#Gill Dread

[streetfarterturdstrike]

[jamietukpahwriting]

From "Kiss the Dread" in Fierce Fairytales by Nikita Gill

[frimleyblogger]

What Dread Hand?

My thoughts on What Dread Hand? by #ElizabethGill reissued by @DeanStPress #CrimeFiction #BookReview

A review of What Dread Hand? By Elizabeth Gill – 231026 The second of three novels featuring Benvenuto Brown that Elizabeth Gill produced in her tragically short career, What Dread Hand? Was originally published in 1932 and rescued from ill-merited obscurity by Dean Street Press. Taking its title from William Blake’s famous poem from 1794, The Tyger, it is no surprise that much of the book…

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

have you seen the teasers yet for the tweels ssrs? immediately thought of you when it popped up on my timeline

[Referencing the JP August 2024 schedule!]

I think I went through all five stages of grief within the span of five seconds 💀

dbjsvajsQWRF13F85FWVHUKGfhpFWVYQGPBcsgwosksksbsh?;<~\~]\~ I KNEW SOMETHING WAS UP WHEN MY NOTIFS ALL STARTED BLOWING UP… I GOT THAT FEELING OF DREAD COLLECTING IN MY STOMACH LEADING UP TO CHECKING THE nEWS 😭 TWST JP TWITTER AHS bEEN BLOWING UP ABOUT THSI TOO, LITERALLY EVERY CORNER oF THE FANDOM IS COLELCTIVELY LOSING THEIR MINDS AND FOR GOOD REASON

The card illustrations look??? So deceptively simple??? BUT THEN YOU LOOK CLOSER AND YROU START TO NOTICE ALL THE LITTLE DETAILS like how the willow leaves and the boat they're leaning on are STRAIGHT OUT OF THE LITTLE MERMAID KISS THE GIRL SCENE ON THE LAGOON. And you can see the gills on their sides, WHICH SHOW OFF THEIR BIOLUMINESCENCE, previously noted in the Magical Archives book. BUT THAT'S NOT ALL, THEIR POSES ALSO DEMONSTRATE EACH BROTHER'S PREFERENCES WHEN IT COMES TO TAKING ACTION. Floyd has his back on the boat and a hand in his hair, which leaves his core completely exposed for an attack; it fits how he's the more physically oriented fighter of the twins, the person who rushes into battle without much caution. I really appreciate how we can see and admire more details of the merform here! It's nice that we can see the gradient on his skin really well as it fades into a lighter color on the front. and the markings and coloration on the webbed hand. (... Also, as a clavicle enjoyer, I must give Floyd's a thumbs up 👍) Jade is the opposite of him, he's posed with his chest resting against the boat and his arms crossed, which shields many of his organs. This also suits him very well, since Jade has been shown to be the brother that thinks and plans before acting. That does, however, leave his BACK exposed (though the dorsal fins jutting out probably provide some degree of protection)... meaning he could be BACKSTABBED, which is something Jade abhors (he's the only one allowed to do the backstabbing around here). ... AND HEY, IT HELPS THAT BOTH OF THEIR POSES ARE ALSO CUTE AND COULD BE FRAMED AS EITHER FLIRTING AND/OR TEEHEEING TO DISTRACT YOU RIGHT AFTER COMMITING SOME HEINOUS ACT 🤡 (<- delulu)

SIDE NOTE, IS THERE A REASONs NWHWy THER;ESE A A N EMPHASIS SON J WORD'S BACKA ND BICEPS?????? ?? ? ? ????? wHY HSE';S RESITNG HIS HEAD ON THE BOAT ANDA LOOKIGN lk aT YROUIAION A YOIU SO KSOFTTLMY LIKE THAT ????? ? ?? ? ? ? ???? ?? ? ????? ? ?WIETH HIS SLKITLTTEL E TEEFS FSK SHOWING FORM BEHIND hi S CYANoisis AS SS LIPS??? ? ? ?? ? ?? ? ??? OTL

THE TwSDT DEVS ARE SO FuRKCING SiCK N TWIsXTED F OR THIS

If the initial art already looks like tTHIS 💀 I dONmt EVDn WanNA iMaGINE WHSy yHE GROOviES MIGHG nT bE………:::::::::::: ……… ……….. …… …. .. . ….. ..: . … . . TWST dEVS, you woulDNmT GIVD uS TWEELS CRYING WoULD YOU???? WOULD YOu????!?????!??!?!!!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 24

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: hey hey.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Before you get too far, Bryce appears from the shadows. You don't know if he was listening or if he's only stumbled on you but it hardly matters. He offers only a sullen look, too meek to mention the tension that stands between you. He left you first to King Geralt, then Lord Vesemir; he's more their ally than your own. But what can a maid expect? 

"I am to return to the queen's service," you state matter-of-fact. 

"So I've been informed," he says grimly. "Perhaps you might quell her restlessness." 

You stop along the corridor as your surroundings grow familiar. You’re halt and sway as the soldier scuffs to a stop a few steps ahead of you. He turns to face you as you unclasp the cloak from around your shoulders. You drag it away from your form. 

“Sir, will you hold this for me,” you fold it over your arm and offer it to him, “I shouldn’t require it during my work.” 

He looks at it and takes it with a frown. He pets the soft fur around the neck as you catch a peek of the wolf’s badge sewn into the lining. You lift your head and look past him. 

“I will make sure it is not lost,” he promises. 

Your dread mounts with each step. You’re weighed down by the last day and all that’s come to light. You cannot shake the shackles newly clasped around your wrists and the links only draw tighter and tighter. For now, the danger has calmed but it will not dissipate entirely. There is only doom ahead, even if now, it remains obscure. 

You will have no safety, not even in the familiar; not even in your duty. How can you keep on in serving when you are at the same deceiving? 

Jazlene, once Lady, now Queen, has rarely been easy to calm. You've come to expect her virulent behaviour, never once forsaking her the habits inherited from her mother. Now, you fear her fiery emotions and what wrath she may rain upon you should your betrayal be discovered. It almost seems wiser to confess and be done with it all, yet your fear restrains your guilt. 

As you come upon the queen's chamber doors, you give pause, as does the soldier at your side. You share a curious look between you. There are no guards at her door.  

"Gods, I beg, do not tell me she has escaped once more," Bryce mutters. 

You step ahead of him and go to the door. You turn your ear to it and lean in, dragging your palms along the wood. You ball your hand and rap upon it, certain you hear some sound from within. There is scuffling and the queen's trite voice. She is within. 

You peer back over your shoulder at your escort as he squints. The door opens from within and you spin back. It's that orange-haired guard; Gilles. It’s odd and the noise that escapes Bryce’s throat says as much. 

“Queen having another tantrum?” The soldier behind you scoffs. 

“Eh, she is your queen too,” Gilles accuses, “it is treason to mock your liege.” 

“Mocking? No, merely the truth,” Bryce chirps, “let the maid in. She’ll do better work of serving our admirable queen, eh? Tend to her lady needs with a softer hand.” 

Gilles grabs your arm and shoves you through the door, “do not worry her--” 

“Eh!” You feel another tug and you’re turned back as Bryce tears the guard away from you, “unhand her. She is but a maid. If you need feel big, you might go squash insects in the stables, yea?” 

“Be wary of crossing me, king’s pet,” Gilles pushes away the other soldier, “I do not fear any old man, no matter his name.” 

“Young twerp like you, I’ve known many,” Bryce stands unflinching, “my name comes from tossing fools like you in the dirt. Don’t think the years have taken that much.” 

“The maid is a maid, as you say. She hardly needs a guard herself,” the carrot-headed man rebukes. 

“And you hardly need the witness, eh,” the soldier sneers and chortles, “heed your own warning, man, you dance in a pit of snakes.” 

“I am the snake,” Gilles makes himself as big as he can but pales against the taller soldier. 

Bryce pokes his tongue in his cheek and smirks. He doesn’t reply, instead looking past the younger man, “maid, attend your duty and I’ll attend my own.” 

“Sir Bryce,” you utter tremulously. 

“Don’t worry for me,” he assures as his gaze returns to the man before him. “I’ve sworn never to draw steel against a man of the crown, and I shan’t, so long as the man in question does not offer doubt to that title. We are allies,” he slaps Gilles’ arm, his other hand on his pommel, “aren’t we, loyal guard?” 

Gilles’ gauntlet flinches towards his own sword but does not finish its path. He raises his chin and backs up against the wall. 

“In the name of the king and the queen,” the guard proclaims. 

Bryce’s eyes linger on the man and he shoos you with a flick of his fingers, “go on, maid. You needn’t worry for the matters of men.” 

You quickly flit inside, your heart fraught and your veins flooding with ice. That look in the soldier’s eyes worries you. He is a man of war and the mere scent of conflict seems to enliven him. Certainly, you know, if the guard gives the merest of reasons, there will be blood. 

Jazlene is within, abed beneath layers of fur. She lays with a hand against her forehead in a constant state of dismay. The door closes behind you and she sighs. 

“I called for a bath ages ago!” She decries, “if I must be imprisoned in this horrid place, I will at least be warm!” 

The mention of a bath disarms you. You waver on your feet before you can reclaim your wits. You ignore the memories stirring in the base of your skull. The king’s heat creeps up your back as the sensation of his touch tickles in your sides. You could sob for the way your chest rents. 

“Your highness, I will fetch the water,” you acquiesce in a brittle voice. 

“Oh, and where have you been?” She bawls, “here I am, with child and miserable and cold, and you are off, a maid, without a care? Abandoning her queen, as my very husband does the same?” 

You lower your chin at the mention of the king, “my apologies, I was bid to... other duties.” 

The lie is like poison in your mouth. You could gag at your own deceit. You keep your head low. You wish she would rise and pinch or lash or kick you. 

“All I wanted was wine,” she babbles at the canopy as she throws her hands up, “and company. He will not allow my own father to see me. He chased him out like some stray dog. The only family I have close and he keeps us apart. I want to play cards and I have no one to win against.” She thumps her fists down on the mattress and kicks her foot, “how can a queen have no power?” 

She sits up, her eyes fiery as her curls puff out wildly from her head. Her eyes are sparkling from her tears and pretty features twisted. The blankets fall away from her torso. She mops her face with the sleeves of her gown; they are wrinkled and her bodice is crooked. 

“And that Lord Ves... whoever he is, he is a nasty old troll,” she blusters, “I hate him. I hate them all, these winter pests. These animals. Beasts!” She snarls, “how can they live like this? I swear, when we reach the king’s castle, this will not go on. I must have my court. I am a queen and I should be crowned!” 

She sneers and shakes her head, closing her eyes as she presses her long fingers to her nose, “why are you just standing there?” She hisses. “I want a bath!” 

She pushes the blankets off of her and like a storm, she blows out of bed and towards you. You flinch but do not shield herself. She grabs your shoulders and shakes you. She shoves you away from her and you stagger. 

“I will fetch the wat--” 

You cannot finish your words as she strikes you across the cheek. You taste blood. The punishment you longed for is not so freeing as you expect. The sear across your face cannot assuage the flames of your guilt. 

“Go before I knock your teeth from your stupid head,” she snarls.  

You retreat and pull the door inward, letting yourself out. Gilles remains and does not look or comment at you. You rush away, your mouth pooling with blood. You swallow it down as you get to the kitchens, a pair of servants in gray working in the light of the stove. 

“Water,” you murmur as you rub your jaw, “please, can I have a pot to boil?” 

A woman, slender and silent, moves to fetch the large vessel. She hands it to you and you thank her. She clings to the other handle. 

“You will need help,” she declares. 

“Yes, thank you,” you flutter your lashes as the sting sticks in your skin. 

You know her. She is the same who welcomed in the king’s party to the castle. She helps you carry the pot down a corridor. You feel cold creeping through the air and your teeth chatter. She doesn’t react to the chill and leads you out a door into the frigid outdoors. She stops at a cistern pump and angles the pot beneath it. 

She takes a small mallet from next to the spout and beats the lever until it dips, ice falling away from it. She pumps without a word as you watch. You offer to take over but she shakes her head. You linger close by, feeling useless. 

“Lift,” she orders as she stills the pump and you grab the handle as she takes the other. You carry the pot together back into the castle. 

The act reminds you of another time. The night you and Merinda carried water to the king’s chamber in Debray. The woman across from you is a stranger and as cold as the winds. You raise the vessel over the flames and leave it to boil. 

She turns to you and nods, “hard work serving strong men. Best us maids work as one.” 

Her words are kind though her tone remains as hard as iron. Your cheeks tense and your lips tremble, “yes, thank you, miss.” 

“Same as you,” she dismisses the title you give her, “let me know when it steams.” 

You agree and turn to face the pot as it sits above a brazier. You are comforted in knowing that not all is changed in the Hinterlands. That camaraderie among servants has not frozen over like everything else. 

As you carry up the first pot of steaming water, the servant offers a name. Ezme. You return your own before you reach the queen’s chamber. You make several trips up and down, between the boil, and fill the large tub nearly to the brim, adding a pot of cool water to mellow the heat. 

Ezme leaves with the empty pot as you remain to attend the queen’s bath. As Gilles pulls the door shut, you notice how his eyes search past you. You turn and go to Jazlene as she tugs at her dress. You help unlace the piece of her gown, then her corset, and lift her shift over her head.  

She lowers herself into the tub, her dark skin flawless and her figure still as sculpted and firm as ever. She must be early in her state as she has yet to show the effect of her condition. She reclines with her arms over the lip of the wooden tub. 

“And what do you suppose the king is about?” She speaks with her eyes closed, frightening you as you stand quietly by the wall. “Hm? Why does he keep my people from me? Not only my father, but those other summer nobles who have accompanied us?” 

You don’t speak or move. It’s best to act as if you aren’t there. She speaks to herself; for herself. 

“First, he forbade my mother to come. Kept her from seeing me conceive her first grandchild,” she sneers, "and now he has banned my father from my chambers. All because he thought to provide me with a bottle of wine.” 

She is back to that. The wine. She is childish in how she latches onto that one grievance and will not let it go. 

“Because he would defend his daughter,” she snivels, “well, who else will keep me company as my husband remains errant? Oh, how bound he is to his kingliness. Oh, the hero he is. He has brought his wintry misery to the summer people and cursed us all to his wretched ways.” 

You stare at the floor, scalded by the dangerous inference of her complaints. She treads close to those things even a queen should not voice. She might be unhappy but she cannot be so unwise. It is like the game with the dice; she does not think of the turns to come, only what she holds in the moment. 

“He must plot against us. It’s what we all believe,” she sits up the water swishing around her.  

You try not to react, especially as the king’s command returns to you. ‘...you will watch and you will listen...’ 

“He has baited us all into his lands, into his snare, and he means to close it on us. He must,” she puts her hands up as if what she says is only the truth. Without a doubt, she must be right, “he speaks of uniting us and yet he means to extinguish us. He will do away with the summer’s blood and invade our lands as he always meant to.” She scoffs and drags her fingertip over the water’s surface, “he gives to all the same empty vows he gave me...” 

Silence, the sort where you can hear your own heart beating. You hold your breath. She needs to stop speaking. You want to stop hearing. 

“We are not as foolish as he thinks. We will be ready,” she smirks and tilts her head, “and he would not hurt his own prince, would he?” She plunges her hand under the water and rubs her stomach. “Even he cannot deprive his people of their future.” 

She hums and the water swishes around her as she lays back again. She snickers and sighs. You tuck your chin down and clutch your hands tightly. In this war of winter and summer, of king and queen, of husband and wife, you will surely be lost. 

[bucketsofmonsters]

Deep Water - Part 5

cw: the ocean, begrudging kissing done for practical reasons, discussions of drowning, blood, malnourishment, more tags to be added as the story continues

merman x fem reader

Word count: 3k

read on ao3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Simon wretched. He wretched in front of them and it burned his throat and stung his ego as he emptied his stomachs of human food in front of his human and your awful little friend.

Finn had brought him this. Maybe if you'd brought him food it wouldn't make him feel this awful.

Probably not, but maybe.

He didn't like being brought food by this man anyway. It felt too much like courting. 

He would preen at the idea of you bringing him food if he weren't currently emptying his stomachs in uncomfortably shallow water

Shallow water he bore for you. Not for him. Stupid little man.

He hated that he needed him. Needed him to bring him fish and these horrible toxins they’d decided to try. 

“Probably not bread then,” he heard you say and he shook his head

No. No more of this bread. Not if he had anything to say about it, thank you very much.

“Okay,” your stupid little human said, still looking nervous. As he should be. If you hadn’t stood between them, he’d be dead. Even in the state he was in, he could lure him right in past the rocky shore and into deeper waters. 

But he wouldn’t, for reasons he didn’t like to think about, his stomachs turning again as he did. 

The two of you exchanged words once more, ones he hadn’t been paying attention to, before the stupid human left again. 

You sat on the shore beside him and he pulled himself out of the water next to you. 

His gills ached a little as he shifted so frequently from water to air but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to lay beside you. 

You stared out at the sea, eyes a little distant and yet still warm. Even when they weren’t looking at him.

He couldn’t bring himself to feel jealous, not when he got to look at you like this. Even if that look wasn't directed at him. 

You spoke softly and contemplatively when you did. “They were together. Finn and Isobel. She was my sister, I don’t know if I ever told you about her.”

He shook his head, wishing he knew more of you. Wishing you’d share more of yourself with him.

But he couldn’t really blame you, what had he told you of himself?

“She’s smart,” he said, contented at the fact that Finn had apparently already been rejected by one of your own. 

“Smart?”

“You said were. He is not a suitable mate.”

You shifted on the rocks, something he’d come to realize you did when you’d been made uncomfortable, usually by him. He could rarely understand why, despite how frequently it happened. This was one of those times and he waited, patiently, for you to make it clear to him what he had done. 

“She never left him. They were together until she died.”

“Oh.” A horrible sense of dread overwhelmed him. “How?”

“She drowned,” you said, picking up a rock and throwing it out into the water. 

He was glad you weren’t looking at him, eyes locked into the horizon as you spoke. He was certain the worry was written across every feature on his face. 

Did he do that? He didn't know. That felt worse almost, that someone so dear to you could have been so insignificant to him that he may have killed her without even knowing

“Simon?” you asked, words fading in past the intense, buzzing panic. 

He wasn't sure how he felt when you called him that. A foreign, half-remembered name. You'd seemed displeased the first time he’d told it to you but you continued to use it so it couldn’t have been that bad. 

He’d caught himself calling himself that in his own mind, of late. It was easy to when your voice was the only thing that filled his head. 

He wished he had a name like you did, one he’d been given at birth so that when you said it it felt as if you were speaking him, like you could pour his essence out of your mouth with the affection he often heard in your voice. 

As he focused once again he saw the horrible human, holding a fish this time. He looked worried too and Simon wanted to snap at him for the look. How dare he pity him, he wasn’t to be pitied. He could swallow him up, could fix this problem easily, all on his own. 

And then your panicked eyes under choppy water filled his vision. 

He lowered his head, violence seeping out of him, sufficiently cowed, and took the fish. 

They’d been dead a while and he took no satisfaction in sinking his teeth into the soft flesh. 

Eating above the water was messy. The blood clung to his jaw, dripping down his face as he tore a chunk out of the creature.

If he weren’t so hungry he might’ve cared. 

A ravenous force took him until all he was left with was stubborn meat stuck on bones. 

Only then did he look at you. You looked disgusted with him, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. He shied away from your gaze, tears welling up in his eyes. 

It felt like everything he did was wrong, displeased you and made you look at him like that. 

He slid wordlessly back into the water, not emerging onto the shore until all the blood had seeped into the water.

The concern was back on your face when he returned. 

“Was that okay?” you prompted him gently as he stared up at you. “You feel a little better now?”

He nodded, eyes locked on yours. 

A soft sigh escaped you, lips barely parting to let it leave you. He wanted to feel it, the gentle air passing over his skin, the soft lips he’d felt against his before. 

“Good,” you said, and your smile reached your eyes. 

It didn’t take long for you to depart, leaving to sleep far away from him. 

He did his best to rest and then he did what he’s begun doing most days, he milled about in the water, lonely and near the shore.

He felt an intense panic when he didn’t have eyes on you. If he could get his hands on you, cold and vulnerable in open waters, so could someone else. 

He wondered what he’d do if someone pulled Finn under. He liked to think he’d be noble and protect him, save someone so dear to you. Or at least that he’d turn and choose to let him go, allow him to be dragged under.

He knew that in all likelihood, he would freeze. He found himself doing that a lot lately. It seemed to come alongside the panic more often than not. 

Later, you came to the shore with your soft eyes and he did what he always did. He fought down overwhelming urges to pull you under, to drown you and feast, to protect you as his mate, to beg you to hunt for him as his body became more and more convinced he had lost the ability to do it himself, to do any number of things you’d despise him for wanting. 

He lay on the shore, frozen, until he felt his mind come back to him. 

The fish had helped, he thought. It didn’t take quite as long for the urges to leave him. 

You came bearing more of them. 

Well, you didn’t. Finn did. But he could pretend, think that maybe he was just carrying them to the shore, that really they were from you. 

He knew that they weren’t but he was no stranger to trying to read intention into the things you did. 

It was so easy to slip into, to pretend every action was a secret message of adoration, just like his were for you. 

But they weren’t and when he allowed himself to pretend all he’d done was hurt you, so he needed to be done with that now. 

If you wanted something from him, you’d tell him. 

If you felt something for him, you’d tell him. 

But you hadn’t, and that was fine. He wouldn’t push. 

But he couldn’t quite stop himself from pretending. Surely it was fine, so long as he didn’t act on it. 

Finn dropped the fish on the shore and Simon dove for them. 

It was unseemly but he couldn’t help it. The hunger had left a steady ache inside him and he would take any chance at relief. 

The basket held a few fish, five or six of them strewn inside. 

It was enough to be full. He could’ve cried at the sight. 

But he had more important things to be doing and so instead, he grabbed the basked firmly and slid back into the water, dragging them under. 

He flipped the basket as he immersed himself in the water so the fish wouldn’t escape him and rise to the surface, holding them protectively to his chest. 

He’d wanted to tear into them on the shore but he’d seen your face the last time. He could not see it again, the revulsion that had painted itself there. 

So instead, no longer dissuaded by your presence, he devoured them.

Blood clouded the water as he ate, swallowing mouthfuls of flesh one after the other.

It wasn’t the safest way to eat, could surely attract attention from other hungry creatures, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d done as much caring as he was capable of. 

When he was done, he returned to the two of you. 

Some of the foam lining the gentle waves ran red, stained by remnants of blood washing to shore. 

You both had the decency not to comment on it, though he watched your eyes flick down and then quickly back up. 

He wondered if you’d begrudge him this too. Your food wasn’t quite as messy as his was, was further from the creatures you ate, even when you ate meat just as he did. 

He’d seen it before, basically unrecognizable, no blood pooling or ripping out bones as you ate. A more seemly affair. 

Finn’s eyes lingered longer on the red, something quietly sad in his eyes, before they darted up to Simon. 

As you sat, fawning over Simon and ensuring he had enough to eat, he found it difficult to bask in your attention the way he wanted, that gaze remaining steadily on him. 

He tried not to notice Finn as often as he could. He brought about feelings that were better avoided, especially in front of you. 

Currently, that was difficult, due to the fact that he was staring Simon down, some horrible thought forming behind his eyes. 

“What’s it like?” he blurted out, cutting you off in a way that made Simon want to snarl at him. “Being under the water like that?” He sounded eager.

“Horrible,” you said with a little huff, your words turning bitter. 

He did not begrudge you for the harshness of your words. He would move to land if he could, to prove to you he held no loyalty for the ocean. 

“No,” Finn tried to clarify. “Not just swimming, actually being able to stay down there, to breathe it and live it.”

“I know,” you insisted. “I’ve been down there. It’s awful.”

Finn’s eyes flicked between the two of you like he was trying to decipher something. “How do you… please tell me you're human. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

You reeled back a little at his words, like the thought of you being like him had never occurred to you. He supposed maybe it hadn’t, maybe the possibility of what things would be like if you were the same hadn’t haunted you as it did him. 

“No,” you said with a swift, decisive shake of your head. “Nothing like that. He just does this strange thing where you can breathe underwater. It’s happened a few times now. It’s awful, I don’t recommend it.”

Your unfavorable words did nothing to snuff out the excitement blooming across his face. “Could you do that to me?”

Simon’s nose wrinkled at the thought. “I’d have to kiss you.”

“Oh. Well, it wouldn’t mean anything, it’s just practical.” 

A spike of panic shot through him at the thought that you believed the same about the kiss you had shared with him. That second one that changed his life.

It was practical, he supposed. At least the first one, underwater with panic in your eyes. The second couldn’t be. He couldn’t make sense of it, refused to accept it. 

But this one could be, he supposed.

He turned to you, unsure what he was looking for. 

You seemed just as uncertain as he felt. You spent a while searching for words, mulling them over, before settling on, “It hurts like hell.”

He was quick to reassure you both that it was fine and he didn’t mind. Simon didn’t much care what he minded. 

But then you sighed, slow and resigned, and gave him a look that if he was reading your expression right, which he’d discovered he often wasn’t, was saying ‘please.’

And he couldn’t disappoint you. 

With a huff and a frustrated look directed at you, he grabbed Finn’s hand and began yanking him back into the water. 

Of course, it would have been easier to simply lure him in, but he had a feeling you would not have approved of that.

So instead he yanked him, slowly but surely, into deeper waters. 

The brush of his lips, however brief, revealed rough lips, not like yours, not soft and sweet and so dear to him.

He did his best to lose the touch in the scramble of pulling him into the water. 

He watched the fight that went on in Finn’s eyes as he tried to convince his brain that he was allowed to breathe, saw the moment of panic when his breath could be held no longer and his body forced him to inhale a heavy breath. 

He knew it was wrong to feel a little swell of satisfaction now that he knew that it hurt to suck in water where air should be, and yet he couldn’t quite muster the shame that should follow such a feeling. 

Only as he saw the pain in his eyes did he realize how horrible of a decision this was for Finn. He’d put himself in so much danger, offered himself up to a siren, for what? To be able to see under the waves for a few more minutes? Surely the man could just go for a swim. 

He didn’t know the truth, that he was probably safer with Simon because at least this way, he’d be left alone by other creatures. He didn’t know that his devotion to you kept him from pulling him down and calling it a freak accident. 

All he knew was that he’d put himself in the water with a starving siren. 

Finn left him behind pretty quickly, moving to investigate the floor of the ocean, trying to look at fish before they swiftly swam away, leaving him behind in cloudy water. 

It felt like an uninteresting affair to Simon but Finn seemed to be getting something from it. 

Some amount of time passed, slipping away as Simon distractedly followed the irritating little human around. 

Eventually, after far too long, he appeared to be done. 

Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe Simon pulled him to shore without a signal. It was hard to read body language when one was irritated. 

With another burst of satisfaction, he pulled Finn onto the shore and watched him heave water from his lungs, some of the embarrassment from the human food incident sinking away. 

Strange. He’d never thought it embarrassing when you’d done it. Now, watching Finn deposit ocean water onto the sand with wet hacking noises, he thought that it was a shameful affair. 

“That was incredible,” Finn managed to gasp out after a few minutes of heaving. 

It didn’t feel right, that he’d taken him down there. That his lips had touched Finns.

He turned to look at you, sitting beside him on the shore, a sympathetic grimace on your face as you watched Finn. 

And then he leaned in and kissed you. 

Not a practical kiss, with no intent to put you anywhere near the water, but one born of only affection. 

It was a brief thing and when he pulled away, you looked almost panicked. 

His heart sank at the realization he’d messed it up again, done something strange and wrong and made you afraid of him. 

But then the tension began to fade from your body, panic shifting into confusion.

“Why did you do that? Am I going into the water?”

He shook his head, face still inches from yours. “I just needed to. I’m sorry if I was wrong.”

He heard something from Finn and refused to turn and look at him when you were so close. It sounded almost like a cough, but not the painful, wet coughs of breathing air once more. It was a short stunted thing. 

Simon, without turning, announced in response to this strange noise, “You can leave.”

A fit of laughter escaped you at his words, burying your head in your hands as you giggled.

He hadn’t been joking.

That was fine though. He liked it when you laughed, even if it was at him. It was never cruel, always soft and with nothing but shining amusement in your eyes.

He wished he was better at making jokes.

When he tried you just stood and stared and when he did not you laughed.

But then, he was never the best at knowing when to laugh either. There was a kinship in that, at least.

When he thought he might be laughing out of turn too much, he suppressed it. You didn't. He thought maybe your smile was too bright to keep down, that maybe it would hurt you like keeping in your air did.

His heart sank a little as he remembered.

Hurting you. The horrible realization that he'd hurt them all.

Maybe some of them laughed out of turn too. He'd never know.

Maybe your sister had.

He turned to leave. He couldn't stand to be here any longer.

He should tell you. He knew he should. But his jaw felt locked shut and his body felt like it was being pulled away, out of his control. 

And so, like a coward, he fled, the water drowning out the sounds of laughter that he left behind.

[genderlessghoul]

Hey so some while ago I wrote a bit about Dew's elemental transition and him taking it well and NOT HAVING ANGST ATTACHED TO IT FOR ONCE CUZ I'M SOFT!!! (Affectionately to anyone who writes angst, I love you)

Anyway I talked a bit about Rain's summoning in that post and I wanted to write it better so I did! It's under the cut.

~1k of Dew falling in love at first sight

Dewdrop stands in front of his mirror, ceremonial cloak in hand. Anticipation and dread eat at his nerves as he stares at his own reflection. He barely recognizes what the mirror shows him now. Just a few weeks after his elemental transition, he's not yet used to this new version of himself. 

No more gills. No more fins. His silky soft white hair now a more orange blonde, blue eyes replaced with amber. Scorch marks and scars over all his once discernible Water features. 

He doesn't regret his choice. He says it loud and clear to anyone who'll listen. Water was familiar, but never home. Fire embraces him, makes him feel welcomed. That doesn't make it any easier for him to live this new change, to recognize the stranger looking at him from the other side of the mirror. He throws his cloak on with a sigh before heading out his door. Tonight, the Clergy summons its newest ghouls. Air and Water. The Water that will take his place in the band and- No. Dewdrop pushes the thought aside. He cannot, will not, resent the new ghoul simply for existing. He doesn't regret his choice.

The Fire ghoul runs into Aether, also on his way to the room where this ancient ritual will take place. As the new head of the Quintessence ghouls (by default of being now the only one), it's his job to welcome the new summons.

“You doing alright?”

He asks the nerve-wracked smaller ghoul.

“'m fine, just… nervous.”

“You can tell me what's on your mind, you know? It's kind of a big deal, what's happening tonight.”

“I just hope that-” Dewdrop pauses, not sure exactly what he's hoping for. “That we get a good one.”

Aether hums in acknowledgment and the both of them keep walking in silence, picking up Mountain on the way. The last three ghouls remaining after the events following the death of the Emeritus brothers. They make their way to the summoning chamber, where Sister Imperator and the shiny new Cardinal are already waiting, candles lit and sigils drawn on the floor.

The woman instructs them into place, around the circle of candles and explains the ceremony. He can't be bothered to pay much attention, he watches Aether pick up the cloaks for the ghouls-to-be and take place next to him. All Dew has to do is stand there and keep his mouth shut. Should be easy enough.

Imperator stands by the Cardinal as she shoves a book in his hands and reminds him of the incantations. He takes a hesitant step forward, gripping the ancient book in an iron grip that Dew can't help wondering if he'll rip the thing in half. Copia clears his throat nervously before he starts to read with a shaky voice. 

A small wind picks up in the room, slowly growing in intensity as the Cardinal reads until it turns into a tornado that takes out most of the candles around the summoning circle. He finishes the incantation and the tornado disappears, revealing two Air ghoulettes sitting in the middle of the circle, both looking just as confused as everyone else in the room.

Two?

Aether looks at Imperator, wanting confirmation before breaking into the circle. She gives a quizzical look in response and the Quintessence ghoul takes it as his unusual cue to go greet the newcomers. He offers them both a hand and gives them the two ceremonial cloaks he had with him. 

Dew watches as Aether greets them and exchanges a few words, getting them into place around the circle. Now is not the time for long winded explanations, they still have one ghoul to summon. The Fire ghoul fidgets nervously under his cloak. His heart feels like it's going to burst out of his ribcage at any moment, the anticipation slowly killing him.

The Cardinal lets out a dry chuckle while Imperator glares at him with daggers shooting out of her eyes. How do you mess up a spell that badly that you end up summoning two ghouls at once?

Copia does his best to ignore the Sister and flicks the book to another page for the next incantation. He looks up at Dew expectantly and the ghoul gives him a confused expression before he catches on.

Oh, right.

He walks around the circle and relights the extinguished candles with ease before taking his place again. The Cardinal starts to read again and Dew wonders what kind of small natural disaster he's going to conjure, this time around.

Everyone stares in equal parts of awe and confusion when the inside of the summoning circle turns into a puddle. No hurricane or tsunami, no downpour or thunderstorm. Just a puddle of stillwater. After a moment of absolutely nothing happening, the top of a head peeks out of the water, a curtain of black hair sticking to blue skin. A pair of curious amphibian eyes stare down the people in the room while the rest of the ghoul, if it even is one, stays completely submerged underwater.

Dew shoots a glance as Aether, who looks like he's at a complete loss of what to do in this new scenario. Before he even knows it, the Fire ghoul is kneeling in front of the puddle.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

A voice calls out from beneath the surface and Dew has to fight every single atom in his body not to jump in the water right then and there.

“How you feel about getting outta there, right now?”

“Water's nice.”

“We have better pools.”

The pair of eyes blinks slowly at him. Dew's face becomes incredibly hot and he convinces himself it's from having everyone in the room watching him. A webbed hand with slender fingers reaches out of the water and he takes it, pulling the new ghoul out of the puddle with effort. He takes his own ceremonial cloak off and offers it to the newcomer, covering his naked form in an attempt not to ogle him so soon after being summoned.

“I'm Dew, by the way.”

“Rain.”

Rain. The Fire ghoul repeats in his mind. Sounds like home.

[bainshiewrites]

[LF Friends, Will Travel] It takes a village

Date: 68 PST (Post Stasis Time)

"It takes a village to raise a child" - Terran Proverb, unknown origin.

It was supposed to have been his species next step forwards: "Mountain stream". A first colony outside of their home home planet, the start of a new raging river into the universe. The hopes and dreams of every Zorthian packed onto a single ship and pushed into the starry skies. The seeds sent out had sprouted into a beautiful set of cities and towns over ten peaceful years. Ten long years. Ten tenacious years.

Ten useless years, as it was all for nothing. Every monument, every building, every triumph and every memory would be reduced to nothingness: every single one of them was going to die.

The cities of glass were no more. The orange sun of this planet no longer shimmered between the towers that had spiralled high into the air. The Zorthian's tribute to a new world no longer bathed in an eternal sunset: any structure over 3 stories tall had long since collapsed into tiny shards of glass.

The artificial rivers that sprawled along the surface were no longer filled with Zorthian's living their lives. No more children played in pools, no more lovers swam tail to tail under the dual moonlit sky. Anyone left at this point would be sheltering in whatever structures that still remained: in basements and emergency shelters, surrounded by their families, simply waiting for the end.

Apart from one. In one of the few buildings still standing Fluur lay on the floor. He, like all of his species, could be described as a large 4ft long salamander with translucent blue skin, interspersed with vibrant red gills and fins.

The room was a mess: water pooled along the expertly crafted glass floors. Shelves, desks and half the ceiling lay scattered in piles of debris among what had once been a beautiful building.

Everything was shrouded in darkness, the dual moons only providing a small amount of light through the opaque glass sides of the building he was in. Fluur's only real source of light was the few blinking LED's of the one machine still online, leaving the Zorthian alone with nothing but the dread of his thoughts.

Well, alone with nothing but the dread of his thoughts and the copious amounts of intoxicants floating in the water around him, the bottles of mind altering substances he was drinking heavily from gave some solace as he lay there. Luckily the room was still flooded with 2ft of water, as intended, allowing Fluur to lie half submerged in the water while he tried to get the most drunk that any Zorthian had ever gotten. Half sitting half floating in the darkness, drinking heavily while he waited to die.

The world began to shake again, another earthquake hitting the building and forcing Fluur to hold onto anything still bolted down. Waiting the 20 seconds for the world to stop shaking and spinning, the sound of something presumably expensive breaking in another room. Eventually it stopped, letting the Zorthian to resume his through the building's translucent glass walls, at the at the moonlit skyline of the destroyed city he called home.

Fluur took another swig of the drink, enjoying the numbing agents running through his body. That had been the longest one yet, not that the quakes were going to get better any time soon. It turns out that there was a reason this planet was uninhabited, even though it was in such a prime position in the galaxy.

A strange combination of elements all mixing together in a way that the Zorthian scientists could barely understand, meant this planet was literally a timebomb; it would eventually shake itself apart, leaving nothing but an asteroid belt. The realization of what was causing the increasing quakes had only been figured out a week ago and based on the calculated timescale they barely had a day at most left.

Fluur finished the bottle he was holding, reaching for another. He should be at home right now spending his last moments with his family; with his siblings and his parents. But someone needed to stay behind. Because the single working machine to his right was the planets interstellar communicator.

Not that realistically anyone would be coming. Sure they had send out a distress call a week ago, but the Zorthians were a young and technologically primitive race on the galactic scale; the amphibians having reached the stars found out that they were, if anything, below average.

Outside of a vague curiosity all the Federation had really done was register their species and make sure everyone's translators where all speaking on the same protocol. Apart from this the Federation was useless, a collection of every sapient species that did nothing but keep everyone's translators up to date and hosted neutral ground upon which actual diplomatic actions were taken.

Upon hearing of the Zorthian's plight the Federation has scheduled a meeting to schedule a meeting about the issue. A meeting scheduled for 3 months time.

Unfortunately in the scale of the galaxy, the Zorthians were uninteresting and had no real allies. Well, technically they had one...

Fluur looked up at the sky through the glass of the building, wondering where the colony ship was now. If they'd have had more time, a month maybe, they could have possibly reattached all of the modules again, made them FTL capable and gotten most of the population off the planet. But they'd had a week and the decision was made to take the core module of the colony ship, make sure it was still FTL worthy, then fill it with as many tadpoles and caretakers as possible. Two days ago it had sailed off again into the stars with its precious cargo, leaving 2 million souls behind.

A light appeared in the sky, causing the amphibian to squint in confusion for a moment, wondering what the hell that was. Then another, and another, lights appearing until a V formation of 7 dots hung like diamonds next to the two moons.

Then the communicator to his right exploded into life, causing Fluur to practically molt out of his skin in one go. He paused for a moment, staring at the device, wondering if the intoxicants he'd drunk had had too much of an effect, before desperately scrambling over the chaos of the room and slamming a 3 fingered hand on the accept call button. The screen blared to life, causing the red frills on the top of his head to expand in shock at what was now visible to him. It was somehow... a Terran?

The Terrans were technically their allies, the only species to reach out across the void and offer friendship, to offer support and aid where needed. It had originally been confusing, until other the other races of the galaxy just explained that this is just what Terrans did: a species of chaotic apes originating from a planet that shouldn't be able to harbour life.

They were known for two things: Being crazy enough to build an AI that somehow hadn't killed them yet, and their desire to experience new things: They would practically fall over themselves to meet new species. Up until now that alliance had always assumed to be ceremonial. The Zorthians had nothing to offer in such an agreement, and even if they did the Terrans were quite literally on the other side of the galaxy. Expecting their help would be like expecting to catch lighting in a bottle.

Yet there she was in front of him, beaming with a big smile below a mop of auburn hair.

"Well Howdy there partner! I'm Captain Amander Blake of the trading fleet Texas Forever, although right now representin' the Terran Alliance. I heard ya all in a pickle and need a pick me up?"

It took him a moment to gather his wits, stumbling over his words as he tried to dispel the numb feeling in his body and sober up in record time.

"I'm Fluur of.... here? We need an evacuation as soon as possible."

His face fell as he realized that this wasn't quite the miracle they needed. There were only 7 ships in the sky, Flurr trying to do some quick math in his intoxicated brain on how many Zorthians could fit. Maybe they could get half the remaining tadpoles and caretakers onboard? Anything was better than nothing, but Fluur still responded with a forlorn tone.

"You need to approach quietly to the location I'm sending you, we don't have much time left".

"You ain't kiddin, your planet looks like it's about to pop." The general mirth of the Terran frankly inappropriate for the situation as she grinned back through the transmission viewer "I'm gonna be declin' that suggestion though, get ya'll to the three locations I'm a transmitin and I reckon we might just make it."

A frown covered Fluur's face, frills again opening up in worry as he stared back at the Terran from his dark unlit room.

"We have 2 million people on the planet, and while I'm glad you're here... there's only seven of you. Telling everyone could cause a riot, we need to focus on the tadpoles."

The long laugh caused the amphibian to jump again as the grin on Amanda's face increased tenfold.

"Bless your heart, but I ain't the only one here, we just got here first!"

Almost on cue three more lights appeared in the sky and another communication request blared out; this time showing a reptilian face joining the call.

"Head Scientist Kedrid, Ritilian Scientific expedition Alpha-Charlie446, temporarily representing the Terran alliance. You require assistance?"

"Yes! But you're still only ten vessels and-"

More lights appeared cutting off Fluur's worried objection, a flurry of communication requests requiring his full effort just to respond and link everyone together. Each grouping was of less then 10 vessels, but the sheer number of groups responding to the Zorthian's call for aid were staring to fill the sky with tens, then hundreds of new lights in the night. Species the Zorthians had only vaguely interacted with, ones they didn't even know existed, each species bringing what they had in the area to help. Fluur didn't know when he started crying, the feeling of terror and despair that he'd been blocking with copious amounts of intoxicants now being broken down by a flood of relief, relief that somehow, in the cold void of the universe a miracle had happened.

"Awww, bless your little cotton socks! Ya'll didn't think that we'd leave you adorable frogs out to dry did ya?"

As the sky continued to light up with more and more ships entering the atmosphere, Fluur was beholding the true strength of Terrans. It wasn't their technology or their AI. It wasn't their chaos or persistence, nor was it their reckless approach to science. No, the strength of the Terran's came from the one thing they were exceptional at in the galaxy.

Their ability to make friends.

[digitalnumb]

I made designs for both pre-ritual Dew and current post-ritual Dew and here's the thoughts I had while making it in the form of a mini fic, I dunno I don't write often!

When Dew was informed of the opportunity in the form of a question, he knew they had no intention of giving him an option. He was going to undergo this ritual, whether he liked it or not, whether he fought back or not. The ministry just couldn't seem to get the summoning right, and instead of summoning the fire ghoul they needed, they ended up with two water ghouls, which is no help to their cause. So a change had to be made, and surely they wouldn't force a freshly summoned ghoul to undergo it.

Regardless of the objections from the other ghouls, concern for their pack-mates well being, they scheduled the ritual, and soon enough, the day came, and there was nothing any of them could do but prepare. Prepare for anything. The best case scenario, Dew be utterly bed ridden for Lucifer knew how long, and the worst, well. It wasn't mandatory, or even recommended that the other ghouls follow the group to the chapel as Dew is dragged to the ritual table, but Aether, Mountain and Rain follow nonetheless. Not even the sisters of sin could gently persuade the closely huddled ghouls to wait outside.

They watched as Dew was strapped down to the table by his wrists and ankles, bickering with each of the sisters as they did so. Even through his mask, arguing anxiously to keep himself distracted for what was to come, Mountain and Aether could tell without a doubt the fear seeping through his facade. Eventually they sat, waiting for the dreaded moment as more preparations were to be made. Dew closed his eyes, and felt the light gleaming through the stained glass windows onto his face. He breathed in what he thought might be one of his last breaths, until a soft voice in his ear startled him. "You'll be fine," he looked up to who he knew was slipping honey-coated words into his mind. "Aeth.." he didn't notice the name slipped out till he was being gently quieted, a gentle hand being brushed through dark soft waves for the last time as Aether sent small waves of calming quintessence through Dew, soothing his running mind. As he closed his eyes again, he felt back in his and Aether's nest, like there never was a worry in the world to begin with. "You'll be alright, droplet," And like the world knew, Aether was cut off, being told to leave or at the very least step back.

As he opened his eyes again, he watched as Aether stepped back, noticing the shine of tears in his eyes, as he stepped back to join the other watery-eyed ghouls. He felt his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach, as if it was finally truly dawning on him that this may be it. He might die here. On this table, in the ministry chapel. Near the pews he has spent so many years, so much time, so many memories.

Then it began. The details of the ritual are that of things he couldn't even begin to understand. All he could understand was the great utter agony he felt. It was unlike anything he could have ever even imagined feeling, and then worse. The flames inhabiting the candles around the room grew furiously, flicking as if the mere attempt at this ritual had angered the gods. Dew's beautiful sea glass horns began to crackle and fall apart, starting at the crack in his horn he gained during his summoning at the ministry. Horns looking of obsidian shown through the cracks of his prior horns, eventually leaving just the longer obsidian horns in their place, all the while leaving a dark smoke pouring into the air around them. He then began to feel his skin and scales begin to burn, as if his body was being laid onto the core of the earth itself. His skin shriveled and burnt, leaving a new layer of skin beneath it with new fur to grow, replacing his soft and bright water ghoul markings with new grown fur and sharp edgings of markings. His gills began to burn up, shriveling and burning off, leaving what resembled deep cuts and scars into the sides of his neck and chest. All he could breathe in was sharp smoke, causing his lungs, adept to the coolness of water, begin to burn from the inside out. His screams faltered, leaving him to only whimper and writhe in pain until his lungs finished adjusting themselves to the new form he was taking. Although it was far from over. Just as soon as his pained, agonizing screams ended, they started again as the very bones in his legs and face began to reconstruct themselves, and he could feel every. Single. Bit of it. The cartilage of his ears shifted and partially melted off as they changed and reformed. Even the tears in his eyes felt like lava as his eyes changed and new color bled into them.

As he thrashed, the other ghouls decided they couldn't bear his screams of agony any longer, and allowed themselves to be pushed out by the sisters of sin. Rain was a shaking mess, being pulled in and comforted by Mountain tenderly. The only one still fighting to re-enter the room was Aether, eventually gathering himself enough to bang on the door, demanding to be let back in.

All the while, Dew's pain never skipped a beat, still flowing through his body, draining any bit of what was left in him. The form of his tail was being burnt off, and finally, the last step of the transition came. The water that remained flowing through his veins, the last thing his body held onto from his birthright as a water ghoul, burnt away from the inside out, evaporating and burning scars through his skin. As soon as the ritual drew its end, Dew stopped his screaming and thrashing as he fell back hard against the table, falling unconscious.

The aftermath of the ritual was Dew's heartbeat coming to a full stop two full times, being brought back both times. He fell into a deep coma for weeks, only to wake up still feeling the intense effects of the ritual. Even during the coma, his pain never subsided, as his conscience continued to primarily process the feeling of his recovery.

Side note: Dew got his nipples pierced after his recovering and simply shrugged it off as if it simply felt like nothing. Which to him, yeah. It definitely was.

But god forbid he get a cold. He becomes even whinier than he was while in the infirmary during recovery.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 19 all chapters

“Jane! Will you hear reason? (he stooped and approached his lips to my ear); “because, if you won’t, I’ll try violence.” -Rochester, Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte

WARNINGS: NSFW, POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T, PLZ TAKE CARE, LOVE U ALL 😘😘😘😘

-It is unfathomable, the amount of dread that manages to build inside you as you make that short walk up the stairs and down the hall. Back to the bedroom, which may as well be your jail cell. The locks on the door engage with what is to you, an ominous click.

Did you really think you were going to get one over on a man who was a professional predator?

You little fool.

You find it hard to read John’s expression. Not mad, exactly, but not happy either. Pensive. You realize he’s deep in thought, and that almost scares you more than if he’d peppered you with threats.

What is he going to do to you?

He drops you down on the bed, hard enough that you bounce. Your first instinct is to try to scramble away, but he is on you in a second, pulling you closer with hands on your thighs that will not be denied.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

He leans over you, trapping you in the cage of his arms and his torso. He is so much bigger than you, and you hate it that you find his looming body equally titillating as it is terrifying. Your hands gravitate to his chest, as though to keep him at bay, but mostly…just resting there, on muscle that is like warm carved granite.

You dare to look up meet his gaze, and find his eye has turned from swollen red to a vibrant royal purple. You know it must hurt.

Even more fucked up, you actually start to feel bad about it.

You reach up to touch his cheek lightly. “John…I’m sorry.”

His eyes narrow, and he looks you up and down so neatly trapped beneath him. “Oh, you’re going to be,” he practically purrs.

A trill of fear skitters down your spine.

“My ankle hurts,” you whine, angling for sympathy.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Pretty sure it’s yours.”

He chuckles at you, though there is a dark note beneath it all that lifts every hair on your body.

You are so fucked.

You cannot help but think he is savoring your nervousness, like a cat toying with a mouse. You are shaking like a leaf, and you flinch when he lifts a hand to your face. But he doesn’t strike you, just caresses the curve of your cheek.

You know deep down that he’s just priming you for what is to come, but fuck if it doesn’t feel wonderful to lean into his touch, and you can nearly pretend that he cherishes you. It almost puts you at ease—but you have already learned this man offers no comfort without exacting some impossible price for it later.

He settles farther into you with a low sound like a growl, rubbing the scruff of his beard against your face as though marking you. It is so primal, so far removed from anything civilized, and you…cannot suppress a sigh.

You should struggle and bite and kick—but in that moment, you just...don't want to.

“Hmm,” he grumbles, a sound from deep in his chest that you feel as much as hear. “My fierce little kitten. What am I to do with you?”

“Let me go?”

You don't know why you even ask. You already know his answer, but you just can't stop yourself. You are filled to the gills with the most agonizing mix of arousal and fear, nearly sick with the adrenaline racing through your veins.

This man will kill you just with the threat of waiting, it seems.

He answers by pressing his mouth to yours, taking your lips in a possessive and probing kiss that curls your toes. He pulls you closer, offering you a firm thigh between your legs to grind upon, and goddamn it that if lost in the moment, you don’t take him up on it. You feel him smile against your mouth, nipping at your lower lip.

 It leaves you dizzy with desire, and he takes advantage of your stupefied state, suddenly flipping you on your stomach. You scream a little with surprise, finding yourself bent over the edge of the bed, his narrow hips flush against your backside. You try to struggle up on your elbows, but he pins you down with a large hand between your shoulder blades. 

“Stay there,” he warns you. “Or I'll make you stay.”

Your heart is a thunderous timpani roll in your ears. With your face down in the soft sheets that smell so deliciously like him, you fear you know what’s coming next. Yet he takes his time about it, his gentle fingertips tracing your curves, down to the sensitive skin of the backs of your thighs. It makes you shudder—why does he have to be so gentle, while he’s being so terrible?

You feel his fingers bunch in your hem a moment before he wrenches your skirt up past your waist. 

You cry out, writhing on instinct, but again he pins you with his torso moulded against your back. The warmth of him, and the weight of him…is a damnably delightful thing.

“My bad bad girl.” You feel his fingertips ghosting up your thigh, up to trace the line of your panties over your buttock, teasing just inside the elastic. Your hands fist in the sheets; you can hardly stand it. His light touch feels uneasily wonderful, and your fruitless squirming beneath him is equally fueled by desire and dread. You can feel his erection pressing into your flesh. It does not help the growing ache between your thighs. It's possible you arch into him for a moment, before you regain your wits again, grinding your teeth against every iota of tainted pleasure this man makes you feel.

He cups the round of your butt with a groan of approval, the breadth of his paw making you feel impossibly small. 

“Such a perfect ass. Just made for spanking.”

A spear of cold fear pierces your insides.

“Please don't hit me.” You hate how utterly pathetic you sound, whimpering into the counterpane.

“No? You hit me first.”

“I...you kidnapped me!” 

“Hmm.”

You are realizing that's not going to be a viable defense with this man. 

“Just remember, kitten. Anything you can do.” He kisses the knob of your spine on the back of your neck, making you shudder.  “I can do to you.” Another kiss, lower on your exposed spine, that absolutely fries the wires in your brain. “Ten times worse. Understood?”

“Yes.” You are proud that your voice sounds somewhat level, because all you want to do is sob into the sheets. It makes you so angry, that he can manipulate your body this way, and that the threat of his brutality merely seems to serve as an amuse bouche to your arousal. What the fuck is wrong with you?

“So. My darling doesn't like hitting. I don't either. Should we make a deal?” 

“A deal?” 

“You won't hit me, and I won't hit you.”

“Ok,” you sigh, relieved yet knowing this is not something that in a sane world, should win your gratitude. Little by little, he's tying your hands more, stealing your ability to fight back, catching you up in the web of his game.

His voice drops low as he warns you, “Don't break a deal with me, sweetheart. You won't like it.” 

“I won't.” Your voice is so small, you hardly recognize it.

He makes a sound of approval from deep in his chest, running his hand down your back, almost like he’s petting you.

“But now we're back to square one. How am I to punish you?”

You make a squeak of surprise.

“But—”

“I’m going to have a black eye for at least a week. You owe me something.”

He kidnapped you, and you hit him trying to escape, so you owe him.

Class, welcome to Gaslighting 101.

Worse yet, you know it, but there’s not a goddammed thing you can do about it.

When you remain silent in your fury he further prompts, “Any suggestions?”

You cannot stop yourself from spitting, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He actually laughs at that, a low sound that tugs at your belly and makes you pulse between your thighs.

“I think I have an idea.”

His fingertips hook in the sides of your panties, drawing them down to bare your ass to him. “No…” You try to roll away, but he pins you again with his hips against the bed.

“Feeling shy now? I literally had my tongue inside your sweet little pussy a few days ago.” The reminder of this invokes a throbbing in your cunt that is not helpful at all.

“That was different…”

“Was it?”

A lump rises in your throat, and you barely manage to speak around it. “I trusted you then.”

“I’m still the same man, y/n.” He caresses the curve of your ass cheek, so gently. His fingertips stray agonizingly close to your weeping center, and you know you are a broken thing, for the flood of slick that answers him between your legs. You tremble as you fight not to strain towards him, like a flower seeks the sun. “I think you knew I was dangerous, even then.”

Your breath escapes in a shuddering sigh. He might be right about that…but the rest. There’s no way you could have even dreamed all the rest. You did not sign up for this. You’re going to have to keep reminding yourself of that, no matter how tenuous your reality becomes.

A small sound escapes you, as he bends to kiss the small of your back.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, y/n.” His lips stray lower to the globe of your ass, and you quiver in a mixture of anticipation and fear. His thumb rests at the crease where your thigh meets your butt cheek, so close to your center that you could scream. “A bruise for a bruise.”

“Wait—”

His teeth sink into your ass, hard, and you squeal. 

“John!”

He holds you down, sucking mercilessly, leaving what you realize will be the worst hickey in the history of hickeys. It hurts, but a little voice inside your head sings out, it could be so much worse... and as it goes on...his mouth working on your flesh sort of feels good. You force yourself to remain still, gripping the sheets so hard that you feel like they should tear.

When at last he finishes with you, planting the gentlest kiss over the site he just utterly ravaged, you whimper with relief...and want. He continues his soft kisses, feather light, up your spine again, until his body is draped over yours once more, his erection in his pants fitting snugly in the crack of your ass.

Fuck.

You are a quivering mess beneath him, and there is a chaotic knot in your chest made of fear, desire, revulsion, and yearning. You are coiled tight as a spring, and you know, you just know that if he moved to take you like this you would absolutely let him, weeping with relief, even if you would loathe yourself for it later.

He kisses your cheek, ever so sweetly, as though he hadn’t just scared the bejeezus out of you and practically tried to take a bite out of you besides. “That’s my good girl. You took that so well.”

You can hardly believe the intoxicating flood of warmth that fills you at hearing those words. For the umpteenth time you wonder what the fuck is he doing to you?

You feel him start to move off of you, and before you can stop yourself you make a sound of protest, not wanting him to go.

“Shh. I’ll be right back, sweetheart.” He claps your behind just enough to make a sound—and a spear of longing to shoot through you.

Before you can complain about your deal of no hitting, he’s gone, leaving you cold and exposed upon the bed, wondering what the fuck just happened.

-By the time he returns you’ve righted yourself again, pulled up your big girl panties and got in a quick, semi-cathartic cry against the pillow that smells so wonderfully of him.

Dog is at John’s heels, and he is ever so happy to scarf down the remains of your sandwich that still littered the floor.

John scoops up the book that nearly took his head off. You can see his left eye is swelling angrily. He should have iced it immediately—but he had other things on his mind.

“Did it have to be War and Peace?” he grumbles with a frown.  

“Seemed fitting.”

He snorts, though the look he pays you isn’t exactly kind. “Remind me to hide Anna Karenina,” he says, but just replaces it on the shelf, not even bothering to take it away from you.

You guess he won't fall for the same trick twice. 

You're right about that.

After he wraps your ankle with ACE bandage and sits for a while with frozen peas on his eye, he installs a camera up in the corner of the room, right where you can see it. 

“This will stay here until you prove to me you can be trusted with privacy.” 

You frown, but say nothing in return.

-Later, you are resting together in bed, almost like a normal couple. At his demand you agreed to snuggle with him, settling in at his side. His arm is around your shoulders, your head on his chest. The scene is almost sweet, but he has the cold pack on his eye again, and you are elevating your ankle on a pillow.

What a pair you make.

He adjusts the compress on his eye, and you are taken aback after he so insisted on punishing you, he seems to find it funny, a huff of laugher escaping him. “Don't tell anyone you got one in on John Wick, they'll want to hire you.”

Though you should be cautious after everything that just happened, this piques your voracious curiosity once more.

“Were you a big deal, in your world? 

“I was...good at my job.”

“How did you get into that?”

He juts his bottom jaw, the way you've noticed he does when he's agitated, or thinking about something he doesn’t like. 

“I never really had a choice,” he answers finally. “I was an orphan, and the people who took me in trained me to be a killer.” 

You blink at that, trying to decide if he's fucking with you or not. 

“That's like, some Agent Salt shit.”

He tilts his head, not following. 

“You know. Like, KGB Russian sleeper agents?”

He snorts. “Sure, I guess. I might have liked KGB training, compared to what we went through.” 

Before you can stop yourself, you reach up to touch his face, stroking his beard with the blade of your thumb. 

Jesus, you should not feel sorry for this man. But Goddammit. Something tells you that he's absolutely telling you the truth. Something about the way he delivers it, and the way he is…it tracks. He’s not trying to sound tough, or brag, or make up a good backstory about his past.

It just…is, and it breaks your heart in two. 

[reds-writings]

souls further entwined

(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)

a/n: finally an update for these two! sorry to keep you waiting! I've got a lot of life changes in the works so updates might come a little slower over the next few months depending but i hope this tides y'all over for a bit! this takes place sometime after if only tonight we could sleep

word count: roughly 2.5k

warnings: (PLEASE LOOK BEFORE CONTINUING) discussions of abortion, child loss, forced/unsafe medical procedures, bad family situations, angst angst, cursing, semi-not-so-smut at the end, minors avert your gaze or else!!

The hidden gem of a restaurant that Rust had brought you to somewhere in the French Quarter was rather nice with its live jazz band playing in the corner and lavish decor. The tinkering of silverware layered on top of the low rumblings of fellow diners did what it could to fill the void of silence that had long settled between you and the man sitting adjacent. He had spontaneously asked you– well more like told you to go out with him tonight. Something about wanting to do things right once and for all after all this tiptoeing around.  The whole notion had taken you off guard, admittedly.

You’d been buzzing so bright leading up to tonight that you could've probably put a lightning bug to shame. He’d asked you on a real date. A step forward from the semi-clandestine meetings you’d both been settling on for far too long now. It was unlike him to outwardly admit to much but you doubted it was a wide occurrence that he’d take a girl on a date just because he was bored. This had meaning.

With that thought swirling in mind, you’d found your best dress and took what constituted as way too long of a pampering shower to best prepare for a promising night out with the man you'd become so deeply enamored with. It wasn’t often you got to get all prettied up for some fun given that work always managed to swallow you whole. 

God you’d been so excited. 

From the time you’d gotten into Rust’s Ford up until you’d sat down to eat he had yet to utter a single word to you. Hell, he’d hardly even managed to look at you either and it was starting to cause a distasteful rock that went by the name of dread to sink lower and lower in your gut. 

Dexterous fingers stayed picking at the table cloth as a form of lengthy distraction and you fought the bubbling urge to snatch his hand and demand what gives. It wasn’t hard to miss the anxiety bleeding from his form with those tense shoulders and that telltale faraway look in his eyes. You didn’t want to continue the cycle of jumping to conclusions when it came to the routine lack of forthcoming involving his more vulnerable thoughts out of insecurity so you bit the bullet,

“Y’know…usually on a date there’s a bit more talkin;. Maybe startin’ with questions like ‘what’s your favorite color’-- it’s blue by the way, or ‘where’d you get that lovely dress’. Could also do with lookin’ a little less green in the gills.”

That got him to stop fidgeting but a response was not yet prompted. You sighed and looked down at the vibrant cloth napkin in your lap,

“If you’re startin’ to regret this we can just forget about it and head back-”

“I don’t know if I can be what you need.” He all but blurted and it had your head shooting back up in suprise.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t…I don’t find myself being suited for marriage like before. I can’t give you kids because I don’t think it’s right-”

“Wait a minute just-...slow your roll for a second.” Your mind was going a mile a minute at his frank outburst and you were having trouble pinpointing just where it all came from. 

“First of all, I don’t necessarily need the promise of marriage to feel fulfilled. I’m about to hit 30 soon enough and I’ve supplied plenty for myself that I'm not sure some flimsy marriage papers can add on to. I’m not just sayin’ all this to make you feel better either so don’t go down that route.” You were tenderly stern in your delivery to make sure what you were saying was actually sticking without sounding offended.

All he could give was a slight nod as the tip of his thumb came to his mouth: a nervous tic.

“Secondly…” You cleared your throat slightly and gave yourself a moment of pause. The latter concern wasn’t that of an easy subject. For either of you. Besides your family and probably Marty, not many knew of your reality when it came to the idea of starting a family. 

“I can’t have children. So that wouldn’t even be on the table to begin with I suppose.” 

That seemed to stun Rust. His expression working out how, what, and when this came to be. You cleared your throat again. Talking about it was never easy no matter how much time passed.

“The gist of it is…well I got knocked up when I was sixteen. Total accident, shocker. And um…my pa didn't approve. Not one bit, bein’ the respectable county figure he was as a seasoned lawyer n' all.” 

Your sinuses began to sting but you willed away any threat of tears as you tried to explain. Rust didn't say a word, his expression hardening minutely with a knowing sense of where this was headed.

“I didn’t wanna listen. I was scared of course but the boy I was foolin’ around with at the time was nice and had a family who wanted to be involved so that was enough for me. My uppity family could shove it for all I cared,” You scoffed wryly but continued, “But pa was adamant. He couldn’t have some little whore of daughter muckin’ things up but we were a church family so abortion was obviously out of the question. At least one would think that was the case,” 

“Long story short he dragged me to some back alley clinic where things would be kept under wraps. They fuckin’ botched it of course and made me sterile. Didn’t really know how bad it was until another loss and a visit with the doctor after trying with a serious boyfriend some time ago…” You shrugged as you fiddled with your unused silverware. You hadn’t spoken with your family since then. Letting you be mutilated for the sake of preserving a frivolous public image was a hard thing to let go of.

You remember how sick you were afterward. Infection from the procedure and a decent amount of blood loss, go figure. You only recall the house's maids nursing you back.

Your pa had never been able to look you in the eye again. Your mama just pretended nothing had ever happened the way it did.

Sometimes your mind had the habit of taking a dark turn every now and then, wondering if they would’ve felt any remorse if their forced course of action ended up actually killing you. With a selfishness like they had you couldn't help but doubt it. 

They had always taken more pride in your sister anyway. 

“So yeah…you don’t have to worry about the possibility of kids when it comes to me. It’s not like with our line of work it’d be much of a good idea anyway. Marty’s a prime example I'd reckon.” Your laugh was brittle in a weak attempt to lift the heavy weight you felt like you’d set over the mood. 

Rust’s large hand reached over to encase your shaking one to garner your attention. Looking up you weren’t met with pity or disgust, but with recognition. One shared in the experience of grief. Of having something meant to be so precious ripped from you in the cruelest of ways. He didn’t feel sorry for you. He understood you. More than anyone else had or could. 

“You’re enough for me, Rust. I don’t know if you’ve noticed by now but there’s not much you can do to send me runnin’ for the hills. I like you as you are and I don’t need more. I wouldn’t expect you to change your mind over somethin’ like that anyway. It just wouldn’t be fair to ask.” His eyes glazed over at your words and he had to let go of the troubled breath he’d been holding. He brought your hand to his lips and kept them there as an unspoken thank you. 

After a moment or two he set your hand back on the tabletop, still grasped in his. 

“How about we find some shitty dive and let loose over there. This place is startin’ to feel a lil’ too stuffy for me.” Your light-hearted jab made the corner of his lips quirk up before he nodded,

“Yes, ma'am.” 

—

After a relaxing drive accompanied by the tunes of Willie Nelson in search of a dive bar that was sufficient enough, the ice from all the worries of earlier had melted as fast as they had formed. The establishment you ended up coming across was a more than welcome change of pace compared to that of the restaurant (as lovely as it was). It wasn’t big by any means but there was room to dance and plenty of open spots to sit around and drink. 

You looped your arm through his and leaned into his side as you made your way to settle down. There wasn’t enough time or clarity earlier to truly appreciate just how good he looked for the occasion but now you had all the time in the world to shamelessly ogle.

He’d donned a black dress shirt, forgoing a tie and leaving a few buttons undone in a way that had you feeling dizzy, as well as a nice fitting pair of jeans that had plenty of passersby’s eyes glued to his shapely form.

“The ladies of Louisiana might just beat me up for a chance with you. If your face ain’t motivation enough your ass surely will be.” You nudged him and he shook his head mirthfully. 

“One would say jealousy is unbecoming.”

“Who said anythin’ about jealousy? I’ve earned my stake in claimin’ you as eye candy fair and square. They can try all they want but they were just too slow to the draw.”

“With your pension for being scrappy, I’d say they wouldn’t have much of a chance to begin with.” 

“Gee, is that the only reason they don’t stand a chance?” You quirked a brow. You knew the answer but pestering him to fess up hardly ever got you far. 

“What d’ya wanna drink, Miss Envy.” He drawled, not one to fall into your traps so easily and you flicked him with narrowed eyes.

“Last time I checked my name don’t even come close to rhymin’ with envy so you can quit with that.” 

The shithead just smirked.

“I’ll take a jack and coke. Now run along.” You waved him away and he just shook his head. In his short absence you’d found a high top and decided to claim as your territory for the night. The music was clearer over this way and your heart jumped at the beginning notes of Fleetwood Mac’s Beautiful Child.

Upon his return, Rust had hardly been able to set the drinks down before you were grabbing at him to park yourselves out on the dancefloor. A few other couples were swaying in place so you figured it wouldn’t be all that awkward to steal a moment for yourselves.

It was strange, being able to be so open in your affections without the curious eyes of Marty or anyone else from the precinct to make judgments. You could just be yourselves. It was a breath of fresh air after all this time.

As the song gained momentum, you wrapped your arms around his neck, toying with the hairs at his nape while his strong ones made home around your waist to pull you in closer. A small spark of pride lit up your chest at him being able to be this comfortable with you.

As you rested your head along the expanse of his chest you felt the feather-light stamp of his kiss at your crown. The tenderness of the simple act almost had you turning into one hell of a mush puddle. You settled on burrowing deeper if that were any more possible as Stevie sang on. Fighting the effect he had on you was always going to be a losing battle. 

You wouldn’t trade this moment for a damned thing. 

—

It was nearing almost three in the morning by the time you arrived back home. Your mind had been pleasantly warmed by the drinks and all the dancing. Rust even seemed to have a newfound glow to him and it was triggering something innately carnal in you. 

Taking an opportunity from the pocket of silence, you scooted along the Ford’s bench seat to make a place for yourself along his lap. 

The relaxed daze displayed across his features was something you’d never had the pleasure of seeing before. It was nothing like the faraway trance he’d trap himself in with all the pills and whatnot in fruitless efforts of chasing undisturbed sleep. No, this was true content. 

“I had a good time.” You didn’t mean to sound so coy but it couldn’t be helped as your hands crept up to frame his fine face.

“That’s good. I’m glad.” He hummed as he took in every feature your beautiful face had to offer. It was like striking gold. Especially in this expansive wasteland of a state.

“When we get a chance we should do it again. S’nice to go out…feel normal…” Hair lying in his line of light distracted you as you moved it out of the way with a gentle sweep. The truck’s cab could probably burst with the steadily increasing tension so you did what any normal woman would do with such a man in front of them and kissed him with all you had. 

It started out syrupy and languid as if you had all the time in the world to be out macking in the car like a pair of careless teenagers. Your skin hummed like a live wire at his sudden grasp on the plush fat of your hips which served as the green light to go further. 

Your delicate fingers carded through his soft waves as the muscle of his tongue took dominance over the kiss. A meek whimper cracked within your throat as you tried to keep up with what little oxygen you had remaining. When Rust kissed, it was all-consuming. It was no act he took passively when it came to you which had been made crystal clear to you by now. With each pass of his wet-hot caress, you could feel everything he wanted to say to you without complication of expression through words. 

His mouth traveled across the apple of your cheek down the expanse of your neck, nipping and sucking with such lax reverence it had you arching as if you could fuse your ribs with his. Souls to be permanently intertwined.

With a starting grind of your hips that your body had no willpower to control you could feel him hardening with each intensifying roll. His choked moan had you remembering where you were and you’d be damned if your first actual night with him was in this old, damned truck right outside your house. 

“D’ya wanna take this inside?” You offered in a breathless huff, trying to catch your breath in vain. You’re sure that even in the dark of the truck’s cabin the heat of your face could set the whole space aglow. He nipped at your bottom lip and soothed it with another peck,

“I would.”

The sudden tangle of limbs clambering to make haste towards the beacon of your front door would’ve been downright hysterical had you any hubris. 

a/n: sorry to blue ball you lmao. I HOPE THIS WASN'T CRINGE AHHHHH. i'll probably come back and edit this later. feedback is always appreciated!

[jamietukpahwriting]

From "Kiss the Dread" in Fierce Fairytales by Nikita Gill

[bu-blegh-ost]

A short essay about how Caspian is mathematically not a mole (ep. 115 spoilers) (and for the whole series for that matter)

Okay, alright guys, I saw your concerns. I saw it all, and you are right to be worried that your favourite blue wet man's blue and equally wet best friend may turn out to be a traitor. And so am I, trust me. Which is why I went through every single bit of Caspian's past I could dig out to create an unltimate timeline of his entire goddamn life to see it it'd be plausible for him to become a mole at any point in time and ultimately prove his innocence! If that's something you're interested in reading, then buckle up!

"Jay, you come from a division of soliders that were purposely put to infiltrate pirate crews, especially the new and upcoming ones. This is totally seperate from the Black-Ops situation that you learned about in the Stronghold. And you, in this book, can tell that there is a plant on Lizzie's crew."

This, of course is something I need to point out first. Whoever Lizzie's mole might be, they are not a doppelganger. They are not a clone, or Black-Ops, just a solider of the Navy, a person that must have gotten into the Navy via regular recruitment, be trained by them and then put into a spy division. Jay ofc had this entire process sped up, due to her grandma's influence, but no one other than her, especially an Undersea citizen, who would probably have to put in extra effort to be trusted given their shaky political situation few years back, would get the same treatment. What I'm trying to say, Caspian would need time, at least few years of training to become a mole they'd trust to infiltrate a crew, and not just any crew might I add. More on that later. Let's go back to his most early years for now. This is a fragment of episode 84 in which Caspian talks to Gillion abt his early life:

C: We all have family. I consider my life up here, this crew to be my found family. But my previous…tribe with the water genasi in the Undersea, where I was growing up…sort of in a [illegible]... remember me telling you about the outskirts? We um…was very nomadic, quite a, quite a peaceful, tranquil life, but it was always, you know…mixed with this life of poverty and my family wasn’t very…wouldn’t really have much but the water around us, and each other, I suppose, so uh…You know...I mean my mother didn’t make it past old age, and uh…

G: I’m sorry…

C: When my sister left the tribe, my father sort of fell into a depression of sorts and he stopped moving around. And when we stayed in one place, I was 18 or so, maybe 16, it was a while ago, and then…that’s when I left as well. Ventured to the Oversea, and um…and it’s history, so that’s my family. Not sure what they’re up to these days, I mean…I know my sister went to the capital, where you were.

G: Pirating is a pretty lucrative business, maybe if…we managed to find them or run into them, we can give something back, put them in a better situation.

C: …Well um…I mean this was 10-15, 10 to 12 to 15 years ago, quite some, quite some time, so I don’t even know if my father is alive still, I mean I don’t really have the desire to go back to the undersea, Gill.

G: Wha-why not?

C: Because I like my life up here. This is where I’m happy.

So, before we go to what all of that entails, one more quick crazy thing to mention: so, Caspian's sister is an Elder of the Undersea. Like for sure. This is confirmed by this part from ep. 79:

The Triton who you remember as the Elder Odolaf, who looks like he is about to speak, but is cut off by the water genasi, who has been doing a lot of talking thus far, who is Elder Celeste. They stand up and there is a familiarity that you notice now in their face. It’s like you have met them before, but not in the way that you know them because they are the Elder, but in a way that it’s like, they look like somebody you know. And she has sort of these uh, white tied-up like dreads that are tied up in like a bun and they come across the face and then one side is shaved. And there are beads and piercings in her hair, her ears are a little bit more sea elf-like in the way that they are pointed and they kind of like gradient into pink. They all kind of wear the same sort of ornate robes, though hers is more, I guess faded and like cut a bit, look a bit more warriorous, or like tribal, but still very well-made and professional.

Tribal clothing, a water genasi, that looks like someone Gillion saw before in the face. The only water genasi Gillion met after leaving the Undersea is Caspian. Elder Celeste is Caspian's sister. Wild. Anyway, not what we're here for, but I needed to mention that.

The crazier thing is that Caspian left to Oversea when he was 16-18, and it has been 10-15 years since then. That means Caspian is currently 26 at possible youngest, and 33 at his oldest, which was surprising to me, I did not imagine Caspian as a man in his 30s! But that's straight up facts, so holy shit, you know?

Okay, so I'm going to list a lot of small facts that determine a lot of ages in quick succession. I hope it's not gonna be too scary to look at, I'll simplify it all at the end. [Deep inhale]

Right now Gillion is 22. So when Caspian left the Undersea, Gillion was 12-7. Jay is 21 and Ava was 2 years older, same age as Lizzie. So Lizzie is 23 now. When Caspian left the Undersea, she was 13-8. Chip is 19, so Lizzie is 4 years older. Hole in the Sea happened when Chip was 9, so Lizzie was 13. So Caspian left the Undersea around the same time Lizzie crashed on the uninhabited island with Chey after the Hole.

It's a lot, I know, I know. So let me clear this up a little.

Hole in the sea was 10 years ago. Chip was 9, Lizzie was 13. 10 years ago Caspian was in the age between 16 and 23, and he left the Undersea when he was 16 or 18. So roughly at the same time the Black Sea happened, Caspian came to the surface for the first time.

(also pls note that we are talking in estimates, casue in ep. 36 Lizzie says she was 11 when the hole happened, but in ep. 101 she says she was the same age as Ava which by the power of math would put her at 13. Either way, somewhere around that age)

After that, Lizzie spend some time on an uninhabited island with Chey, the Black Rose cook, who sacrificed herself for Liz, so she could survive and died shortly after. We do not know how much time passed, but I assume no longer than few months, and after that she was saved by Captain Shadowbeard where she met Caspian. They were a part of Shadowbeard's crew, Caspian saved her from the massacre where Shadowbeard was killed, and then Lizzie went on to create her own crew, Grandberry Pirates with Caspian never leaving her for a second since he met her. That means that the only time Caspian could have joined the Navy would be RIGHT after he came to the Oversea for the first time, roughly at the same time Lizzie was stranded on an island, and in that short period of time (between Lizzie's crash on the island and her being found by Shadowbeard) he would have to find the time to be trusted and accepted by Navy, get trained specifically for infiltration AND infiltrate not anyones BUT FUCKING SHADOWBEARD'S SHIP. Not a NEW crew. A crew of one of the most legendary pirates on the sea. Cause before Lizzie, Caspian was Sadowbeard's crew member, and since then he never stopped being a pirate, so if he was a solider, he would have had to be one before Shadowbeard. And remeber what Grizzly said in 115: "Jay, you come from a division of soliders that were purposely put to infiltrate pirate crews, especially the new and upcoming ones."

Shadowbeard was not new. Not upcoming. He was dangerous and Navy must have had the balls of steal to send a rookie solider, which Caspian would have been at that point in time, to infiltrate him. The numbers say it's impossible. Guys, the numbers! They don't add up!

Anyway, so basically Caspian could not be a mole. He is not a new pirate, he was not a member of a fresh crew, becaue his pirate journey did not start with Lizzy, it started with Shadowbeard. Grandberry Pirates is a new crew, but Caspian is not a newbie in it. You know who is? Rudith. I mean what kind of doctor lets a bunch of rowdy pirates have a secret base under a place where sick and vulnerable rest??? Like ANY other place would have been better and more respectful! Also you know what's interesting? Gillion could heal these people with lay on hands easily, and yet the only thing Rudith did for them was give them potions that didn't seem to help and look after them on purely non-medical level. Bro didn't do shit. Like, why would you even become a doctor without having access to healing magic? The answer, you are not. You are a Navy solider in disguise.

Okay, okay, I'm done, that's all. If you got this far, you are a hero, thank you for reading this insanely long ramble, but that's kind of the conclusions that I came to, of course, any counter-theories and discussion in general is very much welcome! I'd love to hear your opinions! Love you guys, bye~

[divine-misfortune]

Rain gets really sick after tours, long ones especially. Too long away from the lake he calls home, he's had to make due with overfilled hotel bathtubs and harsh chlorine pools.

Sure, on some of their off days he's been able to find rivers and lakes and other such bodies of water but it's rare he ever truly gets to enjoy it. There's too much of a risk of humans catching him, Rain never drops his glamor. Never feels the water filter through his gills, his fins remain dry and unused. It hardly does the trick.

By the time they get home, Rain's weak. Dehydrated. Mountain usually has to carry him from the van straight to the lake because Rain's a bit too dizzy to take the long walk himself. Any partial glamor melts away as Mountain helps him out of his clothes, careful with his fragile siren every step of the way. Rain always seems sad to let him go when Mountain lowers him into the water, because he knows it'll be days before he even peeks above the surface again, maybe a week or more until he considers returning to the den. All he can do is give Mountain's knuckles a little kiss and a fond chirp before he disappears to the bottom of the lake.

And of course Mountain lingers, just to make sure Rain doesn't change his mind and breaks the surface again. He never does, but the earth ghoul dreads the idea of Rain needing him but finding nobody there.

It's something he should be used to by now but the concern never eases, the longing never falters. Every rational part of him knows Rain will come back but missing him never gets any easier.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 51

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: 50 chapters?!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You cross your arms, trying to comfort yourself as you wait. The front door opens and the only harbinger of your visitors are their footsteps. The grim pall of the house swallows them up as they shuffle over the doormat.

You don’t look over as their figures appear as shadowy blurs in the edge of your vision. You’re too humiliated to face your guests. Not truly yours, but Loki’s. Like everything else; this house, the very couch you sit on, the clothes you wear. Isn’t that what he’d only just berated you for? Taking it all so ungratefully.

“Darling,” Frigga’s the first to speak as she approaches, almost sheepishly, “my, I’d say it’s lovely to see you both but you look dreadful.”

You wince as she nears and shrink down, bending your legs as you long to curl into a ball. You hug your knees and curl your shoulders. She hovers over you, turning to speak to the others.

“You must open the curtains, it’s awfully gloomy in here,” she demands.

Loki mutters but at a grunt from his father, he acquisces. You stare at the black pants as he tears open the drapes, the rod ringing with his efforts. Another figure looms close. Odin shifts and places his hand on the armrest behind your shoulders.

“I see all is in a state of fine order,” Odin proclaims dryly, “you have this poor thing hanging from the troughs–”

“Father,” Loki sneers as he faces the room again. He steps forward, trying to tidy his wild curls, made even more defiant by his neglect. You notice his attire; his shirt is untucked and clashes with his tan trousers. “I will not be lectured.”

“Oh, dear, look at her face,” Frigga lowers herself to sit on the edge of the sofa and touches your arm kindly, “her dressings need changing.”

You avert your eyes and bite down on your cheek. You’d almost forgotten your nose and the peeling bandages. All that wasn’t as dire as the walls.

“Mm, and that isn’t my fault, mother. It isn’t I who would injure her thus. Rather your golden child,” Loki spits. “If you’ve come to argue the point further, I haven’t the time to hear it.”

“Son,” Odin girds, “do not rile yourself with presumptions. We’ve come to make sure you are well, as any decent parents might.”

“Hm, because you’ve always been so eager to visit, father,” he scoffs.

“Eh, Loki,” Frigga squeezes your arm before she stands again, “we thought to share some news to you. In person as it were. You wouldn’t answer the phone but we do believe you deserve to have it straight from us.”

“Oh, what is it now? Are we celebrating the solstice?” Loki folds his arms and lifts his chin, “you can check us off as not attending, thank you.”

“Now, don’t be an ass,” Odin growls, “if you would hear us, you might not have the urge.”

“Why should I listen to you, eh? Did you listen to me? Did you hear me when I walked in bruised to the gills? Did you hear me over that lout’s lies?” Loki snarls, “you made no move to stop me going but here you are, pouting and begging forgiveness. 

“Well, let me make it clear, you and that cretin you call your eldest son, will not entangle yourselves in another of my marriages. It will not happen. I told you that morning and I meant it. He is no brother of mine and if you continue to pander to his misdeeds, then you will count yourself two children, not three.”

You tweak a brow and tilt your head as his rant swirls over you. Marriage? Surely, he only misspoke.

“Would you listen?” Odin’s voice booms, echoing around the room as he steps around the couch and punches his palm. “We do count only two children; you and Hela.”

“Right,” Loki says unconvinced, “certainly, you will do your best not to let me share a table with him again. We can pretend nothing happened. That he did not accost my wife. Just as before, it is under the carpet as we stomp it into submission.”

“Wife?” Frigga murmurs in confusion and glances at you. You feel her gaze but don’t meet it. You’re just as confused.

“I mean it,” Odin insists and turns to look at you, “I am ashamed that my son would hurt you, dear. Brute as he is, I cast him out. He is banned from the house and wiped from my ledgers. Should you wish it, I would gladly testify to his guilt.”

You don’t reply. Which son does he mean? The one who chased you through the night or the one locking you in the dark?

“Thor is not welcome in this family anymore. If you hadn’t run away…” Odin faces Loki again.

“Oh, forgive me for my skepticism, father,” Loki grimaces, “you’ve not exactly earned a lot of trust from me–”

“Nor you me,” Odin counters.

“You never gave me a chance,” Loki hisses, “very well then, thank you, oh, great father, for practising an ounce of good judgment.”

“Boy,” Odin wags his finger at his son as he steps closer.

“Boy?” Loki exclaims, “get out. Now.”

“Loki,” Frigga screeches, “enough. We’ve come all the way here to apologise to you and… her, and you are being insensible. Would you hear us?”

Loki rolls his eyes. He keeps one arm across his chest and bends the other to flutter his fingers dismissively, “you kept him in my life. You begged me to look past his slights for years and refused to see them until someone got hurt.”

“Yes, we were neglectful. Willfully blind,” Frigga says sadly, peeking back at you, “seeing you that morning, and now, the bruises, and her… we… we are very sorry and we can understand that it might be too late for all this but we only want to be heard.”

Loki is quiet, roiling as he breathes loudly. He swallows and sniffs, “yes, you should look at her and see what he did to her.” His lip twitches, “and if I had not been there, imagine what he would have done–”

You close your eyes as you feel a weight over you, feel the suffocating heat, hear Thor’s sinister tone, ‘little maid’.

“Stop!” You throw your hands up as your eyes snap open, “please stop, I don’t want to think about it.”

“Oh, dear,” Frigga spins and once more rests herself on the couch’s edge, “you don’t have to. Please, you’re safe. He won’t bother you again. I’ll be sure of it.”

You knot your fingers together and twist until your knuckles hurt. You can’t look at her, at any of them. You shake your head and shrug.

“As you can see, she is not ready for company,” Loki asserts.

“What I see is she’s being shrouded away in this crypt,” Frigga rebuffs, “she requires sunshine. She needs healing, not paranoia.”

“You don’t know what we’ve been through,” Loki accuses, “how can you know what she needs?”

“I have eyes,” Frigga snips, “darling,” she speaks to you, “would you like some tea in the garden? Just you, I wouldn’t want to infringe.”

You gulp and rub your neck. You nod, “yes.”

“See?” Frigga pets your knee kindly before she stands again, “I won’t tread upon your toes, son, you get her the tea and see her to the garden.” She sidles aside to stand with her husband, “and then you will explain to me this whole marriage business.”

You glance over at Loki, the same question nipping at your ears. Was he confused? Why did he say all that? Marriage, wife? No, prisoner and warden, that’s what it truly is.

✨

Slowly the doom recedes. The warmth of the sun beams down as you keep your finger hooked in the handle of the tea cup. You let the steaming brew go cold as your eyes devour the scenery. The greens, the violets, the indigos, and pinks. Colours all around.

You suck in deep breaths of the spring air, tasting the last dregs of dew and the floating pollen. You hear the council of sparrows hiding in the bushes and watch the pair of doves bobbing across the grass. Bees buzz between the blooming stems and insects flit back and forth through the air. The seasonal renewal is underway as a whole new world awakens.

Beneath the serenity, there is fear. This won’t last. This is just a brief respite from your desolation. A flicker of light in the dark.

So you bask in it as much as you can, for as long as you can. You can’t help but peek over at the french doors and wonder about what’s happening behind them. What is being said? Are Frigga and Odin still there? Is Loki still angry?

You cup your chin and take a sip. This is all you ever wanted. You only wish he would have listened to you. Why must someone else talk sense into him? Why can’t he just hear you?

Your vision hazes as you drift into the peaceful hue. The spring swallows you up and mutes your worries. You cling to that moment, knowing the end will come sooner than later.

The doors open and pierce the spring soliloquy. You look over as Loki steps out. His shirt is tucked in and he’s tried to comb his hair. Still, he looks out of sorts. His eyes are circled darkly and his cheek tics as his jaw clenches.

He watches you as he nears the table, standing across from you as he extends his long fingers to the iron surface. He takes a breath and looks around. He retracts his hand to rest on the back of the chair.

“May I?” He asks.

His request surprises you. That he would even want permission. After all, this is his home, all of this is allotted to you at his whim.

“Sure,” you sit back and let go of the teacup.

He drags the chair out and lowers himself. He bends his arms over the table and his head swivels again, as if searching for something. He clears his throat and turns straight. He stares at you as you peer down at the table.

“It’s beautiful out,” he comments, “the tulips are coming in.”

You nod, “yeah, they’re pretty.”

He exhales and shifts in the chair. He taps his fingertips then weaves his fingers through each other. He stills his fidgeting.

“How is your tea?”

You look down at the cup, mostly untouched. You raise your eyes to meet him and purse your lips.

“It’s fine,” you answer, “what’s going on?”

He circles his thumbs around each other and pushes his shoulders up before forcing the tension out, “I thought I would… come enjoy the garden with you, pet.”

“Oh,” you utter.

“Oh,” he echoes staunchly. “Unless, I am disturbing you?”

You shake your head, “I thought you wanted me to go inside…”

He frowns and lowers his chin, “I…” he begins then unclasps his hands and sits straight. He rests his elbows on the armrests and his cheek strains, “I want you to be safe.”

You nod and look at your lap as you think, “your parents said Thor is gone.”

“Yes, so he has been cast out. For how long, I can’t be certain,” he sighs, “but he is not my only worry.”

“What else—”

“If I’d not discovered your escape, you would’ve fallen and hurt yourself worse.”

“Loki, I… I’m sorry but I couldn’t–”

“And you do not eat when I bring you food. You hardly sleep.”

“What about you?” You toss back as you raise your head.

His lips thin, “yes, what about me. I am just as guilty in all this, I see that now.”

You’re quiet as you consider his admission. It’s a rare moment. Not exactly victory, but a consolation. As much as you can hope for.

“I appreciate all you have done but I… don’t want to be a burden anymore,” you say, “if that’s how you feel about me, I think we’d both be better off if I left.”

He goes rigid and his throat tightens, “pet…”

“Or maybe I could just be the maid again. We could go back to that. That would be okay.”

He huffs and hangs his head. He brings his fingertips together as he seems to argue with himself. Slowly, he lifts his head, “no, that simply won’t do.”

Your face falls, “please don’t lock me up again.”

Your eyes gloss as you pout, begging him wordlessly. He winces as his mouth slants, one way then the other. He mulls on your plea.

He tilts his head one way then the other, stretching out his neck. He slips his elbows off the armrest and grips the chair, pushing himself to his feet. He rolls his shoulders straight and rounds the table. He stops beside you and lowers himself down to a knee. You watch him, confused.

He takes your hand and draws it over the side of the chair. He holds it in his, stroking it as he peers up at you.

“You cannot be a burden or the maid, and you certainly may not leave,” he says, “you are going to be my wife.”

You blink. You’re not sure you heard him right. He squeezes your hand and you look down at his grip.

“Loki?” You babble.

“I haven’t picked a ring, I’m sorry,” he pulls your hand to him, leaning in to kiss it, petting it, “but perhaps you might help in that.” He puts his other knee down and moves even closer, “we will have a lot of planning to do, won’t we, darling?”

He angles to lean his head against your arm, keeping his hand on yours. You’re paralysed. He’s proposing to you but there isn’t any room for your rejection. Like all other things, it’s a command. You have to keep yourself from answering, ‘yes, Mr. Laufeyson.’

You look down at his dark tresses and let out the breath racked beneath your ribs, “I’ve never been to a wedding.” The statement is hollow and numb. You don’t know what else to say.

He chuckles and lifts his head to grin up at you, “well, how exciting that you’re first will be your own.”

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello everyone! Here's another Epic au that's be rattling around in my brain! Enjoy! :D

(Also, I'll probably have one or two more Epic au's before I switch back to my usual Merlin au's.)

This premise of this au is kind of similar to my last one, but a also very different different. In this au, when mortals interact with gods or monsters, they're left with some sort of marker, as a way to show other mortals that they have gotten the attention of a powerful entity, whether for good reasons or terrible ones.

Most mortals never encounter any of the gods, so they don't have to worry about any marks, but for people who have been the subject of a god's attention or ire, they're left with a permanent reminder of it. These marks are either physical, showing up on the person's body, or take the form of some ability granted to the mortal. However, these marks can be either a blessing or a curse.

So, in this au, Odysseus has had a physical marker of his connection to Athena since a young age. Ever since he was a boy, his eyes almost glowed at night, his gaze far sharper than any humans' should be. At times, his neck could turn to a far greater degree than what was physically possible, allowing for him to quickly catch enemies attempting to sneak up on him from behind. He keeps these abilities for his entire life, even after Athena has left him.

While all of this helped make Odysseus a warrior beyond nearly any other, as the Trojan War ended and he set out to return home with his crew, he learned through many brutal lessons that the marks left behind from encountering the gods were not always a boon.

The first time a new mark (in what would eventually become quite the collection) appeared on his journey, it was as he was sailing away from the cyclops's cave, having just finished shouting his name at the beast.

After defeating the cyclops, Odysseus gains physical strength beyond anything he or his men have seen before. However, he cannot control it at first, leading to Odysseus accidentally breaking everything he holds and even accidentally injuring his crewmates just by touching them. This Odysseus fears this mark greatly, because how is he supposed to hold his wife and son if he cannot hold anything without breaking it?!

Next, when Odysseus is given the wind bag by Aeolus, he gains a mark that gives him silent steps, as if he weighs nothing more than air. He spooks many of the crew with this, but luckily they're able to adapt fairly well to this mark.

After encountering Poseidon the first time, Odysseus, to his horror, grows gills on his neck, as a cruel reminder from the god of the seas that Odysseus had escaped the watery grave that so many of his men were mercilessly thrown into, and they're by far his most noticeable mark. Odysseus spends many hours staring at the gills in horror, wondering if Penelope will even be able to recognize him when he gets home.

Hermes, much like Athena, decides to be helpful with his mark on Odysseus. His mark is a swift and sure stride, allowing Odysseus to move quicker and more nimbly than he ever had before.

After Circe, Odysseus gains yet another mark, which he is beginning to dread at this point. Circe's mark is the ability to conjure realistic illusions of just about anything, from Odysseus himself to any of the monsters he's seen.

After killing the sirens, Odysseus gains a mark from them as well. This time, he gains the ability to mimic voices, any voice he's heard. Sometimes, in the dead of night, he uses it to mimic Penelope's voice, the voice he's missed so dearly, softly singing to himself.

After Scylla, Odysseus gains his most grotesque mark yet. All of his teeth transform into sharp, ferocious fangs that are stained blood-red despite how many times Odysseus washes out his mouth. Odysseus avoids talking for a while after that, too horrified at the sight he now makes.

He certainly looks like a monster now, but his journey is long from over.

Next, after his fateful choice from Zeus, Odysseus wakes up on Calypso's island with yet another mark. This time, when Odysseus gets angry, the air around him becomes almost charged, humming with energy that sets everything around on edge, a primordial fear running through them.

Calypso's mark is put on him near-immediately after he meets her, allowing him to persuade any mortal with his voice alone. Odysseus curses the fact that the ability doesn't work on goddesses every single day for seven years when he pleads for release from the island.

The second time Odysseus meets Hermes, the god of travelers decides to bless him again with yet another helpful mark. This time, Hermes gives him the ability to locate anything he wants, including Ithaca, to guide his way home.

After outmaneuvering Charybdis, Odysseus gains its mark as well, allowing him to pull nearby objects closer to him, just like Charybdis with its whirlpools.

And finally, after Odysseus is done torturing Poseidon, he gains one last mark: his nails sharpened into long claws, the ends pointed like Poseidon's trident and permanently stained ichor-gold. One last transformation for Odysseus to become the monster Poseidon accused him of being.

For the entirety of his journey home, Odysseus hated most of his marks, despising them for turning him into something else, something not quite himself. He hated what he was becoming with each mark that took him further and further away from his humanity.

However, when Odysseus finally set foot in his palace once more only to find over a hundred suitors plotting to do terrible things to his wife and son? Odysseus finally understood. He realized, at long last, what the marks, given to him by gods and monsters, allies and enemies alike, were meant to be used for.

All of these marks that he had acquired, they had indeed turned him into the perfect monster. Namely, the marks had transformed him into a monster well-suited for hunting down any mortal that had dared to invade his home.

Odysseus doesn't even use his bow, as the string snapped under his strength when he pulled it back, ready to silence the most vocal of these pests with an arrow through his neck. Instead, it seemed like he was going to have his already blood-stained hands claws dirty.

Calling upon Aeolus and Circe's marks, he hid his presence, filling the air around him with an illusion that where he was standing was empty. Then, he silently crept forward, until he was only mere steps behind the boasting pig, which didn't even know that it was about to be slaughtered.

Using Charybdis' mark, he pulled his prey back towards him and, before anyone in the room could blink, tore the vermin's throat out with his claws.

There was a moment of stunned silence among all of the suitors prey before Odysseus dropped his illusion, revealing his full visage. His face and torn tunic drenched in the blood of a god, his blood-stained fangs bared, his gills flaring, his eyes nearly glowing in the light of the torches, his claws

The moment the prey set their eyes on him, terrified screams of "oh gods" and "what is that?" ring out from the crowd, but Odysseus pays them no mind. No, he ignores all of the cries from the crowd, because he has only one goal in mind:

To hunt.

(Much, much later, after blood has coated nearly every surface in the palace and there are no more suitors to kill, Penelope and Odysseus reunite at long last.

And if, after everything, Penelope gains a mark of her own after "slaying" the monster that Odysseus had become in order to bring her husband back to her, then neither of them would think too much of it.)

And that's all for now on this au! Please let me know if you'd like a continuation!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D