#ICE SHARD SLUSH! ICE SHARD SLUSH!!!

[laserbeamsky]

I woke up this morning really inspired for the first time in years and this is the result <3

It’s over much too soon. It lasted about half an hour, sweaty foreheads pressed together, breath mingling, and he didn’t think that was too bad, all things considered. You were still laying on top of him, chest pressed to his, your cheek cupped in the palm of his hand.

He was always breaking things. He remembered the day that Wayne hung all the mugs up on the wall, out of reach, the day Eddie had dropped one and slashed a deep gash into the palm of his hand trying to pick up the pieces. He’d been terrified, blindly fumbling at the shards of ceramic with tears blurring his vision. He’d had to get stitches, and now the old silvery scar was pressed against your cheek. He’d never really believed in anything, but for the first time in his life, he found himself praying, the tips of his fingers pushing into your damp hairline. Please don’t let me break her.

He could feel your heart thudding against his own, slowing back down to normality, becoming steady again. Your hooded eyes met his, and you smiled softly, kiss swollen lips pulling up at the corners, your cheek pressing further into his palm.

“Hey” you almost whispered, as if speaking at a normal volume might break some kind of trance. Your breath smelled sweet, of movie theatre popcorn and blue raspberry slush puppies. He’d leaned in to kiss you while your mouth was still ice cold, and didn’t stop until there was no trace of blue left on your lips.

“Hey” he replied, his heart swelling, the smile on his face so wide he thought it might split open. The corners of his eyes crinkled with the force of it. You leaned in to kiss him again, teeth grazing against his chapped bottom lip, and when you pulled away, you lay your head on the pillow. Your face was an inch away, and he could feel each breath you took fanning softly over his face. But that inch… that damn inch. It was enough for the tiniest sliver of doubt to weasel its way in and settle between his ribs.

Everybody Eddie brought home left with a piece of him. It was his nature to give, to lay it all out on the table, and he was usually pretty good at letting things go. He didn’t expect phone calls, or declarations of undying affection, and when people walked out of the door with a tiny piece of him clutched in their palm, he didn’t ever expect them to return it. But you. You were about to take the biggest piece yet.

“You can go. If you need to. If you’re uh… busy.” His smile wasn’t as wide, plastered onto his face like a mask.

“Do you want me to go?” Usually he’d say sure, no worries, you should probably leave anyway. But the look on your face, the unguarded sincerity with which you looked into his eyes, made his heart skip a beat. It was like someone was in his stomach swinging a bat around, and they’d just hit a home run to lodge right in his throat. He swallowed around the hard lump.

“No.” He thought he sounded like a child. He hoped his eyes weren’t welling up.

“Then i’ll stay.” You pushed a stray curl behind his ear with delicate fingertips, the gesture so fond and so unfamiliar that if eddie wasn’t on the verge of tears before, he definitely was now. As you pressed your lips to his one more time, the lump in his throat turned to honey, seeping into his blood, warming his skin, setting the hairs on his arms standing on end. As you pulled away, forehead pressed to his once again, he cupped your face once more, thumb tracing along your bottom lip.

Careful. Don’t break her. He swallowed, eyes scrunching closed, his lips catching the corner of your mouth one more time.

I love you. Don’t ever leave me. “You hungry?” he said instead.

[smoqueen]

put an arizona in the freezer until theres enough ice shards for an almost-slush consistency and make your whole entire day for 99 cents + electricity costs

[operationslipperypuppet]

Home is Where the Hearth Is - Emily Axford (2024)

they made a pact. they broke the pact. they spent tens of thousands of years alone. and now, perhaps, they can start to be whole again.

image description under the cut:

[ID: two images that are show comic panels.

the first image is 16 comic panels showing words and drawings to correlate with the words.

from left to right, top to bottom, they are:

1: a light green background with the words "they say the" and then a gold circle with a cross stitch inside it, with the words "home is where the hearth is" stitched in, with a roof above "home" and a fireplace between the i and s of "is".

2: a light yellow panel showing a gold dragon breathing fire and a large yellow divine heart with blue and green veins with a humanoid with yellow hair, yellow skin, green pants, a brown tunic, and brown boots, (Telaine, the gold dragon) reaching out to touch it. there is a green and gold overlay to both so they appear to be glowing. the words over it say "and fire heals the soul".

3: a light blue panel with darker blue footprints moving through the panel, as though walking through snow. the words read "but you've been trudging through the cold".

4: a wintry scene with a humanoid in a green cloak with yellow pants and green, leaf-covered boots (Melora), cloak blowing in the wind. the sky is gray and the ground in front of her shows a blue patch of ice. blue snow overlays the entire scene. the words read "you have been traveling through ice and snow".

5: a light green panel showing a teal pocket watch and a green arrow with green, yellow, and blue feathers. the words read "'cause time isn't an arrow".

6: a light blue panel with a dark blue man, Aryox, with his chin tilted upwards, a blue knife pointing at his throat, lifting his chin upwards. the blue knife is inscribed with runes. the words read “it’s a dagger at your throat”.

7: a light blue panel showing two figures, frozen statues, one teal (Aryox) and one a different shade of light blue (Raedak). Raedak’s arms are extended and he is holding a sword, which has intercepted Aryox’s head. Aryox’s elbows are bent and shards of ice, the same color as him, extend into Raedak. the words read “and you are numb from head to toe”.

8: a light yellow panel showing a gray divine heart with golden veins. three hands; one blue, one green, and one yellow, extend toward the heart, as though to take it. the words read “and all your blood has turned to stone”.

9: a light green panel showing a log cabin with one side blue, one side green, a yellow roof with a green chimney, and a green window and door. below it is a green hand reaching out to the right as though to take another hand that is not there. the words read “so come home to me”.

10: a light green panel with a small fire on two logs and a purple and white tea pot with leaves as part of its design and steam coming out of the spout. the words read “the fire’s warm and I am making tea”.

11: a light green panel showing an image of the sun with an orange center and yellow rays surrounding it and a cream yellow crescent moon below it, surrounded by stars. the words read “the day has turned to night”.

12: a light blue panel showing a blue hand turned downward and blueish gray snowflakes extending down from the hand. below it is a smaller image of the frozen statues from panel 7, one teal (Aryox) and one a different shade of light blue (Raedak). Raedak’s arms are extended and he is holding a sword, which has intercepted Aryox’s head. Aryox’s elbows are bent and shards of ice, the same color as him, extend into Raedak. the words read “and all the snow has hardened into ice”.

13: a light green panel with an image of a pair of green boots with leaves drawn into them that have green laces, the boots Melora is wearing in panel 4. the toes and bottoms of the boots are speckled with light blue water stains. the words read “your boots are stained with slush”.

14: an outdoor scene with Melora, clad in her green cloak and green boots which are blowing in the wind approaching a light blue cave with a different blue interior. in front of the mouth of the cave is a light blue arctic fox, Lumi, who is glowing with a blue aura. the wall of the cave immediately inside of it is carved with an image of a gray divine heart with golden veins. three hands; one blue, one green, and one yellow, extend toward the heart, as though to take it, from panel 8. the sky is a grayish blue and snow overlays the entire image. the words read “and the northern winds ain’t letting up”.

15: a light yellow panel showing an image of an intricate gold cloak with a hood and many shades of yellow to create shadows and an intricate pattern. the words read “and your best coat can’t compete”.

16: a light green panel with a wooden window showing a purple night sky with the cream yellow crescent moon and stars from panel 11. in the foreground is a dark wooden table with two pairs of arms and hands on it, one pair is yellow and the other pair is green. the arms are resting on the table and the people are holding hands. the words read “with an evening in good company”.

the second image is 15 comic panels showing words and drawings to correlate with the words.

from left to right, top to bottom, they are:

1: a light blue image showing the teal head and torso of the frozen statue of Aryox from panel 7 of the above image. halfway down the torso, the color changes to the dark blue color he is in panel 6 of the above image (when he was alive). the dark blue is giving way to the teal. the words read “frozen half to death”.

2: a light blue panel showing an image of a pink bowl of hot soup on a matching pink plate with a spoon resting on the plate. the broth in the bowl is tan and has green onions floating on its surface. there is gray steam coming out of the bowl. below it is an image of a bed with a brown wooden frame. the made is made with purple sheets and pillows under a royal blue blanket. the words read “you need a hot meal and your bed”.

3: a light blue panel showing an image of a cushioned purple armchair. draped over the chair is a flannel blanket, the majority of which is yellow but has dark blue vertical stripes and dark green horizontal stripes. there is a fringe at the edge of the blanket that is alternating with the blue, green, and yellow of the rest of the blanket. the words read “you need a blanket and some rest”.

4: a light blue panel showing an image of a small purple teacup with brown liquid inside and steam coming off the top. there is a lemon wedge on the rim of the cup. below it is an image of a piece of brown bread with a layer yellow butter covering its surface. the words read “you need a toddy and some buttered bread”.

5: a panel that is twice the size of the other panels, separated into three triangles by gray lines. the left triangle shows a gold dragon flying upwards with its mouth open with a light green background. the center and largest triangle shows a temple with dark and light green stones constructing it, and large columns at the front. the top of the temple has a craving of a wavelike swirl at the center, the symbol of the goddess Melora. the right triangle shows a gray divine heart with golden veins. three hands; one blue, one green, and one yellow, extend toward the heart, as though to take it, the image from panel 8 of the above image, on a blue background like the cave wall in panel 14 of the above image. there are a pair of blue hands in front of it, holding a chisel and mallet, carving that image into the cave wall. the words across the top of the three triangles read “wear the mantle like an albatross” and across the bottom read “and never take it off”.

6: a light blue panel showing an image of the teal torso and head the frozen statue of Aryox from panel 7 of the above image, with the light blue sword of Raedak overlaying his head, as it does in the statue. the words read “you let yourself grow numb”.

7: a light blue panel showing a green hand reaching out to the back of the frozen teal statue of Aryox from panel 7 of the above image. between the statue are layers of blue and purple energy, keeping the hand away from being able to touch the statue. the words read “‘cause you’re too proud to need someone”.

8: a light yellow panel showing a log cabin with one side blue, one side green, a yellow roof with a green chimney, and a green window and door. below it is a yellow hand reaching out to the right as though to take another hand that is not there. the words read “so come home to me”.

9: a light yellow panel with a small fire on two logs and a purple and white tea pot with leaves as part of its design and steam coming out of the spout. the words read “the fire’s warm and I am making tea”.

10: a light yellow panel showing an image of the sun with an orange center and yellow rays surrounding it and a cream yellow crescent moon below it, surrounded by stars. the words read “the day has turned to night”.

11: a light blue panel showing a blue hand turned downward and blueish gray snowflakes extending down from the hand. below it is a smaller image of the frozen statues from panel 7 of the above image, one teal (Aryox) and one a different shade of light blue (Raedak). Raedak’s arms are extended and he is holding a sword, which has intercepted Aryox’s head. Aryox’s elbows are bent and shards of ice, the same color as him, extend into Raedak. the words read “and all the snow has hardened into ice”.

12: an image showing the blue cave wall with an icy blue floor and the feet and legs teal statue of Aryox. there is an additional layer of blue ice overlaying the feet of the statue. the words read “the cold has got its claws in you”.

13: an outdoor scene of two figures walking together through the snow up a light blue hill. on the left is Melora, in her green cloak, green boots, and yellow pants, braid peeking out from the cloak which is blowing with the wind. to her right is Telaine, with a golden yellow cloak, brown boots, and light blue pants. the sky is a slightly darker blue than the ground. snow overlays the scene. the words read “oh, the weather she can be so cruel”.

14: a light blue panel showing the torso of the teal frozen statue of Aryox. on the part of his leg that is visible is a pair of snowdrops, white bell shaped flowers drooping off of green stems. at his back are two hands, a yellow one above a green one, both of which are touching him. dark blue emanates from both hands, spreading throughout the rest of him in concentric circles. the words read “but home is where the healing starts”.

15: a light yellow panel with an image of 4 arms and hands, one yellow and one green each holding the hands of the two blue arms, as though to guide them somewhere. below that is an image of a fireplace, with brick walls, a stone border, and wooden mantle and baseboards. there is a fire at the center with two logs, the same one from panel 9 of this image. the words read “so come in from the dark and find the hearth”. /end ID]

[mantrabay]

After Midnight Canvas

Shards of lambent moonlight drift across crumpled charcoal sky,

gleaming snow clad laneways flaunt ancient ghostly footprint,

dream world boisterous cabals lurk in blue ink shadows,

glow worm street lights peer o’er nocturnal hour hush,

swirling toll of dulcet midnight bells defrost black ice veil,

mud stained slush from madcap drivers spray giggling sweethearts

Photographs and piece mine exclusively

I dedicate this post to my inspirational sister Jay A Pallen

Genuine thanks to everyone on tumbrl who view and reflect on this submission

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

The Hybrid House | ateez x reader

Pairing: hybrid!ot8!ateez x rich!girl!reader

Genre: fluff, romance, slice of life

Warnings: mention of su*c*de (it isn't detailed, just mentioned), description of emotions after aforementioned event.

Word Count: 1223 words

a/n: just to clarify with the chapter warnings, it is not my intention to sensationalize su*c*de. it's just mentioned but I do describe the impact a little on one of the characters, so I included a red asterisk * at the beginning and end of where it starts and ends.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 2

Things were never the same as before.

After returning home from Thanksgiving that year, your parents barred you and Axel from having any contact with your Great Aunt or anyone from there. Growing up became a monotonous journey of adhering to meticulous expectations and suppressing emotions that would creep in out of nowhere, sometimes late at night and continuously bang in your chest and surge through your veins like an icy slush, begging to be felt. You were expected to excel and outshine your cousins every academic year, and if you didn’t, you would have to face the grueling and mind-numbing one hour long lecture from your parents about how inferior you were to your cousins and even siblings, and how detrimental it would be to your life, if you didn’t achieve their your goals.

You felt like a hamster in a wheel, and so did your brother. Axel was no longer the same person he was. The magical life you both knew and enjoyed and that instilled a sense of possibility and hope every time you visited your Great Aunt was ripped away and holidays were never the same - no longer wonderful but rather filled with exclusive and lavish but toneless dinners with the same repetitive and dull conversations about either the successes of each person or the snide remarks about the failures of others.

You both became robots, submitting to your parents’ way of life. Axel was no longer the same. The brother you knew, who would resist and find ways to sneak around your parents’ dictator rules, became cold and distant. You noticed the haunted and hollow look in his eyes - it showed a profound emptiness filled with sadness with his expressions always mirroring a wilting flower. When he moved out to attend college (that your parents’ selected), he pulled you in a bone-crushing hug before leaving and patted the top of your head with a meek smile as tears glistened in his eyes.

“I’ll always be there for you.”

*

You had just turned 15 and by the end of the year, your world crashed and burned when you were told the worst news - Axel had jumped off a bridge and the medics were unable to save him. The weight of despair and agony crushed your whole existence, and you felt like you were drowning in an ocean of endless sadness and despair. The silent screams you would hold back erupted as an avalanche of sorrow, pain and a dark cloud of grief descended on you with tears stinging like shards of glass and the ragged gasps between sobs making it feel impossible to breathe. 

It took all the effort from your two other brothers to hold you back when one of your parents’ colleague and his wife made a snide remark about Axel when they came to offer their condolences at the memorial.

*

As for your parents, they became different people - they pretended as if Axel never existed, never told your youngest siblings who were born a few months before the event about their brother and pressured each of your siblings so pressingly, it led to the point where your eldest brother showed disdain at the mere mention of Axel’s name and your older sister iced you out if you asked anything regarding doing something for Axel’s anniversary.

Only your other brother showed some support but the bond between the two of you seemed to have become so damaged, he would retreat on his promises and disappear, ignoring you if he was passing by and you were in the room. So every night on the day of Axel’s passing, you would sit in the treehouse that became dusty and cluttered, and cry uncontrollably, secretly praying to go back to how things used to be when you were at your Great Aunt’s.

“What did we do to deserve this?”

And then, after a brutal and nasty argument with your older siblings, you studied diligently to curry favor with your parents and then requested your father to send you to an elite university in Upper New York. You decided to follow in Axel’s footsteps and work your way around your parents’ demands so that things could happen in your favor. You became calculative and observant and succeeded in proving your worth to your parents who as a gift, gave you a top position at the family’s company. Following this, you worked to establish your own personal company to help break away from your parents and move further away from your siblings. 

You took on one of your father’s failed projects and successfully achieved what your father couldn’t do. You saw things for how they were instilled in you to view - dollar signs that could help you move up even higher than before and gain unlimited independence from your family and anyone.

But your parents still tried to control one area of your life, your love life. They tried to set you up on dates and arrange courtships where possible. Luckily for you, it fell through one way or the other. 

However, despite your money-making centered lifestyle, you weren’t completely obsolete to everything. Maybe it was the part of you that learnt from Axel and continued to cherish his lessons. Even if you would never admit it, love felt more than just an arrangement to have more money. Although you were heavily ingrained in the fast-paced, upscale lifestyle, something pulled you in the other direction when it came to love.

Nevertheless, you continued to live your life day by day as it came with meetings, negotiations and the few occasions that included luxurious drinks and food at restaurants or clubs or on yachts in different parts of the world.

Until one day, after a hectic meeting you received a call from a lawyer, more specifically, your Great Aunt's lawyer. Once again, your world was interrupted with life-changing but heart wrenching news - your Great Aunt passed away just a few moments ago before you received the call and you were now the inheritor of her estate, money and home.

That night, you stood on your balcony unable to process all of it. You were now a hundred or probably a thousand times richer, but your Great Aunt who was a part of the best moments in your childhood that became vague and indistinct in your mind, was no longer here. 

Tears cascaded down your face into your concocted cocktail. This was the first time that you cried like this since your brother Axel.

You contemplated telling your parents but then decided against it, remembering that your family did not have any good things to say about your Great Aunt after all these years. This was a secret only for you to know.

And your best friend Yeonjun.

Recruiting Yeonjun, you told your parents you were accompanying him on a trip to Asia to help him secure a business deal with some clients. They paid no heed and waved you off and sent you on your travels.

Now, you were in a car outside of Seoul's airport waiting for Yeonjun to finish placing the bags in the trunk. 

It was at this moment the realization was slowly dawning on you: it had been 13 years since you last came to Seoul, which meant it had been 13 years since you last saw your friends.

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Taglist: @ateezennie23 @edenani @seonghwasslytherin

[hazbincalifornia]

Andrealphus manages to capture both Stolas and Blitz in something like that ice dragon, and Stolas is forced to watch as the cold sinks into Blitz’s body, every attempt to claw his way out driving shards of frost against his skin until he’s curled up and desperate to maintain what little heat he has.

Stolas desperately wants to help, but even with his feathers he doesn’t have enough body heat or body fat to help much except for curling around him and feeling as the shudders get stronger, Blitz whimpering against his chest as his blood feels like it’s turning to slush.

[tiredtransfemwhore]

So anyways as i was saying basically recently ice type pokemon have become the rarest type and in almost every pokemon game you cannot get an ice type till at least the 4th badge usually later. Despite ice type pokemon being so weak historically recently gamefreak has been adding buffs to the type to make it more effective in battle.

The main buff is changing hail to snow. Snow now makes ice type pokemon more bulky similar to how sand increases a rock type pokemons special defence stat. As well as the increase in pokemon that have the slush rush ability which increases speed in snow this allows for some serious ice sweepers in some of the lower tiers.

There's also the new ice move ice spinner which on cetitan allows for reliable and consistent damage along with ice shard allows for it to be a-

transfem whose been ranting about some obscure 90s video game for the past hour and a half: sorry about taking so much time. i hope i wasn’t annoying

me, trembling: …do you want to kiss??

[askadelcatty]

Almian Skitty / Almian Delcatty The Kitten Pokemon / The Prim Pokemon An Ice type variant In northern Almia's cold, snowy environments, Skitty and Delcatty have evolved to survive the cold temperatures. (Details under the cut!)

| ALMIAN SKITTY | The Kitten Pokemon Ice Type Ability: Refrigerate or Slush Rush Hidden Ability: Snow Warning

Height: 2'0" (0.6m) Weight: 24.3lbs (11.0 kg)

This Skitty's energetic and playful nature lends it well to hunting, its fur naturally blending it into the surroundings around it. Its large eyes, in comparison to Hoennian Skitty, help it perceive through any snow that may be disguising its prey. Skitty's are known for being hard to earn their trust, and its twice as true for this variant. Having been left alone in the cold tundra for hundreds of years, its become distrustful of humans, though its large, snowshoe-like paws and fluffy fur make it just as appealing to keep as a pet as its Hoennian cousins. Its said that an Almian Skitty's eyes are keen to any movement around, making them avid hunters. Legends say that they can see through the snow, though its yet to be proven true.

STATS

HP: 50 ATTACK: 45 DEFENSE: 35 SP. ATT: 45 SP. DEF: 35 SPEED: 50 TOTAL: 260 Almian Skitty evolves into Almian Delcatty with the use of a Blue Tears of Prince's Shard. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- | ALMIAN DELCATTY | The Prim Pokemon Ice Type Ability: Refrigerate or Slush Rush Hidden Ability: Snow Warning Height: 3'07" (1.1 m) Weight: 71.9 lbs. (32.6 kg) Unlike Hoennian Delcatty, these Delcatty have grown to keep dens and protect them and any territory around it. While its normal to see them traveling alone, some decide to live in family groups as well, working as a group to keep their dens safe. Almian Delcatty are just as clean, if not more so than their Hoennian cousins. With a snow-white coat, they like to keep themselves and their environment spotless. They do, however, sometimes move territories at will, keeping some of their Hoennian aimless nature. Its said that long ago, that the youngest prince of Almia was gifted a Hoennian Delcatty as a sign of peace between nations. With the castle now abandoned, the descendants of that one Delcatty are thought to have adapted into what we know as the Almian Delcatty, with luxurious fur coats to protect them from the cold. Some say that they keep the secrets of the Late King and Princes of Almia. STATS

HP: 70 ATTACK: 65 DEFENSE: 55 SP. ATT: 65 SP. DEF: 55 SPEED: 90 TOTAL: 400

[usedpidemo]

Frozen hearts (fromis_9 Saerom)

You wake up with a low groan and a severe pain on your head. You’ve had terrible starts to a morning, but not to this level of heightened agony. Your eyes can barely muster up the strength to open more than a quarter only. It feels like an anchor weighing you down when you try to move. It isn’t like you’re exhausted nor do you drink excessively—you simply feel a lot heavier than you normally do.

Getting up is an immense struggle. Every fiber of your body refuses to cooperate. They drag along with heavy resistance. It’s like they don’t want to associate with you. Nevertheless, you’re able to stand on your two feet, albeit it takes a couple of falls to your knees. Your vision is blurred by a vast field of pure white; you aren’t sure if this is heaven, limbo, or some other plane of existence. Everywhere you turn, you are met with an endless void of nothingness.

Am I dead? Certainly not. I can feel the cold air flow all around me.

Your left foot sinks into the thick snow when you take your first step. Same for the right foot. After the fifth step, you lose balance and land chin first into the sleet. Eyes go shut and you grimace in pain. Blood trickles out of your chin upon impact, but it’s only a minor cut. Clearly you’re not in the best condition to move, but your instincts tell you to continue, to survive, to live.

With a grunt, you rise to your feet again then carefully trudge along the dense, endless stream of ice and frost.

The frigid atmosphere persisted. Your hands kept themselves wrapped around your body for most of the long, anxious walk. Under the relentless, icy winds you constantly shivered and trembled. Thankfully, the sun shone brightly, high in the clear sky. No signs of a brewing snowstorm. One less problem to worry about. Still, you struggled to journey down the vast, slush covered wasteland.

After hours upon hours of aimless hiking the frozen plains, you stumble upon chunks of metal and other random material. Your eyes widen as a piece of white metal reveals itself out of the snow. After you pass by it, more pieces continue to emerge, as if they lead to somewhere. With what little burst of energy you have, you start to jog a little, desperate to find where these shards would take you. Around the corner, you finally see its place of origin. Look up and your jaw drops.

Remnants of a destroyed airplane ripped in half lay above the ice. Its interior is exposed and open for exploration and dissection. Luggages and bags are left scattered around the wreckage, having been ejected from the compartments and storages during the crash. You refuse to think about what’s in there, let alone step inside. By some miracle, you managed to survive this. As you walk around the ruins, you can’t help but shiver—for a different reason.

Traces of skin are wedged between the plane’s engine. Lifeless bodies lay everywhere in the open, partially coated in ice. There isn’t much to see on the inside from where you stand, but you mostly assume it’s mostly the same there too. You grit your teeth and shake your head as the gruesome thoughts of death occupy your mind. None of these people deserved their sudden, cruel, and tragic fate. How you ended up a long distance from here, you don’t know.

A silent prayer of peace is all you can say.

Remembering your urgency for survival, you take two random luggages then slowly walk away from the wreckage.

You can see the sun start to set over the horizon. Question is, where to go and what to do? Everywhere you turn is nothing but snow and frost, as well as sleet covered trees. Resources are extremely limited, who knows what animals might be roaming around, and civilization feels like another world altogether. Nature has stacked its cards against you, and you’ll end up just like everyone on that plane sooner than later.

With no plan, you decide to trudge forward. What lies ahead you don’t know, but it’s better to remain curious than to lay down and die. It would be a waste of a miracle if you give up so easily.

As night falls, the cool winds intensify. Even as your body shivers, you need to keep moving. Tired as you are, you can’t stop. It would be the end of you if you choose to stop. Damaged bags in hand, you lug your tired feet onward. Not even as the mild gale turns into a snowstorm, something you hoped wouldn’t happen.

It’s almost impossible for you to see ahead because of the violent blizzards. Despite this, you had no choice but to continue. Even what’s right in front of you becomes difficult to perceive. As a result, you hit your knee on an icy rock and trip forward. With a scream you crash into the ice a second time, cutting up your face again and drawing more blood. It feels like nature is coming at you with all of her might.

Using the bags as leverage, you manage to pick yourself back up, albeit your legs wobble uncontrollably. Take a deep breath, then grab the luggages and move again. This snowstorm won’t cease and neither will you.

After a few steps, your ears twitch with sensitivity. You hear foreign noise—cries that you’ve never heard up until now. Desperately you soldier on, with hopes that you don’t run into anything hostile. Your eyes shift left and right, perusing the nearby surroundings for any possible threat. The noises swell by the minute. Something quickly approaches you. There’s no escape.

From the bushes emerges a grey wolf. Its eyes gleam a bright yellow, its sharp teeth bare, ready to bite. Seconds later, another wolf jumps out to meet you, this time with black fur and blue eyes. The rest of the pack show up too; the hounds appear in pairs until they surround you in a wide circle. Twelve wolves versus one vulnerable man.

You quietly hold as the pack closes their loop around you, their fangs exposed for destruction and consumption. They will certainly devour you within minutes. A choir of growls reverberate around the nearby surroundings. It appears that the road ends here for you. Maybe you could incapacitate two wolves if you’re lucky, but that’s about it. It was a good effort.

As you close your eyes and brace for imminent death, you hear a small hiss in the midst of the howling.

The wolves see one of their own suddenly drop dead in front of their eyes then break position immediately. Chaos ensues; some scramble nearby in search of the killer, others begin to attack their own brethren, and the leader of the pack howls loudly in grief over the loss of a kin. Before you can grasp an idea of what’s happening, another wolf is suddenly taken out by this unknown force.

One by one the pack slowly disperses from you either by death or fleeing. Five wolves end up dead as a result. After that near-death scare, you’re free to move forward. You’re both confused and relieved. Put a hand on your rapidly beating chest and sigh. Another miraculous save and you might possibly get a heart attack.

“Are you okay?” A mysterious voice asks from the woods. Turn your head with raised eyebrows. From the bushes a coated figure appears. They have a bow and arrow in hand. That’s what they used to kill the wild wolves.

“Yeah,” you answer back. “Thank you for saving me.”

“I’m glad I got wind of you. Who knows what could have happened if I was a second late.” The hooded figure walks from carcass to carcass to recollect their arrows. “I wasn’t expecting any other survivors.”

Their words take you by surprise. “Wait, are you a survivor too?” you ask.

“That’s right.”

Remembering the countless dead souls from the wreckage, you’re astounded that there’s also another one besides you. You approach her while they grab the last of their used arrows. “Wait, I want to thank you—”

As you grasp the person’s shoulder, they turn around and remove their hoodie. It’s actually a woman! When she meets your eyes with hers, you stagger back in shock and withdraw your hand. You’re unable to finish your sentence.

She gives you a cold glare, as if you offended her. “Well? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Coherent words struggle to form in your mouth. Despite the raggedy environment and mildly tattered garb, she looked beautiful. That was your first thought. Not only that, but she’s also a skilled archer, which boosted her appeal even more. You never expected a woman like her to be your savior.

“I-I-I-I…” Your brain can’t process it all properly. What can you say? “I wasn’t expecting a woman to swoop in and save me.”

Her features turn sour. Incorrect response. “Well, would you have liked me to unsave you then? Okay, I’ll bring the wolves back. I can also do that!”

“No!” You blurt out as she walks back into the bushes. “I didn’t mean it like that! What I meant was, I wasn’t expecting you to save me!”

“So would you have liked it if someone else saved you? Ungrateful ass,” is her reply, each word delivered snarkily.

“No, no, no! I meant that I wasn’t expecting someone to save me at all! That’s what I meant!”

No amount of corrections and explanations could change the fact that you pissed her off. Not a good first impression. A light moment in the midst of the seriousness. She brushes off your reasoning, annoyed that she wasted her arrows on someone like you. Even so, she doesn’t shoo you away and allows you to follow her back into a deserted house in the middle of the woods.

“Woah, you built this?” you ask as she goes up the stairs.

“Nope, this was already here before. Got lucky.” The woman removes her boots before opening the door. She turns around before entering and looks back toward you. “What are you waiting for? Unless you wanna sleep with the wolves.”

You comply and follow her shortly into the house, shedding your sneakers outside in the process.

She takes off her thick coat then places it on a chair. Look around the place and it’s surprisingly well built and maintained. All the floors, tiles, and walls don’t appear too damaged. No electricity, though. Light fills the mostly dim room when she places a lamp on the table.

The woman pulls one of the chairs from the table then sits down on another. “Settle in, we might be here for who knows how long.”

You nod. Despite how blunt she was, you can tell she was welcoming enough for you to lower your guard. You remove your sweater and place it on the provided chair. Afterward, you sit opposite her.

Awkward quietness fills the space between you two. You try to avoid eye contact with her while she intently stares you down. Her elbow is planted on the table while her arm supports her cheek. Where did your talkative self from earlier go? Maybe if you ignore her long enough, both of you will pass out from boredom or exhaustion.

You honestly didn’t know what to say. Especially after that terrible first impression, you became wary of your words, lest you piss her off. What else could you tell her other than ‘Thanks?’

After what feels like an eternity, she breaks the silence. “I want to ask you something.”

“What is it?” Your gaze meets hers. Those eyes. They’re like a magnet. All of your attention is drawn towards those expressive pupils.

“If you don’t make it out of here alive, what is the last thing you want to be remembered for?”

“What?” involuntarily comes out of your mouth. It sounds like the right response to such a strange question. Thought provoking, yet incredibly bleak. She stares at you with those expressive, curious eyes, eager for your reply.

She sits there, waiting tirelessly as you process her question. Eventually, she lays her head on the table, but her patience persists.

No amount of brainstorming could come up with a definite answer. “I don’t know.”

“Did you have a life before this?” She changes the topic. “What did you leave behind before you ended up here?”

And again, the answer is, “I don’t know.”

The woman raises her head from the table and sits upright again. “What were you travelling for, then? Why did you get on that plane? Where were you going?”

Take a deep breath. Your brain tries to process all of her questions. It’s almost like an angel is interrogating you before you get sent to heaven. In a normal situation, these would be ridiculous things to ask, but their magnitude is way different in a life or death scenario.

“I…wasn’t sure about where I was, as a person. All my life, it was always about following the orders of everyone else. It didn’t matter how I felt or how I’d end up, as long as I did what I was told, everything would turn out great for me. So I got on a plane, expecting things to fix themselves on the other side. You see, I was getting really tired of it all. Being yelled at like I was a puppet…it finally broke me. I was just done. I didn’t know who I was, and I yelled at my boss because of it.

“I probably shouldn’t have done that. The one time I finally thought about myself first, I felt really good about it. Next thing you know, I took a plane. I hoped that if I traveled for a bit, maybe I could rediscover who I really was and why I was acting like that. Little did I know I’d end up in the middle of a cold wasteland, without help, without a person to call. Who knows if they even care about me now.”

She leans back into her chair as you pour your heart out. You can’t help but let a few tears flow down your eyes as you bare yourself out to this stranger. “Happy?” you ask with a sniffle. It’s apparent in your tone and face that you’re done for the day. Her eyes never depart from you even as you get up and make your way into one of the empty rooms without asking her where they might be.

The following morning—or afternoon, since you don’t have a clear indicator of time—the sun’s light pierces through your eyes. When you enter the living room, the woman is nowhere to be found. A few articles of clothing which belong to her are still lying around, so she hasn’t deserted you completely. You step outside to a mostly serene forest—gone is the violent snowstorm from the night before. It’s completely quiet, without a trace of her, except for several footsteps marked in the snow. Your shoes are positioned on the stairs while her boots are gone. She must have gone to scavenge, you thought.

You take one of the chairs from the living room then place it on the porch. Deafening silence fills your nearby surroundings while you sit and wait for her to return. Watching the trees—covered in thick layers of frost—as you contemplate on them feels cathartic when panic and survival aren’t on your mind. A rabbit jumps out from the snow, its fur almost indistinguishable from the pale sleet. Its little frame almost draws a silent “Aww” out of you, until a blinding arrow pierces through its skin and it dies a swift, painful death.

Distinct footsteps follow the whir of the fast arrow. Your intuition was correct; she was looking for resources after all.

Your eyes can’t look away from her as she picks up her used arrow and dead rabbit. She turns your way in such a manner that draws a bright smile from you. It’s simple, but she has that effect on you. And you don’t know her name at all. The way she rolls her eyes and shakes her head with a little snarky smirk on her lips makes you realize she recognized you all along. Now your cheeks are red with embarrassment.

“Are you just gonna sit there and look at me funny or what?” she mockingly asks you while heading straight into the house.

“I thought we were looking for a way out.” You get up from your seat and follow her inside, changing the subject. “How come you're hunting like it’s your day job?”

“I did,” she replies with a drastic change in inflection, from light to serious. “It’s been 12 days since I sent a distress signal. How could you not know that?”

Immediately your eyes widen with disbelief. The sudden realization hits you hard. “I was unconscious for 12 days?”

“12 days? How are you still alive then?”

Much like the questions posed upon you last night, you had no idea. You stand there, mouth agape, unable to speak, let alone answer. When she realizes that you’re too deep in thought to reply back, she leaves you there and heads out into the wilderness to gather more. Only after she’s long gone again do words flow out once more.

“12 days.”

How did I survive that long in the open?

Later that night, both of you sit by the fireplace, sharing rabbit meat. Using wood she picked up from the woods she manages to create a fire to cook. Your eyes glance back and forth between the fire and her. Even in this dire environment, she appears composed, laid back, and calm. You watch as she munches down her food like a casual meal. There’s little weight of urgency on her shoulders. It’s like another casual day for her.

“You seem eerily calm about waiting for rescue. Are you sure it’s been 12 days?” you ask quietly.

She nods while taking her last chomp. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Don’t you miss anyone? Do you ever think that maybe someone’s looking for you?” You deflect one of the questions she threw at you from before.

“Sure. If you mean family, then those count, yeah.”

Something feels off. It’s like they’re just acquaintances to her by the way she answered you. Maybe it might be pushing it too far if you continue to pry into her life. Is this concern or curiosity? Both?

From the pocket of her jeans she pulls out a phone. Cracks make themselves clearly reflected in the fire. You can hear a gentle sigh from her breath as she looks at the screen. Wanting a closer look, you chow through the remnants of your dinner then crawl closer towards her. She doesn’t push you off nor hide it from you.

“And this is? Who are they?” you ask while you peer at the damaged display. Nine girls, including her, flash on her home screen.

“My best friends. I mean, sisters.” Her fingers scroll through different photos of their group in happier times. “They’ve been with me for the longest time. Through thick and thin. I’ve never felt closer to anyone besides them.”

Again your eyes shift back and forth between hers and the phone. A tear starts to form on her right eye. “I’ll admit, this is the first time I’ve ever felt truly alone. I tried to survive, to live off the land, to cope with this loneliness by fighting, but this is a fresh experience. I’ve never felt more relieved and happier to see someone else when I rescued you.”

You draw away from her a little after she reveals this side to her. If there’s anything you’ve discovered, it’s the two of you: opposites on the social spectrum brought together by fate and circumstance.

Perhaps there’s a reason why you survived.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper as you tap her on the shoulder. “I didn’t realize how much—”

“It’s okay,” she interrupts you, her eyes closing while she puts her phone near her heart. “To be completely honest, talking to you has been quite fun for me. You remind me of them so much.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You see, my friends and I, we got into a heated argument before I left.” She sniffles and crinkles her nose, tears flowing freely now. “So in my anger, I took a plane to get my mind off them. I didn’t want to resolve our conflict, I didn’t want to speak with them, I just wasn’t in a good place. I felt that if I removed myself, they’d be better off without me.”

You look down on the floor to let her words sink in. Silence seems like the most appropriate response, as well as a solemn appearance. Her words hit a deep part of you—that you weren’t the only one who felt lost, who felt aimless, and most important,  who felt lonely. Perhaps there is more yet to be added, but her bloodshot eyes and depressed frown tell you that’s already enough.

As you’re about to get up, you feel a hand tug against yours. She’s not even looking at you—her eyes focus fully at the fire. There’s no resistance as you allow her to hold your hand. No words but you can feel her beg for you to stay a little longer. Deep down you’d do the same too. So you sit down beside her again and your heads bury themselves together as one. This was more than survival; you needed each other to fill the vacant patches in your hearts.

With a small whisper, you say, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You close your eyes, but you can’t sleep. There’s something missing. With a half opened eye, you look at her, falling into slumber. “I never got to ask your name.”

“Saerom.”

Her name clears the mess wrapped in your head. Finally you can be at peace. “Goodnight, Saerom.”

“Goodnight.”

With that, both of you enter into a deep, cozy slumber with your hands intertwined together.

———

Day 13. Two figures sneak from bush to bush as quietly as possible. They’re in search of a target they can use as a resource, as well as practice fodder. Usually Saerom hunts by herself in the open fields, but this time, she takes you into the deep forest, where small animals are commonplace.

Two pairs of eyes peer from a thick shrub and spot a bunny hop out of its retreat. “This looks like a great, easy target.” Saerom whispers in your ear while she hands you her bow and arrow.

“I’m not a good shot. Like, I shot eight airballs in my college tryouts.” You scramble and attempt to give the weapon back but she insists you try your hand at shooting.

“It’s gonna be fine, trust me.” Her eagerness makes it hard to refuse, so you cave in and focus your aim. Your hands twitch frantically while they hold onto the bowstring. Admittedly you’ve tried archery only once, and that resulted in an arrow straight into a girl’s head. No one should know about this. Not even your new friend.

Trying not to remember this at the worst time you shake your head and focus your fire on the idle rabbit. Her eyes shift between you and the little creature intently.

“On my word, fire. Got that?” she says. You simply nod at her command. A bead of sweat drips down your head. There’s a bigger chance of you messing up instead than following through. The waiting grows too long that your hands begin to lose hold of the string. Your heart beats rapidly.

“Ready?” Each second that passes feels excruciating to your mind and your hands. Just say the command already, you think to yourself.

“Three. Two. One. Fire!”

Immediately as she drops the last word, you release your grip and let the arrow fly. As it jets into the distance, slow motion kicks in. You both watch as the projectile glides over the wooden surface mixed with snow. Inexperienced as you are, you want to prove you can be a capable archer. That, and disappointing Saerom would be the most shameful thing you’d be doing in her presence.

The bunny sits, unaware of what’s about to hit it. It approaches the innocent creature with plenty of momentum, until it zooms past and completely misses the mark. Afterward, the rabbit hops away, completely oblivious of you and the object.

You slap your knee and groan in disappointment. No amount of excuses can change the fact you misfired. Horribly. But be honest, what else did you expect?

Saerom takes the bow and arrow back from you, but joy remains on her face. “It’s fine. I guess you were onto something when you said you had terrible aim.”

You shake her comment off with a casual shrug, but at least you tried. She walks out of the shrub to recollect your used arrow. From here, she takes over and easily collects a few bunnies for consumption. Four of them, in fact. Hunting is second nature to her and her skill leaves you in awe. She’s way more efficient than you—she takes less time to aim, fire, and gather. When she offers you another opportunity later on, you wave your hands and decline.

As the day draws closer to the end, she sees one more chance to gather up meat. Both of you find a brown, furry creature in a bush. She immediately draws her bow and arrow. This beast’s fur is much more distinct which makes it easier to target. But something seems weird. You haven’t spotted a brown rabbit all day long. They were mostly grey and white. Worry overtakes you and you put down her hand, wary of the possibilities.

“Wait. I don’t think I’ve seen a brown bunny at all. I think we should let this one go.”

She turns to you and raises her bow again. “Let me have this one shot. Last one, I promise.”

“Are you sure?” The bush shakes violently, something an average rabbit can’t do. “I think we should just head back. Maybe look elsewhere.”

“Relax. This one will go down after one shot, like they always do.” Saerom draws on the bowstring, ready to fire at the presumed little critter. “Do you not trust me?”

“I trust you!”

“Then why are you so hesitant?”

“I don’t know, maybe it could be a violent creature or something! I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Your concern ends up becoming frustration that it also alters your voice from a murmur to a shout. This finally draws the attention of the animal as out of the bushes, a wild bear appears. Seeing the large, deadly beast in front of you, Saerom immediately retracts her bow. Her arrows will have little to no effect on its thick fur. The bear, walking on all fours, slowly approaches you both. For some reason, your legs freeze in place from fear.

Part of you wants to tell her that you were right, but now’s not the time. You and Saerom look at each other, expecting a command to be made. And with a collective shout, you both yell, “Run!”

Both of you flee from the bear as fast as you can. The bear roars and gathers momentum to chase you down on all fours. Neither of you refuse to look behind, lest it grab you with its big claws and slash you into pieces. Splitting off into two to divert the beast’s attention was never on your mind. Up some hills and even past a small river you run. Hard. Not even the snow, forest, and rocks can stop you.

It was relentless. The bear never stopped in its pursuit and both of you pushed your bodies to the absolute limit just to get away. Eventually, you manage to make it back to the retreat safely, closing the doors and placing a chair in front for added security. When the bear realizes you’ve both disappeared, it stops and goes in another direction.

Both of you drop to your knees in the living room and take deep, heavy breaths. A scary situation that could have easily gone south just as it was fortunate of you to escape.

After taking a few minutes to breathe, you turn to Saerom with a face that pretty much says, “I told you so.”

———

Later that night both of you sit by the fire and have the same dinner as before: rabbit meat. At first, you were disgusted to eat it, but when you’re out in the wilderness, you can appreciate and consume it freely. Anything to fill up that empty stomach.

Still, there were no signs of rescue on the way. Tomorrow, it’ll have been two weeks since the crash. You wonder how much longer can you endure, wait, and survive. One way or another, eventually your luck will run out.

And then there’s Saerom, as composed as ever. Just a few hours ago she was running for her life but she looks like she’s already forgotten about it.

“You seem so awfully relaxed.” You point out her calmness again.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s been 14 days. 14 days! Are you sure you sent a distress signal to come and rescue us?” Your voice spirals out of control; your rationality breaks and the frustration gets the better of you. “Or was this an excuse for me to hang out with you?”

Saerom rapidly blinks in response. You’re losing it. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not sure! I honestly don’t even know anymore! Why did I even ask for your help in the first place?”

“My help? It was me who found you, asshole!”

At that point you rise from the floor and head straight to your room in frustration. Not that you didn’t want to fight Saerom—you would if you could—but rather freely express your frustration without hurting her too much. Afterward, you slam the door behind you while she watches you storm out the living room. From where she sits she could hear loud thuds from your private quarter.

Saerom doesn’t rush to speak to you. Instead, she waits a little to let your anger boil over then only after you’ve become quiet does she knock on your door. Your rage has changed into guilt and sadness. Shame fills your thoughts as you contemplate your impulsive, emotionally charged actions.

“Don’t come in,” you say with your back against the wall, crouching and burying your head in your arms. You definitely don’t want her to see you in this vulnerable state.

She doesn’t listen to you and slowly enters the room. She finds you curled up and in tears. Sniffles fill the small space. Seeing your terrible position, she sits beside you once more. Her fingers gently brush your hair aside, revealing your messy eyes. Even after what you did to her, she still chooses to care about you.

No words can tell what she really wants to say. She buries her head on your shoulder. For the first time, you’ve felt warmth.

“I admit I do feel alone, too.” Saerom opens her mouth after you’ve calmed down and stopped crying. “I was slowly losing it. This waiting game was killing my soul. Still is. I felt like a dead person walking. I thought death was a better fate than to live with this trauma. But then, I met you. In a way, you saved me. I’ve never felt happier seeing another person. It gave me life again. You gave me life again. I know that feeling so well. Please, let me comfort you now.”

She wraps her arms around you in a big embrace. You don’t resist. With open feelings, you welcome her full comfort. Her nose nuzzles your left cheek. For some reason, you feel your heart thump rapidly.

You weren’t sure what took over you.

Saerom is taken by surprise. You pull her in and passionately kiss her on the lips. Your hands cup her face to draw her deeper into your smooch. Underneath your cold shell, there’s a special fondness for her that never crossed your mind and now it finally blooms. All it takes are the three simplest words.

“I love you.”

Her cheeks flush a bright red like a ball of sunshine, which she is. You knew this, but you couldn’t tell her that until now. She draws you back in and continues to lovingly make out with you. Your body topples her perfect frame and your hands pin hers to the floor.

She reciprocates your feelings. After regrettably pulling her lips away, she murmurs back, “I love you.”

It’s too soon. Maybe it’s not the best time. Forget about your situation. Ignore that you’ve been stuck in a frozen wasteland for almost two weeks. Only her. You don’t know if you’ll ever have another chance. And if this is the end, you might as well have one last moment with someone close.

Saerom tugs at the fabric of your long sleeve shirt and lifts it halfway before you do the rest. In return, you easily pull her white sweater, leaving only a matching colored bra. Then you crash back into her sweet lips once more. You can’t get enough. For once, this quiet solace has a use. A backdrop for passions brought together by fate.

She overpowers your frame and rolls on top of you. After regretfully breaking the kiss again, her hands unclasp her bra then toss the garb aside. You quietly groan at the sight of her exposed, shapely chest.

“You’re so perfect.” You blurt out, which causes her to blush and cheekily grin from ear to ear.

The rest of your clothes follow suit. Saerom makes quick work of your pants and boxers as well as her own jeans and underwear. They’re all thrown away in a messy pile on the corner of the room. “And you have a perfect cock,” she says as her eyes ogle at your stiff shaft. You feel a slight tickle as some cold air cuts through the closed window, but her hand strokes you a few times to hotness.

“Wait,” you say while she lifts your upper half from the floor. “I don’t have—”

“I’m safe. It’s okay.” She quickly answers you before you could finish. As if she was reading your mind. “I still had a few more saved.”

Any peculiar thoughts about her statement disappear when she slams her pussy straight into your cock. A collective, deep groan fills the room. It almost hurts—the way she crashed down on you—but the immediate pleasure overrides the pain you feel.

You bury your head and plant your lips on her shoulder as she rides you at a rhythmic pace. Her soft, husky moans in your ear flip a switch in your head—one that causes your lust to burn brighter. She takes your left hand and leads it toward her left breast, asking you to fondle it. Your body happily obliges as it clutches her tit and squeezes freely. Lust has taken over and you’re more than willing to relinquish control to your bodily desires.

Reflexively you thrust upward to meet her hips halfway. She’s slick, wet, and tight, a perfect match for your shaft. Your hand is hard at work too; it continues to caress and handle her titty like a valuable possession. The other hand reaches behind to cup her ass. Her body’s a treasure. Ideal in all the right places. So gratifying and pleasing to your senses.

She’s far too ahead of you. It doesn’t take long before you feel a warm sensation in your groin. Wet juices gush down and liberally coat your dick. When she orgasms, she deeply groans with great relief. Her hands cling to your shoulders tightly as she rides out her peak. In the midst of her climax, you never quit pumping her. You don’t intend to stop.

Shortly after, your own orgasm follows.

Waves of seed are sent deep inside her wet body. Your hand grips her breast and ass harshly the same way she did your shoulders. She moans with each powerful blast. The climax is only brief, but feels endless. You watch as she opens her mouth wide in rapturous pleasure. It’s enough to get you hard almost immediately again.

You slip your shaft out from between her legs. Only for a minute.

Saerom wants the moment to last longer. Before you can do anything, your eyes meet and she pulls you in for another deep, intimate kiss. Her fingers rake your hair and nape. You take this time to lift the two of you off the floor and push her towards a wall.

Then you take her by surprise and turn her against the wall.

You hold your wet dick and slowly insert it against her round, perfect ass. Saerom’s high-pitched screams reverberate against the thick barrier. Her fingers claw deep into the wall desperately as you bury yourself inside her asshole fully. At first there’s excruciating pain and it seems like it wouldn’t budge, but your wetness is able to penetrate her from behind.

With a groan you fuck her. Slow, but hard. Each thrust brings her body into a frenzy, quivering and shaking without control. Your breaths against her neck sends chills down her spine. She’s a wanton, needy mess. Her mouth’s agape, endlessly delivering sharp whines of pleasure and profanities. There’s no need for filters when the rest of the world is a vast emptiness.

Between pumps you shower kisses all over her back. With inaudible whispers you mumble how perfect she is and how you mean to her. A stark contrast to her loudness. One hand latches onto her shoulder and the other on her waist. You’ve never relished someone like her. Space and time are all irrelevant. What matters now are your pleasures being fully realized for one last time.

After a long while, you can feel your loins twitch again. As if she’s telepathically linked to you, she demands, “In my ass! Fill that ass with your cum!”

And you freely comply.

You weren’t counting how many thrusts it took to get there—because you focused on the finish line. The second orgasm is just as powerful as the first. With each spurt of seed, she sighs and grunts and moans. Deeply. Her voice doesn’t waver, it goes on and on until your end. Afterward, you throw your head back. For a moment, your mind goes blank after the climax. If you passed right then and there, you’d die a very happy person.

Her eyes flicker open and she turns her head back, finding you in your bliss filled daze. “I bet you want to die now, do you?”

Your senses bring you back. Her words you hear but you couldn’t comprehend them. Either way, you’ve never felt at ease more than now. You look down and see cum drip down her ass and pussy. Grinning from ear to ear, you take Saerom down with you to the floor again, exhausted but relieved. She places her head beneath yours, her features forming an innocent smile.

After that intense passion, you couldn’t find the perfect words to say. Your hands gently brush her messy hair away. The soft, delighted look on her face is the last thing you see before you give in to sleep.

“Goodnight.” She mumbles while wrapping your other arm around her back before kissing you on the cheek. Then she joins you in slumber.

———

Day 14. You try to disregard that it’s been too long and there are still no signs of an imminent rescue. Still, with renewed optimism, you and Saerom head into the fields to gather food for the night.

“Let me shoot this time,” you say while you point at a rabbit close by. An easy target.

“Are you sure?” Saerom scoffs, remembering your miss from yesterday. “I mean, that looks like it could be a difficult one.”

“Please, this one is much closer!” You retort. “Just give me the arrows and watch.”

She complies and hands over the bow and arrow. As you said, this bunny is easier to aim at and fire because it’s nearer. Just as you prepare to fire at the game, you both hear a thunderous sound. The usually calm wind of the day starts to whirl faster. It doesn’t throw you off, but the animals nearby, including the rabbit, start to disperse and hide.

Saerom pulls at your jacket. Her eyes are looking elsewhere. “Do you see this?”

You look at her then where she stares. Up in the sky is a white, blue-striped helicopter. At long last. You couldn’t be any happier and so is she.

With great joy, you both wave your arms to signal above exactly where you are. The helicopter spots you and begins to land. You rush toward its landing spot, with arms still tirelessly motioning. Eventually the helicopter gets low enough that a few rescuers can open the door and help you.

Only a few hours later, you’re finally at an airport. News and media reporters wait at the arrival ready to interview you about the experience. Your story is all over the internet. So much unneeded attention, but the most important part is that you lived. You survived. And somehow, you found the love of your life.

Family and loved ones welcome you back after you power through the different interviewers and journalists. Giving quick and short answers is your weapon. Saerom’s friends and family are there as well. They rush over to her, who’s following you closely.

“Captain! We missed you so much!” Her friends surround her and cry together. She welcomes them with open arms as they hug her. You’ve grown attached to her after your time together that it feels bittersweet. You don’t even notice how much your own family misses you. Their words fall on your deaf ears.

Her friends disperse from her and approach you. They look at you with interested eyes.

“You didn’t tell us you were dating!” Hayoung says jokingly, which gets a few laughs from everyone else.

“Please, let’s not—”

“He’s quite good looking if I do say so myself!” Chaeyoung interrupts Saerom, creating even more laughter.

“Guys, we’re not—”

“Did he beat that bear’s ass? He’s a keeper! If you don’t want him, I'll have him all to myself if you don’t mind.” Gyuri continues the joke chain which makes Saerom facepalm in frustration.

While you laugh along, you can’t help but feel sad when you look at her. You really don’t want to say goodbye. This is where you part.

As your respective parties prepare the cars, you take her hand one last time in private. Your eyes meet and both of you start to tear up. She wipes your tears away with her hand. You give her one more kiss on the cheek to reassure her you’ll be fine.

“I don’t know if we’ll ever see each other again, but once again, thank you. For everything. I hope we’ll be in touch.”

She nods. You don’t want to let go. Neither does she.

A loud horn draws your attention. Your party’s SUV is waiting. The window opens and your family stares at both of you.

“Hey!” One of your brothers says, “You never properly introduced us to her. Who’s this girl?”

Her hand intertwined with yours, you proudly reply, “Well, her name’s Saerom and she’s the one who saved my life.”

———

(A/N: Happy (belated) Saerom day! This was originally meant to be with a different idol but then I was told it was her birthday! The idea of survivors forming a deep, personal bond in the middle of a life-or-death situation was a concept that felt right with the winter season and all. Thank you for reading!)

[etruatcaelum]

“…a bit!” Isaac puffed as he sprinted for cover.

Dust-conjured ice never lasted long; skidding, he swung the cane out and slammed it against the corner of a hard-light box at the same instant he flicked the trigger to retract the haft. The accumulated ice, already rotten, exploded in a great burst of crushed shards and slush and water–

—aaand shorted out the hard-light projector.

Because of course it did.

This really was not his day. Isaac swore and launched himself straight at James through the glittering, misty afterimage of the collapsing box. “Well!” He jabbed hard at the other boy’s shoulder. “That’s probably nothing to worry about, right!”

Once he emptied the chamber of dust rounds, James tilted his head curiously, quite pleased with the result.

"Hm." It did work well. He should however aim for the legs instead. Well, plan for the future.

He had enough time to drop down, roll a bit away and shoot again, his usual bullets, before Isaac would recover from such a move.

"A bit slow, aren't you?" He probably shouldn't mock Isaac, but couldn't help it. It was very satisfying to be able to repay his sass from earlier and actually have an upper hand at the moment.

[limerental]

it's finish my abandoned wips 2k22 and today, I have a brief modern au yen/geralt/jaskier ficlet

*

Geralt met some guy in a bar. 

Triss tells her this over fishbowl margaritas at the new Mexican place in her neighborhood, lips tinted slightly blue by the vibrant slush of her drink.

"We're meeting in a bar," says Yennefer.

"We're not having sex." Her voice dips low over the word sex as she spares their fellow happy hour restaurant goers a furtive glance. 

"Geralt had sex with some guy in a bar?" 

Yennefer is sure to emphasize the word sex more loudly than need be and is gratified by several patrons looking sharply in their direction. Triss huffs, cheeks pinking up.

"Well no," says Triss, "or maybe. I don't know. I heard this from Coen. But I don't know, Yen, it sounds… They've moved in together. The guy picks Ciri up from daycare most days. He goes to family functions."

Yennefer suddenly feels a little burst of anger. Not at Geralt. She doesn't care who Geralt is having sex with. She doesn't care who he's met in any bars or who he's living with. She's pissed that Triss thinks this is the conversation she wants to have over margaritas on a Friday night.

"Why are you telling me this?" Yennefer asks, softening her anger because Triss has been her close friend forever and sometimes she just tries to care so hard stuff snaps under the pressure of her forced attention. She means well enough. "Triss, Geralt and I are done with each other. We've been done for years, and you know it. The only thing we have in common now is–"

"Ciri, yes, that's why I thought–" Triss shrugs and loses her straw, fishing with her mouth for it around the swirl of the bowl. "If it's serious, he should have told you. For Ciri's sake. If this guy is going to be a part of Ciri's life, you know, you should have some say."

She sounds so earnest and naive. Yen pities her. Pats the hand that rests on the table.

"That's not how divorce works, Triss. That's not how anything works." 

"Well," she says, "I think you should have a say."

Yennefer wants to tell her, I needed to have too much of a say in Geralt's life, that's why we ended things. I tried to hold too tight to control while everything fissured, and that's why Ciri chose to live with him and not me. I didn't know how to be a good enough mother and lover and wife and homemaker and working woman all at the same time without getting ornery and antagonistic and impatient and sabotaging it all, even as Geralt was doing the same.

It's like she'd blinked on their honeymoon or in the sticky-sweet months after adopting little Ciri, and suddenly woken up bringing every stereotype of a nagging, hostile missus to life. Spiraling into somebody she didn't recognize, fighting loud with Geralt over stupid shit. Cheating, sometimes. Blaming it all on their own nature. Some shard of ice lodged in their chests that no passion could fully melt. Cold and unchanging. 

Geralt should have known from the start that she was too broken to fit right into his own jagged pieces, and thing is, she thought that's what they'd come to learn from the mess of the past few years. The long, grueling, furious divorce that ripped their little family to nothing. Both of them too broken for any kind of lasting love. Damaged by the traumas of their youth beyond repair.

But Geralt's met a guy in a bar, and they're serious and living together, so maybe it's just been Yennefer alone who's been broken all along.

"I don't care who Geralt's having sex with," Yennefer lies, having drained most of her margarita with a blur of drunken humming settling around her.

Triss looks at her in that bambi soft pitying way of hers, and Yennefer resists the urge to be unkind, to snap, to taint the well-meaning care of a good friend with cold words. It sours something in her stomach, and she purses her lips against the feeling, pretending at disliking the syrupy tang of her drink. 

Triss hasn't done anything wrong in bringing it up. She has her own traumas and scars and only the best intentions. She understands what Yen's gone through and just wants to help.

No bitter barb or flared up argument could soothe the gnawing, empty feeling that has always existed inside her, so Yennefer cannot say why that seems like all she returns to again and again. Like an animal in a trap, ready to draw blood from any impassioned rescuer. 

There's something wrong with me, she wants to say to Triss and doesn't, knowing her face would soften and voice warble into a coo of reassurance, and Yennefer could not handle it and end up spilling over with vitriol and hurt and unfairness.

There is something wrong with everyone, some darkness in every person's past, but Yennefer thinks that maybe in her that frozen wasteland has been hiding something rotten. To melt the shard of ice meant exposing the decay.

It's all very melodramatic to think about such things on a crowded bar out with a friend on a Friday night. Triss hails the bartender, and he snags her empty and skips back to their table with a brimming glass of vivid slush. Triss' smile is stained with the dye as she thanks him, and the bartender grins in return, his teeth very white and eyes very blue. He fishes several shot glasses out of his pocket and sets them before Yennefer, brandishing a bottle of tequila from some other mysterious pocket to fill them.

"I didn't order this," says Yennefer, and the bartender waggles his eyebrows.

"Pardon my eavesdropping," he says, voice smooth and charming with the touch of a flamboyant lisp, "but your ex-husband had sex with a man in a bar and is now parenting your child? Do tell."

Yennefer stares at the gold tuning fork dangling on a chain at the open collar of his shirt and says something cutting that she will not recall later as the rest of the night ripples into the gelatinous, amnesiac spin of drunkenness.

In the morning when she wakes in a familiar bedroom beside an unfamiliar man with her ex-lover standing at the foot of the bed, all six feet of a miserable, grimacing sad sack still in uniform from his security guard night shift, and his only response upon finding his ex-wife and current lover in bed together is to grunt and undress and nudge the sprawled out, snoring man beside her until he rolls over enough to make room for him, Yennefer is forced to think that maybe she has been overcomplicating things this whole time.

"Hi Yen," says Geralt sheepishly, "you met Jaskier?"

"We had sex in a bar," she deadpans. The bartender grumbles in his sleep, grasping weakly against the blankets pooled around him, looking like the most ordinary man in the world, and yet Geralt, who has too many thorny, shattered edges to measure, looks at him so softly Yen's teeth ache with a memory of last night's sugary drinks.

"Yeah," says Geralt with absurd fondness.  "He does that."

"And you're OK with that?" She asks. "OK with this?"

Geralt shrugs, his cheek smooshed against the pillow, his hair spilling loose. The sun is coming up to track across the wall beside the bed. When she lived here, a framed painting of a lighthouse hung there, brought with her when she left. Now the wall is blank and the sun covers it.

"People don't change," he says simply and reaches across the sleeping man to touch her waist, his palm hot through the thin sheets. He is looking at her the way he never stopped looking at her. Like she could flay him open and he'd let her. Yennefer doesn't want to. She doesn't want it to be like that anymore, never really did at all.

"Do you want me to go?" she asks. She knows she should go. Before Ciri wakes up. Before her inevitable ugliness rears its head again. Before this sunlit morning bleeds into stormclouds.

"Don't go," Geralt says. "I'm sorry." And it splits her in two, the impossibility of it. To love somebody for the black, oozing parts of them, the flaws and schisms. To accept the things that will never change. It can't be as simple as that after all these years. But for now, it is uncomplicated.

"I'm sorry too," says Yennefer and settles down to sleep.

[pikatalia]

More Than Just A Hero: Volo x Reader

By Pikatalia 🐶 and @bellafragolina

Chapter One: Alpha Glalie

The scream that echoes across the Icelands is enough to freeze you. You straighten up, the wind clawing at your clothes, and glance around for the source of the scream. It sounded like a Pokémon, probably an alpha one from that volume. You’re closer to the Pearl Clan village than you would prefer to be with an alpha nearby, so you adjust your course and try to follow the cry.

It comes again, ringing in your ears with its intensity. But it’s what follows the scream that worries you. A shout, that of a person, one fraught with pain and fear. You pick up the pace, running through the snow now, desperate to save the poor soul that got caught up in an alpha’s wrath.

You skid to a stop at the top of a jagged hill edge, peering down at the valley below to see a Glalie building up power for an ice move. Its glowing red eyes are focused at the base of another hill, and there you spot a familiar blue and yellow uniform. Your heart stalls in your chest as you recognize the face of the Ginko Guild merchant, a man you haven’t seen since the fateful day at the Temple of Sinnoh.

Without much thought, you fling yourself down the hill, into the valley, rushing towards the two. Your shout of anger draws the attention of the alpha Glalie, who swings around with a furious cry that its attack has been interrupted by a feeble distraction. Your anger spikes – you’ve wanted to see Volo again for so long, and now here he is, about to die to this wild Pokémon.

Your hands are hot as you dodge ice shards flying at you from all around. You dart between the Glalie and Volo, ignoring whatever he’s shouting in favor of the rapid approach of the Glalie. The wind is picking up, thick slush carried with it, but you ignore the snow splattering into your face. With grit teeth, you act one instinct, throwing your fist forward in a punch-

Fiery orange sparkles alight around your fist, consuming the image of the Glalie as your fist makes contact with where the Pokémon’s nose would be, if it had one. You’re swallowed in the warmth of the flames, jerking back from your own punch with a gasp. Smoke billows from your fist, perfectly uninjured despite the fire punch move you just performed. You pant, surprised, at the reeling alpha.

The Glalie, startled by your sudden attack, flees before you can work up the rage to fire punch it again. As it disappears into the foggy distance, you remember yourself, and whip around to face the man you just saved.

Volo is pale as a ghost, clutching his janked leg as he stares up at you in utter awe. You fall to your knees beside him, frantic, and check his leg over. His pants are torn, and you can see the bad bruising of what could be a break beneath the blue fabric. If his leg is broken, you’ll probably have to carry him to camp.

“You-” Volo can’t say much more before you have his cheeks between your palms. His lips are soft against yours, but cold. Not good.

“You’re okay.” You say in relief once you pull back. Volo is slack-jawed, and doesn’t fight as you slide your arms beneath him. Surveying has paid off, for the lanky man weighs hardly anything in your arms. “I’ve got you! Let’s get you somewhere safe so you can get patched up.”

Volo is silent as you begin your trek towards the Pearl Clan village. His gray eyes bore into the side of your head, but you ignore it for now, focused on moving through the snow with delicate cargo.

As the village appears on the horizon, Volo finally speaks.

“Fire came out of your fist.” He says.

“It sure did.” You respond, hiking him up further into your arms.

“How?”

“I wish I knew. Would’ve helped with surveying and quelling the nobles.”

Silence once again envelopes you both. People at the edge of the village have taken notice of you, and shout further into the village, calling for Irida. Not wanting to jostle Volo when you inevitably get crowded, you set him down on a nearby rock, careful of his leg.

To keep him warm (and safe) while you’re gone, you release your Typhlosion, Dango, and instruct him to keep watch over Volo. The merchant scoffs, but doesn’t say anything as Dango turns his attention onto him. The large Pokémon is intimidating enough to forgo any ideas of rebellion in Volo’s mind.

You rush into the village once that’s settled, nearly slamming into Irida on her way out. She grabs you by the shoulders to steady the both of you, then shakes you some.

“Where did you find Volo?!” She demands, eyes wide and bright with panic. “And why did you bring him here!?”

“There was an alpha Glalie nearby.” You explain, breathless. “It had Volo cornered, I think it broke his leg! I couldn’t just leave him to die, Irida!”

The wrinkled expression Irida’s face takes on shows that she thinks you could’ve, but she doesn’t say anything about. “Alright, alright. You’re lucky Warden Calaba is still here, helping with some illnesses that swept the clan earlier this month.”

“Do you think she can help Volo?” You ask, hands clasped before you.

“For you?” Irida asks. “Yes. For him? Not so much. I think she’ll help, but she won’t be happy about it.”

You wince. None of the clans nor the Galaxy Team are fond of Volo after his betrayal. You can understand their anger, but you’re glad Irida is willing to look past his wrongdoings to help you ensure he doesn’t die out here.

You wait at the village entrance for Warden Calaba, who sighs heavily once she’s at your side. You show her to where Dango is watching over Volo, tensing at the glare she sends the merchant.

“Broke your leg?” Calaba asks, setting down her basket of herbs to properly look over the limb.

“Possibly.” Volo responds, muted. He glares at Calaba, then at you, his cheeks rosy from the cold. You admire the color on him, then snap back to attention when Calaba starts to speak again.

“Does it hurt when I touch here?” She asks, pressing on Volo’s leg. He winces and nods. “And here?” A muffled yelp. More nodding. “And what about here?”

“Are you done!?” Volo snaps.

“That’s not even a morsel of what you deserve after all you’ve done.” Calaba snaps back. Volo wilts, growling at his lap. “You’re lucky the hero didn’t leave you to die to that Glalie. It’s what most everyone else would’ve done.”

“W-Warden Calaba.” You say, before the two can well and truly start fighting. As funny as it would probably be, watching a man with a broken leg trying to fight a ninety-nine year-old-woman, you don’t want it to come to that. Besides, Calaba would probably win, and Volo doesn’t need a bruised pride on top of his other injuries. “Is his leg broken?”

“It is.” Calaba says, clipped. She turns her nose up to Volo, then regards you with a scowl. “I don’t understand your kindness towards the betrayer, but I respect you. There’s a cabin near the Snowfall Hot Springs. Take him there, and you’ll both be safe while you rest. I’ll bring herbs that should help with his pain, and for if he happens to develop an illness or infection.”

You sigh in relief. “Thank you so much.”

“Anything for our hero.” Calaba says with a nod. “Take him to the cabin, and splint his leg. Keep him off of it if you can.”

“I will.”

Calaba gives another nod before she starts back towards the village. “Good luck. With him, you’re going to need it.”

Silence envelops you once more. Dango huffs steam into the cold hair, lowering his head so you can pet him. The heat of his fur against your hands reminds you of the fire punch you performed. What was that, and why could you do it? Can you do it again? It’s certainly something to try, now that you’re about to have a lot of free time.

You retrieve your flute, and play on it to summon Wyrdeer. The steed comes barreling over the mountains not long after, snorting a thick steam from his nostrils once he stops before you. You coo up at the noble, and show him Volo, carefully explaining the plan. Wyrdeer doesn’t seem pleased, but he lowers himself to allow you to ease Volo onto his back. The merchant says nothing, nose wrinkled the entire time.

It’s a quiet journey through the Icelands.

🐶🐶🐶🐶

Thank you to @bellafragolina for helping me get this idea that was stuck in my head out in writing!!! I’m a sucker for Volo even after he was a jerk so we took this idea and ran with it. ❤️🐶

[beauregardlionett]

Warmth was a vague and distant memory for Laudna - more like a concept at this point in her memory than anything else. Dead things - or at least half-dead things - were not warm. Her fingers were icicles, her blood slush, and skin frozen to the touch. Even curled up in bed with one or more members of their troupe, Laudna was never warm. The bodies around her produced warmth, but she never did.

The shards of Imogen’s gem sat innocuous in the palm of Laudna’s hand. Oh, how wonderfully deceiving.

Delilah lurked at the fringes of Laudan’s consciousness, mocking. Whatever had been inside that gem now ran through Laudna, chased toward Delilah through the vessel of Laudna’s slush filled veins.

Rage, confusion, frightened desperation to understand what just happened that drove this rift between her and Imogen, Laudna grasped fruitlessly at the gem’s power.

It was warm. It flooded through her to tingling fingertips - ice too close to fire. Laudna startled and lost her grip on the intangible and hated herself for longing for another taste. She hadn’t been warm in so long. Of course her first experience with it again would be indirectly from Imogen.

In the blink of an eye, the warmth receded, stolen away by Delilah who faded moments later, too. Rage flooded into the space she had occupied and Laudna couldn’t parse if it was at Delilah or at herself.

She screamed over the bow of the ship. Oh, what it cost to be warm again.

[if-rabbithole]

“i know you’re not supposed to smile back” for thatcher please? thank you!! <3

“i know you’re not supposed to smile back” – thatcher

When his focus starts to slide, he can hear them.

Years ago, they used to be more insistent. Begging for revenge. Begging for him to bring them to justice. Thatcher, Thatcher, Thatcher, they said, tugging on him, calling to him even as he drifted off to sleep. Why was it you? All of us were together, yet why was it you? He cried the first few times, clapped his hands over his ears, and did everything he could to drown the incessant whispering out.

He didn’t know what to say. He still doesn’t know. Luck is a plausible solution. The next one is mercy. In the end though, he has no answers to give, the equivalent of a shrug offered when someone poses a question he doesn’t know where to start with.

Now he’s grown, outstripped the scared child he used to be by years. A lifetime measured by the parts he broke apart and put together so he could grow up faster. It didn’t matter if they dug under his skin and screamed at him, because in the end, that’s what he dedicates his life to.

Lately though, he feels like he sees a different future. If he thought about the next day, it was only about survival. Now you’re here, and as ridiculous as it might sound, he can see you’re the same collection of bits and pieces as he is. It’s like the jagged shards that make up the whole of him can fit together with yours.

Thatcher knows he’s changing. It’s not the first time he’s caught himself thinking in metaphors, and he can hear the voices snickering in the fringes. Weak, one of them sing-songs, mocking him. I know you. You’ve grown weak, stupid.

They’re not wrong. Weak might be the right word to describe what he feels. Like when springtime rolls around, melting his insides to slush. Warmth fracturing ice. You’re incredibly radiant in ways he doesn’t know how to express, and in a way that makes him understand what it means to move forward. A life where his years aren’t counted by the spaces between the next battle.

You’re foolish to think this will last, says another, laughing. You know you’re not supposed to smile back, they say. Don’t look.

He looks. From where he is, he can see you. He can hear the sound of your boots crunching on the gravel, Ellis’ easy cadence, and Chess snarking at something, and it’s like he can breathe for the first time. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t last. Now is enough for him.

[masterwords]

two tickets to paradise (pt. 5)

Summary: Derek takes Hotch on a much-needed vacation. (Post-Route 66) In this adventure they visit the laundromat, and Hotch gets made fun of a bit for his terrible accent when speaking Spanish.

Warnings: mentions of past abuse (hotch), parental death (past/canon/derek), food, alcohol

Words: 4.2k

Notes: Yeah it's more cute. That's all this is. Cute romancy shit. Because when I'm mean to them I need to make sure I'm also nice to them. Vacation continues!

Read on AO3: two tickets to paradise

** CHAPTER LIST **

**

He didn't bother to pack his hand brace. Couldn't imagine a time he'd need it. Sure, his hands hurt regularly and you could find him pumping his fists for a good ten minutes in the morning to loosen up sore joints after years of shooting guns and typing up reports and various traumatic injuries. He'd broken fingers, sprained wrists, bloodied knuckles...the years and his job had been unkind.

But he didn't bring anything for them because he hadn't needed them in so long and he wanted to pack light. Maybe silly, but true. After the surgery, his stomach hurting gave way to his back being constantly sore which meant he had to pack his damn heating pad and he really didn't have room for another daily irritation. He could count on Derek to have packed something he could use anyway. Derek was in the shower washing the sand out of all of his nooks and crannies, or attempting to anyway, after another afternoone traversing the beach and getting into all sorts of shenanigans while Hotch slept the daylight hours away. Things were getting precarious. Would he be fully nocturnal by the time vacation was over? He was starting to think it likely.

The embarrassing fall earlier that day, he knew, was the culprit for his sore wrist and stiff fingers. It was worth it, the hike itself had been the stuff of dreams...walking through ruins had been a childhood dream, a scrawny little boy reading about Spanish conquistadors but really only wanting to know more about the Mayans themselves. He couldn't have cared less about the men who came to take over their land, but these ruins, these temples and the sacred clay that had crumbled to dust...that meant something to him and no sore wrist could ever sour that. His skin had touched a piece of history, he'd held a shard of pottery, beheld something so much bigger than himself that the ache in his joints meant very little. Still, he might need to baby his left hand a bit in order to continue the fun, they had itineraries to follow. While Derek showered, Hotch rifled through his bag until he found his little first aid kit. It was messy, not well kept, there were band-aid wrappers crisp and dried, scattered and crumpled inside and the antibiotic ointment looked like it was probably from the 1980s, but he found a tattered old ace bandage with a bent up metal clip and figured that would do the job just fine. He wasn't about to be picky.

He wasn't injured, he was just sore. It took some doing to wrap it himself, but he managed it well enough...sloppy, a little loose, did the job. There was a little plastic ice pack in the freezer meant to be shoved into a cooler for food and drinks, so he nabbed it and wandered out to the patio to sit in the sun with ice on his sore hand for a while.

A beer would help. Crisp, golden, icy almost slush working from his throat to his belly. The way it spread its chilly tendrils through his chest made him suck the air in a little deeper and all he smelled was briny salt air...and he smiled. He smiled and he relaxed into the lounge chair, turning his face up at the afternoon sunlight as it blanketed their beach. No one was out now. This was the time they ate or they explored, the home hours were early and late. They had neighbors on both sides now, a fair distance away but they were there. The college kids were still hanging around another few days, spring break wasn't over yet. On the other side was a couple of newlyweds, not too young but younger than he and Derek. Of course Derek had already introduced himself and offered to have them over for dinner one night. He couldn't go anywhere without making friends, and Hotch thought maybe he was already sad that his college buddies would have to return to school before the two of them vacated the house. Heaven forbid it just be the two of them. But then the quiet newlyweds showed up, each of them on their second marriage, each coming in with children, a blended family making a fresh start.

They would be coming for dinner the next night, which meant real shopping, actual food in their fridge, a real plan. Hotch was almost giddy over the thought. He'd been doing his very best to live spontaneously, but he was a planner through and through and he'd felt so untethererd...it was nice to have this one thing. Just a little sliver of planned fun. He would find a board game, maybe, or they'd swim in the pool. They could use the grill outside, have some beers, laugh. He was a good planner. And now that he was relaxing and adapting into this vacation lifestyle, Derek had let him have the reigns for the little makeshift dinner party. “We need to do some laundry,” he'd said, writing a little list after Derek told him about the invitation. “Do a spot of cleaning up...get some groceries. Just a few. Enough to be proper hosts.” Derek grinned, watching the way he'd lit up over it.

But he wasn't doing any of it. None of the cleaning, he didn't quite feel up to it yet. They had another day, he wasn't bothered, wasn't worried. In another life he might have had a checklist and been doing something daily to make sure they were ready...now he was willing to get to it when he got to it.

“What's that?” Derek asked, wandering out onto the patio in nothing but his towel. He was indicating the half-ass scraggly bandage wrapped terribly around his hand, Hotch didn't need to look at him to know that much. He lifted his arm and tried to flex his stiff fingers with little movement. Only a wince.

“Sore,” he replied quietly. “It's fine. Just following protocol.”

“You wrapped it like shit. Clooney coulda done better”

Hotch scowled. “Clooney doesn't have thumbs.” He offered his hand to Derek without bothering to open his eyes, to argue further, he knew what Derek was going to say next. “Go ahead, your majesty.”

Derek's hands were gentle as he crouched beside Hotch and unwrapped the brown bandage. He held Hotch's hand in his for a moment, turning it over, examining it for the telltale swelling in his knuckles that made everything difficult. It didn't look too bad, that was a good sign. Slowly he began re-wrapping it, tighter, pulling the bandage especially close to his wrist to hold it in place. He would tell you it was the shooting and the typing until he was blue in the face, but Derek only saw Foyet mocking them in these moments. They would never be rid of him. He was a parasite that had attached itself to Hotch so completely that there wasn't any way to separate them. They just had to live with it now. Find ways to mitigate the damage.

But Derek didn't have tunnel vision. Holding Hotch's bandaged wrist in his hand, he thought about the first time he'd heard him say anything about it hurting. It was years ago, when things were new and exciting, when they were still hiding their middle of the night hotel room visits from everyone. Hotch had used his SUV as a battering ram somewhere in butt fuck Oregon, some highway surrounded by trees and right on a damn cliff. His memory wasn't as good as Hotch's and didn't hold a candle to Reid's, he could remember glimpses but not all of it. He did remember seeing him standing there on the side of the road with his gun drawn and his arm hanging limp at his side, he remembered making devastating eye contact and continuing to drive when that insufferable bastard waved him off, practically ordered him to keep going.

It was one of those moments where he was forced to consider what he wanted out of life. Choices he was making...right or wrong. Hotch wrecked his vehicle, he was bleeding, and for the job Derek did what? He didn't stop, he just kept going, followed the murdering bastard all the way to the edge of the cliff for no reason at all. He was already long gone. He'd made his choice before Derek made his to keep going. And wasn't that the same awful soul sucking choice that the unsub had made when he drove exhausted? Killing his wife? Derek wasn't sure how to live with himself then, but he found a way and he kept finding a way. Over and over. He supposed they both did, in their own ways. Hotch & Morgan were separate from Aaron & Derek, and that had to be it. Anything more and it got too complicated.

Easier to ask for forgiveness than ask for permission. If only he'd stopped. No more, they were in Mexico now on that same premise but he was making it work for him now.

This vacation was helping in ways Derek hadn't even contemplated. That Hotch would take the initiative here, before he was in misery, was a change he hadn't foreseen. He pulled Hotch's hand to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles, smiling. “There. I'm telling Jess about this one.”

“She'll worry.”

“Nah, she's gonna be thrilled. You did this on your own! I didn't have to bully you. Between this and the naps...I'm not sure she's even gonna know who you are when you get back.”

That didn't exactly make Hotch smile, but the sentiment was sweet. He understood. “You never change.”

“I don't need to change. I'm already perfect. We're on your wellness journey here.”

Hotch rolled his eyes and let them close again. His hand already felt better in Derek's wrap, he knew what he was doing. A splash in the pool startled him, the cold water splashing against his bare legs and he looked in time to see Derek naked and swimming like a torpedo beneath the surface.

“What do you wanna do today?” he asked when he breached the surface, crystal droplets of water beading over his slick freshly shaven head. Hotch couldn't help smiling...he was gorgeous. Felt like all he did these days was smile and he hated to admit that Derek and Jess and Cruz were right. He did need this.

“We have to go do laundry. Clearly you're out of clothes, and I'm dangerously close. And that blanket...”

“That blanket isn't done seeing action, buddy.”

“No, I expect not. But our neighbors don't need to see what we do on vacation. It needs a wash.”

(x)

When he was nine, Hotch's mother packed a few outfits into a bag and dragged him out of the house while his father slept off a whiskey bender. A celebration, he'd said, won a big case. Don't you think you should pace yourself? She'd asked and was met with a bloody lip for all her concern. That was it, the end of her patience with his outbursts. His “fits” as she called them, explained them away. Excused them. Somehow it made sense to her that he'd take his anger out on them, she could make it make sense. His job was stressful, lives hung in the balance, but when he was happy and he still crumpled up his meaty fist and hurt Aaron? Hurt her? Well, there was no hope left.

They stayed in a roadside motel two towns over for a few nights with what little she had in her coffee can, and they ate lunch in the laundromat down the road. Peanut butter and jelly was cheap and easy. She always put extra jelly on hers, he only wanted the peanut butter. The jelly hurt his teeth and made his jaw tense.

They didn't have to. She had family she could have called, family with money, but she had an over abundance of pride so she never did. If she was going to leave her husband and save her son, she was going to damn well do it on her own. Not jump from one abusive relationship to another...because that's all it was. Her husband put hand on them, but her family tried to control her every move (and Aaron's future) with their money. She wanted desperately to be rid of all of it.

Just she and Aaron. And times were hard, but they managed.

They would sit with their greasy potato chips and she smiled easy and ate two, three little shitty sandwiches at a time while he picked his way through one. Looking back, he felt silly not realizing that she was eating more...and then two weeks into their carefree road trip, she started throwing up in the bathroom every morning. A quick trip to a women's clinic in the city and she knew they had to go home.

She was pregnant.

She and Hotch could live forever on her small wages from waitressing the breakfast shift at the diner attached to the motel. Discounted rates, good tips, lots of free food. The early morning crowd, mostly doctors and cops just off of their long shifts, tipped a pretty young lady well in those days. They'd been doing just fine...but another baby, no way. This was no life to bring a new baby into, she reasoned.

She needed her husband. They had to go home. Hotch felt like crying while he packed, but instead he just asked her for one more laundromat lunch date. She couldn't say no to him.

It started with a phone call. He watched from his perch beside the big metal dryer while she talked to his father on the pay phone. She looked so beautiful, he couldn't imagine how anyone would want to hurt her. But her features darkened, and she was harsh with him when he felt bold enough to try and convince her that they didn't need to go home. He could eat less, he wouldn't need any new school clothes, they could find a small apartment...he would sleep on the couch, she could have the bedroom and he didn't need any toys he promised. Begged.

The laundromat was where his good memories lived. Sometimes, when he was feeling lost or run down, he would throw his clothes into a bin and find the quietest most desolate laundromat he could just to be alone with his thoughts. His apartment had a washer and dryer, and for a while it was fine, but after Foyet...using it gave him a chill he couldn't shake, checking those oily shapeshifting shadows over and over when he walked by, when he stood too long. He found himself wishing for nights at the laundromat again.

Derek's memories of laundromats were a little different. Their washer broke almost every other month, it seemed, and his mother never had the money to fix it right away. When his father was alive, he could whack it with a wrench or tighten some hunk of metal inside and suddenly it would clunk along again until it rattled apart. It was a running joke in the house. But when he was gone, there was no one who knew which part to hit with the wrench, or which piece to tighten, so she would withhold the kids' allowance for a few weeks (always with the promise of catching up) to get it fixed. Until then, the family would pack up their dinner and clothes in trash bags and spend an evening at the laundromat. Kids with their homework, Fran with a romance novel, every person putting in equal shares of folding to make it go quicker. He and his sisters would run around the tables, play hide and seek, get into shouting matches over who was cheating at Monopoly and raid the bubblegum machines with any change their mother had leftover. (Or bits they found hiding under and behind machines. People dropped coins all the time into places adult hands couldn't quite reach but kid hands...it was like treasure.) They would leave with orange, green and blue tongues, clean laundry to last another week, and a handful of memories. (And maybe a headache for Fran, but a smile on her face.)

When Derek got his first paycheck, his first real paycheck, he bought his mom a brand new washer and dryer. He framed the old fix-it wrench and hung it on the wall above the new machines along with all of their memories of weekly visits to Bubbleland.

Now, the two of them and all of their mixed bag of memories were converging on a small laundromat in Sisal with outdated machines that rattled while they worked and took two or three attempts to actually get things dry. They were sure they could find another place, but this was right next door to where they wanted to have dinner so they would be able to put their clothes in the wash and go have a bite to eat, or get something to go and eat it there in the noisy room by themselves. The cashier played a game of dice with a few other men, laughing and drinking beer, completely uninterested in the only patrons of the place.

While Derek exchanged their money for coins at the desk, Hotch sat at a rickety little card table attempting to pre-treat their stained clothes with one hand. The other, still bandaged, was mostly useless. The soreness had become an unrelenting stiffness and he was doing his best to just forget he had two hands for the rest of the day. The only thing it was good for at the moment was being used as a way to pin the shirts to the table.

“Why don't you go order the food, I'll do this.”

Hotch looked so pathetic sitting there at the table with his busted up hand wrapped and elevated to shoulder level while he held the shirt to the table with his elbow and pressed the little stain remover pen over and over the beer spills and food stains. His glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose and dangled dangerously there, hanging on only barely and his long hair flopped in his face but neither broke his focus. He'd been living in his glasses since they landed in Mexico. Vacation, to him, meant not fooling around with contacts if nothing else.

It was cute. Derek didn't mind it so much, even if Hotch was ignoring him. “Okay. I'll go then.”

Hotch looked up and scrunched his nose. He didn't like the way Derek just...gave in. That wasn't right, he was supposed to put up a little fight. “No, help me get these in the wash and we'll go together. We can eat there.”

Derek couldn't say no to that, and why would he? Dinner at the restaurant sounded heavenly. He was practically salivating over their chicken mole, he'd eaten it three times already and couldn't get enough. They knew him by name already. Hotch hadn't gotten the same thing twice, and that was shocking, the way they'd swapped roles for once. The first night he'd had the ceviche, and then some shrimp tacos, and then some other fish dish he couldn't pronounce. “What are you getting tonight?” Derek asked when they entered the sidewalk.

“Lobster. You're paying, right?”

No one in the restaurant spoke English, and the two of them spoke barely passable Spanish though they were improving considerably over their time. Hotch could read it and understand fairly well but his accent was garbage and they'd laughed at him more than once. Derek had more of a flair for trilling his R's and he had more flair.

“You sound like the um...oh...Bueller...Bueller...you know?” the man who ran the laundromat had said in his thick accent the first time they'd appeared in his establishment and Hotch had attempted to converse with him. It didn't prove necessary, anyway, the man spoke perfect English and enjoyed mocking Hotch endlessly. His name was Jorje, and even saying his name elicited mockery if it came from Hotch. He wasn't used to anyone ribbing him like this...it caught him off guard and led to a very serious discussion with Derek on the way home about how he felt about that.

“You hated it,” Derek had said seriously. “You wanted to pull rank didn't you?”

“No,” Hotch replied indignantly. “It's just that...” his voice trailed off for a moment before he huffed a little and stopped. “No one but you and Jessica ever talk to me like that.”

“Well. Get used to it. These people don't need to know that they should be afraid of you. They see some middle aged guy with floppy hair in need of a trim, wearing his incredibly handsome boyfriend's clothes because his were too khaki, who walks a little stiff and is probably a little too quiet for his own good...”

“My hair needs a trim?” What he really wanted to take aim at was the middle aged bit, but his back hadn't stopped hurting in about four solid weeks now so he really had no legs to stand on. His own two didn't even want to do the job. Derek had only laughed and hooked his arm around Hotch's waist.

“Let it go. Embrace the anonymity. Let Jorje talk his shit. You can take it. Might even deserve it.”

This wasn't their first or last trip to the washers. Derek couldn't pass up the chance to be around anyone who had the nerve to talk to Hotch this way so while Hotch had, in a sort of off-hand way, suggested they try out another laundromat down the road with more updated equipment...Derek wouldn't hear of it.

This kind of fun was uncommon at best in their daily lives. This was a treat.

“Your hand still bothering you?” Derek asked while they waited for their food. Hotch was fiddling with the bandage mindlessly and shrugged.

“It's fine. Not bad. Just stiff.”

Derek understood that. He'd blown his knee out in college and could still wake up some mornings without being able to bend it for a full ten minutes after waking. Like it locked in place. A thumb jabbed in right beneath the kneecap seemed to loosen it up just fine, and it didn't hurt so he'd just ignore it the same way Hotch ignored his inability to make a fist some days. They were getting old and all of the abuse they'd thrown at their bodies would be creeping up on them, one by one. They wouldn't be outrunning any of it. The idea was just that they each knew how to fix the other's little...quirks.

Hotch's was coming faster these days, thanks to Foyet, but that didn't mean he was alone. They would get old side by side if Derek had his way. And he hoped that Hotch would see it that way, too. Hotch could walk with his cane and push Derek in his wheelchair and they'd still be gorgeous.

That was the plan anyway.

Emily told him he was an idiot. She'd said it in no uncertain terms, that he needed to watch Hotch. “You don't hide things,” she'd warned him. “You might ignore them for a while but you don't hide them. He doesn't know any other way. Watch him.” Two weeks later he was bleeding to death on the inside and none of them was any the wiser.

“You'd tell me if it was more than that, right?” Derek asked, suddenly a little too serious as he chewed on Emily's words. Hotch stopped playing with the bandage long enough to take in the solemn look that washed over Derek's features, the way his bright eyes went stormy. He didn't have a response to that. Not sure what to say. He knew what Derek wanted him to say, but he couldn't see how this compared. This was just...it was just pain. Not even pain...not even that bad...it was just something. Or it wasn't anything. It wasn't going to kill him, it was just going to make it hard for him to fold their clothes in an hour. It was going to make it hard for him to hold a pen or give a hand job or play volleyball in the morning or any number of other things...but it wasn't going to kill him.

“Derek, I'm fine. I've been...”

Derek's hands flew up defensively and waved. “No, stop, no...I know. I'm sorry. I get caught up sometimes. I know. I just hate the idea that you're suffering while we're here. With your back and then your hand...”

“I'm not suffering. It's a nuisance, sure, fine. But it isn't bothering me at all. I'm having a great time.”

“You wouldn't lie to me?”

“Well,” Hotch grinned and Derek frowned. “No. Honest. Sinceramente.”

Derek rolled his eyes and let out a loud burst of laughter that caught the attention of everyone in the tiny restaurant. “God you really do sound like the teacher from Ferris Bueller...naw, you know what you sound like? One of those computer translators they got on like Google and shit. You sound like Siri, but the Ben Stein version. Siri...how do you say honestly in Spanish? Sinceramente.”

Hotch's pout didn't even phase him.

It did lead to kissing in the street. Ducked in the space between the buildings for a few minutes communing with the shadows. Hotch may only have had one hand that worked the way he'd like, but he didn't need more than that right now.

[quiet-curiosity]

Ok so I know & follow a few people who live out in the pacific north west (where I moved to) and a lot of people have been saying how the winter keeps dragging on & how they are so sick of it. And I get it & emphasize with them because winter is dreary but-

And after moving from Michigan- I have to say- this is such ideal weather. Like we didn’t get this kind of weather until late April. From November to April it was unbearable.

Nothing but dirty snow, bare trees & white skies- not even grey just white. & below 0 winds that would blow tiny ice shards that stung any exposed skin. & constantly being afraid I would fall on the ice or slush (because my uncle died falling & hitting his head in the driveway) or being afraid of dying in car crash because the roads were awful

Every day I take my dog out, in just my sweatshirt in January!! And pass by all the still green plants everywhere. And it just reaffirms that this was the perfect place for us to move to & we’re never moving back to Michigan. And even though our car was stolen here- it’s better than surviving another winter in the Midwest.