#like before it was just another hollow identity ig

[grollow]

In addition to your lovely essay that I only skimmed but def had amazing points: I would like to point out the use of romance as a storytelling medium and an outlet for character dissection and exploration.

There are aspects of a character that only come to the forefront when A Situation is present. How someone deals with anger only comes forward when something angers them yknow? Romance pulls a lot of opinions and thoughts from a character, whether they choose to partake in it or not and why. And because each character approaches romance differently, each pairing allows its own window into both characters as well as their dynamic.

Now is that super utilized in fanfiction/fandom as a whole? Not always, and that’s okay. Sometimes the vibes are cute (or sexy if you prefer) and that’s enough for someone to create. But as someone who’s always been a multishipper at heart specifically because exploring character dynamics is crack to me, romance is always smth I consider with characters even if it’s just how they want to reject it. (Put that blorbo in A Situation and observe.)

(This is also why sometimes stories about unhealthy or toxic romances are also written. It’s another way of exploring characters and dynamics. Though those come with their own nuanced discourse around it.)

So for people who really wanna flesh out and explore a character, sometimes seeing how they respond to romance is the way to go. Hollow’s never had a chance to explore any level of intimate relationship before, so throwing the soppy wet cat into the deep end to see if they sink or swim is interesting. It reveals a lot about themselves. Ofc it ends up delving into the realm of pure headcanon as a result, but that’s no less interesting.

(Personally how much I like a ship sometimes ends up coming down to how anchored the are headcanons to canon. Some people break canon and use it as a suggestion, and then I get picky lol)

Oh I didn't even want to get into the specific nuances of like, how each character can complement one another and situations can help flesh things out, because that's very subjective story telling in a lot of ways and it varies interpretation to interpretation. Hell, I have three (four if redemption counts separately) Grollow multipart fics, and not a single one of them is identical. They're all very different and in my opinion, showcase different elements of the characters and their growth.

Naturally this is a huge part of it as well but it's hard to quantify that in a more vague / generalized post. Like Shades of Black deals with a lot of healing, trust exercises, and mutual sharing of trauma in a therapeutic way as well as growth together that could not be achieved only through qpr or friendship because of the specific way that I wrote the pair of them (not at all implying romance is somehow more intimate, it's not, it's very much subjective).

At the end of the day this is a nuance that kind of requires reading a full fic and digesting it tho. Because explaining it in a Tumblr post feels disingenuous to the medium of story telling to me. Is why I avoided that in my Book of Grollow act 1 ig. But you're so valid and right

[kazuwhora]

DREAMER DECEIVER — S. MANJIRO

cw. angst, mentions of drugs/intoxication, mentions of mental health/mania/delusions, exhibitionism, public sex in a graveyard, death, grief, siblings-in-law relationship, suicide, && dubcon, so I guess this is dark content !!?? basically reader is stuck in a delusion that manila mikey is shinichiro at his grave so do with that what you will ig.

wc. 1674

an. man idfk what this was im sorry in advance if u read it. its kinda dc but also kinda not?? idk what to call this honestly it is what it is. duckie has skewed my sense of whats normal and whats dark content at this point. anyways this isn't meant to be hot but like props to u if u think it is I genuinely wanna know how u all feel

every anniversary of your late boyfriend's death was hard— it never got easier like everyone said it would. every year you would retreat beneath a pile of blankets, staring into the darkness for hours on end until the day passed and you could forget about it for another year.

but this time was different.

this time you dragged yourself out of bed, forcing a smile in the mirror as you hid the bags under your eyes and brushed the tangles from your hair. this time, even if it had easily been 14, maybe 15 years since his death, you would force yourself out of the house to pay your respects at his grave.

beams of the warm august sun pelted your skin as you walked, flowers clutched in your grip that only tightened the closer you got to the memorial. the street was empty with only the occasional whir of a passing car to pull you from your anxiety that had settled in your chest. as you neared the entrance, your palms grew sweaty with anticipation and you almost turned around— but something gnawed at the back of your mend, refusing to let you escape the way your brain begged. swallowing the knot in your throat, you forced your feet onwards and into the cemetery where his body lay to rest.

your feet barely made a scuff as you walked down the pathway, eyes trained down the closer you got. as the familiar memories began to flood your mind, you raised your gaze to find a man of short stature, and short black hair that fell just below his jaw. tears welled in your eyes— he looked just like shinichiro— too alike for your brain to compute and you stuttered on the words that barely fell from your lips.

"sh-shin?" your voice cracked with tears that dripped from your eyes. was this some kind of cruel trick? some kind of game? was it really him? it couldn't be— you watched his body being lowered to the ground, covered with dirt and the memories reminded you of the empty sobs that ripped your voice apart that day. he looked up to you with hollow eyes and a tattoo that stretched along the side of his neck.

no— this wasn't shin— was it, mikey?

you took a step back, shocked at the name you had just uttered through tears as mikey looked at you with a melancholic emptiness behind his eyes.

"mikey I—" you started, shaking your head as you approached him. he took a step back, leaving you space to set down the flowers you held in your shaky hands. "I'm sorry I didn't recognize you... it's been so long" mikey nodded, chewing his bottom lip as you collected yourself from the shock. "you look—"

"stop" he muttered, directing his gaze back to his brother's grave. he looked so different— so much emptier than the last time you saw him. a piece of you felt burdened with guilt for detaching yourself from the family after his death. what was once mikey and emma's cheerful loving 'big sister' quickly became nothing more than a ghost in their lives after his passing, never to be heard from or seen again, and facing the boy you had once taken so much of a liking to grown up and damaged all the same was almost unbearable.

you hated yourself for leaving, but even more for struggling to detach the man that stood before you from your late boyfriend. your brows furrowed as you watched him— mannerisms identical right down to the way he held his head as he watched you, and you hated yourself for wondering if he could make up for the emptiness that shinichiro left when he died. there was an uncomfortable tension in the air, one you were sure he could sense and one that was brought on by the consequences of the name that slipped your mouth. and still, you couldn't quite separate the fact that it wasn't shin. the similarities overwhelmed you— took over your senses and forced you to act in ways you would never imagine acting before as you outstretched your arms and pulled mikey into a hug you weren't sure he wanted or not. his arms were limp at his sides but you never let your grasp up, burying your face into the crook of his neck imagining it was shinichiro himself— pretending like real life didn't exist.

"I'm sorry for leaving" you whispered. mikey didn't respond, in fact he barely moved as you hugged him tighter and tangled a hand in his hair, once again lost in the imagination that is was shin's hair trapped between your fingers— something you missed more than anything. "I can make it up to you, I swear" again, mikey didn't respond, even as you nudged a thigh between his legs and pulled him tighter against you. memories of hugs with shin that always urned naughty, memories of the whimpers that left his lips as he rutted his cock against your thigh, memories of coaxing his pretty face to his peak all washed your mind and took the place of any sense of rationality that remained in this moment. all you wanted, was to indulge yourself in your dreams, stuck in the fantasy of a reality that could never exist again.

and mikey didn't help, either. when you kissed him, he kissed back, eyes fluttering shut as you pulled him tighter against your chest. your kisses were sloppy— driven by mania laced with a type of grief that intoxicated you like a drug. his skin felt like shin's, his hair felt like shin's, even his lips felt just like shin's, and your mind couldn't help but wonder what else felt like shin's. was this your chance to say goodbye? to feel him one last time? to have one last moment of intimacy with your boyfriend? greed is a powerful thing, and it drove you to lengths of no return as you trailed your hand down mikey's pants to his cock as he held his breath in your hold.

this wasn't your little brother mikey. this, was shinichiro, and it was all you had left.

mikey only stood there, hands at his side as you kissed down his neck. his eyes were dead, unfocused and dazed as you made your way down his body that looked just like shin's, only shorter and more lean. he looked as if he hadn't slept or eaten in a week, but all that mattered was your own selfish indulgence as you tugged at the zipper of his sweatpants and took his half hard cock in your hands. your tongue dragged along the underside of his length, eyes concentrated on watching him grow harder and harder with every glossy line of spit you painted him with and you couldn't help but notice his cock looked just like shinichiro's, too.

"taste s'good shin" you mumbled, humming as you took his length down your throat. mikey chose to ignore your words as his fists balled at the fabric of his shirt and he bit down on his lip harder than before. lost in your delusion, you bobbed your head as your hands worked in tandem pumping the base of his cock as saliva dripped from the corners of your mouth and down your chin. it was a filthy sight— tears in your eyes with mikey's cock stuffed down your throat in front of his brother's grave, but you couldn't part from the delusion you were stuck in, overcome with grief and denial you thought had passed years ago.

a tiny groan slipped past mikey's lips— one that sounded just like shinichiro and you whimpered in response as your tongue swirled around his tip. your cheeks hollowed with a pop as you held his cock in your hand, admiring the way it leaked for you as you gently pumped his shaft with your other hand. "you've always liked your cock down my throat, haven't you?" mikey winced as your gaze reached his, and he looked away in disgust. shame, guilt, grief, all of it pulled at the strings of his mind, pushing him deeper into insanity yet mikey couldn't deny the pleasure he felt with your mouth wrapped around his cock, and he hated himself for allowing the tingling sensation itching his brain to take over as more whimpered moans fell from his lips.

"that's it" you hummed, taking his length down your throat once more as you coaxed him closer to his high. you sat back on your feet, coughing and gagging as his cock pushed at the warm walls of your throat until you were sure he was at his limit from the sounds that resonated from his lips and across his skin. his core flexed and his cock throbbed against your tongue as you pulled your mouth away with a pop. one hand remained, pumping up and down while the other held mikey's thigh for support as spurts of milky white cum spilled from his cock all over shinichiro's tombstone engraved with his name. your breath was heavy as you watched his seed drip down the polished stone, and reality began to set in. your eyes stung with tears that pricked the edges of your lashes as your hands dropped to your lap and you fell into a daze. tunnel vision took over, making your vision fuzzy as you collected yourself and the flowers now soiled with mikey's cum, and left him there the gardens at shinichiro's grave. maybe, you thought, you could forget about this, too. that was what you told yourself as you meandered your way home, crossing roads without looking and staring into a state of numbness— a numbness that faded slowly until weeks later, when the tv plastered a photo of mikey with the news that gang leader manjiro sano, otherwise known as mikey, had died by a self inflicted gunshot wound to the head in manila, philippines.

and so the numbness returned— this time, for eternity.

tags: @wakaslut @cumfuyu @manjiroscum @01-20-1992 @tirzamisu @maytey @keisaint @haruphilia @miytsuya @champagnej @thesimpsclub @snoopysxng @lovemegood @somerandompipzsxh @tofu-and-aesthetic @ravenina14 @kokonoienjoyer @dilf-city @z-na @souyatr @icecreamranwich @shujiful @nikidiaries @toyomitsus @saitaso @chieeeeeee @lalalemon101 @wakasa-wifey @roppongiperfume @nanaminshousewife @manjiken @blueparadis @dreamingofsappho @shostr @01-1987 @icecreamranwich @thetempleofnyx @abgtora

[kachuuyaa]

— ELYSIAN’S FUGITIVES.

06072021 ; g.i oneshot , gn!reader , bsd!reader

genre ; angsty fluff ig i dunno???

includes ; WISP!CHUUYA MAKES HIS APPEARANCE :D mentions of death, gore, gods, chuuya being cute (He Squeaks!) chuuya and reader meant to be REAL, literally just a first meeting between aether n you Italics is Japanese

synopsis ; The punishment from the gods is to be sent to Elysian, then banished into a never-ending cycle of paranoia.

author's notes ; U FINALLY MEET AETHER. wisp!chuuya is the best thing I have ever written ever I was mentally squealing because oh my oiguoidsp[';][][21P]2;\.,sdmNXK

You couldn’t count the days you have roamed Teyvat, it has been too long since then. For 60 years (it was 60 years, wasn’t it? You don’t remember anymore), you have not crossed any country’s border, only listening to their seemingly endless musings. You have never been out in the sea, tensity and uneasiness forming in the pit of your stomach whenever so. However, being isolated from the land the gods rule upon, has earned you a title. Your name is being whispered as a warning or a legend like a scripture formed with the wind. Some were afraid of you, while some respected you. It was pathetic, really, how desperate these people were compared to those in Yokohama. There was no point in dwelling in the past, now, was there? Despite receiving unwanted attention by passersby, you paid no attention to those who whispered your name like a mantra, spouting vile, vulgar assumptions about you. You realized-- quickly-- that they only think for themselves, not for the benefit of others. Wouldn’t that be the source of their demise? Well, you don’t linger on trivial topics for too long, it’s only fair for you to care only about yourself in a world you don’t belong in (you know you belong here now, yet you felt as if Elysian was better than this place they call home).

You have heard of the outlander who caught the wind, saving a foreign nation he seemed to have been in once, only, and you have let the news flow from one ear to another. Who were you to care? No one should catch your attention in a world full of insatiable people. Each step made the grass crunch, making your way to the foot of Dragonspine. Chuuya followed suit, and he settled himself on your head. You figured out that he could shapeshift, probably his punishment as well, yet so far, he has only shifted into a bird and a wisp. His wisp form wasn’t as elegant as you may think, a small, hooded figure encased in smoke-colored clothing, resembling the coat he used to wear. On top, there was a small black X-shaped symbol in the middle of his chest. Around his small form were orange particles, that remind you vividly of Chuuya's ability. A little hat, one you were familiar with, was situated on top of his small head. It was the hat he was wearing during his time as a mafioso, you deduced as such. The tiny creature lets out small squeaks of content, nuzzling itself on your head; seems like he thought it was a good pillow. A chuckle of amusement escapes your lips, turning your head around to watch the scenery in front of you. Dragonspine was one of your favorite places to visit during your free time, snow piling on top of another, making the white mountain as beautiful as it is. However, you do not venture into Dragonspine, not wanting to risk your life for creatures who seem to always take your time.

As much as you hate to admit it, you have most likely killed more hilichurls than you ever killed back in Yokohama. The songs of relentless, snow-covered winds never fail to make your unease and worry falter, even for a moment. The glacial scenery of the mountain attracted your attention, especially your first visit here. A few snowflakes settled themselves on your face, melting due to the heat emitting from your body. If you had the chance, should you tell your friends about the scenery, they would love it too, wouldn't they? You know they would, however, how would you know so? They’re gone, and so is your attachment to anything but Chuuya. “Do you like the scenery, Chuchu?” soft taps on your head were his response, indicating that he was displeased with the nickname you gave him. He agreed nonetheless, sitting on the palm of your hand. He squirmed, looking for a more comfortable position, and stilled after a while.

Memories of the past have always plagued your mind, reminding you that you were alone, again. Despite the copious memories you have stored away, none will bring you back to the place you have regarded as your home. For once, you have felt safe, all the while knowing death follows you wherever you go. Death was the dark, hollow cloak you wore while walking the path of dread in your past life, hands coated with the blood of another, and your eyes held the burden you were forced to carry until the day you died. The amount of blood was enough to shatter the dreams children told you to believe in, you were holding on the thinnest thread, one soaked with blood, your blood, reminding you how much you have suffered and how you made others weak, on their knees, while keeping a straight face as you watch the life draining from their faces. You have learned that life was unfair, gods turning a blind eye to the generation you were put in, leading the people to be self-reliant, causing resentment and disrespect to be aimed at those who call themselves “gods”.

Did they even exist? You have heard, and read, tell of what the gods and goddesses have done to provide, to give, and to sacrifice. Did they give up? Were they satisfied with what they have gotten? Has their insatiable lust for approval and desire to fulfill their selfish, carnal desires quenched? Did they only long for what they have desired, using their power to prove themselves better among the world of mortals? Were they not the selfless, kind gods described in the books of old? Nevertheless, you had no respect for the divine. You only had yourself to depend on since the start. You controlled your own death, knowing that when you died, it was time. You could have stopped yourself from fading, though, but you were tired, you let it happen. And though you know that your death will be remembered, not in the history books, but in the Port Mafia, you will be forever remembered.

59 years have passed. There is no time to dwell in the past, all you have is the memories you swear to protect. Your fight with immortality has been futile, leaving you to bask in your own presence for 59 years. That is until Chuuya finally found you. And you? You found him. It wasn’t expected for you to know who he was, a mere spirit cursed by gods above to wander a world he was unfamiliar with. He was stripped of Arahabaki, leaving him with only his outermost ability, “For The Tainted Sorrow”. He didn’t mind, as well, Arahabaki resides within him, giving him a sense of dread, and leaving him with his identity that he can’t seem to solve. Arahabaki has forever stained him as blood stained your hands, giving him scars that will never leave him. In that life, and in the next. He had you, sweet, malevolent, outstanding you. Though he never voiced it out, he felt, well, complete, to say the least. And while feeling detached from not being completely human has affected him far too much, you were there to make him feel-- what did you make him feel, really? He can’t decipher his own feelings as his own identity. In all the years he has roamed this world as an insignificant wisp of the wind, he found himself tangled in another adventure with the “most insufferable partner aside from Dazai”.

Your footsteps were carried by the wind, walking to the City of Mondstadt, again, Chuuya on your shoulder, scanning the area for any enemies or the like. You were currently looking for food, choosing to shop in Mondstadt instead of catching wildlife. Each step has your coat moving from one side to another, boots making the grass crunch in every step. “Ne, Chuuya, do you want to buy pancakes from Mond?” you whispered, voice soft, only for Chuuya to hear. Said wisp only nods its small head, his little hood moving ever so slightly while he nods. Deciding that it would be best for him to rest, you put him in your breast pocket, his little head poking just a bit. Chuuya softly squeaked, nuzzling on the fabric, and opted to rest despite his unsaid protests. But before you could set foot onto the City Of Freedom, a high-pitched voice prevented you from doing so. “Hey!” they said, you whipped your head to the direction you heard it from, spotting a seemingly young-looking traveler, and a floating pixie-- wait.

Isn’t he the honorary knight? You thought to yourself, unconsciously cupping the pocket Chuuya resides in, feeling him squirm when he came in contact with your gloved palm. Instead of giving them a response, you simply stared at them, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Hi.” a simple, short greeting. Although you would prefer to ask the traveler some questions, that wouldn’t be necessary. You were able to decipher every detail easily, too easily, in fact. Aether, however, wasn’t fazed. He was well aware of how they described you, and how notorious you were due to appearance. Scoffing at the assumptions, he looked forward to meeting you. Perhaps he will look forward to his endeavors with you by his side, no? A star sent from Elysian would only brighten the mortal world, cursed with divine power and lonesome memories.

However, you did not know that a simple greeting exchanged on your first day of the meeting would bloom into something much more.

Ah, it seems that the show is starting once again, a different chapter, a different genre.

2021 © kachuuyaa. all rights reserved. do not steal and claim my work as your own.

[ilusionis]

highly speculative post about aizen’s ‘hollow-like’ nature, pieces of his backstory and other stuff. contains mention of cannibalism and dire social inequalities, rukongai isn’t a fun park and i’m not here pretending that it is.

when i say that aizen is very akin to a hollow, i mean it in the most visceral way you can think of. the canon ‘facts’ supporting my belief are plenty: from his very obvious interest in hollows which i would say was a borderline obsessive fascination (that stemmed from feeling drawn to them, like an intimate call to the innermost part of his soul), to the design of the final hogyoku stage, the ‘wanting to die with a hole in his chest’, the shinigami / hollow research. 

on a purely metatextual level, this doesn’t affect the character; it only serves to further deepen the gap that exists between aizen and his kind and to associate him with an idea of villainy. because hollows are evil monsters (despite the narrative itself demolishing this construct piece by piece, also to make hollow characters more palatable ig) that predate on souls, and aizen, who did more or less the same thing to power his hogyoku, can only be seen aligning with them.

however, to me, his likeness to hollows is constitutional of his character, in the sense that it is something he’s intimately aware of and that it has shaped him to the core of his being. i haven’t really talked about my hc of aizen’s past because i fear that over-sharing would affect ic knowledge and interactions in a way i don’t want, but there are what we could consider ‘turning’ points in his character that can only be explained by speculating a little on his backstory. 

aizen’s link to hollows begins very early, being born a fullbringer. i don’t think it’s necessary to elaborate on his life before being reborn as a soul, because he died young and retains no memory of it, anyway. the soul king’s reiryoku inside him attracts hollows. the magnetism that is inherent in his power manifests in the way hollows come to him, gather around him, obey him. there is a hollow component in his reiryoku, although it’s mingled (one would say, almost engulfed) with the immensity of the piece of the soul king, which is his reiryoku itself. 

ic-wise, this is translated in him feeling strongly drawn to hollows and acknowledging the likeness to them firsthand. he doesn’t know the source of this feeling, he doesn’t know about the hollow element in his soul (which never formed a sentient identity but became part of his power and kyoka suigetsu’s spirit) and much less does he know about the piece of the soul king, so it all affects the ic awareness only in part. it should be noted that the parallelism with hollows plays predominantly in a ooc dimension, but it’s not any less important just because the character isn’t aware of it. 

another of those turning points is pretty much made of the entirety of his life prior to becoming a shinigami. a life based on fierce survival, for the most part; a soul as strong as aizen required to eat regularly, and in the outermost regions of rukongai, such was not possible. stealing was the preferable option, but when the choice boiled down to either starving for days or consuming other souls (and in the outer criminal-infested districts there surely wasn’t a lack of random corpses), aizen often chose the latter. the horror of such a choice is not gratuitous, and serves to further the ‘hollow’ narrative i believe the character already possesses. 

when aizen said to ichigo ‘do you really think i would hollowfy myself?’, the bottom line ‘do you really think i would need to’ imo. and the answer is no, he doesn’t need to. the core of his character already sums shinigami and hollows, physically and narratively; he’s the fearless hollow, the one that hollows born of fear gather around and follow.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Undercover (Alex x Reader)

Requested by: @fandomsinthegalaxies:In that case if you're open for some requests 💕 can you do one about Alex where she is an undercover guy so she can be in the army and becomes good friends with tommy, when they got inside the submarine looking boat they find out she's a woman which then later Alex develops a huge crush on her and is really protective over her and is willing to do anything to get her safe. Sorry for the long description. 😬

AN: I HIT 100 FOLLOWERS! THIS BLOG IS TWO WEEKS OLD THIS IS NUTS THANK YOU SO MUCH! I had a sugar mouse and I'm planning a few things in in celebration so you should check my updates page to see what's occurring (shameless plug but I'M SO HAPPY) 

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 In the belly of the boat, Tommy, Alex and Y/N ate their jammy bread and slurped their tea. It was lukewarm at best but still they drank it. The rabble of the other soldiers grew to deafening proportions. After finishing her food and tying on her newly acquired life jacket, Y/N looked up at the door, where their other comrade had vanished.

 “What’s wrong with your friend?” Alex spoke through his food. Still a little sceptical of him, Y/N turned to Tommy for him to answer on her behalf. She’d been with him long enough for him to know she didn’t speak very often.

 Tommy watched the door to the hold close, taking another bite from his rations. His gaze swept the packed hull and the lack exits available to them. Feeling the unease settle in, Y/N wished she’d joined the other silent soldier in their troop outside.

 “Looking for a quick way out. In case we go down.” Y/N tugged on Tommy’s arm, nodding over at the stairwell that led to the hold’s door. When he didn’t understand, you bopped a thumb at it. Again, Tommy didn’t understand, neither did Alex. Sighing, she leant in, pulling Alex closer so he could hear, and whispered:

 “We should get close to the door in case we go down.” Her voice gave her away, high-pitched and soft. No matter how hard she’d try to train it to be deeper, it always came out the same. Y/N waited with baited breath to see their reactions.

 “Oh.” Tommy nodded, seemingly unaffected by your voice, and casually started moving over to the door. His walking was slow and deliberate, Alex tailing him. Y/N tried not to let her life-jacket bump into people, happy to have gotten away with not being exposed or rebuffed at her first sentence to her comrades.

 Tommy turned around once they were at the foot of the stairs, “So, when were you gonna tell me you’re a girl?” Fuck.

      Lucky for her, Y/N wasn’t exposed at the first opportunity. Probably because the first opportunity was attempting and thus nearly capsizing a rowboat after the ship she was on got torpedoed. Her identity was not one of the priorities.

 By the time they were back on the beach, the physical energy had drained from their bodies and the journey was already emotionally taxing. So as the rowboat was dragged away, the four collapsed on the sand, unaffected by the pools of water they were lying in as they rested their eyes in an attempt to sleep.

 Y/N however was having an internal conflict. She was tired and stupidly didn’t take the opportunity to piss whilst still in the water. So she could either conserve energy and just wet herself or get up and go to the dunes and possibly collapse on the way back. She’d been wearing these clothes for so long and they were already grotty as hell but she was not going to wet herself. Slyly, she stood up and started -

 Sitting up violently, Alex demanded, “Where are you going?”

 “I need to take a piss,” She pointed to the sand dunes with an expression of discomfort. So much for integrity.

 “Oh.” Alex went red at his outburst, his gaze dropping as you headed over to your “toilet”, your feet shuffling. He went back to his thoughts, which were occupied by the memory of you pulling him through the hull door and out of the sinking ship playing on a loop.  

 He didn’t know how long he was staring at the sky for but when he turned his head, Y/N was back next to him. Her head was lolling back with the lifejacket propping her up. Her eyes were closed. Her mouth was open and ghosting in the early morning air. The short hair suited her with the fringe framing her face.

 He opened his mouth, preparing for a real interesting and intellectually stimulating question to start up a conversation with.

 “Did you have a nice… piss?”

 Y/N looked at him with an expression that said “what the fuck man” then let out a croaky grunt, wheezing loudly as her head fell back again. Tommy and the silent soldier looked over at her little seizure with panic then it subsided into relief when they realised you were laughing.

 “I did. I had a great piss,” She laughed through her nose, little snorts breaking out into hollow coughs as she struggled to breathe. Once she’d caught it and calmed down, Y/N turned back to Alex, her cheeks and nose red with the cold.

 “God, I haven’t laughed in ages. Thanks, Alex.” She weakly slapped his arm, her eyes closing contentedly.

 “Why did you slap me?” Alex furrowed his eyebrows in a confused smile - her laughter was slightly contagious.

 “Isn’t that what men do? Slap each other as expressions of endearment?” She slapped him again, although it was more like her hand flopped against his arm and stayed there, no more energy to take it back. Alex shook his head but slapped her back anyway. Their arms remained outstretched to one another as they finally managed to pass out.

      “Weight! Do we need to lose weight?”

 The Seaman shrugged but understanding this version of the question, “Weight, yes.”

 “Somebody needs to get off.” Y/N’s head shot up from her section in the trawler. All of them stuck in this trawler and Alex had already been pacing about like a caged lion before the gunfire started. She was tired and trembling with the prospect of more bullets penetrating the hull of the ship but she had come too far to be forced off her only chance of escape.

 “Well volunteered,” one of the highlanders scoffed at him.

 “We don’t need a volunteer. I know someone who ought to get off...” Alex approached Y/N’s side of the trawler and she shrank away, waiting for him to root her out.

 “This one. He’s a German spy.”

 Confused, Y/N opened her eyes to see her silent comrade had become the target.

 “Don’t be daft,” Tommy leapt to his comrade’s defence.

 “He’s bloody Jerry,” Alex accused, “You might not’ve noticed that he hasn’t said a word, but I have. He doesn’t speak English - or if he does it’s with an accent thicker than sauerkraut sauce-”

 “You’re daft. Tell him.”

 “Yeah, tell me.”

 “What about that one? He ain’t spoken,” A highlander singled you out aiming his rifle at you but Alex promptly snatched it away.

 “I can vouch for… him. He spoke to me before we got here,” He turned the rifle onto the silent soldier who was now pressed up against the ladder in an attempt to get away from the accusations.

 “Tell me...” Alex prodded him in the chest with the muzzle of the rifle, hooking his dog tags onto the end so he could read them, “Gibson!”

 “Tell him, for God’s sake!” Tommy urged as Alex lifted the rifle to jab Gibson in the cheek.

 He burst out desperately, “FRANÇAIS! JE SUIS FRANÇAIS!”

 The silence that followed the revelation was broken by a burst of machine-gun fire. Y/N let out a strangled cry, her hands covering her head and ears. Things were fast going downhill.

 “A Frog. A bloody Frog. A cowardly little queue-jumping Frog...”

 “Alex, stop,” Y/N said softly, her hands still covering her head for protection but he didn’t hear her.

 “Who’s Gibson, eh? A naked dead Englishman lying out on that sand. Or did you at least have the decency to bury him?”

 “He did,” Tommy jumped to his friend’s assistance, “We helped him. I thought it was his mate.”

 “Maybe he killed him-” 

 “He didn’t kill him-”

 “How do we know?!”

 “How hard is it to find a dead Englishman on Dunkirk beach, for God’s sake?!” Tommy yelled, forgetting about the Germans doing target practise, “He didn’t kill anyone - he was looking for a way off the damned sand like the rest of us!”

 Another spray of gun fire spread across the hull of the trawler. Y/N ducked down, the shots dangerously close to her head which resulted in a ringing noise in her left ear. Water trickled down her back through one of the many holes, making her feel sick. She stood up, attempted to unblock the ear, her head spinning.

 “Hadn’t they had enough practice by now?!” The second highlander was shaking, the heat of the situation getting to him more obviously than some of the others.

 “They’re making sure she won’t float,” His mate responded, staring at the gathering puddle at the bottom of the trawler.

 As Y/N edged over to the group, the second highlander turned to the Seaman, “Will she still float?!”

 After assessing the leaks and unaffected by the mutiny occurring in front of him, the Seaman turned to the group, “Float, yes. With less weight, yes.”

 Alex turned back to Gibson who was only vaguely aware of what was happening, “And we know who’s getting off.”

 “Alex, stop,” Y/N tugged at his arm, finally coming to her friend's aid, “That’s enough.”

 He didn’t look at her, his elbow jerking back to shove her off and she flinched as he hissed, “We need someone to get off so the rest of us can live.”

 “He’s barely gonna make the difference!” She looked up at “Gibson” with the same fear etched on her face.

 “He’s a fucking Frog, he lied to us, he’s not meant to be here.”

 “He’s not the only one.”

 Stepping back from the ladder, Alex turned, pressed his face close to yours and whispered, “I’m doing this for you.” His voice was pleading, desperate for Y/N to be on his side, to see things his way. But she shook her head.

 “I don’t want this.”

 His hardened expression breaking, Alex’s grip on his rifle weakened as did his will. Then Gibson grabbed for the rifle.

     Y/N’s eyes shot open as the train lurched to a stop. The lights that lined the ceiling of the car blinked on and off with a distinct tink tink sound. The view from the window was a blank black canvas but leaning over the sleeping Alex, she could see a glowing red circle. They were at a crossing.

 She was glad. The rocking of the train car was only somewhat reminiscent of the boat but it was enough to make her feel sick.

 Slumping back into the chair, she saw Alex stir, his features mostly indistinguishable with all the grime on his face.

 “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

 “It’s ok.”

 The train started to move again, the chugging making her flinch. Leaning against Alex’s arm for support, Y/N sighed loudly, eyes screwed close.

 “I’m sorry about what happened.”

 Y/N wasn’t sure of what to say. She wanted to forgive him but she didn’t know how to phrase it or if she could. So she nodded in acknowledgement. When she finally opened her eyes, she saw he was looking down at her. His eyes were reminder of the sea – in colour and with the tears that were building - but for some reason she wasn’t disgusted by them like the other things. In fact, they calmed her.

 It became apparent to her that Alex was leaning down when he was inches away from kissing her.

 “Don’t.” Y/N shifted away, her head sticking out in the aisle to see if anyone was awake. It was just the two of them. Even those who had been shellshocked were now asleep.

 “I,” Alex’s voice broke so he cleared his throat, “I thought that you…”

 “It’s just everyone thinks I’m a man. Imagine if we were caught.”

 “Oh, right,” Alex looked down at the table, his jaw clenching. Y/N mulled over her response - something to soothe him or make him feel better.

 “Besides, I haven’t brushed my teeth in ages. It wouldn’t be pleasant for anyone.”

 They both let out a huffed breath as excuses for laughter. Y/N moved back next to him and offered half her blanket as she leant back onto his shoulder. Taking her up on her request, Alex tucked himself in with her on his side and they drifted off into hushed respite.