#help my brain is being consumed by the horrors

[inconceptual-nonsense]

I am so sad thinking about John and Arthur rn. Just the fact that John feels like Arthur only wants him there out of necessity, and that's why John is so wary of Arthur making connections and having other friends. Because then Arthur wouldn't need him anymore, and he thinks that Arthur wouldn't want him around otherwise.

Also, the whole situation with John feeling isolated bc Arthur is quite literally the only person he has. I'm so upset thinking about how Noel was the first person they trusted enough for Arthur to tell him about John and that at first John was freaking out about it and then Noel takes it so well and actually asks for John's opinion on things and Arthur is able to literally give John a voice of his own so he can talk to him. And when Noel was hanging off the edge of that railing and John fought Yellow off so that Arthur could pull him back up, and John didn't even know how he was able to project himself like that in the first place, but he did, to save Noel. And the fact that Noel, in the face of being told that John is a fracture of the KIY, the god that tortured Noel in the dreamland for years and killed his friends, Noel is understanding, and he reassures John that he isn't like the King. Noel is the first person outside of Arthur that John has had, and now he's gone.

Losing my shit actually.

[furiouskettle]

random Look Outside character headcanons/opinions

(may be incorrect cause ive just been watching playthroughs. going off of the info i got from that which may be missing some parts.)

body horror talk, spoilers from all over the game and ending under the cut.

Sam

I love sam. hes just nice (potentially a pushover) and a dork. HES JUST A GUY!!!! i love that the game gives him time to show you how he’s processing his/your actions?

Really funny to me that him being unemployed is part of the reason he’s the protagonist. Can’t become a monster if you don’t have to go outside.

Am curious why he isn't working at the grocery store (if he did work there). did he leave or get fired?

OW losing an arm has GOTTA HURT. i cast pain upon this man.

his hair is just Like That no matter what he does

Joel

mY SWEET BABY BOYYYY i want to see him grow up big and strong (not too big and strong considering the everything but you get the idea).

looks like he has some form of "vision" post-mutation?? he doesnt seem to have any issue playing video games so i opt that he can “see”, just not very well. it’s short range and fuzzy. might be more of a feeling of his surroundings than real vision? whatever it is, it's good enough to play super jump lad.

I also HC that he’d developed shortsightedness when he had eyes, just that nobody had noticed yet that he’s squinting at things more than he should…

I think his biting/devouring is involuntary when he’s agitated. thankfully it hasn’t come to him biting any friends so far!

get this boy some popsicle sticks to gnaw on. not even for tooth reasons. eight year olds just love chewing on popsicle sticks. (preferably after popsicle has been consumed)

Apart from not fully understanding everything going on due to his age, he seems a bit dazed from the mutation and probably has brain fog for a few days after, which is Definitely not helping sam with the Oh My God this kid doesnt know his parents are dead. OH GOD I KILLED THIS KID'S PARENTS AND I HAVE STOLEN HIM AWAY

oddly chill with losing teeth. has taken some of his baby teeth out by himself! gives joel my childhood trait of oh hey my tooth is wobbling! lemme get rid of that real quick. twist twist twist

Jeanne

i dont have much to say on her atm but she’s lovely and really doesnt deserve what happens to her. on the bright side the worst seems to be over for her?? if she’s still growing does that mean that she’s gonna have to be like “oop a new head’s budding. gotta get someone to lop that off for me before it becomes a problem.”

Lyle

FIRST OF ALL i LOVE how his design kind of references how old cameras had to be covered with fabric so the photo wouldn't fail.

i think he wore glasses when he was human! …the lenses got absorbed into his face. the camera he was holding did too. I think he didn’t own as many cameras as he ended up with. That big one he has seems specific enough that maybe that was the one he was using to snap a sky pic??? idk if he touched any other cameras after that but THAT one has gotta be the one he was holding.

idk if he finds spiders GROSS but he is definitely the kind of person to be afraid to be in the same room as one.

I think most of his legs are telescopic to some degree! he just doesnt see the need to make himself any taller than he already is, except for photography reasons.

reiterating from one of my doodle posts, i like to think his eye lenses shed over time. if you took off the lens early on an eye (via injury) it would have weak vision. built-in glasses!

I hope the soul photo thing is like a special attack thing for him that he has to set up intentionally? it feels mean to have all the photos he takes with his built in cameras be the soul-stealing kind. he does take photos by accident/involuntarily a lot but the one he takes after the kiss with sam is totally on purpose and he absolutely still has that one. concerning.

idk if he gets out of his apartment much during the Visit, but it could be that HE hasnt seen any mutations worse than his/doesnt know that sam has totally seen worse. Hence why he's trying to hide so hard from Sam (not to mention the guy is crushing HARD, he's not gonna wanna be vulnerable in front of him).

....also hideous monster or not hes naked under there. i dont blame him for wanting to stay cloaked

Xaria & Monty

oh god theyre art students. that explains SO much.

very funny to me that xaria heard a voice in her head compelling her to check out the window and decided she’s gonna be contrarian about it.

I imagine a lot of Monty’s projects are setting something on fire. shows up to class with a pile of plastic baby heads. sets them ablaze. the most important part of being an art student is the time honored tradition of bullshitting some sort of meaning that’s gonna satisfy the lecturer.

Probably decent at life drawings but he keeps burning his works. (not to mention realism doesnt appear to be his kind of style)

Xaria feels like she’d stick to slightly more traditional mediums (painting, sculpture)? a lot of surrealism, mixed media, themes of nonconformity and violence. has totally used blood in a project before. More intentional about the meaning of her art- the intention being that she wants to make people uncomfortable.

i think it’d be hilarious if they’d been binging horror movies the night before. funniest options are The Thing and Tetsuo the iron man.

Since Sam mutates into something regardless of what you do up on the roof, i’m guessing the same goes for these two if you bring them up there. cool/nasty idea for their mutation is they fuse into one being... not necessarily an idea im running with atm but fun to think abt anyway

Sybil

AGH, sybil….. i love her. she's just really nice...

I think she’s in some sort of schrödinger’s cat situation - dead and alive until observed. or maybe like a quark (particle that cannot be observed but you can see the effects of it).

it’s unclear if someone ever was next door to you, but if I recall the astronomers tell you there’s no way she’s there? (cant recall if its bc she was “dead” by then or if its the totally wrong floor.)

the game says it was a mystery what happened to sybil, but a potential course of events could be your Real Neighbour just got sucked outta their window same as what happens to you if you look and sybil THINKS shes next door to you.

I’m pretty sure she’s in all of the walls? some of her text implies that, even tho she doesnt seem to be really aware of it.

far as she knows, she's in her apartment. what's her apartment like? well, it's an apartment. it's got walls. she can see out the peephole. there's.... furniture. What else do you want?

(man. between her, the pipe lady, the water pump guy, and the boiler room the walls are CROWDED. no wonder the roaches decide to move to your place.)

The Visitor

what do i even say about it? it is, in the most direct meaning of the word, awesome. it’s unfathomably immense. it's beautiful. it's horrifying. I love that in a single eye out of infinite eyes, it sees a miniscule creature who just wants to live. Sam becomes a smaller reflection of the Visitor, and the visitor gains a fraction of what makes sam human…

I wonder, did the visitor even “exist” until witnessed? same as sybil, maybe it could have some quantum thing going on. i can’t speculate on this any more than the astronomers have.

Sam (ritual-denial)

while it’s the nicest ending possible, i still feel kinda bad for sam :( he can never be truly alone anymore, but at the same time isn’t becoming a giant god-creature kind of isolating? sure, he must grow used to it over time but MAN. WHAT AN ADJUSTMENT.

regardless, it’s nice that he decides to use his new form to take care of the world, and sounds like he probably gets some extra brain capacity to be able to do all the stuff he does. (probably a few extra mini-brains to control the different arm nodes)

I hope he gets to take time for himself too, sometimes. probably sleeps like a dolphin (switch off half the brain for a power nap)

I don't think he can do verbal communication (at least, it's gonna take him a WHILE to figure out how to talk with his feelers) but at least there's keyboards.

also its funny how he gains like a gajillion arms after potentially losing one of two.

also i love the cafe patrons and the mutants at the camp. theyre all so fun. AND MANUEL FUNKY LITTLE DUDE WITH THE JAMS.

i need to find more about the lady with the slasher mask i just know she exists.

@mtgc858 @deafeningfestivalpaper @kasprawn39 @contract-crawdad @goawaypopup @eyessss come get yer headcanons

anyway uhhhhhhh hope you found my rambling fun to read byee

[foldingfittedsheets]

My brain has two common nightmare settings. The first is zombies. Can’t explain it, but I am utterly unable to consume zombie media of any kind lest I have some extremely vivid night terrors.

And it doesn’t have to be exclusively zombie media to kick off zombie dreams. Anything scary will do. Or even something not scary.

Like The Mummy. It’s all goofy jokes and the glory of Rachel Weiss but it kicked off a round of nightmares for me cause the plot may be silly but some of the visuals are horrifying enough that my brain went, “Hey what if that were real?” I woke up drenched in sweat, clutching my cats for safety. It is a great tragedy I don’t get to rewatch it or see subsequent titles.

For the same reason I avoid any zombie-adjacent games. It’s a bummer, cause things like Fallout and Bioshock seem cool but it’s not worth night terrors. Also the amount of people who go “wELl tHeY’Re not TeChNiCaLLy zOmBieS” when I say why I can’t play those games fills me with rage, you deal with night terrors and tell me those aren’t zombies.

(I often spend zombie dreams looking for Leeloo. Surviving is important but not as important as saving my little cat from the apocalypse.)

But on a completely different side of the spectrum the other type of horror dream I have is a 180 pivot from zombies and doesn’t have a specific trigger. It’s just a random theme that happens on occasion and it’s not recurring because the circumstances are always different but yeah anyway I have nightmares about being pregnant.

Literally one of the worst things I can imagine is growing a thing inside me.

To all the people with a uterus who are full of joy and power in that act of creation, more power to you, but to me it is the stuff of my worst imaginings to have a parasite sucking the nutrients from my teeth and clawing its way free from me.

A common theme to these nightmares is that the pregnancy is spontaneous immaculate conception but no one believes me. My beloved leaves me, thinking I cheated on them. It got to the point that my beloved promised they would believe that I hadn’t cheated on them if it ever happened in real life because it came up so frequently. This actually helped to reduce that plot line.

These dreams just pop up sometimes, usually for unknown reasons, and I always start the dream pretty heavily pregnant and past when I can really abort the fucker inside and I spend the dream in a desperate panic to know how I let it go this far and dreading the imminent pain and horror of child birth.

I always announce to my beloved the morning, “Had another pregnancy nightmare,” and they always kiss my cheek and remind me that they’ll believe me. I guess it’s still slightly better than the zombie dreams. But only barely.

[moodymisty]

DANTE GUILTILY JORKIN' IT TO THOUGHTS OF HIS NEW SERF!!!! They're so kind and sweet and seemingly untouched by the horrors of this universe and he feels terrible for thinking about bullying his cock inside them and making them scream and beg for him,,,,

Author's note: Never written Dante before!!! yay <3 Relationships: Dante/Fem!Reader Warnings: NSFW, Male masturbation, Yearning, Light self deprecation

"You should rest, My Lord, while you have the chance."

For such simple words to have such an effect on him was a curse, Dante thought. He has heard every manner of phrase directed at him over his long existence and yet the most casual show of concern- that was what made him falter.

Pathetic. He should be ashamed of himself; He's barely known you for a Terran month.

But he let these emotions overwhelm him like a sudden sandstorm, and it had already consumed him before he even had a chance to stop himself.

Scalding hot water runs down his back as his hand wraps around his cock, pooling onto the metal floor and spinning into the drain. His other hand presses hard against the wall, supporting his body and shadowing his own actions after if trying to maintain some sense of dignity.

A hiss escapes from between his teeth as his hand roughly tugs at himself, the water and his own precum serving as the only lubrication. He doesn't mind the sensation, anything but; Something about him almost prefers the roughness. Astartes generally acquiesce or are even fond of physical pain and discomfort.

But you wouldn't give him that pain and discomfort; You're so soft and kind, your voice is as gentle as your touch. The few times you've touched him, that is, without his armor in the way. But his mind has wandered to the farthest of places with what little you've given him so far.

"I will be fine. Astartes have no need of rest."

They don't, at least not the rest you were describing. Though now the idea seems so tempting to him, as he imagines you laying in his normally unused bed beside him. Your hands would lay on his skin, touch him so gently and whisper all of these words he finds pointless and needless, but he still takes so greedily. He doesn't need rest, but by the Throne does he want to indulge in it if you were with him.

Dante groans as his lower stomach tightens, the muscles of his stomach tensing and relaxing with each jolt of sensation as his palm brushes over his cockhead. His fingers tighten around him more and his pace increases, his hips unconsciously twitching forward to fuck his own hand.

"But that doesn't mean it wouldn't help you. You look so tired,"

How a baseline serf could see the aches and tiredness in his eyes but not the men he's fought beside for hundreds of years- but somehow you could see into him like he was made of glass.

Dante let out a moan far louder than he'd expected, though thankfully the showers remained completely empty at this time. Most of the astartes are getting their five hours of mandatory rest, before returning to their duties.

Instead of that rest however, Dante wallows in his shame imagining his hands are his own serf's, wrapped around his cock and gently stroking him to completion with the same soothing compassion you speak to him with.

He thought he just needed to listen to you, to speak with you, but now it goes even deeper. He wants to touch you, hold you, to do things that his astartes brain had thought severed. These emotions being uncontrollable concerns him, but then they grow stronger and those concerns simply push to the back of his mind.

Dante grinds his teeth hard enough to flex the muscles of his neck as he cums, coating the wall of the shower right in front of him before it's washed away by scalding hot water. There's no evidence of this shame here other than his own memories then, as his hearts race and he stands in the afterglow.

He doesn't know anything about this, how to speak to you, how to touch you. Not even to mention that you've only been his serf for a terran month, Dante would fear you'd only accept him out of fear of his punishment.

He resigns himself to wait and simply be silent. Much like many of the things he feels, he will burden no other with them.

The air is still heavy with steam when he leaves, grabbing a towel. His short hair doesn't need much more than a rustle to dry it off, but his body still drips water down his skin past raised and discolored scars. he wicks it away with the towel before throwing it aside, pulling on his robe as the hot steam in the room begins to fade. Even more so when he opens the door and begins to return to his quarters. He can't help but think he looks guilty the entire way; That anyone he passes is judging him for his sin.

They can't know; But it doesn't stop him from feeling the guilt anyways. Not until he returns to his quarters and hides away inside with only his thoughts, until someone inevitably has need of him.

[yun-fangz]

bear!jongho with any hybrid darling, and its darlings first heat, but she’s unaware of it. all she know is the fuzzy and uncomfortable feeling that’s taking over her body, and bear!jjong is just there trying to control himself and not jump onto her and bend her over :((

Oh my god ya’ll are feeding me!!!!!!!!! I literally screamed into my pillow reading this AH. I can just imagine this especially if his darling is a prey!hybrid…..

Pairing: BearHybrid!Jongho x Fem!PreyHybrid!reader

Warnings: Smut MDNI 18+, cunnilingus (kitty kat eating), fingering, squirting, first time heat, strength kink, overstimulation, jongho is a little awks, possessive!jongho if you squint

Wc: 1.5k

Also something i can’t help with concepts like this is roommates to lovers so i added that too! hope you don't mind :3

Oh poor bear hybrid!jongho. He was just so sweet. He knew your heat was coming but didn’t want to say anything to make it awkward, he just slowly let it take over until you asked him to help or went to someone.

It started out as a normal and restful day for the both of you. You each had the day off of school and work so it was the perfect time to rest up and enjoy each other's presence. Although he tried to act normal, Jongho could smell the bubblings of your heat as you plopped yourself next to him. He assumed you knew until you were casually talking about your plans for the next week.

He tried to ignore the slight stirring in his pants, not wanting to ruin this perfectly normal day because of his animal instincts. It only seemed to grow harder though as the day went on, your scent becoming stronger by the hour.

You could tell something was a little off with Jongho, noticing how he opted to give himself a little more space between the two of you. You didn't think you did anything, perhaps you smelled? No, you just showered. You hadn't been feeling the greatest either but you didn't really think it was noticeable. Maybe he was just trying to avoid getting whatever you possibly had. Strange.

Unfortunately for you, the weird feeling only got worse as the day went on, clamminess took over your body as things started to become all fuzzy. Could it have been something you ate? You couldn't list anything off the top of your head that you were allergic to, or anything that may have been bad.

It wasn't long after you that started feeling your panties become unnaturally sticky against your core, the fuzzy feeling in your gut only getting stronger too. This time it began to cloud your brain, causing you to panic a bit at the haziness you felt.

Jongho could feel your scent shift once more, a heavier and more intoxicating smell invading his senses. He could feel his cock chub heavily against his thigh as he held back a groan. This new scent was sending him into a near overdrive, his animal senses wanting him to do nothing more than bend you over the nearest surface and take you. He simply say there fidgeting in his spot as you laid there, unaware of his predicament.

Shifting, you tried your best to relieve yourself of the uncomfortable feeling, only to let out an involuntary moan as your panties shifted against your clit, causing a heavy wave of pleasure to course your body. Flinging a hand to your mouth, horror washes over you as you feel more arousal dribble out of your sensitive core, soaking the material of your shorts.

You sit there unmoving as the fuzzy sensation soon consumes your being, taking over all of your senses and thoughts. Jongho takes a concerned look at you, watching as your thighs subconsciously rub together in search of any kind of relief.

"You alright?" He asks quietly, already half-knowing the answer. He just wanted to make sure you were aware too.

"I... I don't know, i'm not feeling too good..." You trail off, holding back a whine as you feel more arousal drip onto the soaked fabric. You clench around nothing in attempt to stop the feeling, only for more to escape once you relax.

Jongho takes a second to digest your answer and it dawns on him, you don't know you're going into heat.

Holy shit.

His inner bear practically roars at him to ravage you, a pretty innocent flower unaware and in need of relief. He takes a deep breath as to calm himself down, to will away all of the graphic images that pop up in his mind as he looks at you. He thinks it works until a weak call out of his name from you has him gripping the sides of the couch and biting his lip, stifling a growl.

"I don't k-know whats, fuck, what's wrong with me.." you whimper, you fucking whimper, the hell is happening?

Jongho manages to take a deep breath and attempt to compose himself. You were his roommate and needed to be taken care of, he needed to get himself together. Acting as if he were not affected, Jongho moves to a crouch by your side, watching you with a heavy look.

"Shit, how do is say this..." Jongho trails off, redness creeping up his neck and ears. He was actually unaware of how to approach the subject, the scent of you so close to him slowly beginning to cloud his judgement. If he didn't know any better he'd think your scent alone could send him into a rut.

Shaking off the feeling, Jongho clears his throat before addressing you once more.

"You're..... in heat."

Oh.

Oh no.

Hot tears spring up as the realization dawns on you and Jongho can almost feel the embarrassment seep from your pores and into the air. He watches unmoving as you internalize the information before cowering into yourself, a small sob bubbling out of your throat.

"God this is so embarrassing, i'm so sorry i had no idea. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable, i... i can go somewhere else. i didn't know..." you knew were rambling, shame and terror racking your body as your greatest fear has manifested itself into reality.

Not only were you unprepared for this new development, but now you were going to lose your best friend and the man you've pined after because of it. You hadn't realized you were sobbing until you hear Jongho shush you softly, wiping the tears from your hot cheeks. The feeling of him on you had you reeling, another wave of arousal washing over you as you take in his heavy cedar scent. You didn't know if it was your heat speaking, but you suddenly needed him, now.

"Hey, hey, it's okay..." He's not sure what to do. He knows he should send you to another prey!hybrid and get you taken care of, but another more predatory part of him wants to keep you to himself, forever.

"Do you have prey hybrid I can call? I know Seo-" He's cut off with a thrash of your head, rejecting the offer before he can even finish. You didn't know what's taken over your mind. You knew he should call, get you with someone who could properly take care of you. You didn't want that though, you wanted him. Maybe he would send you off anyway, wanting to save what was left of this friendship but you didn't care. Not anymore at least.

"No, please don't send me away. I... I want you."

Jongho could feel all the wind get knocked out of his lungs at your confession. It was as if his dirtiest dreams have come true; you looking at him with wide eyes, begging for him, for his cock. He immediately snapped into action, allowing his instincts to take over as he takes you into his arms and to his bed.

In no time your clothes are off and he's between your legs, taking almost your entire pussy into his mouth, drinking down your arousal as two of his fingers open you up.

"You don't know how long i've dreamed of this" He said, his ears twitching as he lapped at your sensitive cunt.

"You spread out under me, so pliant, so beautiful, just for me."

All you could do was moan loudly as your first orgasm quickly approached, the feeling of his plump lips sucking on your clit sending electric jolts up and down your spine.

"I- 'm c-close" Is all you could do to warn him of your impending release. Jongho was struck with a newfound fervor as he rammed his digits inside of you, his tongue toying with your swollen bud.

In no time, your orgasm washes over you in heavy waves, causing you to twitch and buck against his mouth. He doesn't care as he uses an arm to hold you down as he eagerly takes in the viscous liquid, unrelenting as he licks at your pussy. He ignores the way you begin to thrash against him in overstimulation, another second and stronger orgasm coming and hitting you just as quickly, before you're able to let out a noise.

Clenching hard around his fingers, your back arches as a new feeling surges through you, much stronger than any of your past orgasms. White spots your vision as he rocks you through it, his hand and mouth soon coming to a stop, allowing you to finally breathe.

As your vision returns, you're met with the sight of Jongho standing in his full glory, his brown fuzzy ears twitching as his face is dripping in your arousal and it's then you notice what's just happened.

You had just squirted... on his face.

You had no time to feel shame as you watched him suck the remaining arousal off his fingers, causing you to clench around nothing.

"That was so hot, baby" He purred, his hands now reaching for the waistband of his sweats, freeing his thick and heavy cock. The sight of it had you drooling, arousal flowing out of you in a heavy stream onto his sheets.

"Let's see if you can do the same on my cock."

part two? ♡

© 2024 yun-fangz All Rights Reserved.

[gatheringbones]

[“The two of us have been swimming for a while, past the breakers. But it’s low tide, and the water is shallow and warm. We can stand with our faces above the surface. Curious about depth, I place a tentative foot on the ocean floor. When I do, my brain gets a jolting message. Something isn’t right. Something is burning. “I think I stepped on glass!” I call out with growing alarm, before turning and swimming as fast as I can. It’s not until I reach the shore that I realize I’m in so much pain that I can’t stand up.

As my wife runs to find help, I sit rocking in my black bikini, staring in confused horror at the puncture wound in the bottom of my foot. In this moment, I don’t know if I’ve been snagged by trash or bitten by something predatory. All I know is that the indescribably excruciating sensation is growing, throbbing up my leg. I breathe deep and even to keep from panicking, using a meditation technique I’ve recently learned: repeat to yourself LET on the inhale, and on the exhale think GO. I like the multiple meanings of this mantra: LET reminds me to allow and accept whatever is happening, whether emergency or insomnia, while GO instructs me to keep it moving.

The lifeguard, an absolute porno of a man with effortless abs and tight red shorts, soon appears with a calm explanation: I’ve been stung. In fact, he confirms that so many people have been stung today that his station is out of their safety kits—yellow plastic immersion bags full of hot freshwater, helpfully decorated with red and silver stingrays, in case there was any remaining confusion about the source of our pain.

While the station heats more neutralizing freshwater, I get a lesson on cartilaginous fish. When threatened by, say, being stomped on while it’s minding its own damn business, a stingray will whip its tail, releasing a venomous barb into the offending stomper. The neurotoxic venom, while agonizing, generally does not cause permanent damage to a mammal my size. The pain is, in effect, all in my head. This knowledge is transformative for me. It compartmentalizes my fear from my pain. The threat of the unknown, of being permanently harmed, is its own kind of terror. Pain—just the simple fact of physical pain, with no malice, no predation, nothing to be done except endure—has no more intrinsic moral or emotional meaning for me than any other sensation. And as a practicing sadomasochist, I’m no stranger to this kind of feeling. So on the beach, I cope by invoking Dune’s Paul Atreides with his hand in a ritual box of fire, reciting the “Litany Against Fear” (“I will not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. I will face my fear. I will let it pass through me. When the fear has gone, there shall be nothing. Only I will remain.”). The sun bakes brine into my skin. I breathe in, trying to imagine every atom relaxing (LET), and out, trying to release everything I don’t need (GO).

I stare at the waves, my foot awkwardly soaking in a stiff plastic bag of hot water. Ignoring the gawkers, I fantasize about synthesizing a neurotoxin to use for the purpose of torturing my fellow masochists, something that could make them feel this all-consuming intensity while they utterly trust that they are safe. Right now, my pain is pointless: the result of a misunderstanding between myself and the natural world. But pain, properly exchanged, can have all kinds of meanings: service, sensualization, entertainment, discipline, catharsis. I’m grateful that my experience with BDSM—first professionally, and then personally—makes this encounter more tolerable, even instructive. When you can empty something of meaning, you can usually fill it up too. Fill it with whatever you want.”]

tina horn, from why are people into that? a cultural investigation of kink, 2024

[ravenna-reid]

Zuko & Hanahaki

Hanahaki: a disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from unrequited love.

There you sat. Adorned in apple red robes, carefully feeding and playing with the turtle ducks. Zuko stood concealed by the shadows of his opulent home and continued watching you. Continued watching the girl he'd first became infatuated with all those years ago before his scar. Before his banishment. And now that he was back and the new Fire Lord, you two were both able to rekindle your friendship.

Friendship. Zuko hated the word, especially when you used it. Because being back home and spending time with you once again, and not having his banishment or father or the Avatar consume his thoughts, he suddenly realised how deeply he felt for you.

Your laugh suddenly filled the air like sweet perfume, pulling Zuko's lips into a smile. Something got caught in his throat, and he figured it was another symptom of being in love. But his brows furrowed once he realised something was really stuck in his throat. He let out a small cough, and watched three pink petals from his mouth float down to the ground. He looked down in disbelief and horror.

"What do you mean you coughed up petals?"

"I don't know how else to put it Aang. I just, they came out of my mouth. I coughed them up!"

The hum of a simple tune caught Zuko's attention. Swinging his head in the direction it was coming from he watched as you walked past, accompanied by others. Aang and Katara followed his eyes to see you.

"Hi y/n!" They both called out, and you turned to wave back before you caught sight of Zuko. "Hi Zuko." You said warmly.

He awkwardly waved back and you continued down the path through the gardens with your peers. Another cough became lodged at the back of his throat and he couldn't help but let it out. Hands clamped over his mouth, Zuko coughed a little harder than before, and he kept his hands there, afraid to look. Aang and Katara simply stared back at him with a frown.

"Zuko, did you cough up flowers again?"

Zuko shook his head.

Unconvinced, Katara folded her arms. "Zuko."

He pulled his hands away, revealing the bundle of petals in the palm of his hands.

"Oh Zuko, you know what this is? You're sick with Hanahaki." Katara exclaimed.

"I think I heard Gyatso mention it once...I didn't think he was being serious though." Aang responded, scratching his head.

"Well, what is it and how do I get rid of it?" Zuko snapped, throwing the petals out of the window.

"It's a lovelorn disease. You're sick with flower petals because y/n isn't returning the love you feel for her!"

Zuko shook it off, stating it was the craziest thing he'd ever heard and declared he had Firelord duties to attend to. So with a giggle to themselves, Katara and Aang let Zuko be.

It only got worse. And soon, Zuko found that he had to distance himself from you so that you wouldn't find out. There were times when Zuko, the gaang and yourself would all spend time together and Zuko could feel the stir in his chest. The odd sensation in his throat and he'd quickly hurry away.

"Ha! He's coughing up those petals again-"

Katara swiftly elbowed Sokka to shut him up.

"Ow.." Sokka said, rubbing his side.

But you were too focused on Zuko's figure becoming smaller and smaller as he headed down the hall. Curiosity and concern itched at the back of your brain. Why was Zuko acting as though he couldn't stand to be around you anymore. What had changed? What did you do?

Aang came up beside you, watching on with you as Zuko disappeared around the corner. "Maybe you should talk to him."

Of course you could imagine Zuko's dread when one of his officials and trusted advisors interrupted his quick escape. He quickly slipped his hands under the sleeves of his robe, holding onto the petals in his fist. And as they spoke to him, you can imagine his frustration when they told Zuko that he ought to organise an event at the palace in honour of him slowly bringing peace between the nations.

So the throne room was filled with generals and lady's dressed in their most expensive clothes, along with music and servants serving the most exquisite meals. Everyone was having a splendid time.

Zuko, however, was a mess. He had anticipated your arrival the entire night, but he was also worried about seeing you, given his odd disease. And so when you finally walked through those doors you instantly stole the breath from his lungs. Crimson silk robe draped over your body. A beautiful golden headpiece with red petals in your hair.

Petals. Zuko scoffed at the irony. You were already scanning the crowd for Zuko, until your eyes locked onto each other. His dark hair was up, complimented by the Firelord headpiece. He looked so handsome, so sweet as he stared back at you. That was until he quickly averted his gaze and hurried away, and that heavy feeling was back in your chest.

Zuko could barely contain it now. As he walked out to the pond where the turtle ducks lied asleep and close to their mother, handfuls of petals kept escaping him, leaving a trail behind as he coughed.

And coughed, and coughed, and coughed.

He cursed his stupid situation. This stupid disease. These stupid petals. Arms crossed, he glared out at the pond before footsteps amongst the grass caught his attention.

"Zuko?"

It was you. He half turned to see you glancing down at the cherry blossom trail on the ground. Then, with a glint of confusion passing through your eyes, you looked back at him. Zuko wanted to crawl into a hole. He wanted to crawl into the smallest hole he could find and hide in there forever.

"Zuko, what is this?"

He instinctively turned from you. "Nothing." He said, grimacing at his harsh tone.

"It's not nothing..." You said, coming closer until you were by his side. Zuko's body tensed with you being so close to him. So close, yet so far away.

"Zuko, look at me." You held onto the sleeve of his robe and turned him to face you. Shame and embarrassment quickly flooded his expression as he struggled to look you in the eye.

"I said it's nothing. I swear."

"No..." You shook your head, your heart heavy in your chest as the realisation hit you. "The gaang were telling me about this. Just the other day. Hanahaki disease. I didn't realise you had it."

Zuko scowled. Of course they couldn't keep this to themselves and felt the need to give you hints. He shook his head and turned his body away from you again.

"There's someone? A girl that isn't returning your affections?"

Zuko was silent. You let out a sad sigh, wondering who he had such fervent feelings for.

"And she hasn't noticed that you like her? What a stupid girl." You said, arms crossed over your dress.

Zuko turned to you and the words fell from his lips before he could realise what it was he was saying. "Don't call yourself stupid."

Stunned. Both of you were stunned as you stared at each other.

"Me?" You breathed.

Zuko hesitantly grabbed your hand. "Well, who else? It's only ever been you."

But you were too surprised to respond. Both surprised and ecstatic.

"You got Hanahaki because of me?" You asked, a slight smile creeping onto your face.

Zuko bashfully rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I guess."

Then, you did something you thought you'd never do. Still holding onto his hand, you leant in and gave him a quick, tender kiss on his lips. And in that moment, Zuko had never felt more at peace and embarrassingly enough, completely obsessed with you. Only meaning it to be quick because your shyness was getting the better of you, you were about to pull back until Zuko went back in for more. His kiss deep and passionate. Both of your hearts soared, and now nothing else mattered except for you and the relationship that was beginning to blossom.

Your kisses finally came to a stop, and your arms gently wrapped around his neck, your head resting on top of his shoulder. The thrumming in Zuko's chest was so intense he was afraid you would be able to feel it. Still, Zuko did what he'd been wanting to do for so long. He wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in your hair, eager to never let you go.

You smiled to yourself as a soft giggle fell from your lips. "You taste like cherry blossoms."

Zuko gave a breathy laugh in return.

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Benevolent Hand

Khonshu x Fem!Moon Knight!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, masturbation (Fem), fingering, dirty talking, degradation(?), Khonshu wants to actually fuck you but won't admit it because he's a prideful shithead

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: did I stay up until ten last 4am to spit this shit out? Enjoy whatever horny poetry my sleep deprived brain supplies you. Be free, my horny little doves *yeets y'all into a field*

Also idk why but this gif does things to me

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

It was a dull, dead night. There were no evildoers to stop, no killers to send to the sands of the Duat.

Even Badr told you to go home and rest, you deserved it after your diligent work and devotion to your god.

But, of course... "settling in" for the night wasn't something you know how to do anymore.

You've been Moon Knight for so long you weren't even sure what normal people did during quiet nights at home, anymore.

You ate, showered, exercised in the cramped space of your seedy apartment, before sitting on the couch to idly flip through channels, clicking your tongue and reminding yourself to sign up for some streaming services or pirate some stuff at the local library.

You were so bored you settled on an old corny horror film from the 80s, R-Rated and strangely enough, uncensored. But then again, adult channels were still a thing apparently, so you settled in for some cheap blood and guts, stupid busty camp counselors and a masked killer.

But of course, the sex scenes were there, as well. It didn't show anything like porn would, but the actors did a good job of "having" sex beneath the covers, their bodies flushed and sweaty as they went at it like rabbits, panting and saying things to each other in shared breaths.

They were gonna die, that's how these things went. You have sex in a horror movie, you die. The psychos from Scream got that part right about the ole cliché.

But... The way they acted with each other, playing out the part of a couple very much in love and very horny had you... bothered.

You craved that kind of intimacy. Sure, you can go out and find someone to hook up with, have a forgettable one night stand with some idiot at a bar... but it didn't have the physical closeness that was acted out on the cheap flat screen in front of you.

Being a Fist of Khonshu was often lonely life. You couldn't engage in the seeming frivolity of a relationship that was seen every day you walked down the street. No bed warmed by another body, no good morning kisses, no... love?

You shoved those melancholy feelings aside for now, deciding to focus on the throbbing heat blossoming between your legs.

You bit your lip and slid your hand down your front, slipping it beneath the waistband of your pajamas and beneath your underwear, touching the slick wetness that began to coat and soak through the fabric covering you as the movie droned on.

Your fingers slowly started circling your clit as you breathed out a hot puff of air, eyes closing momentarily as you imagined it.

You, with a man who was head over heels with you, tangled up in the sheets.

Sweaty, groping hands pawing at slick skin, tongues dancing as you kissed like you were all the two of you needed to breathe--

Your fingers began to increase their movements, gathering your sweet juices on your fingers to lubricate your clit as you circled with more need.

You dropped your head onto the back of your couch with a pathetic groan, eyes closing as you let the mental image take a better shape, using the sounds from the TV to help mold the scene for you and your faceless, imaginary lover.

You grunted and kicked off your bottoms and underwear, discarding them on the floor as you spread your legs, one foot resting on the cushion to allow better access as your other hand groped at your breast over the fabric of your threadbare tank top.

"Fuck." You cursed aloud to yourself, falling back into your fantasy as your fingers played with your wet, puffed folds.

Your lover would slowly slink down your body, his lips and tongue pressing on your skin until his mouth reached your hip bones.

He would kiss your clit before licking up your slit, his tongue teasing your entrance, tracing it before he wrapped his lips around the bundle of nerves at the top.

You let out a heady moan, your toes curling as you held back the urge to plunge your fingers inside of you; for now settling on focusing your attention on your twitching clit.

You roll your hips in time with your hand, sliding your hand beneath your top to squeeze your breasts and roll your nipple between your fingertips.

Your lover would lick, kiss, nip, and tease you. He would rut his nose against your clit as his tongue--

Your mental fantasy bubble popped when you felt a very large, very warm, and very real hand slide down your torso, leaving a blazing trail beneath your skin in its wake.

"I sometimes forget how often mortals have these urges." The deep, raspy voice that the hand belonged to sighed out, his tone dripping with... disappointment? Boredom?

You snatch your hand away from your core and instinctively try to close your legs, to conceal your shame as the ancient being crowded around you, the dry smell of sand and spices assaulting your nose as his heat threatened to overwhelm you as he leaned over the back of the couch.

"K-Khonshu--!" You sputter, almost gawking as his bare hand slides to replace yours, his large, thick fingers spreading your lips and gathering your wetness on his digits.

"A rather needy thing, aren't you?" His voice murmured, almost a humored huff coming from him as his thumb circled your clit, sending bolts of pleasure jolt up your spine.

You bite your lip to stifle the whimper that wanted to come out; shame blending in an intoxicating cocktail as your very ethereal and otherworldly benefactor began to pick up where you left off.

"You were being so loud a moment ago." He chastised, his fingers moving very quickly over your clit, his mind focused on how the little nub was swollen and twitched beneath his grasp.

"Don't bother concealing it from me, now, you needy little thing. You're like a cat in heat, right now." You could feel his voice rumble through your, your bones trembling and the deep baritone vibrating your clit as your hand gripped weakly at his forearm.

Your stubborn pride told you not to, not to give in, that this was probably one of the most shameful things a god could catch their follower doing, but...

Most gods wouldn't participate, now would they? Surely, they would chastise you, or walk away and leave you alone to tend to yourself.

When you didn't comply, he grunted and pulled his hand away, your dripping cunt lamenting the loss of his warm touch; hips chasing him for more.

The characters in the movie long moved past the intense love-making between the protagonists. One of them screamed as they found the dead body of one of their friends.

"Disobedient little runt. I will not give you what you want so easily, especially not if you defy me."

The threat was cold, and... oh, fuck it.

"I--I'm sorry." You whimpered, your head dropping back once more, this time hitting the stiff bicep of his other arm he used to brace himself on the couch.

"Good girl." He purred, his hand once more resuming his cruel, blissful torture.

You hiccuped and moaned, rolling your hips once more, this time into the touch of another as heat bloomed low in your belly; molten lava creeping through your veins like thick molasses.

Your chest heaved as his other arm curled around you, his hand taking the soft weight of your breast into his palm, kneading the mound of flesh and pulling your nipple in perfect synchronicity with his other.

"Oh, ffuuuh--" You panted, your body caged from behind as the ancient deity whose age was beyond counting helped you rub one out on your dingey, shitty couch in the dead of night.

You felt your womb throb, wanting desperately to have something inside--

"Poor thing." Khonshu tsk'd. "Could you not find someone--something--to satisfy you? Here you are, rutting against my hand like it is all you know how to do. Pathetic."

You moaned louder this time, arching your back at the words he spat at you. You weren't one for this kind of dirty talk... but having it come from him had your head spinning like you had just gotten off of the tilt-a-whirl on Coney Island--but in a sinfully delicious way.

"Perhaps I should have left you alone. You seemed quite consumed by your little fantasy." He mused, his thumb pressing so hard against your clit that it had you seeing stars behind your eyelids.

"What were you imagining, little dove?" He rasped lowly, the dry, smooth side of his beak sweeping against you, feeling almost cool to your blazing cheek as you leaned into it.

"A nobody? Playing house with you? Laying you down in bed and devouring you like a banquet, perhaps?"

Oh, little did he know how close to the truth he actually was.

Or maybe he did know, and was using it to merely drive you over that mind-numbing precipice you wanted so desperately to fling yourself off of?

You could never tell with him, not when he was playing his mind games.

"I... Uh--ah--" You whine.

Khonshu's fingers pull up enough to slap your clit, the sudden feeling making your body jerk against him as the sound of your went cunt was heard even over the volume of your forgotten movie.

"I am reciting rhetoric. I will talk, and you will listen." He growls, his hand sliding down, his palm grinding against your clit as his fingers toy with your fluttering entrance.

Oh, you were so close, so fucking close. If he would just--

"I don't understand how mortals can function when urges like these are so strong." He sighed boredly, as if he wasn't currently fucking you with his hand, teasing your needy hole but not giving what you were truly craving...

"You are destined for more than a pathetic little house with a yard and a garden. You were meant to carry out my will."

That irked you, deep down. Yes, you knew attaining that very thing was highly unlikely for you, but he didn't have to insult you for fantasizing about being normal.

"F-fuck you." You managed to spit out, eyes crossing as they rolled back into your skull, your voice lacking the conviction and venom you wanted it to.

"You seem to be doing just that, my dear." He tipped his head to the side in a jerking motion.

He gave you not a moment to ponder his words as he hooked a thick finger inside of you, curving upwards and pressing hard against that textured spot inside your spongy walls, making you cry out and lift your hips off of the couch

"...In a manner of speaking." He sighed, pumping his finger in and out, paying extra attention to that oh so delicious spot within you, mapping out your very insides with methodical precision, quickly finding the method to get the best reactions out of you as your walls clenched down around him.

"Look at you, so desperate that you are letting me do this to you." Khonshu mocked softly, a chuckle coming from him as his fingers plucked your nipple and his palm ground hard onto your clit.

"Do you like this? Your god giving you such special attention?"

You keened, panting hard as your orgasm began to swell, each pulsing wave battering down the shores of pride and resolve you had struggled to build over the years of serving out the will of this... god.

"Ah... You are close, are you not?" He teased you, "Let's see..."

He managed to slip another finger inside of you, a groan actually rumbling out of him. You never thought you'd heard a sound like that from him.

But then again, you never expected him to finger-fuck you in your own couch before, either.

"You're tight, little bird." He growled, his voice strained as he scissored his fingers in and out of you, shoving you forcefully to the edge of the shores of your oblivion.

"When was the last time you bedded anyone other than your own hand? Months? Years?" He huffed, pumping them in and out of you rapidly, now.

You were so close you could feel the waters of sybaritism that you could taste the very petals of a lotus on the tip of your tongue.

"No wonder you have been so testy as of late."

Almost.

So close.

Just a bit more!

He leaned over, holding you to him almost like a child clutching a beloved toy; only it was far from something so innocent as you ride his hand like your life depended on it.

Your mouth open, your tongue just barely peaking over your bottom lip as you finally dove into the warm waters, silently waiting for the petals of a lotus to fall onto the wet, writhing muscle; drowning in each drop as your orgasm dragged you out to tide, drowning you as your god dabbled with your most intimate parts in such hedonistic fashion.

You were so lost in your post-coital haze that you didn't even register his hand leaving you until his body retracted; leaving you bereft of his warmth.

You turned your head in time, your eyes bleary, blood-shot and faraway as you watched him turn, toying with the sticky wetness coating his skin.

"Don't fall into this trap again, little dove." The god of the moon tells you over his shoulder, before disappearing in a cloud of mist.

But most certainly not before you had taken notice of the prominent bulge beneath his bandages and robes...

[raileurta]

Still have thoughts that I forgor to put in my other ask, sorry if I’m being a bother

Since like….you mentioned humans having a shorter lifespan because of a lack of spark in their diet I kinda assumed that 80 years was the max amount of time we could go without one (for average lifespan). So how do you think bulkhead and wheeljack would feel upon finding out that Miko basically needs to eat a spark every so often? Would they even notice that it’s required at first and just think it’s optional for a while? Would they be surprised that she passed the average human lifespan without much issue? If/when they do figure it out, would they just turn a blind eye for their sparkling friend? Do you think other bots/the cons would make comments about her the same way people say things like “your cat will eat you when you die?”

I know Miko would be absolutely thrilled at the longer lifespan, wings, claws etc. This is basically nothing but a bonus for her. But I’m very curious about how everyone else would adapt to it. Do you think more morally dubious transformers would try and “get” a spark so that their friend could live longer?

You're not being a bother. 👋

Let me set down some biology lore for you.

Humans are supposed to eat a spark within the first twenty years of their lives. It's needed for them to develop properly, if not humans will experience a whole array of problems one of the main ones being their shortened lifespan. Most of the human body's “problems” can be traced back to spark deficiency, like why the appendix explodes or the spine being unable to heal itself. Since the kids have eaten a spark before twenty then this is not an issue. Physically speaking all of their spark needs are met.

Physically speaking.

While humans after metamorphosis are much more superior to their un-evolved form at the end of the day they are still organics, and organics aren't supposed to live thousands of years. If a human doesn't consume a spark after a certain number decades pass they will go insane. Slowly the human will start mentally breaking down, slipping into a state similar to that of rabies. The spark's energy keeps the brain in check, and helps it process all the years that have passed. It will depend on the human’s mental stability and the spark but on average you can assume a human needs to eat a spark every at minimum every 1,000 years or so. However those years are added every time they eat, not just resetting the timer. If the human eats five sparks in one sitting then can wait 5,000 to eat another one.

I doubt Unicron wouldn't go a day without constantly reminding the kids the importance of eating cybertronians. So they are well aware of the need for it, but telling the autobots about it? Hmm not so likely.

People tend to think the autobots would be unaware of their charges’ lifespan but I think it should be the opposite, they should be too aware. They are almost always thinking that these little kids that they absolutely adore are going to die extremely soon. So Bulkhead and Wheeljack almost immediately notice when Miko hasn't been aging. They don't bring it up at first for fear of breaking whatever spell is keeping her young; however, they eventually do talk to her about it. She tries to avoid it at first because she doesn't want to scare them but Miko quickly folds and confesses the truth. Both them are horrified but on some level happy. They get to keep their little eldritch bird for a much longer time and potentially forever.

So yeah they turn a blind eye.

In fact they are probably storing immobilized half dead mechs they had fought/found in random caves like a very disturbing chipmunk.

Omg the cat thing lmao. Because they're petty they will start making jokes about this.”Oh she's going to eat me? Well my baby gets hungry, how about that?” “Miko can take an arm or leg idgaf. Not like I'm using them anyways.”

Miko is living her best life.✨ Loves being an horror beyond comprehension and spending the rest of entirety with her family.

Yes. Some bots want to keep their human around longer, no matter the cost.

[youhideastar]

Hello! I just needed to say that your tags on that ABO post (#maybe someday I will write that essay on how I think a/b/o starts from a fundamentally ace perspective#ie that it starts from a premise of no desire#into which desire arrives as a rare unexpected unwelcome and often traumatic deviation from the baseline) shook my brain like a magic 8 ball and I would like to subscribe to your newsletter.

I mean I guess I kind of already have since I follow your blog but like. That is genius and also I think that approach helps explain part of why I loved your ABO bingo series so much!

Anyway just wanted to say that, hope you're having an awesome day!

Aaahhhhh thank you so much! All credit to the initial poster for kicking my brain into gear on this. (For the curious, here's the series the ask mentions!)

But yes, to expand on those tags, there's so *much* about a/b/o as a genre that, to me at least, starts from an ace perspective.

For example, in most a/b/o universes where there are, in fact, betas (as opposed to another common take on omegaverse worldbuilding where there are just alphas and omegas), then the inherent starting premise of the world is that there are two kinds of people--people whose lives in large part revolve around intense, consuming, and uncontrollable sexual desire and people whose lives don't--which is to say, the inherent starting premise is that some people are (at least symbolically) ace. Indeed, in most of these fics, that's considered unremarkable in-universe... which is, from that point of view, a fantasy of a world where asexuality is commonplace and accepted. (Then again, it's rare for the main characters of such stories to be betas - it looks like a fantasy of ace acceptance, but the symbolically ace characters are relegated to the sidelines, as if a life that doesn't revolve around that kind of desire isn't worth telling stories about.)

In another example, a/b/o fics often posit a worldbuilding where the norm is that a person will only go into heat or rut (i.e., experience sexual desire) in reaction to a particular person--maybe a "fated mate"--and indeed, that the presence of sexual desire is proof of some kind of intense emotional connection between two people... which is basically just a sci-fi-ification of the experience of being demisexual. It's really that straightforward.

And that's without even getting into the ways that heat and rut often appear in fics as funhouse mirrors of what garden-variety allosexual desire looks like to people who don't experience it themselves. The original post says that "magical pheromones made them do it" sounds just as plausible to an ace person as "looking at someone in their underwear made them do it," but you don't even need the word "magical" - the idea that hormones could make you lose your head with desire and behave in ways that would embarrass you (or worse) once their influence wanes is both a sci-fi conceit for fanfic porn and actually how many, many people on this planet go through their lives on a regular basis.

What's ironic is how, despite all this, most a/b/o fic makes no room for real ace people (as opposed to symbolic aces, i.e., betas), especially sex-repulsed ace people. What are those folks supposed to do when heat strikes? Or other people who, for various reasons, might not want sex or be in a position to consent to it? I think a/b/o often teeters on the edge of body horror; in those situations, it tips right over. Most a/b/o worldbuilding does nothing to address this--and I think that's one of the great blank spaces in the genre that is ripe for exploring with all kinds of interesting fic!

[deconstructthesoup]

I think the reason that Dimension 20 really scratches all those itches in my brain is that it really shows what you can do with D&D---and TTRPGs as a whole.

Fantasy High, by itself, is an incredibly compelling concept. What would D&D look like in a semi-modern setting? What would a high school that's all about teaching teens how to be adventurers look like? And the way it's done is beyond inventive, especially if you look at all the encounters in the first season---we've got a literal food fight, a high-speed road chase with tiefling greasers, a nightclub brawl with zombies, vampires, and werewolves, a skating match with a bunch of dwarven middle schoolers and a concrete golem, a high-stakes game of football (ish) with undead jocks that give off major teen slasher vibes, a fight done in an arcade where characters can get trapped in the consoles, and the final battle is done at prom. PROM! How cool is that?

And then we get to the Unsleeping City, which takes the urban fantasy elements that Fantasy High already had and elevates it. The way the D&D lore and magic is interpreted in a modern New York setting is excellent, as is the whole take on the "American Dream," magic literally coming from dreams, ideas, and the imagination. I know that I need to actually finish the UC saga, but from what I've seen and experienced, it is truly fantastic.

And the same energy carries through to the other seasons---my personal favorite outside of Fantasy High being A Court of Fey and Flowers, just because I'm a sucker for any Fey Realm content and I've been raised on Jane Austen---where the genre mashups shine through in the best way possible. I'll admit, I haven't seen A Crown of Candy, purely because I know how heartbreaking and devastating it is and I don't think I can physically handle it, but the concept of Candyland Game of Thrones is so beautifully bizarre that I totally get why people love it so much. Escape from the Bloodkeep hitting that workplace comedy vibe that we love to see in villains. Misfits & Magic being a love letter to the "magical boarding school" genre while also calling out all the weird contradictions inherent in it. A Starstruck Odyssey literally being an homage to Brennan's mom and exactly the kind of madcap and unhinged energy I need from my sci-fi. Neverafter perfectly encapsulating the true horror of fairy tales. Mentopolis hitting my noir-loving heart and personifying hyperfixation in the best way possible.

I'm not even kidding when I say that, if it weren't for Dimension 20... I probably wouldn't have even started my own campaign. I'd had snippets and ideas ever since officially getting into D&D and joining a game with some old friends (and getting back in touch with them in the process), but after I saw the Mentopolis trailer, I realized just how much variety TTRGPs had to offer. I could do a time-blending, history-meets-future campaign. I could go out-of-the-box. I could have endless amounts of options available to my friends and still tell the story that I wanted to tell. And when I sat down and watched Fantasy High---and when I got that Dropout subscription so I could consume whatever I wanted---it felt like the show was actually giving me advice. It's fantastic.

Also it helps that the episodes are usually only roughly a couple hours instead of being, like, an entire afternoon long. And that each season is 20 episodes, tops. No offense to Critical Role, but the sheer amount of content literally makes it impossible for me to get into it.

[quivm]

— Miles Morales' future.

Earth 42 Miles Morales x gn reader light light angst (?). minors can interact! major spoilers for across the spiderverse. ૮ ˶´ ᵕˋ ˶ა

wc: 1.2k

genre + warnings:

very light angst if it even is idk who to describe it. extreme possessiveness (yandere), implied manipulation, implied death, kidnapping, being followed, gn reader but feminine pet names are used

notes!! i saw @ichangedmycornyahhname work of 42 Miles and got so inspired i was so happy. i watched ATSV the day it came out and saw 42 Miles was working in alchemax when they looked at where the spider came from so 42 Miles is really smart and my brain went smart villain = dangerous / manipulative with his intelligence ?? i love this headcannon so part 2 or other ff with this hc is definitely pending o(≧▽≦)o

Your steps hastened, desperate to reach the end of the alleyway. Your unbridled heartbeat raged as the echoes of the rapid steps behind you increased. The dread and unease of the situation washed over your body as you came to the reality of the situation - you were being followed.

Anxiety at the forefront of the many emotions bubbling up worsened your ability to keep a level head. Realistically, your capture was unlikely. The claim Miles had on you was well known throughout the criminal world as an unspoken rule. Never touch any hair on your head. An immense help in day to day life in the overpoliced and crime riddled city of New York but you didnt know that.

This time though it seemed that unspoken immunity ran out, seeing as you were targeted after closing up shop and walking home. Words could not describe the terror that fell into your stomach as an icy hand lurched forward subduing you.

“Where are you going pretty? You have a nice bag, huh.”

This was it. Your end would not be in action or helping people. No, your deeming end was going to be by a group of thoughtless thugs way over their heads. When a frosty cloth was pressed against your nose it reaffirmed your thoughts. This was your deathbed.

____

A dreary house was the first sight you saw as you gained consciousness. The organised but messy state made it abundantly clear to you someone was in constant use of it, although it was not welcoming or homey. Fires and mayhem in the skyline gleamed in the window, a bittersweet view. Sadden because that was your life forever unless you leave NYC- which you could never afford but reassuring in the fact that you were still in Brooklyn as harrowing as it is.

Times like this made you resent Brooklyn, there was no one to help. The police had more problems than officers, criminals were rampant and encouraged. The city felt empty, everyone was on their own to see the next day. Community was fragile and easy to shatter into a moment of the past.

Fright jolted up your spine. The heavy steps clanged toward the door. Even though you were not tied up it was a matter of time. Maybe the men would let you go? Maybe they were here to tie you up? Racing through your mind all sort of nonsense was thought about, until the step stopped right outside the door. The door creaked open, on its last leg.

The illuminating light from the hallway and window shone on you. Survival was the only thought on your mind, though fleeting and hopeless. It seemed only achievable through pretending to be asleep. Your motionless body layed frigid, shallow breaths was all that seemed manageable as the heavy boot came to a stop right infornt of you.

“I know you're awake.”

The short and sweet statement shook your world. Fear paralysing you as you reacted by trembling inconsolably as you cracked open your eyes. The dizzying onslaught of purple welcomed you as you looked at your kidnapper. Horror consumed your soul. It was the prowler. Contradicting previous thoughts, you knew you were over your head.

Before the tears pooled in your eyes could drop, as well as your pride as you were getting ready to beg for mercy, another statement from the masked man was made in the same chilling voice although this time laced with amusement.

“Calm down princesa it’s me.”

The sound of the mask slowly unveiling the man underneath echoed throughout the room. Confusion bloomed in your mind. Everything you knew blown out the window leaving only fright and shock.

“Miles?”

Your rough around the edges, attentive boyfriend who treated you with the utmost respect was the prowler? The prowler who everyone in NYC knew. The man with no enemies as he took them all out. The man who created New York into the shit hole it was today was your Miles? The universe must hate you and everything you stand for because worthwise why would it play the shitest card it has on you.

You knew Miles was on the streets doing crime, he told you when the relationship got serious. As concerning as it was you knew you couldn’t stop it and tried to help him any way you could to make sure he got home safe. But you never expected he wasn’t just on the crime scene he ran it for the whole of New York. That changes everything.

“Mi vida, I know this is a shock-”.

“No! This is more than a shock Miles!”

Everything your relationship was built on was slowly chipping away. You both shared the most vulnerable intimate parts of your lifes, you thought you knew him. But he was practically a stranger. A second life untouched and hidden away which made him who he was today. This wasn’t something that could be blown over. With more confidence and left over adrenaline you stood up next to him.

“Why am I here Miles?”

This large reveal couldn’t take your mind off last night's events. You were kidnapped by a group of men and then you suddenly woke up here with Miles. Did that mean Miles ordered it? He could have come to see you though. None of it made sense and you needed clarity.

“Last night you were touched by some low lives. That's unacceptable princessa. I went over with Uncle Aaron and took care of them, don’t worry you're safe now.”

The gentle caressing of his hand on your cheek which would have been comforting in any other context wafted the smell of iron to your nose and felt inexplicably cold on your cheek. You knew what being ‘taken care of’ mean’t, you caused deaths. You were Miles’ and he was a possessive man, no one could touch you without facing the consequences. Your ability to walk downtown and come out unscathed made sense; you weren’t lucky you were a death warrant.

“Mi vida you are mine and no one could take you from me. Comprendido?”

Reality sunk in. You weren’t only Miles' partner, you were his future. He loved you, you were his lifeline to sanity after his Father died and he had shoulder the responsibilities of the family. The only semblance to normality and happiness in his life other than the close circle of loved ones that were Uncle Aaron and his Mother. And that circle only had one more space for you. He would never let go of you, he viewed you as an extension of himself. There was no where you could escape too, he owns NYC any manhunt he orders would end quickly. People feared his power and strength but laid dead from his intelligence and foresight.

There was nowhere you could run except into his arms.

[seneon]

SAVIOUR OF NIGHTMARES ──── rin itoshi × fem! reader

about. in which, a consumer of nightmares saves the delver. made in abyss! au. reader is half-narehate (hollow). ooc rin. kind of fluff. wc of 900+

notes. ( wrote this back in june during my made in abyss hyperfixation ) anyways i love mia and belaf and and and. tagging @sweetheartsaku, @anqelically, @choccorin !!

nightmares. something that he always has. not even in a blue moon or occasionally, but almost every day. every day of his life the moment he shuts his eyes, it is as if a nightmare demon has favoured him and punctured the idea of horrifying dreams into the mind.

not a single day passes without a single speck of a blood-curdling image just roaming around at the back of his mind, awaiting to display like an inescapable horror movie.

in those nightmares, itoshi rin sometimes dreams of the worst possible outcome of the pit, the abyss. but mostly and the worst of all, his brother. as a delver of the black whistle, he fears almost nothing, except for the end of himself failing to his brother.

of course, you need no fear of being at the level of a white whistle. just like his brother. rin only exists to beat his brother, even if sae has gotten a white whistle a few years ago, rin still did not receive one.

it only meant that rin isn't at that level of his brother yet. his brother who has travelled with the most legendary delvers like ozen the immovable, or lyza the annihilator. rin was tempted to descend into a white whistle.

little did the itoshi know, his dreams and goals would only steer further away from him as his nightmares grew worse and worse every night. even now— as his mind swirled with the darkest days where he had a conflict with his brother. an argument that would change rin to be the way he is.

he still dreams of it until this day. even if the younger itoshi’s inner feelings say otherwise, his feelings of hatred are more prominent than the ones of love and affection. that was how horrible it has become until his hatred has formed into a demon in his mind that vomits nightmares into rin.

the delver shifted in his sleeping mattress, sweat already formed from the anxiety that his mind played through. his closed eyelids would occasionally move, eyebrows scrunching in a sense of pain.

“i can save you from your nightmares,” a feminine voice called through the audio of the horror playthrough, as rin remained silent. “just give me a little love.”

huh?

give who a little love?

who is speaking to rin?

“i can help you tonight, and every other night. you just have to give me your love in return.”

tempting, but extremely suspicious. is this another dream trying to coexist with his nightmare about his elder brother? is this possible? a mysterious voice that blocks out all other noises and only speaks to rin himself.

it doesn't matter, rin needed the hellish punishments of a nightmare to cease at this moment. so he agreed, even if he didn't know how to agree with him, the voice responded to him and he could physically feel as if his dreams were being lifted from the insides of his brains.

then, cold yet gentle fingers touched the skin of the itoshi, gently cupping his face to caress his soft skin. you then leaned down on the sleeping form of the delver and placed a soft kiss onto his lips. pulling away not to be distracted by anything else, you placed your forehead on his as your noses touched.

rin felt a cool air on his forehead. it slowly seeped into his forehead and sunk into his mind, giving his mind a place of peace. it was like all his bad memories and all the nightmares he has to sleep through has been frozen by the cool air just as it was all replaced with utter calmness instead of calamity.

for the first time in years, he finally had peace while his eyes were shut. his eyelids weren't shaking or struggling to keep awake or fall asleep into hell, but they were still and peaceful.

you watched in curiousity at the human male, a delver with a black whistle. you wondered, why is he not a white whistle yet? he is already in such a deep layer into the abyss. someone with his survivor skill is bound to own a white whistle.

at least, that's what you knew from the previous white whistle delvers that you've met along the way. you shifted rin’s messy bangs. but the moment you pull your hands away from his face, he grabs your hand gently.

“is it you? the one who punctured peace into my mind.”

you nodded. “i only consumed your nightmares because you consented to it.”

rin’s teal eyes looked up at your hovering form. still in a sluggish state, he scans your being. he couldn't tell if you are human or a creature of the abyss, for he is only focused on one thing.

“you are so beautiful... ” he said, letting go of your hands to shift them to your face. “you are my saviour, aren't you?”

as a narehate, you felt yourself blushing at the human teenager who held your face in his own arms. his voice and words too, were hypnotising, as if they were coated in honey and you are a bee not resisting them.

this human, a black whistle delver, itoshi rin, he's yours. yours the moment you laid your eyes on him through the force fields of the abyss as you watched him ventured until this layer. it was simply fate that brought the two of you together.

rin was even willing to love you for an eternity and become a narehate himself if you'll prevent and save him from having hellish nightmares. even if you become a white instrument for the male, he'll do anything for you.

© SENEON 2024 ♰ do not repost, alter, or translate.

[ckret2]

How do you have the willpower to not consume content from any of your other fandoms? I always get pulled in and out of the same ones and it stops me from getting projects done but I get so bored! Teach me your ways!

So the downside of ADHD is that it takes a ridiculously high amount of effort to push yourself to do things—even things you want to do and like doing—unless you put even more effort upfront into making it convenient for yourself.

But the upside is, if you know this about yourself, and if there's media you want to not be consuming, you just...... don't do anything to make it convenient to consume.

I don't have Amazon Prime. All I have to do is not bother to get Amazon Prime (easy!!) and not bother to hunt out a way to watch Hazbin some other way (also easy!!) and bam, I've got a 100% success rate of not watching it.

Do you know how many Transformers series I'm currently behind on? I sure don't! Because I haven't put the effort into looking it up! I can't be assed! There's like, at least three I think! Don't tell me, I'm not currently interested in finding out!! It would take work for me to figure it out; I can just go "work?? Naaah. Not doing that."

You can resist temptation by just being too lazy to pursue it! Make that ADHD work for YOU!

Caution: if you can't get yourself to put effort into doing anything that brings you pleasure, that's either Pretty Serious Depression or it's gonna cause Pretty Serious Depression and it's not good. However. If you master the art of ADHD, you can save up the effort you didn't put into distractions, and use it to put effort into different activities that also make you happy.

Last year I picked up a podcast about cults. It's all right. But because I'm already listening to it and spotify keeps pushing it to the top of my screen, when I need a low-effort audio distraction, it's easier for me to default to putting on the podcast about cults than it would be for me to, say, dig up The Magnus Protocol to start it. And bam! Now I'm doing more research that'll help me write about a cult leader, for free, by listening to a podcast I'm not at risk of hyperfixating on!

Part of avoiding breaking your own hyperfixation is figuring out what media you enjoy, but don't hyperfixate on. Because you still need to, like, have fun. That's why you wanna watch The Things You Like, because it's fun. If you're not having fun you'll wanna go watch The Things You Like, and rightly so. So you've gotta make sure you're having enough fun with things you don't hyperfixate on.

Like, I know that when I watch Columbo or read Poirot, I find the detectives charming while I'm observing them, and then almost as soon as the mystery is over I stop thinking about them. They aren't the kind of characters that latch into my brain. I know they won't become blorbos. So I'm safe there. I know I enjoy horror movies but 99% of the time totally forget who the characters are, like if there's 2 white guys and 2 white girls it is guaranteed I won't be able to tell them apart, so they're safe to watch, I'm not gonna hyperfixate on them. I know that I enjoy nonfiction/educational books & podcasts, but I only hyperfixate on fiction, so it's safe for me to pick up nonfiction. If it's nonfiction that's somehow thematically relevant to whatever I'm currently hyperfixated on, it even helps feed the current hyperfixation.

And those are my "protect your hyperfixation" lifehacks.

On the other hand, if you, anon, don't personally have ADHD, then I can't help you. idk how people with executive function function.

Final advice: if you know you keep falling in and out of the same 3 or 4 fandoms, maybe try writing a crossover fic about all 3 or 4 fandoms at once. That way it won't matter which one you're currently into. You win no matter what. I've never actually tried this, don't trust this advice.

[the-moon-files]

As I work on my college assignments that I have missed due to being sick I can't help but think *damn* I would absolutely hate being transported to another world due to all my responsibilities. Like, even if it was that zero time occurring between getting back home I wouldn't want that, because fuck what if time did pass? What if I got fired from my job or missed on rent and all my stuff got thrown out of my apartment?? I love the idea of being away from my responsibilities but I hate having to go back to more and more things I have to more things I have to make up or have just missed.

Anyway, my brain suddenly attached this to a reader who got stuck in the linked universe. The emotions they would go through because their mind isn't stuck on the past or present but in the future. What if they had pets? Who'd take care of them? How would they pay their bills if they got stuck in an alternate universe? It's a sudden absence of these things that really trip them up because they had so much to do and now it's all gone. They can actually live now. But also they weren't built to live life outside of the weird society we have. How can they learn to live if the way they'd been living was nothing but a mental ladder to keep up with. How can they keep going knowing that back home there are important events and people and animals that they are missing out on.

-✒️ (Sorry for the long ask I'm an a very existential mood rn)

Sorry this is such a late reply!! I've had a "fanfic author curse" kinda year tbh, so I'm just now getting back into my hobbies :/

(i just got so burnt out by life i wasn't even in the mood to play the video games, let alone touch my blogs/write for them :( which is sad bc i love talking to you guys /gen)

So, I hope this late response is okay, and college and things these days are going better for you anon!!

_

BRO RLLY DROPPED MY WORST FEARS IN MY MAIL BOX ON A GODDAMN?? WEDNESDAY EVENING??? 😭😭 /LH

NO but SERIOUSLY this is genuinely a fear ive had in realistic isekai scenario situations,

So for like a year, maybe 2 now? Ive been obsessively consuming "isekai/reincarnation/transmigration anime" or this trope that somehow someway a character is misplaced from their original timeline, maybe just mysteriously yoinked/died/possessed another body in a diff universe, whatever, either way theyre There now, in a diff universe. And animes consistently gloss over this transitional period, that i can see real ppl actually having, to just sort of accept and move on, of course yo get the plot rolling.

But i guess theres just not quite enough sort of nitty-gritty isekai content yet for anyone to get have finally made an isekai genre thing that really goes on the other side of the spectrum, where the MC is like, well, THIS^^^

Like unless ur actually a hermit, youve either pushed away all ur family anf friends or theyve passed away, and you dont have a pet, pr whatever/whoever else,

ive learned after sort of coming out of teen years/rlly long depressive episodes that, Someone will always notice you. Theyll notice youre gone, and theyll miss you.

Like ppl hit u with that angsty, "nobody cares abt me" and then when u realistically sit them down like, "okay. What about your favorite teacher? What about your best friend? What about your online friends who will never see you log on again? What about your dog?"

Like yeah, who will take care of your dog?? Becaue where im at in life, if my sibling dies, ive got no one to care about my old girl, my kitty Mia <3 whos loved me since i was 12 😭

So, ive been actually wanting to fill in somewhat this gap in isekai genre by sort of expanding on it, i mean to be honest fanfiction is the only media ive seen thats gotten close to tackling this, with any amount of realism/emotional depth it deserves.

i hope u found this any amount of satisfying response, i probably would take this is in either a complete horror fashion/tragic scenario (which i don't write that often tbh) or a sort of "angst with a happy ending" like MC/reader worrying freaking out abt homeworld but there's a portal to let you go between worlds or smth

Peace out ✒️,

🌙📁

(i found a file emoji - how do we feel abt it??)

[jzprncess]

in the shadows of war ⌖

pairing : charles leclerc x reader

historical au oneshot

word count : 7,522

summary : Amidst the relentless chaos of war, Y/N, a skilled and unyielding battlefield medic, saves the life of Charles Leclerc, a soldier teetering on the brink of death. Thrust together by fate in the heart of destruction, their lives intertwine in unexpected ways. As they navigate the horrors of the battlefield, an unspoken bond forms—fragile yet undeniable. But in a world consumed by violence and loss, can their connection survive the trials of war, or will the shadow of conflict claim everything, including their chance at love?

note : haha i really did start and finish this before the poll was over (if you know you know) my brain is surprisingly still working. i just wrote 2 one shots and a part one in less than 24 hours. that's really good for me. now i know the request said a long one-shot but once you get to the ending it may seem like it'll need a part 2 (ill make a poll on like tuesday to see if you guys are down for a part 2)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The air was thick with smoke, the distant rumble of cannonfire echoing through the hazy sky. The ground trembled beneath the weight of the conflict, and Y/N barely noticed the mud seeping into her boots as she moved from one soldier to the next. The screams of the wounded were drowned out by the pounding of her heart, but that wasn’t new. It had been like this for weeks—an endless cycle of battle, bloodshed, and moments of cruel silence.

Her hands were steady, her mind sharper than ever, as she worked without pause, stitching up gashes, applying bandages, doing what she could to hold the fabric of life together in this hellscape. The wounded kept coming in, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and fear. But she had seen it all before, so it didn’t rattle her anymore.

“Medic!” A soldier’s voice cut through the haze. She looked up, squinting through the smoke, and her heart skipped. Another body, another life at risk.

Y/N darted towards the injured man, her eyes scanning his blood-soaked uniform. His face was pale, lips almost ashen from the blood loss. She knelt beside him, her hands quick as she assessed his injuries, noting the deep gash across his abdomen. A bad one. He wouldn’t make it if she didn’t act fast.

“Stay with me,” she muttered, more to herself than him, as she applied pressure to the wound, doing her best to stop the bleeding. The soldier groaned, his eyes barely open. She cursed under her breath—time wasn’t on their side.

A nearby explosion shook the ground, but Y/N didn’t flinch. She had long ago learned to block out the chaos. She didn’t have the luxury of fear. Not now. Not when lives hung in the balance.

“Help him!” someone shouted, pulling her back to reality.

Y/N nodded sharply, signaling to one of the nearby medics to assist. But before she could focus on the next task, her gaze caught a figure being carried in from the battlefield. His dark hair was matted with blood, his body limp in the arms of two soldiers who looked nearly as desperate as he was.

Her breath caught in her throat.

He looked worse off than most of the others—his face was barely recognizable under the blood and dirt, and his shallow breaths hinted at how close to death he truly was. She took a steadying breath, pushing aside the racing thoughts in her head. She was a medic. She didn’t have time to hesitate.

“Get him on the table,” she barked, already moving toward him, her fingers working quickly to assess his injuries. He had to survive. He would survive.

This was just another life to save. But something in the back of her mind whispered that this one might change everything.

The makeshift medical tent was chaos, but Y/N’s world narrowed to the man in front of her. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking through the thin mattress as she worked. Her hands moved with practiced precision, stitching flesh, wrapping gauze, doing everything she could to keep him tethered to life.

“Don’t give up on me,” she whispered under her breath, though she wasn’t sure if the words were meant for him or herself.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was likely minutes, the bleeding stopped. His pulse was weak, but it was there. Y/N sank back for a moment, her fingers trembling slightly as the adrenaline began to fade.

“Move him to recovery,” she instructed the nearby medic. She didn’t wait to see him carried off—there were still others who needed her. The war didn’t stop for anyone, no matter how much she wished it would.

The night crept in slowly, casting long shadows across the medical tent. Outside, the distant sound of artillery had finally ceased, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Y/N leaned back against the makeshift table, her legs aching from hours of standing. Her fingers, still stained with blood despite countless washes, trembled as she held a tin cup of lukewarm water. She sipped it absentmindedly, her mind replaying the events of the day.

The screams. The pleading eyes of the soldiers she couldn’t save. The ones she could.

Her gaze drifted across the tent, where rows of cots lined the walls, each one occupied by a broken body. Some of the wounded muttered in their sleep, their dreams no doubt haunted by the horrors of the battlefield. Others lay frighteningly still, their breathing faint but steady. It was an uneasy peace, one she had come to accept as the norm.

In the farthest corner of the tent, he lay. Charles.

Y/N hadn’t known his name until she’d read it from his chart earlier. Charles Leclerc. She repeated it in her mind as she watched his chest rise and fall beneath the thin blanket. He was stable now, but barely. The deep gash across his abdomen had taken hours to clean and stitch, and there was no guarantee he’d avoid infection. But for now, he was alive.

Alive, but a mystery.

She approached his cot quietly, her boots barely making a sound against the dirt floor. His face, though pale and smeared with remnants of dirt and blood, was peaceful in sleep. His features were sharper than most of the soldiers she’d treated, with high cheekbones and dark brows that furrowed slightly even in unconsciousness. There was something striking about him—something that made her pause.

“You’re just a soldier,” she murmured under her breath, though the words didn’t feel true.

She crouched by the edge of his bed and reached for the clipboard hanging at the foot of the cot. His details were sparse: Charles Leclerc, infantry. Age: 24. No next of kin listed. She frowned at the thought. Most soldiers at least had a name written down for emergencies, someone who’d be notified if the worst happened. But for him, there was no one.

“No family,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Guess that makes two of us.”

Her hand hovered over his blanket as if to straighten it but stopped short. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe she didn’t want to disturb him. Maybe it was something else.

The tent flaps rustled as another medic entered, carrying a bucket of fresh water. Y/N glanced up, startled from her thoughts.

“How’s he doing?” the other medic asked, nodding toward Charles.

“Stable,” she replied, her voice flat. “For now. If the wound doesn’t fester, he’ll live.”

The medic let out a low whistle. “That one’s lucky, then. Saw him when they brought him in—thought for sure he wouldn’t make it.”

Y/N didn’t respond, her eyes drifting back to Charles. Lucky. She didn’t know if she believed in luck anymore.

Later that night, as the tent quieted even further, Y/N found herself unable to sleep. She sat at her small workstation, flipping through charts, updating notes, and organizing supplies. But her focus kept straying back to the far corner where Charles lay.

Against her better judgment, she found herself by his side again, this time sitting on the wooden stool placed next to his cot. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she studied him. There was something different about this soldier, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“You better pull through,” she said softly, almost as if speaking to herself. “After everything, I don’t want you proving me wrong.”

Her voice broke the stillness of the tent, but there was no response. Just the steady rhythm of his breathing, a faint reassurance that for now, he was still fighting.

Y/N sat there for a while longer, letting the exhaustion wash over her. The war wasn’t over, and neither was her part in it. But for tonight, this corner of the world was quiet.

Y/N stayed by Charles’s side longer than she intended. The soft sound of his breathing was oddly grounding, a rare constant in her chaotic world. She told herself it was because she didn’t trust his condition to hold. He was still at risk of fever, infection, or worse, and it was her job to keep him alive.

That was the only reason.

But as she finally stood and stretched her aching limbs, a small, hoarse sound escaped from his lips.

“Water…”

Her breath caught. He wasn’t fully conscious, his words barely audible, but they sent a shock through her system. He was waking up.

Y/N grabbed a tin cup and moved swiftly back to his side, her heart inexplicably pounding. She crouched beside him, tilting the cup carefully against his cracked lips. “Easy,” she murmured, her voice softer than she expected. “Not too fast.”

His eyelids fluttered, and for the briefest moment, Y/N caught a glimpse of deep brown eyes, dazed and unfocused. He didn’t say anything else before slipping back into unconsciousness.

Y/N sat back on her heels, the tin cup still in her hands. She stared at his face, her mind turning over questions she didn’t have the answers to.

It was going to be a long night.

The first rays of dawn spilled weakly through the tent’s canvas walls, casting a pale, gray light over the rows of cots. The morning chill seeped through Y/N’s uniform as she moved from bed to bed, checking on the soldiers she’d worked tirelessly to save.

Her body ached, her muscles heavy with exhaustion, but she pushed through. She always did. There was no room for weakness here—not when so many others relied on her strength to survive.

She paused at Charles’s cot, the clipboard in her hand feeling heavier than it should. His vitals had stabilized overnight, though his pulse remained weaker than she’d like. His fever hadn’t returned, but infection was still a risk.

Y/N set the clipboard down and sat on the wooden stool beside his bed, leaning forward to get a closer look. His face was still pale, his skin slightly sunken from the blood loss. The dark lashes that brushed his cheeks stood out starkly against his complexion. He looked peaceful, though she knew better than to believe it. Peace didn’t exist here.

As if to prove her point, he stirred faintly, a soft groan escaping his lips. Y/N straightened, her pulse quickening.

“Charles?” she said softly, leaning closer. She hesitated, unsure if she should even use his name. It felt strange on her tongue, too familiar for someone she didn’t know. But it was the only name he had.

His eyelids fluttered, and for a moment, Y/N thought he might drift back into unconsciousness. But then his eyes opened—a crack at first, then wider as he blinked blearily up at the ceiling.

“You’re awake,” she said, relief threading through her voice. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been waiting for this moment.

Charles’s gaze moved slowly, his eyes landing on her face. They were a deep, rich brown, but glassy with confusion. His lips parted, but no sound came out at first. He swallowed, his throat working hard to produce words.

“Where…?” His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

“You’re in the medical tent,” Y/N said gently. “You were injured on the battlefield, but you’re safe now.”

He frowned, the effort to think visible in the lines that creased his brow. His hand twitched weakly at his side, as if trying to move but failing.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice rasping with dryness.

“You were hit—shrapnel, I think. It was bad, but we managed to stop the bleeding. You’ve been unconscious since yesterday,” Y/N explained, keeping her tone steady and professional.

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze unfocused as he processed her words. Then he blinked slowly, his eyes shifting back to her face.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice so quiet she almost missed it.

Y/N froze, caught off guard by the simple phrase. She wasn’t used to hearing it, especially not so soon after saving someone’s life. Usually, the gratitude came much later—if it came at all.

She cleared her throat, brushing off the warmth that crept into her chest. “You should save your strength,” she said briskly. “Talking won’t help you heal.”

Charles’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile. “You sound… stern,” he murmured, his words slurred with exhaustion.

“Good. Maybe you’ll listen to me,” she replied, arching a brow.

His eyelids drooped, and she could tell he was on the verge of slipping back into unconsciousness. She stood, adjusting the blanket around his shoulders. “Rest,” she said softly. “You’re not out of danger yet.”

Hours later, Y/N found herself back at his bedside, though she couldn’t quite explain why. The tent was quieter now, the other medics handling rounds while she took a brief break. She sat on the stool again, her eyes scanning his face for any sign of change.

He looked more peaceful now, the tension in his features eased. She noticed things she hadn’t before—the faint freckles across his nose, the small scar near his temple. They made him seem younger than he was, a reminder that so many of the soldiers here were barely more than boys.

“Who are you?” she murmured aloud, though she didn’t expect an answer. She picked up his chart again, reading over the sparse details. No next of kin. No personal belongings except for a small pendant they’d found in his pocket.

Her gaze flicked to the bedside table, where the pendant now sat. She reached for it, running her fingers over the worn metal. It was a simple piece, the kind of thing someone might carry for luck. There was no inscription, no clue as to its significance.

“You don’t give much away, do you?” she muttered, setting the pendant back down.

She glanced at him again, and for a moment, she allowed herself to wonder. Who was this man? What had brought him here, to this war, to this tent? And why did she feel so drawn to him?

The sound of footsteps approaching snapped her out of her thoughts. Another medic appeared, holding a clipboard. “Y/N, we need you. There’s been an incident near the eastern trench.”

Y/N nodded, standing quickly. She glanced at Charles one last time before leaving, her heart heavy with an unease she couldn’t name.

Y/N moved swiftly through the tent’s exit, leaving Charles behind in the dim light. Outside, the air was sharp and cold, the distant rumble of artillery echoing through the valley.

As she hurried toward the eastern trenches, the scent of blood and gunpowder grew stronger, mingling with the cries of the wounded. The chaos was overwhelming, but she didn’t falter.

Still, her thoughts lingered on the man she’d left behind. She’d done everything she could for him, yet a nagging feeling tugged at her chest. Would he still be there when she returned?

She didn’t have time to dwell on the question. The battlefield was calling, and there was no room for hesitation.

Meanwhile, back in the tent, Charles stirred faintly, his body tense with feverish dreams. The sound of distant explosions filtered into his subconscious, mingling with fragmented memories of the battle. His fingers twitched against the blanket as his mind wrestled with shadows.

His lips moved, forming words no one could hear.

“Don’t leave me…”

The sky above the battlefield was a muted gray, streaked with smoke from the distant barrage of artillery. Y/N jogged behind a small group of medics, her satchel jostling against her hip as the ground trembled beneath her feet. Shouts and gunfire echoed in the distance, growing louder the closer they approached the eastern trench.

When they reached the line, the scene before her was a familiar nightmare. Soldiers crouched behind makeshift barriers, their faces pale and drawn as they fired blindly into the chaos. The injured lay scattered, some groaning in pain, others eerily still. Y/N swallowed the knot in her throat and dropped to her knees beside the nearest soldier, her hands already moving to assess the damage.

“Bullet wound, left thigh,” she muttered to herself. The soldier winced but didn’t cry out as she cut through the fabric of his uniform and pressed a bandage against the wound. “You’ll live,” she told him, though she wasn’t sure if it was a reassurance or a command.

A medic beside her handed her a roll of bandages, and she worked quickly to stop the bleeding. As she finished, another shout rang out—this one closer. Y/N’s head snapped up in time to see an explosion tear through a nearby trench wall, sending debris and bodies flying.

“Damn it,” she muttered, scrambling to her feet. “We need to move them back—this area isn’t safe!”

The medics around her nodded, and together they began the grim task of carrying the injured to relative safety. Y/N’s arms burned from the weight of the stretcher, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

charles’s pov at the same time

Charles’s breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling unevenly as the fever began to creep back. The medical staff working in the tent passed by his cot, too busy with the influx of new injuries to notice the subtle change in his condition.

He wasn’t fully conscious, but his mind was restless, caught between waking and dreaming. Fragments of memory surfaced—faces he didn’t recognize, voices he couldn’t place. And then her voice, soft but firm, cutting through the haze:

“You’re safe now.”

He didn’t know her name, but he remembered her face—the sharp intensity of her eyes, the way her voice carried both authority and care.

“Where…” he tried to say, but his throat was too dry. His fingers twitched against the blanket, searching for something—someone—but finding only emptiness.

The distant sound of artillery rumbled through the tent, and his chest tightened. His fevered mind blurred the present with the past, the memory of battle surging forward. His breath quickened, and for a moment, he was back on the field, the weight of the rifle in his hands, the deafening roar of explosions around him.

“Don’t leave me…” he whispered hoarsely, though no one was there to hear.

y/n’s pov on the battlefield

Y/N crouched low as another explosion shook the ground, sending a spray of dirt and debris over the trench. Her heart pounded, her breaths coming in short bursts as she worked to stabilize a soldier with a head wound.

The man’s eyes fluttered open, blood trickling down his temple. “Am I dying?” he rasped, his voice barely audible.

“No,” Y/N said firmly, her hands steady even as her pulse raced. “Not today. You’re going to make it, but you need to hold on for me.”

She tied off the bandage with a sharp tug and signaled for another medic to take him back to the tent. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before turning back to the carnage around her. The smell of blood and smoke filled her lungs, but she forced herself to push through the sensory overload.

She tied off the bandage with a sharp tug and signaled for another medic to take him back to the tent. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before turning back to the carnage around her. The smell of blood and smoke filled her lungs, but she forced herself to push through the sensory overload.

As she moved to the next patient, a sharp pain lanced through her leg. She stumbled, her vision blurring for a moment before she realized she’d been hit—not by a bullet, but by a shard of shrapnel. It had grazed her thigh, tearing through her uniform and leaving a shallow, bloody gash.

Y/N gritted her teeth, tearing a strip of fabric from her shirt and tying it tightly around the wound. There was no time to stop, no time to dwell on the pain. She glanced toward the horizon, where the faint glow of the medical tent was just visible through the haze.

“I’ll make it back,” she murmured, though she wasn’t sure if the words were meant for herself or someone else.

The medical tent was a flurry of activity by the time Y/N returned, her clothes streaked with mud and blood. She staggered inside, her hands trembling as she dropped her satchel onto the nearest table.

Her eyes scanned the room automatically, her gaze landing on Charles’s cot. Something about the way he lay—too still, his face damp with sweat—made her heart skip a beat.

She crossed the room quickly, her own pain forgotten as she knelt beside him. His skin was hot to the touch, his fever spiking dangerously high. His lips moved faintly, forming words she couldn’t hear.

“Charles,” she said sharply, her hands cupping his face. “Stay with me.”

His eyes flickered open, just barely, and for the first time, they locked onto hers. There was fear in his gaze, but also something else—recognition.

“You came back,” he murmured, his voice weak but filled with relief.

Y/N’s throat tightened, but she forced herself to speak. “Of course I did,” she said quietly. “Now stop being dramatic and let me help you.”

The faintest hint of a smile crossed his lips before he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Y/N sat back, her hands trembling. She didn’t know why she felt so shaken—this was just another patient, another life saved.

But deep down, she knew it wasn’t that simple.

The tent grew quieter as the night deepened, the sounds of chaos outside fading into the background. Y/N sat on a wooden stool beside Charles’s cot, exhaustion pulling at her limbs but refusing to let her rest.

Her gaze lingered on him, studying the faint lines of his face, the way his chest rose and fell unevenly with each breath. For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, she felt an almost desperate need to see him wake up.

Her fingers brushed against the edge of his blanket, a hesitant, fleeting gesture she didn’t even realize she’d made.

“Get better,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “That’s an order.”

Charles stirred faintly, his lips parting as though to respond, but no words came.

Y/N leaned back, letting out a slow breath. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for now, all she could do was wait.

As the first light of dawn crept into the tent, the war outside continued to rage on, its shadow stretching further across their lives.

Charles’s eyelids felt heavy, as though weighed down by the lingering remnants of sleep and fever. The faint hum of voices and clatter of activity in the tent pulled him toward wakefulness, but the ache in his body begged him to stay still.

He shifted slightly, the rough texture of the blanket brushing against his skin. A dull pain throbbed in his side, and he sucked in a shallow breath. As his eyes cracked open, blurry shapes came into focus—the canvas roof of the tent, the dim light of a lantern flickering nearby, and a figure slumped in a chair beside him.

It took him a moment to register who it was.

Her head was tilted to one side, her chin resting on her hand as she dozed. Her uniform was stained with mud and blood, and a bandage peeked out from beneath the torn fabric of her pant leg. Even in sleep, her brow was furrowed, as though she were still bracing for the next crisis.

Charles’s throat was dry, but he managed a hoarse whisper. “You stayed.”

Y/N stirred at the sound, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, she looked disoriented, her gaze darting around the tent before landing on him. Relief softened her expression, though it was quickly replaced by her usual no-nonsense demeanor.

“You’re awake,” she said, leaning forward to check his forehead with the back of her hand. “Fever’s down. That’s good.”

Charles’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. “You look worse than I do.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “That’s what happens when you’re busy saving stubborn idiots like you.”

He chuckled weakly, though it turned into a wince as the movement jostled his injured side. Y/N’s smirk faded, replaced by a look of concern.

“Don’t push yourself,” she said, her tone firm. “You’re not out of the woods yet.”

Charles nodded faintly, his gaze lingering on her as she stood and began gathering supplies from a nearby table. Despite her composed exterior, he could see the exhaustion etched into her features, the way her hands trembled slightly as she worked.

“Do you ever rest?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She paused, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Not really,” she admitted. “Not when there’s still work to do.”

Before he could respond, a commotion outside the tent drew their attention. Y/N’s head snapped toward the entrance as a young soldier burst in, his face pale and frantic.

“We need medics at the southern line!” he shouted. “There’s been another attack—casualties are piling up!”

Y/N was already moving, grabbing her satchel and slinging it over her shoulder. She winced as her injured leg protested, but she didn’t slow down.

“Stay here,” she said sharply to Charles, her gaze locking with his for a brief moment. “You’re not well enough to play hero yet.”

Before he could argue, she was gone, disappearing into the chaos outside.

charles’s pov

The tent felt emptier without her, the faint echo of her voice lingering in the air. Charles lay back against the cot, his mind swirling with thoughts he couldn’t quite untangle.

He remembered the battlefield, the pain, the fear—and then her. The way she’d spoken to him, her words cutting through the haze and grounding him in a way nothing else could.

He didn’t even know her name.

His fingers curled against the blanket, frustration bubbling up inside him. He hated feeling helpless, hated the thought of her out there risking her life while he lay here, useless.

The distant sound of gunfire reached his ears, and his chest tightened.

“Come back,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

y/n’s pov

The southern line was chaos. Smoke hung thick in the air, and the ground was littered with debris and wounded soldiers. Y/N moved quickly, her hands steady even as her heart raced.

She crouched beside a young man clutching his stomach, his uniform soaked with blood. “Stay with me,” she said firmly, pressing a bandage against the wound. “You’re going to be fine.”

The soldier’s eyes flickered open, glassy with pain. “Am I?” he rasped.

“Yes,” she said, her voice leaving no room for doubt.

As she worked, her thoughts strayed briefly to the man she’d left in the tent. She didn’t know why he lingered in her mind—why his face had stuck with her when so many others had faded into the background.

She shook the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. There was no room for distractions here, no room for anything but survival.

But as the day wore on and the chaos only grew, a small, persistent part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking of her, too.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the battlefield. Y/N wiped the sweat from her brow, her uniform stained and torn. The cries of the injured still filled the air, but her thoughts kept pulling her back to the quiet moments in the tent, to the man with the piercing eyes and the faint smile.

She didn’t have time to dwell on it. The war wouldn’t wait, and neither could she.

As she turned back toward the trenches, the distant rumble of artillery echoed through the valley, a reminder that the worst was far from over.

The tent was stifling, the air heavy with the smell of antiseptic and sweat. Charles shifted on the cot, his muscles stiff and his bandaged side throbbing dully with every breath. The distant rumble of artillery served as a constant reminder of how close the front lines were.

He stared at the empty chair beside his bed, the memory of Y/N’s presence still vivid. Her sharp commands, her steady hands, the way her voice carried authority even when she was visibly exhausted—it all stuck with him.

She hadn’t been back since she’d rushed out hours ago. Or had it been longer? Time blurred together in this place, measured only by the cries of the injured and the flicker of lamplight.

A nurse bustled past, arms full of gauze and supplies. Charles cleared his throat, his voice raspier than he intended. “The medic who was here earlier,” he said, catching her attention. “Do you know if she’s... is she okay?”

The nurse glanced at him briefly, her expression guarded. “She’s still out on the field,” she said curtly, before hurrying on.

Charles frowned, his fingers curling against the rough blanket. He hated this—this helplessness, this waiting. He wasn’t used to sitting still while others fought, while others risked their lives.

His frustration boiled over, and before he could stop himself, he began to push himself up.

“You shouldn’t be moving.”

The voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of his thoughts. He froze, turning his head to see Y/N standing in the tent’s entrance. Her uniform was dirtier than before, her hair slightly askew beneath her cap. There was a faint smear of dried blood on her cheek, and her eyes looked more tired than ever, but she was there.

“You’ll rip your stitches,” she added, stepping closer.

He sank back onto the cot, relief and frustration warring within him. “I didn’t think you were coming back,” he admitted quietly.

Y/N blinked at him, her expression softening for just a moment. “I always come back,” she said, setting her satchel down and pulling up the chair beside him.

She began checking his bandages, her movements efficient but careful. Charles watched her, noting the way her hands shook slightly when she thought he wasn’t looking.

“You’re overdoing it,” he said suddenly.

She paused, her brow furrowing. “What?”

“You’re exhausted,” he said, his tone firm despite his weakened state. “You can’t keep going like this.”

Her jaw tightened, and she resumed her work. “That’s not your concern.”

“It is if you collapse in the middle of the battlefield,” he shot back.

She looked up then, her eyes locking with his. “If I don’t do my job, people die,” she said flatly. “So no, I don’t have the luxury of stopping.”

The weight of her words settled between them, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

“I just...” Charles hesitated, unsure how to voice what he was feeling. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Too late for that,” she said, gesturing to the faint scars visible on her hands and arms. “Getting hurt is part of the job.”

Charles reached out, his hand brushing hers lightly. “Doesn’t mean you should face it alone.”

Her gaze flicked to their hands, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them. But before either of them could say more, a soldier burst into the tent, his face pale and frantic.

“Medic!” he shouted. “We need help in the eastern sector—badly.”

Y/N was already on her feet, grabbing her satchel. She hesitated for just a second, glancing back at Charles. “Stay put,” she said firmly.

He opened his mouth to argue, but she was gone before he could say a word, the flap of the tent falling closed behind her.

The tent felt colder without her.

Charles stared at the empty space she’d left behind, his mind racing with questions he couldn’t shake. How long could someone carry that kind of burden before it broke them? How long before the war demanded more from her than she could give?

The distant sound of artillery rumbled through the camp, and he clenched his fists. He hated this—being confined, powerless to do anything but wait.

But then, over the din of the battlefield, a sudden, sharp crack echoed through the air. It was closer than before.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as the unmistakable chaos of shouting and hurried footsteps erupted outside. Something was wrong.

Charles swung his legs over the side of the cot, the dull pain in his side a distant second to the knot of dread tightening in his chest. He couldn’t just sit here. Not anymore.

Forcing himself to his feet, he steadied his balance against the cot and took a shaky step forward. Whatever was happening out there, he needed to know.

And he needed to make sure she was okay.

The camp was alive with activity as soldiers scrambled in every direction, the chaos escalating by the minute. Charles could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he stumbled through the maze of tents, his body protesting with every step. He ignored the pain; it was nothing compared to the gnawing worry that had taken root in his chest the moment the gunfire had erupted.

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice hoarse and panicked. His footsteps were unsteady, but he pushed himself faster, desperate to find her.

The cries of the wounded mixed with the sounds of distant artillery. The war was a constant hum, but today it felt like it was closing in on him. His thoughts were a blur—only one thing mattered now: finding her.

As he rounded a corner, a medic appeared, breathless, her face streaked with dirt and sweat. She didn’t need to say a word before Charles was asking, “Where is she? Is she okay?”

The medic looked grim. “She’s in the eastern sector. It’s bad, Charles... it’s a full-on assault. We need everyone we can get.”

His heart skipped a beat, but before he could respond, another burst of gunfire rang out, much closer this time. Without thinking, Charles began moving toward the front lines, the pain in his side flaring up, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting to her.

y/n’s pov

The eastern sector was a nightmare.

Bodies littered the ground, both friend and foe, and the air was thick with smoke and the scent of blood. Y/N was knee-deep in the chaos, moving between the injured with a practiced, mechanical calm. But even her experienced hands trembled as she worked, exhaustion pulling at her mind, her body, her will.

“Stay with me, soldier!” she shouted, trying to apply pressure to a gaping wound in a soldier’s chest. He was young—too young—and his grip on her hand was weak, slipping.

She could hear the thunder of gunfire, the screams, the explosions in the distance. But what unsettled her the most was the gnawing feeling that she wasn’t going to make it back this time. That she wasn’t going to be able to save everyone, and that maybe—just maybe—she wouldn’t make it herself.

But she had no choice. This was her duty. This was her life now.

Another wave of pain lanced through her leg, and she faltered for just a moment, biting back a gasp. Her vision blurred from the strain, and her hands shook as she tried to reapply bandages, but the field was overwhelming. There were too many, too much to do.

And then, through the haze, she heard it.

“Y/N!”

She froze, her breath catching. The sound of her name—so familiar, so steady. She turned and saw him—Charles—his face pale and covered in dust, but there was no mistaking the determination in his eyes.

He was here.

“Charles!” she called, relief flooding her chest, but it was quickly replaced by fear as she saw him falter. He was injured—he shouldn’t be here.

“What are you doing?” she shouted, trying to move toward him, but the medic in her screamed for her to stay with the injured soldiers. “You need to leave! It’s not safe!”

Charles pushed through the chaos, ignoring her orders. His eyes locked on hers, and for a moment, everything else faded. His voice was strained, but resolute. “I’m not leaving you.”

Before she could respond, a nearby explosion sent both of them sprawling, the shockwave sending debris flying in all directions. The world spun as Charles reached for her, pulling her close, his hand instinctively covering her body to shield her from the worst of the blast.

When the ringing in her ears finally subsided, Y/N’s chest heaved with labored breaths. Charles’s grip on her was tight, protective. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she let herself relax—just a little.

“I told you to stay back,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Not when you’re out here,” he replied, his face inches from hers. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a softness in his eyes.

The sounds of the battlefield raged around them, but in that moment, with Charles’s arms around her, the world seemed quieter.

They stood there in the wreckage, the smoke swirling around them like a suffocating fog. They had no idea what would happen next, but for the first time in a long while, they weren’t alone in this war. They had each other.

The war had finally ended.

It hadn’t come with the thunderous sound of victory that everyone expected. There were no grand parades or wild celebrations, no trumpet fanfare as the guns fell silent. Instead, it had ended quietly, with a whisper of surrender and the slow march of peace into the chaos that had reigned for so long.

After years of fighting, of endless bloodshed, the last push had been made. The enemy forces had finally crumbled, their defenses unable to withstand the pressure anymore. The final battle had been brutal—too many lives lost in a desperate struggle for dominance. But in the end, it was their side that emerged victorious.

The final blow had been struck at dawn, a series of coordinated strikes that overwhelmed the enemy’s last stronghold. There had been no time for celebration in the aftermath. No time for joy. Instead, there had been the quiet aftermath of exhaustion and mourning. For every soldier that had survived, there were dozens more who hadn’t.

Charles had felt it in the pit of his stomach when the announcement came through the radio—the war was over. There was no real relief, not yet. Not when so many had been lost. He had been back at the camp, wounded and recovering, when the news spread like wildfire. It didn’t matter that they had won. What mattered was that they had survived. And that survival came with a price.

And now, standing at the train station with Y/N beside him, Charles couldn’t help but feel the weight of that price. She had stayed at the frontlines, continuing to fight even after the ceasefire had been declared, tending to the wounded, the survivors, and those who wouldn’t make it. Her hands had healed more bodies than anyone could count, but there had been a toll on her too. She was still standing, still strong—but he could see the strain in her eyes, the tiredness beneath her fierce determination.

The war might have been over, but their personal battles were far from finished.

Y/N stood at the edge of the platform, her stance firm, but her eyes distant. Her uniform was neat, the edges of her sleeves rolled up just the way she always did when she was preparing for something difficult. Her bag hung over her shoulder, ready for whatever came next.

Charles wanted to say something—anything—that would make her stay. But he knew better. She had made her decision long before now. Just as he had made his.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke, a mixture of exhaustion and sorrow in his tone. “So, it’s really over, isn’t it?”

Y/N nodded, her jaw set. “The war is over. But there’s still work to be done.”

Charles looked at her, eyes searching her face for any sign of hesitation, for anything that might hint at the decision she was about to make. But there was none. She was determined. And while it broke his heart, he couldn’t help but admire her even more for it. She was a force to be reckoned with. A soldier, yes—but more than that. She was someone who could heal, who could fix what had been broken in this world. She was built for this.

“You’re really staying in the military?” he asked, his voice soft, the question hanging between them.

Y/N took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “I’m going to be a doctor,” she said simply. “The work here... it’s not done. I need to stay.”

Charles nodded, a lump rising in his throat. He had known, of course, that she would stay. She had always been like this—fierce, unwavering, with a purpose that couldn’t be shaken. He just hadn’t wanted to face it. Not yet.

“I understand,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I wish it were different.”

She met his gaze, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fall away. The noise of the bustling train station, the echo of soldiers boarding, all of it disappeared as they stood there, connected by their shared past and the future they were about to walk into—separately.

As the train’s arrival drew closer, Charles took a deep breath, steadying himself for what he knew would come next. But before he could say another word, Y/N took a step forward and wrapped her arms around him in a quiet embrace. It was short, but it felt like it stretched on forever.

He held her tightly, his chin resting on her head. He didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want this moment to end.

When they finally pulled away, there was a look in her eyes—something soft, something full of unspoken promises.

Before either of them could speak, Charles leaned in, his lips pressing gently against hers. It was a soft, lingering kiss, as if they both wanted to hold onto the moment forever. The kiss was full of emotion—goodbye, love, and a hope that their paths would cross again someday.

Y/N pulled back first, her breath shaky as she looked into his eyes. “I’m not going to forget you, Charles,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears welling up in her eyes. “I’ll be back. I promise you that.”

Charles nodded, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’ll be waiting for you, Y/N. Always.”

They shared one last, lingering look—something between a promise and a farewell—and then, with a final deep breath, Y/N turned to walk toward the train. She moved quickly, like she was trying to steady herself, and as she reached the door, she looked back at him one last time.

Charles’s chest tightened as the train’s whistle blew, signaling it was time for her to leave. Y/N’s figure slowly disappeared inside, and though he could still see her silhouette through the glass, she was slipping further and further from him.

The train doors closed with a hiss, and he felt his heart shatter a little more with every passing second.

Y/N sat down by the window, her gaze immediately locking with his. For a fleeting second, he thought he saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by something else—something resolute.

As the train began to slowly pull away, Y/N opened the window. She leaned out just enough to make sure Charles could hear her, her voice clear despite the distance between them.

“I’ll come back for you, so don’t you forget about me. That’s an order, soldier,” she called out, a small but determined smile on her face.

Her words hit Charles like a punch to the gut, but he smiled through the tears, raising his hand in a final wave. “I’ll never forget you,” he whispered, barely audible as the train continued to gain speed.

The whistle blew one last time, and the train started to pull away from the station, the distance between them widening with every passing moment.

Charles stood there, watching until the train was nothing more than a speck on the horizon. His heart ached, but there was a quiet strength that settled in his chest. He knew she would be back. He didn’t know when, or how—but he knew that this wasn’t the end for them.

The war had ended. And now, their separate futures awaited them.

But for now, he had to let go.

And so, as the last trace of the train disappeared, Charles whispered one final promise into the air.

“I’ll be waiting for you, Y/N. Always.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

taglist: @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey @alex-wotton @ssarqhxo @rainy-darling @mymilkshakefun @hs2016 @linnygirl09 @akulici