#Scribbles on the Sheet Music (OOC)

[the--emerald--isle]

((An explanation for my disappearance off the face of the earth under the cut.

From September to November, I lost family (and two litters of kittens). The second half of December and the first two weeks of January was spent taking care of MY caretaker, completely alone and out of my depth. He ended up in the hospital anyway, and lost his leg from above the knee. I’m now with my parents — my LGBT- and everything else phobic parent — and I’m trying to not have a complete mental breakdown because of how isolated and horrible I feel. I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but probably at least a year. I want to be active, and I miss you guys, so I’m gonna try, but I make no promises.))

[lunarmoves]

who i see, looking back at me (ch1)

pairing: sebastian solace x reader

mentions: post-urbanshade fic, no use of y/n or pronouns, u are his partner <3, hallucinations, grief/mourning, hurt/comfort, ooc sebastian probably, i took creative liberties with his mom and siblings, check masterlist for fic summary

a/n: this is something i decided to write after scouring ao3 and tumblr for anything like it and finding nothing. i was just- (thanos voice) "fine i'll do it myself." hope you guys enjoy! i cant believe im simping for a roblox fish man in the year 2024, literally who am i.

word count: 9.5k+

masterlist

ao3 link

When your husband was executed for a crime he did not commit, you decided to move out to the seaside. 

It was a way to just… get away from everything. Start fresh. His face was plastered all over the news after his death sentence. Everywhere you went, it felt as though people were staring at you. Judging you. Hushed whispers followed you just as much as the haunted look on Sebastian’s face when he’d taken his mugshot. It was—unbearable. You needed to get out and away from all the people who only saw you as the partner to a murderer.

His presence lingered everywhere, back at your tiny apartment in the city. From the framed pictures on the wall, to the green toothbrush next to yours, and the faint smell of cinnamon attached to your bedsheets. It was—overwhelming, in more ways than one. You itched and itched with the urge to get out. You stayed only as long as you needed to after his death to go through the process of moving out. It took a couple of weeks. The you from the future would applaud you for lasting longer than a few days, you were certain. 

You didn’t know what to do with all of his things. You sold his expensive belongings unclaimed by his family, like his laptop, electric guitar, and gaming system. The more materialistic items were packed into bins to donate to charity—his old textbooks, binders of sheet music, clothes he seldom wore. The rest you separated into two boxes. One had some things you figured would be appreciated by his mother. The album of his family he kept tucked away in his desk. A small teddy bear he’d had since he was a toddler. Some of his favorite shirts and jewelry he’d been gifted from his siblings. 

The other had things you could not bring yourself to part with. 

You spent a while hovered over that box, tracing the worn edges of a red and black flannel that he always wore around your apartment. There was a small panda plushie that you won at an amusement park on one of your dates and decided to give to him when he said it was ugly-looking. A sketchbook he doodled in from time to time that you didn’t have the heart to open, but knew you would regret giving away. A crumpled piece of paper with hastily scribbled vows on them. Each and every item in the box held some amount of sentimental value—you wondered if it would ever haunt you, keeping them. Part of you already knew the answer.

When you dropped off Sebastian’s things at his mother’s house, you couldn’t help the way your heart sank deep into your chest when she opened the door. Maria was a beautiful woman, and you saw traces of Sebastian in her every time you saw her. The warm honey of her skin, the crinkle of her blue eyes, even the way she smiled. It made your eyes sting and ache with something fierce. Agonizing, even now. Especially now.

She looked at you with a sad smile, gratefully accepting the small box you offered her. “Gracias, sweetie,” she said, hands tightening on the edges of the cardboard. “I appreciate you coming out all this way.” 

“It was no problem,” you told her, shifting slightly on your feet. You hadn’t seen her since—well… You cleared your throat, doing your best to ignore a pang of guilt and this ever so tightening feeling in your chest. “How are you doing?” 

She hummed, a weary thing that matched the dark circles under her eyes and the new streaks of gray in her hair. She looked down at the box. “No muy bien,” she murmured, “but who would after losing a child so wrongfully? I can only hope it gets better to handle with time.” Her gaze lifted up to meet your own. “What about you, hm? Almost done packing?” 

Blue eyes the same shade as his. You looked away, staring down at your shoes and her slippered feet. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Just gotta put a few more boxes into the car.”

“I do not blame you for wanting to get away,” she chuckled. “I would too, if I could.”

As though on cue, there was the sound of a crash somewhere behind her, immediately followed by raised voices. Sebastian’s siblings causing havoc, no doubt. Maria whipped around to shout into her house. “Isidora! Lucas! ¡Comportense!” After she got two distant apologies, she turned back to give you a look. “See what I mean?”

You could only manage a stiff nod, not quite trusting your voice. That feeling in your chest was growing by the second, and you were not sure how long you would last. Maria didn’t deserve this, but you couldn’t help it. You felt like you were being stifled under a large, unforgiving pillow.

You could feel the way she watched you—that same probing stare that Sebastian often wore when he could sense you weren’t feeling well. You continued to stare resolutely at the ground, not wanting her to crack you open like a book to see the way you just couldn’t stand being here right now. She sighed, and you had to suppress a wince.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” she finally said, turning slightly to head back inside. “No eres una desconocida, you hear? You are always welcome here.” 

“Right,” you whispered, and when you finally managed to pull your gaze back up to her face, she only gave you a small, melancholy smile before gently closing the door. You stood there for a moment more, heart beating in your throat as you cursed yourself for being a coward.

The drive down to the seaside was only a few hours. It was relaxing, in its own way, as you passed by concrete buildings that slowly melted away into wide, open fields. Rolling hills and staggering cliffs. You could almost taste the change in the air the closer you got. The stale, musty scent of the city was replaced by a fresh, salty breeze. If you listened close enough, you could hear the distant roar of the ocean as its waves crashed against rock. And once you arrived at what would be your new home for a long, long time, you took a moment to just stand outside and breathe. 

One breath in, one breath out. The seaside air felt cool on your heated face. Out here, you felt like everything could be put behind you. A breath of fresh air to chase away the way you hurt inside. You could finally shed the layer of muddled emotions and thoughts that had surrounded you for weeks. 

If only it was that easy. Still… Baby steps, you reminded yourself.

The cottage you were moving into was a quaint thing, with just enough space for you to live comfortably on your own. It was more than a steal, and you were thankful that you’d managed to snatch it up before anyone else could—and at a reasonable price, too. It sat near the top of a small cove, overlooking miles and miles of open water. If you walked down to the shore—away from the cove—there was a small dock that jutted out into the sea like a pirate’s plank. It was old, though, covered in mold and made of rotting wood that creaked ominously in the breeze. You didn’t dare risk venturing out on it. 

It took you most of the rest of the day to bring all your belongings inside and unpack everything. You stood in what would be your living room, a mess of boxes scattered all around you, and felt a mixture of emotions that you couldn’t make heads nor tails of. Your eyes landed on that small box of Sebastian’s things, and you turned away with this twisting sensation worsening in your gut. 

Getting properly settled in and starting your new job in the nearby town’s clinic took up most of your time. Your energy and thoughts. But at night, when it was just you laying in a too small bed in a too small room, your mind wandered. The moon peering through the small, curtained window into your bedroom bore witness to the way you stared and stared and stared—unblinking at the popcorn texture of the ceiling. Always twisting the gold band that remained on your finger in absentmindedness. 

There was a gnawing ache in your chest that waxed and waned, but it never truly disappeared.

You thought about those final days a lot. They didn’t let you see him. All you got was a single phone call, sometime before his scheduled execution. The contents of that call would follow you no matter how far you tried to run from them. How hard you tried to forget. 

(The phone felt locked in your grip—your fingers tight and stiff. There was a silence that was broken by your name spoken on the tailend of a choked breath. Your teeth clenched so hard you felt a muscle spasm in your jaw.

“I-I didn’t—” Sebastian’s voice stuttered thickly, hushed into the microphone. Something sank down to the soles of your feet, then continued on in an endless spiral. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t.” 

There was something so devastatingly helpless about talking to him like this. Divided across miles and miles, nothing but a thin connection between you and him. Your words his only comfort.

“I know, baby,” you told him miserably, raising a hand to palm at your wet eyes. “I know.”) 

You couldn’t even host a proper funeral for him. His body was never released to his family—for what reason, you were unsure. It felt as though you never had any proper closure. You could scream and cry about the injustice of it all, but… no one would listen. It was done. It was over. There was no getting him back. It was a grim thought that you grappled with on the daily, always present at the back of your mind. At the front of your mind. Suffocated you in gallons and gallons of grief. You did your best to work through it all over time, but sometimes it felt like your best just wasn’t enough.

And then… a couple of years after his death… you got a call. 

You were lounging around in your little living room after a long shift at work, a book splayed out on your lap as you relaxed. Your phone was sitting right by your legs, just out of sight. So when it buzzed with an incoming call, you did not bother to glance at the screen before you answered it.

It was Maria.

The tremble of her voice made you instantly freeze. 

You couldn’t understand what she was saying—so rushed and stifled through choked sobs. You sat up, both your hands gripping at your phone. 

“Maria— wh-what—” you stuttered out, a sinking feeling slowly making itself present in your gut. You stood up, barely registering your book falling off your lap and onto the floor. “What’s—” 

“They— they were wrong,” she hiccuped out, breathless and hysterical. “We knew they were and they— they—” 

“What are you—” You tried to make sense of her words, but she quickly dissolved into more incoherent crying. You swallowed thickly, a cold sweat erupting along your back.

It took you a few minutes to calm her down enough so that she could strangle out a “Check the news.” Your eyes snapped to the darkened television sitting against the wall across from you.

Your throat felt drier than a desert. The remote was wedged between the cushions on your couch, and you fumbled around for it before finally managing to press the power button. Channel twenty-one, the news. You punched it into the remote. 

There was a picture of Sebastian on the screen. His mugshot, actually—black hair messily scattered across honeyed skin, dark eyes that glistened in the dim lighting, thin lips downturned into an unsteady frown. A ringing sound erupted deep within your ears, drowning out all else as your gaze narrowed in on the bold headline. 

Innocent man wrongfully convicted for murder of nine. 

A short, disbelieving laugh escaped from your lips. This was how you found out? They didn’t bother to contact you first? You almost couldn’t believe it. Two years after he’d already been imprisoned. Two years after they’d decided he should die via electric chair. You laughed again, and your phone slipped right from your fingers as you dropped onto your knees. You barely felt the impact—barely heard Maria’s questioning sniffle above the racing of your heart.

You laughed and you laughed and you laughed and you laughed because wasn’t that just the funniest fucking thing? They found out the truth after what had been done to him could never be taken back. After you and his family had fought so desperately to prove his innocence. 

Funny! It was funny!

You bit at your bottom lip to suppress the way it violently quivered. 

Years passed and you continued to live on without Sebastian.

You thought time would help you heal—would dull the ache you experienced at every waking moment of the day and night. But there were times where you just felt infinitely worse. It was awful. It was so utterly miserable, and you were tired. You were just… tired. You couldn’t think about him for too long before you’d feel that familiar sting to your eyes. So you tried not to think about him at all. 

It didn’t work. 

You were plagued by him. Awake or asleep—it did not matter. 

“You’re still up,” he murmured into your ear at night as you laid curled up on your side. Like this, you could face the window of your room—where the moonlight filtered gently through your thin curtains to brush against the walls like the hand of a ghost.

You hummed in response, face partially buried in your pillow. You tried in vain to ignore the presence you felt at your back. Making the hairs prickle on your nape. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel light breaths against the side of your face. 

“You’ve got work in a few hours, you know,” he said, matter-of-fact. His voice lowered, gentle and calm. “What’s bothering you?” 

There was a pause. Distantly, you could hear the waves of the ocean as the tide rose and fell along the shore. A constant source of white noise. 

“Nothing,” you eventually whispered back, closing your eyes momentarily to breathe in the faint smell of cinnamon. “Nothing at all.”

It wasn’t real, you told yourself. Over and over and over again. He wasn’t real. He wasn’t.

He didn’t stop there. 

He sat across from you at your little dining table in the kitchen, grinning at you as you forked spoonfuls of pitiful dinner after dinner into your mouth. He was in the bathroom, sitting on the lid of the toilet as you showered or brushed your teeth. He was in the living room, sprawled across the floor in front of you as he gazed at you with his face propped atop his palm. 

He accompanied you to work, a pair of blue eyes staring at you in the rearview mirror of your car as you drove. He lingered over your shoulder as you pushed paperwork or chatted to other nurses. Close enough to touch, yet never crossing that line. Always present. Sometimes silent, sometimes not. You weren’t sure which was better.

He was haunting you, and you could do nothing about it. 

The only place where you seemed to have any kind of reprieve was down by the little cove or the shore. You liked taking walks along it—when the walls of your cottage seemed to loom too close for comfort. It was refreshing, being able to just… breathe in the sea air and take in the rolling waves from the sand. A healing balm for your enervated soul. It became a habit no matter the weather, every evening after work. Soaking in the sun, basking in the mist, watching dark clouds grow closer on the horizon. You were oftentimes alone, but occasionally you’d pass a few people also enjoying the fresh air. They never bothered you, so you never bothered them. 

Once you returned home, however, he would be waiting for you at the door—all warm smiles and crinkled eyes that made your insides ache like they never have before.

You contemplated going to grief counseling many times. But something held you back. You just… didn’t have the energy to pick yourself up and go. Didn’t want to come to proper terms with it all, you supposed. Or maybe you were desperately holding on—afraid of letting go completely when you could look in a mirror and see him standing somewhere behind you. It hurt. It soothed. It was a push and pull that you learned to deal with as time went on. 

You often caught yourself staring at the tiny closet in your room—where you’d buried that small box of Sebastian’s things so deeply, it would never see the light of day again. Most of the time, you could drag yourself away from it, pushing it to the back of your mind once more. But one night… you couldn’t help yourself. You caved. You just… needed to.

You pulled the box out from the depths of your closet and sat on the floor, eyeing it warily as you clutched a pair of scissors in your hand. It was just as you’d left it—flaps tightly sealed with packing tape. You hadn’t bothered to label it. You knew what was in there and that was enough. 

You took in a deep breath and stabbed the point of the scissors into the box’s top to pry it open. Then, you stared down at its insides. 

It simultaneously felt like you’d packed his things away in this box just yesterday and a hundred years ago. In any case, the tender ache at seeing it all still persisted.

The panda plushie, which you picked up gingerly and ran your fingers over its short fuzz before setting it off to your side. It used to sit on a shelf, back at your shared apartment, picked up only occasionally when he wanted to throw it at you to bother you. 

(“Sebastian!” you shouted, startled out of your focus on your book when that goddamn panda nailed you directly on your face. You glared at him, setting your book to the side to snatch up the plushie when he laughed hard enough that he doubled over. 

“Oh my god, your face!” he wheezed, swiping a finger under his eyes to wipe away an imaginary tear. “Come on, you didn’t see that coming? You’re losing your game here, babe.”

“Shut up, you ass! I was reading!” you fumed and stood up to pelt the plushie at him. It smacked him right on the arm, and he only laughed even harder.)

The sketchbook, rarely ever seen by your eyes because he was so protective over it. Abashed, more like, you came to realize a while ago. And for a good reason, you supposed, your lips twitching as you flipped open the thick cover. 

There were some landscape drawings at the start—places you recognized at your old university. The café near the library, the statue at the center of the main quad. A few students walking around or sitting outside on benches. Some components from his engineering projects—designs with their associated dimensions, fluid mechanics calculations, free-body diagrams. You saw a handful of drawings of Lucas and Isidora, either fighting or sleeping against each other—gaping mouths and all. 

And then… once you hit a certain point in the book, there were drawings of you. 

He’d been so embarrassed when you caught him sketching you one day, though he’d tried to play it off. It was before he’d asked you out, you remembered. You’d thought it was flattering—at least what you could glimpse on the open pages. He’d slammed the book shut pretty quickly once he’d realized you were peeking over his shoulder.

It wasn’t until years later that he’d finally let you flip through the sketchbook properly. 

Doodles of you sitting around campus, doing homework or looking at your phone. A sketch of you walking down the street or staring out a window. Upper body shots of you smiling, or laughing, or talking to one of your friends. The level of detail always blew you away—he managed to capture details about you that you never quite paid attention to yourself. The crinkle of your eyes or the pull of your lips. 

You gently brushed a finger over a rough doodle of you and him—sitting back-to-back as you did your respective work—then closed the sketchbook to set down next to your legs. 

Next was the crumpled, smudged paper of his vows—that you lingered over for a moment, reading it briefly with a small smile. 

There were the silly ones, where he promised to be the best pain in the ass you could ever ask for. To make fun of you for being shorter than him or annoy you to smithereens everyday because he loved the face you made when you were mad.

Then there were the sincere ones, promising to always love you unconditionally. To take care of you whenever you were sick, or encourage you to be the best version of yourself you could possibly be. To hold your hand whenever you were scared. To always be by your side, no matter what. 

You wiped at your eyes with your sleeve, sniffling slightly, and let the piece of paper flutter down to the ground.

And finally… you picked up the flannel. 

Even after all this time, the material was still soft in your hold. You squeezed it between your fingers, tracing over the lines where patches of black met patches of red. If you closed your eyes and imagined hard enough, you could almost feel a warmth coming from it—like it had just been shucked off a warm body. Raising it up to your face to take a deep breath, you could faintly smell that familiar cinnamon. A comfort. A heartache. 

“You know,” Sebastian started, and you lifted your gaze briefly to glance up at him standing a ways in front of you. “I’ve always liked how you looked in my clothes.” He wore a sharp grin that made his cheek dimple on his right. He winked down at you. “Always liked how you looked outta them too, but that’s neither here nor there. Go on, put it on.” 

You rolled your eyes, but found yourself complying anyway. You stood up and slipped the flannel over your arms, fixing it properly over your shirt. Closing your eyes, you wrapped your arms around yourself. 

You could almost imagine him embracing you. Something in your stomach twinged.

“There you go,” he whispered, a breath of air just barely out of reach in the fragile twilight of your room. “Just look at you.” 

You only smiled sadly at the ground and hugged yourself tighter.

In recent years, the small dock by the shore was stripped down and built anew. 

You saw them doing construction from your cottage’s window when the project was first launched and spent many nights fantasizing about dipping your feet into the water from the dock’s edge. And once it was finally complete—after months and months of waiting and watching—you did just that. 

Your evenings were kept mostly the same with your walks along the shore or within the cove. But now you could trudge out onto the now sturdy dock and embrace the ocean in its entirety. You could let the tips of your shoes protrude off the far end of the dock as you breathed in and out. Salty air. The hint of rain in the distance. The spray of water against your face as the waves ebbed to and fro. It was refreshing. The perfect way to let the incessant buzz of your mind die down in preparation for a quiet night.  

The dock, from what you could see whenever you were at home, was mostly used during the bright hours of day. A couple of fishermen during the afternoon. Teens from the town who wanted to jump off and swim to the shore. Either way, by the time the hush of evening fell as people prepared for bed, the dock was empty and perfect for some alone time. 

It was nice, being able to sit down and soak your feet in the cool water when the weather was warmer. You liked watching the sun as it sank beneath the horizon, painting the sky in shades of burnt mandarin and dusty magenta. The last vestiges of gold light would make way for inky darkness that sparkled with hundreds and hundreds of stars. You were never able to appreciate the night sky in the city—so you took every chance you could to sit and stare up at it. Trying your best to identify constellations or just admiring it all until you got too cold to stay out for much longer. 

Sometimes you ate your dinner out on the dock while you chatted with Isidora or Maria on the phone. Sometimes you brought along a book or sketchpad. You missed listening to Sebastian strum away at his electric guitar at times—always filling your apartment with music—so you impulse bought a ukulele and sat by the sea plucking awkwardly at its strings. The dock became a place to pass time. It became a habit that you stuck to for many years. 

You were familiar with it all after spending evening after evening after evening out on its wooden platform. You could count the number of planks it was made of, the number of nails you could feel under your hands. You learned how to read the sea—when it hinted at an oncoming storm or calm night. In a way, it became a safe space for you, away from the stifling walls of your cottage. 

So naturally, when something disrupted it, you noticed almost immediately. 

You were sitting on the dock, half a sandwich on your lap that you’d scrounged up for a late dinner. Your feet idly swished through the water, cool against your heated skin. The dock was high enough that it only submerged your feet up to your ankles, but you did not mind.

You took another bite of your sandwich, then felt an odd prickling sensation on the back of your neck. Pausing, you noticed the hairs on your arms were standing straight up. It… felt like you were being watched. You glanced around—at the wide ocean before you, then the sandy shore behind you. There were a few stragglers in the distance, but they were far enough that you were sure they were not the cause for your sudden unease. 

You swallowed your bite and decided it was probably nothing. 

The following evening, however, it happened again. Then the next evening. And the next. 

Like clockwork, almost, every time you sat down on the dock to relax after your shifts at work. It did not matter what you were doing, or how late you were there. Even for how long. You would always feel that prickle along your nape, and it would not leave until you walked back down the dock to make your way home. Sometimes it followed you up until you shut the door to your cottage. 

You tried testing to see if you would still feel this way walking along the shore, or lounging on the sand of the cove. But even if you completely avoided the dock, you would still feel that familiar prickle of your hairs standing on end. It was… stupefying. You wondered if you were being paranoid. Or maybe you were losing it, just a little. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Sebastian said one night, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you both sat at your tiny kitchen table. “You might have already lost it, sweetheart.” He only grinned at you when you told him to shut up. 

After weeks of enduring this strange sensation, you decided it was best to just pretend it wasn’t there. You could ignore a little unease if it meant your routine would remain undisrupted. So you sat at the dock and minded your own business. Stared out at the rolling waves, read a book, laid back to stargaze. You were able to find peace again. 

Then, one night, you noticed something. 

It was by chance, really. You were staring out at the sea, watching as the waves crashed against an outcropping of rocks in the far distance. It was dark, the only lighting coming from the moon and the stars. It caused the waters to turn black—void-like, almost, if not for the gentle moonlight. Maybe that was what had ultimately allowed you to see it. 

There, just behind the rocks jutting up from the sea like a jagged line of teeth, was this teal glow above the water. 

It hugged along the wall of rock, barely visible from your vantage point. You paused and found yourself squinting at it, trying to make out what the hell it could possibly be. The moment you stared at it for a second too long, however, it ducked under the water before disappearing out of sight. 

You were confused, yes, but you brushed it off as some sort of reflection. Maybe even a marine animal or bioluminescent plant of sorts, though you weren’t sure what. 

You saw it again some nights later, this time just under the surface of the calm waters by the outcropping. It was oddly hypnotizing, in a way, even muted under the deep, navy waves. A constant presence, throughout the entirety of your time on the dock. You could even see it from your cottage window if you squinted. 

The underwater glow became another upset in your routine that puzzled you to no end. You tried to ignore it like you ignored the prickle along your nape, but it was almost impossible to do so when it was so blatantly present in the water. No matter where you looked, the glow always lingered in your periphery. And it wasn’t like it stayed in the same place either. Some nights, it stayed near the rocks. During others, it seemed to draw closer. Farther. Closer. Closer. Farther. 

Definitely not a plant, you concluded one night as you warily eyed the teal glow as it lingered several meters away. A trick of light? You cast a glance up at the vantablack sky dusted with twinkling white. But no, that would be impossible. It showed up no matter if the night sky was clear or cloudy. 

Maybe you were imagining it after being on your own for so long. You grimaced as you thought about your cottage and the inhabitant waiting for you to return to it. Him. As real as your mind could make him. 

In any case, the glow was not a priority. Not with the way the days cycled on—a twisting, gnawing feeling soon growing in your chest that you were well acquainted with by now. Though you wished desperately that you weren’t. 

You woke up tired. 

Not atypical for you, by any means. But this was a different kind of tired—that lingered deep within your muscles and tissue, even your very soul. It made every single motion feel as though you were lugging along hundred pound weights. You were slow in getting out of bed for this reason, taking a few moments to blink wearily up at your ceiling and rub at your temples in a vain attempt to ease the headache you could feel trying to manifest. Already you were not off to a good start.

Steadily, you sat up and immediately spotted Sebastian looming in the far corner of your room. Smiling at you with his hands shoved into his pockets. He opened his mouth to say something, but you lifted up a hand to stop him. Your throat felt like it was lined with cotton.

“Not today,” you told him, voice barely over a whisper. You closed your eyes, then reopened them to give him a weary look. “Just… Not today.” 

He only closed his mouth and continued to smile at you.   

Once you picked yourself up and trudged over to your bathroom, you took a second to regard your reflection in the small mirror. Dark circles that lined the area under your eyes. A small wrinkle between your creased eyebrows. A dullness to your complexion and a hollowness to your cheeks. You rubbed an eye and sighed, a deep thing that didn’t make you feel any better. The day must go on, as much as you didn’t want it to. 

Your coworkers knew not to pester you too much once they saw you arrive at the clinic, so you were granted the relief of a somewhat quiet day. But that did not make things any easier for you—forcing you to be with the overwhelming spiral of your thoughts. You kept yourself busy with work around the clinic, but by the end of your shift, you somehow felt even worse than you had before. 

On the drive home, you stopped by a store to pick up a couple of groceries you needed. And once you returned home and unpacked everything into their proper places, you whipped up a quick dinner and spent some time sitting at your little table poking at it sluggishly. You weren’t all that hungry, despite only having some crackers and water earlier. Your stomach churned, your chest ached. You feared if you ate too much, you would just end up throwing it all up. 

It was quiet. You took your time to clean up and shower. Procrastinating, you registered faintly at the back of your mind. You slipped on some comfy clothes, then snagged Sebastian’s flannel that you’d never had the heart to pack away back into the box with the rest of his things. It hung on a hook on the back of your bedroom door, next to your towel. Forever a haunting presence in the corner of your world that you grew accustomed to with time. You slipped it on, the sleeves lolling past your hands.

Making your way back to the kitchen, you glanced out the window over your sink at the steadily approaching sunset. You’d gotten home slightly later than usual, but it was fine. You shuffled over to your fridge to grab a small, two-pack container of cupcakes and pried it open to take one out. You rummaged around in a nearby drawer for a few things, then slipped out your front door to make your way down to the dock.

It was a bit colder today, especially with the sun dipping closer down to the horizon to make way for night. You took a moment to stand at the edge of the dock and breathe. The fresh air helped, if only a little. The swell of the waves eased some of the tension lining your shoulders. You sat down, crossing your legs, and set the cupcake atop the small space in front of you. 

Leaning back onto your palms, you watched as dusk bled across the sky until it was overtaken completely by night. The moon painted the waves in a milky glow that highlighted their crests and shadowed their troughs. You could faintly register an ache behind your eyes that worsened bit by bit every time you blinked. You leaned forward and rubbed your cold hands along your upper arms before deciding it was time.

From your pockets, you pulled out a single candle and a lighter. You stuck the candle into the top of the cupcake, then—with a flick of your finger—used the lighter to set it aflame. The tiny, orange bud of fire flickered in the gentle wind and washed its soft glow along your hands and legs. Your wedding ring glinted in its light. You stuffed the lighter back into your pocket and sank into a slouch as you stared at the cupcake. 

Faintly, you could smell cinnamon. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Your eyes stung, unblinking as they were. You swallowed and it was like choking down a bucket full of thorns.

He would have been thirty-three today, you thought miserably to yourself as you stared and stared and stared. The fact settled over you like a particularly suffocating blanket. That fatigue you'd felt earlier came back full force, accompanied by a wrenching feeling in the pit of your gut.

Thirty-three. Your face felt hot and cold all at once. You rubbed at your cheek and your fingers came away wet. You exhaled a shuddering breath.

All those years of missed opportunities and moments. No waking up to his slumbering face or to his gentle kisses on your eyelids. No playful teasing or hugs that stole the breath right out of your lungs with how tightly he squeezed. No midnight dances in your little kitchen, swaying back and forth to an imaginary tune. No being loved by him. 

Your heart ached.

“Happy birthday, my love,” you whispered out into the still air, closing your eyes momentarily as your jaw trembled. “I miss you. So, so much.” 

You leaned forward and blew out the candle. 

Then, you buried your face in your palms. And you cried.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there, hiccuping into your hands. It hurt, god, it hurt so much. It always did. You were sure even years down the line, you’d find yourself trapped in the same wallowing pit of despair. The pain dulled, yes, but ever so sharp and present when the time lined up perfectly—as much as you dreaded it. Your chest hurt with the way you suppressed your pain.

When you finally managed to pull the shaking pieces of yourself together, everything felt numb with cold. Your head was stuffy, your eyes were bleary. You sniffed and had to choke back another sob. It truly never got easier, even after all this time. You needed some painkillers and a long, long rest.

Sighing, you plucked the cold candle from the cupcake along with its paper wrapping to toss into your trash later. You stood up and hugged yourself, giving the lone dessert another long glance before turning on your heel to head back into the warmth of your cottage. Come morning, the birds will have eradicated all traces of the cupcake from the dock, as they tended to do.

As you walked, the back of your neck prickled all the way up to your door.

In the following days, you noticed the teal glow you’d been seeing underwater was growing closer and closer—even moreso than it had been before. 

This would not have alarmed you too heavily—after all, it wasn’t like it hadn’t been going back and forth in terms of distance for a while—but it was getting to the point where it was only a few meters away. You could slip into the water and swim over easily, you mused, as you warily eyed the glow. Just in case, you decided to avoid sticking your feet into the water for now. 

You couldn’t kid yourself anymore. It was weird—really weird. Pair up the glow with the ever present prickle along your nape and Sebastian’s haunting presence at home, and you had a recipe spelling out… well… mental disaster. It was all you could do to hang on. There really wasn’t much you could do about it anyways, you figured. These days you were just too tired to care.

Currently, you were sitting cross-legged in your usual spot on the dock, aimlessly scrolling through your phone’s notifications as you enjoyed the night air. You had a couple of messages from Maria to respond to—you’d been trying to get better at maintaining contact with her every so often. It was a work in progress, but at least texts were easier for you to deal with than phone calls.  

You thumbed through the rest of your notifications. Lucas had sent you a meme around one in the morning last night that you’d missed. He was in his last year in university, you mulled. How time has flown. You remembered when he was still an annoying preteen, bugging Sebastian to use his no doubtfully expensive guitar. It was difficult to get Sebastian to ever part with it. The thought made you smile slightly to yourself, then you sobered upon remembering you’d had to sell it. In hindsight, Lucas’ guitar phase hadn’t lasted all too long—or maybe he hadn’t wanted something that reminded him of his older brother so much. Sweet memories turned sour after the execution. You sighed and sent him a meme back after liking the one he’d sent. Something about weird-looking cats. 

Oh, one of your coworkers wanted to grab dinner in a couple of days. Hmm. You checked your calendar, then sent off a response text in agreement. The distance you were from the nearby town was not large by any means, but it was enough that you rarely sought exchanges outside of work. You really needed to get out more. Most of your other interactions were online, especially after moving from the city and away from everyone and everything. It certainly was not doing you any favors. 

As you typed up a comment on one of your older friend’s social media posts, you noticed something. 

Just over the top of your phone screen—reflected in the dark water of the ocean. You paused and lowered your phone to stare at it. 

It was the teal glow, brighter and closer than it had ever been before. You eyed it for a moment, apprehension taking root in the pit of your stomach. But there was also this sense of tentative curiosity. You leaned forward just enough to peer down at it beyond the dock’s edge, submerged as it was beneath the gentle waves. It was almost underneath you, oddly hypnotizing as you tilted your head at it. You felt as though you could be sucked right into it, lulled into a trance as the glow encompassed all that you were. 

Brighter and brighter the glow grew. There was the distant thought in the back of your mind that maybe you should be more wary—maybe you should lean back or stand up to gain some distance. But all you could hear were your steady breaths, feel the way your grip tightened on your phone. Maybe you could see if what you were seeing was really an animal of sorts or just some figment of—

There was a head. Sticking out of the water.

You froze immediately, breath caught in your lungs. 

For a moment, you couldn’t process what exactly you were looking at. But then you realized you were staring at a gray-blue face framed by raven hair stuck to its sides. A rather large face, in fact, nowhere near the size of a regular human’s. A… mermaid? You weren’t entirely certain, and even then, there was a lot to unpack with this realization that you were in no way prepared to do. 

There was some sort of lure attached to the top of the creature’s head that drooped down into the water in front of it. Two—no, three, you noticed—eyes were trained intently in your direction, pupils indiscernible in a way that made it difficult to tell where precisely it was looking at. The back of your neck prickled.

Ah, you thought faintly as teal light gently washed across the nearly black surface of the water from the creature’s eyes. That’s what that was. 

You weren’t sure how long you and the… mermaid… stayed there, staring at each other, but eventually something had to give. You were just surprised it wasn’t you first.

The mermaid’s jaw seemed to tense. It regarded you with an unreadable gaze that you could feel flicking over your face. Then, it parted thin lips to say a quiet “Hey.” 

It was like getting punched in the gut—harsh and utterly unforgiving. 

It sounded— It sounded just like Sebastian. Raspier, maybe. A little lower in timbre. But unequivocally him. It was unmistakable—his voice so deeply cemented into your mind when you lived day by day listening to him speak over your shoulder. You felt like you couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t force the air you so desperately needed into your lungs. 

He seemed to take in your silence, appraising you for a moment before speaking again. 

“I know this has gotta be… weird as shit…” he said slowly, voice stiff and slightly stilted. “But I”—he swallowed thickly—“I can explain.” 

You weren’t sure what expression you were making, but you saw the way the skin above his eyes seemed to crease together. You wanted to force yourself to spit out something, anything, but you could not hear yourself think over the rapid ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump of your heart in your ears. The vice-like grip on your insides with how much this mermaid sounded like Sebastian. How it made you hurt. How it made you ache. 

What the hell was going on right now?

“You—” you eventually choked out, your eyes taking in what was before you. A membranous fin at the side of his head flicked slightly at the sound of your voice. “You— I—”

He said your name quietly, and it was like another vicious twist of your gut. The sounds of the sea became white noise, distant and weak. “It’s me. Sebastian. You know? Love of your life?” His face scrunched up, sharp mouth turning into a strained grin as he stared at you with wide, imploring eyes. “Come on babe, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?” 

Just like him. He talked just like him.

But that couldn’t be right. That couldn’t be right. He was dead. He was—

Something suddenly clicked in the far recesses of your mind. 

“Ah.” The syllable dropped from your lips like a rock from a high place. You slumped like you’d been cut from a few taut strings struggling to hold you up. “I get it now.” You exhaled deeply, willing yourself to gain control of your mind and your heart. You knew exactly what was going on here. 

No need to panic. You were in control.

“...Do you really?” he asked warily after a minute or two. You ignored him to focus on yourself.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. You released the tight hold you had on your phone—line etched into your palm from the pressure—and shoved it into your pocket so you could lift your hands up to rub at your temples. 

You were tired. Of this, of everything. 

“I thought this was supposed to be a safe space,” you grumbled under your breath, your eyes closing in a vain attempt to stave off the building headache you were experiencing. “You had to follow me out here too?” 

Sebastian made a sound—a questioning, confused little thing that made you open your eyes to gaze down at him. He looked hurt, almost. “I— What?” 

Your hands dropped from your temples, and you leaned back onto your palms so you could look out at the calm sea. A few clouds passed over the moon from above, temporarily casting a shadow over you and him. You eyed him after a moment of letting yourself relax from the previous adrenaline spike.  

“You’ve never looked like this before,” you eventually mused as your eyes traced over the shadowed line of his nonexistent nose. The way his skin glistened in the dim lighting. “Did something change from yesterday?” You didn’t think you were capable of imagining him like this. Inhuman. No honeyed skin or rough scar bridging his nose. You wondered why it was happening now, of all times. If maybe it was the result of staying by the sea for so long, alone to deal with everything that had happened.

He opened his mouth as though to respond. But then he closed it and just… stared at you. Observing you. Analyzing you for something you were not privy to. A probing gaze that made something under your skin itch. You watched him back, then found you could not hold his gaze for much longer. You looked away and cleared your throat. 

“I’m thinking pasta for dinner,” you remarked casually to fill the silence, eyes shifting skywards in thought. “The alfredo we made last week was pretty good. I got the sauce on sale at the grocery store.” 

Another pause. Another moment where your skin prickled with the sensation of being picked apart, piece by piece.

And when he spoke, his voice was barely over a murmur—a grim realization to his tone. “You… You’ve really lost it after all this time, huh?” 

You made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Don’t be mean. I’m— well…” You gave him a smile, something melancholy lining your lips. “Doing just fine.” The words were bitter across your tongue. He only gave you a look like he didn’t quite believe you, something indecipherable in his gaze. 

“Right,” he snorted. “Like I’m gonna believe that after whatever the hell you just said.” A hand lifted from the water to gesture at you, gray-blue just like his face. 

Rolling your eyes, you shifted on your feet and stood up, brushing off your pants as you shoved your hands into your pockets. You hadn’t realized, but there was this twinge building in your stomach with every minute that ticked by. You needed to sleep this off… whatever this was. You sighed, long and weary. “I should not be entertaining you.” But it was so hard to resist—has been, for years now. 

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Sebastian muttered to himself, pinching at the bridge of his nonexistent nose with two large fingers. When you only raised an eyebrow at him and took a step in the direction of your cottage, intending to head back to get started on dinner, he lurched forwards in the water. “Wait. Where are you going? Y-You’re leaving?” 

You didn’t intend on answering him, so accustomed to ignoring him in your cottage whenever he spoke into the air. But when this Sebastian snapped out your name in a warning tone, you gave him a look. “I’m not leaving, silly. I’ll see you inside, won’t I?” 

“God, do you even hear yourself right now?” he rasped out, voice betraying a certain incredulity as he lifted himself up in the water just enough that you could see what looked like a waterlogged scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. “Listen to me. I’m here. I’m real.”

Real, huh? 

You closed your eyes and thought about a figure standing in the corner of your living room, watching you with a small grin. You thought about the endless nights of him standing near your bed or hovering just beyond your shoulder, whispering at you to close your eyes and sleep. You thought about a lot. You thought about nothing.  

And so you hummed, a distant thing that you did not quite register as you started to turn away, unwilling as you were to continue this. But before you could make it even a couple of steps back down the dock, Sebastian made a noise—ragged and disbelieving. There was the sound of rushing water directly behind you. The roar of a small waterfall, almost. It made you turn back and blink in surprise as your head craned back.

The wood beneath you creaked and groaned in an ominous manner. 

“We are not done talking,” Sebastian growled as he loomed over you. Like this, you could take him in his entirety—from the brown jacket covering his torso that was dark with seawater, to the three arms he had that held himself up atop the dock’s surface. The shirt he had on was translucent enough to appear gray in color. If you looked close enough at the sliver of his unclothed body before it disappeared beneath the dock’s edge, you could just barely make out the shine of scales. 

This was—like nothing you have ever seen before.

Your lips parted when a drop of water landed on your cheek, startling you for a moment. A glance up at the sky showed clear skies above you. Maybe you’d imagined it. You shook your head slightly and focused back on Sebastian.

Water continued to run down his body, each drop soaking into the wooden planks of the dock, before it eventually eased into a trickle.  

“What is there to talk about?” you asked lightly after contemplating his words. 

His grip tightened on the dock, enough that you could almost hear something splinter. “Much, in case you were not aware.” He surveyed your open face with narrowed eyes, a soft teal glow dusting across your features. It was like you were being held open like a book, all of your innards exposed for him to analyze. You weren’t sure what he found there, but it made him suddenly soften like butter atop a warm stove. 

“I just…” He sighed, something long-suffering that came from deep within his chest. “This wasn’t how I’d imagined things would go, believe it or not.” 

You cocked your head at him and watched him slouch from his rigid position. Still dripping water. Still with that raven hair plastered to his face. There was a sort of exhaustion to him that you’d never noticed before. It made something pang in your chest—caused you to clench your hands into fists in a vain attempt to focus on anything else. 

There was the pungent smell of fish, raw and metallic.

Not real. This was not real.

Sebastian shifted, and the hand attached to his torso—smaller in size and covered sloppily in stained bandages—raised as though it was going to reach towards you. Your heart nearly skipped a beat at the motion. But then he stopped, staring down at his palm. Big and gray and consisting of four thick fingers with sharp ends. There was the glint of something gold around his fourth finger. Your own hand twitched inside your pocket. 

Always just out of reach. Never crossing a line. 

His hand clenched into a fist, and he lowered it back to the dock with a quiet thud.

He said your name. “I know this is difficult to hear, but… It’s me,” he whispered, voice strained like it was on the precipice of breaking. “It’s really, really me.” 

You swallowed heavily, feeling as though the world was unraveling by the seams beneath your feet. 

This was not him. It couldn’t be. 

Why would you ever imagine him like this? 

“No, it’s not,” you eventually said bitterly, breaking eye contact so you could glance back at your cottage. You closed your eyes, then reopened them as you turned your back to him. And when you spoke again, your voice teetered like you were one step away from falling into a never ending pit. “You’re dead.” 

And then you walked away.

Each step you took felt like eternity, something heavy weighing you down. He called out your name. First so quietly you almost didn’t hear it, a tinge of something fragile to it. Then again with frustration lining his voice—louder and aggrieved. There was a sharp crack of something behind you, but you were determined in your march back home. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Your jaw clenched to suppress the tremble you could feel working its way throughout your body. You refused to look behind you, and you succeeded right up until you stood before the door to your cottage. With one hand on the metal knob, you twisted around to look back at the shore—the dock you could see a ways behind you. 

It was vacant, not a soul in sight. 

Your lips pursed together, and you opened the door to slip inside with a heavy, grim feeling taking root in your stomach. 

Sebastian was waiting for you already, sprawled atop your couch as he grinned at you wide enough that you saw each and every one of his white teeth. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said amusedly, one of his hands raking through the wavy mess of hair on his head. His voice lowered, gentle and sincere. “Maybe take a break from the dock, yeah?”

You only slowly shook your head and moved past him, suddenly feeling queasy and lightheaded and so frazzled that you couldn’t bear being awake for much longer.

Your thoughts lingered on the shore. Teal eyes and the sound of breaking wood that felt so real in that instance. You forced yourself to breathe.

It was fine. It was fine. 

You would deal with it as you always have.

part two

[saeyoungs-angel]

⨳​ hindering studies — mha

starring. bakugou & you

plot. your grumpy bestfriend tells you he's busy after class, yet you give no fucks—letting yourself in, you wait in his dorm so you can simply vibe to his music and pen scribbling.

genre. fluff, comfort(?)

cw. swearing obviously, reader had a bad day, maybe ooc bakugou? not rly sure but kinda

notes. found a nice little video on yt that followed this plot just a bit, though ive added alot to it lol. thought sleeping in his bed while he studied sounded nice asf so here u are! feedback on how i write him is extremely helpful, and im sorry if u dont like or know these songs! u can replace them with others if ud like:)

likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! <3

𓆩☆𓆪

“what’re you even doin’ here?”

wrapped up in his duvet, bakugou’s gruff voice drags you out of your once half-asleep state. you lift your head slightly and give him no answer, eyes raking over his mien of annoyance. he sighs, shoving off his shoes aggressively.

“you know i’m busy, so why do you keep hangin’ around like a lost puppy dog or some shit?”

his words of irritation would sting if you didn’t know any better—he enjoys your presence, atleast more than anyone else’s. he may still claim you’re an extra, but his sleepy murmurs on the nights neither of you can sleep say otherwise. you huff loud enough for bakugou to hear, his mirage of disliking you is embarrassingly fake.

“don’t mind me, i’m not even here.”

“whatever.” he grumbles, beginning the trek around his dorm to find his studying supplies. his notes, a pencil or two, and his speaker—the last part is very important. as his digits land on the object, you can’t help but sit up abruptly.

“wait! can i play a song this time, too?” your voice is woven in excitement, hoping to flaunt your music taste. while it isn't very far from his, you have a couple songs that you feel he might enjoy.

he shoots a glare your way. “no.”

he presses the on button firmly as you plead in the background, “just one! please, kats?”

“fine, just put it on the queue and go back to fuckin’ sleep so i can study.” you feverishly snatch his phone at this, bakugou grumbling once again after caving in at the use of his nickname.

handing his device back, you hands brush briefly and you have to force yourself to think of other things, a blush creeping onto your cheeks at the feeling of the minute contact. even though you’ve both fallen asleep beside each other, you still fluster easily.

hopping back into his bed, it creaks softly with the movement. as you rest your head on his pillow, a beat begins to fill the room. ghosting by mother mother, you can immediately recognize it considering you adore the song. you mumble a ‘love this song’ as you snuggle further into the sheets.

bakugou only responds with ‘tch’, but he knows you do, and that may be the reason why he’s so fond of it—you like it, of course. his brows are furrowed together as the pencil drags across his paper, faint music adding to the soothing ambience.

he slightly adjusts the volume, upping it a bit as he knows it’s not super late and no one’s sleeping. your eyes begin to feel heavy, moments before your song pops on the list.

insomniac by memo boy, your current fixation. the first few beats play out and you thrum along with it, drumming your fingers on bakugou’s silky black sheets. your eyes are now screwed shut vehemently with the music, a smile gracing your features as bakugou speaks up.

“i’ve heard this before.” his tone is efficacious at hiding how he feels about it, signaling a small frown on your face.

“do you like it?”

there’s a beat of silence from him and your frown deepens.

“..it’s okay.” this time, he sounds reluctant to admit those words. thankfully, you understand bakugou language, a grin forming on your lips as you now achieved your goal—he likes the song you showed him, and is probably adding it to his playlist.

you stifle a laugh with his pillow, “yeah, yeah. i’ll remember that when i hear it down the hall.”

“shut it, dumbass.”

you hum in acknowledgement, a wide smile plastered on your face as you shift from your previous position. as bakugou’s new favorite song ends(simply because it’s your favorite), the room quiets, save for the scribbles of his pencil here and there.

“you gonna play another song? the silence is deafening, katsuki.” while you’re only teasing, the silence does feel a bit odd—you can just slightly hear crickets chirping outside his window.

“don't be stupid, ’course i am. just go back to sleep or somethin’.” you can practically hear the miniature smile in his words, the banter between you both never fails to raise your mood and vise-versa.

with that, you register his phone being placed back down onto his desk, jealous by eyedress bouncing around the dorm. you hum along, the mellow yet vibrant beat finally enervates you into sleep.

bakugou swivels in his chair to converse with you about a question, only to find your eyes closed peacfully as soft breathes escape your barely parted lips.

being solicitous of your well-being and knowing you need the rest, he lowers the volume by a bit, eyes leering on your sleeping form for a moment more that he intended. you just look so adorable, wrapped up in his blanket so peacefully like you are—though, he’ll take that thought to his grave.

after while, you stir in your sleep, the bed creaking as extra weight is placed upon it. “katsuki..?” you murmur, raising a hand to rub your eyes.

“shh, go back to sleep, idiot.”

his voice is hushed, causing you to smile up at him in the now dark dorm-room. “m’kay.”

shuffling around to wrap your arms around him, you notice he’s adorning one of his famous tank tops. was he planning to nap with you? contently, you begin to drift off once more before his voice draws you out of sleep.

“hey, (y/n)?”

you nod into his chest, figuring he can feel it. bakugou stalls for a moment, and that’s when you realize he’s put insomniac quietly on replay. the revelation causes your heart to flutter, though you tell yourself it’s simply because he likes it enough to play it this much.

he clears his throat, “did you, um, have a shitty day or somethin’?”

his question throws you off, causing you to shift uncomfortably on his side. you nod again, before correcting yourself.

“well, i wouldn’t say it was shitty, just not ideal.”

“the way you said that frames it as a shitty day.”

“‘m sorry.” you bury yourself further into him, wishing you could just skip class tomorrow and lay in bed with him instead.

he frowns, not that you can see. “don’t apologize, dumbass. if you had a shitty day, then you had a shitty day. the thing that matters is that you got through it, alright?” he tightens his grip on your torso, rubbing your arm in attempted comfort.

even with his usually boorish attitude, he has a way with his words when he’s worried. he can feel you grin against him, and he knows he’s done a good job—he made you smile and that was his goal, now he can nap with you in peace.

𓆩☆𓆪

feedback is extremely meaningful!

[hazbincalifornia]

I wrote down a potential writing as ‘Angel finds out that Stella has a crush on Charlie’ but the idea that Angel finds out Stella has a crush on Charlie and Alastor is just... interesting. Angel’s probably ooc but I’ve never written him before so I’m just kinda feeling him out.

Stella’s 17 here, so she’s been visiting the Hotel regularly for a couple years. I’m using that as an excuse for Angel having developed a bit I guess.

Wordcount: 1675

Warnings: Mentions of cannibalism

“Stella, would you mind putting up some fliers around Imp City? I know some sinners do work there.”

“Sure!” Stella replied, and Charlie pulled her into a hug.

“Oh, thank you!” 

“No- problem!” Stella’s face darkened slightly as she felt Charlie’s breasts squishing against her own before wrapping her arms around the demoness. 

When Charlie pulled back, she brushed the little black feathers out of Stella’s eyes. “I really appreciate you keeping an open mind. I know the Hellborn aren’t exactly the most fond of the Hotel since...” She clicked her tongue. “Well, since we don’t know if it’ll work for us even when we manage to figure out how to rehabilitate sinners.”

“Hell’s my home too, I wouldn’t mind there being a few less jackasses around.” Stella smiled, and Charlie ruffled her hair.

“That’s the spirit!” She smiled back before turning around. “Oh geez, it’s getting late... I’ll get you those posters by tomorrow!”

Stella waggled her fingers in a goodbye wave as Charlie jogged out of the lobby at the same moment Alastor entered it from the kitchen.

“Ah, there you are!” Alastor nodded to her. “Are we still on for that dinner date tonight?”

“Uh-huh.” Stella nodded, tail absently curling in and out in the air as she rolled up and down on her heels. “I’ll be down at 7.”

“No curfew as usual?”

She shrugged. “Eh, my dad trusts I won’t get myself killed.”

“We’ll see about that, the spice in this one is killer!” He winked, twirling his microphone stand in his fingers before smacking the end down on the floor and fading back into the shadows.

“Why he didn’t just spit that out into the radio Charlie keeps on the desk, I’ll never know,” came a comment from behind her.

Stella whirled around. “Angel!”

He snickered from his spot in the shadows, resting on one of the crates Charlie had never put away. “I can be quiet once in’a while, you know. Used to do stakeouts and shit.  I just came down for some of that good fat-free ice cream Vags got and didn’t want to interrupt.”

“That’s a new one.” She raised an eyebrow. He normally wasn’t exactly subtle.

He stretched all four arms, back cracking before hopping off the crate. “I’m a complicated guy. Walk with me.”

Stella’s tail swished as she followed him down the hall to the elevator. Angel had a half-smirk, the kind of look that she usually felt on her own face when someone revealed a deep, dark secret on accident.

She didn’t think she’d revealed anything, at least not recently enough that he’d have a grin like that now. It tickled unease in her throat as the elevator dinged.

The music was soft as always, and Angel examined his nails through his gloves for some reason as Stella watched his face in the mirror. His mouth twitched slightly and he glanced over at her.

“You’re being obvious, Red.”

“Am not.”

“Standard rates apply if you wanna touch the tits.”

“Bitch.” She shoved at his side and he snickered, pushing her head with one of his lower arms.

“Joking, joking, friends get limited access for free.” The door dinged open, and he headed down the hall to his room. She’d long since gotten used to how quickly he walked with his stupid-long legs, and when she closed the door behind them, he plopped down on the bed, patting the space next to him as Fat Nuggets jumped up on his lap.

“So, you clearly want to talk about something private that you didn’t just say whatever it was in the lobby.” Stella probed. In response, Angel nodded at the small radio on his vanity and then at his closet.

She popped the closet open, setting the radio inside and then dropping a few of the thicker-looking clothes on top of it for good measure before closing the door again. “Okay, so you don’t want Al hearing whatever it is?”

“Uh-huh. He’s as big of a snoop as you are, especially when it comes to himself.”

“Comes to himself.” She folded her arms and then plopped down on the bed, bouncing Angel up slightly. What a stick. 

“So, I noticed how you act around Charlie.”

Stella kept her expression neutral. “She’s nice.”

“You like her.”

“Sure I do. Like I said, she’s nice.”

“And taken.” Angel was the one probing this time. “She’s cute, don’t you think?”

“You’re gay,” Stella said flatly. “How would you know?”

“I’ve also been around a lotta people, I can guess shit by now. ‘Sides, just because I don’t play that team doesn’t mean I’m blind.” He waved his hand. “I know how infatuation works. Sometimes Val likes it when a specific person really, really likes one’a us. They’ll pay more.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“I’m just trying to let you down easy, that’s all.” He shrugged. “I like you. Don’t want you getting hurt, and Charlie seems pretty happy with Vags.”

Stella sighed, rubbing her arm. She was moving on, so... it couldn’t really hurt her if he knew since he’d already figured it anyway, right? “Okay, fine. I’ve liked her since I was a kid. She’s just as nice in reality as she seemed to be, but I always worried everybody in Hell was gonna wring her dry by the time I got my chance to shoot my shot if I ever did anyway, ya know?”

Angel patted her shoulder. “Yeah, love’s a fucky thing sometimes, but at least you know it. That’s good, that makes this easier. You tell your pops?”

“Nah, if it’s not going anywhere there’s no need, right?”

“Fair enough. He chill with you- oh, right, you said you had two dads, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well. Answers that.” Angel’s fingers tightened around her shoulder. “Now, the other thing. Charlie, I think she’d just be flattered if you ever said anything, but Al...”

Stella sputtered. “Al? I don’t like him!”

“Really? Because your tail was damn near making a heart when he called dinner a date.”

Stella smacked Angel’s shoulder. “I think I’d know if I liked him!” 

“I just call it like I see it!” Angel held his hands up. “Alright, lemme just try something.” He leaned over on the bed, and Fat Nuggets jumped over to Stella’s lap, kneading down on her leggings before settling down. She started to pet him as Angel scribbled something down on a sheet of notebook paper, tongue sticking out of his mouth as he did.

After a few minutes, he ripped it out of the notebook, and Stella snorted a laugh. It was an incredibly crude drawing of Alastor. “Yeah, there’s a reason you’re sucking dick and not painting for the royalty, isn’t there?”

“We all have our talents.” He flicked at the edge of the paper. “So, you know how you feel around Charlie, right?”

“Yeah, still got some light butterflies but I’ve mostly gotten over them.” Stella narrowed her eyes. “That’s how I know you’re talking out your ass, Dust. I already know what infatuation feels like.”

“Nah, it means you’ve mostly gotten over her. Any’a the rest is just residual gayness from being around a pretty girl. Trust me, I had plenty experience of that when I was your age, just with dipshit dudes.”  He held the paper Alastor face up in front of his own. “So, pretend I’m Smiles. Think about the last coupla times you saw him. How were you feeling?”

“Last couple times...” Stella bounced her knee in thought just to entertain him, and Nuggets, disgruntled, jumped off her and went back to Angel.

What were the last few times they’d interacted? Well, this morning, when he asked her to come back for dinner with the human meat she’d brought in from an IMP job where they were supposed to dispose of the body completely. He’d been delighted to get a whole corpse, and a shaved one too since it had been a woman in her mid-thirties who apparently cared about that sort of thing.

Before that... he’d showed her around the Cannibal Colony. The ladies there waved at him, and she’d felt a spike of something that she’d passed off as fear before. That was ridiculous, though. She was all muscle and sinew, and could defend herself perfectly well. Besides, she was at Alastor’s side, and if they tried anything, he’d have her back. Probably.

Last week... he’d done a broadcast about a brawl happening right outside of the Hotel. He thought it was hilarious they were trying to end each other’s afterlife right outside of the Happy Hotel, and she’d kept up running commentary with him about who was winning. He’d mentioned it was nice to have someone who appreciated showmanship, and she’d grinned back at him.

Silk caressed her face, and she snapped back to reality to see Angel had dropped the ‘mask’ and one hand was cupping her cheek. 

“You’re flushing.”

“Am not!” She smacked his hand away, and he sighed, crumpling the ball up and tossing it over into the trash can.

“Al doesn’t seem the relationship type. I’ve propositioned him a coupla times, both outta habit and ‘cause he is good-looking. He always just shoots me down cold, and I’ve never heard him mention a missus or a mister or anything- even in the past, even when he was alive. I know he’s pretty tight-lipped about himself, but I feel like we’d know about something by now. Just temper your expectations. Some people are just like that.”

“Temper your expectations. Fancy vocabulary there.”

“Yeah, well, you hang around Al long enough, his fancy-pants wordage rubs off.” Angel straightened Stella’s bandanna. “Whatever weird hormonal teenage deal you’ve got with him, just keep it on the down-low to be safe, got it?”

“There’s no deal,” Stella’s face wrinkled as she narrowed her eyes, but Angel’s raised eyebrow said that he didn’t believe her.

The acid bubbling in her stomach and her thudding heart said that she wasn’t sure that she believed her anymore either.

[loverockshq]

Welcome to Love Rocks! We hope that you meet your soulmate, ALYSSA! Please check out our checklist here and send in your account within 24 hours!

OOC!

Name: Em

Age: 24

Pronouns: She/her

IC!

Name: Alyssa ‘Aly’ Nelson

Faceclaim: Shelley Hennig

Age (21-29): 28

Gender & Pronouns: cis female, she/her

Sexuality: pansexual

The First Interview:

Why did you sign up for Love Rocks?

“My sister was always trying to get me to find someone to settle down with. She was always more of a relationship person than I was. After she passed away, it dawned on me that perhaps she was right, perhaps I should find someone to share my life with. This year was the first year it felt right to actually take the leap, and here I am.”

What is your favorite memory?

“I must have been twenty four, and lost my job thanks to some poor inter-office politics. My best friend and my sister dragged me out of bed, and straight down to the local bar. We spent most of the night there, before heading back to one of the apartments - I can’t recall who’s. We blasted music, danced until our feet hurt, and in those moments I was truly carefree.”

Tell us about the best gift you’ve ever received.

“My grandfather found me an old antique typewriter in a town near home. I don’t even know if it works, it’s too precious to actually try and use. It sits pride of place on my desk, and reminds me of my purpose in life whenever I feel lost in my writing.”

What is your dream job?

“I want to write. My aim is to write the next great American novel, but I need to try and pay the bills first. Anything where I am able to put words on a page suits me just fine.”

Give us a list of five aesthetics.

“Messy buns, journals filled with scribbles, lacy bralets under baggy cardigans, satin sheets and frosted gin glasses.”

Give us a list of 3 positive and 3 negative personality traits.

“I like to think that I’m considerate, hopeful, and fun-loving, but I’ve also been made aware that I can be tense, hesitant, and guarded.”

Do you think you’ll find your soulmate here?

“It’s got to be worth a shot, right?"

[holylangdon]

I Wanna Be Yours [Tate Langdon x Reader]

Requests: “I’m actually not into fluff (give me all the smut), but you write some about Tate drawing reader (or the other way around)? I think of him, even though he is popular for his music taste, more as a painter than musician. Love your writings xoxo” - Anon 

“Can you do a kinky Tate imagine ;)” - Anon

“Can you do a post-death Tate Langdon smut please? I love your imagines btw! 😊” - Anon

“girl reader smuts pls. idrc who with:)” - Anon

“Hey! Love your blog by the way! Do you think you can do another Tate Langdon smut fic? I would love that 💕💕” - @gabygarcia5

Warnings: SIN, NOT PROOFREAD (at all), SMUT, FEM!READER, not proofread, blowjob, swallowing cum, spanking, dirty talk, rough sex, slight daddy kink, begging kink, unprotected sex (again), sorta OOC Tate, Reader is aware Tate is dead, tbh probably more

Word Count: 1.2k 

A/N: I’m going to hell. It’s fine, though, because you’re all going to be there with me. 

(This gets weird towards the end, I know. I stayed up until like 5am last night to finish this so I could post it today. Don’t judge me. This whole thing is just a mess though tbh. & it’s not proofread like I barely read the damn thing when I wrote it, so let me know about any errors.)

“I’m so exhausted.” You yawn, closing the bedroom door. The floors make an awkward creaking sound as you walk across them to the bed where Tate was currently sat with his sketchpad.

“Can you toss me that bag? The blue one?” He asks, not looking up from the grey-tinted paper. Sighing, you pick up the large bag, beginning to walk towards him again. “Oh, and the red one? Maybe the purple?“ Seeing the exhausted, unfavorable expression on your face, he smiles. "I love you.”

“Your mouth says you love me, but your brain says I’m your slave.” You groan, going to the bed. Giving him his drawing supplies, you strip off your bra and jeans, climbing into bed. Slipping under the thick quilt, you turn away from the blond boy next to you, who was still scribbling rather loudly in the book. After a moment of the noise continuing, you raise the blanket above your head, shielding you from it. Or so you thought.

After a second, you hear his pencils clink on the night table, and his sketchbook drop to the floor. Suddenly, your covers are peeled back to reveal a worried-looking Tate.

“Are you okay?” He asks. You push him back gently, sitting up on your elbows, nodding your head. You couldn’t help but admit that he was annoying you. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, Tate. You just keep drawing and pretend like I’m not here.” He looks taken aback by your sudden sarcasm, a small frown on his face. Taking the quilt in your hand, you speak up again, this time in a mumble. “Just like every night.”

His hand blocks you from shoving the quilt over your face, though. Instead, he presses a light kiss to your lips. The boy pulls away gently, sitting back. Sighing, you grab his long, shaggy hair, pulling him into your grasp again. He laughs against your lips, obviously amused that you had fallen into his trap.

After a moment, he breaks the kiss, his near-expert hands eagerly sliding your t-shirt over your head. He lets out a very impatient groan when he sees your bare body beneath his clothed one. His movements lacked a certain delicate nature, like usual. It was uncommon that he ever went particularly gentle with you. Unless you asked, that is. 

With your heart racing, you reach out to tug his boxers over off of his body, but he quickly swats your hand away. It’s then that you feel his large bulge pressed against your leg, and notice his eyes roaming your breasts. His lips come to your neck in a blur, eliciting a dangerous action from you– biting back a moan.

Tate had always loved to hear what sounds he could get you to make, and new consequences came each time you held them back, especially when he was rough.

He removes his hand from your thigh, pulling away. He clicks his tongue three times, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have done that.” His surprisingly dark, yet somehow innocent, voice shocked you.

“I’m sorry.” You quickly say, desperately wanting his touch again. Tate stays silent for a second, obviously in thought.

“I want you to listen to every little demand I give you.” He smirks. "Now, blow me like the little slut you are." Tate could barely finish his sentence before your hands were on him. You pulled down his grey sweats and threw them on the floor beside the bed, his boxers quickly following. Taking him in your hand, you let your thumb circle the tip lightly.

"No goddamn teasing." He groans. He sounded easily dominant, letting you know that he wasn't messing around tonight. You wrapped your lips around the pink tip, slowly moving your head up and down. Tate grunted once more, allowing one of his hands to slip into your hair. Your hand pumped what bit you couldn't fit into your mouth, your boyfriend's soft sounds giving you encouragement to go faster, deeper. His hand lets go of your hair, only to shape it into a ponytail a second later, giving him more control over your pace. "Can I leave marks?"

Nodding carefully, your actions continue until he's a mess on the very verge of cumming, and that's when you pull away. Gasping for air, you hear him cursing under his breath. "Where do you want to cum?" He gives you a stern look, signalling for you to go down again.

As you sink back down, he gives your ass a firm smack. "That's for not listening."

Taking him into your mouth once more, he couldn't help but take control of your hair again, pushing you down onto his cock once more. It wasn't long before he was coming undone in your mouth, profanities spilling from his pretty little lips. As you pulled away, the leftover bits of him falling from your mouth. He wipes your swollen lip with his thumb, wiping it on the sheet beneath the two of you.

"Mm. Now, what would you like me to do?" Tate pants. Taking a deep breath, he pulls you on his lap.

You couldn't reply fast enough. "Please fuck me." The words escaped your lips before your brain could even process what he was asking you. He laughs lightly, bringing his lips to your ear.

“I want you to beg. Beg for me to fuck you, Y/N. That way, we can both get what we really want.” The  boy grins, pulling away from you. You’re left with a stunned expression on your face as he pushes you back onto the bed, hovering on top of you. His lips clash with your neck as he peppers small kisses around, obviously waiting for you to fulfill his wish.

He shoves his hand between your closed thighs, slicking his fingers between your folds. "C'mon," He urges. "you know you want to, don't you? You want to please your daddy?"

"Tate," You whine. "don't tease." The blond boy on top of you pries your fist open, slipping his ring onto your exposed thumb. He almost always did that before he used his hands on you. Quickly, you try to speak up again, but he cuts you off.

"You know what you've gotta do." You can't help but gasp when he brushes against your clit, simultaneously slipping a finger into your core. "You're not gonna walk for days after this. Weeks, maybe, if you beg hard enough." It only took seconds of him pumping them in and out, hitting your g-spot each time, for you to cave.

"God, please! Please fuck me, daddy! Please!"

With that, he lined himself up with your entrance, pushing himself in. A small groan escapes him as he leans over you. "Ah- fuck, you're tight, baby." Your nails drag down his back as his quick, messy thrusts build up a pace. 

“My hair, pull my hair.” He groans. Your hands obediently move to the mess of shaggy blond locks, tugging each time he slammed into you. It didn’t take long before the two of you were laying beside each other, exhausted and covered in sweat.

“I love you.” You say through heavy breaths. He grins.

“Why? Because I just fucked your brains out?” The blond laughs, glancing at you. 

“No.” Angrily sighing, you roll over, away from him. You weren’t going to pour your heart out to him if he wasn’t going to be serious. 

Minutes later, he’s sure you’re asleep. He pulls the messy sheets and the quilt on over your bare body, planting a small kiss on your forehead. “I love you too, Y/N.”

[polarishq]

Below the cut, you’ll find a sample application for a Zodiac member.

★ ˙ * ✧ — OOC.

name/alias: Jeanne the Trash Queen

age: 26

timezone: EST

pronouns: She/Her

★ ˙ * ✧ — THE BASICS.

zodiac: Capricorn

name: Cecilia Jimenez

faceclaim: Cierra Ramirez

gender & pronouns: Cis Female & she/her

age: 29

hometown: Chicago, IL.

★ ˙ * ✧ — AESTHETIC.

color coordinated flash cards, tangled headphones, high ceilings and hardwood floors, chapped lips, sheet music haphazardly stuffed into a threadbare messenger bag, a collection of coffee mugs, and the frustration that comes with failing time after time after time, and yet continuing to try again.

★ ˙ * ✧ — BIOGRAPHY.

For Cecilia, magic has always been the #1 constant in her life, even if she is still very much a baby by a witch’s standard. Born in the early 90s in the hustle and bustle of a big city, she found herself in the heart of a small community of star-powered beings — her father, her siblings, and a large array of miscellaneous family members, both by blood and by bond. While trying to make a life among humans resulted in a lack of financial stability for the coven more often than not, what they lacked in money, they made up for in adoration and acceptance. Her father in particular wanted Cecilia to have all the love in the world, to make up for the absence of her mother. Her parents’ relationship was brief, with Cecilia being conceived almost immediately and her mother bailing not long after her birth. While that left many unanswered questions (did she have magic? Why didn’t she want Cecilia? Where was she?) and a bitterness that has still yet to fade, her family did their best to make sure Cecilia felt the absence as little as possible.

When her constellation mark appeared at age 16, it was a joyous occasion. Although she’d started exhibiting magic long before, this was new. This was Cecilia learning where her magic came from, and to whom she owed gratitude. But when it became clear that Cecilia embodied one of the zodiac, it was a whole different story. No one in her bloodline had exhibited a zodiac connection in known history  so it came as a complete shock. Cecilia began attending Polaris soon after, learning to harness her earth-based abilities and tapping into her natural penchant for alchemy, but she could never quite shake that initial shock. It was years later, after going behind her family’s back and boring the help of a few friends with better psychic abilities, that Cecilia tracked down her estranged mother at a dinner in Pittsburgh. The confrontation was heated, and only after being kicked out of the dinner did Luciana Diaz that she was an embodiment of Aquarius — and the stars must’ve seen fit to make her daughter a zodiac too. Cecilia didn’t stick around to hear the rest, only the tail end of her “mother” spewing how much she hated the pressure that came with magic. She returned to Polaris angry, upset, and more headstrong than ever that she would embrace magic for all its worth.

Magic and alchemy are Cecilia’s first priority in life, but she also holds a strong passion for music. It filled her childhood home, and from her father (a specialist in sound magic and a musician in his own right), Cecilia learned how to create and write music. Her first love was the piano, her second was her father’s old acoustic guitar. Even at Polaris, she’s taken advantage of the standup piano that sits in one of the common rooms to keep practicing, lest she grow stale. She questions if its possible to have both your place among the stars and a mundane human life where she could put her love to use. Much like her sign, Cecilia is nothing if not a ambitious, and she would gladly have the entire world if she could. And, much like her sign, her stubbornness makes her struggle to accept that that just might not be possible.

★ ˙ * ✧ — CONNECTIONS.

Older sibling: Magic has run through Cecilia’s bloodline as far back as anyone can remember, and when she was born, her father already had one child with a constellation living inside of them as well. A half-sibling, that is. They’re not a member of the Zodiac (any other constellation is fair game), but that doesn’t make them any less of a superstar in Cecilia’s eyes. They’re the one person who knows her inside and out, and she loves them dearly.

Unwarranted Enemy: So long as this character is somehow related to Aquarius, Cecilia will harbor resentment. They can be related to a former Aquarius, they can be friends with the current Aquarius, they can be the current Aquarius. Either way, Cecilia will give them the stink eye. It’s completely unfair and biased, based in her anger towards her own mother, but Cecilia tends to ruminate and so here we are.

Fellow Music Lover: Simple. Cecilia’s passion in life is music, and training at Polaris has taken precedent over that for much of her life. She’s able to bond with this character about their mutual love though, and can often be found sitting on the floor of Cecilia’s room listening to the radio, or scribbling onto sheet music whenever inspiration strikes.

★ ˙ * ✧ — MISC.

Pinterest board for a slightly different character origin wise, yet the same at heart!

[cinnamon-suncat]

OOC ‘about me’ thing

Nicknames: I have a ton sdfsdfgdfsg it depends who it’s coming from.

Star sign: Leo, excessively so

Height: 167cm, which is 5′6″

Time right now:  7:13 PM

Last thing you Googled: ‘167cm in feet’

Favorite music artist(s): god why this. Recently I’ve been listening a lot to Studio Killers and traila$ong. I would be terrible at picking a handful of overall favourites, because I’m really mercurial and switch what I’m listening constantly.

Last song stuck in my head:  Heart’s a Mess - Gotye

Last movie: Treasure Planet

My fab outfit: FAB. I feel like this was supposed to say ‘fave’, in which case it’s either a long flowy skirt with a stupidly tight and skimpy shirt and some cute sandals, orrr an equally tight v-necked sweaterdress with cute little heeled boots. Depends on the season. The running theme is ‘my tits are phenomenal’.

When did I create this blog: archive says november 2013

The trash I post: ffxiv content, screenshot edits of my character, my dumb scribbles, occasional irl ramblings, and reblogs of stuff I find funny or beautiful

Do you get asks regularly: usually about three or four a day and I wish I could answer them all but I’m terrible at it and have a backlog of 467 right now I’M SORRY

Why did you choose your URL?: my tag elsewhere is Cinnamonster, and my FFXIV character Syrena is a Seeker of the Sun who enjoys cinnamon buns. Sunbunfun. An alternate URL I was tossing up was sagolii-siren (Syr’s stage name) but a good friend of mine is already sagolii-snowflake and I didn’t want to be too samey. 

Gender: Female

Hogwarts house: GRYFFINDOR, GO GO.

Pokemon team: I mean...it really depends what this question is referring to. I picked team Valor, my favourite villain team is Team Skull, and my pokemon team (assuming I’m not building for strategy) would probably be comprised of ninetales (my favourite/signature pokemon. OG nine, anyway, not alolan), rapidash, milotic, mawile, mismagius, and noivern.

Favorite color: Purple or gold, especially rose-gold. I’m fond of peacock-rich iridescent blues and greens too.  

Number of blankets: One big soft doona. I hate the way sheets feel, too insubstantial, so I sleep badly in summer (when it’s too hot for doona)...unless I have aircon I can blast to snuggle under the doona without overheating. In winter I add in a velvety electric blanket to the mix ^^ Also notable mention -- a minimum of three pillows. I make up for my boring singular blanket by being a total pillow slut.

Followers: somewhere between 1500 and 1600, I don’t really check or quibble over it. 

Tagged by @bohemian-bobcat and @zohie-juari

Tagging nobody just do it if you wannaaaa

[the--emerald--isle]

((From today's iconing adventure...

Mug

Shot

What did he get arrested for? Don't ask.))

[the--emerald--isle]

Now I see I can't see myself I believed I was stronger than I felt Everything turned to golden Then it fell apart

It's the same old story It's the same sad song Where did I go wrong?

Lay me down in the waves Let the water wash away And if I leave with the tide In the morning I will rise

So lay me down Don't lift me out Let me drown

Take a breath Hold it in and sink beneath Feel the eyes of the living watching me Lay me down in the water

Leave the past behind There's a time to be born And a time to die And somewhere they collide

Lay me down in the waves Let the water wash away And if I leave with the tide In the morning I will rise

So lay me down Don't lift me out Let me drown

I have walked in distant waters Let me drown But I never walked alone Let me drown If my heart should ever wander Let the water lead me home

Lay me down in the waves Let the water wash away And if I leave with the tide In the morning I will rise So lay me down Don't lift me out

Lay me down in the waves Let the water wash away And if I leave with the tide In the morning I will rise

So lay me down Don't lift me out Let me drown

[the--emerald--isle]

((Apologies for disappearing, I had some health things to deal with.))

[the--emerald--isle]

((Because I'm mildly obsessed with making icons... Roman Torchwick from RWBY might not be the best animated face claim for Aaron, he's the best I could find.))

[the--emerald--isle]

((Another reason Aaron only ever wears long sleeves -- whether shirts or jackets or both -- is to hide the burn scars around his wrists. The scars come from the bangs of iron wrapped around them to prevent him from using his magic; yet another way to keep him "contained and nonthreatening." He minds the scars on his fingers (where the iron burned them as he pried it off) much less than the ones around his wrists.))

[the--emerald--isle]

Ride, warrior, ride With your blade by your side Follow on your spirit-steed While wounds darken and bleed

Drink the wind as you fly Hear the night beasts cry Cold tears run with the rain Down a horse’s mane

Something dark in a hall of stone Something bright like a diamond shone Mist and magic fill the air From wedding feast to Devil’s Lair

Suddenly the walls run red Kith and kin are lying dead None to follow, none to chase Fear and pain on the young bride’s face

[Chorus]

Underneath the blankets deep Gather secrets that you keep Things for dreaming, things for play Things safe for a bloody day

Now the metal touches skin Now the hunting will begin Racing after wild and blind Leaving home and hearth behind

[Chorus]

Saddle up the waiting mare Leap into the chilling air To the witch and all her power Ride on to Kethry’s tower

Help - you need the magic strong Race you must the whole nightlong A mage and a magic spell Come to take you straight to hell

[Chorus x3]

[the--emerald--isle]

Let Me Assign You a Love Language

A Knife Called Grief

You have left your house, you have left those people behind, but what are you going to do about the memories which have taken root in you? You can run but not without them. You want someone to sit with you on this cool marble floor while the sun burns everything.You want them to cut your rotten heart and theirs too. You want to sit with it in front of you, let them see you with all your flaws, which haven’t been your fault but you have been made to believe so, and you want them to love you anyways. Because you know you’d do that for them.

Tagged by: Stole it from @fangmother

Tagging: Steal it.

[the--emerald--isle]

🍺 🍔 🤸‍♀️

🍺 - How does your muse feel about the consumption of alcohol? Do they drink? Are they a heavy drinker, or are they on the lighter side? What's your muse's favorite alcoholic drink?

As perhaps expected, Aaron doesn't mind alcohol, and is a drinker himself; Holy Week being the only exception. He's learned his limits over the years, and knows very well what's too much or just enough; too much locks him in nightmares/memories, while just enough lets him sleep without dreams of any sort. Unsurprisingly, he's partial to whiskey or beer, though he also appreciates absinth, mulled wine, or mead now and again.

🍔 - What kind of food does your muse usually eat? Do they have a favorite food, or favorite style of food? Do they have allergies? Are they vegan, vegetarian, etc.?

Cliche is it is, Aaron does enjoy pub food, when he can make himself eat doesn't feel like making something himself. Hearty foods are his staple, with a preference for stews, breads, dairy, and things of the like. (Just no meat on Wednesday or Friday, regardless of whether it's Lent or not.) He'll also readily admit to having a weakness for fish -- salmon in particular -- and most fruits. And yes, he does appreciate potatoes a fair bit... though eating them has the tendency to remind him of the blighted ones from the Famine.

🤸‍♀️ - How active is your muse? Do they exercise regularly? Do they do things like yoga? What else do they do to keep fit and active? Are they flexible? Can they do parkour?

He very rarely exercises intentionally, as he tends to be kept busy most of the time, and tends to walk most places. When he has time to himself, he can be found wandering about forests, cliffs, and beaches. Aaron used to be a lot more flexible than he is now, but that was almost a thousand years ago, back when he had the run of the place before England decided to conquer. Parkour is a strange concept to him, and while it's interesting, he has no desire to do it.

@offreedom