#( unspecified. ) before the awakening.

[papiliotao]

꒰ 𝒎𝒊𝒅𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒚 ✩࿐

pairings: alhaitham, diluc, kaeya, and zhongli x gn!reader (separate)

content: hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship, arguments (unspecified reason), reader and character live together

summary: after a heated conflict with your boyfriend, you decide to sleep on the couch instead of together on your shared bed. how does he react?

a/n: shockingly, i'm not writing for any anemo boys this time. that's mainly because this is a gift for @spiritingawaytoanime for @favonius-library's gift exchange event! i hope you enjoy!

The sound of the front door closing is the only sound that can be heard as ALHAITHAM steps into your living room. An ocean of pitch-blackness threatens to drown him. The space lacks illumination. Darkness floods into every crack and crevice of your home, invading an otherwise peaceful space.

He breathes out a sigh as he walks down the hallway of your shared apartment. Alhaitham doesn’t bother flicking on the lights. He knows you’re probably asleep already, and he’d rather not disturb you, especially since you were in a foul mood earlier. So unpleasant, in fact, that you got into a petty argument with him. However, Alhaitham isn’t really that worried. He knows that in the end, you’ll be able to sort out your differences.

But when he enters the bedroom, he immediately feels that something is off. The air feels colder than usual, biting his skin with the ferocity of a thousand cuts. It’s unsettling and especially disturbing to Alhaitham because such feelings don’t often overtake his frozen heart. It almost feels as though the atmosphere has the ability to thaw his emotions, awakening a sentimental side of himself that doesn’t often show beyond his rational demeanour.

When he approaches the side of your bed, he instantaneously realizes what’s wrong. You’re not here. You’re not here. An unfamiliar feeling drives pinpricks into his heart. The sensation is strange, irritating, and it won’t go away. He hasn’t ever felt this way before. Perhaps this is another emotion to add to the list of new feelings being with you has caused him to experience.

Alhaitham sighs. It’s not like he wasn’t expecting this outcome. He had been far too cold earlier while you had been far too emotional. Ice and fire would never coalesce into a single being.

The feelings that accompany the situation are all a complete mystery to him. Nonetheless, he buries his emotions so that he can focus on finding you, maintaining his logical front in the face of such a precarious situation.

As your lover, he knows you well, so he’s almost entirely sure he knows where you’ve gone. Alhaitham shakes his head. He should have checked right when he entered the house. After all, the couches were right by the door.

Once again, Alhaitham walks blindly through the darkness, taking it step-by-step without so much as a stumble in his gait as he makes his way down a hallway that has long engraved itself in his memories. It’s odd. Alhaitham doesn’t usually go out of his way to become involved in the affairs of others, much less memorize details about their lives. But with you, everything is different. He remembers every single intricate thread of information in the web that forms your identity.

And perhaps that’s why he feels a sense of calm wash over him like cerulean waves on a pristine summer day as he approaches your sleeping form. As he takes in the sight of your silhouette against the backdrop of night, he notices that you appear to be shivering slightly. You don’t have a blanket on.

“Typical [name],” he whispers under his breath. 

Although his words sound rather harsh and slanderous, he utters them with hints of a small smile gracing his face.

Quietly, Alhaitham walks over to a closet in which you keep a multitude of blankets. He takes his time selecting one — after all, he’s in no rush. Eventually, he settles on a velvety blanket that feels soft to the touch. Although Alhaitham can’t exactly picture it in the dark, he knows that it will be sufficient.

So with an insurmountable level of care, he drapes it onto your body. Even though he can be insensitive at times, Alhaitham knows that you most likely want some space for now, so with a gentle ghost of a kiss to your cheek, he leaves the room.

The silence that fills the house rings in DILUC’s ears, shrieking in a manner reminiscent of thousands of crystal glasses shattering into pieces. It’s deafening. The space feels as though it is full of nothing but misery and doubt and yet it’s so, so empty at the same time.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The sound of a clock’s arms snapping into place in one second intervals is the only sign of life within the building. Every space on the canvas of night is blank as if awaiting wonderous stars to fill the nothingness with inquisitive light. However, the illumination doesn’t come. Tales of galaxies serendipitously brightening worlds are simply idealistic fantasies from the minds of children. In the real world, things seldom end so well without any intervention.

So he decides to slowly get out of bed, leaving the warmth under the covers — a heat that feels far too stifling without you — in order to search for you. But as the abyssal air of night brushes against Diluc’s skin, he feels a shiver run down his spine. Nothing feels right without you by his side. He needs you. Now.

Diluc knows you’re sleeping on the couch. He saw you there when he was going to bed, but at the time, pride and petty emotions whispered words of spite in the depths of his soul, phrases that prompted him to ignore you.

As he navigates the dimly-lit hallways of your shared home, a wave of regret washes over him. If only things hadn’t gotten so heated when you were still immersed in the waking world together. Now you’re asleep, and he’s lost any chance he has of making things right today. If he wants to apologize, then patience will be crucial.

However, at the same time, Diluc wants to check up on you. So when he finally makes his way through the doorway of the living room, his eyes immediately land on your figure, burning with the light of a thousand fires, almost as though they are casting a glow upon your silhouette. The moonlight illuminates you, caressing every strand of your hair and highlighting every dip and curve of your features to make you look absolutely ethereal.

As Diluc approaches you, he notices that you’re barely covered by a thin blanket, and despite the feeble layer of protection, the frigid atmosphere of night seems to permeate your soul. He shakes his head slightly, sighing as he stares at you. No matter how angry he was at you during the day, Diluc can’t just leave you here to freeze.

So with bated breath, he picks you up while you’re still immersed in a universe of dreamy fantasies and carries you to your room. He thanks all his years of training with a claymore for giving him the ability to lift you. Although you’re not on the best of terms, Diluc is sure that you’ll make up once morning comes, and thus, a vibrant new dawn will overlook the horizon for both of you.

Shivers wrack KAEYA’s body as he tosses and turns restlessly in a bed that feels far too large and far too empty for his liking. It’s peculiar. The cold rarely bothers him, yet now, without you by his side, the frigidness of the night air is far too potent for his liking. Tendrils of night creep under the covers overtop him, wrapping around him with an icy fervor, and no matter how hard he tries to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he can’t.

It’s as though the brighter part of himself has faded away with the radiance of the sun, giving way to an indescribable melancholy that settles into every inch of his being, taking all that he has and becoming all that he is. The cold is so much more unbearable without your warmth, and it doesn’t take long before he realizes that he won’t be able to close his eyes peacefully and drift into a tranquil world full of glacial wonderlands. Instead, he’ll lie awake, alone in your freezing bed — a place that feels far too desolate without your presence.

Hours stretch on and on, twisting and turning in a way that morphs them into a neverending story. As time goes on, the unsettling embers that had once singed the pit of Kaeya’s stomach grow until they blaze brightly, morphing into a raging fire. It’s unbearable, and he knows that he has to do something or else his mind will continue nagging at him for the remainder of the evening.

With cautious movements, he sits up and climbs out of bed. It’s awfully quiet in the house. Usually, flirtatious remarks and passionate displays of affection fill the void within your home, transforming it into a utopia overflowing with wonders. However, at the moment, none of that exists. Perpetual darkness and transient flashes of anxiety are the only things present at the moment. However, he manages to carefully make his way down the hallway without much issue. The creaking of the floorboards is the only noise that cuts through the silence hanging in the air.

As Kaeya enters the living room, his eyes land on a figure lying on the couch. It’s you. He breathes out a sigh, approaching you. Kaeya can see the rising and falling of your chest, hear your gentle breaths, and feel you exhaling once he leans in to examine your face. You look as though you’re at peace — a stark contrast to your earlier demeanour, an act fueled by feelings of rage and spite.

A small smile tugs on the corners of his lips. You look ethereal, although slightly pitiful, your face tinted with the light of the moon. His heart breaks. You appear lonely without his arms wrapped around you. Kaeya feels the urge to pull you into his embrace, hold you tight, protect you from the unknown monsters of the night.

But instead of doing anything, he simply stands there. After your explosive argument, he’s still hesitant to touch you. However, upon closer examinations, Kaeya sees you shaking like a leaf in an intense gale. You’re freezing. And that’s the final straw.

Your boyfriend finally breaks under the weight of your needs and his desires. With steady movements and a fragile touch, he lifts your body just the slightest bit — barely enough for him to climb onto the couch under you. Gradually, he sets you down, laying your head down on his chest. His fingers graze over your features as he eyes you with a gaze full of admiration.

“Sweet dreams, babe. We’ll figure everything out once the sun rises.”

ZHONGLI sighs as he settles atop the plush covers of your shared bed alone. It feels cold — far too frigid for his liking as darkness encroaches, and although he glances out the window in hopes of seeing a single shard of fragmented starlight, he is greeted with nothing more than the sight of an endless abyss devoid of radiance. 

A chill permeates every bone in his body, gnawing at him in a way that serves as a perpetual reminder that you’re not beside him right now. It’s strange. For once, Zhongli feels restless. He’s usually so calm, so composed. But at the moment, he can’t help but worry. 

You’re not here with him. Instead, you’re out in the living room, curled up alone on the couch. Zhongli can picture you in flawless detail — every dip and curve of your troubled face, the shadows that shroud you in a cloak fashioned from midnight, and the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe in and out. He feels a longing that he hasn’t felt in centuries. He wants to be beside you to trace your features, to prevent the glacial fingers of night from creeping down your back, and to feel your breath fanning his face.

However, he knows that no matter how hard he wishes, his hopes and dreams will have to be put on hold for now. In hindsight, it was a bad idea to let you escape into the land of slumber without trying to work things out with you first because now, Zhongli feels as though he won’t get a wink of sleep. At least, not without you by his side.

Eventually, he caves to all the thoughts running through his head; guilt threatens to swallow him whole. So instead of continuing to chase sleep, Zhongli gets out of bed, and although the night air sends a shiver down his spine, the sensation is nothing compared to his need for you. Quietly, he makes his way into your living room, trying to keep his footfalls light out of fear of waking you up. His eyes have long since adjusted to the darkness, so he navigates the house without any real trouble.

When he arrives at his destination, his gaze immediately zones in on a silhouette lying on one of the couches in the room. Although obscured by darkness, he knows that it’s you. Cautiously, he bends down to observe you. Zhongli raises his hand in order to caress your cheeks, his touch feather-light as if he’s afraid that you’ll shatter.

He wants nothing more than to wake you right now and talk things out, but he doesn’t want to disturb your slumber. You seem so peaceful despite everything that happened earlier, and besides, Zhongli is sure that with time, the two of you will make up. Your love for each other is much stronger than any form of false resentment fostered by petty arguments. After all, the illusions created by a deceptive heart are far too easy to dispel with feelings of everlasting passion and affection.

So instead of rousing you from the oneiric realm of dreams, Zhongli sits down on a couch beside the one you’re lying on. Although his mind has not completely settled yet, it feels less perturbed with you by his side. As a master of patience, he decides that he’ll wait for you to wake up. He’ll wait for the first rays of light to grace the face of the earth in order to greet you with a smile and an apology once you open your eyes.

Thank you for reading!

[batsythoughts]

Figure skater reader is so good!! I reread it twice already! I hope one day you feel like doing a part 2, I’m curious about what happens when reader wakes up living with the batfam :) you are a talented writer

Thank you so much and I'm glad that you all love the work so much! I also appreciate you all being so patient as I get back into the swing of writing again.

Here is the much anticipated Part 2 of Yandere Batfam x Figure Skater Reader!

The whole family was eager to get back to the manor when patrol would finally end, but Bruce made sure they still did the job correctly

All it took was a reminder to keep the city safe for dangers that could potentially cause you harm, which quickly motivated the kids to remain focused

Bruce had ordered Jason and Dick to get rid of your car so that people wouldn't notice it was abandoned in the parking lot

Tim had managed to get into your phone and drafted a message to send to everyone important in the morning saying you were traveling for an unspecified amount of time

After patrolling for over 3 hours, the family made it back to the manor with minimal damage to their own bodies

Alfred was waiting to inform them that you were still unconscious, but should wake up within the next hour or so

All the kids got excited by the news, but Bruce was quick to order them to get washed and into fresh clothes

Once Alfred had insured that all injuries were treated, the whole family quietly made their way into your room to patiently wait for your awakening

Most of them lounged around the room, fixing little details that seemed out of place in their minds

Cass and Damian were seated beside your bed as they watched you slowly begin to stir

Everyone gathered close by as your face scrunched up before your eyes finally fluttered open

They watched as your eyes focus through the after effects of the remaining traces of the drug in your system

They wait patiently until you turn your head to finally look at them all together for the first time in your new home

Cass was the first to reach out as she tried to take hold of your hand only for you to pull away from the attempted contact

She frowned while trying once again, only for you to begin weakly smacking away her hands

Bruce took note of the growing unease between the children at the sight of your defiance. Clearing his throat, Bruce nodded towards the door while giving all the kids that 'look'. "All of you go get a few hours of sleep. I would like to have a talk with your sister about a few things."

He waited until after the door closed behind them before moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Using one hand to gently grasp your shoulder while the other had sure you didn't turn away as Bruce looked into your eyes.

"Sweetie, I need you to listen to me," Bruce spoke in a soft voice to not over stimulate your temporary sensitive hearing.

"Not your 'sweetie'." You send him a weak glare while trying to move your head from his touch. Your words becoming jumbled as you close your eyes. "And I'm not... not their sister."

Bruce gives a long sigh as he used a firmer hand to make use you kept looking at him. "That was your old life. This is your new life with our family. It will take some time for you to accept that, but we are here to make it easier on you. The sooner you accept that, the happier everyone will be, especially you."

His words didn't seem to sink into your head before you began struggling away from him again. Bruce shook his head before getting up and walking out of the room. Making sure to secure the lock before turning towards Alfred.

"Can you make sure to-"

"I already have the kettle on for tea and will make some toast for her to eat," Alfred assured Bruce as they stood outside of your new room. "Though I can't guarantee that she will be willing to accept the offer."

Bruce gave a nod before he began walking in the direction of his room. "Thank you, Alfred. I will check on her again in a few hours. Make sure she doesn't have a means to harm herself until then."

Which Alfred insured, putting the tea in a cup that wouldn't shatter and the toast on a paper plate

He took it to your room after making sure the tea wasn't burning hot if you wanted to drink it

When he got in the room, you were still fighting the haze of the drugs, but you were now sat up in the bed

He watched you press yourself to the wall as he set the cup and plate on the nightstand before leaving and securing the room to make breakfast for the rest of the family

They all came down after the sun had risen to silently eat the meal that was prepared for them

Bruce gave each of the kids a set of tasks to do for the day to take their minds off the ordeal that happened when they returned from patrol

After they had all went to do their respective tasks, Bruce went to the Batcave to check on you through the handful of cameras that were discretely hidden in your room

He watched you walk around, trying to find a way out and ripping the bedroom and conjoined bathroom apart

The door opened to show Alfred coming in to collect the untouched cup and plate, which caused you to throw the pillows and other objects

Alfred didn't bat an eye as he walked back out and locked you back in by yourself

Bruce watched you struggle to pull the door open and hit at the frame while screaming to be let out

He watched you continue for almost half an hour before you finally wore yourself out and laid on the floor and cried

After you had passed out, Bruce went back to talk to Alfred about how they could help you accept your new position

Jason and Tim soon came in a few minutes later saying that the car situation was fully taken care of and wouldn't become a problem later on

Tim also explained that he had put together a media stream to show you in case they needed to further convince you that nobody was curious or concerned about your whereabouts

Bruce acknowledged both of their efforts and told them to find something to be kept busy for the rest of the day

A few hours passed before Dick sent a message to Bruce saying that Cass was in her room, sulking over what happened in the morning

He took some time to collect his thoughts before going to her room to check up on her

He saw her sitting on her bed staring at a picture of you she had on her phone

Bruce went over and sat beside her, remaining quiet for a minute before saying you just needed a bit of time to adjust to the sudden change to being with the family

Cass gave a nod before saying she was simply hurt by how you reacted when you saw her

He hummed before placing a kiss to the side of her head and saying you were just startled from the new environment

That seemed to brighten Cass' mood as she gave a weak grin while agreeing with Bruce

He gave her a small hug before taking his leave to look over a few business documents in his office

Alfred had tried offering you a plate of food for every meal after he served the family

Though you barely took more than one or two bites, if you even touched the food to begin with

The family barely had any contact with you due to your continuous aggressive behavior, though it seemed to decrease just a bit each day

Despite being told to keep their distance, occasionally the kids would wait outside your door and try to start conversations

Each time you heard their voices, you threw objects at the door and yelled to be let out from this 'prison'

A couple weeks after you were brought into the family, Dick had decided to go in to try and have a peaceful talk to calm your nerves about the situation

He had Jason be lookout for in case things did end up getting complicated

The moment Dick crossed the threshold, you began raising your voice for him to get out

Dick persevered as he made it further into the room, calmly assuring you he only wanted you to understand they only wanted to keep you safe from the city's dangers

The closer he got, the louder your shouts got and the more physically defiant you began acting towards him

It didn't bother Dick one bit that you were a little upset, until he made the mistake of putting his hand on your arm

Your fist hit his cheek before he even registered that it was moving

Not wanting to accidentally cause you harm, Dick simply held up his arms as you kept hitting with all the pent up aggression since your kidnapping

Before Dick could call out to Jason for help, Bruce burst through the door with one of the coldest glares Dick had ever seen

"Out. Now." Dick had been in the vigilante business long enough to catch the authority of Batman bleeding into the man who had taken him in years ago.

Dick swiftly stepped back and left the room to avoid Bruce's wrath. Closing the door without order, leaving you locked in alone with a visibly pissed of Bruce Wayne.

He wasted no time matching towards you and grabbing hold of you in a bruising grip. Without much effort, Bruce forced you to sit on the bed before grasping your chin. He didn't let up on the pressure, even when the fear flashed in your eyes.

"You listen to me, and listen well to get this through your stubborn, little head." Bruce stared into your soul with the intensity of Gotham's protector. "We have been patient in giving you the time you needed to adjust to this new life. The kids took the verbal abuse from your ungrateful mouth. Alfred made a plate for you every meal, and never complained that you barely touched it. But I will not stand for you thinking you can physically assault your siblings."

"They're not my-" You had begun before Bruce tightened his grip and shook your head.

"They are your siblings, because this is your life now. Do you think anyone has been looking for you this entire time?" The disbelief that flashed in your eyes was what made Bruce push further. "No one has noticed you have been absent in your own life. If you need proof, then so be it."

He pushed your face away before moving his grip to your ankle. Lightly twisting the skin as he continues to stare at you. "But keep in mind, if you try hitting any of them again, I will not hesitate to break every single bone in your ankles and ruin the one thing that we still want to share with you from your old life."

Bruce squeezed his fingers for a second before finally standing up and exiting your room, slamming the door close. Finding all the kids standing at the end of the hall, waiting for Bruce's next move. He simply took a deep breath before looking towards Damian. "Show her the media feed that was put together."

Damian gave a small nod as he took the tablet that Tim held out to him. Everyone stepped aside as the youngest made his way to the door. Looking up at his father for a moment before nodding his head and opening the door.

Bruce stood in the doorway as Damian walked over to the bed. Sitting down next to you before handing over the tablet for you to look through. He watched you hesitantly look through the preselected news reports and and filtered social media sites, finding no information of your sudden disappearance.

Instead of answering, you simply handed the tablet back to Damian with a defeated look in settling on your face. Bruce cleared his throat, causing Damian to stand up and walk out of the room.

"Are you going to be our sister now since no one is looking for you?" Damian's voice cut through the silence as he waited for your response. He did feel a little bad for lying about you not being missed by those you once knew. Especially when they all saw every worry post that your family made, wondering about where you were.

Though he was aware that you needed the push to finally see them as your family. "Do you have to stay locked in here where we don't get to see you?"

Bruce gave you a stern glare as he gave you a quiet warning, "Alfred will bring you breakfast in the morning. I expect you to eat what he brings you with a smile."

With that, the door to your room got closed for the last time that night

Bruce told all the kids to get ready for patrol and stormed down the hall

Each of them shared glances before going to do what was ordered of them

The next day when Alfred brought breakfast, you didn't yell like you usually would when he arrived

And when he returned to gather your plate, Alfred was surprised to see that you had eaten a little more than half the food

With each meal that was given to you, the less food was left for clean up

The kids still talked to you through the door during the day to try and connect with you despite the fact you won't say a word to them

But after a week, they could tell you would come and sit by the door when they would 'visit' you

You never made any effort to connect, so they all just figured the loneliness was becoming too much

One night, Cass stayed at the manor, saying she wanted to have a night away from their nightly activities

She was sat outside your room for most of the night, making little conversation through the door as she leaned against it

She made a small comment about missing the feeling she got when you all had skated when first meeting

Everything got quiet for a moment before Cass heard a soft hum from the other side of the door

She shifted slightly before mentioning that there was the small ice rink that the family made for you, hesitantly offering to take you to spend some time out of your bedroom

There was a beat before Cass heard you whisper a soft "Really?"

Cass waited a moment before reaching up to open the door just slightly to see you sitting on the floor and looking at her with a slightly pleading look

She helped you up and grabbed a light jacket for the two of you before taking your hand and leading you towards the Batcave

At first you were stunned by all the tech and equipment that was in the cave, but Cass lead you towards the rink and grabbed the skates

She helped tie yours like you had done for her before and carefully lead you onto the ice

You were slightly wobbly on your feet in the beginning, but Cass assumed it was due to not skating for over a month

You both did some laps around before moving on to small jumps and maneuvers

Neither of you noticed how much time had passed until the sound of an engine cut through the relative quiet

All the boys were surprised to see you in the cave when they got back from patrol, but they didn't let their shock last too long

They went over to the edge of the rink and helped you and Cass off the ice and out of the skates

Cass wrapped her arms around you while beaming about how much she enjoyed spending the time together

Bruce saw you tense up at first before you hesitantly returned the hug with a far off look in your eyes

The boys soon joined the hug with large smiles at the fact you weren't fighting against them anymore

Bruce stood off to the side for a moment to enjoy the scene in front of him

Walking over towards all his kids, them moved enough for Bruce to get a clear look at your face.

A grin crossed his face as he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead

"Welcome home, sweetie."

Sorry about the wait for this! I have been busy with work, family, and doctors appointments this past month. I do have a few requests in my inbox that I will be working through, but I hope to get those done somewhat quicker than I have been. Thank you all for the support and I hope you all have amazing days!

[cattlemons]

When The Tide Returns Lost Memories

| Wriothesley awakens in a foreign land with fragmented memories and a desperate need to return to someone he can't quite remember.

TW: Memory loss, unspecified violence, not proofread, 4k words of hurt and comfort

a.n. saw this post by @cyb-rdva about this fic idea. I just got a buzz and felt like writing it! I don't really know how permissions work on here but I hope I did it justice!

Wriothesley’s eyes find the crippling light as he squints away the last remaining darkness, pushing it to the back of his mind once more. Finally feeling himself take a breath, he hears himself grunt awake; much like a machine starting up after months of disuse. Creaking and clanking to a sitting position, he feels the cracks of his bones and the bruises of his injuries sting him.

Where am I?

Disoriented beyond belief, he let his eyes collect a view of his surroundings. The gears of his brain churned and turned but, to no avail, he’s completely lost on where he is. Panic seized him as his parched throat let out a hoarse yell– he doesn’t know who exactly he was trying to reach out to but, dear archons, let them be nice.

The door opened just as he finally found enough strength to stand. Training his eyes onto the green-headed figure by the door, his focus was sharp despite the delirium he had experienced not long ago; the tendons of his feet ready to leap like a coiled spring waiting for the undoing. 

The green-haired man placed his two palms out, ducking ever so slightly to make himself look as small and harmless as possible. Wriothesley assessed the situation with the sense of a trained warrior, looking the man up and down before releasing his tightly clenched fists, letting the white fade to a warm red. 

Wait a second!

Wriothesley pounced at the tall man and knocked him over to the ground, the thud of their fall resounding throughout the room. His knuckles which are covered with hidden bruises and healed cuts saw the light of day after a long time being hidden. Choking the man, Wriothesley sneered and gruffed, “Where’s my gauntlet, NOW! WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO?”

The man flailed helplessly beneath him as he clawed at his bound neck, searching for escape. Before anything else could unfold, both men were pulled apart; the lanky man by a man in Liyuean garment and Wriothesley by a purple child.

What the fuck is going on?? SHIT, WHERE IS SHE? I NEED TO FIND HER! I NEED TO TELL HER...!

Huh? Who? Tell her what?

The child made some sort of listless remark but Wriothesley was not aware of what she said. His ears rang deafeningly as his vision wavered. His consciousness was escaping him and his panic and fight whittled down and numbed itself, leaving a sense of nothing in its wake. He can’t help but mourn if this is to be his last moment of living. What kind of defeat was this? Surely, he deserved a better battle to die on. 

His mind winds down slowly, unfinished strings of thoughts urging him along from what topic to the next before gently placing him right on the edge of consciousness. Dreary and barely awake, he wonders if anyone can hear his last words and wishes. If he could, he would’ve chuckled dryly, even now on his deathbed (or rather death-floor) he is still nothing but an orphaned boy with no one to mourn for him. Dust returns to dust, he supposes.

As he feels his eyes wane to a close, the only thing on his mind is a name with a face left unplaced and undecided, oh how he loved her.

WAIT! WHO? HOLD ON!

He was out cold, now. 

—

The second time he awoke, Wriothesley was ready for a fight. Whatever foul play, or trickery used on him that first time, won’t get him twice. Raring to go, Wriothesley opened his eyes wide and ready to jump into a fighting stance, only to be stopped by a pair of cuffs chaining him to the bed.

Something! He needs to find SOMETHING?!

Controlling his uneven breaths, he forced and willed the adrenaline pumping in his veins to subside; there’s no use for it if he’s bound and alone, anyway. For now, he chose to focus on locating where he was and (more importantly) where his gauntlets were. Sure, the normal man can’t hope to survive a fight against him but something within him is anxious to be away from it. He almost feels physically ill without it. 

Damned wrist decorator causing me separation anxiety. Just like a damned dog.

At the sound of a creak, he snapped his neck towards the open door. Behind the heavy timber, stood the green-haired man he has yet to learn the name of (but rest assured if he’s come for a round two, Wriothesley is ready to choke him; this time to sleep). Fortunately for everyone in the vicinity, the man had no ill will. With the patience of a saint, the man stepped into the room, carrying with him a bruised neck and a handful of medication supplies. 

Setting his things down on a table, he watched Wriothesley with calm eyes. The same cannot be said for Wriothesley whose sharp steel irises were pointed at him. Muscles rippling in tandem, Wriothesley pulled at the cuffs that kept him in place. Truth be told, the steel keeping him bound to the bed may just snap in a few more strong pulls had the child from “yesterday” not stepped in, this time clearly brandishing a syringe swirling with translucent liquid. 

That shut him up quickly. 

Relatively calm now (and sedated), the thin man slowly inched closer to Wriothesley, pushing back his glasses from his nose while at it. With a slightly quicker heart pace, he explained in a rushed tone, “I am Baizhu, a local physician of Liyue and owner of The Bubu Pharmacy. We’re located in Liyue Harbor. We found you unconscious outside our pharmacy so we decided to take you in.”

This “Baizhu” figure looked to his side at the small purple child as if to see whether or not he’d forgotten something. The two seem to be close because without missing a beat, the child showed him a page of her book. This seemed to jog the man’s memory as he continued, “Ah, yes. Your weapons and, ahem, gauntlets are in our safekeeping. They were badly damaged so we were worried the bones hidden underneath weren’t fairing all too well, either, please don’t misunderstand.”

Taking his words in, Wriothesley felt a slight bit of guilt for almost beating the guy up. The man, however, doesn’t seem to be waiting for an apology, rather, his eyes gleamed in a sort of curiosity. Wriothesley supposes he would be the same way if the situation had been flipped and this Baizhu man showed up half-dead at the doors of Meropide.

Wait, Meropide! Shit, MEROPIDE!

“Sir, how long have I been here?! Please, answer me!”

Baizhu’s eyebrows scrunched in slight perplexity and hesitation, he wasn’t too keen on agitating the man again. 

“Well, we found you on the sixth and today’s the nineteenth, so, about two weeks. Yes,” he answered, stepping away, in case the mild sedation was, indeed, too mild a dose. 

Shit! That’s way too long for me to be away! I won’t be surprised if the place is in shambles by now. Fuck, I need to get back! I NEED TO GET BACK! IS SHE OKAY? I NEED TO APOLOGIZE!

To whom?

Fighting against the effects of the syringe, Wriothesley tensed his forearms and willed them to move. Against his better judgment, Baizhu saw this and went to undo the locks of his cuffs. He supposes, that if he’s going to break through the chains, might as well take it off him to prevent any further injury. 

“Though I am uncuffing you, sir, I suggest you take it easy in the meantime. You have a long list of blunt traumas all over you and from the looks of it, your memory isn’t too intact. I don’t know what happened to you or where you want to rush off to with your weapons but I would be an unfit physician if I allowed you to go anywhere outside my supervision for the time being. At least, let me help you remember so I can send you off with a clear mind on your shoulders.”

“Please, just calm down, when I release you, alright… there...”

Arms now freed, Wriothesley calmed down significantly; somewhere in his mind, he felt safer knowing he could beat someone to a pulp if need be. Finally feeling safe enough to be civil, he decided he’d stay long enough to get some answers and his weapon and memory back. Wriothesley knew it’d be best to stay. He can’t be so sure he’ll find a physician who knows enough of their field of study to claim they can help bring back his foggy memories. That said, he won’t be wasting any time. 

“Mr. Baizhu, please tell me what you know about my… umm… predicament. I don’t quite enjoy being puzzled this way. Also, the gauntlets, I want them back,” he said, before quickly pasting a ‘please’ behind his sentence. 

Yes, she always liked it better when I’m civil; like a proper duke. She?

Wriothesley wasn’t sure what was going on with him at the moment. Everything’s in disarray and he can’t help but want to rip the tufts of gray out of his head. Nothing is making sense to him. The memories and facts that should be concretely sealed within the wrinkles of his brain are now fluttering in front of him. Try as he may, they flit just out of his reach. He only hopes his memories come back to him quickly so he can somehow get back to wherever he needs to be to get to whoever she is to do whatever it is he needs to do.

This is truly shit.

—

Meanwhile, you were running up and down the underground prison and makeshift factory to make sure it, ironically, stayed afloat. In all honesty, all you wanted to do was cry and wail at your husband’s disappearance. Yes, disappearance. Though you’ve heard many relegate their condolences to you, you accepted none of it. You were sure he was alive somewhere out there; he just needed to come back home. 

Some may say it’s denial but acceptance simply wasn’t the answer right now. Not when the livelihood of thousands of people rely on your emotional stability to ensure proper functions of this prison they call home. Meropide is counting on you to keep yourself together so acceptance truly isn’t needed right now; not when acceptance would mean falling to your knees as you plan funeral arrangements. No, as long as hope is free, the man you call your husband is alive.

Today’s to-do list is a mile and a half long but it all needs doing so that’s exactly what you’re going to spend your time and elbow grease on. You started your day at the break of dawn when the waters were still moving in compliance with the moon’s pull. The dull thud of the waves against the steel prison walls keeps you grounded as you check off your lover’s duties one by one. Noon soon takes hold as the water calms down relatively, now giving way to the clanks of machinery. The resounding clicks and clacks of tools and shoes signify that all was still in order. Night finally came and the mile-long list has been taken care of, well mostly. Last but not least, you’ll have to surface and meet with someone very important. 

After throwing on whatever clean and acceptable outfit you find within your closet in the duke’s Meropide residence, you are off to Poisson to meet with Navia. You sure hope she’s found something useful. 

At moments like this, you’re grateful for your long-standing friendship with the ever-kind and well-connected President of The Spina di Rosula. Navia has been spearheading the search for your husband for the past few weeks. She turned the whole of Fontaine upside down last week but it yielded no results. Though Spina di Rosula is an organization built to help with Fontanian problems, you’re glad she spared no effort to search beyond the borders of Fontaine for you.

“I just don’t know where he could have gone, Navia. One minute we fought and before you know it the clock strikes midnight and it’s the second day he’s gone,” you let out as your chest starts heaving, a poor effort to hold back the sorrow and fear you felt. 

“Navia, I can’t let that be the last interaction we have, I just… I can’t live not knowing if he’s done with me or, worse, if something bad happened to him. I just want to know he’s alright and then, if he so wishes, we can part ways.”

Navia pats your back gently as your breathing grows heavier, “I don’t know the duke all that much but I know enough to say that he’s mad for you. He’d kill for you just as quickly as he’d die for you, my dear. Give him credit that he’ll return, if only to see and make amends with you, hmm?”

Your throat is raw from keeping the dam of your rising emotions from spilling. You turned to your sole companion in all this, “Are you sure, we’ll find him, Navia?”

“All the signs we’ve found so far indicate him being alive. As long as that duke of yours is on Teyvat, we’ll find him, my dear partner, I am sure of it,” she cheered softly, conviction intertwined with a strong dose of compassion. 

With that, tears soak your face as you cry softly. Your shoulders shook as rivulets of sorrow trickle past your lashes onto your cheeks. You couldn’t possibly let them out in Meropide so you let them out here. Within the confines of the four walls of Poisson, you let your walls crumble if only for a bit. 

You hope he comes back to you soon. You don’t know what you’d do without him. 

— 

“Do you recall anything at all before your waking,” Baizhu asked Wriothesley for the umpteenth time since his wake from the sedation-induced stupor. 

The two figures, Wriothesley and Baizhu, were sitting outside the pharmacy doing a routine inspection. For the past week, Wriothesley has been fairly cooperative in working with Baizhu to further his recuperation; if only to get his gauntlet back and return quicker to Meropide and to the missing woman his heart claims to love so much.

Wriothesley still has no clue as to what his sense of urgency is based on. Of course, the meropide needs him but in the event of his absence, he’s set aside some protocols and second-in-commands that can take up the mantle for a bit before his return. This is something he recalled a few days ago and it’s helped him ease up and stay put for the time being. The exercises Baizhu has given him are certainly giving promising results on jogging his memory back but, much to his dismay, none about the mystery woman. It’s eating his heart up like a worm on an apple, plaguing his heart and making him feel rotten for forgetting her. 

Who are you, damn it.

Damn, even cursing at her feels wrong. 

Alright, let him fix that-

FIX… FIX!

Just like that, the memories of the weeks prior come crashing onto him like the waves of the midnight tides. All that he’s been through, getting knocked out, the fight, everything filters through his mind like an hourglass finally filling up. Despite all of those moments being mostly shit, he’s overjoyed of remembering what he thought he lost, of remembering you.

By Archons, it’s you!

“Baizhu! That’s it! I need to see her, I need to see my girl! Oh, for the life of me, Baizhu, I need to apologize to MY GIRL,” Wriothesley yelled, joyous. 

He does not recall ever being so excited to apologize but he’d be damned if anything wipes the smile off of his face. How can he not? Imagine falling in love all over again with the woman that’s captured your very being. Imagine seeing her in the fresh light of a stranger only wishing to be within her gravity then realizing you were the moon pulling her tides of love all along. Imagine, oh archons, that can fucking wait. 

He’s leaving now!

Baizhu smiles at the breakthrough, both of his patient’s memory and of a new memory recovery technique. Calling for Qiqi, Baizhu asks her to get the man’s big boy hands because, yes, we’re finally letting him go home. No, without the sedation. 

—

On the ferry ride back, the duke sat painfully still as he stared at the gauntlets that he now wore. The gauntlets that symbolizes his power in Meropide, the ones you've basically created with him now that he remembers your significance in his life. No wonder he can't bear to part with it.

Suddenly, the vast blue separating Liyue and Fontaine seems not enough time now that his thoughts finally catch up to him.

Of course, he was beyond ecstatic to see the love of his life again but thinking back to how he left things off… he shudders at the thought. He’s downright shit for leaving this mess for you to shoulder on your own, not to mention, the fight that went down before he disappeared. 

If the roles were reversed, he doesn't know if he’ll ever function properly again. He left you after saying some nasty things and did not return. Not even after two weeks, in fact, it took him three. He wonders if you’re mad at him still or if you’ve fully given up on him. He wonders if you think he left you for good on his own accord. He hopes your heart hasn’t been damaged beyond repair. He knows he’ll do a lot worse to himself if it is. 

He just hopes you haven’t completely locked him out of your heart forever because if you haven’t fully closed the doors on him, if he even sees a sliver of forgiveness in your eyes, he’ll lay his everything down in hopes of winning you back.

Wait for me, please, my love.

—

The ocean’s gentle rhythm is the only lullaby strong enough to lure your restless heart and mind to sleep. You can’t imagine being able to rest if you were anywhere else. At least not after the stagnation of your search for your husband. It would’ve been one thing if it were slow progress but there’s nothing else to be found now. Last you heard, there were sightings of a seemingly Fontanian man in Liyue but before anyone could get ahold of him, he disappeared again. You suppose it makes full sense that a man with his extensive knowledge of the underground world and wide connections would slip away easily, after all this is well within his expertise. That’s what you chose to believe, anyway.

The murmurs of the sea continue drumming constant beats as your eyes flutter shut. You hope that this time they bring you to a distant land where all is well; where your husband is still beside you and he still looks at you like you hung the stars just for him. 

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, heavy clunking and ruckus were heard outside by the registrar of the Meropide. Soon, a crowd began to form as doors were opened and gates were unlocked, in came the man of the hour. 

The duke is back.

—

Doors were flung open as the duke marched in, passing by the stunned prisoners of the Meropide. There were rumors abuzz that the duke had fled, of course, his sentence was served to fulfillment so, technically, he did not flee. The spicy part of this scandal was that his wife was left stranded and alone to deal with the mess he’s left. Truth be told, this wasn’t so far from the truth in Wriothesley’s heart. 

Opening the massive steel doors to his residence, Wriothesley whispered prayers. With every step he climbed, he murmured a small prayer and promise of devotion to whichever Celestia deity would grant him your patience and forgiveness. Perhaps, however, he should’ve been whispering his promises of devotion to you instead. 

Like seeing a mirage in a barren desert of swirling guilt and longing, you lay there asleep but so very beautiful. The rise and fall of your chest fills him with ease as the scent of your perfume grows stronger with each step he takes toward you. His eyes begin to water as his feet grow heavy, it seems his heart grew to immense proportions just at seeing you within touching distance. 

He reaches your side and kneels to be at level with your sleeping face. He studies you, slowly memorizing all the things he wishes to never forget. He engraves into his mind, the dips of your cupid’s bow and the flick at the end of your nose. He etches into the crevices of his brain the way your eyelashes flutter just so slightly at whatever it is you sense. Finally, he allows himself to fully sink into your hypnotic gaze as your eyelids lift ever so slightly to reveal his favorite colors. He wishes to have those exact shades enshroud him forever.

The moment you open your eyes, you can’t help but smile, though you remain unmoving. 

How lovely! They did bring you good dreams. 

“My… after so long of not seeing you, I must’ve forgotten how many scars you have,” you giggled lightly as your eyes counted his scars one by one, hoping to update your foggy memory.

You smile as you continue, “two new ones over your left eyebrow and one down your neck. Even in my dreams, you’re still as rugged as ever. I guess it’s my fault for falling in love with a man so magnetized by fights. I love you that way, though. Don’t change.”

Wriothesley could only sit in pious silence as he followed your gaze, he never wanted to part from it.

“My love, why don’t you take me to where you are? I never want to wake up if this is what sleeping is like. I don’t mind remembering new scars that never happened if only to stay with you like this,” you whispered lowly as your hands went out to reach for his cheeks. 

It’s impulsive and you knew the moment his form revealed its corporeal quality, he’d fade away from even your dreams and you’d be left alone again but you just… you just had to. He compels you in a way that no one ever has and ever could. Even if only in this second, you wish to believe he’s just within reach. 

Just like you remember him to be.

Wriothesley closed his eyes as he awaited your warmth. He can’t possibly move an inch or say a word when the atmosphere is filled and doused with your affection and love. He just can’t. If anything, he leans in almost antsy with anticipation. 

But your touch never came. 

Wriothesley opens his eyes to see tears falling down your face and your hands just a hair's breadth away from his cheeks. The droplets stained the carpet beneath him along with his heart.

Breaking piece by piece, his heart shatters as more tears fall from the corner of your eyes; even more when you begin to speak.

“Wriothesley, if I don’t touch you, will you stay? Even as a memory, will you continue to be mine? Or will my mind take that away from me too?”

His heart sank as he watched his love break before him. Not standing for this anymore, he pulled your face closer to his and sealed your lips onto his, claiming this moment as real. 

You cried into the kiss letting every single feeling and emotion you’ve pent up run free. Wriothesley pulled you into him and held you as close as he physically could. He wants to absorb every piece of you into his heart to make sure he never has to part from you ever again. He’s selfish and he keeps ahold of you even after your lips part from his. 

He kisses every inch of your skin to make sure you know he’s here, to make sure he knows you’re here.

Pure, unadulterated love encapsulates his mind as he holds you close, afraid he might lose you again if he lets go. 

As the minutes faded into hours, Wriothesley murmured into your ears the undying poetry of his love for you, unyielding and true. Even if you don’t believe him right now, that’s alright. He’ll keep reminding you of it.

Every second of every minute.

Every minute of every hour.

And every hour of every damned day.

All until you remember it. 

a.n. This is a long one and I just kinda word vomit onto my laptop for a few hours and then bam it's right there. Please be gentle, I don't think I was all that awake for this banger!

Hope it's a good read!

[citruslullabies]

Ok I know I've mentioned this in a comment, but can we please see a scenario where Angel and Dogday are sleeping, and then Dogday just starts kicking Angel until he eventually ends up kicking them out of the bed?

Of course!

Trigger warnings: none

Romantic/platonic?: unspecified

Requested by: theveniceangel

Category: fluff before disastrous angst in the next fic

Ship (romantic or platonic): Dogday x reader

Word count: 404

That's the Kicker

After Dogday had been saved, he could finally experience things that he hadn't experienced in a long time.

He experienced genuine love and care by your hands, he experienced freedom with you. He also got better sleep and actual meals besides little random critters he would catch in his mouth as they crawled on him. Everything was so much better here. The big canine was currently getting ready for bed, getting all nice and snug as he looked up and saw you.

“Hi Angel, are you ready for bed?” He asked softly, making more room despite being so large. His eyes were soft as they watched you yawn and walk over, crawling into the bed you both shared. “Yeah… I am, work was a pain in the ass today.” You murmured, so you were looking forward to some good sleep.

You scratched behind Dogday's ears and got comfortable against him, breathing in his soft vanilla scent and his warmth recaptured in your home. Your eyes slowly fluttered closed as you fell asleep, and what only felt like a few seconds was quickly disturbed by a startling awakening. You let out an oof sound as you fell to the hardwood floor beside your bed. You hissed as you rubbed your head and cradled your gut with your right arm.

Utterly confused, you looked up at the bed and saw your big fluffy companion happily asleep. Twitching and kicking as he let out low boofs in his sleep as if chasing a rabbit in a field. Or maybe Catnap, yeah he was probably chasing Catnap. You groaned as you grabbed your nightstand for support as you got up, letting out a sigh as you gently stroked Dogday’s fur while very carefully getting back into the bed. “Please, please do not kick me again.” You whispered softly, praying that he wouldn't give you a harsh kick to the stomach again.

You slowly rolled the big dog over and laid back down, snuggling into his back and slowly falling asleep again. You pressed your face against his clean fur and got comfortable in the blankets as Dogday continued doing his own thing, drifting off into a dreamless sleep where everything was calm and quiet. You felt safe in bed with Dogday with your brain doing nothing but relaxing and leaving your senses to rest.

Shame that you woke up just an hour later off of the bed again.

Thanks for requesting!

[theclairvoyage]

Mermaid Purse - Part 2 of 3

I know I said this would be 2 parts, but I couldn't help myself :))

AO3 | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Marine Biologist!Reader x Joel Miller

Summary: Summertime in Clearwater, Florida means no school, which means instead of teaching Marine Biology at a local university, you're bartending at The Rusty Sawfish, a bar located on the marina of Clearwater Beach. The owner's friend, who happens to be a sexy, suarthy Texan contractor, moves to town to start over and help his friend with a project, stumbling across you in the process... and you thought summer in Florida couldn't get hotter.

Warnings for Part 2: Minors DNI! adult language, alcohol consumption, violence, mentions of blood, descriptions of a traumatic injury, sexual tension, reader is female, reader is able-bodied, unspecified age gap, allusions to smut, SMUT!, kissing, fingering (f receiving), ass play (f receiving), oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v, cuddling

WC: 4.5k

Morning arrives, and the air in your room feels different.

Not because there’s a handsome naked man sleeping next to you, though that’s reason enough— but it’s just a feeling. Like the sunshine peeking through the blinds is brighter, the sound of the ocean more soothing than usual, the chirps and calls of birds beyond the window musical instead of annoying.

And speaking of feeling, as you stir under the sheets, the soreness of your muscles and down there awakens. And the urge to pee.

You sit up in bed and peek at the man next to you, whose usual terse, rugged features are now serene. His face relaxed in slumber, lips pouty and hands folded underneath the pillow, messy curls drooping down to his brow. The rhythmic inhale and exhale of his breath.  You wonder what, if anything, he dreams of.

Carefully, you stand from the bed and tiptoe to your attached bathroom. Quietly, you shut the door and flip the light on, looking at your naked figure in the large mirror.

Small hickeys cover the skin on your breasts and around your nipples, though he was smart enough to avoid your neck.  Several more hickeys line the inner seam of your thigh, reminding you just how good he is with his mouth.  The reminiscence fuels your semi-dormant arousal.

Your skin glows, like a vampire in the sunlight.  Your hair points in all directions.  And your eyes have a glint of mischief, of whimsey.  But you did nothing wrong—quite the contrary.  And damn, it felt good.

You step back into your dim bedroom and slip under the covers, still warm from his body heat.  Pulling your phone from its face-down position on your nightstand, you check the time.  It’s still early, before 7:00 AM.

Joel stirs next to you, grumbling as he moves.  You’re not facing him, but you can feel him scooting closer to you.  He noses behind your ear as he pulls you flush to his chest.

“Been up long?” he murmurs just beneath your ear, leaving kisses on the soft skin there, working his way down to your shoulder.  You talk in between breathy moans.

“No,” you say, “maybe fifteen minutes.”

He hums in approval into your skin, turning you on your back and slotting himself between your legs.  You look up at him, astounded—how can he look even better when he’s just woken up, all grunts and messy curls and outgrown stubble?

Though he could say the same for you, how a woman so beautiful could be that way wearing nothing but unkempt hair, soft, glowing skin, and a smile on her face.  His fingers caress your cheek before stopping at your mouth, a callused index finger prodding at your lower lip, asking for permission.  You grant it, letting it enter your mouth, closing your eyes as you suck softly on his finger.

He growls, removing his finger as he bends down to kiss you.  It’s all teeth and tongue and spit—messy, hot, and full of unspoken words.  You’re not sure how you made it this far in life without passion as tumultuous as this, like this starts a new chapter for you.

Soon, Joel is kissing his way down your body, stopping to admire his artwork.  Licking the red marks softly, his lips and tongue apologizing for their misbehavior last night.  Murmuring how you taste so good andhow you’re so beautiful.  He looks up at you with those flaming amber eyes, full of more unspoken words as he hooks your knees over his shoulders.

“Joel,” you whine, running a finger through his hair as he tastes you again, a whine that quickly turns into a sharp gasp.  He hums in satisfaction into your core as he laps you up, groaning again about how you taste so fuckin’ good.

You’re caught between trying to watch his gorgeous face as he works you into a fit of ecstasy, a picture to savor in your mind, and snapping your eyes shut, back arching off the bed at the sheer pleasure he’s giving you.

Eyes on me, baby, he groans into you, rewarding you with two thick fingers and a third in your ass when you obey.  And the stretch hurts, tearing into the sore spots, but only for a moment.  And then, it’s white-hot and all-consuming and you feel fucking good.

He coaxes your orgasm out of you slowly, a methodical and gratifying mixture of his mouth and fingers.  This isn’t his first rodeo, but he knows how to alter his approach to pull those high, breathy moans and gasps from you, giving himself a gold star when you curse and spit his name.  And when you finally come on his face, pulling his hair as your muscles spasm, your vision blurs—white, then black, then white again, fuzzy around the edges.

He continues talking you through it—a couple that’s it, baby and curses and god, you’re fuckin’ beautiful, stopping only when your hips slow their circling, and your thighs relax ever so slightly.  But he doesn’t give you a break, no—because that was just the warm up.

And then he’s kissing you, letting you taste yourself on his lips and tongue, asking are you ready for me, baby and can you take it again.  And you’re nodding fervently, impatient, needing him inside you even though you haven’t yet come down from your first high.  He stares into your eyes as he hikes your legs up and over his hips, lines up with your soaked entrance and pushes in, your faces mirroring one another—mouths agape, breaths paused, foreheads close enough to touch.

You’re so full of him, but not full enough—like you can’t ever get enough of him or his cock.  His rhythm is slower than last night, but he’s so deep, so attentive to your needs, like all it took was one time to learn you and your body.  He can’t take his eyes off you, arching for him and stuffed and crying and whimpering his name.  Like it’s the first time he’s heard his name in his entire life.

And he’s a quiet man, but not while he’s inside you—no, then he never seems to shut up.  Making sure you know that you’re taking me so well, again that you’re so goddamn perfect, and of course that you feel so fuckin’ good.  You wish you could rewind and replay this moment at your leisure.

The kettle is close to boiling, and he’s asking are you close, sweet girl, though you both know you are with each quick pant that leaves your lungs, the way tears leak from the corners of your eyes as you try to hold on, try to keep your focus on him as he thrusts in and out of you.  You nod, too taxed and wound up to speak, vexed by his obsidian eyes.  Let go, baby, he urges you, hands cupping your face.  Come for me.  So, you do.

You vaguely register that he’s again talking you through it, praising you, but you can’t tell if your eyes are still open.  He follows suit, spilling his hot spend inside you with a whimper as you squeeze him.  He lies on top of you, careful not to crush you, a hand smoothing your sweaty hair from your face.

“Y’alright?” He asks, a lopsided smile plastered on his also sweaty but devilishly handsome face.

“I think so.  Haven’t really come back yet,” you reply.  Then, he kisses you, slowly and softly, a moment so tender you aren’t sure that it’s real.

Moments pass as you lie there, underneath him and still full of him as he softens.  Finally, he pulls out of you as you protest, needing to pee again.  When he watches you tiptoe to the bathroom and beckon him to join you in the shower, he’s not so soft anymore.

Most of the next hour is spent with Joel on you, inside you, and he’s surprisingly agile and resilient for his age.  You’re raw and tired, but you find yourself needing more and more of him, and he you, like your bodies were made for each other—the perfect fit and chemistry.

Around 10:00 AM, you convince him that it’s time for coffee and sunshine, and he obliges.  He dissents to your decision to put some clothes on until he sees that it’s his flannel you’re wearing and fights the urge to bend you over the countertop and fuck you for the fourth time this morning.  Later, you tell him, promising him with a kiss.

“No work today?” He asks you, sipping black coffee from a dolphin mug, which he begrudgingly accepted from you.  You’re pushing eggs and sausage around a pan, feeling his eyes all but burning holes through the back of his flannel you’re wearing.

“Nope.  But I do have work to do.  You could join me,” you say, turning around to catch him staring.  He cocks an eyebrow at you, interested.

“I’m listenin’,” he says, eyes locked on you as he sips from the mug again.

“I’m doing some research on the shark population in this area.  Was going to take a boat out and do some tagging, but I think it’ll be too windy,” you ramble, not facing him directly, but turning halfway between the stove and him so he can hear you over the sizzle of food.

“And?”

“And—,” you start, “Gives me a good opportunity to do some old-fashioned surveying.”

“So… you’re gonna swim?” He asks, propping the mug down, which sounds empty now from the way it echoes on the countertop.  You hear him stand from the chair and prod over to you, sliding his hands underneath the front of the flannel, warm on your torso.  He kisses the skin in front of your ear before working down your jawline and nearly sucking a mark into your neck.

“Food’s burnin’, sweetheart,” he teases you.  The food is done, thankfully, so you move it off the hot burner and onto one that’s off.  Joel’s still kissing you, waiting for an answer to his question.

“N-no, no swimming—ah, fuck,” you groan, as one hand squeezes your breast while the other travels further south.

“Distracted, are we?” Joel whispers in your ear, spreading your wet folds.  “Still so wet for me,” he marvels.

He turns you around, pushing the flannel apart to uncover your breasts and torso, swirling his fingertip around your clit.  You gasp, staring into his burning eyes.

“Joel, the food,” you protest.  Your stomach flips when he gets on his knees and spreads your legs with his hand.  He leans forward to kiss your thigh, chuckling into the skin there.

“Oh, don’t worry, baby—I’m gonna eat,” he says, pulling your leg over his shoulder and devouring you.

After yet another orgasm and some real breakfast, you finally get to tell Joel your real plan for the day—to take a GoPro and a drone and survey the sharks near parts of the beach.  He’s more than happy to accompany you.

Once everything is loaded into his truck, you two make haste for the beach.  Windy doesn’t quite cover the conditions out here—and the waves are tumultuous.  There are various “beach closed” signs posted on the shoreline, and rightfully so.  Wind this fast and waves this high make it easy for swimmers to get knocked over and makes it easier for big marine predators to confuse an unsuspecting person for real prey.

“That gonna be a problem for us?” Joel asks as you two stake out a spot on the dock of the marina.

“Nope.  I have my school ID.  We have clearance to do research in most conditions—obviously at our own risk,” you tell him, getting the GoPro ready.  It might be too windy for the drone.

“So, what’re you lookin’ for out here, darlin’?” He asks, watching you set up the GoPro, a laptop, and an iPad for notes.

“Long story short, I’m surveying the shark population here to see if there have been any changes to the health of the ecosystem,” you explain briefly.

“In layman’s terms, sweetheart,” he teases you, wind whipping his curls about his face.  You fish a hat out of your backpack and hand it to him.  “Thanks, darlin’.”

“Clearwater passed some laws a few years ago to limit fishing and help some endangered shark species recover numbers, so part of our job at the university is to help the city make sure those laws are working—or not,” you explain.

Joel likes watching you talk about this—your childlike zeal, curiosity, and passion make him smile.

“I see why you’re a teacher,” he says, nudging your arm with a smirk.  Your cheeks heat.

“Are you making fun of me, Joel Miller?”

“Absolutely not,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you.  “I’m kinda amazed, if I’m bein’ honest.”

His confession shocks you.  “By me?  Why?”

He shrugs before pulling you into his arms, kissing your temple as you settle into him.

“Just somethin’ special about you,” he murmurs into your hair before letting go, tone indicative that he wanted to say more.  “Let’s do this thing, eh?”

Giggling, you hand him a spool of thick thread.  “This’ll go on the GoPro, and we’ll drop it in.  It’s not much, but with humans not being in the water today, we might be able to see some good stuff down here.”

He nods, tying the thread to the GoPro and unspooling several feet.  You connect the GoPro to the iPad to make sure it’s capturing video correctly.

“Ready?” You ask him.  He makes several tough-looking fancy knots and nods, handing the device to you.

“Must’ve been a Boy Scout,” you tease him, winking.  His nostrils flare slightly before he rolls his eyes at you.

“Boy Scout,” he scoffs.  “’M self-taught.”  You widen your eyes and whistle sarcastically, to which he laughs.

“Alright, let’s drop it here.  This is probably 30 feet deep.”

Joel slowly lowers the GoPro into the water, and you both watch the feed as it sinks to the bottom.  It’s calmer underneath than it looks from the surface, though still murky.  There’s a decent view of the water beyond the dock.

“Now what?” He asks.

“It’s like fishing.  We just wait.”

“Now that’s something ‘m familiar with,” he says excitedly, crouching to sit next to you, grunting as he does.

“Are you gonna be able to get back up?” You tease.  The rapport between the two of you comes naturally, like you’ve known each other for a while.  Joel pinches your side lightly.

“Watch it, sweetheart.”

Over the next hour, a variety of fish and sharks swim in front of the GoPro.  Red snappers, groupers, sheepshead, cobias, and sea bass make up the majority of the sightings.  All of the sharks were either spinners or blacktips, along with the occasional nurse shark.

Joel was amazed by your expertise of marine life.  Each question he had was answered and explained clearly by you—and truthfully, you’re always stoked to share your wealth of knowledge about the ocean world.  Usually, you have these conversations with Georgia or one of your students—never a romantic partner.  Until now, that is.

Suddenly, a big figure approaches the GoPro from some meters away.  You grab Joel’s arm and point toward the screen.

“What is it?” He asks, as intrigued by it as you are.

“Not sure, but it’s definitely a shark,” you whisper.

The shark cruises closer to the camera, and the smaller fish swim away from view.  The deep body, blunt snout, and elongated pectoral fins tell you that it’s a bull shark.  It’s big, but not record-breaking big—likely 6 feet long.

“Oh, fuck,” you marvel, “It’s a bull.”

The two of you observe it swim toward the camera before turning at the last second.  These sharks tend to swim in murky waters and cruise near the bottom of shallower waters.  They’re notorious for being aggressive and have been responsible for 26 fatal attacks on humans—plus, with one of the strongest bite forces per weight in the animal kingdom, they are not one to spar with.

“I’ve heard ‘bout these guys.  Scary,” Joel says.

“They are nothing to mess with, absolutely.  Though scary is a relative term,” you say, half-teasing.  Joel nudges you again.

“You sayin’ you’d jump down there with that thing?”

“No way.  It’s perfect hunting conditions for them.  Windy, cloudier waters—easier for them to catch something that has no clue it’s coming.”

Joel whistles.  “How can they even see down there?”

“They can sense electrical impulses via these small pores on their face, so anything with a heartbeat can be detected.  They also have a keen sense of smell—which is why you should never go in the ocean when you’ve got an open wound.  It’s bait, essentially,” you reply seamlessly.

Joel stands abruptly, looking toward the shoreline.  Gone is any semblance of joy from his face.  He points in that direction.

“So—we’re in trouble, here, darlin’,” he says sternly, pulling your arm gently to alert you.

Oh, no.

Three kids, likely middle school age, have entered the water.  No parents or guardians are anywhere to be found, and with the beach closed, there aren’t any lifeguards.

You check the iPad and see the bull shark has noticed them.  They’re 100, 150 meters from the dock, in shallow water—perfect placement for the shark.  It darts away from view.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, “We have to get them out of there.  Now!”

You leave your stuff at the dock and sprint toward the beach, fast footsteps pounding on the wood.  Joel follows suit.  A dorsal fin carves through the surface of the water, heading directly for the splashing kids.

“Shark!  Get out of the water! NOW!” You scream, lungs raw from sprinting and yelling.  The kids don’t hear you until it’s too late.

Suddenly, the dorsal fin makes a sharp turn, and one of the kids goes down.  The other two shriek and dash toward you and Joel.  An eerie cloud of red billows out from where the shark is as it continues thrashing.  The water is so shallow that the shark’s caudal fin is visible, splashing as it whips around.

“Joel, call 911!” You screech.  He whips out his phone and obeys.

This is the worst possible scenario for a beachgoer.  Panic sets in like a late-night freeze and seizes your lungs.  The air inside them is trapped, heavy—like it’s turned to sludge.  The kid surfaces from the water, a haunting, waterlogged howl escaping his throat.  You grab a long net from the lifeguard chair and sprint over.  It’s dangerous for you to enter during an attack, but you have no choice if you want to save this kid’s life.  You’re ankle-deep now, the bloody water covering your feet.

Quickly, you spot the dorsal fin and stab where you estimate the gills would be as hard as you can with the blunt end of the net.  The caudal fin whips around a few times before charging again.  You smack the gills as hard as you possibly can once more, and the shark retreats momentarily.  You know it’ll come back soon—time to get out.

The kid surfaces again, reaching for you.  He can’t be older than 10.  Quickly, you pick him up and move as fast as you can toward Joel.  His wails and sobs wrack your soul, and you do your best not to cry.  You lie him down by Joel, who has taken his flannel off.

A large, angry bite mark on the child’s left lower leg oozes red onto the sand.  He’s screaming still, and his friends are sobbing too.  Joel steps in with his shirt and ties it above the bite mark to hinder the bleeding.  You hold the child’s head in your hands and look directly into petrified, bright blue eyes.

“Hey, you’re gonna be okay,” you try to soothe him, “Look at me.  Grab my hands.”

The child obeys, though he’s still sobbing and hyperventilating.  Joel stays put near the child’s leg, looking at you with a terrified expression.

Sirens blare in the distance before you see a firetruck and two ambulances pull up.  Several cop cars follow.

“Breathe,” you command him.  “Just breathe, buddy—you’ll be fine.  The paramedics are here.”

The boy nods, unblinking, eyes still glued to yours—like looking at you is numbing the pain temporarily, like if he blinks it’ll start hurting again.  In this moment, it’s just the two of you.  As if healing energy is flowing from your hands to his head, down to his leg—he calms.  Logical you knows it’s just adrenaline covering up the pain, but you’re unfazed by it.

Before you know it, the boy is on a stretcher and taken away in the ambulance.  They assure you he’ll be fine, commending you for saving his life—but you don’t feel like it.  A kid almost died, and now a shark will likely be killed.  Deep down, you know it’s to protect the public—but how many animals—and people—have to die before humans understand that the ocean is a wild, unknown, unfriendly, and unforgiving place?

A deep, soothing voice snaps you back to reality, placating your nerves.

“Y’alright, honey?” Joel asks, rubbing your back softly as you both watch the ambulance leave for the hospital.  You swallow loudly, your throat bone dry and stinging, like you’ve been crying.  You feel him stare at you, but you can’t look at him.  Like if you take one look at those rich amber eyes, you’ll lose the composure you’ve had since pulling the young boy out of the shark’s reach.

“Hey, c’mere,” he soothes, pulling you into his chest, arms firm around your back.  Finally, you relax and sink into him, and like a string was pulled, the hot, salty tears start flowing.

Joel comforts you as you weep into his shirt.  His large hands span up and down your back, smooth your hair, and squeeze you tight so there’s never a moment when you’re not glued to him.  S’okay, sweet girl, he whispers in your ear. Y’saved a life.  I’m so proud of you.

Time passes as you two stand there like this.  You’re not sure how much, but eventually, he pulls back and cups your face in his hands, swiping away the streaks of tears leaking from your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, smiling.  It kind of pisses you off how beautiful he is and how even in pain, he conveys so much tenderness and care.

“Hey,” you croak, giggling.  Joel laughs, too.

“There she is.”

He leans in and kisses the tears from your chin and cheeks before stopping at your lips.  It’s a gesture so poignant, so compassionate that it almost makes you cry again.

“S’go home, yeah?  I’ll cook for you.  We can do whatever y’want,” Joel offers, wrapping an arm around you as you return to the dock for your equipment.

You look at him, beaming, still so beautiful to him even though you’ve been crying.  Rosy cheeks, puffy eyes, frizzy hair.  The sight stops his heart, he thinks.

He could get used to this.

It’s late.

You know you should go to bed—you’re exhausted.  Eyes bloodshot from crying, forehead sore from constant furrowing, soles of your feet bruised from pounding on the dock at full force.  But Joel has other plans.

First, he made you dinner—and it shouldn’t have shocked you that he’s an amazing cook, given that you know he’s good with his hands, but it did.  Juicy chicken, creamy mashed potatoes with chicken gravy, and roasted vegetables, all cooked to perfection.  My daughter’s favorite, he recollected.  A daughter?! The words came out before you processed what he’d said, eyes giant saucers.  He’d laughed—Don’t worry, was gonna tell ya.

And then the real getting to know each other happened.  He spilled about his divorce, the custody battle, and his perfect daughter who still lives in Texas.  And he asked about your family and why you’re estranged, placed a warm hand on your forearm, thumb rubbing the skin there, as you ranted about your deadbeat dad and alcoholic mother, and the saints of an aunt and grandmother who raised you.

Afterwards, you attempted to do the dishes, as a way of thanking Joel for making dinner—but he insisted he’d do it.  Lemme take care of you, he grumbled, while looking at you in a way that made you acquiesce.  A look that said he’d either kill you or take you back to your bedroom and ravage you.

As you pulled two beers out of your fridge, prepared to enjoy the evening breeze and sunset on the patio, you turned to find the kitchen empty, instead hearing the gush of bathwater filling up the tub.

Joel led you in by the hand, undressed you, got distracted and caressed your skin, and placed a few tender kisses here and there, which made you shiver.  Now that y’got goosebumps, get in the tub, he teased you. 

He cracked open the beers and sat on the toilet seat, so you weren’t alone, and asked about a thousand more questions—of sharks, of you, of Clearwater.  His eyes twinkled when you answered, fixated only on you.  The loud rumble of his laugh echoed in the vaulted bathroom, and you wanted to hear it all night, but again he’d insisted it was time to get out of the tub—before y’turn to a damn prune.

And then he put lotion on the spots you couldn’t reach, combed your knotted hair, tucked you in bed before shimmying out of his jeans and shirt and joining you, rubbing the now-moisturized skin on your back and pressing soft kisses to your forehead.  Your fingers crept up and down his stomach, getting closer to where you wanted him most each time they followed the dark trail of hair. Y’sure? he asked.  We ain’t gotta do anything f’ya don’t want.

But when he looked down at you and saw the way you needed him and heard the way you whined for him, it became inevitable.  And he took care of you in a way no other man had or could attempt to, touching the deepest parts of you, making your pleasure his only passion, bringing you to the peak in each position you wanted him to.

He whispered you’re so beautiful, y’look so good on my cock, love bein’ inside you, love hearin’ you say my name into your ear as you cried out his name and pressed half-moon shapes into his skin, clutching him so close you felt his pulse against your own.

And you squeezed him as hard as you could when he said close, baby—I’m so close, until his hips stuttered, and he groaned your name, and painted hot white streaks inside you.

And now—it’s almost midnight.  Gil texted and told you to take tomorrow off, and as many more as you needed until you felt ready.  You had tons of other texts, no doubt related to the shark attack, but you had no energy to engage them.  Thrilled that you have a full day to do nothing, you sunk into the covers, wrapped in the strong arms of a somewhat stranger, and dozed off to sleep.

Taglist: @burntheedges, @tuquoquebrute, @syd-djarin, @danaispunk, @anoverwhelmingdin <3

[magpie-come-east]

It was hypothesized before that Mohg has been ‘absent’ from the Dynasty for at least some time even before SOTE released. When Varré dubs you a Pureblood Knight, he says you will be indicted when Mohg awakens. Which is some unspecified time in the future.

I think this is a another bit of evidence that Mohgwyn Dynasty has been spinning it’s wheels and spiraling due to Miquella’s charm on Mohg. Mohg’s obsession has lead to him pretty much abandoning leadership of his own group. All he cares about is courting Miquella and feeding the cocoon blood.

This isn’t me saying Mohgwyn Dynasty was this good-aligned beacon of heroic intentions that Miquella corrupted. I don’t see the ‘kill your maiden’ prerequisite NOT being characteristic of Mohg. After all, Varré’s entire quest is about the Tarnished abandoning the call of the Two Fingers. Killing one’s maiden certainly cements one’s rejection of the Greater Will.

But anyway! What I do mean is that Mohgwyn feels so aimless and chaotic in the game’s present. They have been waiting centuries for Miquella to ascend as the FM vessel. They have no other ambitions than jumping tarnished to steal their blood.

We have a Godrick Knight in Kenneth’s Fort that knows bloodflame magic. It is also stated that he undermined Kenneth’s bid at making peace with the Demihumans by luring in their Queen and killing her. Was this a 4D chess move by Mohg to keep Limgrave destabilized? Or was this just some aimless bloodlusted dude that commits violence because that’s all the Dynasty has left?

[skyloftian-nutcase]

I wonder...

I was thinking about the Zelda series, as you do, while listening to the Epic soundtrack and a thought came to me. Could Link's Awakening have been based on the Calypso arc of the Odyssey? Think about it...

Link's Awakening has the hero get into a shipwreck at the beginning of the game, wake up on an island nobody has everheard of before with a young girl and her father, and spends an unspecified amount of time running about the island and trying to find a way home whilst simultaneously falling in love with the girl who saved him (literally canon btw) and when he's finally able to leave the girl and island vanishes as if it'd never existed.

In the Calpyso Arc, Odysseus ends up shipwrecked on an island with a young girl/woman and is unable to leave for an unspecified amount of time, whilst searching for a way off the island they fall in love, but when Odysseus is finally able to leave again and Reuters to his journey home the girl, Calypso, and the island disappears and it's as though it had never existed before.

They sound similar enough 🤷🏻‍♀️ Though… I’ve never read The Odyssey but I thought I read somewhere that Odysseus and Calypso were absolutely not in love and it was not a healthy relationship?

[color-coded-bear]

Redza Innit AU

Tommy dies to Dream in prison, and awakens thousands of years in the past. The only proof of his death being a white streak in his hair.

After figuring out that this is in fact not the afterlife, he spends years trying to get back to his time, before eventually giving up.

He starts building a life for himself, even managing to catch the attention of the Goddess of Life (MotherInnit) and being gifted a pair of leathery, red wings and immortality.

More years pass by, and he wanders, never truly settling down. Then whispers of someone called the Angel of Death reaches him.

He pays them no mind.

Why would he? This isn't the same Philza he knew. This Philza is still young, lacking centuries of wisdom and experience, and only just starting to make a name for himself.

Tommy has no plans of meeting this Philza, and so he ignores the whispers and continues on with his life

Or at least, he tries.

One thing he's forgotten in the many many years since he first appeared in the past, is that while he may be older than this Philza, he's still technically his clone.

As Philza's reputation grows, more and more people begin to mistake Tommy for him.

It gets to the point where Tommy can barely go a week without some idiot trying to fight him in order to 'defeat the Angel of Death'

Fed up with it all, Tommy decides to find Philza himself and put an end to the confusion once and for all (and also ask him to stop making so many enemies because Prime does he have a ridiculous amount of enemies)

So Tommy finds Philza, and an unspecified confrontation ensues.

By the end of it, whispers of the Angel of Death and his doppelganger spread. The Angel's "Red Shadow"

Tommy decides good enough, and while he originally planned to fuck off as soon as he got the confusion cleared up, he realizes that messing with this Philza is as fun as messing with the other one. So he decides to stick around for a little

He ends up staying longer than anticipated, so long that eventually Technoblade joins the picture. And then Wilbur. And then, Tommy joins the picture, fresh from the lab and newly escaped.

(He never actually told any of them his name. Philza always referred to him as Red, and when Wilbur joined the picture, he became Redza.)

With Tommy now in the picture, Red is torn. Because while things have slightly changed with him in the picture, it hasn't changed enough to prevent Wilbur and Tommy leaving for the Dream SMP.

Does he leave? Start wandering again, despite fully knowing what these younger versions of his family will go through?

Or does he try to change things? Go with Wilbur and Tommy to try and change things? Protect them from what awaits them on that server?

This is far as i got with planning this AU.

I was mainly considering Red trying to change things, which would eventually lead to a 'Redza is actually Tommy from another timeline' reveal. Though I did play around with the idea of Red letting things play out as they originally did, which would then result in Tommy versions of all the Colorzas.

Here are the old doodles I did for this AU:

[cafecitoeddie]

oooh how do you interpret that sunrise/sun/sunset post??

this post is phenomenal and has sent buddieblr all into a spiral.

OKAY. so take a trip with me. this first picture we originally thought to mean sunrise correct. it’s the start of something new something awakening. remember eddie says to buck "welcome back to the land of the living buck" aka seeing life for what it is right in front of him

HOWEVER. we can also assume since it is at the end of a shift it can be the end of the day the first picture has to be sunset. it’s after their call about eddie bringing him to speak to christopher. the first steps toward buck realizing maybe he has a much stronger place in bucks life the light is fading but the night is young buck is about to embark on something that will change his life. the night bleeds into the days yet to come.

the sun represents the way buck sees eddie. during the basketball game buck is seeing eddie in a whole new light because of his feelings. his unresolved unspecified feelings for his best friend. he’s angry at himself and ends up overreacting in the worst way. he pushes his feelings down but deviates and focuses on tommy who is very much like eddie, could possibly even be like the sun too.

if we’re following the ALTERNATIVE of this the sun again stays very much the same. buck is seeing eddie in a whole new light basked in the suns glow as something so beautiful so bright literally the sun in the sky.

sunset: buck has come to terms with the fact that eddie is everything he's ever been looking for but its too late.. he's happy with tommy and eddie wants nothing to do with him the so light is almost gone and a new day will start. buck will realize fully the weight of all his feelings but he's making peace with that.. a new day.

OR ALTERNATIVELY the last picture is just after a 24 hour shift the intensity of the call still seeping into his bones but eddie is there eddie who is brushing him off because of reasons!!!

buck tries his best to meet eddie’s eyes but eddie isn’t having it. buck just tries so hard because buck needs eddie to look at him he needs it because— oh. eddie.

buck can't he can't possibly no he’s with tommy and eddie wants nothing to do with him but his feelings are so intense. and it's been night time for quite a while now but the sun is coming. except.. the night is always darkest before the dawn, before the feelings realization taking place!!!

(A’s dms need a shoutout because i’M SORRY there were so many messages!!!!!!!!!)

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Twice Drowned

Summary: It's just the Little Mermaid but with Icy and Tritannus.

Note: I've had a few people ask about the other Icy ship fics that I wrote/show interested in them. Here's a link to my Ao3 if y'all don't want to dig through my blog to try to find them.

She had fallen through the ice once when she was a little girl. 

She remembers just two things about the incident; firstly that she had fallen in love with the cold anew. Secondly that she does not care for water. 

The cold had comforted her as the water had suffocated her. She doesn’t know how she got out of the water; if it was her own doing—an awakening of instincts and magical ability or if someone else had plucked her out from under the ice. 

She likes to think that she had saved herself. She had never been able to use her powers before then but they had surfaced with extraordinary strength afterwards. She thinks that maybe she had cracked the ice and that someone else had pulled her through the hole that she had created.

It isn’t something that she is particularly eager to relive but she seldom has a choice. She certainly doesn’t in this instance. The waves are ravenous. They have already devoured the ship. She should have flown out of the ocean’s grasp while she had the chance. But pride, as it usually is, is her downfall again. It would have been quite cowardly to jump ship. They are, afterall, hauling something precious. Unspecified and spoken of on a need to know basis—apparently she didn’t need to know—but she knows that it is precious.

Really she has no business being their anyhow, as the princess of Dyamond she ought to be at home. But Sapphire’s adventurous spirit is contagious and she has been sitting still, prim, and proper for too long. 

Ever since she’d fallen through the ice her parents had become suffocating. They pamper and spoil her but they hover oppressively. Lovingly but oppressively no less. They have become protective to a maddening degree and so she has acted on Sapphire’s encouragement and has taken to the sea. 

Her slight frame makes it easy to pass herself as one of the sailor’s sons. And so she wears her hair tucked, out of sight, under a hat and wears clothing baggy enough to hide her subtle feminine attributes. It would seem that she passes a little too well; she will die like any other shiphand—with salt stinging her eyes and water filling her lungs, perhaps smashed against craggy rocks or shredded by the reef.

She has taken to the sea and now the sea takes her.

Really, she thinks, it is just stealing back what belongs to it.

Finishing what it had started some ten years ago.

.oOo.

Beautiful. 

The girl is beautiful.

She is ethereal.

She is human.

She drifts down…

                             down….

                                            down…

It seems like slow motion the way that she falls, her hair comes free from the hat and fans out around her head, swishing like curtains in a breeze or seaweed in a current. She is bleeding but Tritannus can’t tell from where.

She isn’t flailing and her expression is serene; either she has been underwater for a long time already or she is simply accepting of fate. Tritannus swims his way towards her. He knows that he is not supposed to. Father forbade it. But between he and his brother, he has always been the more rebellious one.

And, really, how can he resist this one? She is so pretty, so delicate. She has this innocent look about her and he has a sense of curiosity to compliment his sense of rebellion.

Against everything Neptune and Ligea have advised him, he hooks has arms around the girl’s and he takes her to the surface. He has never held a girl before, let alone a human girl. Her head falls against the crook of his neck, her hair tickles his neck. He brings her to the column of rock that juts up from the sea floor. He carefully lays her upon it.

Up close he can make out finer features, like the sparse sprinkle of freckles on her neck and right shoulder and the soft shimmer of her pale skin. She has a soft face save for a pointier chin; a dainty nose, soft cheeks, delicate lips that are slightly parted. 

Tritannus leans in closer to those lips, listening for a soft inhale and feeling for the exhale of her breath. 

His heart leaps when, at first, he doesn’t hear or feel a thing. But he catches the rise and fall of her chest so she must be breathing. But, aside from the swishing of the locks of hair that spill over the rock and into the water, she is completely still. So terribly still. 

He touches her cheek and he feels quite ill.

She is cold.

As dead things are. 

But she breathes, he reminds himself. She breathes and she has a pulse. And her cheeks have color, not much of it but enough of it to set her apart from some of the other humans that the ocean has claimed. 

She gives a little hum and Tritannus’s heart leaps. 

She is waking up.

She is waking up and he hasn’t thought of anything to say to her! 

And his hand! It is still cupping her cheek. 

.oOo.

Icy sits herself up. She feels quite woozy and terribly tired. She should be grateful that she feels anything at all. She purses her lips and furrows her brows; yes, she is indeed alive. But how? It takes her a moment to realize that someone is touching her face. Her face is all cut up and bruised, the saltwater causes a quite dreadful burning sensation. 

It is more of a reflex than anything, to aggressively swat at the hand that caresses her cheek. She stops just shy of planting her fist in the boy’s face. 

“Do you always punch the ones who save your life?”

Icy shrugs. “Not typically. But those people aren’t usually stroking my face. Do you always plaster your hand on the people that you rescue?” 

The boy laughs. “I…” His face flushes. “No but…it’s just…I was trying to…I like your face!” 

Icy tilts her head. “You speak eloquently.” 

How this dolt has managed to muster up enough brainpower to save her is beyond her. And what does it say about her that she has required rescue from a buffoon? She grimaces and a light blush creeps across her own face. 

“I’m actually quite charming when I’m not taken by surprise.”

“How have I surprised you?”

“You woke up.”

“Do you often perch dead bodies upon rocks?” Icy tilts her head. “That’s an interesting hobby. Do you watch them decompose? How do you keep the sharks and sirens away?”

“Okay first of all, they don’t like to be called sirens, that has some negative connotations. Secondly I knew that you were alive. I just didn’t expect you to wake up so soon.”

“So you were just going to sit on this rock with me and stare at me for hours? That’s a little weird, don’t you think?” 

“What else could I do!? Just leave you there?”

“You could have taken the time to find help.” Icy shrugs. “You’re a good swimmer, yes?” 

“You could say that…” He trails off. 

“Elaborate.” There is an air of command in her voice. A well practiced tone of voice if he had to guess. 

“You’ve got a lot of spunk for someone who almost drowned.”

She shrugs. “Not my first time.” She pauses. “Although this time was a bit more draining. Thre was a lot more action this time around. More screaming and manual labor as we tried to keep the ship afloat. The first time I kind of just slipped under.” Come to think of it, her arms are quite sore and her legs are throbbing. 

“Have you tried not drowning?” 

She nods. “It wasn’t for me though.” 

“Oh, you have a sense of humor.”

Icy nods. 

“Do you have a name?”

“No. People usually just shout, ‘hey you’ and refer to me as ‘that one asshole’. So I never really needed a name.” 

“Wait, really?”

“Do people by chance call you ‘dumbass’. Because I think that it fits.” 

The boy frowns. 

“You’re thinking about throwing me back into the ocean, aren’t you?” She supposes that she does have that effect on people. If her mother heard the way that she talks when she slips out into the streets to mingle with the commoners…

If her mother knew that she was sneaking out at all she would probably fall into a faint. She supposes that she is lucky that Sapphire is so openly and distractingly rambunctious. “I’ll pull you under with me if you try and we’ll both drown.”

“That plan might not work out as well as you think it will.” He leans back in the water and flashes his tail at her. It glints a scaly teal-green before it disappears back under the water.

“You’re a merman.” 

“Well I’m glad that your eyes weren’t damaged by the sea salt.”

Icy folds her arms across her chests and sniffs. “I suggest that you make use of that tail and use it to swim me back to Dyamond.”

“Swim you back to Dyamond? You didn’t even thank me for swimming your sorry ass over to this rock.” 

“This rock is craggy and covered in sea slime—it is not comfortable to sit my ass upon.”

“My apologies, I’ll just let you get nice and cozy under the sea then.” He gives her a shrug and then turns his back on her. 

The sound that she makes isn’t exactly flattering. “Where are you going?”

“Well you don’t want my help so…”

“You get back here right now! I will have you know that I am the princess of Dyamond and I…”

“Am very important?”

Icy fixes him with a smug smile, “indeed.”

“To humans maybe. Well have fun on this rock.” He begins to sink beneath the surface.

If she does find a way off of said rock, she vows to put more emphasis on her flying lessons instead of neglecting them for lessons in combat and spell mastery. Flying has never been her strong suite. She certainly doesn’t have enough flight in her to get her all the way back to Dymond. “You’re not actually going to leave me here?” It is supposed to come out like a command but there is a hitch in her voice that turns it into a question instead.

The boy pauses. “Well…I might not.” He looks over his shoulder. “You have to tell me your name first.”

“Who's to say that I’ll give you a truthful answer.”

“Well if I find out that you lied to me I’ll start referring to you as ‘that asshole’ like everyone else supposedly does.” 

Icy folds her arms across her chest. “Icy. My name is Icy.”

“Icy?”

“Because I fell through the ice as a child and it altered my magic type.”

“What was your name before and your magic type.”

“Don’t remember and I never knew.” 

“How do you not…”

“Dymond is a planet of shifting seasons. Sometimes powers shift and names are adjusted accordingly. I never had a chance to use my original powers before I fell through the ice and altered them.” She shrugs. “I don’t mind though. Icy suits me just fine.” And it has kept her alive in these freezing waters. 

“I’m Tritannus, prince of Andros. I would be anyways if my twin brother hadn’t been born twelve minutes before me.”

“Have you considered murder?” 

“How does someone with such an adorable face develop such a sinister personality.” 

Icy groans. It is so terribly tiring to hear that repeatedly. That she is cute or precious or whatever else. “Just take me home in silence or I’ll have my subjects eating fish fillet for months.”

.oOo.

The stories that Ligea has told him since birth have led him to believe that the sea witch is an ugly, decrepit thing. 

She is anything but. 

She is stunning and terrifying. Stunningly terrifying and terrifyingly stunning.

In the stories, the sea witch stares with unseeing, inky eyes. She is gaunt and skeletal with jagged little eel teeth. Supposedly she has the skin of an eel and thick black tentacles with little barbs on the suckers. She is supposedly translucent so that one can gaze upon all of her innards and throbbing bits. Her hair is said to be lacking and continuously falling off to display a scalp as rough as coral.

The only thing that they have gotten right is the bit about her eyes being coal black. She has a rather voluptuous figure and a rich complexion. Her hair falls in waves and it falls long enough to swish around what would have been her ankles if she were a human woman. Instead it weaves between tendrils that are less like octopus tentacles and more like jellyfish arms. She is gorgeous in a way that starkly contrasts Icy’s soft, gentle beauty. The sea witch’s beauty is of the dangerous variety. Alluring and charming that fits well with the angler fish that thrash and snap within a cage behind her. Where Icy’s beauty came in seafoam shades of white and blue, the sea witch possesses beauty in octopus ink purple and abyss black hues.

Icy. 

He is here for her. 

He can’t put her out of his mind. 

Can’t stop thinking about how sharply her demeanor contrasts her appearance.

“Come closer, boy, step out of the light.” 

“Isn’t that counter productive?” He asks. 

The sea witch chuckles. “But I can see you so much better in the dark.” 

“That’s why they call you Darcy, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah, sure.” She shrugs. “Among other reasons.” She turns around and slinks deeper into her cave. A single arm emerges from the dark crevice that she has slipped into. He can see just half of her forearm and the beckoning wagging of her pointer. “Come on, little boy, just a little closer for Darcy.”

Tritannus shudders. 

Swimming deeper into the trench is the last thing that he wants to do and it directly contradicts his first priority; to see Icy again. And stepping into this trench is the only way to make that happen. Is it stupid? Completely foolhardy? 

Probably. 

Almost definitely. 

He has only just met Icy. And she is a princess, she probably already has a betrothed. Not that he can imagine her actually going through with an arranged marriage. 

“Don’t keep me waiting, boy.” Again Darcy’s voice creeps out of the cavern. “I can sense the desperation on you, the desire. If you keep me waiting I will slip out of sight and you’ll have to talk to Stormy.” 

“Stormy?” 

“It is kind of her fault that you’re here. She called for the storm that splintered your lover’s ship.” 

He doesn’t like the way that she draws out the ‘L’ in lover. He doesn’t like that she already knows why he is here. He doesn’t like that he doesn't know how she knows. His mind drifts once more to his father’s words of caution. To his mother’s tales of the sea witch and her deceptions. 

“I want legs so that I can be among the humans.” Tritannus takes only a few strides further into the abyss. “What’s your price?” 

“Legs…” Darcy drawls. “Well that’s a pretty hefty ask.”

He swallows hard. 

“Look, I’m not so cruel as to take an arm or two but I’m not just going to give you a leg or two for free.”

“Two legs.” Tritannus says. “Just so we’re clear, I do want two of those.” 

The sea witch chuckles. “And I want your voice.” 

“My…voice?”

“I’m a collector, you see.”

“I can’t see shit in here actually.”

She laughs again. “Oh I almost don’t want to take your voice, you use it so well.” Darcy slips back into the light. “But I also don’t want to undersell my services. That is my price, take it or leave it, I’m sure that you can find other ways to tell stupid jokes.”

“The ‘tell’ aspect of telling a joke is kind of a critical component.” 

“The best comedians know when to stop joking.” Her voice is lower. Deeper with a hint of warning. “What will it be? Legs for your voice?”

“Legs for my voice.” He agrees. 

He might not have done it if he knew that it would be so painful. If he knew that it would feel like a fish hook catching on his uvula and yanking it clean out.

He might not have done it if she’d mentioned her little stipulation upfront.

Three days. 

He only has three days to win Icy’s affections and receive true love’s kiss or he will lose his legs and become one of the gaunt and wretched creatures that Darcy has chained to the wall. 

Three days to win the heart of the coldest, sassiest, most sarcastic and walled off bitch that he has ever come across. Three days to win the heart of the most intriguing, secretly kind of really affectionate person that he has ever encountered.

It dawns upon him that he is getting the short end of this deal. 

The short end unless he manages to get that kiss.

He hugs his newfound legs to his chest; he hopes that he hasn’t just made a mistake, that he hasn’t just sold his voice for a chance that he never truly had. 

The castle looms behind him. 

The sand sifts next to him. He has company. 

“You come here often?” He mumbles without looking up.

“Not really.” She replies. He’d know that voice anywhere. 

Had she been looking for him? 

By the pull of the waves, he hopes so.

[darl-ingfics]

Sicktember Day 21: ALT - Flushed Cheeks

Fandom: SHINee

Sickie: Kibum (fever, broken heart)

Caregiver(s): Jinki

Word Count: 1,455

Notes: Heavily based on Kelsea Ballerini's 'the way i used to.' I've been SO into her music lately, and might be writing a few drabbles based on her songs... but this one hit first cause this song is 🔥 ALSO, I'm still not sure how I feel about writing idols in romantic relationships, so this one very vaguely references a past relationship with an unspecified ex. Used 'them' for the ex cause I don't want to assume anything here, but needed to write a heartbreak plot line.

At exactly 2:15am on the dot, Jinki woke up to the sound of his phone crashing to the floor, the vibrations from in an incoming call sending it over the edge of his nightstand. Jinki snapped awake, scrambling for the phone, bleary eyes squinting at screen. Minho. “Hello?”

“Hyung? I’m worried about Kibum.” Minho wasted no time, his voice dead serious. Jinki sat up, rubbing at his eyes to wake himself up faster. “He’d been texting me almost non stop. Real nonsensical things, probably voice to text. But since I’m in L.A., I can’t…” Jinki could practically hear him pinching the bridge of his nose in worry. “Can you please go check on him?”

“Of course.” 

“Thank you. 

*

“Kibum?” Jinki called as he closed the door behind him. It had taken him half an hour to roll out of bed, look presentable enough in case he got pulled over or had to take Kibum to the hospital or something, and drive over to his friend’s apartment. He’d called Kibum three times and texted him to say he was on his way over, but had received no response. Much like now. Thankfully, he had a spare key to get in. “Kibum!” he tried again. Still nothing, except footsteps and murmuring from deeper in the house. Sighing, Jinki toed off his shoes and followed the sounds down the hallway until he found his friend. 

Kibum was pacing back and forth in his living room, fingers tapping on his lower lip as his eyes moved rapidly through space. A notebook and several writing instruments were strewn about the coffee table, coupled with a bottle of tequila and a shot glass, which was currently laying on its side. Kibum’s phone was precariously placed at the very edge of the coffee table. 

“Kibum?”

The younger man startled at Jinki’s voice, having just noticed him for the first time. His hand flew to his chest. “Jinki, what the fuck? When did you get here?”

“Just now. Minho called me. He’s worried sick about you.”

Kibum blinked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Minho? He’s in California…”

“Yeah, which is why he called me. He said you’ve been sending him some pretty alarming messages?” Kibum frowned, eyes shifting to his phone. His movements were uncharacteristically jerky as he grabbed the device, and began tapping the screen. His face crumpled into more confusion as he scrolled. “What’s… all this?”

Kibum looked up from the phone with wide eyes, as if seeing the mess of his living room for the first time. “Writing.” He knelt down in front of the notebook, fingers caressing the page. 

“Writing what?” Jinki bit his lip, observing Kibum closely. The younger man looked dazed, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed, fingers fidgeting endlessly.

“A song.” 

Jinki had seen Kibum in a writing trance before, but he’d never seen him like this. The pacing, the finger tapping, that was normal. The shaking? The listlessness? That was off. And the drinking… Jinki nodded to himself, something clicking in his brain. He needed to keep Kibum talking. “Why are you writing a song now? It’s 3am!” 

Kibum shrugged. “When the muse awakens, one must heed its call.” His voice trailed off as he scrambled for a pencil and scribbled something in the notebook. 

Jinki shook his head, moving closer to his friend. Kibum flinched, instinctively covering most of the paper with his elbow. He seemed to believe Jinki hadn’t noticed that. So the elder let him, simply nodding towards the bottle. “What’cha drinkin’?”

Kibum’s eyes assessed the tequila. He shrugged. “Not really sure. Just needed something to help the words flow…”

“You know…” Jinki settled onto his knees next to Kibum. The younger man’s body tensed, and he didn’t turn to acknowledge Jinki joining him on the floor. “You’ve always had a knack for writing lyrics. You’ve never mentioned needing help with ‘flow’ or anything. In fact, I thought you said that drinking while writing actually slows down your process…”

“Well, yeah, most of the time it does but, sometimes it…”

“Except.” Kibum’s lips snapped shut. He still refused to meet Jinki’s eyes despite the elder staring at him straight on. “Except when you’re writing about a break up.” Kibum’s eyes could have burned a hole in his table. Jinki let the tense silence carry on for a few heartbeats. “Bummie, are you thinking about them again?” 

Kibum sat still as a statue. Jinki watched him worriedly, observing each inhale and exhale, the beads of sweat at his hairline. He saw Kibum’s eyes move to his phone, and sensed what was about to happen before Kibum could move, snatching the phone up himself. 

“HEY!” Kibum grasped at Jinki’s back as the leader swiveled away from him, unlocking Kibum’s phone and clicking into his messages. Sure enough, the last string of texts Kibum had sent to Minho were all about them. I miss them, Minho. think I fucked up… I should text them, right? It’s been so long. Just to check in. It’s just a phone call? That’s nothing. It was a mistake… all of it. They’ve posted pictures with the same person on Instagram FIVE times recently!!! That doesn’t mean anything, right? I should call…

“Hyung, noooo…” Kibum whined. His hands, buried in Jinki’s shirt stopped pulling backwards, and started pulling down instead. Jinki peeked over his shoulder, watching Kibum’s fingers detach from his shirt as he slumped face first to the floor. 

“Oh, baby.” Jinki shifted around, petting Kibum’s hair. “It’s okay, sweetheart…”

“NO! It’s NOT okay!” Kibum cried into the floor. “They’re in love with SOMEONE ELSE! And it’s NOT FAIR!”

“You don’t know that…”

“I do know! Why else would they have broken up with me?!”

“Sometimes people just aren’t meant to be, Ki…”

“We WERE, I KNOW IT!”

“If that was true, then they wouldn’t have hurt you like this. You loved them so, much, and I know how painful that is to let go of…”

“But they aren’t in love with ME!” A gasping sob. “Why didn’t they love me?!”

Jinki clicked his tongue, his hand moving to rub at Kibum’s shoulders. The younger man crawled forehead, head falling into Jinki’s lap. “Bummie, it’s not your fault. They weren’t your person, and that just means that somewhere out there…”

“Oh, spare me all that ‘other fish in the sea’ bullshit.” Kibum sniffled sharply, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t want another fish. I want to be their fish.”

“Kibum, come on. You’re not the only one who’s had their heart broken before…”

The younger man scoffed. “Sure, sure. But you don’t get it. You weren’t… this relationship was…” His face screwed shut, a fist placed against his forehead. “Fuck, I loved them, Jinki. I love them. I don’t think I’ve ever loved someone before, not like this.” His eyes turned up at that, tearstained cheeks and all staring at Jinki with such vulnerability the older man felt his own eyes start to sting. 

“I’m so sorry, Kibum. You deserve someone who loves as fiercely as you love them.” Jinki traced a finger down Kibum’s cheek. He paused. Placed his finger back on Kibum’s cheekbone. Then placed his palm on the younger man’s forehead. “Bummie, how long have you had a fever?”

Kibum shrugged. “Maybe two days?”

“Two days?”

Kibum shrugged again. “It’s just work stress…”

“A fever’s never ‘just’ anything. No wonder you’re backsliding again…” Jinki cupped both of Kibum’s cheeks, leaning over him upside down. “Baby, just call me next time. Then we don’t need to go through the pain of recollecting the ex.”

Kibum pouted his lips. “I’m sorry?”

Jinki rolled his eyes. He then very gently pushed at Kibum’s shoulders to sit him up, before standing up himself and holding out his hands. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

Kibum took Jinki’s hands and let himself be pulled to his feet. “Are you sure we can’t call them, though? Just to see if…”

“Nope. No calling. The rules were clear when we made them a month ago.”

Kibum pouted. “Minho would let me call…”

“Oh sweetheart, you are so lucky I’m here and not Minho.” Even in his semi-delirious state, Kibum knew to immediately close his mouth. Even though Jinki’s voice was still light, a bright smile still on his lips, anyone who knew him well could see that he was at the edge of his seemingly infinite patience. Honestly, a part of Kibum understood; Jinki was only trying to protect him. Which was why Kibum allowed himself to be led back to his room and cared for by his worried hyung. Because, in the end, even if he was single, he knew what love looked like. He was loved. Very, very loved.

[necros-writing-stuff]

Sleep Paralysis: Collab'oween Day 1

GN!Reader/Male!Unspecified Creature.

Warnings: Rape/Non-con; Maybe feeings of claustrophobia and references to the ocean; Fear of death but no physical harm to reader; Utter helplessness; Cunnilingus/Analingus (you can read as either, I don't specify genitals for reader); Penetrative sex; Creature man has a prehensile pp; 3rd person POV.

Word Count: 2080.

Notes: I'm not doing all of the days, just the six prompts I wrote! Please make sure to check out all of us doing this together: @undead-merman @letstalktea @inkyquince @angrelysimpping Also big thanks to Merman for making the banner and divider and all of their wonderful work on this project.

It gets closer each night. They know as the sun fades, as their eyes shutter closed and the warm fingers of Hypnos keep their lids heavy that it's only a matter of time before the personification of sleep partially releases his hold on them and that reality will blend with their nightmares. 

For months it's happened every night. They awaken without control of their body, not even able to blink, as eyes watch from the darkest corner of their room. It's just a trick of the mind, they know this, but it doesn't make it any less terrifying. 

They'd gone to their doctor. Been referred to get a brain scan by a specialist to ensure it wasn't anything malicious causing the paralysis. All tests came back fine. They were sent home with pills and a regiment to follow. None of it had helped. The only time it ever left was when the dawn broke. Winter was on the horizon. Shorter days. Later dawns.

Then, they'd thought that it wouldn't be able to hide in the dark if there was no darkness. They'd filled their room with nightlights in every corner, left them on as they went to sleep, confident that they'd finally be able to get through the night. They hadn't. The creature cared not for the lights strewn about the room. It was a void of blackness, sucking in the light and refusing to let any stray ray out of its grasp. 

Fine then, it's sunlight it doesn't approve of. UV lamps were bought and installed. Their electricity bill would suffer, so they tried to stay away from electronics during the day to compensate. There was a pile of unread books just begging to be read, afterall. Yet, as night fell and sleep abandoned them once more, the creature remained in its corner. The blue hue of the UV lamps only made it more threatening. Cold, sterile. Dead. 

They couldn’t even sleep through the day. Something pulled at them, keeping them awake even as they lay with their eyes closed in their bed with the room made as dark as they could for the day. Only when the moon was out could they find a fraction of rest.

After months, they found themself getting used to the creature. It was a black blob with (admittedly creepy) eyes - no discernable features, no intent of ill-will it would seem. It just wanted to watch them through the night. 

It just had to move, didn't it? It had to reach a clawed hand it had never seemed to possess before out toward them, its frozen form a threat again for the first time in a long while. The skin (If it had skin) was a black as the void it made; it was hazy due to the smoke that rose from the flesh. The only part of it that continued to move. The smoke. 

Perhaps it was the home. The place they lived was haunted, wanting to torment the poor soul living within. With little money left due to the lamp expenses, they desperately pushed every new lamp into a large box and took it to a car-boot sale. They were all new, but half price anyway. They just needed enough for one night in a local hotel. Just one. To see if it would work. 

Each night that passed as they sold the lamps, the creature got closer. Like it knew. More limbs came out from the haze; the other clawed hand, long seemingly muscled legs, the torso unfurling and appearing to be as large as the rest of it. A beast. A tall beast that could rip someone apart just by strength alone. Still it's face remained shadowed, the smoke dripping down like hair.

Not every lamp was taken, but enough so over the weekend event that they had the money to stay in a hotel. A single bed, no TV, shitty water pressure in the shower. It was only on the first floor but the windows were painted just all the same. At least it smelled clean.

Hope sent them to sleep that night - a tentative hope that was on the verge of snapping as each second ticked by on the old clock on the wall. 

That hope snapped the second their eyes opened with the street lights sneaking through the curtains. It was here. Worst of all, it was closer than it had ever been. Crouched on the edge of the bed, tall frame leaning over so that it looked down at them with those bright white eyes. This close it was easy to see that there was no pupil. No iris. Just white. 

Tears welled that they could not blink away, blurring their vision and making the creature even harder to make it. Panic grasped them tightly, their heart hammering in a chest that refused to twitch. They needed to breathe more, to take in deep, filling breaths. But they could only take in standard breaths as their head began to swim. It felt like being suffocated. 

If they could scream, they would. Especially when it moved right in front of them. It never moved when they could see. Never. It was now. That elongated hand reaching down, a claw tracing the path of the tears as they fell down their face into their hairline. Some of the tears fell into their ears. It made them itchy. 

The creature didn't keep its attention to their face. Its claw wandered down their body, pulling the blanket with it as it exposed them to the cold air of the hotel room. Their pyjamas were lifted, their tummy exposed. Would it start there? Rip of their innards and eat them as they could do nothing to watch? 

Slowly, it pressed its hand flat to their skin. The warmth was a surprise. A creature of such darkness should emanate frost, but its flesh bordered on burning as it pressed down. Would it crush them? Would it contribute to the suffocation that felt it was taking hold? 

It would not. At least, it wouldn't yet. Every touch was gentle as it flipped them over, every adjustment it made of their body made for their comfort as their head was turned to the side so that they could breath with their body laying on their front. It didn't feel right. It shouldn't be so gentle. 

The tears from their left eye now fell over the bridge of their nose and into the eyeline of the other. It merged with the other falling tears as they wet the pillow. 

Beside from the ruffling of clothes and the creaking of the old mattress, the room had been silent. As had the creature. No neighbouring rooms made bangs or bumps in the night. A harsh ripping broke the silence. Their clothes. The creature was removing their clothes. Tearing it to shreds with its knife-like claws and discarding the fabric on the carpeted floor below. 

Goosebumps rippled over their skin as the night's air fell on it. The creature's flesh was the only warmth they could wish for - and they couldn't only wish that it would stop and leave them alone. 

It was a coward. Turning them over so that it didn't have to look in their wide eyes as it tore them apart from behind. Taking their clothes as a butcher would a pelt. Taking advantage of their sleep condition, or perhaps causing it itself so that they couldn't run or fight back. 

Such a strange thing, to feel anger after all of that fear. If creatures like this beast could wander the earth, then perhaps their anger would fuel their spirit enough to find a second life after death and seek vengeance on the wretched thing. 

Despite the feeling that they couldn't breathe, they did not pass out. They wished they would, that they could drift off into nothing before they would feel the beast's claws in their back. This mercy would not be for them. 

And neither would the claws. Not as the creature lowered itself, the bed shifting as its long legs came to sit on the floor and its hidden face lowered to the back of their thighs. 

A tongue, long and thick, teased up their thigh until sharp fangs nipped at the flesh of their ass. The tongue returned quickly, flickering as it found its way to their hole. 

More anger. More rage filling their heart as they desperately plead with their libs to just move. Just the littlest amount of movement - a twitch, anything! Nothing would come. 

It kept poking, prodding, lapping away at their exposed hole while disgusting pleasure whispered up their spine and choked their breaths. ‘Stop,’ they tried to beg. To scream it until their throat would bleed. But what was the use? They’d been begging for months and yet no one was listening. If there was a god or even multiple of them, they’d long since been forsaken to this demonic presence. 

There’s a strength to the beast. It lifts them as if it were nothing, their limp body folding as it hoists their hips up and presses it’s face even deeper into their core; that damned tongue flattening and giving a smooth, languid lick that has their eyes rolling back in their head. It should have stopped at this indignity. Why didn’t it just stop there?

It took its fill of their hole, still following with its tongue as it lowered their body back onto the mattress. As if it couldn’t bear to part with them. And sure enough, its stocky form rose over them again, that red-hot skin pressing to their back as something new wriggled and writhed against their saliva-dripping core. It meant to mount them.

One last push. One last demand for a finger to curl, to prove that they weren’t locked away inside of their own body. Underneath its body. A wall of flesh pressing down, closing in and taking away all of the air in the room as their anger slowly drained into sorrow.

That tentacle-like cock of the creature burrowed its way into them, spreading them open and penetrating deep. Strange guttural noises were snarled by their head, the beast having its pleasure while their tears returned. Every thrust of the hips was more like a roll, like a wave coming in toward the beach and retreating once more. It was graceful, powerful, threatening to take them away with it into the depths below. 

How could they swim against the tide without the ability to move? How could they possibly stop the water from encasing each and every part of them, leaving not a single inch of skin dry? 

Their mind refused to wander away, instead it focused on the smell of burning the creature emanated. It grasped onto every touch and grab the creature made at their skin. It couldn’t kick or scream anymore. Just like the body it inhabited. God, they were so tired.

Sweat gathered on their skin, the heat from their creature making it feel like a sauna in the cheap room. Sharp nips were given to their neck and shoulders, fanged teeth having a taste or maybe even marking what belonged to it. Its tongue came back to clean their cheeks of tears. 

Why did it have to feel so sweet? The slow build to the orgasms that hit in waves matching its hips pulling in and out. Its cock moved by itself while it would thrust, slowly undulating, causing their throat to seize from how intensely their nerves lit on fire for it. 

Almost. Almost they were freed from being there. It was exhausting being used so thoroughly, their eyelids were heavy and promised the sweet release of unconsciousness. It never came.

Who's to say how long it stayed on top of them that night. They couldn’t see the clock, couldn’t say when the beast woke them from peace. It stayed until the sun’s rays peaked through the cheap old curtains. But it left with a promise, a lingering hand on the back of their neck as it rose up, thumb rubbing over the freshest bite. It would be back. 

They still felt numb when control returned to their limbs. Felt numb for the rest of the day until night fell once more and that fear built. All they could focus on was the fact that the semen dripping from their hole never cooled in their frigid winter air seeping into the room.

[toxifoxx]

I have no idea what specifically to ask, can you just tell me some random thoughts/headcanons you've got for will?

sure ^_^ here's some smaller stuff i dont think i've mentioned before (feel free to ask for elaboration)

plays the banjo/guitar

has autism, bpd, npd, and ptsd ^_^

the specific type of accent he has is received pronunciation

family was upper-middle class

him and henry might as well be attached at the hip - consciously or not, william is always following henry around. it seems pretty subtle until you notice they're always in the same room together at least 70% of the time. conversely though, henry will follow william around in big social situations.

where henry is overstimulated, william is usually understimulated. he regularly gets bored when he's not working on an animatronic or performing on stage.

gets very excited over seeing bunny-themed objects

his inherent need to be masculine has him internalizing toxic ideals. which is kind of why he lets michael bullying evan go so far - evan's a crybaby who needs to 'toughen up'

while he loved his children he's not exactly great at the whole parenting thing. at all

has mixed feelings about his own body. dysphoria vs narcissism FIGHT. he definitely feels positively about his springlock scars though - just not so much the pain they left

he's got chronic pain from the springlocks. physical therapy helped with his mobility a lot but having metal digging into your joints certainly cant be good for you in the long run

kind of low-key an alcoholic even before things went to shit. it just got worse after his son dies

DRUNK DRIVER BABEYYYYYYYY

presents himself kinda flamboyantly. a lot of people think he's gay but no one's brave enough to say it to his face (angry william is not fun)

idealizes the people around him rather than seeing them for who they actually are . aka he loves the IDEA of them

obsessed with appearing perfect to everyone around him

^part of the reason he denies his own sexuality and the fact that he's even transgender

casually homophobic in the 'just don't flaunt it in my face' kind of way

helicopter/over-protective parent tbh. hence the cameras all over the place

i think henry was the one to break his nose when they were young in college. william was a prick and got his shit rocked as a result

*gay awakening*

william lost his tooth to an unspecified fight during his school years. originally i had planned for henry to be the one to knock it out post-charlie's death but i liked it so much i wanted to keep it beforehand

[innervoiceartblog]

Forget about enlightenment...

Sit down wherever you are

And listen to the wind singing in your veins.

Feel the love, the longing, the fear in your bones.

Open your heart to who you are, right now,

Not who you would like to be,

Not the saint you are striving to become,

But the being right here before you, inside you, around you.

All of you is holy.

You are already more and less

Than whatever you can know.

Breathe out,

Touch in,

Let go.

~ JOHN WELWOOD in *Poems of Love and Awakening* 2015, CreateSpace

PAINTING: "Spring in Goscieradz" by Leon Wyczółkowski, c. 1933.

Oil on canvas, dimensions unspecified. Private collection.

[aurora1040]

Life with Chronic Fatigue

Your brain wakes up. Your eyes are still closed and the mere thought of opening them is too much to really consider- but you've been asleep the whole day already, and thats why you even try thinking about how you need to open your eyes.

Eyes still shut, you take inventory of your body. Are you hungry? Are you thirsty? Do you need to expell bodily waste? So far, not hungry. Mouth is dry, so probably thirsty. And you probably need to pee, but its not an emergency- and you count that last one a good thing because you are already taking stock of the rest of your body.

How do your arms feel? Like lead. Too heavy and almost feels vaguely swollen- actually, that feeling extends to your wrists- hands- fingers... and apparently to your shoulders, too. Hmm.

What about your legs? The leadened feeling here starts at the base of your hips, right where the tailbone is, amd it travels down. The vague swollen feeling starts at the top of your calf.

The thought of even twitching a muscle is like an up hill battle, so you switch to the only thing that is moving: Your chest and lungs. Even here, its as if there is a weight om your chest. Breaths are shallow. Steady. Sleep is calling to drag you back under, but you, as tempted to by its siren call as you are, resist. Remaining as aware of the sensations in you and the feel of your breathing and the sounds of what is beyond yourself as you can be.

You lay there, still unable to bring yourself to move, still trying to convince your body to breathe even a little more deeply than it has been.

Who knows how much times passes before, finally, you feel your chest expand a little more- finally, a sign that that the body might actually let you win the war against the siren of sleep... but you still have a long way to go. You still havent achieved even one full breath of air yet. Those breaths, tho expanded, are still very shallow. You still feel that weight on your chest and your eyes are still unwilling to open for you. Who knows how much more time will pass in this state as you continue to fight to just exist.

Eventually, air fills your lungs. You are in full control of your breathing in this moment. The weight that was on your chest has finally lifted and suddenly you find, yes, your eyes are ready to be flickered open. A glimmer of hope of winning this fight shows itself- but its still a mere glimmer.

You still feel your extremities feel too heavy and still slightly swollen. You still cant make yourself twitch a muscle yet. But with each deep, air filled breath, you can feel that heaviness begin its slow retreat.

First, the heaviness begins to leave your shoulders. Another sign that you are turning the tide of the war in your favor- but the heaviness still holds your arms and hands hostage. You cannot yet move them despite winning your shoulders back.

More unspecified time passes until, suddenly, the air filled lungs have managed to awaken a deep seated mechanism- suddenly you can feel your muscles awaken almost all at once, followed by an involuntary stretch of them all at once.

The last thing to awake are your fingers amd neck. But waking those up is suddenly so much easier to do, to fathom. Now if you had to, you can finally turn over. Or pulls the blanket back up over your shoulder. Or check your phone.

And yet..... despite being finally physically awake.... sitting up is still too hard a task to do. All you can do is either wait it out or hope for an emergency response to something outside yourself. The important thing is that you are finally in control of the body again. You can do something, however small it may be. And for a lot of us, that something is checking our phone, scrolling social media, maybe texting. But its something to stimulate our minds, to keep us conscious, to keep us awake lest we fall back to sleep before we can function beyond the bed we lay on.

You pass hours in this state before you are finally able to consider sitting up not too impossible a task to do.... its a task just to do, so you rest sitting on the side of your bed, idly wondering if your feet are awake enough to handle being stood upon. You arent even looking at your phone or anything. All you do is just stare past the floor and breathe as you re-evaluate your condition every passing second to see if you are ready to stand.

Minutes pass. it's probably been 15 before you finally decide if youre too fatigued to try this or not. On your bad days, this is the point where you just lay back down and resign yourself to more hours in bed. On a good day, you finally convinced yourself you can handle standing up.

Once youre standing, you can finally care for your physical needs- food, water, bathroom. Which order depends on its pressing importance. It also depends on how foggy your brain is to successfully complete more than one of these tasks.

God forbid if you have an appointment on a bad day. Wrangling enough energy to call and cancel an appointment when you cant even sit up or get something to eat or drink is like pulling teeth. And God forbid you have an actual job you have to go to every day with no breaks for hours om emd- no, 15 minutes does not count as a break. No, an hour lunch does not count as a break. Not when you have chronic fatigue. You need at LEAST two hours, minimum, just to recover and function at the minimum- not even at work functional, just to be functional enough to exist at all.

That. Is what chronic fatigue is. Its not laziness or sleep all day. Its a daily fight just to exist at the barest minimum. Social media isnt a time waster, its our only real way of connecting with the world beyond ourselves. It is our life line. It is necessary appointments that keep getting canceled or rescheduled or pushed back because we physically could not make ourselves get there in the first place to even get the medicine or treatments we need to improve. Its being physically incapable of getting outside to exercise or get vitamin D to get stronger or happier in the first place. Its being physically incapable of making yourself prepare a meal and so when you do get up, all you can eat are chips or cheese or crackers or peanut butter. Never together. just the one ingredient, because putting ingredients together is also a task too difficult to do.

Chronic Fatigue is more than exhaustion. Its more than depression. Its physical as much as it is mental. It is hard work and battling it only makes you more fatigued in a vicious, vicious cycle.

[sleepxng-prince]

"as the sun and moon rise";

wanderer, nilou/gender-unspecified reader

as the sun peeks above the sea, and as the moon rises when the sun falls, you awaken from and return to slumber in the presence of your lover.

warnings/notes: wanderer is referred to as kuni, reader struggling with depression alluded to in nilou's part, fluff & slight angst

wanderer • kuni

☼

he's a doll - a toy, a puppet. he's everything but a human, yet...

he couldn't help how truly real he felt as he opened his eyes. kuni hadn't even realized he fell asleep, nor did he think he could so casually - he's not human. this doesn't come naturally, nor can he force it.

but there he lies - his body covered by a blanket, his head comfortably placed against a pillow, and most important of all; your arms wrapped around him, as his wrapped around you.

he felt your breath against his face, the warmth coming from your skin, and the rays of light that bled through the windows hitting both of your faces. you were glowing, and kuni was amazed.

and so he stared. he stared at every blemish, every mark, every small detail upon your face. your features were burnt into his brain, so even as you began to stir - your arms removing themselves from around him in order to turn onto your other side - he could still see your face as he closed his eyes once more.

he curled around you, his arms tightly wrapped around your waist, and his head pressed into your back. you made him feel human, and so he was going to embrace this.

you gave the marionette reign of his own strings, and forever will he love you so with this freedom.

☾

the wanderer prefers the night when it comes to his traveling. less people to run into, less interactions in general - the world falls asleep so he can be at peace.

but when the world falls asleep, that means you are too. he may comment on how annoying your consistent talking is, but it's what comforts him in the dead of night. he ridicules you for stumbling off without him, saying that you'd be dead if he weren't by your side - but in reality, it's the other way around.

he doesn't know what he'd do without you. you're his reason, his world, and his heart all in one.

"i love you. stay safe out there, okay?" you settle down on the forest floor of sumeru, a tent already pitched near a fireplace and a sleeping bag unrolled for you to cocoon yourself into.

kuni kneels down in front of you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek as you lean towards him in return, pressing both of your warm lips together in a quick kiss.

"i'll be fine. keep your weapon close by, i don't want to have to come back to save you from some annoying pests." he replies, his face twisting slightly with worry despite his cold words.

you roll your eyes and lean into him again, this time planting a kiss on his cheek that leaves his face flushed pink, "i promise i can protect myself, don't worry too much."

kuni tucks you in and stands up straight, his hand adjusting his hat as he rises. your eyes follow his retreating figure for a moment before you wiggle around in the sleeping bag and turn onto your side, entirely unaware of the fact that the wanderer had stopped right outside of your mini camp.

he watches as you get comfortable, a stump in his throat making it impossible for him to leave as if he had forgotten something.

then, seconds later, it clicks - "i love you, too," he calls out to you before the stump leaves his throat and his feet carry him onwards.

nilou

☼

nilou is water. from the way she flows as she dances like gentle waves out at sea, to the way she speaks so comfortingly like the sound of a rushing river. from the way her eyes reflect the sun and glow, to the way her cold hands touch your skin and make you shiver.

she rises with the sun, a bright future being what pushes her to get out of bed every morning. unlike you, who truly had nothing to look forward to everyday other than her, herself.

and, like the water, she adapts. she adapts to you, your surroundings, and your feelings. she understands and respects you.

she knows that helpless feeling all too well, and so she does her best. right as the tip of the sun reaches the horizon, she's on her feet. getting dressed, brushing her hair and teeth, stretching for the day, and -

when the time comes for you to arise from your sleep, a plate of breakfast is already awaiting you on your beside table.

a flower and a note lie beside it - a flower to remind you of her, and a note containing all the words in the world that spell out how much she loves you.

perhaps you also have a bright future ahead of you - and perhaps that bright future is nilou.

☾

nilou respects and understands you, and you do the same in return. it's the bare minimum, sure, but to both of you, that support goes a long way.

when the sun returns to the horizon, nilou returns home. and the moment she enters the door, there's already a warm meal on the table for her - something she's come to get used to as the norm within your relationship.

she makes breakfast, you make dinner. since both of you have different duties during the day, lunch is spent separately, but nilou wouldn't have it any other way. the feeling of coming home to the person you love most and a meal already laid out for you is something nilou couldn't dream of giving up.

and after dinner, when the sky is bleeding orange and pink, and when the lights in the house are dimmed low, is when nilou feels the most satisfied.

your fingers comb through her hair, the brush you previously used discarded to the side - nilou had propped herself up against your body, but not long after she found herself resting her head in your lap.

this was routine - you'd brush her hair before bed every chance you could get, but tonight was slightly different.

tonight was filled with the urge to hold each other close, to relish in the love you share.

nilou's eyes fluttered open to meet yours, a sleepy but entirely lovesick smile stretching across her face.

you return it with your own smile, moving your hand from her scalp to poke her nose gently. a giggle bounces off her grinning lips before a sigh chased after it;

"thank you," she whispered. you hummed in response, a tune that questioned why she was suddenly thanking you.

"for... loving me. thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for loving me the way you do." she finishes, her eyes dropping shut once more.

you rest your palm against her cheek, feeling her lean into your touch as you reply, "nilou, thank you."

one eye opens, a wordless inquiry from her that you pick up on, "thank you for being the reason why i can love the way i do. thank you for being the sun to my moon."