#I <3 LONGFORM CONTENT

[deepfriedseagullfeet]

gonna start filming today for youtube!! i want to make clay items for my family for christmas and i think it would be fun to share the process and maybe inspire others with gift ideas?? idk ive been really wanting to film something cool, i have all of this week off work (BAD) so im going to try and be productive with my time. as well as apply for other jobs

[xinganhao]

this milestone notification hit while i was in the middle of hiatus (which i am still kind of in! lol), so i'm a couple of days late ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅ )‧º·˚ but, once again: thank you so much for enjoying my work! whether it's a like, a kind message in my inbox, a reblog/etc., it has meant so much 🫶🏻 i see and appreciate all of it, even if i may not be able to respond to everyone!

as i slowly but surely crawl my way back here, i do want to know:

1️⃣ do we prefer to see more individual member content/ot13 content? i've been slugging thru my series work (i.e. svtflix, burner acc.s), most of which are really individual members. i have long-term plans of one series per member (similar to not for sale and catch you when i can), but i want to know if in the nearer future there's any preference. :") i intend to balance them to the best of my ability; this is more of a pulse check than anything~

if you want to explain why you've voted for either, my dms and inbox are very much open. :) speaking of being open—

2️⃣ opening smau and text imagine requests for the next week or so! i'm in need of some inspiration to get back into the groove of things, so throw your member/ot13 thoughts my way. 🌟 the status of this may change according to how many asks i get, so please keep an eye on my pinned. ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ usual disclaimers apply: i reserve the right to accept/deny a request, please be patient, etc.

feel free to check my frequently asked questions for requests that are okay, my favorite tropes, etc.!

once again, thank you sooo much for being here ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´- i don't think i'm entirely back yet (semi-ia is probably the best way to put it), but i am around. i hope you're happier than me today and, as always: don't be a stranger!

‹𝟹 kae (@studioeisa)

[visenyaism]

do you have any ideas about why so many students are struggling with literacy now? I know that illiteracy and reading comprehension have been issues for years and most americans read at like a 5th grade reading level but I’m curious why it seems to be worse now (pandemic? no child left behind?)

It is everything. There’s not one answer. I could talk about this forever so instead I set a five minute timer on my phone and wrote a list of as many of the many things that are causing this on a systemic level that I could think of:

It’s parents not reading with their kids (a privilege, but some parents have that privilege to be able to do this and don’t.)

It’s youtube from birth and never being bored.

It’s phasing out phonics for sight words (memorizing without understanding sounds or meaning) in elementary schools in the early aughts.

It’s defunding public libraries that do all the community and youth outreach.

It’s NCLB and mandating standardized tests which center reading short passages as opposed to longform texts so students don’t build up the endurance or comprehension skills.

It’s NCLB preventing schools from holding students back if they lack the literacy skills to move onto the next grade because they can’t be left behind so they’re passed on.

It’s the chronic underfunding of ESL and Special Ed programs for students who need extra literacy support.

It’s the cultural devaluing of the humanities in favor of stem and business because those make more money which leads to a lot of students to completely disregard reading and writing.

It’s the learning loss from covid.

It’s covid trauma manifesting in a lot of students as learned helplessness, or an inability to “figure things out” or push through adversity to complete challenging tasks independently, especially reading difficult texts.

It’s covid normalizing cheating and copying.

It’s increasing phone use.

It’s damage to attention span exacerbated by increased phone use that leaves you without an ability to sit and be bored ever without 2-3 forms of constant stimulation.

It’s shortform video becoming the predominant form of social media content as opposed to anything text-based.

It’s starting to also be generative AI.

It’s the book bans.

what did I miss.

[its-no-biggie]

i made a bluesky btw ^_^

i probably wont even use it that much - as of right now i basically just rt art on there, but as i follow more people and get used to the format who knows what will happen. expect the same random assortment of fandoms 👍 (although its mostly orv atm)

[syluses]

landlocked

siren! rafayel x female reader

cw ▻ 18+, noncon, nsfw, smut, yandere and unhealthy behaviors, monster(?) on human, merman rafayel, minor violence, dark content beware

wc ▻ 11k, longform oneshot, buckle up

an ▻ HAPPY BIRTDAY RAF 🐬🐳🩵🎉🎂 i busted my ass on this one and its a day late but here we are :,) please heed the tags and do enjoy raf girlies :] eee his characterization is quite tricky but im getting there </3 (also please do forgive typos 🥲)

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

Waves crash against the rocks.

Sea salt shoots up and stings your cornea, your knuckles going white around the wooden ledge they grip onto for dear life. And to be perfectly accurate, that is what this is- life or death- something you’re not entirely certain you’ll make it to the other end of. With a frantic prayer, you plant your heels under the thwarts and try to find balance as the little canoe rocks violently.

Froth builds up around it; towering waves cresting over and leaving behind liquid dust, the air thick with it like a mist.

You squint your eyes to blot out the pelting rain; keeping them open for too long is a near impossible task anyway, what with the burn.

This was stupid, you know that. Whether or not it was a wise decision was never the question in your head.

No, the only one present- overarching all other thought, making it physically impossible to function in your day to day life- was if your fiancé was still alive. Or if what all the townsfolk gossiped about in whispering peels during brushes with them on the cobbled path was true—

If the waves got to him. If he was really lost at sea.

Stupid or naive or plain crazy (as one onlooker labeled you without so much as a care to just how worn-out this whole ordeal’s made you)- you don’t care. Truthfully, you think you’re a little beyond the point of it, of self doubt or second guessing.

The only room left is for action: the strong men at the tavern and the local fisherman you clumsily rallied together were helpful in some ways, but their help only lasted so long until exasperation kicked in and they called it quits.

The choice to do something is yours and only yours.

Look, girl. We combed the port front to back. Turned over the barrels and crates and all, found nothin’. And we’ve been hauling out them nets for weeks now— wouldn’t you be surprised-? nothin’ there, either. Your fiancé's gone. I’m sorry, but—

You didn’t stay to hear the rest, embittered by it.

They’d done you a kindness, carving time out of their strict schedules and afternoon, beer-induced naps. And you’ll always be thankful for that, that despite knowing deep in their hearts that you were a lost cause, they stepped up to bat regardless, but—

There’s no returning home for you. Wiping your brow of its sweat then throwing a towel over your shoulder, heading in for the night.

The spot beside you in bed is eerily empty and cold; you wake from nightmares in sheer darkness and swat a hand to feel him but you’re met with wrinkled sheets and a silence that sneers. Without him, this place is empty.

The town is beautiful- small- but beautiful- with its glittering fairy lights strung from shop to shop, worn paths branching off into pebbled ones that lead to the shore and the peer, the more developed side of it farther down the sand— and it used to feel comforting. Like home.

Now, there’s no lantern aglow on the porch banister to point you in the direction of home. You’re aimless and sad. Like a ship without a sail.

The first week afterward (the news that his crew never returned from their trip), you hid away in your room crying all day, the better part of you half expecting his footfalls to echo down the hall. Though, they never did. It’s fine, you’d reasoned with eyes clamped shut, splayed over his half of the mattress, he’ll be back tomorrow.

Tomorrow came. It went, too.

And he—

He’s still gone—

Worried neighbors flitted by and left steaming pastries by the door. You hardly had an appetite for them, though, delightful as they were sat outside your cracked window, the smell of pecan pie drifting under billowing, sheer curtains.

It’s encroaching on around a month now. A month of loneliness and denial and the cruel, pitying stares the locals level you in the times you seldom leave home.

Your fiancé's absence, as unexpected as it was devastating, has stretched on long enough to kindle a sort of determination in you. You pile your bones off the bed and set out for the shore with a small, leather bag at your waist and sandals that hang off your feet, nervous but hellbent.

That bag, now: floating off in the distance, whisked away by whirling winds and swallowed up by the sea. One valiant flipflop remains hanging off your big toe, but you question, albeit with little concern for it, for just how much longer it will last.

Your fingers shake as they peel hair from your temple. You can’t see, can’t see anything— the boat shakes and croaks as the bottom steadily fills, and you have the dreadful realization that you are slowly sinking and cannot stop it.

Through bleared eyes, you watch several, ringlet-like waves form on the horizon and disappear behind rolling, closer ones. You brace endlessly for impact, but another wave bulges and effortlessly lifts your canoe- a temporary respite from the others that come crashing over.

When it lets you down, you quickly squint to see what’s coming for you next and immediately pale.

It’s massive. Dark, cobalt, scraping the underbelly of the black sky. Another tall wave (but a small fish in comparison) interlopes into it and is swallowed within a blink. It only worsens it, feeds it.

You have no chance. None at all. It’s over. It’s over and despite it all- the pointed meddling of your neighbors and all the chatter meant to maim the stubborn belief you held that your to-be husband was still alive- a small hope flares to life in your chest.

It says maybe dying here wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe, if all of them were right after all, you’d be able to see him again.

As that unbeatable wave draws nigh, seemingly moving at a snail’s pace- casual in its approach but so terrifyingly powerful- it droops at the top and paints you in an opaque shadow.

You can’t see, can’t hear. The deafening roar of thunder and the foamy tide clapping against itself is tuned out. Your eyes see nothing but darting smears of lightning and the hurt of heartbreak and sea salt.

It’s happening. It’s over.

You give your fingers one last twitch to remind yourself that, for the moment, remarkably, you’re still alive. They feel fat with the cold, hardly budging.

Your last flip flop gusts over your shoulder and your ribcage rattles with a chill.

Your teeth chatter out one final prayer and perhaps a choked sob- although you can’t tell if it’s the brine gathering at your feet, rising with a gurgle- And you watch with wide, teary eyes as that tsunami finally descends—

A flash of color, indigo and bright, bobs above the slanted tide.

‘You. You shouldn’t be out here.’

Your eyes widen. Milliseconds before the boat is hit, a slosh from the side tips it and you’re catapulted into the open water.

It feels like an open flame.

Arctic temperatures freeze you to the bone. You’re reminded of hellfire as the cold licks away at your skin, limbs warping around you in violent currents.

You let out a scream of despair and watch as it turns to suds.

You know it was stupid, you know it was stupid, you know it was stupid— But you were hurting. And that life back at town- now devoid of the man you thought to be your veritable soulmate, who you were convinced you’d spend your final breaths with- is not the one you want to continue on with.

(But… you don’t wanna die.)

You dig to the surface with a sputter.

You manage to keep yourself afloat for all of two seconds before the ocean— or something that feels oddly like a fist— latches onto your ankle and pulls.

Consciousness is a slightly longer affair… but that, too, fades.

Teal blips across your spasming eyes. A vivid, long tail flicks along your arm, almost curiously, before curling behind you and disappearing.

Bubbles erupt from your jaw and shoot up, up, up.

Maybe, you think vaguely as the world blackens, quietens, you’ll find your missing fiancé lying at the seabed. The thought, surprisingly, isn’t as comforting as it is disturbing, but you suppose a reunion only in death would be better than none at all.

‘Silly human. Don’t worry, I got you.’

⊹⊹⊹

A voice breaks the quiet of night. Dulcet, lamenting.

The ocean whirs in his ears endlessly, his tail gliding below him in a dull swish. A school of fish passes by, and then another. A curious, blue one swims at his side and he biffs it dismissively.

“Not now, fishie.”

Rafayel isn’t concerned about the life swirling around him in colorful dots of assorted sizes, floating above the seabed, no- that’s all ubiquituous to him. It’s that song— that smooth sound drifting like a dirge from somewhere on the surface— that stirs something deep in his chest.

It was like that last night, too, and then a few nights before.

After over two decades of swimming in unbroken boredom- with each day bringing about the expectation of nothing more than waking up to see another- the siren feels a shift.

Something is breaking the monotony.

An excitement, existing deep in his chest but incipient, is invoked within him like an ancient god brought to wakefulness. Rafayel feels his bones rouse with the phantom aches of a slumber he never fell into- but the feeling is all the same. He rubs the disbelief from his eyes and pushes aside waving reeds before rocketing upwards.

When the waves kiss the morning foam,

From beneath the surface, the crescent moon is lopsided and shakes as Rafayel gets closer to breaching it.

The dainty shadow of a hand cuts in front of the white orb, as if wanting to capture it, before falling back to her side.

A gentle splash.

From up here, he can hear the things of land- the crickets and cicadas of summertime- purr from afar. That’s not what he came here for, though, what’s been stringing him in from the depths like fish in a trawl or moth to a flame.

And still, in the span of the last week, Rafayel has yet to get her name... (Something that definitely has to be remedied sooner or later, he quietly decides- despite the other half of him still holding onto the pride of coasting solo, the embarrassment at being led off by a mere voice. A land creature’s, at that.)

He latches onto the long, thick leg of the peer and props himself just under the overhang of it, laying his nose flat in the water but opening his eyes above it. It’s amplified now, that pretty noise, and the only thing separating the two- him and the human- is the planks of wood overhead.

Her feet rest on it. He hears her sandals squelch before she toes them off, sits down, and loops her legs over the edge.

Rafayel, with fluttering lashes and an interest so unexpected but strong it’s paralyzing- watches her heels make ripples just beside him, his heart thumping wildly. It could be out of the thrill of doing something this unusual, or the silent anticipation of maybe getting caught (although, he doubts he will, for the main reason that his kin don’t lack in cunning).

Maybe it’s just out of delight- the fibers of his being tingling with invisible sparks of… something. It makes him feel a little clumsy, innocent and fumbling like when he was a young merfolk just learning how to evade a rip current.

Similarly, she pulls him under. Drags him far out. Her voice is the tide and he’s all too willing to drown.

It’s… certainly not the first time he’s seen them- human legs- and he’ll be the first to admit that he wasn’t so sure about them initially- but he thinks he likes hers the best. It’s starting to grow on him, but just a little.

She’s soft. Smooth. At least, that’s how she appears- though he can’t say for certain because he’s never tested that theory, yet.

He’s extra careful to keep his hands to himself, intrigued as he is, lest his nails pierce through and break her. It’s a more common notion underwater, shared between much of the fishfolk, that humans are meant to be broken. Pieced apart in hungry hands or brought to the depths for a more extended, decadent death.

To be fair, he’s not a firm denier of that...

But this human, this girl who’s collided into his infinitely bleak life with all the grace of a ship wrecked hours off from shore, and whatever the hell she’s singing about— Rafayel’s not quite stupid enough to break her, no… He’s not quite willing to, either.

When the scent of roses pierces the lungs, The fish stranded at your fingertips…

For the rest of the moonlit evening, Rafayel floats beneath the peer at her (unwitting) side and listens to her languishing until she stands to her feet and retreats down the beach, disappearing into a cluster of warm, tiny lights in the distance.

Blood,

Blood,

Blood covers the sea.

Rafayel, with an inexplicable pang of sorrow- unable to fight the influence of her songs- can’t help but wonder what has made the girl so sad.

It’s not in their baser nature, the sirens, to commiserate, least of all with the humans. It’s a weakness, to cry, an open wound that his kind is all too susceptible to deepening- so they avoid it entirely. Call it preservation. But for as much as Rafayel loves the ocean- and yes, to an extent, his people- he was never all that interested in their society, and if showing a little bit of heart for the landfolk means escaping the bland shadows of the sea, then maybe right now is a good time to start.

…Before she swims away, anyway.

⊹⊹⊹

Silence sours the balmy air of your home, but you swear you hear something singing to you.

It was real.

It had to be, what happened just a number of days ago.

When you’d been retrieved from a bed of seaweed on the shore with little memory of what happened, you had retained just enough to know that something was… off.

That something having to do with the violent storm at sea and your lack of succumbing to it- the darting shadow that appeared by the boat and was there when you went under— wasn’t adding up.

You… shouldn’t be alive.

That thought was present even in the thick mist of early morning as boats began unmooring from the docks— stark epiphany, realer than the concerned hands of the fishermen as they helped you into town, your legs hardly capable of carrying you there on their own. Much less your frazzled mind; you didn’t quite miss the way they’d stared at you during the trek off shore, throwing frantic looks over your shoulder even as the sand gave to the reedy path leading into the village.

The rolling waves got flatter as you drew off from it, but something in you- like some inexplicable base instinct- was telling you to run. Away or back to it, you don’t know, but you feel the frigidity of the sea still in your chest, lapping away at your sanity as days pass.

The burn is surreal. Nothing makes sense.

You should be dead- scraping there at the bottom of the sea, drifting with your supposedly dead fiancé in a place where the light doesn’t dare reach—

But you’re not.

The earth feels shapeless beneath your feet. A perpetual dizziness in your skull that makes you feel like you’re swaying on a dock- but your toes are planted in dry land.

You’re alive. The scale tipped against you but it didn’t matter. The sea spat you out, didn’t want you.

Surprisingly, you take the whole ordeal in stride. The first days after being plucked from the shore are rocky and dreamy, but you find your footing and with it comes an unexpected hope.

If you survived, your fiancé must’ve as well. He’d always been the stronger of you two, anyway, more stout and determined.

The waves did not drag him under. Couldn’t have.

The canoe you took out to sea is gone, not to your surprise. It was more or less reduced to splinters. But you wonder if it was even real to begin with, if the canoe ever existed that day when you unroped it from its notch and embarked on the perilous journey. Down to the very point where you pattered off your porch steps and made the choice to look for your fiancé yourself- the whole sequence of events is wrapped in a forgetful fog.

But deep down, despite the whispers of doubt surrounding you and your own mental haze, you know it happened. All of it.

It was real, and something

Is singing to you—

(Wet hands descend the span of your belly. Sand feels like gravel beneath you, soaked and cold beneath a yellowed moon as night fades. Reverent, curious. Long nails carefully unravel algae from your fingers and thighs. The debris is tossed away, thrown down the shore without thought.

-…. in good shape, cutie. Is there anyone on land who’d sing for you if you disappeared? A gentle laugh- but even in your state of unconsciousness, you pick up on the note of disdain there. I guess if there was, you wouldn’t turn to the sea so much.)

Hands. Curious hands kneading into you like wet clay on a spinning wheel. Reshaping. Admiring. There’s painterly intent in every touch, every brush. Something between the cove of your legs gives a wanting throb and your tongue feels like cotton. Fire licks from your belly to your brain and makes it benumbed, pleasantly heavy as the gentle, rhythmic lull of the tide cools the tips of your toes.

Salt burns your throat.

You wake with it sore.

Rubbing it groggily, you come to before dawn fully does, the horizon flickering with a diluted, white-orange beneath a starry sky.

It gets to be too much. The emptiness of your bed, the suffocating drivel of the townsfolk and the lack of certainty in what happened to you.

Dubbed crazy or not by all around you, you’re past the point of caring. You have to leave. Worried neighbors advised you against it, adamant that you ward off on visiting the peer at least until your mind fog lessened; preferably, you’d wait an extra few months so the wound of heartbreak would seal over, but it seems they know better than to ask that of you.

He’s still out there, your to-be husband. He’s got to be.

You think something else might be, too. The thing that saved you. Although, the reasons it has for doing so are beyond you.

Go back, a lilting voice sings somewhere in the back of your head, a dull throb like a separate, beating heart. It thumps in your skull and sends a thrill through you. It speaks in urgency, like it’s warning you not to disobey— but all the sharpness of it is masked in dulcet chords.

Go back, back to the sea.

Crazy or not, you think it’s calling for you.

The lyrics lead you to the front door. Maybe you ought to think this over more, sleep on it (God knows you’re failing at that seemingly simple task). But something is driving you, picking up and physically moving your limbs for you as if your settings have been switched to autopilot.

You shrug on a thin cardigan to stave off the crisp air of early morning, not bothering to lock your door behind you.

A weird, eerie voice in your subconscious- hardly sounding like yours- says you won’t be coming back anyway.

Thankfully, you have half the mind to shoo it away and steel your nerves. Of course you’ll be coming back home. You’ll find your errant fiancé and burst through the little blue-painted door with celebration. All the village will cough up their sheepish apologies for the things they’d said- the faithless assumptions they made- and raise a mug to his return.

The key to finding him is finding that other thing, first. The thing with a watery fist and roaming nails, the glinting coral-red eyes that blurred beneath coiling waves and the tail that you’re sure swam you back to safety.

The locals can say all they want about you: The ruddy, fading ring of scratches wrapping around the bone of your ankle—

That’s all the proof you need to spur you onward.

Onward is the ocean.

⊹⊹⊹

Water gushes against the rocks at the seaside.

Dark and slate-grey, they dry up under the sun immediately. Seagulls caw overhead. The sand is warm- not cool as it was in your last visit- near scalding as you head towards the shore.

You hiss and don’t make it halfway until you start leaping, bare feet burning. You hurry into the water, standing only ankle-deep, and mentally scold yourself for forgoing shoes— but to your defense, your sandals had been lost to the abyss that was the sea just barely seven days ago.

The horizon is blinding. Sunlight bounces off the plane of the sea and glistens, just as bedazzled as a wealthy woman’s neck. It’s a far cry from what it was last week- all whorling ridges and roaring waters- and for that you’re thankful.

That storm, and being launched into the hellish currents of it, will remain in your dreams for a long time coming.

Even now, just looking at it from far out takes your breath a little.

It’s horrifying. It’s… beautiful.

…And it’s singing to you—

“I know you’re there,” you whisper.

Your voice is just a breath at first, hushed as you toss a squirrely look down the beach- where the fishermen drudge around as little specks- and straighten your spine.

You’re alone here, though. You’re allowed to be as crazy as you want.

You speak louder, forcing down the lump of embarrassment in your throat that says your voice is falling on deaf ears. And you know the ocean doesn’t have ears, or eyes; it hardly had the heart to spit you back out of it.

But that thing that snatched you into its arms and left you boneless on the sand does.

With hands bunched, shaking, you declare, “I know, you’re there.”

Nothing.

A short whitecap curls over the tips of your toes and stretches a few feet behind you before receding.

It melds seamlessly into the blue.

Nothing, and then-

Yards off, a colorful blur warbles. As it swims closer, you hold your ground, squint to assure it’s not a sea turtle or other creature (albeit, no typical marine animal is that shape or size), and let out a little gasp. Its head pops above the surface gracefully, and it’s full of hair, a vibrant shade of indigo that strikes a familiar chord in you instantly.

“It’s you,” you startle, almost out of breath. The fingers clutched tightly at your sides unfurl. Your heart picks up its speed, an abrupt surge of emotions- shock, relief, and confusion- leaving no different an effect than a stungun would.

“You’re real, I- I knew it—!”

“Shhh,” is his first word, coral-blue eyes narrowing with apathy as he palms himself closer, about knee-deep in the water now. And yet you step away, applying some distance as you stagger because for whatever reason, the knowledge that his creature- or fish-man- saved you doesn’t take the cake when it comes to self-preservation.

You don’t even have a name to put to his face (or tail), and up until now, you were certain mermaids and unicorns and fairies only existed between the pages of whimsical books or the imaginations of children.

Right then, you think, they also existed in the sage warnings of the Greeks before they sailed off to sea.

The quiet epiphany plays with your nerves.

“You don’t have to be so loud, you know. I can hear you just fine, thanks.”

Ear-length, wavy hair bobs with the movement as he tilts his head. You can’t help but feel estranged from the idea of caution, though, as he drifts a bit closer and gives you a petulant pout.

He gets as close as the sandbar will allow before pausing, broad shoulders jutting above the ripples.

And he’s childish still, the picture of harmlessness as he looks up at you, squinting in the sun, and murmurs, “buuuut, I admire your enthusiasm, cutie... Were you looking forward to our reunion that bad?”

You blink, lashes fluttering. A breath you’d been holding finally escapes you, a whit of that unease ebbing out just like the cool tide underfoot.

You’re… hardly a sailor, anyway. You’ve no ship to be wrecked; no, the man that served as the anchoring element in your life is missing. The boat in your life has gone AWOL. With it your warmth and love. It’s why you’ve even come out here in the first place, the flights of fancy belonging to a grieving woman or not.

The reminder of your lost fiancé steels you.

You lift a shaky hand to use as a visor against the sun, blotting it out so you can peruse the man-fish without obstruction.

“You saved me,” is all you really know to say. You’d had all sorts of lofty plans coming back out here, but you’d never fully considered what you’d do if your new friend (he is a friend, right?) did show.

He lets out an amused, dry sound. The ghost of a smile curls at his pink lips, though. He can’t quite hide that one from you.

“I did. Have you come to show me your gratitude?” He lowers his gaze then, glancing at your shins momentarily before peering behind you, at the grassland stopped just after the shore and right before the village.

He grumbles, “Or will humans with pitchforks show up any minute, intent on slaughtering me and my kind?”

For some reason, the most you take from that statement is the very end of it, quickly saying, “T-There’s more of you?”

He looks up at you. Makes a scoffing sound but it only holds half its bite.

“Well, of course there is. Silly girl,” he comments, that little grin returning with a vengeance as behind him, something teal shoots up from the water and pelts a small flurry of droplets your way. You close your eyes and turn, the gentle sound of his laughs ringing out.

When you look back at him, a long tail- gorgeous and as pigmented as turquoise paint- flicks under the sun and glitters no different than rhinestones.

“It was only me that was generous enough to save you, though. That’s the most important part.”

⊹⊹⊹

Trust is a big word, it is.

But there is no doubt in your mind that you would’ve succumbed to a watery death if not for the merman- Rafayel, he’d informed with a coy flap of his tail- intervening, and you’re grateful to him for that. His saving you— it means something. And you owe him.

You head for the shore each morning with a silent debt hanging over your head, but he never demands anything of you in return. During lazy afternoons by the cove trading pretty, swirled shells and at first tentatively getting in the water with him to swim at nightfall, you wait for the catch to come, for him to name his price.

You think it’s only fair. Rescuing something as valuable as a life is nothing to scoff at: you’d cough up the change.

He never holds out his hand.

If anything, Rafayel seems wholly uninterested in that.

You’re not entirely sure why you formulated your ideas of merfolk around blood-thirst and thievery (perhaps because of the myths), but the one you’re befriending is nothing like that. He’s playful and sassy and a little bit flirtatious but you suppose- if the legends of sirens luring sailors to the depths are really true- then it adds up. It’s only natural he’d be a whit on the provocative side, right?

Rafayel is friendly, clingy even when you convince him that you have no intentions of alerting the village any time soon of his presence. You tell him with a wry laugh that they’d hardly believe you anyway because everyone thinks you’ve lost it.

You see it in his pleasant face- the blip of interest that passes by- that he wants to ask why, but he holds off on it when you pour him with questions about what goes on in the deep blue and if his kind really eats fishermen.

He huffs, propping his elbow on the half-submerged rock he’d helped you onto, still in sight of the shore but more intimate a setting.

“What kind of question is that? Do you really think I could do something like that? Look at me,” he balloons out his cheeks and puffs. “I’m an innocent little fishie.”

You laugh, and drop the interrogation in favor of a more lighthearted one. You ask Rafayel what life off land is like.

With a mischevious twinkle in his marbled, red-blue eye, he tells you about what lurks in ocean trenches first, painting vivid imagery in your head of glowing bulbs in the dark and rows of jagged teeth that peer out of deep crevices.

You blanche and he can’t help but chuckle softly, a dash of something in his gaze that resembles ardor as it flits appreciatively along the curve of your face.

It’s not all horrifying, though, he eventually concedes.

He scoops shiny things up from the sand lining the ocean floor and gifts them to you in your following meetings. He tells you that the fish- sleek and chromatic- dance around him in schools where everything is crystalline. They sleep on beds of coral under-tail and stick close to the fins of whales, apparently having nothing better to do. Sometimes they get a little clingy, he admits, and he has to shoo them away, but the little creatures are friendly- and his underwater world is nothing short of beautiful.

Rafayel loves the sea. It’s his home.

“And what about you, cutie? What’s your home like?”

That gives you pause, but just for a moment.

You know what home is like; you’d only dwelled there, in the tiny village off the shoal, since you were a little girl.

And home is nice…. Or, it was. Now, it’s a husk of the warmth you once knew. Days drag by in drab monotony and the added, very much unwanted reminder that your fiancé has yet to return. Seagulls squawk outside and tricycle bells ring. Concerned neighbors knock on your door but this place feels dull. No more face to put to this snuggly seaside village.

With a small smile- one that Rafayal thinks is more wistfully sad than anything- you tell the merman about the things you cherish here, deliberately omitting what you desperately miss.

Memories of childhood circle back to you in fuzzy fragments: Despite the present, you can still at least cherish the past, right…?

Listening to you recount gems of your youth with a smile, it’s evident to Rafayel that you love it here.

Just… he understands that maybe it’s not as much as you used to.

His face takes on more of a sober look then, his cheeks, dappled with teal scales that break the surface in some spots, dusting a soft pink. You don’t really understand why- perhaps a mild case of sun burn- but he asks,

“And what about in it? Is there… Someone who’s special to you, who brings it warmth? Even underwater, in order to survive, we merfolk need a suitable temperature, you know.”

Ah. That.

You offer a hum of acknowledgment before glancing off, far out to where the flat whitecaps stretch into nothingness. Lounging around by the coast with your new, unlikely friend, the scenery is idyllic here.

You almost will yourself into forgetting what you’re really here for, what hurled you face-first into this predicament.

Sorrow hangs in your heart. The visage of your fiancé passes in your head rapidly, kaleidoscopic, his smiles and the tender moments spent with him, the sound of his laugh.

You are less and less certain of yourself. You are not sure if the gossipping townsfolk are correct or not to assume the worst, but what you do know is that it’s creeping up on two months and not one shiphand has returned. Not even an errant oar has washed ashore.

“Yes. But…” A pause. You swallow thickly and give your head a belated, uncertain shake. Tears form in the back of your throat and you pile them down, frustrated they’d showed up uninvited.

Perhaps you’re more weak to all the bleak murmurs than you’ve let on.

You laugh, but the sound lacks humor. “Everyone thinks he’s dead, all the people at the village.”

“…You wanna share?”

You shrug and draw one knee to your chest, the other still bent over the rocky ledge, dangling in the cool water. They’re still today, the waters, relatively level— but inwardly, you warn yourself against being so easily deceived by them: they looked more or less the same the day you rowed out.

The storm was nothing short of terrifying, yes, but you think the lack of expecting it somehow made it more devastating.

“Well, there’s not much to,” you respond, tongue in cheek. You don’t mean to sound uninterested in this conversation all of a sudden, but you suppose it’s a defense mechanism. Rafayel props his elbows on the rock and listens intently, giving his brow a little quirk at your tone.

“But my… fiancé,” why the words are suddenly hard to get out, you don’t know, “he went off to sea. Hasn’t come back yet.”

At your knees, Rafayel is noticeably quiet, but you get the inexplicable sense that he’s invested.

“I guess he’ll come back with lots of fish whenever he does,” you sigh. Your attempts to remain lighthearted just barely working.

Quickly, you try to breeze past the topic, but the merman chimes- “A fisherman? You were courting a fisherman?”

Courting. The word sounds a little funny, medieval almost, but you hum.

It’s his turn to make a tongue-in-cheek comment, lifting his scaly fist to support his chin. “He must’ve been a real prize to deserve all that singing... What do I get for saving you?” He says playfully, almost pettily, but you get the weird idea that this is more serious to him than he lets on.

You want to heave a laugh at his pouting words, but confusion stops you. You snap your head to him.

“You-?”

Quickly, Rafayel quips, “Yes, just about the whole sea can hear you at night. Why is that surprising?”

For some reason, a whit of hope warms your chest throughout. If Rafayel is cognizant of something as trivial as songs from above the surface, surely he must’ve been privy to a shipwreck or the hurried shouts of sailors as their boat went down.

Not that you believe it did, just—

You scramble upright, planting your palms on the rock in a kneel as you say- in a voice you’re not keen on sounding as desperate as it comes out-

“Have you ever heard anything else? A- A boat sinking? People drowning or- or—“ You stuff out an anxious breath, all the worries and doubts you’d been housing for weeks now bubbling to the surface. You suppose if anybody has garnered your confidence, though, it’s the merman that saved your veritable life.

Still, a lump of unease burns in your throat. Thick and acidic. It makes your voice shake but you ignore it, leaning over the edge. If you fall in, he’ll save you again anyway. If not a friendship (but you definitely treat it as such), there is still a mutual fondness between you two- a silent trust- and you’re sure, beside the marks on your ankle he left by accident in the heat of the moment, he would not let harm befall you.

“Because they say he’s gone— my lover— they say his crew got hit by something- like a plague or a storm- and succumbed out there. But maybe- maybe you heard something? Rafayel- did you hear or see any group of fishermen out there?” You bluster, before adding on like an afterthought, “two months ago?”

The longer your mouth moves, the wider Rafayel’s eyes get.

And then, you think it’s something like… recognition that skips across multihued eyes.

He’s quiet for a moment, mouth ajar. His bright turquoise tail, the tip jutting out from the tide as it sways idly, stops midway in the air and floats awkwardly.

Your brow furrows. You fear the worst. Your nails dig into the gritty surface, fingerpads whiting as you shake your head.

“Rafayel-? W-What’s wrong?”

Curtly, he shuts his mouth. An easy smile replaces his momentary surprise.

When he speaks, it’s in a familiar, somewhat sarcastic but harmless tone, and his tail sparks to life behind him, albeit quite unsteadily.

“Nothin’, cutie,” he lifts an arm to adjust his perch on the rock but it slips. His face dusts pink, his brows twitching together; all of it, the clearly disturbed signs of his composure, he ignores. Your heart thrums.

“I was just thinking how brave you were to venture off to sea after him. He’s lucky to have someone like you still waiting at home for him.” His compliment is overlooked. You’re too caught up in the rush of unease that sweeps through you- the niggling feeling that says there’s something more to this you’re not seeing- that you can hardly utter a bashful thanks.

“But- did you happen to hear anything, or-?”

Rafayel adds casually, “I’m sure the guy is fine wherever he is, though. And no, cutie. But I’ll let you know if that changes.”

Something like hesitance grips you as you watch, with silence, the friendly merman lose the better part of his mirth. You wonder if you’ve said something wrong as his exterior hardens cooly, if you’ve divulged too much of your emotions and quite possibly lost your final companion. Maybe you’re overthinking it- but if that’s the case, if even a fish-man from the sea has taken the same opinion as the land-living locals, then some drama seems warranted.

You don’t want to be alone again. And Rafayel- Rafayel was starting to really grow on you despite all your differences—

He strums his fingers against his jaw, painting the picture of boredom, and puffs out his lips, eyes drifting away almost flippantly as if he’s dead to the wounded look you send him.

A yawn. He unfolds his lean arms and ducks under the water.

“Wait- Rafayel-?”

“Sorry, princess, the fishies are calling me. They said it’s getting late now, and that I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“But—“

“Hop on my back, let me take you back to shore. Your little legs can only doggy paddle you so far,” he lets out a light laugh but you don’t miss the dash of mockery there, as if you’re some unfortunate soul cursed with four limbs and warm blood. Still, you bite your tongue- and the unbidden pang of unease in your chest- and slip off the rock.

You loop your arms around his middle, his muscles flexing in response, lean and tight, and keep your chin above the tide as he floats towards the sand bar.

“Rafayel, are you okay?”

“Of course, cutie. Why, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yeah. It’s just-“ you poorly stifle a sigh, still a bit taken aback by his sudden desire to truncate your meeting. That, and his odd behavior when you asked about any possible shipwreck.

You eventually settle on, “Please just keep it on your radar. If you hear or see any ships, call me, okay?”

“We don’t have shellphones under the water, you know. How am I supposed to alert you?” You can’t see the face he’s making, saddled on his back as his long tail gusts through the gentle currents, but you realize he’s teasing.

“I- I don’t know,” you admit clumsily. “Maybe I’ll just know if you say my name.”

I mean, it’s not too crazy an idea, is it? You felt a stirring towards the ocean- real and audible- would a creature living in it really be so different?

Perhaps the townsfolk are right in their claims made against you, that you’ve lost it.

There’s nothing left in you that cares, though.

Rafayel lets out a small chuckle but sounds oddly endeared. “How romantic.”

“Rafayel—“

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll let you know if anything’s up. Don’t worry!”

⊹⊹⊹

From the shipdeck, the water is beautiful, even as it takes you down under, swallowing up the thick hull in a lazy gulp.

A white moon pours down. The waves sparkle like sequins. It’s… hypnotizing, in a way. Your fist flies to your collar when the sails tear, the harsh rip of it reminding you of the breath still in your lungs, and you hold the locket there like it’s a lifering.

The crewhands scramble for them- and for the tiny boat hanging off the side. Another powerful slosh to the boat sends slippery hands in a fray; you hear the vague sound of wood cracking, planks you thought to be sturdy splintering. You’re no more than a raft drifting, victim to the elements.

The emergency lifeboat whistles as it drops, freefalling from the ropes and into the coiling sea.

It has no heart for mercy, the sea, but you’ve still one for home, a deep-seated urge within to return that has your nails digging bluntly into your palms, blood drawing in the paths of them.

…H-Home.

Sailors scream around you.

Someone, you realize with a flash of confusion, in the chaos- in the maelstrom of wind and shooting rain- is even singing.

The sound of it chills you to the bone.

Dazedly, you think they must’ve lost it. To be fair, there’s no blame there— men have drowned in waters far flatter: your crew is miles from the nearest chunk of land and the vessel can’t withstand this weather— you’re all gonna die and the crewmate must know. He knows and he’s singing.

Crashing waves silence heavy thunder. The sky glows endless white, one last fissure of lightning darting down before the deck lights bright gold.

Fire surges. It dances in your eyes and you swallow a scream.

She’s waiting at home, still. It can’t be over, it can’t be, it can’t be—

Fiery yellow, and then everything spins, your world going lopsided as the ship groans and you tip.

And then, it’s all blue.

Dark, vast cerulean interpolated only by flotsam that drifts away the moment you reach for it, fingers desperately clawing for the surface.

Up, or down— you’re not sure which way you’re swimming.

You do know, though, that you never find your buoyancy.

Hands. Hands on you and dragging you down, down, down, and then it’s clear the wrecked pieces of the ship are getting further away, not closer. A deepness surrounds you. Cold, quiet. The storm’s effects are mitigated the lower you sink— it’s counterintuitive, you think, because surely you’ll drown regardless, but a strange sense of calm washes over you as the air peters from your lungs. They spasm as you choke.

But you got to get home, you must get home to her—

The tips of your boots touch the sandy floor.

It’s tranquil, under the sea. The reefs are vivid, swaying with bubbling marine life. Navy blue swirls around you and is limned with muted fire light, displacing itself with every wild movement of your limbs. You flail them helplessly but something—

Something is holding you down and it’s singing—

From afar, and through bleared eyes, the coral looks like upright rods of colorful bone, yellow and blushing-orange. An opaque red smears over them— curling and wavering into smoke-like trails. It’s reminiscent of black and white marble. Beautiful, in a way.

A long, glittering tail scrapes across your leg.

You realize it’s blood- your blood- and then in a heartbeat, a pair of talons pierce through the veil and—

A gasp.

You come to wakefulness with a frightened noise.

That dream- you’d been having it for days now, each more fragmented and blurry than the last… But this time, it’s strikingly clear.

Horror frosts your eyes over, glossy and wide as you undo the covers bound tightly around you, standing to shaking feet.

That awful, awful dream— it’s not in your point of view, you realize, it’s in your fiancé’s, and that same claw that had been gracious enough to scoop you up and save you from stormful, roaring swells—

Dragged your lover down to the depths, burying him in liquid oblivion.

As you shrug on a thin cardigan and hurry outside, dashing under moonlit lawns with the single-minded focus to reach the beach, you vaguely wonder if you’re being unreasonable, if all these little dreams and visions and songs you’ve been experiencing are nothing short of delirium. But this is too coincidental— Rafayel had smoothly shirked all your questions days ago, and you realize now that the dull look in his eye wasn’t boredom but jealously, ugly and sudden, masquerading under disinterest.

Knowledge of that- and your naivety- comes to you in piecemeal.

You’ve been stupid. You’d been holding onto the feeble hope that your soon-to-be husband was somewhere out there, scraping together shellfish on an uncharted islet or lost at sea with his crew-mates but alive. Deep down, you always knew it was the dreams of a fool.

But damn it all if you’d just… stopped yourself for one fucking second to nudge aside your denial and take a good look at your marine friend, you’d have seen the lack of common sense in it. Your lover’s met no different and no more painless, as much as it horrifies you- a fate than the sailors depicted in all those whimsical tales of old.

You sing out to the sea. Anger warms your chest like a fleece, cardigan be damned, fists clenched so tight your palms swell as you cry out.

Panic, subtle but niggling, speaks to you from underneath thick layers of hate and pain, but you’re beyond the point of reason. No, you need to hear it from the siren himself just what the fuck happened to your other half— if he can hear your lamenting after dark without issue, surely he would’ve at least caught wind of some devastation off the coast or spotted the debris in his own waters—

But he’s been keeping something from you.

“Rafayel!” You cry again. It’s impossible to swallow the lump in your throat; it seeks to climb to the surface but for now, with a remnant of control that surprises yourself, you manage to keep from spitting it up.

Nausea turns in your belly, but you keep it at bay. Just barely.

Unshed tears burn your cornea. “Rafayel!” You don’t scream, no, your lungs are too wounded and overwhelmed by the simple task of drawing air to, but it’s a near thing.

Furious, beginning to think he’ll conveniently not show or he’s merely ignoring you, your feet splash into the water until you’re shin-deep.

You hiccup. “R-Rafayel! I know you’re there!”

Eventually, a head bobs above the tide, infuriatingly nonchalant, and a turqoise fluke appears not long after it, twinkling just barely under a clouded, night sky.

He doesn’t look as tired as you’re sure you do- and not by a long shot quite as disturbed. If anything, he looks a little pleased with himself.

Wet indigo waves give a little bounce as he lazily approaches, watchful eyes glimmering with something you’re both too enraged and emotional to name. Something like betrayal courses through you— distracting you from the very real fact that the siren is drawing closer.

He says nothing as you shake your hands emphatically, eyeballs practically bulging out your head. They might pop out and roll. “You-! You knew!” You accuse, momentarily stunned at the broken sound of your voice. “You knew all along b-because you did it, didn’t you? You’ve been lying to my face this whole time— You killed him! Y-You ripped him apart I fucking saw it—“

Your tirade is clipped short with a hiccuping gasp as you fully erupt into tears. You don’t bother to wipe them or even hang your head, brows furrowed as Rafayel regards you with a contemplative, almost curious look.

An undercurrent of desire, dark and intense, exists under it, though, and you can’t will yourself for any longer to view him as the same harmless, aquatic humanoid who’d rescued you.

You find yourself for both a lack of coherency and also gratitude; he could’ve left you to decay at the bottom of the ocean for all you care, or thrown you to the hands of Neptune or the feeding pit of sharks— it’s almost preferable to this.

Rafayel’s face, admittedly handsome, in a pretty way (albeit, you’ve no idea why your brain is suddenly forming opinions on his appearance, especially now of all times), is relaxed, devoid of emotion. You recognize the impatience there, though… like there’s been a string that you’ve pulled taut.

The silent truth that has been overarching your life for the past couple months- you don’t want to come to terms with it or you might break otherwise.

For the life of you, you can’t even understand what his goals were in all of this—

You hurl your anger at him and flail your arms and shout until your trachea feels like aggregate when you swallow, and he waits it all out with an ease that gets you impossibly riled up.

You suck in a sharp breath and shudder when you open your eyes again, color seeming to reenter your periphery, and measure the distance Rafayel has bridged.

Gasping, you go to take a step back, knees knocking together like newborn foal as a distinct sense of panic rips through you- not right, it screams, and, you messed up, you messed up, you stupid, stupid—

“Silly girl,”

A loud splash. A resistance.

Rafayel lurches his arm, belly almost brushing against the sandbar, and takes ahold of your ankle.

You let out a yelp, instantly reaching down to try to unlatch him from you, dismay robbing you of oxygen, but it’s too late for that. Each of your clumsy attempts is precluded. Faded scars line the knob of your ankle and Rafayel presses into them with the smooth pads of his fingers- forcefully, but he’s mindful not to use his nails. He’s learned since the last time.

He gives one good tug and you stand no chance, falling with a slosh.

Pulling you towards him, he’s fully confident now that you’re in his liquid domain, slowly dragging you away from the shallow end, from home- or at least, the shriveled, sad remains of it.

Mortified, and still very much resisting him— the merman surprisingly gentle, cognizant of your frailty despite the iron grasp he subdues you with— you throw a frantic glance up and watch as the shore shrinks.

“No!” He’s very careful to keep your head above the tide, but you’re choking still.

This is not the first time he’s helped you into the ocean and swam recreationally with you, usually with the addition of little trinkets and pretty shells you bring to swap, but it’s definitely the first time he’s trapped you in his arms, lean and impossible to swat away, and ignored your asks to return to land.

You remember your front door then, funnily enough, how you left in a tizzy and far too shaken to lock it, and burst into another sob.

You’ll not be returning, will you?

“Please!” You blubber with all the grace of a fish out of water. You squirm like one, too. “Please, don’t kill me, Rafayel, don’t- don’t eat me—!”

A laugh, breathy but humored- cruel in its softness- rings at your ear. Gorgeous tail folded in front of you, brushing against your rear and the underside of your thighs as they fruitlessly kick out, Rafayel uses it to propel you both backwards, treating your kidnapping like a pleasant stroll.

“Of course I won’t eat you, princess,” he coos, placing a painless but clearly posessive- like he’s marking his territory- nip to the juncture of your neck and shoulder. It makes you shiver. “Don’t you understand by now?” He frowns, “You’re mine. The ocean’d sooner dry up then watch me lay a fin on you.”

There’s exactly zero things funny about this situation, so with a pang of wrath, you don’t know why he’s laughing. Maybe at the irony, because in any case, he most certainly has laid a fin on you—

You feel angry at yourself next in the seconds that follow, managing to bite into the flesh of his scale-dotted forearm and slip out of his grip— thrashing away without ceremony before he hisses and curtly regathers you.

“You’re a slippery fishie, huh, cutie? You can’t seriously think I’ll just let you swim away though, right?” His tone darkens then, deepening with a quiet warning you can’t help but feel is incongruous to the generally mild, sassy but otherwise friendly merman you’d grown to know.

When you try to break free again, the exertion summoning a state of near dry-drowning, Rafayel drops all efforts at patience and seizes you by the throat.

His hand curling around your neck, almost playing at the idea of testing just how tragic your power dynamic really is, he lets out a frustrated noise behind you. He knocks his nose into the side of your face, tealy lamella spotting the surface of his cheek and scratching against yours.

Unfamiliarly low, he grumbles out, “You’d better stop fightin’, girl, because if you spin out of control, there’s no guarantee what’ll happen to you. You’re hurting yourself. Stop it, now, I said.”

That fully frightens you. The scream buried within your throat dies, withers into nothing.

Attenuated, pointed nails graze the soft flesh of your jugular, reminding you of all the horrific, brutal ways he could sunder you in two, but they don’t draw so much as a drop of blood.

“P-Please—“ You sputter, desperately digging at his forearms that make an X over your midriff and collarbone, your toes launching out of the water. Your fight, for as valiant as it is, is sapping you of an impressive amount of energy and at an alarmingly fast rate.

But you can’t stop. You refuse to buckle to him- because to bow your head and agree to give in would be like finally surrendering to the cold reality that has, as of a number of weeks ago, completely shrouded your life.

Y-You can’t admit he’s dead— that you’re entirely crazy, widowed, and in the strictest definition alone—

“Ah-ah, princess,” he murmurs as you heave wildly, “don’t you think that’s enough running away? It’s not fair if I can’t come on land at all, you know. Come and swim with me for a while.” Rafayel coaxes, resuming his more mild demeanor within a blink.

He releases a somewhat exasperated, yet thrilled sigh. It shakes as it leaves his damp lips, blue and fuschia-red eyes glittering with barely repressed delight as he lifts his chin from your shoulderblade.

Then, he leans in towards your ear, and he sings.

⊹⊹⊹

Everything is dream-like.

Birds soar overhead in a breezy circle. They offer a few, occasional squawks that help you to the conclusion of seagulls: paired with the rhythmic, wet purr enveloping you- and the warmth flushing your cheeks- you’d wager you’re at the ocean.

Perhaps a relaxing beach day with your fiancé. He’s laid out the cloth (albeit, it feels oddly… hard, smooth as if the sand beneath is without lumps), and you’ve just stirred from a long nap set to the backdrop of light, gusting sand and crashing whitecaps.

Something in your core throbs.

A particularly tall wave in comparison to the other relatively flat ones smacks against the black rock and cools your skin. Sweat beads at your forehead, the center of your thighs offering a sequence of dull aches that have you feeling weak, wanting nothing more than to let your eyes roll back and stay that way.

You make an incoherent noise as the metaphorical fog clears, buttery, white light warming you. Dawn, you realize hazily, lashes fluttering open gradually, it’s dawn.

…But when you’d last blinked, it was late into the night.

Memories pour back in, a potpourri of muddled events tracing back to this moment- uncertainty startling you upright as—

A hand, firm and a little slimy, presses your belly down.

It bars you from most movement, strong but gentle. A tongue- long and flat and fucking mind-numbing as it laps at your pussy- swirls experimentally against your clit and vibrates with a low, satisfied moan.

Not yours; but the next one that rings out, high and aroused and very, very afraid, is.

You can hardly recognize the sound of it. A thick beat of silence passes before you finally do, brain struggling to reconcile with this startling, admittedly idyllic panorama laid out before you.

A disoriented glance tossed down tells you all you need to know to confirm your fears, a sickness churning so deep in your gut you think it’s plausible you could puke up yesterday’s supper. What spills out from your slack jaw is another helpless, pleasured mewl instead.

Rafayel, mostly submerged in the water but with his upper half braced against the flat rock’s ledge, drapes your legs (trembling, you confusedly note, as if they’ve been positioned that way for a while now) over his broad shoulders to better present his prize and feasts on it like a man starved. One large hand serves as like an anchor on your abdomen, keeping you moored as you positively lose your mind, the other carefully thumbing apart your slick folds.

Somewhere between the span of late last night and very early this morning, he’s gotten them puffy and unbelievably wet, your tight hole clenching around absolutely nothing as his lips- just as swollen and needy- suckle on your tiny bump of nerves.

You rest your head back against the smooth surface of the rock, lukewarm but not quite scorching yet- the sun still moseying its way up the sky, clouds parting to reveal a diluted yellow canvas behind them. Resignation weighs you down better than any hand ever could.

You bite down another moan mixed with a sob and leave dents in the tender tissue of your bottom lip.

He parts with your pussy for just a moment, hesitating like he’s sad to step out from its warmth, knuckling over your labia with a reverence you feel is misplaced considering the circumstances.

He’s cruel when he lifts his eyes to yours, heavy-lidded and utterly transfixed.

The sincere, amorous glint in them is like a bucket of ice water dumped over your head, something you couldn’t prepare for or adapt to in time, his head dipping down briefly to pepper a lingering kiss to the gooey seam of you. Mine, everything about the way he gazes up at you says, and, if you don’t believe me then let me prove it.

“You’re gorgeous,” he groans, the dark sphere of his pupils spilling out like ink onto a multicolored canvas. He’s worshipful in nature, but curious- tentative to every little twitch your fatigued face gives, wondering how to push your buttons just right- perhaps above all, just desperate to know if your slick cunt will keep supplying him with that sweet, hot nectar- but it’s been so generous to him thus far, so he figures he’ll just keep on taking.

“It looks just like a seaflower,” he murmurs, breath ragged over the placid lull of the tide as he strokes your flesh, “Like the ones I’d grab from the ocean floor to give you, but so much prettier... Sweeter.”

Rafayel is careful not to hurt you- you can tell, somehow, that he’s fighting tooth and nail with his inner animal, his baser instincts, to keep the last modicum of his control. Hurting you, no matter how accidental or quick, would be detrimental. He knows that. He’s felt it. And to be perfectly honest, he’s quite enjoyed it— but you don’t fall under the category of food or paltry entertainment, no, you’re so much more than that to him.

The pretty, kind girl who kept the brainless town out of your unlikely relationship, who sang her way into his heart and stole it despite himself. His best friend, his sweet little playmate and—

…Mate. Yes, his mate.

“Have you been feeling me?” He asks suddenly. “At home, in bed? I’ve been trying to call out for you,” he relays in an affected pant you wish to unhear as he resumes suckling at your shamefully wet pussy.

You hate this, how worked up he’s managed to get you, how pliant your own body has become as it all but sells itself to him- guilt and confusion swelling in your chest. “I’ve been trying to get you to see how much I like you, princess. B-But it’s like you’ve been shooing me away or something—“

You hardly give any mind to what he’s muttering about, the point of his nose nudging against your sensitive nerves and expediting your release as he licks eagerly at your folds, your whole body trembling with delight. You don’t think you really want to know, anyway.

Sea salt shoots up against the rock, licking your limbs with a cool spritz. He muffles a low breath of amusement into you. “But you’re here now, I guess. Mngh- and you’re so delicious. You’re… fragile though,” he pants, prodding his long, hot tongue against your tiny clenching hole before delving inside it with a violent shudder, his cheeks bright red. “You might have to help me inside, cutie. I don’t exactly wanna break you.”

That stuns you. His words, single-minded and husky, remind you of just how fucked up this all is— and a panic crosses the involuntary fog of your head as you snap it down to get a good look at him.

You were sure merfolk had their own means of reproduction, but it’d never been more than a passing curiosity until now, your heart in your throat as you squint to make out just what he’s working with beneath the water.

Lazily, he looks up to you and smiles when he discovers what you’re doing. It’s a hungered, smitten one, sharp teeth peeking out and all. All your squirming is nothing more than an attempt at self-preservation, unsure of just what he’s endowed with but vaguely knowing- by the size of his tail and difference of species- you sure as hell won’t be compatible with it.

The need to escape is puissant and your limbs begin to move— but they feel oddly leaden, less like flesh and more like stone.

“You wanna see me, pretty girl, yeah? What’re you planning to do?” He coos, swilling away at your watering cunt, nursing from the endless stream of juices like a man possessed. Your fiancé's face flashes before your mind and you make a choked sound.

As if sensing your thoughts, Rafayel lets out a little contented noise and nuzzles against the soft inner portion of your shaking thighs.

“He screamed, just so you know,” a low chuckle rumbles from his chest and warps into a pretty moan. It’s too light and dulcet for comfort, and it feels disproportionate to the general sting of it all. You loathe the unbidden current of arousal that gushes through you at it, wetting his slender fingers as it trickles down the thigh he cuffs.

One final shlick of your throbbing pussy and the merman maneuvers with relative ease onto the rock, his thick tail flopping off at the edge and disappearing into the crystal water. And there’s nothing exactly large about Rafayel’s stature, but he feels heavy as he hovers over you, elbows flanking either side of your head, and the appendage that seems to summon itself between you, drooping with engorged need over your stuttering belly—

You don’t want to look. Too afraid to.

You suppose you don’t have to, anyway: Rafayel grabs your face and cradles your jaw in his smooth palm, hot, labored breaths warming your slack lips. The sun is lifting higher, now, a clementine-gold sky burning like blood low on the horizon. Soon, the temperatures- and his touch as it charts out the most intimate parts of you- will begin to bake your skin.

“He was all bubbly under the water,” he groans with a trace of humor, “but I saw the worry written all over his face. Back then, I’d always wondered why he looked so concerned... not afraid, concerned. But I guess… it was ‘cause he had you to get back home to, huh, cutie?”

Saccharine sweet, he dotes before wrenching your chin up in a desperate, heedless kiss- the action all too cathartic too him but world-stopping for you- and you feel the fat head of something foreign bob between your folds.

“Poor guy,” he moans, voice absolutely ruined as you lurch helplessly beneath him, back arching to accommodate the impossible stretch. You expect it to hurt- to be a searing pain as his massive, inhuman cock spears you apart- but a near blinding delight racks through your body instead as he worms his way inside your walls, wet and primed, your eyes fluttering back.

“But at least his death served a purpose. You’d never have sung for me otherwise. Would never have- went out looking,” he shudders, hanging his head against the sweaty column of your neck, his brilliant-blue tail sloshing in the water on its own accord.

“It’s all thanks to him,” he growls out, tone oozing possession- the innocent little merman you befriended dematerializing before your very eyes. “You’re mine now. Mine.”

And when it’s all said and done, strong, toned arms gathering you up with a low splash as the docks rupture with gradual life, the boots of fisherman croaking over waterlogged wood, and Rafayel takes you under the water- giving you breath with a deep, intimate kiss-

You’ve the feeling that your dreams of reuniting with your lover will fulfill themselves in their own roundabout, warped way.

But you know Rafayel’s not ever letting you go as he undresses your finger of its sparkling ring and tucks you away in his underwater cove— placing you in his nest with reverence before prying apart your numbed legs with rekindled hunger.

Curling across your face, a soaked lock of your hair drifts absently in the still waters and Rafayel thumbs it aside, clipping it back with a little clamshell fashioned as jewelry. He leans over you contentedly, whole body and fluke swallowing you up without difficulty or protest, and happily feeds you oxygen from his lips.

You cling to him helplessly and have no choice— several hundred feet below land level— but to hungrily nurse from him every few hours and pray he won’t make the sudden decision to deprive you of it.

Something in his rippling eyes tells you he won’t, though.

He dips down to paste a lingering peck into your temple, the pad of his thumb roving appreciatively under your eye.

“Don’t you think you’ve seen enough of the land, princess? The brainless humans up there don’t want you anymore, and that’s okay,” he whispers, tiny bubbles floating like balloons before popping. “You belong down here, with me. Who says you need a tail or fins to be one of us?” Mistily, you wonder just what exactly he’s trying to say and who he’s trying to convince of its veracity, a blip of frustration marring his pretty face before it retreats.

“I’ll give you life for as long as I live,” he vows, mouth brushing tenderly against yours as his cheeks puff out and he blows.

“See? Just like this, princess. Just keep holding onto me.”

[aespadasanmiguel]

3.3 hsr spoilers abt ciphlaea u have been warned

placing my ciphlaea thoughts here in longform because twitter sucks and also i dont want to get doxxed or whatever cause that place is full of crazies and i dont want to deal with that. anyway. people reducing ciphlaea to a proship sucks cause there's layers to all their interactions and their relationship can't really be fit into a neat box because of the setting. i finished the entire 3.3 story quest and a lot of the content is pointing to cipher being important to aglaea and vice versa so here are my 2, maybe 3 cents about the entire situation:

aglaea was already a demigod by the time cipher had met her, whether or not she was an adult and whether or not cipher was not that young, it stands as a Fact that she was older at the time. everyone saying that aglaea is not an adult at the time is hinging on the fact that we don't know for sure. later on, aglaea gives cipher a home to stay in due to her being hunted for her golden blood. does this mean she was adopted? i don't know. "taking someone in" has a huge range of meanings, ranging from adoption to simply giving someone a place to stay while they get back on their feet. speaking as someone who has taken in a friend because of a bad home situation, does this mean she was adopted into my family? no. additionally, aglaea did say in her line specifically to "stay with my side, and you can start putting yourself back together".

while there's no explicit saying that cipher was adopted and is now part of the goldweaver's name, it is implied that cipher stayed with her for some time, even going so far to say that it was "their" shop and no longer just aglaea's. whether or not cipher was just teasing about this is not explored, meaning that she probably really thinks that aglaea's home was her home as well.

from what i gathered from their dialogue, cipher does not quite see aglaea as an "authority figure" but also she does kind of see her as someone to look up to. they joke around (cipher asking aglaea to watch "their" shop while she goes off to steal things, the audacity of this cat) and they do mock each other (cipher going off about rich people, aglaea calling her a little thief in rags) but cipher has also been told by aglaea many times that she had the potential to be a good person. describing their relationship as a mother-daughter relationship is so strange because that is SO obviously not the case. the normalization of the nuclear family structure for the found family dynamic kills me because aglaea does not fill the role of a parent!!!!

plus, regardless of their past, it's also a fact that it has been one thousand years since their first meeting. they have grown drastically, both together and apart, and are now completely different people. we don't know the complete timeline of their "falling out", only that it was AFTER cipher got her coreflame and by this time, the two are already clearly good friends. cipher VERY CLEARLY sees aglaea as an equal and vice versa. aglaea never forces cipher into anything simply because she cannot as she does not have that kind of power over her. she literally has to beg cipher to come back to okhema and even then she has no guarantee that cipher would follow through!

all the material and hints points to them being equals. cipher calls tribbie and hysilens using honorifics (big sis and miss respectively, reflected in all translations) while cipher calls aglaea "seamstress" or simply "aglaea" (also reflected in all languages) from the start. hyacine never even dares to call aglaea "agy" despite her penchant for nicknames for everyone, and only tribbie calls aglaea agy aside from cipher. tribbie, who sees aglaea as a student. so why doesn't aglaea get called big sis (or god forbid mom) as well if they have this so called "mother-daughter" dynamic since clearly cipher has no hesitation in calling others with that kind of honorific? both tribbie and aglaea were friends with cipher (from character stories to cutscenes) yet only tribbie gets the title of "big sis". not only that but the way they describe each other, the way they talk to each other... it's not translated nor written with a mother-daughter relationship in mind. "i've spend centuries trying to figure out what went wrong, replaying every moment over and over"? "you have a beautiful face that deserves better than scars and grime"? "i want to be worthy of you"?? like what the Hell man

the two also obviously have many things left unsaid, with cipher leaving the flame chase out of the blue and especially their last scene. detailed spoilers below:

after cipher gets [redacted] by flame reaver, she hallucinates (perhaps uses the power of trickery on herself?) aglaea because she wanted to apologize to her despite it being too late. cipher apologizes, saying that the real reason she stayed away from her was because she was so good at reading hearts that her lie to keep okhema safe would have definitely been seen through. GOD the weight of those words are so insane because what do you mean u missed aglaea ("your weave shop, i wish i could chance upon it once more") but couldn't see her even if u wanted to because if u stayed too long, you'd slip up and jeopardize the entire city's safety?? platonic or romantic, it's so heartwrenching... and the last line as well... "agy, say something. anything. please..." then "you are the unsung hero of amphoreus, cifera". makes me choked up.... they meant so much to each other.....

BOTTOMLINE: it's hard to reduce something like that to a proship. their entire relationship can't just be condensed to "oh cipher was a kid, mother-daughter!! everyone who ships them is a weirdo!!!" when the reality is things aren't that cut and dry. you can't really apply real world standards to the likes of them, having supposedly lived through a thousand years and more. they have known each other so much longer than that short part of their life, with no lingering power dynamics at all since cipher has lived longer away from the chrysos heirs than with them. when laid out simply: the ship ciphlaea involves two 1k year old demigods that have a complicated past. like. screaming ciphlaea proship is just Crazy when people are out here shipping actual siblings with eachother.....

also taking a step back from all the lore shit and putting on my real world glasses. cipher in the CG looks so incredibly young but doesn't sound the part at all (for EN/JP atleast). not only that, but she also sounds older than her childlike voice in her character stories (i only checked for EN and JP so i cant say the same for the rest). the way she talks and the way she interacts with aglaea feels so out of touch with what she looks like in the CG and honestly it makes me wonder if she was portrayed more clearly to be an adolescent then, would the outrage be the same? hmm

edit: i wrote this in a sleep deprived haze but i forgot to add: if you don't feel comfortable shipping / seeing them as romantic then that's fine. if you see them as more of a "family" then that's also fine... cause they (the chrysos heirs as a whole) are written perfectly to fit the "found family" trope. it's just so strange seeing people adamantly saying they're "mother-daughter" lol

[uhohdad]

Hey there, it’s Dad. I like to write about you and König.

(18+) This blog contains dark content. Please comb warnings carefully and read at your own discretion. Take care <3

✧₊⁺ Drabble Masterlist

✧₊⁺ LongForm Masterlist Below

The Girl Who Conquered The Mountain (NSFW 18+)

(Outcast!Konig x Reader, 122k+ words)

Summary: You and Konig have been chosen to participate in a twenty-four tribute fight to the death.

AO3 Tumblr Navigation + Bonus Content

Meine Perle (NSFW 18+)

(Octo!Konig x Reader, 25k words, Completed)

Summary: Reader is tasked with feeding enemy prisoner Octo!Konig.

“Just don’t step over the tape, don’t talk to it, and try not to spend too much time in there. Oh, and don’t forget the bucket.”

AO3 Tumblr

His (NSFW 18+)

(Stalker!Konig x Reader, 15.5k words)

Summary: Konig has an unhealthy obsession with you.

AO3 Tumblr: PART ONE PART TWO

Experimental (NSFW 18+)

(Konig x Reader, 22k words, Completed)

Summary: Konig helps you with a new technology you’ve been developing. You see something you’re not supposed to.

Tumblr: PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

AO3

✧₊⁺ König Drabble Masterlist

Dad loves you! <3

[amethyinst]

I've been getting worse and worse youtube recommendations so I was wondering about what kind of videos do you enjoy and like to watch! I miss watching content that is actually informative and interesting :(

oo ok here's a list:

if you like longform content: fd signifier, folding ideas and jenny nicholson are the only three 'video essayists' i still watch, video essayists in general are kind of intolerable to me LOL 90% of them have nothing to say and theyre also very unfunny (or whatevernot my style of humour). but jenny does interesting topics with unique insight and fd and dan olson have great social insight.

all of fd signifier's videos are great but i'd recommend his kanye (pt 1, pt 2, epilogue), nicki minaj, drake or kendrick vs drake videos as a starting point, or his videos on black conservatism (pt 1, pt 2) the obamas (pt 1, pt 2) and the manosphere (pt 1, pt 2, pt 3). folding ideas' videos on NFTs, the Metaverse, and the Gamestop short squeeze, are an excellent pseudo-trilogy that, despite the jargon often rife in the crypto/stock space, are made easily understandable to the audience. recommending jenny nicholson on tumblr feels redunant but the bronycon video is particularly great.

if you like jenny nicholson's theme park content defunctland is fun. love his recent documentaries on fastpass and disney animatronics are great. huge backlog of videos to watch from him

oh also climate town if youre interested in climate change and the weird little ways tha corporations rule our daily life, and also notjustbikes for weirdly fun and interesting and existential videos on moving away from cars and urban planning and car-dependance. idk where to put him but jay foreman makes great videos on weird stuff about london, england and maps. idk how to recommend him well but he's super fun.

for science (some also long form): angela collier makes videos about physics and the state of physics academia, and bobbybroccoli makes excellent documentaries about science and science-related frauds. nilered is sort of a mad scientist and does great chemistry content. speed up his videos though and you gotta get used to his speaking cadence lol.

for history: historytime makes great history videos, long and about stuff like the bronze age. histocrat does as well, i particularly like his video on the voynich manuscript. im careful about history youtubers cos theyre often stupid and fash but these two are great. stefan milo is great for neolithic and paleolithic content, he's wonderful at making this ancient history feel human and real.

tasting history with max miller makes great videos on cooking historical recipes and talking about the history behind it. nuanced and super fun!

im not into gaming but ahoy makes great gaming related content mostly about the history of gaming and retro games, i rewatch his video on the polybius arcade game myth all the time. and jacob geller makes great video game video essays that make me, a person who does not play video games, interested.

fredik knudsen has a great 6hour behemuth on eveonline and his other content has gaming stuff and a lot of internet rabbitholes. warning his stuff also includes like, lolcow sort of content. not specifically doing lolcow farms stuff but he does talk about it.

if you're into mysteries/internet rabbitholes/crime: lemmino is a pioneer in the genre basically everyone is aping his style, barelysociable is the best of the lemmino disciples and his video on the silk road drug market is great, vuldar is another "lemmino clone but he's good"if you like lemmino" sort of guy, same with abstract, blameitonjorge does lost media stuff. oki's weird stories makes well videos on weird little stories like jacob wohl (pt 1, pt 2)

missingenigma does missing 411 cases and presents them in a MUCH better light than the rest of youtube, basically discusses strange missing persons cases that are in fact perhaps not so strange. insomnia tv does icebergs on cryptids, history mysteries, true crime etc. hes a small youtuber and i dont always agree with his ideas on like bigfoot or whatever but he's super fun i love his southern accent he's great to put on while im cooking and cleaning

if you like animals: antscanada makes these dramatic videos about his huge terrarium super funny and fun to watch theres like three seasons of it, robert e fuller makes great videos on native british wildlife like documenting the parenting habits of owls, octopus lady does fun ocean content

if you're interested in other cultures: blondie in china makes videos about her life living in china, little china everyday also does china content, africaeveryday makes fun videos about his daily life in nigeria in the style of atomicshrimp who i also recommend if you're interested in the daily adventures of a british man. kiun b makes videos about living in yakutia in siberia, tatiana haina is super underrated and makes great videos about living in ghana

foodieland makes videos about korean food like restaurants and stuff, no talking just documenting

if you like reels/shortform content: uyen ninh is this vietnamese woman living in germany and makes great reels and also videos about her culture and about germany. eoin reardon is an irish carpenter, meditations on the anxious mind is another irish guy who makes hilarious little videos about subcultures with added philosphy, gunnar deatherage is a fashion designer who has done some looks for chappell roan

There's so many more i watch that are great but this already took me like an hour to compile so ill end it here, but you can ask me for more specific recs and i can give them ^_^ kisses

[korogie]

Okay once again no one asked but after Never Give Annabelle a Gun my fav sfth longforms are:

1. Clarissa's D.I.Y Wedding

2. Never Give Annabelle a Gun

3. Oh My God is This a Joke?

Which I guess means my favorite sfth content is Luke playing a woman in a love triangle with Tom and AJ. Somehow that applies to all three of these.

[venomous-qwille]

Ghost in the Machine

This is the master post for Ghost in the Machine links, character refs and FAQs.

I will try my best to keep this post as up to date as possible.

What is Ghost in The Machine?

GITM is a DCA AU and a fic set in the retrofuture (2055ish) long after Fazco has shut down. An eccentric collector has been acquiring versions of the Daycare Attendant animatronic from closed locations around the world. The story involves a reader character who has been brought into repair the original post-Ruin DCA from the games, and hijinks ensue. There are also ghosts.

Where can I read the fic?

GITM is currently being posted on Ao3, and is updated every three weeks on Saturdays. The fic is being beta'd by the tremendously talented @bubbiethesaur. You can read GITM here!

There is also a podfic, which you can find here:

Updates to the podfic will be sporadic, so please be patient &lt;3

Where can I see the art?

On this blog I use the #gitm au and #ghost in the machine au tags for GITM related content. If you are looking for art of a specific character, they also have their own tags: #misuta moon #nova #soleil #clip.exe #sunspot mk1 #fool eclipse #ruin eclipse #sombra #sunflower #mr sandman

FAQ~

Why haven't you answered my GITM ask?

One of three reasons: 1) your ask was too spoilery* 2) I'm waiting to answer it with art 3) ADHD

*spoilery includes but is not limited to: any questions about dual-AI or XYZ character's sun/moon variant; questions about character backstories and lore; questions about characters that have not featured in the fic yet (e.g Nova, Sanii, Harvest, Sunflower, Sandman etc); asks speculating about potential future scenarios (don't get me wrong, I love these asks, but I can't answer them!)

Where are all the Moons?

Read and find out. Seriously. There are at least 5 Moons who are core to the plot but I'm not going to talk about them, no matter how nicely you ask!

Does XYZ character have a Sun/Moon counterpart?

Some of them do, some of them don't. The dual-AI stuff is majorly plot related. If I'm not talking about someone's Sun/Moon counterpart, rest assured you will find out eventually. I won't be spoiling any of it on tumblr though :)

Can I create fanart of GITM?

Yes yes yes please do and please tag me when you post it so I can see it/reblog! If you are unsure if something is ok, please ask.

Can I create fanfic of GITM?

Super flattered about this. I have a longform answer to this question which you can read here. But tl;dr yes you can, please tag/credit me, do not spoil/try to write the lore, and please do not write GITM au (e.g mafia, mer, medieval). I have my own plans for this stuff and I would prefer to release the designs/stories in my own time. If you are unsure if something is ok, please ask.

Can I create NSFW GITM content?

Until recently I had blanket perms that allowed NSFW GITM content. I'm updating this to let you guys know I'm no longer comfortable with people making this content. Back when the community was small, I felt differently, but as time has passed a lot has changed and I've found myself becoming increasingly anxious about it. If this boundary changes again in the future, I will update this FAQ.

Do you have character refs I can use?

There is a collection of art 'refs' for each character on the Misutamojis discord. Latest link here.

There are no proper call-out sheets/refs currently, but I have a huge body of art for the characters on this blog which should give you more than enough info for most of them. I will get around to creating proper refs eventually, in which case I will link them here.

Where can I find the playlist?

I have a huge number of playlists for the fic and the individual characters! Up to date links are kept on the discord, but you can see my tumbler masterlist of playlists here: Part I // Part II

I've heard there are secret GITM drabbles, where can I find them?

I used to post frequent drabbles from future chapters in the DCA Palooza discord, I have recently deleted the majority of them as people were going back and binging them which hadn't been the intended reading experience. Anywho, this question probably refers more to the spicy drabbles (which people have very kindly made a lot of delicious art for). These are still around! You just need to access the spicy channel and do some digging.

Is there a GITM discord?

Nope! There is a server for GITM emotes and a busy thread in the DCA Palooza, but currently I don't have any plans to make a GITM-centric discord community. If that does happen in the future it's likely I will simply convert the emotes server (Misutamojis).

It finally happened, I converted Misutamojis. You can join the GITM discord here.

Can I smooch the robots?

Yes.

All of them?

All of them.

[braaan]

HOLID-AMA ANSWERS!

OR: QUESTIONS AND BRAN-SWERS

Thank you to everyone who submitted an ask! These were very, very fun to do, and overwhelmingly flattering. I'd like to do more of these very soon :)

---

On writing

@kooyabooya asks: what made you want to start writing about kpop ggs in the first place (this could aka what inspires you to write in terms of dynamics, tone, prose, imagery, etc etc...)

Hi Koo! Thank you for the question! :-) I think – like you’re indicating – there’s a couple of parts to this:

(1) and most inherently: COVID changed me. I went from legitimately adverse to kpop to perusing the genre to #ONCE Forever in maybe 6 months LOL. I seriously blame the physically disgusting amount of League I was playing (there was a player on ladder who always shit on me with Dahyun as their ID) but more realistically think it was just fandom at work! I wanted more content eventually, and it didn’t take me long to stumble onto the kpop-latent writersphere.

(2) Neatly from above: I think the kpop-latent writersphere is one of the most rich and rife communities out there; to a sizable degree: I write because of you! I am surrounded by great writers, am always reading something that is funky and/or makes me feel some type of way every month, and I think because of that, have similar stories to tell!

The Hyewon was my first piece of smut, longform, evocative writing (everything in between, really), and I credit all of that to the community. As long as you continue to enjoy my stuff, push the bar yourself, and re-invest in the space along the way, I think I’ll be here for a while!

(3) Bong Joon Ho says something to the effect of art needing to scare you. I believe in this so viscerally, and think it’s why I fundamentally write so… annoyingly descriptive… recursively metaphorical… pithy? I think I spend a lot of time understanding a character in and out; I’ll always have a Weverse Live going on when I’m writing — just to catch the quirks — because I really want you to believe that, even for a moment, what you’re reading is real. I think parasocialism can lend itself to a hauntingly beautiful form of want, and to me, if I can tell a story so true to life that it lingers — leaves a lasting impression on you that makes you feel something, even if just for a moment — that is awesome.

---

@fuckkkkkklol asks: do you have ways to push through writer’s block and/or executive dysfunction when it comes to creative things (including but not limited to writing)? if yes gimme your best ones 

@majorblinks asks: tips for overcoming heinous & debilitating writer's block (asking for a friend not me)

Hi Miggy, hiiiiii major ^_^, and hi major's friend! I think my very unqualified advice here doesn’t stray far from: be bored and don’t do what you don’t want.

Above is just a screenshot-worthy sneak peek of what my current drafts look like — the slate totals up to maybe ~15 pieces that I’ve worked on on and off, and though are in many states, all of them unfinished. The haunting voice in the back of my head hates this: that I have so many drafts that I should finish, that I must go back and put out all of these stories, that I have an obligation to do these things… but the better part of me knows that is contradictory.

Creation is iteration — when @capslocked wants to be smart, he has a sweet turn of phrase that goes “writing is rewriting” — and I think it’s fundamentally inconsequential to have to create.

Get words out of your system, play around with an idea for a timeframe, get bored of it, chase a new premise that you start a completely different draft for, then do it over again — eventually, to me, this ends up coalescing to something that I can put out: I’m ALWAYS looking back at drafts and exercises to Frankenstein them into other pieces (“I really liked this pacing from here” … “Ooh, and then this metaphor I think sits nicely with this other one” … Eunseo was a combination of lots of unrelated drafts before it).

Also: you are so opinionated! Reading something, I form an opinion almost immediately of a writing voice: what I don’t like, what I do, and how I’d do an idea myself. I think this instinctive editorial motion is great when applied to the above exercise: I’ll start a new doc in the direct middle of a one-shot, riff off something I saw somewhere else, or just play with a metaphor that I really really like — none of these are ever intentional of a story I’ll write, but I do think it continues to keep writing instinctive and, like above, almost always becomes recycled into something that eventually does make it out.

In short, I think the remedy to writer’s block is time, and continuing to nurture the muscle is what makes overcoming the hurdle easier and easier when you inevitably come back to it. To me, any hacks, additional fire under your ass, or other things to speed up the process are inconducive of actual Craft, and most likely do not let you enjoy doing what you initially set out to!

---

@kesujo asks: Every writer's writing style is inspired by his/her favorite writers, which may even change as they discover new writers. Has this ever happened to you, where you noticed your writing style change, or you pick up some stuff from new writers you've discovered? And, if you were to say the top 5 influences to your current writing style (doesn't have to be in order), who would they be, and what about their writing style did you like the most that you picked up from this writer?

Oh yeah, like I mentioned, I’m very new to the space (and this voice of writing in general), so I’m definitely always :notee:-ing. 

I’m not reading enough these days, and if I am, it really is strategy-latent nonfiction, but for here:

@yieldtotemptation easily has the most fun-laced voice and ideas — we could be several thousand words deep into an otherwise raunchy piece, and I'd still find myself putting my phone down to laugh at a disarming line of dialogue or perfectly packaged, real-life metaphor. Gray has inadvertently taught me a lot about having fun with my stuff, and I think I'm trying to take myself less seriously because of them!

@majorblinks is my blueprint, and genuinely, viscerally, in-real-life annoys me. Completely straight: I think Major is the bar for storytelling. We're both on the same wavelength when it comes to the stories we'd like to try, but only one of us has gone out and done it (see: DOWNRIGHT ICONIC), and I think that makes all of the difference. I'll spare you the brainworm: there's writing for writing's sake, and then there's writing with a purpose. DOWNRIGHT ICONIC as an example is a fundamentally masterful understanding of how smut and its readers work as a vehicle**, and I think everyone would benefit by taking a sliver of Craft that it literally oozes out.

@capslocked is a pioneer of many, many things in this space, but I think doesn't get enough credit for how technically crafty he is. My drafts are guilty of overusing "And" to start new sequences, and it's not until I've re-read a Caps piece that I go back and fix them. Caps has an expertly-crafted, seriously refreshing style of paragraphing, structure and usage that I'm always looking to for inspiration, and easily is the writer that dumbfounds me the most with how rudimentary / fundamental his phrasing feels — it's always a mix of "oh wow!" and "of course!" if that makes sense!

** Alex Cornell has a fantastic, 25-minute talk about Idea Vessels (here) that touches on this

---

Anonymous asks: Hello Bran, just wanna say I love your fics and writing style. Wondering if you have any upcoming fics that your currently working on?

Anonymous asks: Curious on any upcoming fics? 

Hi very, very kind Anons! I have two in the slow cooker that I'd really like to see come out. Sneak peeks at both of them below!

(1) is this Julie piece from last summer that I put on pause. There was a week where I put on Mother (Letterboxd), Perfect Days (Letterboxd), and Shoplifters (Letterboxd) on back to back to back, and this came from that!

There's something about noir and darker themes that I think expert directors understand lend themselves well to the one long take that feels more and more intrusive as it stays on a character / scene, for example, and this piece really tries to encapsulate that into writing.

It's a more condescending and smartass character compared to what I'm used to, and the draft for it sits squarely on top of the framing that idol Julie becomes Oedipus Rex. Written in the style of a tragedy, rife with callbacks to Greek Classics; could be really sexy.

(2) is a Chaeryeong piece that I tried to put out for @passingnotions.

It's legitimately some of the raunchiest stuff I've written, and all sits on the premise that you haven't seen gross yet — I have each of the seven deadly sins in the document LOL; I genuinely always feel guilty when I re-read some of the stuff in here...

(bran pure bran pure bran pure)

On not writing

@octoberautumnbox asks: pls also get nachos on the next milk run and a flavor ice cream you'd rate 6/10

---

@majorblinks asks: r we twin flames yes or no

:fishh:

---

@kooyabooya asks: the last song you listened to on your spotify?

---

@avenger7567 asks: Do you think WJSN will ever return again?

I cannot imagine that it will be the same iteration of WJSN if they do, but I think (and hope) so — the socials are decently active, and will 100% be a gimme for headlines!

It's truly such a sonic loss! I'll find the time to put it into words one of these days, but I really think underdog-y, just under the surface energy is what leads to experimentation within any genre. Music is trendy, and kpop is no stranger of the "regression to the popular grey" — groups like WJSN who don't have enough clout to conform must zag... and then you get shit like Last Sequence.

VIVIZ, NMIXX, RESCENE (here and here), and Billlie play this game very well + keep me sated in the interim! WJSN 2030 comeback :')

---

@majorblinks asks: whats ur most recently read book & how many stars would u give it out of 5

---

@friskyriskywhisky asks: Nice to see you on Tumblr again!😊 How are you doing so far? What is the most attractive thing an idol has once said? If you can only watch only one idol's live-stream for a whole year, who would it be?

Most importantly: SANA CLAUS is gonna get robbed by one female idol. Who's it gonna be and are you going to warn Santa?

(1) Always good! It's been a crazy start to the year, but I feel like I've always been legitimately blessed :-)

(2) HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

(3) Probably Luda (WJSN)!

I'm not a big livestream consumer, but I do notice that a lot of groups where the majority of them are adults tend to have more fun ones. For another time, but I think there's less media criticism inherently of what you are and aren't allowed to say when you're "an adult", and so these livestreams do feel a little less... sterile?

The last Luda stream I watched, I remember there being a sequence where she legitimately spent 2 minutes making fun of a fan comment because they commented that they were single LOL

(4 AND MOST IMPORTANTLY) step bro i'm stuck in the Sana multiverse and if you even remotely think about trying to get me out i will absolutely end u

---

@kooyabooya asks: what is your spirit animal or pokemon (if you have one by chance) 

LOL can you guess:

---

@majorblinks asks: give me like 3 of ur new year's resolutions . what r we getting up to in 2025

I need to crack open the journal and really Reflect to get them down down..... but I think will largely stem from the same place of having a better relationship w work and the things I do...

Long pause moment in recent memory came from a conversation I had with some friends — among many tidbits: "I want complete control over something ... and then will want control of my control" + "where is the line between full trust in yourself and mistrust in anyone else?"

... think I've come to a place where it's actively harmful for me to not let go a little bit more, so hopefully in 2025: less so default white-knuckle about things!

Other than that, probably getting back into music production in one way or another, and eating majorblinks alive! ^_^

---

@zeketheknight asks: What are your favorite K-pop moments from 2024?

2024 was a great year for moments up my alley in general — I feel like I've been quite prolific about the more adult idols drum (which only becomes more real with time), and I think I can point to content coming out of Jeongyeon, Chaeyeon, Eunbi, Haewon, Shuhua, Youngji/Eunji as probably some of my more memorable moments of the year!

Like the middle minutes of this is still so fire LOL

The bar is low for risqué (real) in Kpop, but until we let them even address shit like this it's going to be diluted, pandering, and brainrot for a loooong time.

---

@kooyabooya asks: thoughts on matcha lattes?

Big fan! I'm always doing a 2-shot matcha something within the workday. 

I've been meaning to explore more of this — I am somewhat... unconvinced the matcha game goes deeper than it looks like it does on the surface — so if you have good match recommendations please send my way!

---

@friskyriskywhisky asks: How would you navigate this situation where you're not sure Hyewon is being friendly or flirty?

WHERE IN THE HELL IS THIS ONLY FRIENDLY IN ANY CONNOTATION?????????????????????

i'd probably piss my pants frisky 😎

---

That's QUESTIONS AND BRAN-SWERS this time around! Thank you again to everyone who submitted an ask, and you for reading if you got all the way down here. This was really, really fun, and I'd like to do more writing-latent stuff in the future. Until then: happy new year, be good to each other, and see you in the next one!

— Bran

[parasocial-paradox]

rebrand content predictions

i say "predictions" in heavy air-quotes, it's really more of a pleading poke and a nudge to the universe, but there's 3 things of varying likelihood i would love to see in the new era below the cut. walk with me

REBRAND TRAILER (most likely) ooooo you wanna do another goofy trailer soooo bad. you wanna do more silly short film content soooo baddd the revival one was such a blast, and the sequel/subversion potential is Right There. listen i know deifying me as a prophet with my screenplay "pitch" (read: poorly disguised fanfic) might have its challenges, but consider: it would be so awesome. it would be so cool

PODCAST/STREAMING (plausible. here's how phodcast can still win. kind of) listen. now hear me out. i've been on team longform yapcast from day one, and i know plenty of other monologue-loving roombas feel the same. BUT. i feel like (assuming their setup doesnt go on the fritz) semi-consistent streaming (with uploaded/edited VODS) could scratch the same itch, hence why i lump them together. here's what i'm squinking. all the cool stuff they got to do with radio 1... BUT. full creative control. it's hot. its vogue. its full-circle. its got endless possibilities for segments and games and... dare i say... audience engagement.... imagine, if you will... similar formatting and segment ideas to my beloved dystopia daily... but live, on-stream, and with phil's brilliant mind manning the fun little games and tonal balance. bespoke activity area i miss you every day

DAN AND PHIL TRY ___ (not impossible, but of the three, my least likely hail mary) for those familiar, think something vaguely akin to The Grumps' Ten Minute Power Hour series, or something like Unus Annus (especially the ones where they go outside and goof off). for those not, imagine a sort of reclamation of the II era-- the "giving the people what they want" style of content. this time around, the guys challenge themselves to do stupid shit (like conjoined baking and codependency yoga) on their own terms. they're giving the people what they want. said stupid shit could be as small as trying food they've never had before or as ambitious as... i dunno. mini golf. naturally though, each video would have its own spin, and one unique to them. suffice to say. this would be beast as hell

that all being said, i love them, which means i love everything they make. i mean it with my whole fart when i say nothing they do in this new era content-wise would even remotely disappoint me-- i'm all over that shit, whatever it looks like. between both of their creative prowess, they've more than earned my excitement <3 phrebrand, i await you with open arms <3

[ilikeasstrology]

just remembering how i got so hooked on sfth so fucking quickly?? like the quickest of all my interests ever.

like i started watching them right after dfad came out, got hooked and so i did what any sane person would do and decided to binge all of their content. which i did.

i had watched all of their videos by the time the nude farmers and mecha monkeys came out

that is legitimately a time line of exactly 3 weeks. literally 168 videos in the space of 3 weeks, where for two of those i was at school for the majority of them.

thats averaging 8 videos per day but that also includes the 3 full shows they had out, as well as all their longforms

what on earth was i on (i say that this was 4 months ago, nothing has changed)

[roachsideblog]

Hi, I'm Duckies! 23, he/him

Not a republican nor military simp. I just think big dudes in tac gear are sexy. I write darker things so Watch Out. Roachtruther and Fic Writer. I've actually been writing since 6th grade, which is uh. Over a decade now lol

This is my TV-14 (DLSV) blog.

My Main Blog: @tinyduckies (also TV-14 DLSV)

My 18+ AO3: tinyduckies

My 18+ Sideblog: @sideroachblog

Minors can interact with *this* blog and my main, not the other sideblog listed above. I ask that minors don't read my 18+ fics highlighted orange (the others are fine, highlighted blue). Ultimately I cannot parent you and do not care to do so, so if you fuck yourself up reading my adult fics I blame your parents.

Heed the TWs!!

Masterlist Under the Cut

Completed:

1. Roach Wouldn't Really Do It...

GhostRoach ANGSTY Hurt/Comfort One-Shot

HEAVY TW: Suicidal Thoughts

2. Leg Day

18+ Oneshot, SoapRoach Public Gym Shenanigans

3. Exhaustion's a Funny Thing

18+ Oneshot, GhostRoach Totally-Not-a-Date

TW: Mild Homophobia Mention, Alcohol Consumption, Drunk Sex

4. The Apple of My Eye

SoapGhost Hurt/Comfort One-Shot

TW: Mortality, Parental Death/Hospice Care

5. Subatomic

Röanig [RoachKönig] One-Shot, Developing Friendship/Crush, Can Be Read as One-Sided or Mutual Pining

Mild TW: Referenced Child Abuse, Emetophobia, Canon-Typical Violence, Smoking

6. Frozen Solid

KeegRoach Hypothermia Fic, pt. 1 but can be read by itself.

TW: Head Injury/TBI, Broken Bones, Unconsciousness, Drowning, Hypothermia

7. Rope Training

18+ Oneshot, SoapGhostRoach. Title explains it lol

WIPS:

1. Outside Looking In

18+ longform content, has occasional smut. SoapGhostRoach. Takes place after Roach is rescued from an Ultranationalist prison camp. From Soap's perspective as he grapples with his crush on Ghost while learning more about Ghost's intimacy with Roach, as well as Roach's past first-hand rather than by word-of-mouth.

~90k words, >2/3 complete, updated every month/every two months because I work full time.

Don't read if you hate communication issues/miscommunication in fic.

HEAVY TW: Mentioned Rape/Noncon, Torture, Starvation, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Flashbacks, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Alcoholism/Drinking, Smoking, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Internalized Homophobia, Canon-Typical Violence

2. Melt to the Touch

18+ KeegRoach pt. 2, post-Frozen Solid where they reconnect and focus on getting together while Roach recovers and Keegan deals with his father's shitty behavior tying him to America when he'd rather move on with his life. Has occasional smut.

~16.5k words. I dunno if I'll finish it. I would love to but you know how it is lol

TW: Injury Recovery, TBI Recovery/Management, Fatherly Issues.

[woofterror]

🦴intro post🦴haii im alex :3c

19 yo punk tboy, he/him, aspiring professional woofboy, taken by @mushy-pup <3 NSFT free request text and fic blog

SEND ME HORNY ASKS I WANNA WRITE FOR YOU!!!

expand for deetz :3

scenarios

fics

short OR longform content

pictures, flirting, requests, all allowed, just use common sense and i'll probably fw it

if u cum to my posts u r required to tell me in dms

favs and specialties in fic are in pink!

hard yes's (subject to change): puppy play, breeding, werewolf/lycanthropy, vampirism, degradation, praise, cnc (intox, breeding, somno, etc), weed intox, corruption, blood play, hypno >>>, overstim, free use, regency, edging, bondage, objectification, light impact, size difference

hard no's (subject to change): detrans, ageplay, feeder/feedee, scat/piss/vomit, raceplay, incest, fauxcest, sounding, vore, excessive gore, inflation, excessive pregnancy, birth, beastiality

DNI: minors, queerphobes, racists, zionists, most -phobes lol, sh/ed blogs, detrans/misgendering blogs, chaser blogs, zoophiles

more longform fic will be posted to my ao3 @ woofterror, not much there atm but hopefully as soon as this gets off the ground!

lots of love, alex :3

[cosmerelists]

What The Radiant Orders Would See as their Fandom Job on the Internet

Orders on the internet requested by @justheretoreadnotwrite :) 

Justheretoreadnotwrite pointed me to this very fun 17th Shard thread, and asked if I could do a riff on the Radiant Orders being on the internet. Since I wanted to try avoiding the jokes already there, I thought I would focus in on how they'd act in fandom on the internet. Specifically, what would each Order think is their Duty in Fandom?

1. Edgedancers: Finding & Leaving Comments for Zero-Kudo Fics

The Edgedancers make it their mission to listen to those who are forgotten--in this case, fics with no kudos, no comments, or no notes. The Edgedancers come to read them, like them, and comment on them!

2.  Lightweavers: Posting Fanart & Engaging in Character RP chats

You want your favorite character or OC to have art drawn of them? Just ask your nearest Lightweaver! Or, if you just wish you could roleplay with your favorite character, the Lightweavers can do that too. They are, like, VERY good at pretending to be other characters.

3. Bondsmiths: Writing Alt-Text

The Bondsmiths want to make sure that fandom is accessible to all, so they're out there writing descriptions and alt-text for any fanart or tweets or other images that screenreaders might struggle over. Barriers of communication are no match for our friendly Bondsmiths.

4. Truthwatchers: Writing Call-Out Posts

If someone is out there stealing art and posting it on their own blog/twitter/pinterest page as if it's their own....well, they better hope a Truthwatcher doesn't find them. Those Truthwatchers will be telling the original artist, and they may just write a call-out post if they have to.

5.Elsecallers: Writing, just, Really Excellent Analyses and Guides

The Elsecallers are the scholars of fandom. They are writing really in-depth analyses of both the original source and of your fanfic, and they're here posting guides about how to accurately portray, like, dyeing practices of x-century. 

6. Willshapers: Writing Character x Reader Fics and Creating OCs

The Willshapers are out there putting themselves into fandom worlds--and helping you do the same. They're great at creating their own OCs and/or self-inserts, and they're the ones writing all of the Character x Reader fics as well.

7. Stonewards: Writing the Majority of the Actual Fanfic

In terms of sheer output--like keeping the fandom running by doing the hard work of actually writing fics--the Stonewards are leading the way. If there's such a thing as the "front lines" of fandom, I think it's people filling A03 and creating longform content.

8. Windrunners: Forum/Discord Moderation

The Windrunners want to make sure that fandom spaces are protected & safe for their members, so they're likely to take on the role of administrators or moderators--kinda like, you know, being the king's guard but here the the "king" is 19 people who all want to talk about the same character.

9. Dustbringers: Being the Most Popular Person in the Fandom

The Dustbringers are the "great power / great responsibility" order. They know they could level that city or dissolve that person into atoms or whatever, but they have more restraint that that. Probably. In the same way, Dustrbingers are The Person in their fandom. If they choose to retweet or reblog or boost your fic/art/analysis, you are made, my friend. On the other hand, if they decide you're an enemy...

10. Skybreakers: Following the Rules. The Internet Rules. 

Listen, the Skybreakers don't judge rules, they follow rules. So if a fandom on the internet has rules, the Skybreakers really have no choice to follow them. You know, like Rule 34 for example.

So yes, the Skybreakers are out there making sure there is porn of your favorite character. You're welcome.