#survival romance

[lemonluvgirl]

At the Edge of the World with You

Wrote this for @waywardangel-wilds and @loungemermaid who said they were interested in an everlark survival story. 

Here’s the first part. I don’t know when I plan on writing the second part, as I am still working on my submission for the TWHHA summer challenge 2023 I was actually hoping that maybe another writer might want to pick up this thread, and continue this. Maybe we could play pass the baton and have multiple people contribute to it??? Let me know what you all think. Also, just so everyone knows I have a reason for the age gap in the story and the description of Peeta's build. If anyone wants to know why DM me and I will tell you. Also this story is losely inspired by a survival story I recently read. 

I was twenty-one and he was seventeen when our plane went down over the Maldives. 

I wasn’t even supposed to be on that trip, the ticket initially belonged to my younger sister, Prim, but she caught a bad case of the flu and wasn’t going to get better in time for her departure date. She’d won the ticket in one of those sweepstakes giveaway contests months ago. When she found out she couldn’t change the departure and return flight dates she asked me to go in her stead. I had just recently broken up with my boyfriend of six years and I needed a change of scenery, or at least that's what Prim said when she gave me her all-expenses-paid vacation to a luxury resort in Malé and made me promise to get a tan and have at least one fling while I was in paradise for her. 

I never even made it to the resort. 

An unexpected thunderstorm threw our plane way off track in the last leg of our journey to the capital of the Maldives. The turbulence was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. I’d flown on my fair share of flights. As the long-time girlfriend of a full-time officer in the U.S. Airforce I had flown all over the world to visit my boyfriend Gale when he had annual leave wherever he happened to be stationed at the time. But this storm was unreal. The sound of the wind pounding against the plane was terrifying. 

You could hear the metal creak and groan, and with every bang and thud, it kept growing louder and louder with the occasional loud crack of booming thunder to break up the chorus. 

Multiple passengers were screaming and crying and the sound of the storm just kept climbing higher and higher, building into a chaotic crescendo that frightened me down to my bones. 

Captain Crane got on the intercom and ordered everyone to put on their life preserver jackets. By then even the flight attendants were freaking out and had stopped trying to calm the passengers. Instead, they were running around trying to get the emergency life raft inflated. They couldn’t seem to get the air canister to lock on correctly to the seal, they were too nervous and were holding the can the wrong way. I unhooked my seatbelt, intending to go over and help them. I collided with the skinny, pale teenager wearing a baseball cap that had been seated in the row across from me when I got into the aisle, who might have been trying to help the flight attendants like me or maybe was just panicking and trying to get away from the screaming redhead next to him. 

That’s when the plane was buffeted by a particularly hard gust. We fell backward together, as the plane dipped. His extraordinary blue eyes locked onto mine and he might have murmured an apology but I was too preoccupied to hear. I shook my head and tried to move off him, but found myself caught by something. We struggled in a tangle of messy limbs and desperation, to right ourselves, but couldn’t. Until we could, and finally we separated and tumbled apart, him stumbling back into his seat next to the hysterical redhead, and me falling on my ass in the middle of the aisle. 

Then the plane gave a great groan. It sounded horrific like the hundreds of feet of metal and plastic were being torn apart by the furious winds outside. 

I knew then what was happening. I thought of my sister Prim who was waiting for the call I promised her I’d make when I landed safely in Malé. I thought of my two best friends, Johanna and Madge who were expecting texts and pictures of my vacation. I thought of Gale Hawthorne my former boyfriend of six years and best friend for half my life and wondered how he’d feel when he learned of my death. 

I knew I’d never see or speak to any of them again, and tears instantly sprang to my eyes. 

I looked down at my watch, in a moment of morbid curiosity, wanting to know down to the minute when I was going to die, and I’ll never forget how the minute hand switched over to midnight at the exact moment that lightning struck the plane. 

The impact knocked me off my feet and the sound of shattering glass and twisting metal filled my ears as the plane was wrenched apart. 

I experienced the strange sensation of being weightless for a second as the plane plummeted, then I was flying. 

The last thing I saw before I hit the water was the wide-eyed, terrified look of the skinny blue-eyed boy who plummeted through the air alongside me. 

His hand was reaching for mine when we both hit the water. 

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I blacked out for a large amount of time after the impact. It was midnight when we crashed and I regained semi-consciousness around mid-morning the same day. 

The only early sensations I can recall from that time are disorientation, pain, and the coolness of the ocean water drenching my clothes and the buoyancy of the life jacket that helped keep me afloat. 

I became more aware of time and things around me as the heat of the sun beat down on my face as I floated somewhere in the Indian Ocean. 

At first, I was astounded I had survived the crash. Then, as my thoughts became clearer, I realized I needed to try and get myself out of the water and onto a piece of wreckage or something. 

The warm waters in the archipelago of the Maldives were known to be infested with sharks at all times of the year. 

That thought got my heart pumping and my blood racing. 

Eventually, I was able to move. 

I looked around and saw various debris from the plane bobbing or slowly sinking in the water. 

I didn’t see any of the other passengers though. 

I tried to call out but my voice came out a hoarse croak, and it hurt to even try to speak. I was sure I had hurt my throat during the crash somehow, and not wanting to make it worse, I gave up on trying to communicate for the moment. 

I focused instead on finding a way out of the water. 

I half swam, half doggy paddled my way over to a section of the ocean filled with more plane debris. 

I tried to climb onto a section of what looked like the wing but it was too slippery and it capsized under my weight. 

I grew frustrated and silent tears slipped down my face after my second attempt ended up the same as the first. 

Then I heard it. 

A faint groaning sound. 

It came from my left, and was so quiet at first I thought I must have imagined it. Then it happened again. I spun in a clumsy circle trying to locate the source. 

There was nothing around me but water and pieces of wreckage. 

But no, I heard it again and then I saw it. Or, rather him. He was camouflaged, his torso and most of his face and head trapped under the dark navy blue seat cushions of one of the plane’s passenger chairs. 

I swam over to him and pulled the seat cushions off of him. 

He wasn’t conscious, and it took me two tries to fully wake him. 

“What happened?” He asked when he finally opened his eyes and looked at me. 

“Our plane crashed,” I said, in a hoarse whisper, looking him over, and finding his face and what I could see of his upper body mostly intact and healthy aside from some minor scrapes and bruises. 

His eyes widened in realization, and I watched his expression shift, as the memory of the storm and crash came back to him. 

“Are we the only ones who made it?” He asked, looking around, the seriousness of our situation dawning on him. 

I shook my head. 

“I don’t know. You’re the only one I could find.” I told him honestly. My voice was creaking, and my throat was dry, but talking wasn’t as painful as my initial attempts. 

“Do you feel ok?” I asked. 

“All things considered, yeah.” He answered. 

“Good, because we have to get out of the water as soon as possible,” I told him as I started scanning the distance for bigger pieces of wreckage that we could use as a makeshift raft. 

“Right, because of the sharks.” I heard the boy say but I was only half paying attention. 

In my visual scan, I hadn’t been able to locate any more pieces of the plane but I was able to find something that was possibly better. 

“See that right there?” I pointed to something south of us and the boy turned in the water to see where I was indicating. 

“Yeah,” He replied, his nearly bald head bobbing excitedly, covered by only the faint hint of very light blond peach fuzz. The harsh sun practically glinted off his pale skin. He must have lost his baseball cap in the crash. 

“We need to swim in that direction,” I told him seriously. 

He looked over at me and nodded again. His blue eyes grew serious and determined as he fixed his gaze on the island in the distance. 

I nodded, mostly to myself and then I started moving through the water. My entire body was sore, and it hurt like bitch to rotate my right arm, but I knew the stakes. 

I would force myself to swim if it meant that I could reach safety and wait for a rescue plane, or maybe find a phone or help on the far-away beach. 

“My name’s Peeta, by the way. Peeta Mellark.” I heard the young man call out, close behind me. 

I exhaled, and without turning around, I answered his unspoken question. 

“I’m Katniss,” I said, clumsily cutting through the water, swimming slightly parallel to the shore while inching closer to it at an angle. 

“Katniss Everdeen.” 

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It took us over an hour to reach the shore. By the time we did, we were both exhausted. 

Peeta, it seemed wasn’t as good a swimmer as me. He slumped on the sand, spitting and choking up half a liter of seawater. 

The sun was brutal as it pounded down on our prone forms. I tried to say something, about how we needed to find shelter, but my mouth wasn’t working. 

We must have lost consciousness for a while, because one minute I was resting my eyes, trying to catch my breath after having dragged myself out of the water, and the next I was waking up, hot, thirsty, and disoriented, the tide washing over my lower legs and the sun in a different position overhead than I remembered. 

I was only able to help Peeta drag himself the rest of the way out of the water, as he too had collapsed and lost consciousness like me, due to dehydration and exhaustion. 

I found a palm tree a few feet away and settled us under it, hoping the shade would at least help keep us awake and avoid us getting a third-degree sunburn. 

Peeta’s fair skin was already lobster red everywhere he wasn’t covered with clothing. His eyes looked glassy, and his skin was clammy feeling. A minute or two after I moved him he vomited and passed out again. 

I wondered if he had a concussion or heat exhaustion. I thought belatedly, that my sister Prim would know since she was a medical student. I wished I could ask her what to do, but she was thousands of miles away. 

I tried to scan the beach for any sign of civilization but all I saw was a long stretch of empty sand to my left and right, and a dense-looking jungle behind me. 

No sign of houses or human habitation anywhere I looked. 

I tried to get up, thinking if I could walk that maybe I could find some help for Peeta and myself but I crumpled to the ground almost immediately, my body giving out on me. 

Tears sprang to my eyes, and I prayed the young man next to me wouldn’t die after everything I had endured to try and save his life. I prayed I wouldn’t die either.

I knew I needed to find some branches and make a signal fire or something to attract attention from the planes I was sure would be out searching for us even this minute. 

But ultimately, it was out of my hands. I wasn’t able to keep conscious. I wasn’t able to move. 

The first evening and night passed in a terrible blur of helplessness. 

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The next morning we woke up, confused and in bad shape. 

We were the only two survivors that we knew of out of the twenty-four people that we set out with from the German airport, en route to Malé less than forty-eight hours earlier. 

We were just two people brought together by fate and disaster. And I knew we were in serious trouble if we didn’t find water soon. 

I told Peeta as much, relaying the cold hard facts about dehydration and heat exposure to him. He grimaced, at the thought of moving. 

His lips cracked and bled when he agreed to help me search the island for drinkable water. But he got up anyway. 

We staggered and stumbled through the brush, heads pounding, tongues sticking to the roof of our mouths, hungry and thirsty unlike ever before. 

The jungle was eerily quiet, except for the buzz of mosquitoes, and the sound of us walking. 

They followed us in a dizzy cloud, biting and sucking blood from every exposed inch of skin they could safely reach. 

I quickly lost count of how many I squashed and slapped off myself. After a while, I stopped bothering. 

Peeta huffed and puffed his way through the dense foliage, his feet dragging every step and his sneaker-covered footsteps unnaturally loud. 

I wanted to gripe at him to keep it down, scared of attracting wild animals, but I knew it wasn’t his fault. 

He really did look awful. His skin was peeling in patches on his nose and cheeks and the tops of his head, where the sun had gotten him and his eyes still looked exhausted. 

I probably looked only marginally better, having collapsed face down onto the sand the day before instead of face up like him. 

My olive skin tone tanned rather than burned usually, but in the tropical sun, I had a feeling it wouldn’t matter. After a few hours of exposure, I probably would have gotten heat stroke or something close to it like Peeta. 

We stumbled through the jungle for an inordinate amount of time, directionless and it was only when my knees started to give out that I realized my error. 

We had gone too far and hadn’t kept track of the way we’d come. We were lost. 

I said as much to Peeta, and he fell to his knees with a pained groan. 

I clutched a tree, scrambling against the thick vines that grew around its trunk, fighting to stay vertical, but eventually losing that fight. 

With a little sob, I sank down to my knees as well, mud coating my ripped jeans and seeping into the gaps. 

It took a minute or two for the cold, wet feeling to register, but when it did, I gasped. 

“Peeta, Peeta wake up.” I implored. 

All I got was a little grunt in reply. Peeta was face down in the mud, seemingly passed out again. 

“Peeta! WAKE UP!” I said, louder. I repeated myself until he answered. 

“Noooo.” His voice was muffled against the ground, but he was awake again. 

“Peeta, look. It’s mud.” I said, crawling in his direction. 

“Yeah, it tastes awful.” Was the warbled response I got. 

“Peeta, if there’s mud then there must be water nearby,” I said, more forcefully than before. 

He picked his head up at that. 

“Water?” He asked, voice full of longing. 

“Yes, water. We just have to find it.” I told him. 

He groaned, but moved a little, crawling forward like me on his hands and knees. 

“Okay.” He said, looking over at me. His face was half covered in mud, but his eyes were more alert than I’d seen them since before our plane crashed.

“Okay,” He said again, more determined this time. 

“Let’s go.” 

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It took us at least another five minutes to find the spring, as slow-moving as we were, but when we did we crawled in face-first and gulped mouthfuls until we couldn’t hold anymore in our stomachs. 

We were lucky the water wasn’t stagnant, and that we found it when we did. 

The mosquitoes swarmed us as we lay along the spring’s edge, and I was too exhausted to swat them away. 

I heard some rustling next to me and looked over to find Peeta playing with the mud, gathering it up in handfuls and spreading it over his arms. 

I blinked at him in confusion. 

“You should do it too.” He told me and gestured to the mud. 

I must have looked at him like he was crazy. 

“It’ll help with the bugs and the sunburn.” He explained and I nodded, amazed that I hadn’t thought of it first. 

Covering yourself in mud was an old hunting trick my father had mentioned when I was little. I couldn’t believe I had forgotten it. 

I gathered up mud by the handfuls and started spreading it across my skin. 

I looked over at my fellow survivor and cracked a faint smile. My first one since before the crash. 

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It took us two hours to make it back to the beach. I was dismayed at having nothing to use as a container so that we could take some water back with us, but there was nothing usable in the jungle. Just trees, vines, and mosquitoes. It was a long and tiring trek back, and by the time we reached the shore, the sun was beating down over our heads and the sand was scorching hot. 

“Maybe we should’ve stayed in the jungle,” Peeta suggested, the layer of mud on his face already cracking in the blistering heat. 

“No, we need to stay close to the shore. In case a plane comes by.” I told him in a weary voice. 

My body felt better after having drunk enough water, but the heat and lack of food were making me lightheaded. 

“Do you think they know where to look? I thought I heard the flight attendant say something about us being thrown off course before the crash.” Peeta asked, his voice sounded a lot smoother after having drunk water. 

I contemplated his question. I had also heard the same thing but I didn’t want to give into fear or panic. 

“I’m not sure. I just hope they’ll see the wreckage in the ocean and start searching the closest islands.” 

“Well, every plane has one of those flight recorders right? They are outfitted with locator beacons and can transmit their locations for up to thirty days. Or at least, I think I read something like that.” He said, voice hopeful but unsure. 

“No, I think you’re right. We were supposed to arrive yesterday afternoon. They’ve got to be searching for us by now, and the locator beacon thing will lead them right to the crash. They’ll zero in on us soon.” I said, letting out a sigh of relief. 

Peeta nodded as we settled under the palm tree, eyes turned upwards, scanning the clouds. 

“Do you think anyone else made it?” He asked after some time had passed and we remained watching the sky with anticipation. 

“I’m not sure. It's entirely possible. The Maldives are made up of over 2,000 islands. And the flight attendants were working on inflating that emergency raft right before we crashed…..” I said, voice trailing off, unsure. 

“Man, I really hope somebody else made it. That one flight attendant Octavia, with the long green nails, and the green eyeshadow,” Peeta said after I gave him a blank look when he said the woman’s name, I hadn't been paying close enough attention to learn anyone of my fellow passenger’s names, I realized, “she said this was her dream assignment. Working for a small company in the tropics. She was looking forward to spending her off time working on her tan.” He said as he looked out over the ocean solemnly. 

“And the redhead next to me, Lavinia? She was flying out to her best friend’s destination wedding. She was going to be a bridesmaid.” Peeta added, voice soft and distant. 

I swallowed down a lump that rose in my throat and fought back tears. I knew I couldn’t waste any of the precious water we had so painfully worked to obtain so soon. 

“There were 24 of us on that flight. Twenty-four people with twenty-four stories. Each of them was filled with their own hopes and dreams. We can’t be the only ones left.” He said, voice so sad that I felt a pang in my chest from hearing his empathetic tone alone. I wondered for the first time who this young man next to me was. How did he end up stranded on what was looking more and more like a deserted island with me? 

“You can’t think about all that right now Peeta. You need to focus on yourself. On surviving. We both do.” I said in a stern voice. 

He regarded me for a long moment, and his big blue eyes didn’t appear the least bit chastised as I had expected, but instead, he seemed perplexed underneath the tiredness that blanketed his features. 

“Ok, well, then why don’t you tell me about yourself, Katniss?” 

“There’s not much to tell. I mean, we were on the same flight, headed to the same destination. Our plane crashed. We both ended up here. We’re both fighting to survive this insane situation.” I said in summary. 

“Yeah, but you said we should focus on ourselves and our reasons for surviving. So tell me, what or who is waiting for you in Malé? What’s your reason for fighting so hard to live through this crazy circumstance we both find ourselves in?” 

I was taken aback for a moment. He seemed almost too introspective for a what? A fifteen or sixteen-year-old? 

“How old are you, kid?” 

“I’m seventeen, turning eighteen in three months, so I’m not really a kid. Closer to an adult if you want to get technical about it. How old are you, Katniss? You don’t look much older than me.” 

“I’m 21. But people often say I look young for my age.” 

“You do.” 

I shrugged. I’d heard it pretty much all my life. I blamed it on a combination of genetics that gave me shorter than average stature. I stood at 5’3 with a small frame (skinny with just enough curves to not be mistaken for a boy but not enough to look womanly). 

I wasn’t about to continue that pointless line of conversation though. It didn’t really matter what our personal stories were or why we were headed to the Maldives. We had bigger things to worry about. 

“Well, despite how old I do or don’t look, we’ve got to figure out a way to catch the attention of any planes that might be passing overhead. That means lighting a signal fire. So, as soon as you’re up for it we can each take turns looking for dry branches.” 

“Why don’t we just both go at the same time? In case one of us gets lost?”

“Someone should stay behind in case a plane comes by, if nothing else we can try to flag them down by waving our arms, ineffectual as it may be. But if they are searching for survivors then hopefully they’ll be flying low enough to spot us. A signal fire though, would help them locate us from far away. We’ll just have to stay close to shore and only go about ten to fifteen paces into the jungle. Not far enough that we lose the sight of the shore.” 

Peeta nodded and surprised me when he stood up. 

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll go first.” He said quietly before walking away. 

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anyone who wants to jump in and continue the story feel free! @mega-aulover , @dandelionlovesyou @periwinckles @jhsgf82 @broken-everlark @pearlbeth @thesweetnessofspring @professionalfangrrl @sommmee​

#everalrk #fanfiction #thg #thg fanfiction #survival #survival romance #forced proximity #modern au

[asassydork]

Chapter 1: One-Eyed Flying Monkey

Story: High Water

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Post-Apocalyptic Cult Vibes.

The day was supposed to be like every other at the end of the world. It was peaceful down by the creek. But when alarms are sounded and flares begin flying in the valley, it’s clear something isn’t right. Upon discovering the group returned with both members of a rival group, random stranger refugees, and everything they were meant to scavenge, it becomes clear there’s more going on than they anticipated.

TW: MDNI, 18+, enemies to lovers, they kiss in the first chapter, references to torture, whump inspired, adult language and adult themes.

The sirens came rolling in over the mountain. A series of sticks being smacked against trees loud enough to reverberate across the valley. Tens of them, spread out from the lookout points.

It was something we practiced but not something put to use yet. When the flare went up over camp, all sound ceased in a rush. There was no echo. Nothing but birdsongs rising out of the silence. A flare like that meant something had gone horribly wrong during the last raid. They were only sent out to scavenge but you never really know what you’re getting into when you go out there. The world is nothing like it used to be.

I drop the sticks I was gathering and take off running towards the camp. They’re going to need me for the sake of keeping everyone calm. I wasn’t the best with interventions of a certain magnitude but everyone seems to have enough faith in me that I influence decisions.

Black Water Creek was an outpost along the Black Water River, an ironically crystal clear safe to drink little river that flows between the mountains from a spring up north. It’s got plenty of safe fish to eat. Vegetation that’s not going to kill you. And draws in enough wildlife that we rarely have to go off looking for food. It was somehow a perfect place despite the reputation it once upheld.

The outpost is more like a compound behind walls of steel, iron and concrete. They’re over ten feet tall and four feet wide, plenty enough room to keep people out. It’s got a series of twenty five buildings behind those walls and plenty of vantage points and lookout spots. It existed before the world went sideways, but its mission was much different these days. It was a safe haven but only to the select. Most of the time, people we bring in choose not to stay. There’s a lot of rules and cooperation that goes into keeping a place like this functioning. And what we can’t get from the land, we have to scavenge from the wreck of the world. It’s something that started off small. A few trips into Brown Water, the town up and across the river. But then the town stopped having what we needed and babies continued to be born despite everything. It meant having to leave the valley all together for days or weeks at a time. But the groups had to be bigger to survive those trips. They had to be more prepared. After my last run in with the group we call the Flying Monkeys from up north, I haven’t been able to leave camp. It’s some paranoia attached to the post traumatic stress related to getting taken and tortured like I was. I was gone almost six months before they managed to figure out where I was being held. The scariest experience of my life and I survived The Collapse first hand.

The trucks pulled into camp around the same time I entered the gates, each vehicle accounted for but covered in bullet holes. That was new. The number of holes was over a hundred. I couldn’t begin to think who might have that many bullets. But I knew it wasn’t good. The Monkeys only use resourceful weaponry handcrafted so they don’t run out of munitions. They’re also more interested in skinning you alive than they are about shooting at you. Torture was more their style, which was why they’ve been plucking people off of trails and new access roads like it’s nothing. It makes the mountains a dangerous place.

A second flare goes off from the gate as a new truck pulls in behind the others. It didn’t have any bullet holes in it but it was also packed with people and supplies. People weren’t something meant to be brought back from this one. This was strictly baby business. My eyes scanned the vehicles and I ultimately moved to find Bastian unloading someone injured from the back cab of one of the old trucks. Caleb. He was alive?

My heart sank as Bellamy moved to help him carry the makeshift stretcher. Caleb was alive and moaning. He’d been assumed dead last year. MIA without a single sign of life. There was nothing we could’ve done. No one knew where he’d gone off to or how he got separated. But it was good to hear sounds coming from him. Chances were he might just survive this. But I don’t go with them to the infirmary. There was a commotion around one of the other trucks and I needed to get to the bottom of the reasons for the flares.

Inside the back of one of the trucks was a badly beaten, bloody and bruised man hogtied and gagged. There was nothing familiar about him that stood out of me as Jeremy and Derek both dragged him out of the truck and let him fall onto the ground hard without being able to catch himself. He groaned in pain behind the cloth in his mouth and another man awkwardly climbed out of the truck. He was beaten and bruised but far less purple and not so bloody. He just had his hands bound behind his back and a gag in his mouth that he likely didn’t need considering the large tattoo on his forehead. He was sworn to secrecy. Opening his mouth would mean a true death by the people he’d been stolen from. The Flying Monkeys.

I haven’t seen one of them without those stupid fucking masks on their head but I’d known about the tattoos. They’re basically covered in them, so the only way to get them off is to peel off their skin like what they do to their victims. It’s a cycle. A vicious endless cycle.

But they hadn’t tied his legs. He could attempt to run and get knocked down and dragged back. It was like a cat toy, basically. There was nowhere for him to go, now. But he didn’t make the attempt. He jumped down out of the back of the truck and scanned each of our faces like he was studying for a report back. It wasn’t until he looked in my direction that he even seemed to blink. The expression on his face became that of fear and he’d taken a step back. A step that was intercepted by Jeremy who shoved him forward roughly. They weren’t taking their chances with him. He’d be the first prisoner we’ve had in a while and the first Monkey. He’d have an awful long road ahead of him if he chose to survive.

I moved to help gather boxes out of one of the other trucks. I got first dibs on some of the supplies, even though I technically shouldn’t. Motherhood wasn’t something I spent a lot of time thinking about. It wasn’t in the cards for me by the way this was all going. The end of the world was the end of hope itself. I couldn’t imagine raising a kid in all of this. And yet, I technically have been. More than one. Children that weren’t mine but needed my guidance and my reassurance. Children who found me out of everyone else and chose for themselves that I’d be left with this impossible title. A role I didn’t ascribe to very well.

We made several trips from the trucks to the warehouse. The boxes had to be sorted and rifled through. It could take days to get that process flowing. It was when I went back to the trucks that I saw someone new that I hadn’t expected to see. Another Monkey. A more noticeable Monkey pretending to be someone he wasn’t. He didn’t have a forehead tattoo, so his identity wasn’t given away as easily. He was the One-Eyed Captain. The one who kept me locked inside a cargo container for months on end with barely enough food to eat. He tortured me in the most horrific ways and waited for me to die every time. A monster of all monsters. He was cruel and undeserving of life. When I moved to ambush him in front of the others he pretended to be with, he grabbed me harshly and pulled me right into his personal space with his fingers digging hard into the backs of my arms. He forced a kiss upon my lips in a savage threat to keep my mouth shut. He’d do all of those things to me again if I didn’t let him be. That was the promise the kiss swore.

It wasn’t a tender kiss or a violent kiss. It was the kind of kiss you can’t ever possibly be prepared for. The kind of kiss that not just anyone can give you. It was precise and practiced. He’s planned this assault on my senses and on my dignity. It was equal parts cruel and comforting. A man expressing to a woman feelings he wasn’t supposed to have. And when I didn’t head butt him like I could’ve, he loosened his grip on my arms and moved to hold my neck, keeping me in front of him like I was nothing but a pet now. My sense of self had been stripped away from me in a single second as he deepened the kiss with the taste of sex on his tongue. He was salivating as he thought about it. He was probably thinking about all of the harm he brought to me in our time together. I was nothing but a mere commodity now. Expendable. Recyclable.

He moaned into my mouth as he tasted me, forcing me to taste his hunger. It was violating in every way but I knew what he’d do if I pulled away or pushed him off of me. It made him smirk behind his lips as he sipped and licked at my mouth like he would’ve done this a long time ago if he thought it would’ve worked. It was like all of his torture was meant to make me submit to him, to give in to some desire I simply didn’t have. And yet, I reluctantly kissed him back, forced to play this part with an audience clearly watching us. His thumb on my neck stroked me like it was a reward. I was being a good pet giving him what he wanted. And that’s when I stopped being nice, nipping and biting at his tongue in my mouth. He growled at me a feral sound as he pushed me up against the side of the truck and nipped and bit at me just the same, fueled by the rage I just provoked and reminded him of. He grinds his hips against mine, rubbing up on me with his want. He manipulated my mouth and took all that he wanted from me because he wasn’t going to let it go. I kept my pace, a taunt in every movement. I’d get my revenge on him and there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s in my territory now. He’ll be my prisoner by the time the sun goes down. That was a promise. I’d do worse to him than anything he’d done to me. I could guarantee it. It was what made him moan at me again. I was in control. This was my game. My pet and my leash. That was when I shoved him off of me and walked away. He’d gotten the scene he wanted and I’d gotten my message across. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me back towards him, kissing me again softer like he didn’t want it to end on a high note. He was probably never going to stop kissing me, now.

“I’ll find you later,” he whispers, kissing the knuckles on my left hand in a strange way that I wasn’t anticipating.

He didn’t have to tell me. I knew he wasn’t going to leave me alone. He’d find a way to slip away from the others and come find me. And then I’d have him right where I want him, where he’ll never come back from. I’ve wanted my revenge since I escaped. I’ve wanted it since the minute he started hurting me. We’d never be whatever he thinks we are. It was a game. An act. A manipulation of the human condition. I’ll own him in ways he never imagined someone else would own him. I’ll do unthinkable things that he hasn’t prepared himself for.

“Yeah, I know,” I mutter, pulling my hand away and escaping this weird exchange going on.

#creative writing #cult wip #my wip fic #my wips #wip #current wip #enemies to lovers #kiss in the first chapter #apocalypse story #post apocalyptic dystopia #post apocalyptic #apocalypse #apocalypse romance #survivalist enemies to lovers #survivalist romance #survivalist #survival romance #survival #cults and extreme beliefs #cults #end of the world #end of days #apocalyptic cult #apocalypticfiction #romantically apocalyptic #one eyed captain #one eyed flying monkey #flying monkeys #high water #black water creek

[pinkgibbon]

anton chigurh goes to stardew valley

#every1 in the notes asking me why I made this 🙄 art isn’t about why! it’s about why not! why don’t you marry safe art if you love it so much #i got a better shirt for him eventually but i dont have a pic of it #roleplaying as him was the only way i was finally able to bring myself to do joja route #no country for old men #stardew valley #i like to think of him as being magically stuck there for an indeterminate amount of time and trying to survive w/o murdering the whole tow #anton chigurh #marnie stardew valley #i better not see ANY marnie slander!!! #how do u tag them #stardew valley marnie #sdv marnie #morris stardew valley #sdv morris #stardew valley morris #i was not gonna romance anyone obviously but i really enjoyed drawing that pic of him w morris so i got the marry morris mod and it is so #goddamn funny. just the idea of. anton chigurh x morris. me and friends r having the time of our life with it. i even made fanart. #which i may post later if i feel like it #my art #fanart #ncfom

[urfriendlywriter]

things me and my bestfriends have said to each other that would make a list of heartbreaking prompts:

(found family trope but irl haha, feel free to use <3 tag me when yall writee, 1,9,11,13,24 has a spcl place in my heart)

"i don't feel seen at times." "it's not true. i see you, [name], i always have."

"thank you for listening to me, thank you for being here for me."

"i love the family we've found for ourselves :( "

"i want to hug you.."

"you, you can always come to me when you're happy and when you're sad."

"you make me become the best of me." <333

"i can never forget when you did ___, God i almost fell in love with you then."

"no, i don't want to rant-" "no, no, hey, it's okay. rant. I'm here to listen."

"whenever i ask you, you say I'm ok, but whenever you ask me i bare my heart open to you. i just want you to tell me if you're having a hard time so i can lend you a shoulder in silence!"

"just--just come with me, please ! I'll take care of you, please leave that hell hole you call home !"

"it hurts, [name]." in a weak murmur and they just rest their face on your shoulder, leaning on one another as they whisper, "it's okay to hurt. cry if u have to."

"should we just run away from home and live together?"

"you are a good person, [nickname]." ✯

"rant, love, go ahead."

"i was very proud of you. i still am."

"you're the positive blueprint/sunshine to my fucked up life, [name]" (ok but they said this to me while we were both in our LOWEST)

"we were enemies before weren't we?" "yeah, haha, if you were a boy we'd have become lovers!!"

^ "[nickname], are you GAY?? YOU ARE GAY- OMG" "stop it lmao" (all in texts lol)

"i wonder what good i did to deserve you " </3

"how lovely of you :)" "ilysm" "shut up, dude, you're so adorable."

"you are devastatingly beautiful, [name]."

"i can never forget what you looked like at your happiest... you glowed. " :((

"hugs, please :/"

"I'd love to nom nom you TT" (we were acting cute and actually melting)

"we'll become the parents we never had."

"we are walking through this life together, aren't we? let's do so till we are together in the paradise, too."

"you mean a lot to me."

"together, in this world and in the here-after too."

#these things are said by my friends to me or vice versa. and this is MY FOUND family guys. these people are my life and my will for survival #writer prompts #otp prompts #dialogue prompts #romance writing #imagine your otp #writeblr #urfriendlywriter #writing prompts #writing inspiration #angsty dialouge prompts #angsty romance prompts #angsty prompts #angst starter #angst prompts #how to write angst #showing love #soft prompts for lovers #soft dialogue prompts #soft prompts #soft gestures #gestures that gets me flushed #gestures that says i love you #romantic dialouge prompts #romantic tropes #imagine your characters #imagine your ocs #otp writing #otp meme #writing inspo

[judaswail]

so funny how mikey's death in the ghost of you mv affected his development in the band's aesthetic through the years. like yeah mikey of course you get a badge of honor with your black parade uniform. you died in action. yeah you can't look old like us at wwwy. in fact you're gonna be a vampire. because you died at war in 2005. obviously

#this is herstory #my chemical romance #mcr #mikey way #gerard way #ray toro #frank iero #i do feel the need to clarify that i agree he looked like that because if the band had stayed that way he wouldn't have survived #this is just a silly ahah joke

[ladyelainehilfur]

Literally insane to me how small the general webtoon fandom is outside of the webtoon app itself (and maybe reddit??)

I've talked to multiple people irl who LOVE reading webtoon, but the online community is borderline threadbare ! Most people on Tumblr have no IDEA who our blorbos are! I've checked tags for some fairly popular webtoon and it was like visiting that Tatooine town in the Mandalorian where there are 5 citizens total, but only if you also count the Mayor, the sheriff, and the deputy.

Lore Olympus is the most popular webtoon and has under 2,000 fics on AO3. Lookism has roughly 1,000. Unordinary, THEE legacy webtoon, only has 600, and it's been running for almost 7 years now. It has nearly 6M subscribers and still gets 50K+ likes each week. It's not dead by any means.

I guess it doesn't help that each webtoon is its own micro ecosystem and once a webtoon ends, that ecosystem typically fades with it. But webtoons can go on runs longer than most shows on streaming services, and those fandoms burn hot and bright even if only for the first month of a new season drop.

By comparison, webtoon fans are largely casual about their enthusiasm, even if they're highly invested in the story or characters. From my experience, only the most passionate try to connect with other fans online. But when you're passionate about one webtoon, I suppose it's hard to show constant excitement about the 20+ other stories one might keep up with. Still, between the 85 million monthly readers, you'd think each major webtoon would at least have a dedicated fan base (meaning people who regularly post theories, thoughts, fics, and fanart) of mere thousands outside of the app.

One exception for this is that Batman webtoon? It actually trends on Tumblr every now and again. But it doesn't count, because Batman has a built in fandom who'll eat up and yell in the streets about any content where he's a decent dad.

People who read romance webtoon all tend to read the same comics, and actively understand the references to other popular romance comics (Trashta, Team Seojun, SLS), so you'd think there'd be a greater sense of unity. More people actively searching out others to discuss with and posting their thoughts online and not just in that webtoon's comment section.

I mean, C'MON girls!!! Millions of people log into that app like everyday!!! WHERE is the community?? WHERE is the fanart?? WHERE is the fanfic?? WHY does Odd Girl Out only have 7 fanfics?? WHY are there like 2 people on Twitter posting about Weak Hero?? Head in hands fr

#weak hero #odd girl out #true beauty #Lookism #mercenary enrollment #unordinary #surviving romance #marry my husband #cursed princess club #the remarried empress #jackson's diary #your throne #Lumine #after school lessons for unripe apples #Morgana and Oz #lore Olympus #down to earth #Eleceed #webtoon

[alliekitaguchi]

Dorian gave Orym 2,500 gold (all of the money he’s had since EXU) so that Orym could get the ancestral armor from his homeland.

AND THEY HAVENT EVEN TOLD EACH OTHER THEY LOVE ONE ANOTHER YET

#I am not going to survive high charisma Robbie Daymond romancing Liam O’Brien #dorym #Dorian storm #Orym #orym of the air ashari #critical role #bells hells

[ministarfruit]

day 4: doomed by the narrative ♡

(femslashfeb prompt list)

#minifemslashfeb2024 #surviving romance #seyeong jin #chaerin eun #THE GIRLS ARE NOT OKAY! #READ SURVIVING ROMANCE IF YOU'RE A HORROR YURI LIKER #OR A TOXIC YURI LIKER IN GENERAL #ok I promise it's not all toxic but man is there SO many layers #and barely anyone out here is talking about it #PLEASE. PLEASE JOIN ME #I NEED TO TALK ABOUT SURVIVING ROMANCE #god the colour palette on this kicked my ass #I'm bad at using green. but seyeong's hair is such a pretty shade #I couldn't get away with NOT using it #seyeong is sooo. god forbid women do anything

[mayonness]

Otome Isekai x Text Post Meme

(Originally posted this on r/otomeisekai, but I'm posting it here too on someone's request)

#manhwa #otome isekai #webtoon #villains are destined to die #surviving romance #the rules of rose ivy manor #kill the villainess #the daughter of the albert house wishes for ruin #fiance's observation log of the self-proclaimed villainess #your ultimate love rival #the male lead's sickly aide is my type #how to survive as a maid in a horror game #let's hide my younger brother first #I failed to oust the villain #your eternal lies #depths of malice #lady crystal is a man #touch my little brother and you're dead #side characters deserve love too #bad ending of an otome #the heiress's double life #the antagonist's pet #I will politely decline the male lead #who made me a princess #what it means to be you #lady baby #this is probably the longest tag I've ever typed for a post #OI try not to have long ass titles challenge: failed

[y-rhywbeth2]

My favourite thing about the companions' Act 3 (Spawn) Astarion romance reaction banters is the way Karlach and Wyll think it's sweet how happy the two are and then, on the other hand, Lae'zel's on her last straw watching the constant flirting - "STOP KISSING IN COMBAT AND FOCUS ON THE BATTLE. YOU ARE GOING TO DIE." [paraphrased]

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion romance #lae'zel is so tired #how do they even survive without her?

[anintroverteddarling]

TW; SLIGHTLY SUGGESTIVE(???), Im not sure but it feels like I've done smth illegal ASKDJNADSFKJADNFS

I tried to draw smth cute again but ended up looking... uh...

but then I added in

Overall, intrusive thoughts won that night help--

#slightly suggestive #I actually cant tell since in context they just kissed here but just to be safe #I don't know how to draw an actual kiss drawing so have the aftermath of them having a kiss #But somehow it came out a bit sus especially with a bit of saliva(how else would you know this is like the after kiss? asdkfjnadskfjnad) #I know this would never happened canonically so lets pretend in another life they try romance and manon still survives #dead plate #dead plate game #dead plate fanart #rody lamoree #vince charbonneau #rody x vincent #just found out rody is canonically bi and biphobic which makes sense because of the era this was set in #still ship them tho idk why help ADSLKJFNADSFKJANDSFJDF #I swear it was supposed to be an oc drawing but I ended drawing these mfers again what the hell #the next one will deffo be a manon-related one if I have time

[bastardbeewoman]

At this point Kazurei isn't even subtext anymore:

- Kazuki moving in with Rei and taking care of him, including cutting his hair and giving baths and cooking for him and even buying furniture (to make it look like more like a home

- Kazuki immediatelly going after Rei when sensing that Rei was going to distance himself again from him

- Rei's dad making a point to say how their fsmily is pure blooded and dont mingle with others, while directly saying he wants Rei to continue the family (aka having children) and then implying he would get rid of Kazuki if he got in the way...

- Rei's dad then also immediatelly sending him to kill a guy who was going to leave the organisation due to finding love...

#like look at me in my eyes and tell me this isnt a romance plot #LOOK INTO MY EYES AND TELL ME THEY ARENT IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER #I am so fucking unwell how am I going to survive till next friday #kazurei #buddy daddies #buddy daddies episode 8 #kurusu kazuki #suwa rei

[caycanteven]

I wonder what they are reading, it must be very good. 🤓

#sans #sans au #undertale au #caycantdoodle #Lex x Axe #Lex x Horror #they like to read together #Lex gets really into the mental imagery of the book. #Axe likes listening #my art #lexverse #full thing on my Twitter #they sometimes argue what to read #Lex likes fictional romance #Axe likes fictional fantasy #and a little bit of survival involved #his favorite book is hatchet #second favorite is lord of the flies

[thanes-krios]

What it is about kind male video game companions that male gamers absolutely HATE?

I've seen it happen with Dragon Age's Alistair, Mass Effect's Kaidan, and even lowkey KOTOR's Carth Onasi (emphasis on kind, not necessarily nice, cause dude had a bit of an attitude in the beginnning). Now I'm seeing it with Gale of Waterdeep from Baldur's Gate 3.

Men hate him! Admittedly, many women seem to also hate Gale (Though from what I'm observing, it seems to be because his romance is bugged in a way that doesn't recognize when you've rejected him, so to many it comes off as not taking no for an answer -- but that's the fault of the game, not the character). The other reason I'm seeing from women is that he supposedly doesn't respect boundaries, citing his relationship with Mystra, but... were yall listening to him at all?

1. This goddess took interest in him as a *child* prodigy, became his mentor, and then his lover??? That's sus as hell.

2. It's not like he and Mystra had personal boundaries set specifically for their relationship, and he decided to cross them, it was that Mystra has general magical limitations for magic users in general, and Gale thought he would be an exception because she treated him as special, and because his reasons for pushing his magical limitations were to restore a part of her she'd lost. I've also seen people say he downplays that as a simple mistake made in his youth, but from the actual conversation with him, it's very clear he regrets that so?? I don't get it. (maybe I'm misremembering or missing more of the story, I'm only at the beginning of Act 2)

But this post is a reaction-rant to seeing too many male creators on tiktok hate on Gale so badly it's becoming obnoxious. And their reasons are so weak, yet fuel hatred so strong. They just find him so annoying, and I guess to each their own, but I don't get why, and I don't get why men always seem to find those kinds of emotionally available, kind for the sake of being kind, male characters annoying.

#baldur's gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #alistair theirin #dragon age #kaidan alenko #mass effect #carth onasi #kotor #men also hated on anders because of accidental gay romance which is telling but I don't think that's the reason for disliking gale #the dude on tiktok was listing gale's 'crimes' as reasons for his beef with him #and apparently gale needing 3 subpar enchanted items from him was just too much #and survival wasn't a good enough reason to take them #....did you miss the part about the nuke in his chest bro. if he doesn't survive neither does the storm coast buddy #my post #maybe i shouldn't had made this post. I haven't even triggered his romance yet and I don't want spoilers #bg3 spoilers #FUCK i just realized i said storm coast instead of sword coast. dragon age brainrot never goes away

[pedros-immaculate-vibes]

I had to stop 11 seconds in because MY HEART AND BREATHING BOTH STOPPED

#Halsin #halsinxtav #halsinxdurge #halsin silverbough #halsin romance #bg3 #larian #you fools #youve given us too much #We can survive from this for centuries #But we’ll still want moar #God #i can’t #I am ill #so ill #Youtube #I just tried to listen to it again and I can’t breath #I’m gonna pass out #Ill Never make the full four minutes #How many times can a deep gravelly voice call me My Love before it’s socially acceptable to swoon into unconsciousness #Asking for a friend

[ohmaerieme]

going to come out and say it i dont think louie and olimar are either romance coded or father son coded. both are wrong and i am always right and i say queerplatonic friendship. LISTEN TO ME. listen to me ok. do you understand my vision.

#can you tell ive been thinking abt pikmin 2 a lot #i dont see them doing romance stuff at all tbh #but their bond is deep and life will never be the same for either of them now #what surviving on a dangerous toxic planet together does to a mf #DO YOU. UNDERSTAND. MY VISION #thats all for now . #/// #pikmin #pikmin fanart #captain olimar #louie pikmin #olimar pikmin #my art #ohmaerieme