends you made in a club you joined in your freshman year. You didn't speak to him very much over text, but the two of you always had a good time when seeing each other. He wrapped his large hand around your wrist and dragged you over to sit in the circle. You recognised a few familiar faces as you cast your eyes around, namely Karina and some of Heeseung's friends, but your heart dropped when you saw Sungchan and Jiyoon sat cross-legged next to each other a few spaces to right of Soobin.

Even in your state, you weren't so much of a masochist to stay and watch. Leaning over to Soobin's ear, you whispered, "Shit Bin, I think I'm gonna sit this one out."

"No," he whined like a baby, "I haven't seen you in a year, so stay!"

His protest was so loud that it called the attention of some of your other friends who all drunkenly pouted and pleaded for you to stay. Some guy who you recognised as Sunwoo reached over the space in the middle and spun the bottle. You kept your eyes trained on it as spun around and around, praying it wouldn't land on you. A sigh of relief left your mouth as it fell on Chaerin, who quickly chose dare.

"Text your most recent ex and tell them that you miss them!" Sunwoo giggled through his drink.

As you nursed your own drink, you mirrored Chaerin's grimace and fought all your might to avoid looking at Sungchan. You would be horrified to have received that. Chaerin gingerly pulled out her phone and typed a few words before flashing her screen around the circle as proof. She then grabbed the bottle and spun it harshly.

"Jiwoo, truth or dare?" Chaerin taunted. Your eyes flashed to her figure momentarily as she giggled and chose dare as well.

"Kiss the person you'd most want to date."

You don't think you've ever felt such burning sadness as you watched Jiwoo quickly grab Sungchan's face and bring it down to hers for a quick peck. The grip on your bottle was nearly enough to smash the glass into a million pieces the way your heart was breaking.

It took everything in you not to get up and run away, especially when the alcohol in your bloodstream was making you feel your emotions ten times as strong. You couldn't make it about you- Sungchan didn't deserve that. The rest of the group's eyes had already turned to you after Jiwoo's kiss, considering that you and Sungchan never really kept it much of a secret. Even Karina  was making 'are you okay?' eyes at you from across the circle. You simply gave her a subtle nod and a smile as Jiwoo spun the bottle too.

"You and Sungchan aren't back together?" Soobin dropped his face low to your ear.

"Does it look like we are, Soob?" you exhaled, watching Nayoung give Jay a drunk and joking lap dance.

"Shit," he breathed out under his breath, "Sorry I made you stay."

"It's okay. I should move on anyway, right?" you smiled assuringly at him. You don't think you've ever given such a fake smile in your life.

"Y/N," Soobin trailed off, trying to pry the bottle that you were sipping on away from your hands, "Should we go?"

"No, it's fine," you gritted out, pointing at the bottle spinning to direct his attention. Your heart dropped as it landed on you.

"Truth or dare, Y/N?" Jay mumbled.

You weren't going to risk it; Jay was known for giving batshit ideas, so you settled on, "Truth."

"How many people did you sleep with or kiss on your year abroad?" he smirked.

"Zero," you deadpanned instantly, "For both."

Jay pouted at your boring answer, but gestured for you to choose the next person. It landed on Yuri, who chose dare bravely. You were starting to dissociate a little, but managed to murmur some dare about giving her phone to Sunghoon and letting him post whatever on her story.

The game continued a while with you trying to focus as much as possible at burning a hole through the glass of your drink with Soobin asking you if you were okay every couple of minutes. It was hard not to turn your head and steal glances at Sungchan and Jiwoo, whose laugh reverberated through the room, your bones and then into your heart.

You were certain Jiwoo was a nice girl, but where did she come from? All your friends convinced you that Sungchan hadn't entertained anyone despite the newfound attention that you leaving brought to him and even his friends never mentioned anything when they would occasionally talk to you. Surely Jiwoo and Sungchan were close, right? Close enough for them to be recommending each other things to do in the summer and close enough for Jiwoo to quite literally kiss him in front of everyone.

"Sungchan, truth or dare?" an unfamiliar voice caused your head to slowly lift up.

"Dare," it's the first time you've heard his voice the whole game.

"Kiss the person you'd want to date in this room."

A light gasp escaped nearly everyone's lips as you examined the smirking player. You definitely didn't recognise him; maybe he was a freshman. His eyes were darting with a cheeky glint between Sungchan and Jiwoo, assuming that he was setting up a couple by echoing Chaerin's earlier dare for him.

"Taesan, choose a different dare," Karina's voice boomed as she directed laser eyes towards the boy. He instantly frowned.

"Why? It's fun!"

"Choose a different dare," Soobin repeated next to you.

In that moment, you wanted the world to just cave in and swallow you up whole. You didn't think that you could bare to watch your ex-boyfriend- the one who held your heart but the one whose heart you stomped all over- kiss another girl in a confession. Despite that, you were completely paralysed in your spot, cross legged and head having turned to Sungchan's direction.

At the same time that Karina began to get up and say, "Y/N, let's go downstairs,", Sungchan had pushed himself out of his seat under the watchful eyes of Jiwoo.

"Fuck it," he had laughed dryly.

Your vision changed in a moment's notice. Sungchan was staring straight into your eyes bearing the emotions of pleading. Pleading to ask you if what he was about to do was okay.

You think that you probably nodded unconsciously, because in an instant, Sungchan's plump lips found yours again for the first time in a year. They slotted perfectly in between your hesitant mouth, but like a reflex, your brain had finally connected to your body again and started moving against him.

Similar to the earlier gasps from all those who had known about your history together, the whole group had gasped and fell silent as they watched the scene unfold.

The kiss was not gentle at all. He moved against you harshly, desperately and his hands on your cheeks burned your skin, lighting a thousand flames inside you. Sungchan tasted a bit like the beer he was drinking, but also like the cherry lip balm that you had once bought for him and got him addicted to in the past. It caught you so off guard that you fell back onto your hands behind you, causing him to push deeper against you.

You were both panting when he finally pulled away.

"Y/N," he murmured lowly against your lips, "Let's go to my room."

You remembered getting up. You remembered his fingers interlacing between yours. You remembered practically running through the corridors to reach his familiar door at the end. You remembered Sungchan pressing you up against the wall inside his room and connecting his lips to your neck.

Then you don't remember anything after.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

The next time your brain registers you're awake, there's a swirling in your stomach and something rising up your throat. In the lamp-lit glow of the seemingly strange room, you peeled the duvet off your sweating form and made a bee-line straight to the bathroom.

You didn't realise how you even knew there was a bathroom behind the door you had opened until a familiar hand was pulling your hair away from your face and rubbing your back as you emptied out the contents of your guts into the toilet.

"It's okay, baby," he cooed sweetly. The term of endearment flew over your head pretty much immediately, but your heart probably skipped a quick beat.

Tears brimmed at your lashes and threatened to spill as you hurled and hurled. How much had you had to drink?

"Sungchan?" you croaked out in between heaves.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm here," he whispered into the dark, "You're in my room at the frat house."

Binge drinking wasn't a common reoccurrence of your freshman and sophomore days, but when you did, you always threw up in the middle of the night and became disorientated. You never knew where you were and how you got there.

When you finally finished throwing up, Sungchan had already tied your hair back with a tie he found on your wrist and had pulled you up against his body in the bathroom. With the lamp in his room on and the door open, you could make out his sleepy figure and messy hair in the mirror.

"Here, wash your face and brush your teeth," the toothbrush he handed you was old, but you recognised it as the one you kept in his room for the nights you would sleep over. Despite the banging headache and the questions floating around in your head, you managed to follow his instructions. There was no makeup left on your face from what you could tell, so someone must have taken a wipe to your face. You just splashed some water to refresh yourself and brushed your teeth to get the nasty taste out of your mouth.

Looking down, you were still in the skirt and college top from the party, but your socks and shoes had been replaced with fluffy socks that you loved to sleep in and all of your jewellery removed. Sungchan was waiting at the edge of his bed, eyes only half opened until you stepped back into the room again.

It looked the same as when you left, with a few pictures of you together removed in places. There were some weights in the corner too, but otherwise, it was a picture perfect reflection of before, as if time never passed.

"What happened? What am I doing here?" your throat burned from all the heaving you had been doing, but Sungchan passed you a water bottle and a pill, "All I remember was the game and you kissing me."

"We went to my room, but you passed out pretty quick," Sungchan recounted, "Sorry I kissed you. I slept on the floor, by the way."

You noticed the pillow and blanket missing from the bed. From the digital clock on Sungchan's desk, you could see it was still only 4am.

"Thanks for taking care of me. I'll catch a taxi home now," you looked around the room for your shoes, "Sorry for the vomit and stuff."

Sungchan rose to his feet, "Y/N, just stay. It's dangerous for you to leave at this time and you need to rest. It's okay. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can sleep in Eunseok's room."

Although your brain was blaring alarm signals in your mind and telling you to get out of there before anything else tragic could happen, your heart belonged to the bed that you missed sharing with him.

You sighed heavily and crawled back under the covers. With your eyes closed, you bared your true feelings into the silent room, "Please stay."

"Okay," he hummed, walking over to the other side of the bed where you assumed that he set up the pillow and blanket.

"Can you sleep with me? On the bed?" your voice was so quiet and hesitant despite your state that Sungchan didn't know if he just conjured that in his imagination until you spoke again, "Please?"

You shuffled over closer to your side of the bed closer to the door. He slid in on his side, closer to the window. Your head was spinning even lying down and you could feel yourself slipping out of consciousness already as his body heat combined with yours to wrap you up in a comfortable and familiar sensation.

"Y/N?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm lying. I'm not sorry I kissed you. I'm sorry that you had to see her kiss me though."

"Why?"

"I'd never want you to think that I want anyone else other than you."

Your awareness faded into nothingness as you felt Sungchan's hands slip in between yours under the sheets.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

"Y/N? What the fuck happened last night? Karina texted me and said some shit went down upstairs and you disappeared with Sungchan?" Minjeong's voice was laced with worry as she rushed to the door the second you stepped through.

Although she looked as haggard as you, she was much more preoccupied about where you went after she handed you your 3rd mojito of the night. You winced at her volume, "My head hurts like shit, Jeong. And my heart too."

"Jay told me what happened. Are you okay?" Heeseung's voice was quieter as you entered the open plan living space. He was sat on your couch with a bowl of cereal in the space between his crossed legs and Minjeong's iPad playing some TV show on the coffee table.

"Y/N? Hello?" Minjeong waved in your face.

"I don't want to talk about it, guys," you groaned, "Some girl kissed him. He kissed me. We went to his room. I passed out immediately and woke up throwing up. That's all."

"You didn't talk? Not this morning?" she prodded on.

It was only 11am. Your face involuntary cringed with regret.

Minjeong gasped dramatically, "Y/N, if you tell me right now that you left before he even woke up, I'm literally going to kill you. Y/N, that's such shitty behaviour. Honestly."

"Please don't make me feel worse than I already do," you sniffled as her words brought tears to your eyes, "I literally don't know what to do. All I want to do is let him go for his sake, but he keeps dragging me back to him."

She wrapped you up in a tight hug and smoothed out your hair, "Y/N, just go back to his room and tell him how you feel. Let him tell you how he feels too. You're going to keep going around in circles if you keep running from him, and it's going to end in heartbreak again."

You cried into her shoulders for a few minutes in sheer frustration, until she pushed you out of the door and made Heeseung drive you mid-bowl of cereal to the frat house to make sure you actually went inside.

On your grand exit out of the house that you prayed would go unnoticed, you had ran into Shotaro in the living room cleaning. He had given you a disappointed look, but your pleading eyes convinced him not to say anything as you slipped out of the door shortly after waking up. The expression on your face must have told him that you were sneaking away from his best friend.

It was Shotaro who opened the door for you when you knocked just 20 minutes after you left.

"You came to your senses?" Shotaro quirked an eyebrow at you as he stepped aside to let you in. You waved goodbye to Heeseung as he drove back in the direction he came in.

"I'm sorry, Taro."

"I'm not the one you should be saying that to," he sighed defeatedly, "Please don't hurt him again, Y/N. I love you both, but please."

All you could give him was a faltering smile as you ascended up to the second floor again. There were still some cups and miscellaneous items left strewn around the house, so you assumed that the frat brothers were mostly still asleep.

You tiptoed up to Sungchan's room and knocked three times, lightly, before pushing the door open. He was still curled up tightly on his side of the bed, cuddling a stuffed bear that you got him. It was exactly how you found him when you woke up again in the morning.

His face was so peaceful and angelic when he slept, soft snores escaping between his parted lips. In the past, you used to wake him up by peppering kisses on his smooth skin until he woke up. He used to wake up confused, until a smile would invade his face when he realised you were there. It used to make your heart feel all tight and warm in the best way possible.

Your breath hitched when Sungchan stirred to face his body towards you. Though his eyes stayed close, his breathing became noticeably shallower.

"You left," his voice was mercifully devoid of accusation, but it made your heart split down the middle all the same.

"I'm so sorry," it was pathetic, but that was all you could bring yourself to say.

Unwrapping his arm out from the tangle with his stuffed plushie, he patted the empty space on the bed that was still a bit warm. The weight of your body dropping onto the bed caused him to scooch a bit closer to you with his eyes still firmly closed.

"Can we just stop being sorry now? You're back now with no plans to leave again, so why do you keep running away from me?"

"Sungchan," you breathed out his name, but he opened his mouth again.

"I'll prove to you that all I want is still you. There's no one else, Y/N. You hurt me a lot, but I know you didn't want to. Let's give it another go. Do it properly and call each other boyfriend and girlfriend," his lips tugged up into a soft smile.

You didn't even know when you started crying but at the sound of your sniffle, his hands came up to wipe at your cheeks.

"Why are you crying?"

"What did I do to deserve someone like you? You deserve someone better," you choked out through your hot tears.

He let out a soft laugh as his eyes finally opened slowly and met yours, "Stop asking questions and saying sorry and just accept that I want to love you, Y/N."

His words triggered a waterfall of tears to stream down your face, but he pulled you down into the bed with him and wrapped you up in his arms tightly. It felt like home again.

"I loved you, Sungchan. I did."

He brushed the hair out of your face and planted a searing kiss on your temple, "I know, Y/N. I knew. Stop crying and go back to sleep with me. It'll all be okay when we wake up. I promise, baby."

He tucked his bear into your grasp and pulled the sheets over your bodies again. His arms returned around you and he continued to press the most gentle touches of his lips on your forehead, your temples, your nose and finally onto your lips that held back choked sobs until you slipped out of consciousness.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

"I wanna know everything you did in New York," Sungchan requested softly as he swung next to you. On the walk to your apartment from his that he accompanied you on after you both woke up, you spotted the playground equidistant between both residences empty. The two of you had spent a few nights there in the past swinging beside each other and talking, so it seemed perfect to go there again to talk- somewhere public and open.

You texted Minjeong that you were on the way back to your flat to change and freshen up and she kindly left with Heeseung as to not make the situation any more awkward or tense by having them meet in such a circumstance. Sungchan just sprawled in your bed and scrolled on his phone as you showered, changed and applied your skincare. After a night of drinking, throwing up and not moisturising after washing your face in the middle of the night, your skin had been going through it. When you plugged in your hairdryer and made him scooch over silently so you could sit on the bed, Sungchan had sat up and taken the dryer out of your grasp, motioning for you to turn around.

"Someone's watched Queen of Tears," you humoured over at him as the humming and heat began to fill the room.

"Just like the entire country," he jested back, "I guess we're a bit like them."

"Chaebols who get married and hate each other until one of them gets a seemingly incurable illness?" through the mirror at the end of your bed, you saw Sungchan roll his eyes playfully.

"Two people that find their way back to each other," he had corrected softly.

His words struck you silent, just watching him direct the dryer at your hair while thoughts swarmed in your head. You weren't sure if your neck was burning up from the dryer or from his fingers bumping against your skin every so often.

Since the two of you woke up, you could probably count on your hands how many times you'd spoken. You'd settled into this comfortable, but weighted silence knowing that sooner or later you'd probably have to properly talk to navigate the events of the night prior. You had delayed it a bit by asking to go home and change and he walked you all the way wordlessly other than suggesting to go to the park after.

When you were done getting ready, the two of you made your way to the park. This time, Sungchan had grabbed your hand firmly in his at the very first instance of your skin brushing. He was much more bold than when you had left.

"What do you want to know?" you quirked an eyebrow as he kicked off the ground to swing higher.

"If it was everything you dreamed of. If you missed home. If you made friends," he listed out, looking over at you.

You sighed and thought back. Over the past few weeks since you'd been back, everyone had asked you the same questions. For the most part, you had given the same answer to all of them robotically, but you felt like Sungchan deserved a bit more than your usual spiel.

"The city was incredible. New York was always my dream. I got to travel a little around the country too, so that was nice. It got really lonely pretty quickly, even though I made a lot of friends. It's just so busy and everyone has their own thing," you recounted slowly, "I missed home as soon as I left, but I do miss the friends I made in New York. America is very different to Seoul though."

"Did you mean what you said at the party? There was no one else?" his voice was shaky as he asked. You knew it wasn't something he took lightly.

"I wouldn't lie to you," you affirmed strongly, "I really did miss you and regretted everything the second I left. I was too ashamed to admit my mistake, so I'm sorry for hurting you unnecessarily. I don't regret going to New York, but I regret leaving you."

He stops the swing by planting his feet firmly. His eyes bore into yours as he tried to analyse your emotions.

"I grew a lot in that year apart, so I guess I should thank you for that. I learned that I should fight for what I want and I think we can be better this time around," Sungchan nodded, "And I missed you a lot. I keep saying it, but I just want you to know I never hated you or thought of you in anger while you were away."

The silence that followed must have freaked him out a little because he quickly continued.

"And about Jiyoon. Just, um, ignore her, please. I never knew she felt that way and I promise that I never acted in a way that might have conveyed that I felt the same," Sungchan blurted out with wide eyes, "I just- didn't know how to bring you up to her. We honestly didn't see each other very much; she just exaggerated."

You giggled a little at his panic and reached over the iron links to take his hand, "I trust you, Sungchan. You were free to do anything you wanted, but still, I trust you. You're allowed to have friends."

With a squeeze of his hand, Sungchan stood up and loomed over you on your swing. He tugged softly to get you up on your feet and clasped his hands around your waist when you did. Sungchan pulled you close to him, chest to chest.

Gasping, you looked around to make sure the playground was still empty, "Sungchan!"

He nuzzled his face down, close against yours with your foreheads pressed together, "You're all I could ever want. Please don't leave me again."

Your body completely melted into his as you brought your cold hands up to his warm cheeks. Bravely, you pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, just barely missing his lips, "I won't, Channie."

"Is it too fast to tell you I love you? I've been waiting to say it for over a year," Sungchan pulled his head back and scrunched his face up, "Does that make me too much of a loser? Being this down bad for you?"

All the tension and stress left your body; you could finally return to normal and joke with Sungchan as you giggled into his neck, "Maybe. Do you not want to be?"

"No, I love you," he chuckled along, grazing his nose against yours again before pressing his warm lips on yours.

His lips were pillowy, parting your lips and allowing him to push deeper. He was much more gentle this time than the night before, but a squeeze on your waist caused your breath to hitch and allowed him to run tongue along your bottom lip. You could feel the outpour of emotions in his kiss and how desperate he was to let you know them.

In the year without Sungchan, your heart grew fonder and fonder and you thought to yourself how you were never going to waste another minute with him.

Sungchan had been the first to pull away, looking down at you with half-lidded, passion-filled eyes, "Let's go back before some family comes and reports us to the police."

"Ha, for doing what?" you teased, hooking your fingers around his belt loops.

His eyes transformed into a glare as he stepped away from you and moved towards the exit, "Very funny, Y/N. Yours or mine?"

"Mine," you shrugged, "Minjeong's out with Heeseung and your frat brothers are all home and hungover."

Sungchan just grinned at you, swinging an arm around your shoulder and pulling you tight to his body, "I can't wait to tell everyone you're mine again."

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

The last game of the season was the national finals. You had been nervous all week watching Sungchan leave every day for extra practice when he usually only trained once a week with the team.

With a cup of cola in one hand and a cardboard sign in the other, you fought through the crowd on the bleachers to find the available seat between some of your friends. Minjeong was already settled in her seat, scolding Seunghan and Sohee for playing with her I <3 Heeseung homemade headband.

"You made it!" Chanyoung clapped happily as you sat between him and his older cousin. On the other side of him, the rest of the boys waved at you excitedly.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, of course!" you beamed. The whole arena was vibrating with excitement as nearly the whole student population turned up for the game. It was the final big event in the school calendar before the stress of final exams took over, so everyone was letting their hair down a little.

There was a section of supporters of the other team tucked away in the corner, but otherwise the people meshed together in a sea of your school colours. They had won the draw as to which school the game would be played at. You yourself was sporting a jersey nearly identical to the one that Sungchan would be coming out in soon. The shirt on his back fit his frame nicely, but it draped over you like a dress.

"Channie's gonna play good tonight because his lucky charm's here," Wonbin snorted teasingly, "He was shit all of last season."

"Wonbin," Eunseok hissed, but you just laughed with the long-haired boy.

"I'm really excited. I know they'll win." you waved the "GO #23" sign towards them.

You watched the field in anticipation as they ran out to erupting cheers from the supporters and watched as Sungchan searched the crowds for his group of friends as soon as they settled in a line. He waved in a small gesture, but all of you stood up and flailed your hands everywhere. You shook the sign vigorously and watched as his face contorted in awe and appreciation.

The game was absolutely nerve wracking. Your arms were interlocked and clutched tightly with Minjeong's and the two of you moved like one being standing up to shout at bad referee decisions or cheer at good tackles. Heeseung and Sungchan were playing well up front together, dominating the field so far with a few decent shots on target. Being the most dangerous on the field, the other team's defence were taking them on left, right and centre, causing your faces to be stuck in a permanent grimace for the first half.

Seunghan tried to start a cheer at half-time and that provided enough entertainment for your group when it miserably failed to notice the passage of time. In fresh shirts and refreshed motivation, your team went all out and scored 2 goals. Heeseung's celebrations towards Minjeong were sweet and had her swooning with flushed cheeks.

The other team had managed to score a goal, but in the 87th minute, Sungchan had broken away from his marker around the halfway line and poured all of his might into completing his run to the goal. The goalkeeper had a lot of time to anticipate Sungchan's goal, but his left foot was powerful enough to send the ball hurtling past the keeper's fingers and into the back of the net.

Screaming and yelling in joy, Sungchan slid in the direction of your friends and blew kisses in your direction. Beaming ear to ear, you deafened your friends with your ecstatic whoops. His teammates jumped on his body and then dragged him back to his position for the final 3 minutes.

Safe to say, they won the final.

After a celebration with medals, Prosecco and school cheers, you were waiting in the lobby just outside the changing rooms.

Sohee was talking your ear off about some game that he had started playing with Seunghan when a hand snaked around your waist and you felt the flutter of lips hovering over your neck.

"There's my girl. Hi, baby," he murmured against you. After sweating for 90 minutes, the boys definitely all had to take showers, so his hair was still slightly dripping over the jersey on your back.

"Channie, I'm so proud of you. Congratulations!" spinning around in his grip, you hooked your arms around his neck as he buried his head in yours.

"Your support meant everything to me. Thank you for the banner! I have the best girlfriend ever," he pulled back and beamed down at you, planting a peck on your expectant lips.

Despite having been officially his girlfriend for over 6 months now, the title still made your heart flutter to this day. You'd never forgive your past self from depriving yourself from having Sungchan as you had him now. Despite being the sweetest companion in your early university days, he had held himself back a little due to your hesitation.

Now that you were all in, Sungchan showered you with love, praise and support in anything you did. You tried your best to reciprocate and most days, it felt like your heart could explode every time you looked at him from how your love seemed to grow more and more every day.

He was the perfect gentleman and the perfect boyfriend. He brought you snacks whenever you had to stay late at the library and tucked you tight in his chest under the covers on the days that the world seemed to be collapsing - it never did, maybe thanks to him.

In short, adoring Sungchan became part of your daily routine. A task that you were happy to continue for the rest of your life.

"And I have the most amazing boyfriend in the world," you rested your cheek against his chest as you squeezed him tighter, "I love you, Sungchan."

His heartbeat thumped in your ear as he smoothed out your hair with his palm. The rhythm was strong and constant, as dependable as he was. You felt the love in his touch, no need for words.

Jung Sungchan was a man of his word. As long as you stayed by each other's side, everything would be okay. The world continues to spin. Your heart continues to beat for him.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

You Would Break Your Back to Make Me Break a Smile

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria era

Warnings: Poorly written smut

Summary: A run goes sideways, leaving you and Daryl to spend the night together in a remote cabin. Nothing new until feelings are thrown into the equation.

A/N: This was originally written for my old OC. It also explored asexual Daryl and there are still elements of that here.

*gif is not mine

You pulled the corner of your bottom lip between your teeth, concentrating on keeping your arm still. The urge to overthrow your opponent was strong, but you had to play fair. Cheating was not an option. It wasn’t until you were mercilessly pinned for the fifth time in a row that you considered cheating may actually be an option after all. 

“Ugh!” You groaned quietly, struggling to free yourself. 

“You’re the one wanted to play,” came the gravelly response. 

You conjured an unimpressed scowl. “Again.” When he didn’t immediately move to oblige, you raised your brows, angled your head for a better view, and elbowed him. “Come on. Again.” A heavy sigh resounded, but he finally raised his arm and clasped your waiting hand, blue eyes avoiding your overconfident grin. Shaking out your shoulder in preparation, you blew upwards to rid your face of an unruly strand of hair and recited “one, two, three, four; I declare a thumb war!”

After three more failed attempts, you finally gave up but not without a massive pout and another jab at his ribs. You flipped unceremoniously onto your back, the point of his elbow resting just above the top of your head. Whether due to chivalry or something else, he had offered to sleep on the floor, but you weren't having that. The full bed was plenty big enough for both of you. It wouldn’t be the first time you had shared a bed. “Your thumbs are longer than mine.”

Daryl scoffed. “Right.” He drawled, the hand he had been using joining the other behind his head. He stared at the ceiling as the last rays of daylight began to crawl away from the looming shadows of the night. It was only a matter of time before he’d hear the familiar growls and moans and the ever unsettling bump of undead bodies against the outer walls. 

“Wanna play Never Have I Ever?” 

Your voice drew him from his thoughts with barely a start. “D’rather not.” You didn’t know. You didn’t need to know. 

You let out a sigh. “We don’t have any liquor anyway.”  A pause. “Truth or dare?”

“S’with ya?” He asked, regarding you from the corner of his eye. You didn’t answer right away; only wiggled around until your hip was pressed tightly against his own. He wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t flinched at the contact and continued to watch you.

“Nothing, silly.” You replied quietly. The need to be near silent when outside the protective walls of your home was imperative. It was also something the spitfire at his side struggled with even when that need was near dire. 

Daryl narrowed his eyes but said nothing else. You had been around him long enough for him to catch the dismissive undertone. The run had gone smoothly for the most part: few walkers, a myriad of medical supplies and canned foods to fill your packs and a couple of milk crates, and even a few stale candy bars you had snagged for a treat on the ride back. It was the living, breathing trio that had been in the middle of stealing the car when the two of you had exited that became the problem. Shots were fired, drawing more of the undead. A bolt had taken down one adversary, the other two making off with the rusted Buick that was meant to be your way home. 

So, you had set out on foot. The supplies sorted and consolidated to fit in your packs and one crate, Daryl had insisted you carry it so he could keep his crossbow at the ready. No more than a dozen walkers were tailing you, but they had been easy enough to either lose or dispatch once you had found the simple cabin that would be your shelter for the night. 

Yes, you had lost the car and had the grueling trek that would take at least most of tomorrow’s daylight hours before reaching that familiar gate, but neither of you were injured, you had food, and you were relatively safe for the night. So, what was bothering you?

“Hey, Daryl?” 

Maybe he was about to find out. 

“Hmm?” He had finally allowed his gaze to settle back on the ceiling only to have it find you once again. You were staring upward intently, a small crease between your brows. That ceiling must have been extremely interesting, the way you both seemed to get lost in it. 

“Have you—ever been in love?” There was a hesitance, a shyness to your question that was evident yet unplanned, as you closed your eyes and your face twisted while a silent curse fell from your curled lips. ‘Nice job, idiot!’ You didn’t watch his reaction, positive that the question had caught him off guard. He didn’t move or make a sound, which had your stomach twisting into knots. This was not how you had wanted this conversation to start; not even close to what you had rehearsed over and over in your head since the prison. “I mean—have you—did you ever—that is to say—”

“No.” It was a simple but honest answer. Daryl had never found time for it; never found he wanted to make time for it. Sure, he had experience with women, thanks to his brother, copious amounts of liquor, and a few twenties scattered over the years of his youth, but no relationships of which to speak. He just was never a sexual being, lacking any desire and overwhelmed by peer pressure and pent up emotion. It was never about connection. He had never let anyone that close. 

“Oh.” You weren't sure what answer you had expected. You thought maybe he would berate you for thinking he cared for such girlish notions. Perhaps he would laugh at you; tell you he had been a player like Merle. Instead, he had answered and was now staring at you from behind the fringe of hair that always found its way over his eyes. You managed a glance at him before you lifted one side of your jacket to study the zipper. “What about Carol?”

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “S’not like that with me an’ her.”

“Oh.” You repeated.

“Why?” He countered. And god, he was still looking at you. 

You cleared your throat and turned onto your side to face him. Still, your eyes found everything in the room except his gaze. “Do you think it exists?” You avoided his question. Daryl watched you prop yourself up on your elbow, your dainty fingers reaching for the hem of his jacket. “Like—like there's someone out there for everyone?” You fiddled with a loose thread and glanced up at him from under your long, dark lashes. His handsome face held a mixture of exasperation and confusion. You would have giggled at his plight had your nerves not been twisting around like live wires in your gut. 

Daryl Dixon was your best friend, a title he earned back when your little family was still new—even if you both would have vehemently denied it. He had appointed himself your protector, your instructor. He endured you at your worst, still managing to teach you how to protect yourself; how to survive. You had thrown actual weapons at his head while spouting insults that he didn’t even understand. Daryl had had no problem retaliating, using any and all information he had known of you to produce digs that would make your blood boil or your eyes grow wet. Actual friendship came later and more naturally than he’d probably ever care to admit. Daryl would actually request you to accompany him on runs, trusting you enough to have his back. Your once venomous verbal attacks had softened into banter accompanied by elbow jabs and hair ruffles. You began to enjoy each other's company.

Eventually, the brush of his fingertips over your bicep as he steered you out of harm’s way had begun to send electric pulses into your skin, kickstarting a thumping of your heart that was so loud in your ears, it would drown out the pandemonium around you.  Your name from his lips would send shivers up your spine. The times you had bunked together, you found yourself stealing glances at him while he slept, kept watch, ate, worked on his crossbow. Everything he did was like seeing a unicorn. You were fascinated by him, in awe of this man who seemed to be born and molded for the end of the world. More often than not, he slept next to you, offering his warmth against the winter chill or his presence against the demons that knocked in your nightmares.  He held you while you mourned those you had lost. Daryl was quite easily your favorite person. That, and more. And that is what scared you.

“Dunno.” The archer gave a halfhearted shrug. He couldn’t claim to have never thought about what it would be like settling down with someone; having a family. Settling with you, if he was being honest. Images often invited themselves into the forefront of his mind. You wearing his ring while you chopped vegetables for a stew you were making with Carol. You would bring him a beer and perch yourself on his lap while he had a cigarette on the front porch swing of the home you shared. You’d even steal the smoke right from his lips and take a long draw before offering it back. He’d seen your belly swollen and prominent under your sundress while you hung laundry on the line in the backyard. You cradled a tiny baby in the crook of your arm, leaning so that your family could see the infant’s face. He banished the visions with a minute shake of his head, sitting up and angling to the side so he could regard you properly. “S’this ‘bout, woman?” 

Your mouth opened before snapping shut again with an audible click of your teeth. ‘Don’t chicken out now!’ Daryl’s expression was unreadable, and that alone was terrifying. All the time you had spent together, you were sure you had become fluent in Daryl Dixon. “I—” You sat up quickly, matching his position, not so much to face him but because you had needed to move before the words that were swelling in your throat came spilling out in the wrong order and ruined everything. 

“Ya alright?” Daryl ducked his head to seek out your gaze, his curiosity getting the better of him. It was a strange conversation. He bit back the urge to ask if it was ‘that time of the month.’ Once upon a time, Carol had explained to him why that was frowned upon. “S’really on your mind?”

Was he imagining things or was the distance between you dissipating?

“It’s just—”  You were chewing on your bottom lip, pulling your knees underneath you and then you were right in front of him, lowering to sit on your hip. His brow knitted, Daryl resisted the urge to move, holding his gaze on your face. He could feel your breath mingling with his own now, eyes flickering down to your lips and back to those shimmering irises. Peripherally, he could see your hands on either side of his face, hovering scant inches away. 

“Is—is this okay?” You whispered.

Daryl didn’t answer, not right away. He was too busy trying to control the overbearing thudding behind his ribs. His breathing had picked up, and he was certain he may hyperventilate right there on the spot. ‘Too close. Too close.’ Someway, somehow, he still found himself nodding. 

“Okay.” You breathed against his mouth, your lips tickling his own before meeting them in a gentle press. Your eyes fluttered closed while his widened and stared off into nothing, as if he could see right through you. Your hands finally rested against the sides of his face, your thumbs gently stroking his cheekbones. It wasn’t until your lips parted slightly that the archer snapped out of his stupor and reciprocated, placing his left hand over your right on his face while your mouths moved, slow and deliberate. 

When you pulled back, just far enough to see his expression, his eyes slowly opened (when had he closed them?). You stayed that way for several heartbeats, searching one another. Your hands were still on his face, his larger fingers slowly curling around yours before he moved both to the sliver of mattress that remained between you. 

Unfamiliar emotions swirling in his chest were making it difficult to breathe, constricting and contracting around his heart like a pulsating vice. A war was raging within him and there you were, patient and grounding while you waited for him to work through his inner turmoil. Your pretty eyes lowered as if you knew he couldn’t think while trapped under the weight of your gaze. 

“Look, Daryl—”

“Don’t.” 

You looked at him then. He was staring at your still joined hands between you, his thumb gently rubbing over your knuckles. His eyes were narrowed, a crease between his brows. He looked vaguely uncomfortable and you wanted nothing more than to reach out but something told you he wouldn’t dare let go of your hand at that moment. Several more beats of silence passed and he still hadn’t spoken another word.

You licked your suddenly dry lips, feeling an odd sense of panic. Was it time to defuse the situation? “We don’t have to talk about this.” You offered, keeping still when you felt his hand tighten around yours. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Do it again.”

“What?” It was your turn to knit your brows. 

He still didn’t look at you but he angled his head back toward you. “Again. What ya did.”

“Kiss you?” 

He gave a curt nod.

You hesitated. “Okay.” You lifted the hand he wasn’t holding to cup his cheek, slotting your mouth over his. He returned the kiss immediately this time, just as gently as before. Just as you thought of pulling back, his free hand came up to cradle the back of your head. Your eyes flew open for but a mere heartbeat before fluttering closed. You melted into the moment, only then noticing the enticing roughness of his chapped lips; the tickle of his scruffy facial hair against your skin. It was quite possibly the most tender kiss you had ever received. No clashing of tongues and teeth; only simple and soft movements of your mouths. You could easily become addicted.

He pulled back first this time, but his hand remained in your hair. Daryl tipped his head forward to touch your foreheads together. “Y/N.” He whispered, not really sure why. He just needed to say your name. The archer wasn’t sure what he was feeling. He knew how much he adored you, needed you in his life but this was too much. He felt like a raw, exposed nerve and wasn’t sure where he was supposed to go from here. 

You pulled away then and Daryl’s head snapped up to watch you. You sat up on your knees and peeled your jacket from your shoulders before tossing it onto the floor. He all but gulped, sure of where this was headed when you reached for his own jacket.

Pushing one shoulder free, you moved to the next and risked a glance at his bicep, the muscles flexing rhythmically under his skin when he lifted his arm to toss the wadded-up leather over your head. Your pulse accelerated and you took a calming breath before reaching for his vest. “You can tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” You popped the first button free and then the next, flicking your gaze up to his but he was watching the nimble movements of your fingers. “Daryl.” He looked up immediately. “All you have to do is say the word.” 

After a moment, he nodded almost imperceptibly. He watched you spread open his vest and push it from his shoulders. He shrugged it off so you could toss it over with your jacket. You sat back on your heels and grabbed the hem of your shirt, pausing for a moment to give him time to interject. When he said nothing, you pulled the garment over your head. With calculated movements, you reached for the front of his dark gray button-up, once again pausing. Daryl couldn’t bring himself to stop you. When the last button was free, you slipped your fingers under the fabric to part it. It was then that the archer felt panic bubble up into this throat, his eyes going wide. He grabbed your wrist so quickly that he hadn’t been aware of the action until he heard your gasp. “Wait—”

You stared at him, briefly alarmed before your eyes softened in understanding. The hand he wasn’t holding gently cradled his cheek. “I’ve seen them before.” 

He knew that. You had tended to so many wounds during your time together, but insecurity ensured that he acknowledged the cursed existence of the mars on his flesh. With a deep breath through his nose, his hands replaced yours to slowly rid himself of the shirt, the fringed edges of the cut-off sleeves tickling his skin. You grabbed it up and twisted your body to add the garment to the ever-growing pile. Your breath caught in your throat as his calloused fingertips brushed your skin. With a quick glance, you smiled softly at the bare curiosity in his gaze. You turned almost fully away from him while unsnapping the clasp of your bra, letting it slide down your arms and to the floor with a quiet sound. 

You looked over your shoulder, your head lowered so that only your eyes were visible. He could see the slight squint of your sparkling orbs. You were smiling at him and his heartrate quickened at the thought of seeing the expression clearly. He remained oblivious of his own expression and the fact that his rare grin and the soft whispers of his fingertips were solely responsible for the way you were looking at him. 

You turned then, returning to your knees, giving him a clear view of your smile—and your naked torso. Daryl felt the heat rise in his face and travel all the way to the tips of his ears. He’d seen a naked woman before but never so calmly; so intimately. 

You noticed his discomfort and tilted your head thoughtfully. “It’s okay to touch me, Daryl.” Your voice was quiet and soft, like you weren't sure if he’d follow through with the gentle command. 

And he didn’t. 

The archer determinedly kept his eyes on your face. It was cute but you’d never tell him so. You moved closer, the air between you scarce enough to take Daryl’s breath. Your lips ghosted over his while your fingers trekked a featherlight path down his arm before settling on his hand. You wrapped your hand around his and lifted it to place his palm on your left breast, keeping your fingers secure enough to ground him. 

“I want this.” You whispered against his mouth. You felt his fingers twitch before his thumb swept slowly over your nipple. You drew in a sharp breath and closed your eyes. Your skin felt chilled at the sudden loss of his touch when he quickly retracted his hand. Your eyes reopened to find his flickering back and forth between your gaze and your chest. 

The sudden press of his mouth on yours had you gasping again before you settled, bringing both hands to his shoulders. His fingers danced over your skin again, his other hand joining the first to stimulate both pebbled buds with gentle twists. How many nights had you dreamed of him touching you like this?

You hesitantly swept your tongue over his bottom lip before withdrawing, testing his reaction. You didn’t want to push him past his comfort level; no matter how badly you wanted him. When his mouth opened and you felt him lick against the crease of your lips, it was over. Your hands moved to his hair, fingers tangling in the greasy strands to pull him closer while you drank in the smoky taste of him. Daryl seemed to be finding a tentative level of confidence, twisting to bring one leg onto the bed, bent at the knee. His rough hands left your chest to slide down your sides, fingers hooking into your belt loops and using them to pull you closer. You let out a squeak which the archer eagerly swallowed before you broke apart, both panting. Your foreheads rested together, Daryl’s eyes closed while you scrutinized him for any sign that he may not want to venture further. 

“Daryl?”

“Will ya take these off?” He questioned hoarsely with a small tug on the loops of your pants. You answered with a nod, pulling his hands away so you could back off the mattress and stand. Daryl watched you intently, your slender fingers popping open the button before sliding down the zipper. When you had shimmied the pants down to mid-calf, you bent to undo the laces of your boots, toeing them off along with your socks. The archer couldn’t help but smirk when you straightened. Of course you weren’t wearing underwear. 

“I’ve shown you mine.  Will you show me yours?” You purred, crawling back onto the bed. 

Daryl scoffed and put his hand on your face while he stood, giving you a playful shove. You laughed quietly, but still reached for his belt. He tried to take a step back and you quickly released him. 

“Do you want to stop?” 

He was wearing that expression again, uncertainty warring with desire. He wanted you. God, did he want you in every way he could possibly have you. The heat that had begun to pool low in his belly was not unfamiliar yet unnerving. This would change everything. You could never go back to what you already had. And would you understand him? Would you accept him for all that he was?

And for all that he wasn’t?

“No.” Goddamnit, he wanted to try. He stepped forward again but you didn’t reach for him. “S’just—” he hesitated, rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck. This beautiful creature was sitting bare and you wanted him, of all people. What if he couldn’t be what you wanted? “Don’t usually care ‘bout this kinda shit.” He thought for a moment that he very well might vomit. You were sitting on your heels now, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. You looked like you were working out some complicated math problem in your head. Daryl barely suppressed his flinch when it was obvious you’d reached a conclusion. 

“Sex.” You stated matter-of-factly at the same time the first sound of a walker clumsily stumbling into the side of the cabin brought both your gazes to the door. You could barely see one another now, day having given way to night several moments ago and your one candle giving the place a gentle orange hue that neither of you sought to complain about when it was dancing across the skin of the other. There were no windows but the archer wondered if the light could be seen through the cracks in the old door, barricaded as it was. 

When the snarls and shuffling continued to pass you by, you looked to him again. Daryl was looking at the floor, any expression hidden behind the curtain of his hair. You remained quiet. He had heard you, so you would wait him out. Pushing would only make him withdraw. You sat back on your hip and pulled the dusty blanket up to cover yourself for the time being. If sex really did make him uncomfortable, having a conversation about it with your goodies saluting him from the bed would not help matters. 

“Yeah.” Daryl finally spoke after a few more moments. “S’not just—” he paused to shift his weight from one foot to the other, “just ain’t never been important ‘less Merle was chasin’ some tail. A distraction’s all it were.” He sighed, crossing his arms with his hands in his armpits. He looked so uncomfortable that it made your heart ache. 

You nodded, not even sure if he was looking at you. “When was the last—”

“‘Fore the world went to shit.”

A while then. You chewed the inside of your cheek. You suddenly felt too exposed, pulling the blanket up further. Where do you go from here? With another glance at him, there was another sharp twinge in your chest. For a man made for the end of the world, he appeared incredibly small and vulnerable right now. “Will you come sit down?”

From the way he angled his head, you could tell he looked at you. A heartbeat passed and he dropped his arms, his footfalls near silent as he approached the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight and you found he chose to sit surprisingly close to you. Your knees were barely pressed against his hip. 

You were still utterly naked under that old blanket; your heartrate had picked up speed at his proximity. You couldn’t tell if you were anxious or aroused and you wondered if you should get dressed and deal with the latter on your own once you returned home instead of pressing him further. “Do you want to keep talking about this?” You gently probed. 

“Not really,” was his immediate response. Your mouth opened to comfort him but he cut you off. “Guess we have to, though.”

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Nah, s’okay. D’rather talk to you ‘bout it than anyone else.” 

You smiled softly and felt confident enough to reach for his hand. Your movement brought his head to turn toward you and he didn’t flinch away when your fingertips brushed his. After a moment, your tongue darted out to wet your lips and you took a breath. “Since the end, have you ever, you know? With yourself?” 

He seemed to deflate, the shake of his head so minute that you would have missed it had you not been so keenly observing him. 

“Do you ever have the urge to?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Somethin’s wrong with me.”

“Daryl.” He looked up at you, blue eyes piercing through his dark hair. It hit you like a freight train. “There is nothing wrong with you.” You could only imagine how he must have felt around his brother. How isolated, how different. You wondered if he had ever told his brother, but decided against asking. “A lot of people just aren’t that into sex, old world and new one.” His steady gaze never wavered. You smiled and let go of his hand to brush his hair away from his left eye before wrapping your fingers around his once again. “You’re just Daryl. And that’s more than okay.”

“Huh.” He muttered after a moment, eyes darting back and forth between yours. 

“If it’s okay to ask though,” you ventured. Your bottom lip tucked firmly between your teeth, you squeezed his hand, “how were you feeling just now? With me?” You added with a shaky breath. He didn’t retreat, so that was good. You still didn’t want to push him into anything he didn’t want, but rather help him figure out what it was he did want; sort through his feelings. If he turned you down, you would be disappointed, of course. But his comfort, his safety, and well-being; those came first. If you could never have him in that way, you would live with that. 

“I, uh—it weren’t a bad feelin’.”

So it was a good feeling? Maybe? Shit. Now what? “Okay, okay.” you nodded. “Do you want to call it a night then and just—”

“No.”

His hand squeezed yours so fast that you nearly squeaked in surprise. You did, however, let go of the blanket you held against your chest with the other hand. “Sorry,” you mumbled, pulling the fabric up once again before Daryl grabbed your wrist. You watched him chew on his lip, his eyes overflowing with something you had never seen there before. 

“Wanna try. I‘ve wanted to try with ya for a long time.” His Adam’s Apple bobbed while he swallowed around the words. “If ya ain’t changed your mind.” The statement came out more like a question, his voice quieter with a slight tremble. 

I‘ve wanted ta try with ya fer a long time.

You felt the swirling motion of butterflies in your stomach, your heartrate skyrocketing as you allowed the blanket to fall. Moving slowly, you twisted your wrist in his grip to clasp his hand and pressed forward to throw a leg over his lap. Sitting on his thighs, you gently took hold of both his hands and placed them on the curve of your hips. “We’ll take this slow, okay?” You reached to push back his hair so his eyes were visible. He gave a jerky nod, fingers twitching against your skin. 

“Alright.”

You cupped his face and brought your mouths together once again. This time, there was no hesitance when you opened up to him and beckoned his tongue. The gentle push and pull of the kiss lasted until the need for air became dire, and Daryl pulled away from you only to ghost open-mouthed whispers across your jaw and down to your pulse. Your fingers moved to his hair again and your head fell back, offering the expanse of your throat to him. He nipped and lapped at the flesh between your ear and the junction of your shoulder, earning a breathy moan when he latched on to tattoo a kiss onto the surface. The archer couldn’t help but shiver and moved his hands to splay them open across your spine, tipping you so his mouth could properly explore the valley between your breasts. 

His tongue and lips wandered aimlessly, and he found himself perfectly content in connecting the myriad of freckles that were littered across there. He found all of them adorable, especially the ones that traveled around the rims of your ears. Maybe he’d tell you that one day soon. Like this, he could almost forget the anxiety attempting to claw its way through his ribcage and get lost in warmth of your skin beneath his lips and at the mercy of his tongue. He moved slowly, probably too slowly but eh, he was rusty. He barely remembered any of the other experiences and, truthfully, he didn’t care to in the least. He would be more than fine pretending they had never happened.

“Daryl.”

He shivered at the sound of his name falling from those lips. The same ones that were parted and panting while fingers twisted in his hair, urging him onward. He kissed across the swell of your right breast, tongue teasing a circle around the nipple before he pulled it between his teeth and bit down. The sound you made was intoxicating and he was plenty willing to elicit more of the same from you just before he felt your hips press down and grind against him, successfully making him see stars and release his hold on you in favor of hissing between his teeth. 

Feeling him go rigid, you sat up straight, breathing heavily. “What’s wrong?” You panted, tucking his hair behind his ears while searching his face for answers. “Are you okay?” 

Daryl blinked a few times before finally realizing you were talking to him in close proximity. “Uh—yeah. Yeah, m’fine.”

You narrowed your eyes. He was still completely tense, his fingers digging into your back with enough force to bruise. “Do you want to stop?” 

“No. S’just—”

“Just what?” You watched him closely. So far, he’d yet to move but then his hands were sliding down your back to firmly grasp your hips and— “Oh. Oh!” Sudden understanding rang clear when proof of his desire for you could be felt through the fabric of his trousers. Your brain warred between smugness and sympathy. You had made him feel that way but it had been so long that it had taken him by surprise. “What do you want to do from here?” Whisking away a section of hair that had fallen back into his face, you otherwise remained still. 

“Get up.” He stated hoarsely. It came out a little rougher than he’d meant, but you’d obeyed so he wouldn’t linger on it. 

You sat in the center of the bed and watched him stand. You were grateful for what little you had done, for the things he had shared with you. If this was how he chose to end the scenario, you would smile and support him fully. There could be a next time. He was obviously attracted to you. This was enough. Whatever he felt comfortable giving you was enough. 

Crawling to the top of the old bed, you pulled down the covers on the other side before reaching for your discarded clothing. You stopped less than halfway through the motion when you heard the zipper of his pants. Looking back to him, you found him toeing off his boots while his undone trousers remained on his hips. For the moment. 

“Daryl?”

“C’mere.” He beckoned you with a finger, curling it under your chin as you crawled closer. The archer bent to meet you halfway and captured your lips in a desperate embrace, pushing down his trousers and stepping out of them. The kiss continued even as he struggled to remove one sock at a time, balancing on one leg and causing you to giggle against his mouth. “Shuddup.” He retorted with no real heat. Finally both hands came to cradle your face and gently pull your back. 

“You okay?” You slurred, eyes dark and lips swollen. 

“Yeah.” Daryl tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to catch his breath as he took a moment to just drink you in. “S’not gonna be—”

“I don’t care.” Careful to keep your eyes on his face, you guided him to sit with his back against the headboard, throwing a leg across his lap to hover over him. It would be over quickly. That was a given. But that wasn't the point. “I want whatever you’ll give me, Dixon.” You kissed him gently. “I just want you.”

“Yeah?” The corners of his mouth twitched up into a ghost of a smile. “Ya got me, woman.” 

You both groaned as you lowered onto him, Daryl’s face twisting into such a grimace of barely contained pleasure that you were surprised it wasn’t already over for him. “You good?” Your voice sounded small and breathless even to your own ears, but Daryl’s didn’t seem to be working at all. He gave a jerky nod and pulled you toward him, your foreheads meeting as you both breathed through the new feeling. “Let’s just—stay like this for now, yeah?” Another barely there nod, bumping your heads together. 

Your eyes drifted toward the wall when a walker stumbled into the building. Daryl flinched but didn’t move.  It was hard to ignore a threat that close but as long as you remained quiet, that wall would remain between you and the undead shambling along outside. 

Another tender kiss to his lips before you trailed along his jaw, feeling him exhale shakily against your neck. You allowed your mouth to roam further, your tongue dipping out to taste the salt of his skin over his pulse. You could feel it racing away there, almost vibrating. His fingers flexed on your hips, his breaths now coming in shallow pants. There was a slight tremble to his frame making it clear you couldn’t remain this way much longer lest he combust. You pulled away, cupping his face for your thumbs to gently rub over his cheekbones. You didn’t need to say anything. He nodded in spite of the silence. 

Your breath caught in your throat when you moved, releasing as a low moan as your eyes fluttered closed. He felt sublime. Judging by the choked off noise that came from Daryl, he was feeling exactly the same about you. You kept your movements slow and deliberate. Soon enough, he was rocking up to meet you. 

“You, I—” He was gritting his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead and running down to his chin to drip onto his chest. Still rocking, you placed your finger over his lips and then replaced it with your own. 

“I know. It’s okay.” You whispered. He pushed back on your hips, moving you off of him. You wrapped your fingers around him, pumping in slow, languid strokes. There was a mere heartbeat before he gathered you against him with your arm trapped between you, every muscle and tendon frozen hard in blissful agony with a breathy moan of your name against your shoulder. Oh, how you wished you could see his face as he came undone. His warmth flooded over your hand and onto both your stomach and his, his hold unyielding even as his body twitched and shook while you gently coaxed him down from his high with hushed reassurances and tender kisses against his neck. When the spasms stopped and his hold loosened, you gave him a few moments of just resting against you to catch his breath while your fingers carded idly through his hair. 

“How're you doing, Dixon?” You broke the silence with a calm whisper, slightly leaning away to encourage him to move. Daryl carefully laid back against the headboard, eyes still closed and looking more relaxed than you’d ever seen him. “Hey.”

His tired blue eyes slowly opened, blinking lazily before settling on you. “Hey.” When he brought up a hand to graze his knuckles over your cheek, it seemed to be too heavy for him to hold long. His arm fell back to the bed a moment later. “M’sorry.” He mumbled, a furious blush deepening the color of his already flushed face. 

“For?”

He scoffed. “Obvious, ain’t it?” 

“It was perfect.” When he grunted in response, you laughed quietly. You smiled, kissed his cheek, then you crawled off of him. Before he could even focus on the mess left behind, you had returned with a packet of WetWipes from your pack. They were expired and not very damp but got the job done. 

It was hard not to focus on your touch while you worked, so he opted to reach for a strand of your hair, curling it around his finger tightly. You carried on cleaning both of you up like it was just a natural thing, Daryl’s face reddening once again when you went about wiping him down like you had seen him naked a hundred times. 

He leaned toward you to reach for your shoulder, sliding his fingertips over your warm skin. You grasped his hand to press a gentle but chaste kiss to his palm before standing to retrieve your clothes. You were smiling when you turned back. 

You were pulling your shirt down over your head as Daryl fastened his belt and sat down on the mattress to lace up his boots. Sleeping naked was not an option when beyond the walls of your home unless you didn’t mind leaving those things behind and showing up at the gates in the nude. 

Opting to leave your jacket on the floor, you crawled up to the pillow and laid down. Daryl did the final checks to make sure everything was secure and then returned to sit against the headboard, clearly offering to take first watch. For a man that had just experienced his first orgasm in years, he sure was tense. 

“Why don’t I take first?” You offered. You climbed up to mimic his position. Daryl looked like he might argue but soon nodded and moved down the bed putting his left arm behind his head.  

Finding just a smidge of courage, you reached over to toy with a long strand of his hair. “So.”

“So?” He titled his head back a little to look up at you. 

“That a—one time thing?” 

The archer lowered his head again, looking back to the ceiling directly above him. “Did ya want it to be?”

“Nope.” 

“Then it weren’t.” 

“Good.” 

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Do it again in the mornin’?”

“Absolutely.”

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

So, I was curious about this tidbit from the Patch 5 notes and I haven't seen anyone talk about it. Turns out one of my favourite new bits of content related to my favourite character is hidden behind betraying her in the most horrid way possible. Ugh.

It used to be that if you sided with Lorroakan in the Nightsong quest, you, him, and all the elemental myrmidons (and possibly Rolan) would just fight Aylin alone - a fight that obviously lasted one round, tops, and I think could only serve to make you feel bad about what you've just done.

Now, however, a really cool thing happens - Mum Gets Fucking Pissed. And four of Aylin's cool older celestial cousins (a nice new take on Slivers for my ol' 3e heart) come down to help her in the fight.

Amusingly, they put Aylin in timeout in a moon-flavoured Globe of Invulnerability every turn, which also makes her unable to attack or do much, even with her trusty moonbeam.

So you need to break their concentration (often on more than one of them at a time) in order to be able to even touch Aylin. Everyone being very angry and protective of her is A+++.

A good roll of that 12d12 can just delete characters instantly. Beautiful.

Aylin also gets some very direct buffs, primarily Hug From Mum, and we have waited far, far too long for that:

I just found this oddly touching, that she gets to have at least this bit of very outright reassurance, even if it is under rather horrible circumstances. And ironic, of course, that if you help her and triumph with her in glorious combat (Lo!) against yet another bastard would-be captor, she doesn't, and is left to grapple with her anger and doubt and nascent feelings of abandonment:

Player: Let his demise serve as a warning to anyone else who'd seek you out. Dame Aylin: Let him be the last. If my dear mother has any mercy, she will ensure it. [Trying to stay her usual self, but her mask is cracking a tiny bit here. Privately, Aylin is dealing with a great deal of anger toward her mother, the goddess Selûne, but she's not yet willing to face it. How could her powerful mother let all this happen to her?]

Or the more determined-sounding but depressingly "no rest for the glorious Sword of the Silverlight" variants you can get if Isobel is alive:

[thankssteveditko]

Sony's PlayStation 5 Presents Insomniac's Marvel's Spider-Man 2 (the third game in the series)

I beat the main story and have enjoyed my time with the game overall! I want to talk about spoilers and things that I liked and disliked in the story, so here's a post with some scattered thoughts.

(Hello! I haven't forgotten that this blog exists! Like I said, no update schedule, I will read more of the Lee/Ditko comics whenever I make time for it. I've actually been sitting on a mostly-complete version of this post since I beat the game in October, thinking that I'd finish the rest of the side quests so I could throw in thoughts on those. But... eh, I'll do that whenever the inevitable DLC rolls around. I just wanna get these thoughts posted.)

Spider-Cop No More

First off: they downplayed the cop shit!!! This was the first thing that really struck me about the game, and I'm stunned that they actually listened to criticism on this. I thought we'd just be stuck with it forever.

It'll never be completely gone, of course. Spider-Man is always going to leave criminals webbed up for the police to take to prison, hoping that they'll do their time and come out the other side as Productive Members of Society. That's just a thing I begrudgingly accept as part of the genre that will probably never go away. But Spider-Man is no longer repairing police surveillance networks. You're no longer beating the shit out of random drug dealers. Gangs of escaped convicts still wearing their orange jumpsuits are no longer terrorizing the streets of New York.

Instead, Peter and Miles are played more as firefighters. Sometimes very literally! They work with firefighters, they rescue people from collapsing buildings, they rush injured people to the hospital. In general there's a huge increase in the number of random onlookers present during the big action setpieces, and the Spider-Men frequently have to save them from harm. One of the major side quest lines is even literally about a cult of arsonists, and you'll routinely find burning fuel tanker trucks you have to extinguish with your webs. It's great! Love this for them.

I also generally liked the side missions in this. There's a lot of good stuff with the Spider-Men being neighborhood heroes willing to help out anyone in need, no matter the problem. Some of them can get corny, sure, but that street level stuff has always been the real heart of Spider-Man to me.

Gameplay

The gameplay's as fun as ever. That probably goes without saying. I will not be spending a thousand words explaining that swinging is fun.

In particular, I really liked the changes to the Focus mechanic. I never loved the way Miles' game made you choose between healing and doing your special attacks, but here your four specials have their own cooldowns, and the Focus meter is spent on either healing or finishers. It still offers that risk/reward element, but those vicious cycles where you can't do any real damage because you keep needing to heal aren't nearly as bad as they were before.

Personally I didn't turn off the swing assist or turn on fall damage, because the streamlined swinging never bothered me in these games, but I'm glad the options are there for people who want them.

Kraven

I liked Kraven in this! I liked the way they leaned into his Hunters being this weird death cult, and him wanting to go down in a blaze of glory against a worthy foe, to the point that he's actually disappointed anytime a foe can't kill him. It riffs on things people liked in Kraven's Last Hunt without being the exact same story. I like that Kraven's gang is renting out this manor or whatever and just being a complete terror to the wait staff. I liked the way Kraven hunting Peter's rogues' gallery clashed with Peter's belief in giving his villains second chances. I liked that they were willing to have Kraven kill off a couple of the minor villains from the first game to sell how dangerous he is. (I know some people hated this, but like, come on. We already fought the Sinister Six. They don't need to do that again.) I like the way Kraven pushed Peter to the absolute brink, turning him more and more aggressive with the Black Suit. Good stuff all around, even if the Hunter enemy types did wear out their welcome a little bit by the end.

The Black Suit arc

I think I liked the way Insomniac handled Peter's Black Suit arc overall, but there's a tradeoff here.

They REALLY lean into the body horror tentacle stuff, with Black Suit Peter basically just being a skinny Venom by the end. The sequence where you play as Mary Jane while the symbiote puppets an unconscious Peter's body around and goes on a rampage against the Hunters was REALLY great at selling how scary Peter is becoming, and it made me completely change my tune on the inclusion of the MJ stealth missions in the sequel. Having to beat an out-of-control Peter as Miles immediately after Peter beats Kraven was also really good. This is all cool!

BUT, the thing is... with the symbiote powers being so freaky from the start, it really pushes my suspension of disbelief when Peter and co. take so long to become wary of it. I guess when you've been bitten by a radioactive spider and given superpowers, and when you live in the same universe as the Avengers and the X-Men, your perception of what's "normal" is going to be pretty warped. But they buy the whole "organic exosuit created to treat Harry's illness" story WAY too easily lmao. How do the self-aware slime tentacles help with his illness, exactly?

And I'm not sure how I feel about giving Peter Anti-Venom powers in the last act. It feels like it's primarily a concession so that they can give players that branch of their skill tree back, but honestly, the designer in me thinks it would be really cool (if risky) to just permanently lock players out of Peter's most powerful skills past a certain point. Yeah, it'd definitely piss people off, but it drives home the idea that Peter's given up greater power because it's the right thing to do. It'd put you in his shoes! Instead he just gets the symbiote powers back, but it's fine because the Venom voice in his head is gone and also the slime tendrils that explode out of his body are white now, which means they're good.

I have to say it. I'm sorry. The glistening white goo... they turned Peter into the Amazing Cum-Man. I changed back to the Classic Suit after rolling the credits and forgot I still had the Anti-Venom skills equipped, so I just saw regular old Spider-Man exploding his white goo everywhere. Terrible.

Assuming Peter is just stepping into more of a supporting role to Miles and not fully retiring after the events of this game, I really hope the Anti-Venom stuff is gone. I get that he needed it to counter Venom, but that's not what I want for Peter Parker.

Miles

Miles is good in this, and I really like his arc where he struggles with whether or not he should avenge his dad by killing Martin Li. I like how all that plays out. Unfortunately, they don't quite stick the landing when it comes to making him and Peter feel like equals in terms of narrative focus. His arc is definitely the B-plot to Peter's for the middle chunk of the story, which I guess was kind of inevitable since they decided to do the Black Suit arc. But Miles does at least get a lot of moments to shine, and by the end he's very much taking the lead as the main Spider-Man.

Becoming the main Spider-Man also gets Miles a new, wholly original suit that ended up being super controversial, and honestly... I kinda like it? Or at least I like what it's going for, even if the actual design could still use some work. It's something totally unique for Miles, and I like spandex/streetwear combo suits like what the Spider-Verse movies have popularized. But showing his hair is really pushing the limits of his secret identity. He hangs around Brooklyn Visions WAY too much for his classmates to not recognize his voice and haircut. And I understand why people would be wary about it becoming his "canon" look moving forward. But I think it's got potential.

On the subject of Miles, though, I will say that while I liked Miles' side missions, it feels like he's often saddled with the game's broad, kinda touristy, kinda token attempts at Showcasing The Diversity Of New York, in a way that Peter isn't.

I like that Miles has a deaf graffiti artist girlfriend that he and Ganke sign with, and I like that there's a series of side missions that explore some local jazz history, and I like that there's a mission where Miles helps a gay classmate ask his crush to prom. I like all these things! I like Spider-Man being involved with his community, and that said community includes such a wide variety of people! I like that this game slows down to savor these types of moments instead of just being all action all the time! But when I step back, I notice some patterns.

Hailey doesn't have a big role in the main plot, especially when compared to MJ, but Miles gets a side mission where you briefly play as her with muffled audio to teach you what being deaf is like. There are no major queer characters in the story - unless you count Felicia showing up for exactly one mission to mention she has an unseen, unnamed girlfriend in Paris now - but you get a side mission where Miles helps out a gay couple at his school, who then never come up again. To put it very uncharitably, they can feel like Very Special Episode missions. It's like the devs going: we're going to give Miles a Gay Mission, and an Impaired Hearing Mission, and a Cultural History Mission, so that we can say we touched on these things, but we're gonna make them all optional and keep them far away from the full-blown Superhero Stuff like fighting costumed villains. Those flavors cannot mix. Meanwhile, Peter gets to have a whole elaborate subplot about teaming up with Wraith to track down fucking Cletus Kasady. There's an imbalance here, and I think it's part of the reason why Peter still feels like the "main" Spider-Man for so much of the story.

I think this was all written with admirable intentions, but as others have pointed out, you can kinda tell that this game was mainly written by some white guys based in California. These attempts at depicting various marginalized groups can feel kind of detached in the same way that Insomniac's map of New York doesn't quite line up with the real thing. But I dunno. I'm not really the one to dig deep into some of this stuff as a white woman from Florida. I would be curious to read others' takes on this.

Maybe I'm just being overly cynical about the writers' well-meaning but corny and kinda out of touch liberal politics because of the podcasts.

The podcasters

I wish Jameson was in this more! They psyched us out by giving him a full character model for, like, two scenes. I like him being MJ's boss, but I wish we saw inside the Daily Bugle offices to get more Jameson.

At least his podcasts are better than the ones in the Miles game, though. Him completely trusting in Roxxon was just too much for me. Here he condemns Oscorp for the symbiote shit, and he also gets some moments where he takes the ongoing crises seriously and isn't just ranting about the Spider-Men. He isn't just a conspiracy theorist crackpot here. Shit like his "fuck Spider-Man, we have a justice system for a reason" speech makes him feel more like a human being with a point of view, rather than just a caricature. Definitely an improvement.

Unfortunately, I still find The Danikast grating. I'm sorry, Ashly Burch. It's not your fault. The quirky heckin' wholesome millennial podcaster lady who catches you up on current events and then reminds you to drink 64 ounces of water a day in the same breath is just too much for me. At least she doesn't have any lines as bad as her throwing in a "damn" and then going (direct quote here) "That's right - no censoring! That's how REAL I'm being right now!" like in Miles' game. Instead they give her this, like, almost psychic insight into the main plot to try and make her the angel on Peter's shoulder. The second Peter gets the symbiote she's like "Wow, y'all. Have you seen Spider-Man's new black suit? Something's different about him. He's been giving me such bad vibes lately. #NotMySpiderMan" Also she's supposed to be this, like, underdog independent podcaster who started her show on a whim and has become the voice of the people... but she's got billboards plastered all over the fucking city. Which makes her feel like an industry plant lmao

Again, there's a detachment with the writing. This is, like, some middle aged white liberal game dev guys' idea of what a modern leftist teenager would think is a Cool Activism Podcast. Unfortunately, because Insomniac thinks Danika's a hero, Mary Jane's triumphant ending is that she quits her job at the Bugle to become a podcaster, too, delivering a thinly veiled monologue about the pandemic to kick off her new podcast literally titled "The New Normal." She's going to save the world with podcasting, because that's the highest form of activism, I guess.

Venom

So! Venom! Venom was... okay.

Surprising no one, Harry Osborn is Venom. Harry's okay both as himself and as Venom, but I'm not sure his arc is a smooth one. He starts out as Peter's comically perfect best friend who returns to reminisce about the good ol' days and hand him his dream job on a silver platter, and then later he becomes a little ball of rage over the fact that Peter gets his symbiote and can't/won't give it back. I'm not sure that pivot is handled the most convincingly. You kind of have to write it off as the symbiote messing with their heads, I guess.

When he actually becomes Venom, I'm... mixed on the execution. On the one hand, the cool factor is absolutely there. He's a very cool big monster, and Tony Todd is great in the role. But he also wants to take over the world and make everyone a symbiote, and aside from any lingering resentment towards Peter, that's really all there is to him. It makes for a good video game to have a bunch of symbiote enemies and creepy symbiote nests and symbiote tentacles climbing up the sides of buildings in the last act... but is that really what I want out of Venom? Probably not. But he sure does look cool as a big monster guy to fight, and I was happy he was briefly playable.

Suits

Part of me feels like there's something lacking about the suit selection here, but almost every suit I liked in the previous games is back, and also I'm the type of person to give Peter the Classic Suit the second I unlock it and use that for most of the game. So does it really matter for me?

Peter's selection feels dominated by the various live action movie suits, but I get that those are going to be some of the suits people want to wear the most. I wish he had the Peter B. Parker skin to go with Miles' Spider-Verse alts, though. No idea why it's missing. Really I think I mainly just want more of the Spider-Verse designs.

Also I've complained about how most of the original suits designed for these games make Peter and Miles look like they were bitten by radioactive Alienware products, but I can just, you know. Wear other suits.

Misc thoughts

Everyone's already made this joke, but it's extremely funny that the Avengers didn't help with the symbiote invasion. Took one look at that and decided it wasn't their problem

On the subject of other superheroes, I do wish these games would acknowledge the Fantastic Four more. Peter's close relationship with that team feels woefully underutilized in his various adaptations

I like the trope of a boss fight that's a heightened version of a personal conflict between two people who are close, where throughout the fight the boss is airing out their grievances while the hero tries to get through to them emotionally. That especially works for Spider-Man! But WOW has Insomniac played that card a lot of times by the end of Spider-Man 2 lol

They're teasing the addition of Silk, I guess? I'm gonna be honest, I don't know shit about Silk, but I guess it was inevitable that they'd give us some form of Spider-Woman at some point. Gotta work all those costumes in somehow, and they're not brave enough to let one of the boys cosplay as Spider-Gwen.

They WERE, however, brave enough to let Harry say he loves Peter. I liked that little moment. They presumably meant it platonically, but clearly ol' Yaoi Lowenthal knows what's up

Post-leak addendum

So, obviously, by the time I got around to finishing this post the big Insomniac leak happened. I wish the game industry wasn't so secretive that it took a massive, dangerous data breach just to get our hands on some very basic info that would be public knowledge if Insomniac was a film studio, but here we are.

We now know that Insomniac spent somewhere around $315 million making Spider-Man 2 - triple what the first Spider-Man game cost to make. A quote about this from a leaked presentation has been stuck in my head ever since I first saw it on Twitter. “Is 3x the investment in [Spider-Man 2] evident to anyone who plays the game?”

To be honest, I'm not sure it is.

I liked Spider-Man 2, but I'd probably say that overall I liked it about as much as the first game. It's certainly a somewhat bigger game, with marginally more realistic looking graphics thanks to the power of the PS5. But I think I could do without ray tracing and more realistic hair rendering and whatnot if it meant that these games didn't take like five years and hundreds of millions of dollars to make. I could not give less of a shit if the swinging animations were recycled between games. I'd be fine with them being shorter, too.

I like these games, but as we look at that leaked project lineup and realize that Insomniac is turning into The Marvel Game Studio, I think about how many smaller, more original games that those resources could go towards if they scaled back the Marvel stuff just a bit. How many Ape Escapes or Patapons or Gravity Rushes could get made for the budget of just one of these massive AAA tentpole games of Sony's, which are apparently barely even breaking even? How many could be made for the budget of the "smaller, cheaper" Miles Morales game, which somehow cost $156 million to make despite using an updated version of the same Manhattan map from the first game? Hell, how many smaller games could have been made with the $39 million that went into remastering the first Spider-Man game for PS5 a mere two years after launch? How many people will lose their jobs if any one of Insomniac's upcoming Marvel games underperforms - which, in this case, could mean selling "only" 5 million copies? And would hardcore PlayStation fans even accept those smaller games at this point, now that they've been trained to only appreciate mega-budget Prestige Games with cutting edge graphics and treat everything else with disdain? How much worse will this get as the graphical arms race continues?

I think I just miss Japan Studio. Fuck Sony. Uhh but anyway the Spider-Man game this post was supposed to be about was good, some writing complaints aside. 8/10

[dragoncat-07]

Date Pictures: part 2

{This is a continuation from the first one because I had a really cute idea for Charlie showing Vaggie the photo album. It was also an excuse to describe some funny scenes}

(Charlie runs upstairs and knocks on the door before entering to see Vaggie seated on the bed polishing her spear)

Vaggie: (looks up to see Charlie standing in the doorway) Hey hun. Did you talk to Angel?

Charlie: I did. And he gave me something. (Shakes the album)

Vaggie: (motions to the album in Charlie’s hands) was it that?

Charlie: (nods) he apparently has been following us for a while.

Vaggie: (stands up and grips her spear) I am going to kill him.

Charlie: (blocks the doorway completely) before you do that. Look at the pictures. They may change your mind.

Vaggie: (plops back down on the bed) fine

(Charlie closes the door and goes to sit beside Vaggie as she shows her the photos. Vaggie lets out a slight gasp of surprise as she sees all the pictures of her and Charlie out on dates)

Vaggie: Charlie, hun, how long has he been following us exactly?

Charlie: (looks embarrassed) he has apparently been following us on 95% of our dates since the last extermination.

Vaggie: (lunges up, shouting) ANGEL, TE VOY A MATAR, JODER [I am going to fucking kill you]

Charlie: (jumps in front of Vaggie before she can leave) Vaggie, calm down. Angel was just trying to give us a gift. Sure it required a stalking element but he did it for us.

Vaggie: (huffs) fine, let’s just look at the rest of the photos.

(The two women return to the bed and look down at the album)

Vaggie: (looking down at the picture of them at Hell Bell) oh, I remember this. You ended up with lava hot sauce all over your suit.

Charlie: (laughing) I remember that. It took three washes to get it all out.

Vaggie: Actually it was four. I rewashed it the second time to try and get the stain out.

Charlie: (giggles, looking down at another photo. This one of them feeding ducks down as one of the few parks that didn’t have trash everywhere) This one was fun.

Vaggie: (looks at the photo Charlie is pointing to and laughs) yeah right. Those ducks were so desperate for the seeds they pulled me into the pond. (Vaggie points to the picture next to it that shows her being dragged into the water by hungry ducks)

Charlie: (laughs) I had to dive in to save you. I never would have guessed you had trouble swimming. Oh (point to a photo) remember this?

Vaggie: Yeah. This was when you took us to Lu Lu World.

Charlie: (points to a picture where they are boarding a rollercoaster with Vaggie looking around suspiciously while tightly gripping her spear) you were so paranoid that something would go wrong you made them let you take your spear with you (doubles over with laughter)

Vaggie: (laughs) the one time nothing goes wrong is when we’re prepared.

(Both of them turn as they hear a knock on the door and Angel pokes his head in)

Angel: So does all the laughter mean ya like the gift?

Charlie: (looks over at Vaggie and then back at Angel) Angel, I love it.

Vaggie: (suppresses a smile) Alright, you’re off the hook this time.

Angel: Yes! See your majesty, told you they’d love it!

Charlie/Vaggie: Wait what!?

Lucifer: (yelling up from the parlor) yeah I knew they would love it.

Charlie: (gasps) Dad! You knew about this!

Vaggie: Well at least it was a good gift.

Charlie: right (stands up and ushers Angel out of the room as she shuts the door) why don’t we keep looking at these.

Vaggie: Yeah hun, I think that’s a great idea.

[mythicalmaven]

Beyond Boundaries - Oscar Piastri (PART SEVEN)

Masterlist

Time for chapter 7! The chapter I am sure that a lot of you have waited for! Hehe! I also added a few social media elements into the chapter, which I think turned out nice! But, don't worry, it's still mostly just words <3 and I'm honestly OBSESSED with this chapter! Can’t wait for chapter 8!

↳pairing: oscar piastri x female!norris!reader ↳word count: 5K ↳chapters in this series: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven ↳chapter warnings: friends to lovers, brothers teammate trope, bestfriend!reader, fluff, smut, NSFW, 18+ content (mdni!), fingering, handjob, praising, explicit sexual content!, sex, p in v, first time together

↳series summary: Since Oscar joined McLaren as your brother’s teammate, you two have quickly become best friends. Recently promoted to be Oscar’s physiotherapist, you both relish the opportunity to spend more time together. However, as the new role brings you closer, you both realize you might be feeling more a little more for each other than just friendship

The sun peeked through the curtains of Oscar's bedroom when you felt yourself slowly waking up, slowly opening your eyes, you realized you were still laying in Oscar's bed, without Oscar tho. He must have gotten out of bed earlier.

You reached for your phone on the nightstand next to the bed. Immediately noticing two text notifications, one from Lando and one from Oscar.

You clicked on Oscar's text and smiled as you read it. He texted you good morning, as well as saying he was downstairs to grab the both of you some coffee. It was cute, the effort he was putting into everything.

After you replied to Oscar that you just woke up, thanked him for the coffee and told him that you'd see him in a bit, you opened your text notification from your brother, immediately knowing something was up, so you start typing back to him

After your last text, you immediately opened Instagram, typing the designated username in your search bar. Once you've reached their profile, you click on the post to check the pictures from up close.

You honestly had no idea what to do now. The PR team was gonna be very very busy to fix this whole ordeal, because you either had to come up with some very devious lie to convince people that you were not the girl in question or you had to convince people that the boy in question wasn't Oscar. And to be fair, neither of them seemed like a an achievable solution.

You kept staring at the comments, reading them all. Some even more shocking than the other. Let's just say that this was not the way you expected to wake up after a night of sleeping in Oscar's childhood home.

Talking about Oscar, he just walked back into his room, confronted with your blown pupils and beet red face.

"Are you okay?" Oscar asked placing the two cups of coffee on his nightstand, before carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed, looking towards you "You're bright red, are you feeling sick?" he asked, worry lacing his tone.

You shook your head and handed Oscar your phone, showing his the post you've been staring at for the past 5 minutes.

f1gossip

liked by username1, username2 and others

f1gossip Oscar Piastri spotted making out with a mystery girl right outside a nightclub in Melbourne last Sunday👀 The girl has not been identified yet, but according to a few sources, the mystery girl might be none other than Y/n Norris (featured in the last picture), considering she was seen leaving the same nightclub as Oscar and her outfit potentially matches the one from the mystery girl👀

tagged: oscarpiastri and yourusername

view all comments

username1 EXCUSE ME

f1.content.2024 Holy fuck man, we knew that Oscar was a hot lad, but him making out looks even hotter🫠

user8290 no one can convince me that this isn't y/n😱 ↳ oscarpiastrifan81 I KNOW RIGHT ↳ username2 i don't know about you, but i kinda ship it

f1addict231 i can guarantee you, that is not Y/n Norris😂 ↳ user437 hahaha are you blind? ↳ norrisgirlie290 girl, even a blind person could recognize y/n in this

username3 Oscar dating Lando's little sister, y'all are delusional🤨

user41 no clue who she is, but i'm her now😍 ↳ username9183 for real tho, when I saw this i was like: GIRL, HOW DOES IT FEEL TO LIVE MY DREAM

piastrisgirl21 I highly doubt that's her 👀🤔

"Oh fuck" he muttered, feeling a little embarrassed by the fact that the press had caught them. They would have been fine if it they limited their kissing to just inside the hotel room, since there was pretty much no media there, but both of them apparently were too drunk to realize that kissing outside of the club was everything but smart.

Oscar must admit tho, that aside from the shame he was feeling of getting caught, seeing the pictures of them also making butterflies rise in his stomach. An immediate blush creeping onto his face.

"What should we do?" you asked, sounding a little nervous.

Oscar didn't really know either, not sure at least "Well, I think we should at least call my PR manager, because I honestly have no idea what else is smart"

"What do we say to her tho?" you wondered, not really knowing how to come up with a solution that would work.

"Well, we've gotta decide if we wanna lie to her and just say that it was me with another girl" he suggested, pursing his lip a little nervous "Or we tell her the truth, and just tell her that it indeed was us. But that we were wasted and did something stupid"

Before you had the time to process your emotions and react to it, Oscar felt his phone ring. He reached inside his pocket and took out his phone "Speaking of the devil.." he began, nervously looking at his phone "What do I tell her?" he stammered, wanting to be sure that you agree with what he was going to say.

"It's okay, Osc. I'm fine with both" you replied, before quickly getting up from the bed "While you answer that phone call, I'll go to the bathroom real quick" you said, before walking towards his bathroom.

Once you were out of sight, Oscar pressed the button to accept the call, lifting the phone to his ear "Hello" he softly spoke.

"OSCAR PIASTRI, for fucks sake. Care to explain?" he heard her ask on the phone. She was agitated, that was clear and totally understandable "And don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about, because it's all over social media. And with Y/n?"

Oscar sighed, knowing that they have been stupid. Still contemplating on what he should tell her. If he should be honest or if he should come up with a lie. He continued to listen to his pr manager rambling about the fact that she expected these things from Lando, but not from him. And that they were already busy enough with Lando's way of presenting himself in public sometimes, that she didn't feel like having the same issue with Oscar too.

Oscar took a deep breath, before looking down at his lap "It's all just a big misunderstanding. The girl in the pictures with me is not Y/n. They were just coincidentally wearing similar clothing" he lied, his face feeling warm, because he absolutely hated lying "I was drunk and made a mistake, I admit that in all honesty. But the girl in the picture is not Y/n.."

"You honestly expect me to believe that? Everyone that knows Y/n, can recognize her. The tattoo on the back of her arm is showing in one of the pictures, Oscar..." she said, immediately seeing right through his lie "Any random girl would be totally fine, that would have gave me a lot less work, but Y/n of all people. This could cause a big dent in both of your public images, because this is highly unprofessional. Kissing your co-worker while you're wasted. And let's not even get started on the fact that it is your teammates younger sister"

"I'm sorry" he muttered, feeling incredibly embarrassed by the whole ordeal "We were both wasted and I don't know what came over us, okay? It was stupid, we made a mistake, but it's a little too late for that now"

"You don't have to say sorry to me, you're doing this to yourself. Please just make sure this doesn't happen again, okay? " she explained, slowly starting to calm down and starting to be a little bit more compassionate "I know that you can't choose who you're attracted to and that being drunk can make you do senseless things, but please remember that you guys both have a public image that you need to keep up. You both can't afford to damage that, just because you two can't keep your tongues out of each others throats in public"

"No worries, it won't happen again. We were wasted, it was just a one time thing" he replied, defeat lacing his tone "What should we do about these articles?" he asked her, wondering if she had an idea.

"Well, regarding the press, for now nothing. The less attention we give it, the less suspicious it seems. The media will find a way to throw you under the bus anyway" she said, pausing for a deep breath "But regarding McLaren, you both better come up with a very good explanation. Because Zak is gonna kill you both, when he finds out"

"I don't even want to think about that" he whined.

"Well me neither" she said, a small laugh leaving her lips "Now, thanks for the clear up. Take some time to let this all sink in and I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

Oscar sighed and agreed with her, apologizing again for the stupid mistake, before ending the phone call.

He threw himself down on his bed, opening his messages to text Logan, but quickly saw that he already had a text from him. Since you were gone to the toilet anyway, he felt like he had a little time to text with him.

Oscar put his phone down next to him when he saw you walking in, shooting him a small reassuring smile.

"How did it go?" you asked as you walked back into his bedroom, jumping onto his bed again, seating yourself down next to him, your back resting against the headboard.

He shifted his gaze towards you "Well, that could have gone worse" he said, quickly explaining to you what they discussed.

"Yeah, still mad at myself for letting this happen" you said, disappointment lacing your tone, trying to avoid eye contact "It shouldn't have happened"

Oscar felt a pang in his heart "Do you mean that you regret that we've kissed, or?" he asked uncertainly, afraid of your answer.

You shook your head "No, you idiot" you shot at him, immediate relief entering Oscars body "You know, that call you just had proved yet again that it's just smarter that we stay friends and don't date, it just makes things too complicated. It shouldn't have happened, but it did, nothing we can change about that" you explained to him, honesty in your voice "But the fact that it shouldn't have happened, doesn't mean that I don't feel what I feel"

"So, no I'm not regretting it at all, none of the things we did that night" you said softly, glancing back up at Oscar. "And to be truthful, I don't think I've ever had an orgasm that intense before," you admitted quietly.

Oscar felt a rush of heat, arousal stirring instantly, feeling himself getting hard already. It was almost embarrassing how easily you could affect him. Just a few words from you, and he was a mess, like a teenager all over again. He couldn't help it.

A small smirk crept onto his face, proud of himself for making you feel that way. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I love making you feel good," he admitted, unintentionally using the present tense. He hoped you wouldn't notice. It was true; if he had the chance to make you feel good again, he would in a heartbeat.

He looked down at his lap, nerves returning. "I feel the same way, by the way. Your mouth felt incredible. It's by far the best I've ever had," he confessed, feeling a bit vulnerable about being so candid. "I came so quickly, it was embarrassing. I felt like a teenager again, struggling not to blow my load within a minute."

You chuckled lightly, honestly feeling a little honored about it, turning your head to look at him. "I think it's cute, I see it as a compliment" your voice a soft whisper, trying to avoid looking at his lips. You really wanted to kiss him, but you knew you shouldn't. Those last few words being ignore a hand full of times already.

"I was actually a bit insecure beforehand. I really wanted to make you feel good but was so afraid I wouldn't be any good at it, you know?"

"You? Not good at it? It was amazing," he reassured you.

The whole conversation stirred feelings in Oscar that he had tried so hard to suppress, but it was no use. Seated with his back against the wall, he glanced down at his lap. He was fully hard now, the outline of his erection clearly visible in his shorts. Oscar quickly moved his hands over his lap, trying to cover his arousal, hoping to make it seem like he was just more comfortable that way. The pressure of his hands only enough made his dick twitch involuntarily.

You noticed the flush on his face getting more evident. You glanced down at his hands, obviously trying to hide his predicament.

"You're hard, aren't you?" you asked, gently biting your lip. Your sense of reasoning began to fade again, and you were on the verge of ignoring the words: 'we shouldn't.'

"Yeah, I'm so sorry" Oscar apologized, letting out a sigh. "It's just that talking about it, made the memories resurface again"

You scooted a bit closer to him, slowly moving your hand towards his, which were still trying to cover up his arousal. Your fingers carefully slipped under his hand, giving his hard-on a firm but gentle squeeze. "Don't hide it," you whispered.

Oscar let out a soft moan, the mere feeling of your hand on him enough to drive him wild. He moved one hand to grab onto the mattress. He hesitated, everything in him wanting this. But a voice in the back of his mind reminded him of your words, the hand that was still covering yours gently squeezed your hand, before moving it upwards, his fingers carefully wrapping around your wrist, trying to pull your hand away from his member.

"Y/n, we shouldn't," he said, much against his own desires, wanting to respect the boundary you had set. One that he knew you were probably only ignoring in the heat of the moment.

"Shouldn't we, or don't you want to?" you asked, using your other hand to remove his fingers from your wrist one by one, before placing it onto his abdomen, your hand slowly making its way back down where he needed it most, palming him through his shorts. He moaned at the feeling, squeezing the bedsheets tighter with his free hand. "I know you want to, Osc."

"I don't want you to regret this, baby," he whispered, putting his own needs aside, focusing on your feelings instead.

You turned onto your side a little, moving your lips close to his neck, before pressing a soft kiss against his skin. A small smirk formed on your face when you saw the little goosebumps appear on his neck, a soft whimper escaping his lips when you palmed him with a bit more pressure.

"I would never regret pleasing you, Osc," you said, your lips now next to his ear. "How could I regret being intimate with you? Look at you, you're so hot. And the sounds you make when I please you... God, you make the hottest sounds. It makes me so wet, Osc."

"F-fuck..." Oscar let out a loud moan, clasping his hand over his mouth to prevent the others in the house from hearing him. He felt his dick twitch inside his shorts, involuntarily bucking his hips against your hand. Your words alone almost made him cum right then and there.

"Just have a little fun with me, Osc. No strings attached, okay?" you suggested, your lips traveling back down to his neck, peppering it with seductive kisses.

You had found his weak spot, the thing that made Oscar lose his mind. The thing that made his self-control crumble to pieces. He caved, giving in to his strongest desires.

Without a word, he shifted his position, now sitting on his knees in front of you. His hands slid to the back of your thighs, gripping them firmly as he pulled you further down the bed, until your were laying down completely. You lay back, your heart racing, anticipation building as he climbed on top of you. Oscar pinned you down, his big hand wrapping around both of your wrists, securing them above your head, while he used his other hand to cup your cheek.

"Please don't stop. It's so hot when you talk to me like that," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, leaving you flustered and desperate for more. Your arousal was evident, and Oscar noticed, feeling a surge of confidence and satisfaction. The sight of you beneath him, eager and responsive, made him feel all kinds of things—powerful, needed, and deeply connected to you in this intense moment

You looked up at him, locking eyes with his. His pupils were dilated, his desire unmistakable. The intensity of the moment made you let out a soft moan as you maintained eye contact. Oscar’s lips descended to your neck, pressing against it and sending shivers down your spine.

Deciding to heed his earlier words, you began to recount the details of the night you spent together last Sunday, confident it would only fuel his desire further. As Oscar's lips found that sweet spot on your neck, you moaned, "F-Fuck, Oscar, just like that," your voice low and sensual as your hands struggled against his grip on your wrists. "It feels so good, just like Sunday night."

"You feel incredible against me, Osc," you murmured, referring to the way his arousal pressed against you as he hovered above. Both of you still fully clothed.

Oscar groaned, his hips moving slowly against yours in a rhythmic grind, seeking more from you. He slid his hand beneath your shirt, cupping your bra-covered breast. You responded with a moan, "Yes, Osc, just like that."

Oscar's moans mingled with kisses on your neck, his breath faltering at your words. He paused, then said "Fuck, baby, you're so hot"

You let out a shaky breath, fueled with arousal "You made me feel so amazing, Osc. Your lips on my neck, your fingers filling me up—you're so hot. It felt incredible."

He moaned louder, his hand moving away from your breast to the back of your neck and into your hair, tugging slightly. "You know what I loved even more, Osc?" you asked seductively.

"Tell me, baby," he almost growled, his breath ragged, his arousal throbbing with need. His teeth grazed your neck, eliciting another moan from you.

"I loved sucking you off, Osc. You're so big, you made me feel so full" you chanted as the arousal started to pool between your legs more and more, the way he was responding to your words fueling you with desire "I loved to way you pulled on my hair when I sucked you off, baby. It made me so wet" you spoke, the nickname escaping your lips, fully intentional. Knowing that it would make him go insane.

Oscar let the moans escape his lips without holding back, feeling himself getting even more turned on than he already was. The way you talked to him made him lose control and you knew it. It was exactly what you wanted "The sounds you made when I had my lips wrapped around you, god. It was so hot. The way you moaned out my name when you came, god, it made me come untouched" you said, knowing that he was about the snap any moment.

Oscar couldn't hold back any longer and crashed his lips against yours, capturing you in a passionate and lustful kiss. His lips moved in perfect harmony with yours, his tongue licking your bottom lip, asking for entrance, which you gladly granted. The kiss deepened, growing hotter and more intense. Your tongues intertwined, exploring each other with fervent desire.

Oscar released your wrists, and your hands immediately traveled to his neck, one of them diving into his hair and pulling gently. He moaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you and making your desire spike. His hands roamed your body, fingers trailing over your curves, squeezing your waist, and sliding up your sides. His touch was everywhere, igniting your skin with every caress.

You broke the kiss for a moment to catch your breath, both of you panting heavily. "Can I take this off?" Oscar asked, his voice husky as he tugged at the hem of your shirt. You nodded, and he quickly pulled it over your head, tossing it aside. Not wasting any time, you tugged his shirt off as well, your hands exploring the newly exposed skin of his chest and shoulders.

Oscar's hands moved to the waistband of your shorts, and with a questioning glance, he asked for permission. You nodded again, breathless with anticipation. He slid your shorts down, and then removed his own, leaving both of you in your underwear.

Hovering over you once more, Oscar ground his hips against yours, the friction sending waves of pleasure through both of you. He lifted his hips a little, to allow him to slip his hand between your legs, fingers teasing you through the fabric of your panties. You moaned, your back arching in response to his touch.

"Oscar, please," you whispered, your voice filled with need.

"Anything for you," he murmured back, his lips finding yours again in another searing kiss. His fingers slid beneath your panties, and you gasped at the intimate contact, the heat between you both growing unbearable "Fuck, you're so wet for me already"

"Yes, Osc, all for you," you panted, the tension between your legs quickly building as Oscar worked your clit in perfect circles. "Your fingers feel like magic, Osc."

"Yeah?" he asked breathlessly, his voice thick with desire. "You like that, baby? You like my hands on you?"

"God, yes," you moaned, your hips bucking against his hand. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

Oscar's lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot and heavy. "I won't, baby. I love making you feel good."

As his fingers continued their expert movements, your hand slid down to palm him through his boxers. Oscar groaned, his hips pushing into your hand. "Fuck, that feels amazing," he whispered, his voice strained with pleasure.

"Just like that, Osc," you encouraged, your voice a mixture of moans and gasps. "Keep touching me, don't stop."

His fingers sped up, the pressure and rhythm driving you closer to the edge. "You're so wet for me," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck. "So perfect. I want to feel you come on my fingers."

"Fuck, Osc," you cried out, your body trembling as the tension inside you coiled tighter. "I'm so close, please."

"I've got you, baby," he assured, his voice soothing yet filled with lust. "Come for me. Let go, just for me."

With a few more skillful strokes, your climax hit hard, waves of pleasure crashing through you. "God.. Oscar!" you moaned out, your body arching as you rode out the intense orgasm. Your hand tightened on him, and he moaned in response, his own arousal evident.

"That's it, baby," he praised, his fingers slowing but still working you through your release. "You're so beautiful when you come."

As the last tremors of pleasure faded, you collapsed back onto the bed, breathing heavily. Oscar pulled his hand away, bringing his fingers to his lips and licking them clean, his eyes locked onto yours. "You taste amazing," he said, his voice rough with desire.

You reached up, pulling him into a deep, hungry kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. "Your turn," you whispered.

Your hand slipped beneath his boxers, wrapping around his hardness, and you began to stroke him with slow, deliberate movements. Oscar groaned, his hips thrusting into your hand as he buried his face in your neck. "Fuck, that feels so good," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You increased the pace, your hand moving with more urgency as you felt him getting closer. "Oscar," you whispered, your voice dripping with seduction, "I love making you feel this good."

He moaned loudly, his hips bucking involuntarily. "God, the way you touch me," he groaned, his voice filled with awe. "You're so good at this. It feels incredible."

You smiled against his neck, enjoying the power you had over him. Your hand moved faster, your grip tightening slightly. "Tell me, Osc," you coaxed, "Tell me how much you love it."

His breaths came in ragged gasps, his hips moving in sync with your strokes. "I love it so much," he panted, his voice trembling. "Your hand on me... it's better than any fantasy. Better than anything I could ever imagine."

You felt his cock twitch in your hand, a clear sign he was edging closer to his release. "Oscar," you whispered again, this time with a hint of praise, "You're doing so well. I love how hard you are for me."

His entire body tensed, his muscles straining as he fought to hold back. "Fuck, you're amazing," he managed to say, his voice thick with desire. "I can feel it... I'm so close."

Sensing his imminent release, you adjusted your technique, moving your hand faster inside his boxers and applying firmer pressure. Each stroke elicited a deep moan from Oscar, his control slipping with every passing second. "God, yes," he groaned, his voice desperate. "Just like that... don't stop."

You could feel his cock pulsing, his release building rapidly. "I'm so close," he panted, his voice tight with need. "I'm gonna come."

You paused your movements, your hand stilling as you looked into his eyes. "Not yet," you said softly. "I want to feel you come inside of me."

The words caught him off guard, and he moaned, his arousal spiking. "God, you have no idea how much I want that," he said, his voice filled with longing. "But I don't have any condoms here”

"I'm on birth control," you replied, your voice steady. "And I'm clean. If you're okay with it, I am too."

Oscar's eyes widened with a mix of surprise and desire. "You’re sure?" he asked, his voice husky.

"Yes, Oscar," you assured him, pulling him into another deep kiss.

After you pulled away from the kiss, Oscar looked at you again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Are you really sure you want to do this?" he asked softly. "As much as I want to, I don't want you to feel pressured into anything. Our first time means a lot to me, and I don't want you to regret it afterward. I want it to be perfect for you."

You smiled warmly, your heart swelling with affection. "I want this. I want you," you said, your voice filled with certainty. "You mean a lot to me, Oscar. You have nothing to worry about. It's you, and that's what makes it perfect."

Oscar’s eyes softened with a mix of love and relief. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle kiss "I want this so bad," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "And I need you so much."

With those words, he leaned in, capturing your lips in another passionate kiss, his hands exploring your body with renewed intensity. You felt a shiver of anticipation as he moved, both of you ready to take the next step together. The statement of how you shouldn't be doing this, long forgotten.

As you kissed, your hands moved to his boxers, helping him slide them off. He did the same for your panties, both of you eagerly discarding the last barriers between you. He pulled back for a moment, his eyes raking over your body. "You’re so beautiful," he said, his voice filled with awe. "Every part of you."

"And you’re so hot," you responded, your eyes trailing over his toned body. "I love your chest, your arms, your abs... everything about you." your fingers trailing over every part as you names them.

Oscar began to position himself at your entrance, his gaze locked with yours as his tip teases your entrance. You moaned softly, your body aching for him. Slowly, he pushed inside, filling you completely. The sensation of him stretching you, the heat of his skin against yours—it was more than you had ever imagined.

"God, you feel amazing," Oscar whispered, his voice a mix of awe and desire. "So perfect."

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as he began to move, each thrust driving you both closer to the edge. The sensation of him inside you, the sound of his breath mingling with yours, created a symphony of passion that enveloped you both. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“You’re so amazing,” he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. “I’ve dreamed of this moment more than I'd like to admit, but now that it’s real, it’s even better.”

You blushed, your heart racing with excitement, your hands exploring his back. “You feel so good, Osc. Everything about you is just perfect.”

He paused, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, as he halted his movements, biting his bottom lip. Closing his eyes to avoid eye contact, because he was sure that he would have blowed his load the second he looked into your eyes.

You looked at him with a playful smile. “What’s going on?” you asked softly.

“I need to slow down a little,” he confessed, his cheeks flushing slightly, a hint of embarrassment in his voice as he said “Otherwise, I’m afraid I’ll finish too quickly. And I really don’t want this moment to end yet.”

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands. “To be fair, I find that kind of hot,” you said with a teasing grin. “It just shows how much you want this.”

Oscar’s face lit up with a mix of relief and pleasure. “God, you really know how to make me feel good,” he said, his voice dripping with desire.

With a renewed sense of urgency, Oscar pulled out of you completely, just for him to thrust himself back inside you right after. The sensation overwhelming you, causing you to moan out loudly.

As the intensity built, Oscar’s movements quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent. You could feel the pressure building within you, your body responding eagerly to each powerful thrust.

“I don’t think I can hold back much longer, baby,” Oscar panted, his voice strained with need.

“Then don’t,” you replied, your voice filled with determination. “Let go with me.”

He moaned, his hips bucking harder against you. The pace of his thrusts increased, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing through both of you. You matched his rhythm, your body moving in sync with his as you both approached the brink of climax.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you moaned, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Me too,” Oscar grunted, his voice filled with urgency.

The pleasure surged through both of you, building to an intense peak. With a final, desperate thrust, you both moaned loudly as you reached the pinnacle of your shared ecstasy.

"God, I love you" he whispered, his orgasm causing the words to accidentally spill out in the heat of the moment. He instantly felt fear creeping upon him, afraid that he just ruined it all, unaware of what you were about to say.

“I love you too, Osc,” you replied, your voice thick with emotion as Oscar continued to thrust gently into you, making sure not to stop until you both had completely ridden out your release.

Earlier, you had spoken of ‘no strings attached,’ but your heartfelt response seemed to suggest something more profound.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Oscar collapsed against you, his breath coming in heavy, satisfied gasps. He looked into your eyes with a mixture of awe and adoration. “That was incredible,” he said, his voice filled with emotion.

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “It was perfect,” you whispered, your heart full of love and satisfaction. “Thank you for making it so special.”

—————⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺—————

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Taglist @aceyalonso @saachiep81 @landosgirlxoxo @andruuu28 @il0vereadingstuff

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Stranger 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Summary: A stranger buys the farmstead nearby and disturbs your sleepy village life.

Part of the Backwoods AU

Note: My first time writing this character!

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your nails are crusted in dirt as you kneel in the garden. You grunt as you wrestle the roots of weed from the soil and toss it aside. You wipe your forehead with the back of your glove as you hear the screen door snap shut. Your grandmother stands on the stoop, her hand on her achy hip.

“Did you hear, dearie?” She calls in her creaky voice. “Someone’s moved into Clyde’s old house.”

“Huh?” You catch your breath as you gather up the broken weeds, “it’s half ash.”

“Suppose they’ll fix it up,” she mutters as she leans on the narrow iron rail along the side of the backsteps.

“Suppose,” you agree as you stuff the green and brown foliage into the paper bag for the compost. “Who told you that?”

“I was just talking to Lynette on the phone. She also said Molly’s having her fifth.”

Five kids? You hide your chagrin at the thought. You don’t mind kids but that’s a lot to handle, let alone the pregnancies. Molly balloon’s up so big she can hardly move. Her last shower, she sat the whole time. Not much different than you, you guess. You sat in the corner and watched the silly games

“That’s exciting,” you say as you stand and dust off your knees, crumpling the top of the bag in your other hand.

“Ah, I’m sure you woulda loved to have four sisters? Maybe brothers? It’s a pity your mother never gave me any more grandchildren.”

“Mmm,” you suppress a frown, “yeah, well…”

“Anyhow, enough talk of spoiled milk,” she waves off, “I got a pie in the oven. You can take it over the Clyde’s once it cools.”

“I… why would I do that?”

“Oh my, don’t be ridiculous. We have a new neighbour, we have to be polite and welcome them to the village. It’s probably a nice family, or maybe someone your age. A friend?” She suggests, “I’d do it myself but I don’t think I’d make the walk…” she looks down at her hip, theatrically rubbing it. 

“Right,” you agree, the prospect of strangers making your tummy lurch. “Well, that pie will take some time.”

“Long enough for you to put on something clean,” she tuts as she looks down at your dirty jeans, “my lord, what would they think?”

“Yes, gramma, I’ll change, once I get this in the compost.”

“Good,” she smirks triumphantly and turns to swing open the screen door, the hinges whining shrilly.

You sniff and cross the yard. It’s not often there’s new faces in Hammer Ford. The village is a tourist trap at best and not a very lively one. Everyone calls each other by name and it’s second nature to stop and say hi. But that’s because you know each other; you have for years.

You lift the lid on the large bin and empty the bag into it. You could always lie and hide the pie in some bushes. Your deceit wouldn’t be hidden for long. Even in this sleepy place, word travels fast and someone always seems to be watching and waiting to pass it on.

🥧

You head out with the pie in a basket like some fairytale. You’re only short a red hood and a big bad wolf. You set off down the country roads, following the lazy curves towards the horizon. It’s after noon and the sun’s turning mild as it drifts across its pale canvas.

The old homestead is the second closest to your grandmother’s. The homes around Hammer Ford or sprawled out amid the plowed fields and green meadows. The cluster of old pines loom over you as you pass in there shadow and crest the hill that marks the edge of the property. Clyde’s tractor used to sit there, just by the broken down fence.

Ahead, down another stretch of road, this path unpaved, stands the decrepit house. The tragedy still singes the memories of the villagers. That night comes back to you in a blaze of orange and the smell of cinder. Poor old Clyde was buried behind Sacred Stave church.

You search the overgrown grass for a sign of life. There’s a black truck by the caved in garage but that’s about it. It might not be a family. It’s a lot of work to do with little ones around. If anything, it would only be the parents as they rebuild. Your mind wanders, wondering who would buy the old farm and why.

You come down the path, just along the ditch that dips behind a cluster of brambles. There’s a snap and a crack and you skid to a halt on the stones. You spin and look around, a heavy breath pluming into the air. Like the fire reawakened.

“Can I help you?” The deep timbre rolls through you and you step back on your heel as you face the man down in the ditch. He peers up at you above the scraggly top of the brambles.

“Uh,” you gulp and stare at him dumbly. He might think you’re lost. Or worse, trespassing.

His hair is short, only an inch on top and shaved even shorter around the sides. His beard is thick around his mouth, growing sparse across his cheeks, and two vibrant blue eyes beam back at you. The way he looks at you makes you want to shrink away. You can sense the city radiating off of him. He scares you.

“Hello? What’s up?” He waves as if trying to wake you up.

“Um, pie?” You say, cringing at your own speechlessness.

“Pie,” he repeats flatly.

You hold up the basket and blink. You never were very good at introductions. You were the only girl at school without friends. You were just sort of there.

“Pie,” you echo once more and hold out the basket.

He tilts his head, curiously, and huffs. He juts out his jaw and grunts as he pushes the brambles apart and climbs out of the ditchy. His denim jacket is streaked in dirty and pollen.

He takes the basket by the handle, his rough finger brushing yours. He peels back the cloth and to peek inside, “pie.” He utters the syllable a fourth time between you.

“Yeah,” your voice is wispy and small. “Bye.”

You let out a strained breath and spin, keeping yourself from breaking into a sprint. You stomp away frantically, smacking yourself internally for being so awkward. Well, maybe that’s a good thing. He’ll have no reason to talk to you ever again.

[cleolinda]

I grew up in a haunted house and I didn’t notice

This is not a story about boo ghosts or shadow people. If it were, I would have figured it out, at least.

When I say "I grew up in a haunted house and I didn't notice," you have to understand that there was a lot going on with this house. It's not the house that I've written about currently living in, the one with newspaper and soda cans stuffed where insulation should have been, the one with constant home-repair calamities. No, my childhood home was a crumbling pile of red brick built in the 1920s. Narnia was in the backyard, and the back deck was my ship on the high seas. The house was surrounded by banks of flowers, lilies and irises and roses, and it was full of creepy shit I didn’t even blink at. I loved it.

It didn't look haunted, or even particularly historical. It was almost disappointingly normal—I lived on a street with a house that had a turret, for God's sake. No, it was just old and small. There's a lot of pre-Depression houses getting torn down in these suburbs; my town has been awash in construction for the last 20-30 years as people buy up cheap old houses, raze them, and squeeze mini-mansions onto their tiny lots, all to get their kids into a good school system. It gives me a chill to think of it, but yeah, that might happen to my childhood home someday, small and plain and unassuming as it is. My pirate ship has already been renovated into an extra bedroom, the new owners told us.

When we moved into the house in 1983, though—it had clearly been renovated in the '60s or '70s; the wallpaper was hideous, and the upstairs bathroom was carpeted. Shag-carpeted. The house had closets the size of shoeboxes; my bedroom, the one with the peach wallpaper, didn't even have one. The room down the hall had four, including one cut into the wall, under a slanted ceiling tucked beneath the roof, that looked like you'd stash a witch there when the Salem HOA came by. There was a fan in the attic—well, first of all, the attic was just one more room on that upstairs floor. It was directly across from the (carpeted) bathroom, and that room (lit by one ominous, hanging bulb) was just a short corridor with storage spaces on either side, hidden behind big sliding doors. And the fan at the very end was built into the brick outer wall of the house. Like our house was functionally open to the elements, between the blades of that fan. I have no idea what the fuck anyone was thinking when they built that, and how the fuck anyone kept the wildlife out.

We certainly couldn't. Squirrels lived in the roof and bowled with acorns. It was like listening to a pinball machine at night. I have an abject horror of cockroaches because sometimes an adventurous one would fall off the ceiling in the middle night, onto me, while I was trying to sleep. (Like, try to imagine that—you’re awakened from a dead sleep by a vague, paper-light skittering sensation up and down your arm. When Pennywise comes to me, he will show up as a cockroach.) But wait! There was more! We had herds of crickets in the basement that felt compelled to jump at people. Sometimes there were centipedes! Those were polite enough to only come out at night. In the dark.

By the way, that basement was totally unfinished. I don't mean that it just had exposed beams or concrete walls. I mean that the basement had uneven, mostly shoulder-high masonry walls, and then it was just open on three sides, extending under the rest of the house. Like just dry red Alabama earth and rocks and grainy dust tumbling around in this vast, dark—it wasn't even a crawl space, a child could have stood upright in it. This child? Oh fuck no. And the washer and dryer were down there. I had to creep down there, down a rickety plank staircase, past the staring dark caverns of my own basement, through a low-lying fog of aggressive crickets, go BEHIND THE STAIRCASE, and then do my laundry there. There was also a firewood pile by an old fridge, and only God knew what was under that.

None of this was haunted. All of this was completely normal to me. This isn't even the haunted part.

So let's go back upstairs. The ground floor was lovely, homey, fine except for the time the living room ceiling fell out due to water damage. Upstairs was where it got weird. I've talked about being mildly bullied as an unknowingly autistic child; home was where I felt safe. In my bedroom upstairs, I had all those My Little Ponies and my easel with all my crayon-drawn fantasy maps and all the stories I wrote. It didn't matter if roaches fell on me in the deeps of the night; home, that's where I was happy. So when I was a young kid and I felt like a vampire was following me down the hall at night, I assumed I was just being silly.

I was aware of vampires in the 1980s as, like, the Count on Sesame Street (ah ah aaah), and Count Chocula, and Count Duckula on Nickelodeon, and the Bunnicula books that I loved. As a kid, I wasn't aware of movies like The Lost Boys or Near Dark, or any vampires that weren't broad caricatures of the Bela Lugosi look. I loved Spooky Stuff—I'm from the Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark generation—but vampires didn't scare me.

But when I had to get up in the middle of the night to go down the hall to the (carpeted) bathroom, I always had the sensation that something was following me as I was going back to my room. Something Dark. Not terribly tall, maybe not even much taller than me. And somehow, I visualized this deep in my mind as a vampire. Kind of a silly one, you know, the white-tie formal wear and the ribbon medal and the cape. I wasn't desperately scared that a Chocula was behind me, but I knew that I needed to get back to my room quick, and, at all costs, I must never look back. I must never look over my shoulder or else I would See It, something silly massing in the dark—and, brother, Eurydice would have been safe with me. Never stop running, never look back.

And I'm sure all kinds of kids develop little superstitions like this. It's probably a developmental thing, like having an imaginary friend (which I also had at some point). Even as a seven year old, I was thinking, This is silly, I'm just making it up (but not looking back costs nothing. Not looking at monsters is free). And I continued to think this, until I laughingly told my younger sister this at Sunday Family Dinner one night. We were both in our thirties at that point. And my sister started crying. Like just staring at me in wide-eyed horror, her eyes filling with tears. And she told me that when she had a bedroom upstairs, there was Something in there.

I won't belabor the exact setup, but at one point, we got it into our heads that we'd like to switch bedrooms, just for a change. I was 14, and I moved to her ground floor bedroom with the flowered white wallpaper and the big bright windows, and she went upstairs and took my room with the peach wallpaper and the cool slanted roof-ceiling (and no closet).

There were three other rooms on that upper floor (and I promise you this is important):

1) One was a small, windowless room that we used as a playroom, with weird cerulean blue carpet and sky blue wallpaper, one dim light fixture, and a little door in the wall that led to dark nothing. Like, you opened it, and you were confronted by a mass of pipes and machinery and just enough space to edge leftwards in the dark. Towards what? Fuck if I know, I sure as hell wasn't going in there. I think it was supposed to be for access to the HVAC system. I don't know. It was fucked. But when I was a young child, I had cooked for my baby dolls at our plastic play kitchen right next to that door, nbd, because apparently you put me in a creepy situation and I just go, yeah, we live like this now.

(I had not ever felt alone in that playroom, but I had also been too young to articulate that. Of course I wasn’t alone! I was with my dolls!)

2) The next room was the (shag-carpeted) bathroom. It had a big mirror over the sink counter, very typical, facing a vertical mirror that was behind the bathroom door. I've heard two mirrors facing each other can create a portal for the spirits, if you believe in that kind of thing. I once did the "Bloody Mary" thing there and nothing happened, idk.

3) The next room was the bedroom with four closets, where an older family member lived with us, and when she moved out, my sister moved to that room.

?) The fourth room, not really a room, was the dark, narrow attic.

So, Grownup Family Dinner at my current house, a few years ago: my sister told me that Something had lived in the Four Closets Bedroom with her. I'm not sure if she actually said it lived in the little Hide A Witch closet or if it was just kind of... ambient. I don't know what it looked like, or if we're talking about ghosts or Something... Darker, or what. I don't think she's entirely sure herself. She doesn't like to talk about it in detail a whole lot. What I know is that she felt it was there, and she had chosen that room to sleep in as a young teenager, and not a lot of sleep was to be had.

"I never really sensed anything, like… demonic," I said, puzzled. "Just the Chocula that followed me." And my sister was like, ARE YOU LISTENING TO YOURSELF??

"What about Rebecca??" she sputtered.

Oh, yeah: Rebecca. (A name I've changed at my sister's request.) I had a friend as a teenager who liked to mess around with ouija boards (AM I LISTENING TO MYSELF?), and we did a session at her house one time wherein we discovered that the ghost of a girl? young woman? named Rebecca lived (so to speak) at my house, and she had been murdered by her boyfriend. How we arrived at these specifics, I don’t remember, but I had told my sister about it because I thought it was interesting, and also, I was kind of a shit. My friend also decided she had her own ghost named Dusty. It was all one big [citation needed, footage not found], but it was also part of our family lore.

So, many years later, my sister told me that she had long felt—without knowing about the Chocula—that there were two spirits on the upper floor of our childhood home: the dark one, and a younger, lighter one. I sat there at the kitchen table and thought about it.

"You know, I did kind of feel like there was someone up there, when I was a kid," I said. "Sometimes I would go into the attic, and it felt scary, but like there was something there watching that was okay? Like having a lamp on in a dark room, kind of. It’s weird, because it’s just a feeling, I remember it very clearly, but I didn’t really question it or wonder."

I thought a bit more.

"Oh yeah—there was also the time I just really felt compelled to go color in the playroom by myself at midnight, and it kind of felt like someone was there."

My sister stared at me, saucer-eyed, pale. Like I'm not sure I had ever seen anyone "go white" until that moment.

"Yeah, I just woke up and had this idea—I was maybe nine years old? That it would be super cool to do stuff at night when I was supposed to be asleep, so I got a flashlight and went into the playroom—"

"IN THE DARK??"

"Well, yeah. If I had turned on the light, someone would have seen it and told me to go back to bed. So I set this flashlight on the floor and got out the crayons and colored in one of my coloring books a while. Maybe the She-Ra one?"

Thinking back on it now—of course I was sitting right by the scary door. I think we all, you and I, saw that coming.

"And I had the same feeling I had in the attic. Like someone was sitting on the floor across from me, friendly, I guess I would say female, and it was cool. Like, it was chill."

My sister looked like she was about to pass out.

"I don’t really know how I could sense this then but not really say anything about it, or even think about it, until now," I said, shrugging. "I’m probably imagining it."

I’ll throw in here that one of the dolls I had in that room was a Raggedy Ann. Like, just for extra hilarity, Wee Cleo is hanging out, coloring, at midnight, with a ghost and a fuckin’ Annabelle.

So: My sister is adamant that our childhood home was haunted. And apparently I was entirely blasé about it (maybe possessed?), but then, I was dealing with a lot of suburban wildlife. My problems with that house were far more immediate. And crawly. Nor can we prove that the house was haunted—I certainly haven’t looked up any homicide records—and I don’t think that Vibes, In Retrospect, are valid evidence on my part. But I find it interesting that I knew what she was talking about. I find it interesting that I was like, "Yeah, that was chill." And I find it interesting that when I went away to college, and I lived in a dorm suite where sometimes I’d be the only person there while my roommates were out,

I remember noticing that it was the first time I’d ever felt alone in a room.

Who was that imaginary friend I'd had?

--

I asked my sister to read over this, partly because I wanted to see if she’d be willing to describe the Something Dark.

"Oh, I’ll tell you anything you want," she texted back, "but that’s not how it happened."

[secretsofdbz]

How old is Gohan (or DB fans can't read and Toriyama can't (couldn't) count)

It’s common knowledge people disagree with how old Gohan was during the Cell Games and during the Buu arc. His usual name for those two sections of the story, Teen Gohan and Adult Gohan, don’t seem to make any sense. 

Let’s start counting. (TLDR at the end with a ref chart)

When Gohan is first introduced, Bulma asks his age and he states he is four years old. 

The training period between Raditz’s death and Vegeta and Nappa’s arrival is shortened because the two Saiyans arrive one full month earlier than anticipated (making the training period 11 months long and not a year long). 

Kaio-Sama knew the Saiyans would arrive the next day, but forgot to factor in how long Goku would take to travel back from Snake Way. Oops.

That makes Saiyan invasion Gohan probably five years old. 

Bulma, Gohan and Krillin land on Namek about forty days later (2 days at the Hospital, five days to repair the Namekian ship, one month to travel to Namek and the entire stay is about a week). 

It'll take 5 days to repair

Let's meet in 10 days (repair + learn Namekian + Gohan and Krillin need to be released form the hospital)

It’s been 7 days since we left, we still have 20 days to arrive to Namek.

The forty-ish days are confirmed when Bulma says there are 20 days left until they arrive on Namek, and at the same time, Vegeta arrives to Freeza Planet 79 “18 days after his departure from Earth.” (chapter 246). If Gohan hadn’t turned five during his 11 months of training with Piccolo, now it’s been 12 months so for sure he’s five.

Same chapter, Vegeta arrives to his destination 18 days after leaving Earth.

When everyone is transported back to Earth from Namek about a week later (6 days for Goku to arrive + a little rest time after the Ginyu fight), Gohan is still five years old. 

When they are transported to Earth from Porunga’s last wish and Guru dies, transferring his power to Moori, the Namekian Dragon Balls are inactive, so they need to wait one Namekian year to use them again. A Namekian year is 130 days.

Everyone waits at Capsule Corp. They wait for 130 days (one Namekian year), summon Porunga and make three wishes: bring Krillin’s soul to Earth, resurrect him, and resurrect Yamcha.

(Notice Gohan's hair, as well as Bulma's hair has grown quite a bit in these 130 days)

They wait another 130 days, resurrect Tenshinhan and Chaozu, and the third wish is used to transport the Namekians to a new planet Namek. This means the Namekians stayed 260 days, or about eight months and a half at Capsule Corp.

Then, the panel says “about a year later”, when everyone senses Freeza. If we add that to the 8 months and change from before, we can round it to about 20 months (that’s almost two years!).

How old is Gohan then? He was quite a bit over five years old before, we can safely assume that if he’s not seven years old, he’s really close to it (his hair has also grown!)

Considering Capsule Corp is having a Barbecue and Krillin and Gohan complain about being "hot" (Trunks pops out a fridge with cold drinks), it's safe to assume the Meca Frieza thing happens during the summer.

The next timeskip is “about three years, on May 12th”, but let’s keep some elements in mind from that section. We need to take note of some elements we know from 17yo Trunks and what we see in the Android Saga: 

For the first trip to the past, Trunks comes from “roughly twenty years in the future”.

Trunks will be born “two and a half years from now” (= he's 17 years old). 

The cyborgs/androids appear “in roughly three years, on May 12th.”

We don’t officially know Gohan's birthday from the manga, but we do know it from the Anime as being May 18th (he celebrates it during the 9 days between the announcement on TV and the Cell Games). Due to the “about three years” skip, Gohan is about to turn 10 years old at the start of the Android Saga. 

His stay in the Room of Spirit and Time lasts under a year. Give or take a few weeks to his biological age, during the Cell Games, Gohan’s biological age is almost 11 years old, while his calendar age is 10. Hardly a “teen”!

Now onto the 7 year timeskip. 

This is where things get complex, and we need to state some key elements: the school year starts in April in Japan, and the Tenkaichi Budokai always happens on May 7th, which means the Saiyaman Arc happens during the month between the first day of class and the Tournament. 

However… The manga does not say it’s been seven years. It says “years have passed” and “Gohan turned 16”. 

Here’s the big question: Is Gohan about to celebrate his 17th calendar birthday, or his biological one? Or is he actually about to turn 16 and the panel just anticipates his upcoming birthday?

We don’t know. This means we have no idea how long has passed from this information alone. This is why we need to find other clues.

Thankfully, we took note of some dates and other elements prior, and to solve the mystery, we will use Trunks. 

Trunks is stated to be 8 years old, and Goten is stated to be 7 years old during the tournament. 

Trunks was born “in about two and a half years” after the Meca Frieza situation, and the Androids attacked “in about three years”, making baby Trunks between infant and ten-ish months old by the time the Cell Games rolled around (both main timeline Trunks and Future Trunks have different birthdays actually, but they’re both in the second half of the year so here it does not matter). 

As such, Trunks’ birthday has to be after the Cell Games (he holds his head but can't walk, he grabs but can't talk, making him younger than a year old). This means his birthday has to be after the Tenkaichi Budokai (which is always on May 7th). That means Trunks will be turning nine years old during that calendar year (otherwise the Announcer would say "he's about to turn 8" or something like that).

If you believe Trunks may have been a year old already by the time the Cell Games rolled around, that’s fine! Let’s use Goten then. 

Goten was born after the Cell Games, which is after the Tenkaichi. However, during the Buu Tournament, he is clearly stated to be seven years old. This means the Saiyman and Buu saga cannot be “a little under seven years after the Cell Games (which was at the end of May)”. 

Even if Chichi gave birth to him the day after the Cell Games, it’s not possible for him to be already seven years old on May 7th during the Tenkaichi.

(and in this house we do not doubt the Announcer’s ability to give accurate info)

If we want the boys’ ages to make sense, we need to think they’ll be turning 8 and 9 respectively. 

And the Tenkaichi Budokai is traditionally held every three years so the Buu saga needs to happen “just a little under 9 years” after the Cell Games.

The problem is that if that’s the case, no matter how you add it up, May 7th, “a little under 9 years after the Cell games’, makes Gohan’ calendar age 17 (almost 18 since his birthday is coming up soon), but his biological age is almost 19. This means unless the Saiyaman arc takes place over a year and they train for that long for the tournament, his age doesn’t work. 

Though that does mean “adult Gohan” for Buu Gohan actually works…

There is no way to make both these elements work… unless we question Gohan’s initial age.

He is holding three fingers up, not four!!

Indeed, Toriyama changed his age in the following chapter. His 3 years old situation was corrected in the volumes, but the artwork was NOT corrected. This is how you show 3 and 4 with your fingers in Japan!

If Gohan starts at 3 years old, then everything falls into place just fine.

And this is why many of us say Gohan was 10 when he killed Cell.

TLDR:

Recap chart n°1

Recap chart n°2 with Gohan being 3 when Raditz lands:

[darlingdarkly]

Fates Worse Than Death part 3

Deimos x f!reader noncon Enemies to Lovers

5.6k words

CW: noncon!elements, dubcon!elements, electrocution (non sexual), bondage, unprotected climactic pnv intercourse, threats of forced impreg, breeding kink

Part: 1, 2, 4

It was early when he left, Reveille hadn’t even blared its siren song to give rise to the base and its inhabitants. It was almost dreamlike in the way he came to you, soft and sweet in pulling you from the depths of your slumber. He left your mask on and you were grateful for it, without your sight it was easier to let the roles slip, just take it as it presented itself without the clouded lenses of your predicament.

So when he leaned down and lightly shook you awake you came up gently as the cot dipped to accommodate his weight. “I’m going, sugarcane.” You groaned and when you spoke, voice sleep strained and groggy and he saw your arms strain against the straps as you attempted to lift up and touch him made him wish to call the whole thing off, who gave a shit about meetings when he could just undo your straps, pick you up bridal style and carry you over to his bed where you belonged, lay in bed all day and make love to you over and over and over.

But it’s easy to forget the kitten has claws when she’s like this, it’d do not to forget she’s not as docile as she presents. “What time is it?” His fingers trail up your arm, the gloved pads of his digits swirling nonsensical patterns on your warm skin. “Early. 4:30. You can go back to sleep, I’ve arranged for someone to come in and help you out of your restraints and feed you, you’ll be staying up here until I return. I’ve got a surprise lined up for you later today.” He stops speaking and you feel one glove come up and smooth your hair, his thumb sweeping back and forth over the errant strands on your forehead.

“Be good for me.” You almost wish you could be but you won’t and deep down you both know you have to play the game so he says it and he means it but it doesn’t mean he believes you when you say you will. He spends a few more fleeting moments lingering in this early morning light, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your temple, one that cut through all the bullshit and made its way to the core. It was a message, a last plea, stay, be good, I know this is fucked but it could work couldn’t it? We both feel this, behind the roles and twisted implications, who gives a fuck how it started?

Then he was gone and you drifted off until Reveille woke up an entirely different woman than Deimos had kissed on his way out the door. A few minutes later someone entered the room and pulled the mask from your eyes. It was short and stocky and he looked as pissed off to see you as you were to see him. Obviously though, Deimos had had some sort of chat with him about his manners because he was on his best behavior as he carefully undid your straps.

It wasn’t time yet so you stayed compliant, sitting up on the cot and waiting for him to back away before standing and heading for the bathroom. He didn’t watch you like Deimos had as you showered but he was right outside of the door and frisked you a bit too thoroughly as you stepped out, dressed and ready for the day.

He left the room and you alone in it as he went to get breakfast for you. It was the first time you really got a good look at your surroundings. The room was double big, like it was really two rooms where the wall separating them had been knocked down. The walls were papered in deep red scroll and his bed took up the center of his section of the room. There wasn’t much else to speak of, a few dressers and a wardrobe against the far wall, a desk with a few pens in a cup on its mahogany surface. Your section of the room was even barer, just your cot and four empty walls, though they were also papered in dark red scroll.

It wasn’t long before short and stocky came back, tray in hand as he plopped it unceremoniously on the desk in Deimos’s section of the room, it didn’t topple over but the contents spilled out of their sections into each other and the juice you were meant to drink knocked over and spilled out over the wood. He looked you dead in the eye before turning and leaving.

You were glad for the way things turned out later on. You stood from the cot and made your way over to the desk, while the juice was off the table (more like all over the table) the food was still edible and after retrieving a towel from the cabinet in the bathroom and cleaning up his mess, you ate everything eagerly, you’d need every bit of it to escape. When you’d finished you knocked on the door and he came back to retrieve the tray.

“Good, you cleaned up your mess. Good to know he’s teaching you something useful other than how to take his cock.” You don’t even bother with a response, let it sink into your skin, you’ll get your licks back and they’ll be far more rewarding as actions rather than words. He isn’t quite done yet though.

“What? Nothing to say? You’re no spitfire. Whatever he sees in you is bullshit and he’ll know it soon and when he does I hope he lets me pull the trigger on you. I wanna watch the life drain from your eyes as I’m the last thing you see.” That seems to satisfy him and he leaves believing he’s the one on the high note. That's fine, let him. The morning passes slow and you try to retrace the plan in your brain, check it once, twice, three times for flaws. There is no alternative, no plan B. If this didn’t pan out your way, if anything went wrong, your goose was cooked.

It wasn’t until after lunch that you decided Deimos was probably far enough away that if something went awry it would at least take him some time to get back, enough time for you to get far enough away to have a chance at disappearing. You could link back up with rainbow after you’d meshed into the closest population dense city. Short and stocky had just left with your empty lunch tray as you bent down and pulled your paper clip free from its shoe home and unbent it to turn it into a shabby but functional lock pick. The outer doors of the facility were far too heavy duty for your little makeshift tool, but the door out of this room was all you needed unlocked for your escape.

You got up off the bed and walked to the solid wooden door, pressing your ear up against it to hear any activity on the other side. It was silent and still as far as you could tell so you bent down and set to work, carefully raking the paper clip around inside the lock mechanism to try and jostle the tumblers. It was a slow, tedious process but after a few minutes work the lock clicked and the knob turned freely.

You stepped cautiously out of the doorway and out into the hall. Short and stocky stood at the top of the stairs with his back to you, this was your chance. You strode forward with careful purpose, trying to stay as quiet as possible while moving as quickly as you could, if he saw you now it’d be a fight and one you’d probably lose.

He started to turn and you took the last few strides in a run, the element of surprise nearly lost as you pushed him with all your body weight and watched almost in slow-mo as he careened over the edge of the stairs, arms pinwheeling to prevent his fall but it was no use.

His side made first contact with the concrete stairs, producing four audible, gut wrenching cracks that seared white hot pain up his spine and knocked the air from his lungs. He continued to tumble, rolling over once, twice, and landing awkwardly on his right forearm at an acute angle. It’s there he heard another pop as his arm took the brunt of the fall and he landed in an agitated heap, screaming mad and hell bent on killing you when he got to his feet.

But before he could you were on him, the last thing he saw was your fist coming down on his temple, ironically knocking him out the very same way he’d threatened on the night of your capture and then all went dark.

You had to act quickly now, it was possible someone could have heard the commotion or would come up here for anything at any time so you stepped over him and raced down the last three flights of stairs and carefully made your way across the sky deck, head once again bent between your knees.

Entering the main building you had to act quickly, it was imperative that you avoided being seen until you changed, you were the only person on base wearing a skin tight jumpsuit and everyone would know you’d escaped upon first glance. Ducking into a particular side room you’d eyed the last time you’d made this trek with Deimos, you found what you were looking for.

It was an old supply room, dusty and mostly unused it was full of stores of toilet paper and cleaning supplies, a stack of desks, a few empty filing cabinets and what you came here for. In a box on the floor, a sight you gazed upon by chance after a soldier stepped in for a rack of toilet paper as you were passing by and stored away for this particular moment, was a pile of old uniforms. They were musty and it took you three separate sets to find ones that weren’t either covered in mildew or faded and the ones you finally settled on were about two sizes too big but they’d do.

You slipped them on over your clothes, you couldn’t risk another soldier dipping in for toilet paper and wanted to leave as soon as possible to avoid either short and stocky waking up or someone coming across him. This was a mistake you came to regret later, but hindsight is always 20/20.

You strode out of the supply closet in no rush, a patrol cap pulled down low over your eyes as you casually but briskly made your way towards the doors of the facility. You depressed the bar on one of the heavy metal doors and pushed out into the warm air. You surveyed the outer compound with scrutiny and found everyone tucked into tight groups, no lone wolves, which meant if you were going to get out of here without being singled out immediately you had to blend.

You spotted a set of soldiers by the gate, rifles in hand and more than likely headed for the gun range you’d heard but never had seen. You walked out with purpose and snagged two empty ammo cans from a stack by the wall and stuck yourself in the group, making sure to linger around the back so as not to draw too much unwanted attention.

The platoon leader called attention and you snapped to, the action just as much instinct as it was disguise. When he calls forward march you begin to move, keeping pace with the group and keeping your head down. You pass under the gate with the weight of nervous anticipation balancing precariously on your shoulders, expecting at any moment the call to halt from above but it never came and you marched out past it and onto a trail through the woods without hiccup.

When the gates were too far back and concealed by foliage to see you dropped off from the group, simply sliding behind a tree until their footfalls became too distant to hear. You left the ammo cans behind and sprinted out into the trees. From what you could remember there was nothing for miles around, just endless forest but you knew there was a little town about twenty miles south and if you could keep up a relative jog you could make it there just after nightfall.

You took a few glances back to make sure you weren’t being trailed but all you could see was empty forest. Your heart pounded with excitement but you knew better than to let it get the better of you, there was still much danger ahead and endless-

Your muscles locked up violently, legs stopping mid step and freezing as white hot pain zapped down your neck, coursing through your spine and consuming you from within. You called out involuntarily, a guttural pained scream that started and seemed to never end until all your breath was expelled and it died out in a hoarse croak. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stand, couldn’t move and you heard the wail of a siren sound back in the direction of the base.

You stretched an arm out in the direction of safety, willing your body to crawl towards it with the last of your might, but it stayed put in stubborn defiance. The sight of the pines swaying in the wind, their dark green needles seeming to reach out for you was the last thing you saw before darkness stole over you.

When you wake it’s like waking in a dream, a dream you've dreamt before, fundamentally the same but different slightly. The pain is back, though then it was head driven, a throb radiating almost solely from your cranium but this is different. This feels like static but everywhere. Your nerves are shot to shit, jittery and fried, your fingers and toes tingle and there’s a metallic taste in your mouth.

You try to take in your surroundings when the feeling finally subsides a bit, fading out from forefront surround sound until it’s just background noise at best, though it still roars in and out of focus. It’s the same room you’d woken up in the night you were captured, only this time instead of tied kneeling to a padded platform you’re tied to a table, face up and completely naked, arms hoisted up past your head and secured to the northern legs of the table. Your body is stretched out across the top, eyes up skyward looking at the dingy ceiling. Your legs are spread, each tied to a seperate southern table leg to keep them that way, your ass is pulled to the edge of the table and as you crane your head south you can see him watching you from between your spread legs.

It was you who broke the silence first. “We can’t keep meeting like this.” He comes up and stands between your legs and he makes it obvious by the crane of his head that his eyes are trailing up every inch of your body, taking in the sights and landmarks along the path to your eyes before he even speaks.

“Cute. You think now's the time for jokes, eh?” You try to not think about what comes next. You’re naked, which means you’re probably not going to die just yet but it doesn’t mean he won't cut you down at any time past this point, maybe he was just waiting for you to be awake. Your only solace is that short and stocky won’t get to pull the trigger on you, you made sure of that.

“Just couldn’t be good for me, could you?” You flinch as his hand glides up your thighs to palm your hip, the padding gripping the flesh rather roughly. “What did you expect?” And he can’t help but feel pride under all the disappointment because you’re still cocky and fierce as all hell even tied to a table and completely at his mercy, and there’s something in that that makes his combat pants just a bit too snug for his liking.

���Not for you to put Vasquez in the infirmary with four cracked ribs and a fractured ulna.” You scoffed. “If I disappointed you then I’m soooo sorry but one thing I’m not sorry for is anything that happened to that fucking asshole, he got what he deserved and you’re lucky he’s in the hospital and not the morgue.”

“Don’t be sarcastic with me. You’re already in deep fucking shit.” And his use of curse words make you flinch, you can only recall a handful of times he’d cursed and never had he done it in anger but it doesn’t change anything. If he was pissed off then good, so were you.

“The shock collar was a low blow. Kinda barbaric don’t you think?”

“Worked though, didn’t it? I knew you’d run eventually. It’s ok, I’m not mad. It’s only in your nature.” The way he says it piques something in the back of your mind but he glosses right over it, almost like he’s speaking to himself.

“It did cut my meeting short but that really could have been an email anyway. But you know terrorist organizations, always wary of the digital footprint. You’re not off the hook though. Violent outbursts, escape attempts, lies. Ohh you’ve got a lot to atone for.” He gave your hip a painful squeeze but you held your tongue against the groan it threatened to elicit. When he stopped you felt it safe to speak.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He moves away from you and somehow feel less secure with him wandering about the room than if he’d stood put beside you. You vaguely hear the shuffle of papers and your heart stops when you hear him call out your full name.

“Standard checkups, vaccination records, routine physicals, psych evals, two hospitalizations, one for an apparent appendectomy the other outpatient surgery for the removal of shrapnel from your abdomen and left thigh.” You tensed as he read you your medical file and your breath hitched as he called out the last procedure on the list.

“Ahhh and last but not least an IUD procedure completed just two months ago.” You started to get angry, the familiar heat of it almost comforting. Almost.

“You scalped my file?!”

“You’re not the only one with friends in low places, sweetheart.”

You considered it momentarily but was still unsure what it changed or why it mattered. “So what? It’s not a pill, I didn’t lie to you I just withheld some truth, what the fucks it matter?”

“So what is you didnt fucking tell me.” And there was the cursing again and this time it was punctuated with a loud bang as he drove his fist into the metal table your file had been resting on. You’re unsure why he’s angry, could he really believe you had some kind of rapport? It seemed like he did, and maybe that’s when it all snaps into place for you, this isn’t some elaborate psychological tactic, it’s not a ruse. He genuinely is keeping you just to have you for himself and it's then you realize you won’t die, there’s never been any danger of death. He’s not keeping you out of spite, you can’t annoy him enough to end you. It doesn’t matter how many times you run away he will drag you back to heel like some kind of wild dog because he’s just insane enough to try and tame you.

“So now.. I have to figure out what to do with you.” He walks back towards you and you can feel his eyes on you, making your skin erupt with gooseflesh, he walks up the side of the table and brushes the side of your face with the palm of his hand, lightly cupping it. You stare up into the obsidian lenses of his mask, unsure how to act. You can’t see his eyes but just know somehow past those black panes he’s staring down at you so tenderly and the weight of that fact sits uncomfortably on your chest.

After a moment he speaks again. “Since you’re so desperate for release, you’ll get none. I need you to understand your actions have consequences and I will see to it personally that you learn.”

After a moment you understand he means to fuck you again and shortly after that the innuendo dawns on you as well and you just laugh. “What the fuck makes you think I’ll do anything you say?”

“You want incentive? How about if you’re good and you take your punishment like a good girl, I’ll see to it that you get some training, opportunities to stretch your legs a bit? Obviously you’re restless, pent up animalistic tendencies, I can understand that. If you’re good, I’ll make it happen.”

The fucking audacity of him to think you’ll accept treats for parlor tricks. Like some kind of dog you’ll just roll over for belly pats. “Screw you! You bastard! Let me fucking go!”

And then his hand goes from stroking your cheek to gripping it, the thumb digging into the soft flesh of your cheek while the rest of his fingers line your jaw, pursing your lips together and preventing any more lip.

“Not enough for ya? You wanna act like a brat? Fine. How about this? Either you do as I say or I’ll take you down to the infirmary. The IUD procedure is simple enough and so is the removal.”

Your eyes widen and even through the grip he’s got on your maw you threaten him, eyes burning up at him like hot coals. He can feel the heat. “You wouldn’t fucking dare.”

“Ohh, I think you’d be surprised at the things I’d dare. If I feel you so much as twitch around my cock I’ll have them take it out and then we’ll see about starting our own little family together, huh? I’ve always wanted to be a dad but have just never found the time to get around to it, better late than never though, right? I mean, surely you’re confident enough in your fertility to justify the need for protection, I’m sure you’ll make a fine mother. Whaddaya say, sugarcane? How’s your maternal instincts?”

You struggle in the bonds and slip out of his grip, pulling viciously at the ropes but they just cut harder into your skin, the harsh woven fibers biting voraciously into your flesh. “No! Don’t you fucking dare!”

He regains purchase, this time around your throat and he can feel your pulse beating wildly, even through his glove. “Then do as I say.”

You stop struggling, for one because the ropes feel like they’re starting to draw blood and two because he’s let you go in favor of drawing down towards the southern end of the table. Fingers tracing lightly down your side and then back up the other until his fingers skim along the soft length of your inner thighs and you’re left hanging in anticipation as he spreads your thighs further apart to slot himself between them as they travel higher and higher.

The pads of his fingers find your clit and press ever so slightly over the bundle of nerves, drawing lazy circles over it and you can’t help the tensing of your muscles, the way your eyes squeeze shut as you fight the sensation. He plays with it, unrelenting until your arousal starts to well up around the edges of your slit, his fingers drawing down to gather it and spread it generously around.

You inhale sharply as your nipples pebble, hard and aching to be touched. He notices and brings the hand not driving you slowly into madness up to pinch one and roll it between his index and thumb. Your back arches and his fingers leave your breast to encircle your neck, squeezing the sides lightly to capture your attention.

When your eyes fall on him he speaks, and you can hear the apparent arousal in the gravel of his voice, hear the way his eagerness bleeds through, pining to have you again. “Show me you can practice restraint. Show me your self discipline. Don't disappoint me, soldier.”

His fingers push into you slightly for the first time and the edges of your vision blur as your mouth falls open at the dubiously welcomed intrusion. You didn’t need to see his eyes to know they were locked on yours watching your reactions with careful scrutiny. “Be good for me.”

He pulls out just as fast as he’d pushed in and then he’s gone for a moment, you hear him easing out of his tac pants just enough to pull his cock free and you close your eyes, willing your mind to relax and resist. But when he nudges up to you with the head of his cock, flicking it through the part of your sex and coating it in your slick heat you wonder just how much resolve you have in you.

He leans down over you as he pushes into you in one fluid thrust and you moan with him, unable to stifle it, the sweet ache intoxicating. “Fuck.”

He doesn’t give you time to adjust or catch your breath, just uses you with little to no care for how you fare it. His thrusts even out into a steady rhythm as his hands find purchase on the table you’re tied to and something about feeling him thrust up into you without any other contact, the push and pull of his cock without the feel of his hands on you has your eyes rolling back in your head until you have to squeeze them shut to try and regain the reins of your sanity.

You try and weather the storm, really try to focus on anything other than the devastating drive of his hips but it’s almost impossible. And then you feel his thumb over your clit again and your eyes fly open as the sensation makes you clench around him involuntarily, your arms pull at the ropes, desperate to push his hands away because if he keeps it up you’re not gonna make it.

And then he starts to speak. “You did this to us. Could’ve come back and taken my time with you, could’ve been good and I’d have spent all night just like this, fucked you good and raw til you screamed my name but you had to try. Had to test my patience.”

You try and block out the words, shake your head back and forth to try and not hear him but you can’t and it just adds fuel to the flame and he notices but doesn’t relent. He can tell by the shake of your thighs and the way you’re digging your nails into the palms of your own hands that you’re struggling to cope. He picks up speed a bit and your mouth drops open, prompting a sweet low moan to escape and he wishes he’d blindfolded you before he started because all he wants to do is drink up every single sound before it has a chance to leave your throat, swallow them down to keep them all to himself.

You’re gripping him so sweetly, the clutch of your pussy unlike anything he’d felt in a long, long time and he’d be damned if he’d give you up now. There’s not a thing on this planet that could separate the two of you, not even you. He’d love to see you try, really truly try to keep him from you. He’d never stop, never stop clawing his way back into your life no matter how hard you ran. He’d always find you, in this life and the next.

He can feel it too, the effect he’s having on you. He can feel it in the way your pussy clenches around him, can hear it in your back talk and banter, he knows you’re doomed, even if you don’t and he’s gonna enjoy every second of your downfall, every little slip of your grasp of sanity and reality until the only thing left is him.

His thrusts get particularly heavy, hips punctuating his point as he growls down from above you. “You will be mine.” You’ve lost, you know it. You try and fight it but he’s hitting it so good, cock dragging over that spot that makes your toes curl, there’s no escape and no relief and he knows just what he’s doing. Can feel your ruination coming to fruition and you’re so fucked.

You want to beg, beg him for forgviness, beg him for mercy but you can’t, it’ll just fall on deaf ears and something about it is just too compromising for your pride. Why should you let him know he’s getting to you? Why should you have to kneel at his feet? You’re supposed to be a warrior, a force to be reckoned with, an oddity among women and men for that matter but you’re so fucking close and he knows it and it’s killing you.

“Is it hard, sugarcane? Bet you’re so fucking close. Bet you wanna come for me don’t you?” And he leans in close, pelvis grinding down against you as he keeps up your ruination. His tall frame dwarfs yours and you sigh in relief as his hand finally ceases its assault on your clit to come up and seat itself against the back of your neck, pulling your head up and drawing your forehead against his as his other hand abandons the table for a grip on your hip, pulling you down against him as he thrusts up into you, making the sensation just that much more unbearable, making you cry out just that much louder. He dips down to whisper close against your lips, like he’s about to impart some great secret and he doesn’t want to risk allowing the rest of the room to hear it, empty or not, the shell of his mask so, so close.

“Do it. Let me make you mine in the most ultimate of ways. I’ll take such good care of you and the baby, I swear. Come for me and we’ll start all over.”

You’re quite nearly delirious, holding onto the last of your resolve with bloody fingers. It takes everything in you not to come around his cock, the way it fills you completely, hot and hard is going to be the death of you, or rather the birth of a new you but you can’t. You can’t bare this monsters offspring, he’s a goddamn terrorist for fucks sake and so you hold off until you feel you’re ripping apart at the seams.

You want to succeed but it’s slipping and you’d almost given in to the defeat when he finally comes, you feel it, thick and heavy in you and by god’s mercy he stills and you sob with relief. Chest heaving as your pussy spasms in protest around him. Sweat and tears streak your face as you let out shaky breaths to try and regain your composure. He pulls out and rubs his hands up your body, starting at your hips and gliding up your sides until he’s working at the knot holding your hands above your head.

You feel the ropes loosen but are too overwhelmed to do more than shift them down a bit to alleviate the ache in your shoulders. He says nothing as he comes around the side of the table and scoops you up off of it, pulling you into his chest and cradling you close. You can’t fight him, don’t have the strength so you just rest your head against him and let him carry you all the way out the door.

You shift to get comfortable in his arms as he makes two lefts, and then a right. Closing your eyes and breathing deeply as he climbs two flights of stairs and crosses the sky deck. Burying your head in his chest while he mounts the last four flights before you feel him gently deposit you onto a surface far too comfortable to be the cot.

Only then do you look up at your surroundings. “Bet you didn’t even stay long enough to see my surprise, did you?” His surprise is a queen sized bed, since you’ve been gone it’s been brought in, assembled and made. While it’s nothing fancy, having been carefully checked over with a fine toothed comb for anything that could aid you in another escape attempt, it was very lavish for someone being held prisoner, though you know he doesn’t exactly see you as that even if you still do.

There’s an awkward moment where neither of you knows quite what to say, for some bizarre reason you can’t explain there’s an apology waiting on the tip of your tongue. You won’t say it but it doesn’t mean it’s not there. He reaches up past your head to the metal headboard and pulls down a new set of restraints, they’re long and give you a bit of range as to how much you can move but they’re still restraints.

After you put on another white tee from the seemingly endless supply he has for you, he takes your hands and silently puts on the leather cuffs, securing them. His touch lingers on your wrists even after he’s finished and you feel like he’s about to say something but he doesn’t, just pulls your mask from its place and pulls it down over your eyes. You lie back and get comfortable as he moves away from the bed and undresses.

You listen to the familiar sounds of him sliding into bed and then the room stills and you drift off, until Reveille wakes you in the morn.

[beauty-and-passion]

Two last words on the future of Sanders Sides

There is one last thing I wanted to talk about and I would like to do it in a separate post, so you can add your thoughts and we can talk about it here.

However, I also would like to avoid explaining the basics to children - i.e. why criticism is useful, that you can criticize something you love and that doesn’t mean you’re entitled, that constructive criticism is different from complaining, that criticism isn’t a personal attack on you/your loved ones and so on. I already explained these things in the past and I don’t want to repeat myself.

So if you’re old enough to understand all of this and accept to listen to some criticism, you’re welcome here. If you cannot bear it, just ignore this post. Don’t worry, I won’t get offended: we live in a free world, after all :)

So.

We all know Mr. Sanders is taking a lot of time, before releasing the season 2 finale. And we also know he’s doing other stuff, posting other videos, working on other projects and doing things in his real life too.

And that’s perfectly good. He’s free to do whatever he wants, both in his life and his work.

There is only one thing I am asking for regarding Sanders Sides, something I think he owes his followers too: transparency. Honesty. Not content, not to work on Sanders Sides only, not to follow my headcanon. Just pure, simple, free-of-charge honesty about the project that gave him most of the popularity he has today.

It took Thomas three years to finish three parts of a four-part finale: that’s the last official information we got about the SaSi main storyline. And we got it not because Thomas talked about the creative process behind the series, but because he threw this information first in a tweet talking about finishing part 3, then in a cryptic Instagram post about finishing the draft of part 1. Chronological order? Never heard of her, apparently.

But let’s put the organization problem on the side, because that’s not a novelty coming from Mr. Sanders. And let’s ignore the 200th red flag of him not wanting to talk about Sanders Sides' finale and throwing info around instead. Let’s focus just on the information that, as a writer, I find the most concerning.

If Mr. Sanders needed three years to write three videos, that means he needs one year to write one video. So he will probably need another year to write part 4. And then he has to film/edit everything and that means he will probably need another year - or more.

Therefore, in the best-case scenario, that means we will get the first part of the season 2 finale in 2025. And that’s the best-case scenario.

Okay, you may say, that doesn’t sound too bad. I mean, we waited three years, we can wait more.

Sure we can, we can wait forever if we want to. But there are two big problems: one regarding the finale itself, the other regarding the future of the series.

_________

1) The writing is taking too much time

From personal experience, I know that if writing something takes years, it’s not a good thing. And I’m talking about the specific writing part here, not the research or planning part: research/planning can take a very long time and that’s perfectly fine and normal, but the actual act of writing shouldn’t take this long. If that happens, then there’s something wrong. And usually, this shows in the final result, which is never worth the wait.

The thing is: the longer it takes to write something, the more time/memory problems will occur, i.e. inconsistencies, missed elements, personality swings etc. You know, like the ones we saw in the last Asides. And these problems become 10x bigger, without a clear outline to follow.

But hey, you may say, maybe everything is already planned! Maybe it’s taking this long, just because Thomas doesn’t have enough time to physically write!

Well, that opens another box of questions and (imho) bigger problems:

if he doesn’t have enough time, then why is he the only writer? Can’t he share his writing responsibilities with someone else?

if he’s not the only writer, then who is the other writer - or writers, if they exist? A competent expert or one of his friends? And if it’s one of his friends, then why can’t an influencer with his numbers hire an expert, who will be faster at writing, better than him and, most importantly, bias-free and not influenced by the fandom?

how does the writing process work in his team? Is there even a writing process or not?

how does his team actually work? What do they do? Is there at least one expert hired by Thomas or is the team made of just his friends?

seriously, why doesn’t he hire an expert? What did experts ever do to him? Is it so hard to find experts in the US?

And before any of you say “but he doesn’t have money”… please. Please. I saw people with way fewer numbers, followers and influence making better decisions. And they always start by hiring experts, whether they are managers, editors, cameramen or creative team members.

Also, he lives in the US, not on an island in the middle of nowhere. He can find experts if he wants to.

_________

2) The passage of time

In 2025, Mr. Sanders will be 36 years old. And if he needs even more time to release all four parts of the season 2 finale, he will easily reach 40 by the time the fourth part is out.

Age shouldn’t be a problem, everyone should be free to do anything whenever they want. But that doesn’t apply to Sanders Sides, because Sanders Sides isn’t animated: this series has real faces - Thomas’ face. And Thomas is getting too old for the roles he’s playing.

Sanders Sides’ main theme is knowing more about yourself. The theme is relatable for all ages, so the problem isn’t the theme per se. The problem is the type of characters, which cannot work for a man in his 40s.

One example: Virgil. He was still credible as an emo adolescent when he was 20 and he’s still more-or-less credible now that Thomas is 30. But will he still be credible, when Thomas is 40? Or will he look like a cringey grown-up playing the “I’m young!” part?

Sure, some men have that superpower of cutting their beard and looking immediately 10 years younger… but it cannot work forever. Thomas is growing up, he cannot revert the biological clock and look just like he was at 20.

And that’s perfectly fine, because everyone deserves to grow up, change and become more beautiful. But that also means getting too old to portray these characters and make them look credible.

So either Thomas ends the series before he reaches 40, or he shifts it into a much more mature direction, to keep up with his physical growth.

But doing that means a) losing his younger followers and b) switching from a more carefree approach to heavier episodes. And right now, I doubt this is the direction he wants to push his work to. He’s clearly more interested in small, low-effort videos and in pursuing carefree stuff like Roleslaying. And I completely understand why. Small videos don’t take a long time to make and he can talk about anything he wants, while Roleslaying has an already written story and Mr. Sanders doesn’t have to act it: he just listens to it and plays along with his friends. Also, Roleslaying has different, animated faces, so when Thomas is 40 or 50, Roman of Reston’s face will still be that of a 20yo guy. It’s much more convenient, compared to a series with a continuative plot he should keep up all by himself and heavy themes to discuss.

If I were him, I would close Sanders Sides' main storyline with the season 2 finale. Introduce Orange, wrap everything up the quickest/simplest way possible, solve all problems, the end: the series is done, you can move on/focus on the Asides.

If Thomas truly ends Sanders Sides' main storyline with the season 2 finale, I wouldn’t complain - and I highly doubt others will have much more to say. Sure, we can always complain about the abrupt end, the pitiful disorganization and the writing, but at least the main series will be over and no one will be left hanging around for eternity.

However, I don’t think Thomas will ever take this route either, because it would require enough self-awareness to realize he’s not able to handle this series and, most importantly, that he doesn’t love it as much as before. Oh, and let’s not forget that Sanders Sides is his golden goose and he clearly doesn’t want to give up the profit he makes from it.

That probably means he will never be transparent either. He will never sit down and make a video, to explain his feelings about this series. He will never clarify how the writing process works. He will never admit he doesn’t consider SaSi important anymore. He will never give proper answers. After all, he had multiple chances to do it and he never did. At this point, I doubt he will ever do it.

This is, deep down, the reason why I wanted to write my take on season 3. Because I know Mr. Sanders will never do anything of this. He will never talk about religion so openly, show something violent like a punch or normal like a kiss. I doubt he will ever address any mature topic at all. Or that he’ll be able to wrap up all the loose threads in a satisfying way, considering that, in the last Aside, he basically ditched them all.

So, I decided to write this. And by writing this, I proved myself a couple things:

That you can write something in less than 3 years. And no, that doesn’t prove I’m better than Thomas: it just proves I committed myself to this project until the end. And, in order to do that, I didn’t need to undergo 24-hour-long writing sessions either: I wrote a little bit every day, even just one single page. It was a daily effort, not a tour-de-force. And I focused on that project only, not on 20 at the time.

That you don’t need money to write. I didn’t spend one single cent to write FSS3. All I needed were a pen, some paper, a computer and willingness to commit. The computer might be a bit more expensive, but I can assure you the other things are all very cheap.

That an outline should always be the top priority. Sanders Sides has so many themes and loose threads, that closing them all without a proper plan would be insane. Heck, it was difficult for me even with an outline, just imagine without it!

But most importantly, I needed closure. After three years of nothing but empty promises, I wanted an ending. Or rather, a satisfying ending. An ending without loosened threads, an ending that wraps all these characters and gives them the growth they deserve.

And I know this probably wasn’t your perfect ending. You probably would change some things here and there - and that’s great, because you can do it. You can use FSS3 as a base from which you can start building your own ending. Now you know it’s possible to do it. Now you know you can do it, if you want.

So if you need closure, if you feel sad and angry or if you’re just full of ideas… do it. Write your own ending. Get your own closure. You deserve it.

While speaking of the canonical main series, I really REALLY hope to be proven wrong, but all Mr. Sanders is doing proves how much he doesn’t care about this series as before. He doesn’t even want to mention it anymore. Instead of acting like an adult, accepting his responsibilities and apologizing for taking this much time, he keeps showing the series under the rug and complaining every time someone lifts said rug and makes him watch what he left under it. And he does it in the most pathetic, childish, manipulative way possible.

That’s not what an adult does, let alone an adult who doesn’t feel guilty. And that proves he knows he’s not doing the right thing with SaSi. He knows he’s taking too much time and he's aware he doesn’t know how to handle the main series anymore.

So, instead of facing the truth, he ignores it, refers to the series only once in a while, uses it for jokes, flattens the plot and the characters’ personalities. Every anniversary, he talks about SaSi as if it’s something in the past. He doesn’t even mention it as part of his projects anymore. On the contrary: he started 2 whole new projects, instead of finishing the one most of his people want to see.

And that’s even more sad, considering how great the concept of SaSi is. This series has a ton of potential and wonderful characters. It can delve into deep, dark and mature discussions. It can explore relatable aspects of life and present themes people can discuss about. It’s perfect for a fandom.

But hey, if Mr. Sanders fell out of love and/or isn’t able to handle it, I do not blame him. Everyone can fall out of love with a project or not being able to handle it. No one is an expert on everything, after all.

The only thing I blame him for is the lack of transparency. It’s his inability to be open and honest with the public. It’s the lies and omissions, his hiding something and pretending it doesn’t exist anymore.

So, since Mr. Sanders seems unable to move on, I don’t want to get stuck waiting forever for him to grow up. I have other things I want to talk about, other stories I want to criticize and some I want to explore with you.

Starting from 2024, my blog won’t be just Sanders Sides-themed anymore. I will still follow this series and its fandom because I love them both (also, I might end up writing a new fiction in the future, because I love these characters too and want to give them a mature development), but I want to expand as well. I want to talk about a hilariously bad webcomic, a meaningful manga and explore a whole new series. And those are just the first three projects!

(And yes, I want to talk about the Book of Bill too, this summer. So... four projects)

If you’re a fan of Sanders Sides, don’t worry: I will still be around to talk about stuff, episodes and details of the series. And when the season 2 finale comes out, I will be there to analyze it and, if necessary, criticize it. Sure, it won’t be a full analysis nor a full critique, because I will need all four parts to do that, but I can give my two cents on each part. And I will do it even if I’m not invited, as always <3

If you do not care or do not want to follow me anymore, you're free to go. I do not want to keep you on a tight leash forever.

But if you're curious and still want to follow me, get ready: 2024 will be a busy year ;)

Thank you all for this beautiful year, thank you for your time, your appreciation and your nice words. I can't wait to meet you all in the next one.

Happy 2024

❤️

( Support me on Ko-fi )

_______________________________

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[legionnaireslover]

New Interview with BC in The Times!

Stephen Armstrong

Sunday May 19 2024, 12.01am BST, The Sunday Times

When did Benedict Cumberbatch go from aspiring actor to a star with the world at his feet? For some it was Sherlock, which started in 2010 and won him an ardent following of “Cumberbitches”. For others it was his Marvel films, including Doctor Strange, which was when the money started to roll in. But for his father, also an actor, it was a play his son did while at Manchester University.

“After Dad saw me in Amadeus at university, he put his arm around me and said, ‘You’re better at this than I ever was. I cannot wait to support your career. I’m so proud of you,’” Cumberbatch tells me. There’s a pause as he gathers himself, touched by the memory. “For a man to say that to his son is absolutely huge.” He grins. “And it’s not necessarily true … But the generosity to go, ‘Your turn now.’”

In previous interviews, for Sherlock and his Sky drama Patrick Melrose, I found Cumberbatch chatty, amusing and curious. Today, wearing a T-shirt, grey hoodie and cream cords, he is in a more sombre mood. He is prone to embarking on long trains of thought that sound as if he’s debating his answer as he delivers it. Perhaps it’s because he’s very tired, he says. When we last met, in 2018, his second son was barely a year old. Now he is a 47-year-old father of three boys, aged eight to four, with his wife, the theatre and opera director Sophie Hunter.

In his new television series, Eric, he plays Vincent, a dad in 1980s New York who loses his son, aged nine, near a dodgy disco with a history of child prostitution. He wasn’t sure about taking the job at first — filming was in Budapest and he worried about time away from his family, but he found the script compelling so flew back and forth.

Lucy Forbes, the director of Eric, says Cumberbatch drew on his own experience of fatherhood for the role. “We were filming a scene where he’s standing outside the school, he’s been drinking, and a single tear falls from his eye,” she says. “Five minutes before that he’d been kicking a football around. He stepped on set and wept. I said, ‘How did you manage that?’ He said, ‘Because I have three boys.’”

I relay this to Cumberbatch and he stirs uneasily. “I think drama can teach you an awful lot about yourself. If they knew where my mind was going in that scene, good luck, because even I don’t know. And I don’t need to play a bad father to realise my shortcomings as a dad.” He gives a brief laugh and shrugs. “I can’t escape myself completely. There’s always going to be elements of me at play.”

This may be why he loved the puppet work he had to do in Eric. His character is a puppeteer who runs a Sesame Street-style show called Good Morning Sunshine and Cumberbatch performs song and dance numbers with the aid of a marionette (he can sing well). “Puppets are like masks, they say the things that we can’t,” he explains. “They’re like jesters in a medieval court able to expose truths, lies, hypocrisies and idiocies. And they can risk things that we can’t.”

Cumberbatch is guarded about his family — “and this is where we come to my privacy”, he says to deflect any questions about his personal life. It’s something he has been careful about since becoming a father, and with good reason. He has been the subject of intense attention since he broke through as Sherlock Holmes — the former chef Jack Bissell was given a three-year restraining order in 2023 after he attacked and vandalised the Cumberbatch home while the family were inside.

Stephen Moffat, the co-creator of Sherlock, says Cumberbatch has always been conflicted about stardom and the attention that comes with it. “Stars need talent, appearance, the right role at the right age but also ambition,” Stephen Moffat, who was a writer on Sherlock, explains over the phone. “Benedict is not ruthless — but he wanted it. He was getting impatient. Everyone was saying he was the coming man in his mid-thirties. At the time we cast him, Martin Freeman was the show’s big name. And [Benedict] became a star in one night. He was on a motorcycle coming over to my house as the first episode went out and by the time he arrived he was a celebrity. Our phones were jumping off the table.”

Cumberbatch’s mid-thirties impatience was understandable. He’s from a family of actors — his father, Timothy Carlton, has a long career on stage and small screen while his mother, Wanda Ventham, converted early roles in Carry On films into regular comedy work in Minder and Only Fools and Horses. They played his parents in the third series of Sherlock.

Since Sherlock, however, his career has outstripped his parents’. He’s played Doctor Strange in six Marvel films, voiced Smaug and the Necromancer in three Hobbit movies, the Grinch in two and Shere Khan in Mowgli: Legend of the Jungle. He was never entirely of that blockbuster world, though, also playing Dominic Cummings in Brexit: The Uncivil War and Henry Sugar in Wes Anderson’s version of Roald Dahl’s story. As the superhero franchise world falters, his Eric performance delivers with the intensity of The Power of the Dog or Patrick Melrose, his 2018 drama about a posh Englishman struggling with addiction after his father abused him.

Eric is an emotional thriller written by the screenwriter and playwright Abi Morgan, whose previous work includes The Split and Suffragette. She was inspired by her time as a teenage nanny in New York and wrote it with just one actor in mind. “I thought [Cumberbatch] has got to be an asshole,” she says. “The surprise for me was that he genuinely wasn’t.” It co-stars Gaby Hoffmann (who played Adam’s sister Caroline in Girls), superb as Vincent’s increasingly estranged wife, and McKinley Belcher III as Detective Ledroit, a gay cop in a homophobic force investigating the boy’s disappearance.

The longer his son is missing, the more Vincent loses his hold on reality. He conjures up an imaginary giant puppet, Eric, to help him to find his son. Cumberbatch provides the voice for the beast and there’s rich, dark comedy in his battles with the plodding fluff monster, who trails him through the city offering dumb plans or mean critiques.

The New York we see is beset by problems, grappling with the Aids epidemic and widespread homelessness, which Cumberbatch got his teeth into.

“Mental health, homelessness, racism, sexism and a host of prejudices.” He ticks them off on his fingers. “We’re always told to arc away from that, or pivot is the term, I think, in PR talk. But drama should always have relevance, however sad.

“It has to speak to the world and have resonance. It doesn’t have to be worthy, but it has to be worthwhile.

“We may not have an Aids pandemic today, but we’ve had Covid, which created fear, it created isolation and created intolerance,” he points out, noting the battles over masks and vaccines. What’s unique to the here and now is the disconnect between us all as people welded to our phones, says Cumberbatch, who has said he subscribes to Buddhist philosophy. He sighs as he speaks about “the electric babysitter we carry around in our hands, which feeds a disconnect through the promise of connection. I mean, that’s a whole other conversation.”

Morgan based the show on her time as a teenage nanny in the city when New York looked just like it did in the movies — and the production captures that era’s look with precision. She wrote her story of “two little boys lost in the city” with just one actor in mind.

“We were pretty far down the line in terms of the scripts, and I knew Benedict had range,” she says. “He can do Doctor Strange, The Imitation Game, The Power of the Dog, Patrick Melrose. But I thought he has got to be an asshole, hasn’t he? The surprise for me is that he genuinely wasn’t. I suddenly understood why those actors get the big bucks they do because they get on stage or camera and there’s an alchemy.”

Cumberbatch has his pick of parts but says, “You gravitate towards things that mean something to you or the zeitgeist. It has to speak to the world and have resonance. It doesn’t have to be worthy, but it has to be worthwhile.”

He adds, “If there is a choice …” but he’s at that rare stage in an actor’s career where he can not only pick the roles he wants, but studios will wait for him. The Doctor Strange director Scott Derrickson recently revealed that Marvel postponed the movie’s release date from the profitable summer to the less bankable autumn to ensure they could cast Cumberbatch as the eponymous lead.

Eric shows Cumberbatch slowly collapsing from arrogant artist to hopeless bum in a grinding, catastrophic arc. He passes through so many states in the six episodes — does Vincent encompass themes from his entire career?

There’s the New York heroin addict of Melrose, homelessness as in Stuart: A Life Backwards (2007), where he plays a writer creating a memoir of a homeless alcoholic, and with the complex and unlikely solving of clues from a map scrawled on a wall, Vincent even resembles Sherlock Holmes.

“I see where you’re going,” he says. “But look, at one point I was the clever outsider scientist with problems communicating. The next, I was the know-it-all arrogant lead. Next, men wrestling with homosexuality, then posh people. Around the Oscar campaign for The Power of the Dog I was giving an interview at a film festival and somebody said, ‘You’ve played over a hundred characters on film alone.’ I was like, ‘Bloody hell!’ So there’s bound to be crossover.”

Many of his roles — including Vincent — are also troubled men with unsupportive parents, but he’s keen to stress his loving upbringing.

He muses for a moment and concludes: “I suppose that’s one of the best things about my career … I love that I make my parents proud.”

Eric is on Netflix from May 30

***********************

The Haters aren't going to like this one little bit. BC as a father and a husband (as well as many more things) is heavily featured in this article. There are DIRECT QUOTES from BC and the director of Eric referencing his sons.

It's a Haters' nightmare!

[wolfinshipclothing]

Rewatching Avatar: the last Airbender (WITH MY MOM!)

Ok so i convinced my mom to watch ATLA with me. she's 68, but with the mind (and the looks mind you) of a 40y/o woman who loves cartoons, so it was quite the blast.

i'll go Book by Book and tell you guys her very amusing (and accurate) thoughts.

So here i go.

MY MOM WATCHES ATLA: BOOK I

-first coment is when she saw Zuko and it was like "ooh, he's hot!" and i was like "he's a teenager" and she was like "he's also not real" so point for her.

-IMMEDIATELY after learning the Avatar has to learn the four elements, she already knew Zuko was going to chance sides and teach Firebending to Aang.

-First episodes were a bit slow but she caught onto it because of the fantasy elements. she had a bit of a hard time picking the whole bending thing. not the bending itself, but the fact that not everyone who lives in the earth kingdom or wears green is an earthbender, but she catch it up quickly.

-she pointed out that Aang's airbending is not very consistent. "Why doesn't the Avatar just blow them away?! he did so in that other episode" and well, its kinda true.

-when it was Haru's episode i said "you're gonna like him". and when Haru showed up she was "ooooh i like him! not as much as the prince tho."

-"you realize its the brother (sokka) who things all the plans, right? he's the brains" she said, halfway through Book One. she's a smart one my mom.

-"when is the earth master going to appear?" "aang has to learn waterbending first" "well but he could appear!" "just wait, mom -.-"

-she is dumbfounded and amazed at the creatures of the Avatar World. "i don't know what the heck that is but is cute/ugly as fuck".

-"this girl Katara is gonna end up with the prince right? Fire and water, perfect match" oh mom. you're in for a dissapointment.

-in the fortune teller episode "but aang's too young for katara! he's twelve right? and she's, fifteen or something?" and i said "yeah, it was kind of a thing at the time" and she said "makes no sense. also, the Avatar is like a superhero. those people... belong to the world, you know? they cant be with anyone". she's pretty wise my mom.

-"I LIKE JET!" then Jet tries to kill the old man "i dont like Jet" then Jet tries to blow up the dam "i hate Jet."

-She thinks Uncle Iroh is the best, specially after he was kidnapping. "He sure knows how to fight" she said. "he's a bit of a goof chummy guy but he gives good advice" (remember this is still Book One).

-she was mindblowed by "the storm". "poor prince. no wonder he's always so mad. still, i like his scar. it looks like a flame."

and i was like "what?" and i realized that, yes, zuko scar sometimes looks like a flame when looked from the side. my mom had to point that out to me T.T.

-"WHY IS KATARA PRACTICING WITH THE WATER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT-?! AND SHE SCREAMING TOO! SHE'S GONNA BE FOUND!" right you are, mom.

-after roku's episode "poor aang. he's gonna do all that, learn all the elements, fight that son of a bitch, and all that before summer? its too much" :(

-during Bato's episode "nah. nah, you can't do that Aang, come on." "he feels left out" "but that scrolls is important right? its about the guys father!" right she was. also she didn't stop laughing at Uncle Iroh flirting with the bounty hunter girl.

-she was having none of Master Pakku bullshit. when katara confronted him she was "hell yeah, show him whats good!" and when we found out master pakku was gran gran old 'boyfriend' "OH, now he's gonna teach her just because she's the grandaughter of his lost love. right. -.-" and i was laughing mad because dont we all know its the truth? XD

-when she saw the fire nation armada she was like "O.O HOW DO YOU EVEN BEAT THAT?"

-and when zuko ship exploded "noooooo! dont kill my princeee, he's so preety! :("

-she doesn't know why sokka felt in love so fast with Yue, and neither do I.

-she got repeatidely frustrated by Aang not taking serious the situations that should be serious, but she shrugged it as "he's twelve".

-at the end of the season, when we see Azula for the first time i told her "i cant BEGIN to tell you how long we had to wait to see how this turned out, because season two took forever to air (we live in latino america)". she was just as excited as i was and wanted to see more.

-as a personal note, i watched this series as a kid and its wild to rewatch it as an adult becase, like, you can apreaciate how well paced and well thought everything is, and how the characters actions NOW reflect what we will learn from them later.

All in all , my mom liked it Book I A LOT, and we waited little in watching book II.

its late so i'll talk more about the other books in other posts. let me know my thoughts so i can pass them onto my mom! :D

[amerricanartwork]

Quetzalli's Local Group Designs - Shape Language

Since I've developed my off-the-string AU to the point I feel I can start sharing it here, I figured to make that easier I should start working on solidifying my designs for RW's main Local Group. The way I draw them has already gone through lots of change throughout my time in this fandom, but I hope I can be more consistent from now on. And seeing as it seems almost like a rite of passage to draw one's own interpretation of the slugcats/iterators here, now that I've been in this fandom close to a year, I feel like it's about time I take on the challenge too!

I plan to make a series of posts sharing the concept art I make as I design them, so for this post I decided to start with an element I've wanted to tackle for a while: shape language!

Oh, and before I forget, since these designs are technically still WIPs and subject to change, I'd love to hear any feedback on what I've got so far!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ever since I really got into expanding on and developing these characters' personalities and backstories until I had a clear overall picture of who they were, I've been thinking of the way I could use shape language to visually convey those traits, and even show some narrative significance in their journeys. To start, I focused on the main four iterators we see and hear from in-game here, since I was clearest about the looks I wanted for them and I have the most reference for what they look like.

Head Shapes

I started first with their heads, in which I wanted there to be a clear sense of structure similar to a human head, yet still keep that simple, cartoon-y cuteness I enjoy about the in-game iterator visuals. I left in the construction lines as reference for the structure, kept the eyes all blank, and made some notes — largely on the rhythm of the lines, because I love giving things pleasant shapes. You can also see the four shapes I settled on for these iterators below.

Along with refs for the the Local Group, I made this basic iterator head reference for further notes on the head structure. I basically tried to make a cartoon-y Loomis head with most of the facial features removed.

Body and Clothing Shapes

For me, this was the really fun part. I had really clear ideas for how to express their character traits visually that had been floating in my head for weeks, and couldn't wait to show it throughout their figures, and even their poses!

Using the same corresponding shapes, I made a simple, relatively rough silhouette reference sheet that doubles as a height chart, at least until I make a more official one. I also made a version without their robes:

And one with the two layers having a clearer overlap:

Personally, I really like this last one, because I think it really shows the difference between their robes and their actual bodies. Something I really enjoy in character design is when artists use contrast between a character's clothing and true physical body to juxtapose how they present themselves or how other people see them with who they really are or how they truly feel about themselves — and thus allude to what they might be concealing from the rest of their peers or even themselves.

I ended up giving all of the Local Group, including Chasing Wind and Unparalleled Innocence, some kind of important contrast between their public personas and their true selves, so getting to finally draw my ideas for displaying it visually was so satisfying! As to what those contrasting ideas are exactly, I will explain those later...

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That's gonna be it for this first entry!

If I'm being honest, I originally I wasn't as keen on making my own designs for the characters, seeing as I like to try and keep my fan-content relatively similar to the original work, at least in overall features and core themes and whatnot. However, with this AU I've really started to enjoy adding to this world and characters via headcanons, yet always with the challenge of trying to be mostly consistent with the canon and more so explain things that are left vague rather than totally changing what's established.

When it comes to designs, I think I've finally reached a point where I feel confident in my ability to create depictions that are distinct from other artists' drawings of the Local Group and that at least somewhat capture that old cartoon feel, yet still remain visually similar to their in-game looks. And as someone who already enjoys character design, this whole challenge seems like a good way for me to start practicing the deeper elements without being in total darkness from having to create brand new characters.

If you made it all the way to the end of this, thank you so much! I'm so excited to start sharing my ideas for these characters, and I'm eager to share the other ideas I have and see what I come up with next!

[lovecanbesostrange]

Please know that since yesterday I am mentally trapped in these two panels. There is actually a lot I will miss Krakoa for, but I also felt a bit of resentment throughout the era and this family is a big reason why. NOW that we are in the last stretch of burning it all down and the new X-launch is in reach, we'll get this wedding special. And we finally have all four together in a panel. NOW?! I bought X-Men Unlimited #4 in either fall of '94 or spring '95, solely because of the cover. 30 years of waiting. Let me live in this moment for a bit.

Look at what they are doing with the art! Oh sure, Mystique and Nightcrawler are the blue ones. Pair up Destiny and Rogue next to that to make them look similar enough as well. Only for my brain to scream "but the personalities are the other way around!!!!!!!!". Irene and Kurt work on faith and believe in possibilities and reaching out to be better. Raven and Anna Marie typing this out makes me feel weird are the ones who will kill a bitch and say they will darken their soul so others don't have to. Plus there is the element that they both have lived more than one life and their sense of self is distorted .

They've come a long way, okay?!

Yes this is exactly what it looks like. For plot reasons Nightcrawler was too weak to teleport and dangling off a cliff next to Mystique. And of course Rogue could only save one and before she made a decision Mystique said "I make this for you" and let go. I still like to believe she flipped them the bird when she fell. Because she is Mystique. "HaHa! Take this, you think I'm the worst mother ever, but you will have to live with a moment of nobility from me!" (Also Destiny knew this would come, and she fucking knows there is something good inside of Mystique. It just comes out... different. And needs very specific circumstances.)

Apart from X-Men Evolution (and the X-Men Forever alternate history comic with its very special vibes), we have never gotten any bigger acknowledgement of this family. And Irene has been cut out. Either conveniently on account of being dead, or because she's an old lady and clearly just a gal pal, ahem. (It's also very funny to me to go back to their first appearances, where the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants has the biggest Three Stooges energy ever. I needed Mystique, Destiny, Rogue, Pyro, Blob and Avalanche to have a drinking contest on Krakoa. That is what Krakoa was supposed to be about!! You needed to give us 200% domestic nonsense, fun and games. So it would hurt everybody when it was inevitably taken away. EVERYBODY needed to find happiness in that place in unconventional ways.)

Sadly not my original thought (I don't have those), but recently I read some comment where somebody said that with Irene being his bio-mother, Kurt should have inherited a type of precog-sense, a sorta spidey-sense for teleportation. A natural ability that he won't teleport into an obstacle. And I would be so on board with that. (Also funny, because Ms Marvel had that type of sense and I could pull up panels where Nightcrawler tried to trigger that in Rogue.) Would it be weird to add that now? Sure. But also super cute and helpful.

My deepest gratitude goes out to the fanartists who have doodled and sketched and painted cute family moments for them out of time. Now canon can catch up. Imagine their dinner conversations. N: "Logan is my best friend." M: "Oh, that reminds me there is this blue furball running around with his and my powers. I don't even remember if we ever had sex or not, we're so close in age and have these memory gaps." N: "Mutter, nein!" D: "You should ask him out, you two would make a cute couple. Trust me." R: "You're setting up Nightcrawler with Wolverine and keep giving me grief over Gambit?" M: "He speaks too much French! Wolverine might be Canadian, but at least he's not a Franco-Canadian!" N: "So I couldn't date Northstar?"

Do not get me wrong though. Mystique and Destiny are horrible people and they will stab others in the back. They have worked for the government, they have plotted assassinations of government people. They have fought alongside and against the X-Men. I don't want them tamed or be reasonable. I want their mess. I want them as anti-villains. Because they don't do heinous things for nothing. They like to create less horrible murder events than what could be... some writers just liked to go overboard with the scheming and forgot the sympathic undertones, which I want to cling to. And we deserved a time of peace on Krakoa. Truly imagine a Mystique who was happy on Krakoa. And the absolut batshit villainous energy when it's burned down against her will... now THAT would have been something. Instead of baking resentment into the foundation.