#blood moon is what i call my time of the month even though its so fucking irregular but the docs don't do anything

[sytoran]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟎𝟎𝟔 — 𝐒𝐈𝐙𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊

kinktober day 006 | roommate!natasha x werewolf!reader

despite your countless pleads for natasha to stay away during the full moon, she decides to brave the beast and be right by your side during your transformation. she gets a lot more than what she bargained for.

cont. reader has a cock, (very) rough sex, breeding, creampie

word count. 2063

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

“Natasha, you can’t stay here during my transformation,” you plead, grasping your roommate’s hand in yours.

The brunette is adamant, looking up at you with a stubbornly steely gaze. “I’m staying, Y/N. You don’t have to do this alone anymore. You don’t have to suffer alone.”

You wring your hands in exasperation, somewhere near tearing your hair out in frustration or crying in anger. “You’re not listening to me, Nat. It’s not just the pain. I become a different being altogether, and you just can’t see me like that.”

“I can, and I will,” she stubbornly says, folding her arms over her chest and mistakably pushing her cleavage up, too.

The tips of your ears burn at seeing Natasha so utterly bratty.

You bite your tongue, refusing to argue with Natasha even more. Keeping you safe was one thing, but the real reason to steer Natasha away from you during the full moon was to keep her safe.

Because when you’re in your werewolf form, your true desires get heightened by a thousandfold, and from the way you already feel about Natasha, you’re worried it might implode when it comes to your inner beast.

As the Gods of Fate have it out for you, the full moon comes earlier than expected.

Your first agonized cry comes when Natasha’s still in the shower.

“Y/N!” Natasha calls out your name, once, haphazardly scrambling to wrap a towel around herself and sprint to the room where your cries are coming from.

The sight that greets her is absolutely horrific.

You’re bent over, on the floor of your room, on all fours and spitting out blood. Your back is bent at an inhuman angle, your spine broken.

“......Y/N?” Natasha’s voice shook, rooted to the spot in sheer terror.

You don’t respond. You’re in a state of little awareness, or so it seems, a low grunt of pain and fury escaping from you as your transformation continues. 

Natasha takes in a deep breath and steps into the room.

She wants to reach out, hold your hand, tell you that it’s going to be fine but she knows it’s not. The sounds of excruciating pain, broken bones, and surpassed limits make Natasha weep for you on the inside, knowing that you have to go through this painstaking process every month.

The transformation seems to be slowing down, now. Your human blood is splattered across the walls of your room, but your werewolf form seems to be perfectly healthy. You’re still more human than wolf, though: your muscles had thickened and were iron-hard, and you were taller than before. 

However, your wolfish eyes that survey the room are bloodshot red and absolutely inhuman.

That gaze is a chilling scene, narrowed eyes and steady puffs of air surveying the room. Your slow yet calculated mannerisms are reminiscent of your human form.

Natasha hasn’t quite yet caught your eye,  but when she does, it’s like a predator has found its prey.

Your red eyes are like lit coals and smoking silver, surveying Natasha with every ounce of authority and a near possesiveness.

“Natasha.”

Time stills, and the sound of your haunting voice reverberates around the four walls of your room.

Natasha truly can’t help but let out the tiniest whimper of fear. And perhaps a little something more.

“Y/N,” Natasha says your name again, because it seems to be the only thing capable of falling from her lips, and she swallows harshly at your predatory behaviour. She presses into the wall, one hand clutching the top of her towel, the other finding purchase in the edge of your cupboard. 

When you begin to move closer, Natasha screws her eyes shut, anticipating what was to come. Your presence looms over her, metaphorically and physically, and Natasha waits for her inevitable demise.

The ‘inevitable demise’ never happens.

Instead, Natasha’s eyes flutter open slowly to your huge hands gently wrapping around her torso, a sharp nose burying itself into the crook of her neck.

The whine she lets slip is involuntary. Your close proximity undermines her calm composure, regardless of your way, shape, or form. If that was telling of her feelings towards you, Natasha would choose to play oblivious.

You’re supposed to be scary, and Natasha’s supposed to be terrified, but with the way you’re dragging your nose up and down the column of Natasha’s slender neck, inhaling her sweet scent, she hardly considers her heart to be beating steadily.

She’s intoxicated by you, even more so with your unabashed exploration of Natasha’s neck. The redhead might be grasping at straws, but it’s almost like you’re seeking something. Something from Natasha. Comfort, perhaps?

“You’re okay,” the redhead whispers, fingers combing through your fur in comforting motions. She hears something that sounds suspiciously like a purr of satisfaction, so she repeats that motion.

Your head moves from her pale neck to her pretty collarbones and down her cleavage until your nose hits the obstruction of Natasha's towel.

A low rumble of disgruntlement sounds from somewhere deep in your chest. Natasha lets a full-body shudder take its hold of her body, under the vibrations of your low decibels.

Not comfort, then. What was it?

Almost like you could read Natasha’s inner thoughts, your werewolf form decides to say capre diem and let a huge hand slither up the inside of your roommate’s bare thigh.

Natasha squeals and swats your hand away, instinctively, then she catches herself and her eyes go wide. 

Oh. 

The fire that dances in your eyes is nothing short of a human-like mischief, playful and oh so dangerous. The incarnadine flush that adorns Natasha’s cheeks like a flower blossoming in the spring is one that your werewolf greedily soaks up, pulling her body flush against yours.

You can see the moment realization hits Natasha, the moment she realizes your desires are nothing short of sinful. 

“Want,” you enunciate slowly, stately and unyielding. Your eyes are locked onto hers, gleaming. 

Expectant. Possessive. Knowing.

The grasp of your hand on her inner thigh once again has Natasha letting out a breathy moan, one of pleasure and a startling realisation.

It wasn’t comfort. It was sex.

-----

If Natasha knew that werewolves were this fucking astronomical at sex, she would’ve introduced supernatural creatures into her bed a long time ago.

The position she’s in is nothing short of embarrassing, on all fours, grasping at the headboard like it was her lifeline. 

Perhaps it was, truthfully, because with the ferocity of the thrusts of your Herculean-sized werewolf cock into her pussy from behind was worthy of being sent to the afterlife. Not like Natasha would complain, though.

“Oh- mhmmm, n’more, s’too much,” Natasha slurs, her breasts shaking rhythmically with each time your jerk that massive thing into her, velvet walls squeezing tight around your pulsing cock. Her eyes are threatening to roll back, drool already spilling from the sides of her lips, arousal already leaking from her thighs and on to the bed.

You don’t seem to give a damn about the messiness of it, though, and that could perhaps be linked to the scientific nature of more barbaric animals. But Natasha could ponder over animal studies at a later point in time, for now she was being treated like a fuckdoll, and it was midblowingly gratifying.

“All– the way,” you grunt, trying to shove the entirety of your huge cock into Natasha’s pussy, clearly displeased by the fact that you were struggling to be sealed inside the redhead completely and inescapably. 

It shouldn’t have been a problem because she was already so wet, so pliant, so perfect for the taking. You’d make do with what you had, though.

“It’s too big,” Natasha had whined earlier, gasping as your tip stretched her opening out, the biggest thing she’d ever taken in her life. Her grasp on the headboard tightened as you slid in with a cruel impatience, big hands digging into the soft flesh of her ass.

“I’ll… make it fit,” you reply, somewhat slowly, your speech clearly deterred by your transformation into part-animal. The results of it are undeniably effective, nonetheless, the cockiness of your brash words making arousal pool in Natasha’s hips.

You’ve reached a sweet spot of Natasha’s, and her walls clench around your big cock tightly, mewling as you push its head against her sponginess. 

“Right there, please, please, plea-” Natasha is cut off by one of her own moans when you jerk inside her, spurred on by the sheer tightness she’s providing you. 

When you lean down to entrap Natasha in a breeding press, your bigger body engulfing her smaller one, slick and sweat converging in an unholy sacrament, it’s all over for her.

Going weak in the knees, Natasha moans as her arms give out and her front flops into the bed. The results of this lie in the fact that her back becomes beautifully arched, her ass rising towards the ceiling; your wolfish eyes drink the sight in with a lick of your lips, cock twitching at the prospect of all the new angles you’d be able to reach.

An animalistic prowess takes mighty hold over your sentience, triggering a feral craze to wash over your werewolf form, and it takes mere seconds before you ram your cock back inside Natasha’s wrecked cunt with undying fervour.

The warbled sounds the girl lets out beneath goes unheard, muffled by the pillow, but the sheer slickness of her pretty pussy gives a certain confirmation that she was enjoying it as much as you did. 

Not that your werewolf would care much, anyways: What it was chasing was pleasure, seeking relief in the completely sexual sense, a carnal desire to take and to breed and to claim. 

You push yourself in hilt-deep inside Natasha, fully lodged in, skin against skin.

Instinctively, your hands fly to Natasha’s belly. You can feel your cock bulge there, spreading her out, filling her up.

The next series of your thrusts cause Natasha to make noises she’s never made before, her body moving like clay under your touch. 

You pull out and make her sob, then thrust all the way back in with an unbridled strength that leaves Natasha breathless. Then again, and again, until she cums helplessly around your cock, pulsing and throbbing and alight with nerves.

This is not the side of you Natasha’s grown to know and love. There are no gentle smiles, no soft hugs and whispered words of admiration. It’s completely animalistic, entirely pleasure-chasing, undeniably one-sided.

You’re thrusting into her like she’s your personal fuckdoll, bringing her to high after high, but you don’t even seem to register that fact. You’re using her for your pleasure, and it should be wrong, but…

“More! More, please, please, need another,” Natasha sobs into the pillow, every fibre of her body screaming at her to stop but her brain unable to put it into action. She hardly registers what she’s saying, only begging pathetically and dripping endlessly.

“Inside,” you growl, right next to her ear, sharp teeth grazing her earlobe. Natasha babbles her acknowledgement, even more turned on at the prospect of being filled, fuck it, and the orgasm that crashes over the both of you is heaven-like.

Natasha’s scream of your name reverberates for miles to come.

With that, you’re cumming, finally, and the seed that spills out from you is endless. Natasha drools into the pillow as you unload your cum inside her, gripping fistfuls of her ass pressed flush against your hips. 

“Mine,” you hear yourself say. The helplessly, pathetically aroused tone of your voice nearly makes Natasha weep again — she’s rendered a damn werewolf near speechless.

Streams of white fluid spray onto Natasha’s back once you’re done with her cunt. You manhandle her around to face the front, to find her pretty eyes rolled to the back of her head, drool coating her lips.

Your werewolf heaves as you watch as your seed overflows from her pretty pussy and on to her thick thighs. A perfect creampie.

Your werewolf, however, has different plans, feeling your cock stiffen again at the sight of her ruined pussy. 

-----

The next morning, you wake up with a throbbing feeling between your legs.

Shit. Was it my transformation?

You leap out of bed, yanking the covers off—

To reveal a very naked Natasha Romanoff, your best friend and your roommate.

She awakes with a start, blinking at the light, and then wincing as if her body was aching all over.

“.......Nat?” you ask hesitantly, eyes trailing over her marked thighs and tits. “What happened last night?”

“Okay. Don’t panic, but you’re fathering my children.”

finally catching up on fics!! i did spend significantly longer on this fic, so it would be highly appreciated if you could reblog

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

[aesteries]

⋆✴︎˚。⋆ ─ ❝sweetling❞ ─ aemond targaryen and original female character. ❝alicent hightower's youngest daughter, haera targaryen, has returned to king's landing after eight long years in old town and aemond finds himself inexplicably drawn to the girl kissed by the moon and with the eyes that seem to only look at him.❞

how could i not love eyes that see me in all my forms as beautiful? 〔incest, innocence and fantasies, romance, smut, virginity, events of blood and cheese, family rivalry, disabled main character, hints of book!aemond, modified show!timeline and events.〕

                 INTRODUCTION. 

Queen Alicent Hightower’s last pregnancy proved to be the most difficult out of all - unlike what the maester had predicted, she had been carrying a female babe during the pregnancy. She started her labors two moons before the estimated time since conception, bringing worries about her health and fearing this child lost. The young queen of twenty-and-two, already on her fourth birthing bed, spent numerous hours with a high fever while laboring, screaming in pain as the maester and maids were sent into a panicked frenzy when they found that the babe was being delivered feet-first with the threat of the umbilical cord somewhere around the body, possibly restricting in one way or another.

When informed, King Viserys was faced with the same decision that had taken the life of his first wife.

it was either his child or his child-wife.

The Hand of the King and father to the Queen Consort, Otto Hightower, advised the King to leave the matter of women in the hands of The Mother, though it is reported that he demanded to bar the doors to his daughter’s chambers in case someone dared to approach the said room, fearing The Stranger wearing an ally's face.

By the hour of the nightingale, when the day had begun to seep into the night sky, an experienced nurse grew tired of the uncertainty of the situation and grabbed the babe’s feet to drag its body out of the young queen in a last attempt to save both of their lives, a small rip to the queen’s body in sacrifice for the life of the child. The babe was awfully pale, even taking into consideration her Valyrian heritage, with hair as white as cotton, and eyelashes as translucent as a ray of moonlight but no sound coming from her parted lips. 

Otto Hightower sneered down at the silent child with obvious disdain while the old maester and his women rushed around the newborn, frantically trying to bring her back from The Stranger’s arms. The gender did not disappoint him as she had brought forth a daughter before, but it was the fact that she looked so different from her siblings that sent chills down his spine. She was different, and it was not acceptable for a daughter of the crown. They would whisper behind her back, just like Rhaenyra’s children, not for the truth of her heritage, but of the condition that shackled her future to uncertainty. Would this child be useful enough for a political alliance? or would other Lords reject the gift of the blood of the dragon in fear of the curse this child could bring to their House?

Alicent in a haze, still recovering from hours of childbirth, tiredly called out to The Mother for guidance and forgiveness, and in response, the babe let out a piercing cry as she drew her first breath, filling the birthing chamber with the sound of new life. Two of the Queen's children, Aemond and Helaena, were present to hear the ugly cries of the tiny princess.

The King named her Haera - after the stories of a forgotten Goddess of Old Valyria, who supposedly reigned over women and childbirth.

Life was an uphill battle for the young girl, as in her first few months of life, Princess Haera struggled to latch onto her mother’s breast or be comforted by a wet nurse, found it hard to sleep at night, and frequently suffered from delicate fevers that kept her young mother on edge. As her siblings had grown and developed, she found it increasingly difficult to keep pace with the milestones they had reached as she grew. They often found her crawling on her knees behind her siblings at an age where she should have been on her two feet.

The girl would be the first of Alicent and King Viserys’ union to have her dragon egg hatch in the cradle, a beautiful dragon of iridescent scales that was named Brightfyre, though Haera’s difficult life and condition seemed to have somehow infected her hatchling, as it found failure to thrive and passed in the young girl’s arms at the age of three. a sign, said one of the dragonkeepers, a sign of more tragedy to come.

Although from the same womb, her siblings did not find much in common with her, as she had spent most of her childhood in the safety of her bedchambers with maesters and nurses who would take care of her health. This limited her interaction with them and bound her to bed and her studies all day long. The only sibling who would constantly visit was Helaena, and even conversation with her proved difficult. Aegon was simply not interested in her existence and would even forget he had a second sister. To satisfy her curiosity and her need for adventure as the long days of sickness took over her childhood, she turned to books as companionship with her imagination being her only entertainment.

Aemond, the more emotional of the siblings and without anything to lose, would sometimes force himself to visit her during the late hours of the night, believing that it was what the young girl deserved. In a way, he avoided Aegon and their nephews’ teasing comments as he snuck around the castle to reach her chambers when everyone else had fallen asleep. Their talks would be short and very awkward, but she would be grateful nonetheless. Sometimes, he’d bring her books as she slept, and she would devour each one the next day. 

On the eve of her tenth nameday celebration, King Viserys decided that his youngest daughter, Haera, would join Lord Osmund Hightower in Oldtown to be cared for by the maesters of the Citadel, who would strive to find a cure for her so-called illness that had only progressed from birth, now threatening to take her vision from her. That day, almost a week after the announcement, Queen Alicent had to be supported by her maids as she watched her daughter be taken away from her at such a young age, tears rolling down her plump cheeks as she cried for her mother. 

Aemond did not feel the pain of her departure, somehow detaching himself from her, out of sight and out of mind. The remaining siblings watched from the top of their stairs as the carriage went out the gates and disappeared into the busy city.

Aemond suffered the loss of his eye in a fierce confrontation with his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon, a mere two moons after their separation. He would grow into a rough, seemingly emotionless man with no weakness, the memory of his younger sibling fading with time as the years went by without any contact whatsoever.

Now as adults, she returns. 

ᡣ𐭩 ─ author's note ;

welcome to the sweetling universe! where instead of having daeron, alicent gave birth to another girl. i had planned to release this introduction as part of the first chapter, but it feels like it ruined the vibe in some way and i didn't really want to spend the first chapter building some backstory so the main character could be introduced so i thought a separate semi-chapter would fit better. i was trying to imitate maesters' writings in one way but of course i totally missed the mark.

haera targaryen is a character i have dreamed about so many times before, so i hope i can make her justice and write her just the way she is in my dreams. i have plenty of original characters created for my future fics, but she has her own special place in my heart for some reason, even if she's not my firstborn oc.

the ages are modified due to the nature of this story, and they are changed into this; aegon is twenty-two, as he is according to the books during the dance of the dragons. aemond is around twenty-one, helaena is nineteen, and Haera is eighteen years of age. jacaerys has been aged up to be around aemond's age, while lucerys is haera's age.

this story was originally a 'blink and you'll miss the plot' smut one-shot, but as haera came to be, i just had the desire to write more about her, so the mini-series was born. it won't be long, calculating about five chapters of 6k+ words each that won't go into the whole plot of the dance. it's taking place between season 1 and season 2, with different perspectives and more book!accurate characters.

that's it from me for now! before i continue rambling on. chapter one; Sunday 27th.

╰⪼ thank you for reading!

[justcallmeanobsessor]

-Puppy Love-

-Trigger Warnings: Dub-Con, Sexual Content, Animalistic Behavior, Slight Gore, Mentions of Blood/Claws, Pouncing on reader, Violence, Monster, knotting

-Pairing: Male Werewolf x gn Vampire!reader

INTRO:

His hot breath fans across my face. His heavy body lays atop me, warming my cold skin. His eyes look at me as if I'm his prey, entirely forgetting about the mangled corpse that lies just a few feet away. This look is one of a man that has been starved for years and has just caught sight of his favorite treat. It runs chills across my spine and I can almost feel my once pumping heart skipping a beat. This is wrong, so very wrong, it wasn't meant to be like this but how hard it is to refuse him when he begs me so earnestly with those puppy dog eyes.

The night was a full moon, the perfect time for a hunt, though the human that had caught my eye seemed to think otherwise. Instead it decided to make this way harder with running from me. ‘Great.’ I cursed with annoyance but before I could even go after the blood bag, a ball of dark brown fur barreled in front of me towards the panicking human. The human could barely get even 10 more feet away till it was caught in the teeth of the fury creature. 

To say I was pissed is an understatement. This mangy mutt just stole my meal right from under me. “Hey! That was my catch!” He didn't even bother to look up from what was supposed to be my drink for the night, instead he just kept ripping apart pieces of flesh and eating with no care for cleanliness, like some damn rabid animal.

I couldn't hold back my anger any longer from this insolent bastard. I walked up to him and with all my strength I ripped him off the mangled flesh, pinning him to a tree so we are chest to chest or more like my face to his chest. He was tall to say the least, I had to crank my neck back to meet his eyes.

I bared my fangs at him, hissing in a warning as he snarled a low grumble. “Get. Off. Me.”

His growled words did not faze me in my blinded rage. “That was MY catch, you damned fleabag!” I shouted at him, unable to comprehend my own anger and annoyance,  “You were too slow.” He smirked, baring his canines at me “That's your excuse!” This guy was pushing my patience.

“Food is food, I don't need an excuse to eat, angel.” I paused, the word of endearment he had called me caught me off guard as I stared wide eyed at him in silence, a warmth spreading across my face, most of me disgusted at what he had called me and the other half kinda lik- I quickly shook my head as I noticed him still staring at me with that stupid ass smirk. “Just! stay out of my way you mangy mutt!” “Anything for you angel” He winked at me as I let him go, shoving him a bit as I did so. Then he left, without a single glance back at the once living prey he had stolen, nor at me.

—----------------------------------------------------

A month had passed since that annoying encounter and instead of staying out of my way, he seemed to be popping up even more. Always to intercept or disturbed my meals and always with that. Same. Stupid. Smirk. “Having a nice meal angel?” “To slow, again angel” “Fancy seeing you hear angel.” He's a pest that's what he is, a pest that I can't get rid of. 

I was once again back on another hunt that had thankfully turned out successful. I feel a sense of satisfaction as I stood there in the midst of the dark forest with my fangs deep in the neck of an unsuspecting human girl. Drops of blood ran down my chin as I drank my fill, humming with delight of finally getting something to drink after days of writhing in thirst because of that pesky mutt. 

Sadly my peace was quickly cut short at the sound of rapid footsteps approaching and the heavy scent of musk filling my senses to the point that it made my head spin and my mind turn foggy. I was brought out of my haze by the feeling of my back hitting the cold forest ground. A large frame was above me, laying all its wait on my body, pinning me between the ground and its warm body. Its pants brushed over my face with a scent of iron on its breath. 

As I looked up I was pissed to see the one and only smug ass fleabag laying on top of me. Though It took me a bit to notice that instead of having his usual smirk, he looked at me with a flushed face and begging eyes. It was disgusting how that cocky bastard could revert to such a state with no shame, has he no self respect? 

That thought was further solidified as he started to grind against me and to my horror, his length was already hard and prodding at my clothed entrance. He whined and whimpered into my ear. “Please, please, Please~” He begged over and over again. A blush now starting to arise on my cheeks without my wanting. The scent of him started to make ressisting become even harder as it clouded my mind. This was wrong, this was SO wrong. Our kinds are enemies, we would become outcasts if anyone ever found out but no matter how wrong it was, it just felt. So. Very. Right. So in my foggy state my resistance faltered and I said “Yes.” 

He wasted no time in ripping off every piece of clothing that was separating our bodies from each other. After throwing the tattered pisces somewhere behind him, he put his body flush against mine once again. His fur was softer than I had imagined and the scent of him seemed to be embedded into every strand of brown fur. He rubbed himself against me, scenting my body and providing stimulation to his weeping cock that hung between us, hard and much larger than anything I could imagine. “That's not going to fit!” I cried to him, he responded with licks to my face, cleaning off the blood from my chin. If this was his way of trying to comfort me it definitely was not working.My mind panicked, knowing that this was going to hurt. 

He positioned himself between my legs and with his clawed hands, pulled my feet to rest on his shoulders, bending me to better angle his head to my quivering hole. I had thought maybe some side of him was still rational and he would at least take it slow but I guess I underestimated his animalistic side, because within a few seconds he slammed into me with a forceful thrust, sheathing his whole cock inside of me with one movement. His hands held my hips to keep me in place, which further intensified the feeling of his length filling every inch inside of me.

My mouth had fallen agape in a silent scream. My back arching off the ground as he continued to thrust into me, not giving my body a single second to adjust to his size. My hands clambered for something to hold on to, finding the soft fur of his back and griping the fur with all my strength, pulling every so often, making a low groan come from the whimpering beast above me. 

He sped up his movements, thrusting into my depths like an animal in heat. I look down to where his cock is spreading to me only to see a bump from right above my pelvis every time he enters me. Just the sight pulls a moan from my throat. 

I throw my head back when he angles himself that hits a spot inside of me, immediately drawing me to an orgasam that leaves my body trembling with pleasure. My hole grips around his length as he continues to thrusts. I start to feel the base of his cock grow, stretching me even more and with one last thrust deep inside of me, he releases his seed with a loud moan, collapsing on top of me. 

Pants are all that are heard in the dark forest, his body rests on me as we come down from our highs. The knot at the base of his cock connects us and makes it impossible to detach from each other without something being damaged. After a few minutes he raises his head to look at me, a smirk back on his face. He moves to pick me up from the ground, my legs dropping to wrap around his waist. As he holds me to be level with his smug face. He says one thing that makes my whole body both turn frigid and go completely hot. “My Mate.” Shit.

[manicrouge]

An Ode to Serelia

[𝟷𝟾+, 𝙼𝙳𝙽𝙸] || Part Two

[𝙰𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚄𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎: 𝙶𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍!𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚁𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝚡 𝚂𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚗!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛]

[𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍]: 01/01/24

[𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝]: Displeased is the siren who weeps, a sister stolen leading to her finding the man who helps her to her feet.

[𝙲𝚠]: blood, graphic violence, torture, gore, body horror, violence, character death, murder, loss of a parent, angst, mention of suicidal thoughts, smut, loss of virginity, creampie, inexperienced!reader, possessive!Simon

[𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝]: 23.7k

𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 If you're intrigued in the music I listened to writing, there's a link to the spotify playlist, enjoy !!

[𝙰/𝙽]: THIS IS A REPOST !! But I worked really hard on this and it sort of flopped so I'm hoping that maybe it might reach some now people (it has been like 7 months since I posted this so it's basically new again).

HAVE FUN!!

Please don't post my work anywhere else without my permission !!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Illuminated in the night, entranced by the tide, the sailors always come to you, such a mistake they make, too little too late, for they can never ever run. Foolish mortal men, sinking into the watery depths of a sirens den, for a woman in the sea is never just a friend.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

In the dead of night, you awake to a glow. It's seemingly stretching out its arms, calling out to you.

The orange light bends and warps with the movement of the sea, the rolling waves and glaring light for the moon creating a mixture of light which creates a celestial shimmer on the scales on your tail, reflecting off of your black eyes as you turn your head up in its direction.

The muscle in your chest is pounding, muffled words running through your ears as you keep your eyes trained on the light pushing its way from the shore all to make its way to you.

A full moon is never a good thing, although, submerged in the depths of the sea, you find it difficult to make out the shape of the glowing orb in the sky.

Her light confirms your worst fear, though, your eyes struggle to make anything out.

Even at night, the coral surrounding your bed is sleeping, nature reserving its strength for another troublesome day of battling against the grubby hands of the legged folk who rule both land and sea with an iron fist.

'Don't go meddling with the folks of the land, my dear, for trouble is the only thing ye shall find.'

It's the lesson of your mother which courses through your mind, like a shock of adrenaline through the body, a dopamine which has your hands trembling while sitting in quiet contemplation.

Land folk are dangerous, maniacs who believe they can possess the land and all that walks upon it.

To own the world, you would have to be mother nature herself, even then, her presence is discounted for because one of the land folk has in abundance what she lacks: golden coins.

You're familiar with these things, these little circular items they carry on their being, sometimes in small leather pouches, recalling a few of them being in the pockets of silly sailors who though they had the right to the place you and your sisters called home.

During their time spent, they toyed with the land as though she herself can not feel, taking and taking, so much so, you feared your initial silence to their actions would have resulted in you being damned for an eternity.

They massacred most of the fish, took your food as though it was theirs to take, discounting the creatures in the surrounding water. Greedy were the city folk, both of these golden things and your food, so, you followed the rule your mother had introduced.

Holding you on her lap, she looked at you and your delicate little frame, placing her hand against the wound on your tail.

Blood drifted in the the water, swirling with the current of the water and you sniffled in your mothers lap.

How terrible the wound was, throbbing as she plucked seaweed from out of the ground, using it to cover the cut.

The wound had been the fault of the land folk; they mistook you for a fish you supposed, though your little mind really didn't care to stop and acknowledge the truth of what happened.

The hook they had caught your tail with sat beside your mother and as she picked it up, she held it before you, watching as your eyes grew wide, nearly bulging from out of your little head as you began to squirm on her lap. What a monstrous little thing that contraption was, causing such hurt when it was the size of seashell. Keeping it in your view, she shushed you, opening her mouth, showing you her pointed teeth as she cupped your face with her other hand.

'My poor Urchin,' she lamented, 'it can do no harm now; it's not in the hands of the city folk, it's in mine,' she soothed, yet, despite her words you found that your throat was clogged as you recalled the morphed faces of the men who had caught sight of you when you had been caught.

'Is it because we hurt the bad people that they're doing this to the ocean?' you quietly asked, choking out your words as the gills either side of your neck opened.

It felt as though the hook had been stuck in your throat, ripping the insides as you struggled to the words out while sitting on your mothers lap. 'Are we bad people, mama?'

'No dear, we protect the sea and do the job the Lord made for us, it is the folks on her back who are the bad people, we're submerged in her soul, you see, keeping her from harms way and the cruel games of the true beasts,' she firmly stated, 'we hide from the enemy, covered in the current of what gives life to take the lives of those who are much too greedy for this world,' she lectures, 'so you mustn't pity the land folk; if they stray too far from their home and into yours, it is your duty to keep them away.'

'Even if we hurt them?'

'A lesson taught, is a warning sent, my dear,' she sweetly said, 'for a thieves broken neck is easy to repent.'

You acted that day as your mother had intended all those years ago: cruel, brutal, and unforgiving.

By the time you had finished, the water surrounding you was branded with their blood.

You gasped and choked, spitting out chunks of sailor from out of your teeth, plucking chunks of their cotton shirt out of your mouth the remains of a fish bone; it was far too stuck for you to use your nails, no matter how sharp they are.

You cleaned your teeth, watching as the bodies with their organs descended to the bed of the ocean with their gold coins in your hands while their pockets were filled with stones.

It was payment for their crimes and in death, they paid you to keep their bodies down, away from their families, for, you thought of the children on the coast.

They very well may be human, but they are undeserving of seeing one of their own in such a way.

You felt little when as you watched them sink, and upon reflection, all you ever feel is remorse for your silence.

Had you acted sooner, well, you suppose it would have saved you a trip to the deeper part of the ocean when hunting for food.

In the midst of your exhaustion you find your thoughts again, realising in your moment of contemplation, the little light grew closer to the edge of the coast.

Placing your hands against rocks, you push yourself from out of your reserved mellow cove, cocking your head to the side as you reach your hand outwards toward an orange fleck of light which greets you with open arm.

Exiting the cave, a flurry of bubbles pour pass your lips as their chants grow louder, as though they too are underwater.

Your pointed ears twitch as you push forwards through the water.

Your eyes are heavy as you push through the water, growing closer and closer to the source of the light, the sudden shift in the brightness causing them to sting.

You keep your eyes on the mysterious glow, rubbing your face with your hand, the long nail on your pointer finger catching the edge of your lip. Hissing, you watch as a faint trail of rouge seeps from your mouth, pressing the tips of your finger into the wound. Still, your eyes are unmoving, much too interested in the glowing beyond on the water.

Then, you hear voices.

It's the voice of humans, their low grumbles, cheers and chants causing the water surrounding you to vibrate from their ferocious tongues.

'I found one papa!'

Shifting, you turn your head towards the surface.

Whatever they have found is not for their hands, you sure of that much, and your stomach grows weary.

Oh, what catastrophe are they going to muster tonight? What are they going to use for sacrifice?

Your throat begins to knot, its as though someone is pressing their hands around the gills on you neck as your mind races.

One by the ocean is one of your own. Who else would have landed up on the shore? But it can't be, no it mustn't be; they're smarter than that.

No one else is awake at this hour, you have the consciousness of only yourself and the land folk.

Why would an Urchin be so far out that the spliced fingers of man could get to her?

No, they're in their caves, keeping their ears out for the horn of a ship, or perhaps the merry song of a sailor.

As you break the surface of the water, the waves of the ocean brush against your head, rain pouring from out of the sky, The breeze against your skin rendering you breathless.

You're guilty of feeling a crude interest take hold of you as you peer towards the sure, before ultimately deciding to succumb to temptation, following through your curiosity in the hopes to find what has caused such a disturbance.

It's difficult to see, your eyes are trained for the sea, you have little experience on land and the light above is much harsher than the gentle streams beneath the surface.

As you push forward, keeping most of your body underwater, your ears are greeted with more howling.

Their's excitement seeping from off of their tongues, they're bemused with their discovery.

Perhaps it's one of their rituals; you've found, through the time you have been watching them, they're terribly fond of the sacrifice of their own. Their disregard for the very thing they grew from is disheartening, a reflection of their characters.

Their form of sacrifice is truly despicable, against the order of nature, but they do not care for their own. One could be starving at a table full of food, the very table they set, yet, forbidden from touching a single thing all because of another's self importance.

Yet, it is you and your kind who are the monsters.

It's at times like this you long for your mother.

But, with the rain battering the backs of the humans as they form a circle around their special find, you find both her absence and the shyness of the moon leaves crude goosebumps covering your body as you shift in the water.

'MONSTERS,' a silk tone calls as you grow closer and closer, yet, you are forced to stop; the tide is upset, the moon displeased at such a display of savagery.

The thing in your chest stops, your webbed hands forming fists as you crane your neck forward.

'Monsters you are! Let me go,' the voice cracks as more cheering ensues.

'Cover her mouth,' demands one, 'keep her from singing her murderous song; her voice is as sweet as honeysuckle and it is her barbed tongue which has taken our brothers from us, and we will not let it take us! This is for the men we have lost to the creatures of the sea!'

You watch as the waves grow stronger, the rain landing with a slosh against the sea.

It's difficult to keep yourself in one place, both the fire in your chest and the shoving formation of the water urging you to go forward. You know her tone, though it is shredded and brutal as she speaks, unlike the sweet songs you savour.

Serelia.

'No!' she screams, ripping her vocal cords as you see a webbed hand appear from the circle of bodies, blood dripping from down a wound you spy on her shoulder.

Gripping the sand on the shore, the waves from the water brushing against the tips of her fingers and you feel the crashing body of water forcing you forward.

'Please, we would do no harm if you did none to—'

Opening your mouth, you will a tune to escape you, to pull them away from her to give her time to return to her home. Only, your much too choked up as water floods your mouth, the foul weather proving to work in mans favour.

Pushing yourself further up, you open your mouth, letting out a ghastly wrench as a sudden flood of coldness fills your veins, pulling at your tongue, keeping it pressed against the bottom of your mouth. Your lips quiver from the temperature as you attempt to pry a tune from out of your clogged up mouth.

'I- Illuminated—' you swallow another mouthful of water.

Her hand disappears.

You watch as a hand grabs her wrist, hearing her squeal and scream.

The circle of bodies disperses as you see the ends of her tail held in the forearms of a man.

There's a fire in your eyes, a fire enough to leave the sea bloody as your scaled skin and blackened eyes catch a patch of red staining the sand.

The sea betrays you as it sweeps up, carrying away grains of the red sand as the land folk hold their torches up in celebration as blood drips down onto the sand, the ruined blue scales of your sister turning purple in the light of the moon with the mixture of blood which pours from her wounds.

You watch in horror, hands slapping against the water as you look towards the moon nestled in the sky, peering down at you.

In the light of Luna, you recall her face.

Her innocent little face, doe eyes, cheery grin, how her nose would crinkle at the slightest accusation whenever she had done something particularly troublesome. The colour of her tail, how she looked when she sat upon the rocks singing her merry songs for the passersby to listen to.

A gift for the men she was, a gift spoiled by their grubby, wretched hands.

A sister as such spoke with a silk tongue, cohesive, one of your most prized possessions. A chest of jewels from horrid humans simply never compared to the life of one of your own, nothing.

Not even their dastardly golden coins.

Your head grows light as you keep your eyes trained on the humans marching forward, the light from the sticks they carry in their hands growing weary in the distance as the wind grows stronger. It's all too much, the sight of one of your own, the knot in your throat keeps you from gulping down necessary gulps of air. You feel nauseous, an icy chill freezing the blood in your veins.

Sinking back to the depths, your hand is forced and you're kept away from the dreary sight as the current drags you back under.

In the warped complexion of the surface, you see the moon still staring at you and you bark out in fury, 'you backstabber,' you roar, 'I saw my mother in you and you have betrayed our own for keeping you safe,' you continue onwards in your fury, your face contorting as you point up towards the surface.

'She has done nothing, as innocent as an Urchin can be, and you take her? Why not me?'

The current grows displeased.

'We give our lives, all our lives... my mothers,' you heave, placing a hand against your chest, 'I know not the secrets of the land, I don't possess the means to go upon the surface, how- how do we get her back? Why? Why would you take her and not me?' you choke out.

She shifts in colour, you spy her eyes growing red as you look upwards at her. 'She does not deserve to be a part of their game, neither did my mother,' you cry, 'take me, I'm offering myself up, leave her—'

There's a pull in the current, the rolling waves above the surface plunging downwards with a spiralling head.

You meet the eye of the storm, bubbles escaping your mouth as you bring your hands to cover your face. It hooks you, pulling you into as a ton of water comes crashing down into the small pocket of air you have become trapped in.

The last thing you catch before you're senses are flooded with darkness is the red glint in Luna's eye before you descend into the abyss.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

It's with the crude calls of village folk that he leaves his post.

There have been some form of disturbance for the past couple of nights, and after the first ending him standing on the shore of the town, his eyes being battered with the wind and sea, he found he has little interest in part-taking in the games of the fools. Fortunately, as he raises from his post, peering from out the window, he hears a shift behind him.

His eyes are unmoved by the chaos beyond the warning, his lids only lifting when he catches a child rushing ahead of the crowd of people.

His words are lost in the hollers of the crowd, though, he bounces with such excitement, the type that can only be likened to when a child gets money for chocolate, or even a new toy.

Only, he's acting as though he has won the biggest and best chocolate bar, his little head bobbing as he bounds down the cobble streets, his hand wrapping firmly around an elder mans wrist, tugging him along eagerly.

From behind him, he hears the scrape of a chair and a weary sigh. 'Another call for me? Swear, they cause mischief in the dark they do,' he comments with a hearty chuckle.

Turning away from the window, the red glow from the fire on the end of their torches lights emits an orange light in the room, though, the man before him is covered as stray arms of light stretch beyond his bulky frame, merely able to catch even the side of the man with a mohawk's face.

'Has Price told y' what they're up to? It's been every fuckin' night for weeks straight,' he asks, tugging down the edge of his mask, tilting his neck either side, a crude snap emitting as he does so.

The man standing in front of him offers him a toothy grin, crossing his arms over his chest with a short nod. Muscles bulge against the white cotton clinging to his frame and he readies himself by undoing the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt, pushing the sleeves to the crease of his forearms.

'Apparently, they're lookin' for merfolk or somethin', y'know what Captains like, doesn't 'ave the time for stupid shit like this,' he explains, 'read too many fuckin' fairytales if y' ask me. Couple ships disappear off of the coast and they believe a fuckin' fish did it?' He breaks out into a spell of roaring laughter. 'They call 'em sirens.'

'Sirens?'

'Aye,' nods the slightly shorter man, rubbing the stubble on his face with his hand. 'Sirens,' he adds, 'lore men to their deaths with their songs they do, supposedly, prettier than any lass on the land... sounds like a story written by a man, eh? Beautiful bonnie's with a good throat on em', paradise if y' ask me,' he proceeds to laugh even harder at his own joke, kneeling over as he does so.

It takes a brief moment for him to realise the masked man standing before him is unmoved by his comments.

Awkwardly, he comes to a sudden stop as he peers up at the man, slowly adjusting his posture, using his hands against his knees to steady himself as he notes the red lights behind him have disappeared.

'Suppose I should go and fetch them back,' he quietly grumbles, 'keep an ear out though, won't ya, Ghostie? Needa make sure they don't try n' sacrifice me to the sirens!'

'Affirmative,' he says briefly, turning his attention away from him, listening to his footsteps against the floorboards as he tucks his gloved hands into his pockets. 'Johnny,' he calls out.

The footsteps stop.

'Doesn't count if I find out y' went into the water to find them yourself,' he warns, looking over as the man nods his head, 'I'll drag you back in and sacrifice y' myself.'

'Gonna take more to get rid of me than that, Lt,' he answers, pushing the door open, 'throw a pint of ale in the sea, an' maybe, just maybe you'd get what y' want,' he laughs, walking out of the door with his hand pressing on the handle of the sword sitting at his waist.

The taller man stands and watches as he disappears into the dead of night, shaking his head in his direction.

'Fuckin' hell,' he grumbles to himself before turning his attention back to the chair he'd perched himself upon, grabbing the dagger he had set down onto the table, grabbing the cloth sitting beside it before kicking his feet back up onto the table, watching as Johnny disappears past the window, heading towards the crowd of chaos.

Turning his attention back to the dagger, he eyes himself in the refection, noting the redness of his eyes before rubbing the cloth over its smudge surface. 'Lost their fuckin' mind, can never excuse shit in a reasonable,' he grumbles to himself, 'better chance of Price quitin' smoking than there is the chance of fuckin' sirens,' he continues on, lifting his head when the candle perched on his desk flickers.

'Bloody lunatics.'

As he sat in the silence of the station, he finds his mind wandering. It's unusual for his mind to ever really escape him, although, with the sight of that little boy jumping up and down in such a manner he finds it difficult to shake a niggling feeling which is poking and prodding at his temple.

His excitement was evident, that much was obvious the longer he focuses on the memory.

If such is the case, if there is truly something behind the little boys excitement, he's there, sitting on his ass, doing absolutely nothing while the man is left to deal with everything to come from whatever has been found. There's something different about the tone of the people, he sees it well.

Terror trickles in, one head at a time, passing by the window in a manic flurry.

At first, he doesn't notice, far too interested in the blade he'd pulled from the sheathe resting on his belt to see the chaos unfolding beyond the window of the station. Their words a muffled, and they seem distant as he eyes the popped blood vessels in the white of his eyes. Moving the metal closer to his masked face, he narrows his eyes, rubbing the cloth over the blade again.

The door bursts open, and while unnerved, outwardly he remains still, snapping his head around.

The man who had left no more than fifteen minutes ago is back, his face wind swept and pale as he heaves out heavy breaths, keeping his arm firmly against the door.

His white shirt is soaked through to the skin, the pinkness of his flesh peeking out from under the fabric, his calf high boots marked with wet sand, crunching as he steps a single foot into the Station, not daring to take one more.

It's easy to read his face, though he finds his brow creasing as he realises that the very look on his face is fear.

Immediately he stands up from his seat, the flame of the candle beside him flickering as he does so. Tossing the cloth onto the table, he sheathes his knife, grabbing his coat from off of the back of his chair, throwing it over his shoulders.

'What?' he asks, 'a fight break out or somethin'? Look like you've seen a ghost,' he breaths.

Johnny doesn't offer him a response for a moment, only looking up towards him with wide eyes, unable to pick his jaw up from off of the ground.

'Fucks sake, Johnny, what—'

'Siren,' he says quietly.

It's difficult to catch what he says with the rain hitting the window and street beyond the office. His lips curve into a crooked smile beneath his mask as he shakes his head.

Sirens? Is he fucking stupid?

The expression on his face doesn't change, even when he hears the small laugh escaping the confines of his mask.

'A lass was on the shore n' she has a fuckin' tail!' he exclaims, pushing himself up after catching his breath, 'tail blue as the sea, eyes black as the void... they bloody exist.'

'And where is she now? She go back into the water to swim off with her friends, hm?' he asks, 'ride away on the back of a horse with a horn on its forehead and wings too?' he scoffs, shrugging his jacket off, only for a hand to reach out, grabbing his forearm.

'Still on the beach.'

'The beach?'

'Aye.' he says, 'ran as fast as I could, woke Price 'n Kyle up, 'told them they had to get to the beach quick. If they keep hold of her, they're gonna kill her- she's a bloody mess, cryin' and screamin'.'

He pinches himself to make sure he's still awake while staring at the soaked man. In no way can he find a single thought in his mind at this moment to make anything make sense.

In fact, he feels a prickling heat flooding his flesh the longer he stands and processes what has just been relayed to him.

They're real, they're real and they have found one.

Despite the implications, it's difficult for him to miss the worry in his tone, and while what they deem to be a monster has just appeared off the coast of Lakekeep, he's still worrying about its safety.

'We have to go, they're gonna kill 'er, Ghost.'

Fixing his coat, he looks down at the dagger resting at his hip, giving a short nod as the man lets go of his arm.

'Price and Gaz followin' along?' he asks.

'Aye, didn't believe me at first,' confesses the man with a short laugh, 'still can't believe it meself and I've seen it with my own eyes,' he says, stepping back out into the rain.

Ghost follows after him, slamming the door of the Station shut as the head down the cobbled path, their boots splashing in the puddles forming in the tight streets as the rain hits the ground harder.

Their chants carry through the village, washing over the usual silence like a tidal wave, flooding his senses with cries and pleads.

As they edge closer, he can hardly believe it as a woman's voice bellows out, 'MONSTERS!'

It's brittle and broken the way she cries, and oddly, he feels that the voice tugs at his heartstrings.

'Mustn't listen to her speak, Lt,' he says, 'what they said is true, apparently the boy found her on the shore and when he approached her, he heard her hummin' a tune- said it had him in a trance,' Johnny says, looking to him.

'Monsters you are! Let me go!'

Stepping down off of the stone steps, the pair of the pursued the scene, hearing stray voices fall from out of the crowd, demanding that her mouth be covered in order for them to fulfil some form of revenge. Watching on, he catches the appearance of a bloody webbed hand poking out from the crowd, landing against the shore with a wet slap.

It's as though she's reaching out for something.

Following the line of her forearm, he watches as the sea climbs up the shore, touching the tips of her fingers as she continues to scream and cry.

Moving his attention from off of the beach, he looks to the water, eyeing the crashing waves as the wind sweeps the fabric of his long black coat to the side. The water is restless, and with the rain pouring from the black sky, it's difficult to make much out that isn't just raging water.

Although, in the glow of the torches which whip and wind in the wind, the light covers a fair distance beyond land, and he spots something in the water. In the darkness, it's difficult to make out more than a silhouette of what appears to be a human head. Only, after another crashing wave, he catches sight of pointed ears either side of the head.

Something is watching them, yet no one sees it.

'No!'

The scream from the centre of the crowd rips him out from his trance as he turns his head, following after Johnny.

'Please, we would do no harm if you did none to us. Please, let me go!' she screams with all her might, her voice piercing to the ears of everyone in the surrounding area.

The crowd dips as they shift, covering their ears with a harsh wince.

Finally, she's unveiled to him.

A gash in her head is pouring blood down her bare breasts as she fights and writhes against the hold of the hold of the men who keep her captive. Her ginger hair is matted and covered with the blood and sand, as is the rest of her body.

The slits on the side of her neck, similar to the ones on a fishes body open and close as she lets out muffled cries.

His eyes trail further down her battered body, the sight of a blue tail stained with blood greeting his gaze. In the light, it appears almost purple as the blood mixes with the shimmer of her scales.

Screwing her eyes shut, she fights with all the fury in her being, and as he watches her, he feels the same heat he felt at the station creeping back onto him, and despite the harshness of the weather, the warmth beaming from his skin is enough to keep him from shivering.

'Alright, move out of the fuckin' way!'

It's the voice of his Captain bursting through the chaos of the surrounding area.

Turning to look over his shoulders, he catches sight of Price and Gaz walking down the beach, and with ease, Price holds his hands up, his words catching the attention of the the booming crowd.

Silence falls upon them, the sirens cries mixing with the crashing sound of the ocean. The man moves past both himself and Johnny, Gaz standing between the pair of them as he parts the crowd with an astonishing ease.

The gasp that passes his lips when making it to the centre is enough to make even his blood run cold.

There's a moment of silence, the sound of the torches whipping against the wind as he keeps his eyes trained on the back of his Captains head.

Clearly, the cogs are turning, expecting what Johnny had told him to be that of a stupid joke, only, it isn't.

It's real and it's squirming around on the ground, staring Price right in the eyes.

'She's a murderer!' a voice shouts from the crowd, 'her and her people, she said it herself,' the continue on, fury carrying their tone past the cries of the woman on the ground.

Price continues to look at her, and as he looks over his shoulder, catching his eye, he turns back to the woman on the ground.

'Take her in,' he says with a firm nod, 'we'll put her in a cell in the Station for now, figure out what to do with her later,' he continues, looking at the two men who held her arms, 'carry her back to the Station,' he rules, resting his hands on his hips as he observes all the other faces in the crowd, 'as for the rest of y', funs over for tonight, get back home,' he demands.

'We'll take it from here. '

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

You awake with a brittle moan.

Your mouth is full of send, a dull ache radiating from your chin as your forehead creases when you look ahead of yourself. You teeth bite down on the sand in your mouth, a disgusting crunch causing you to wince.

Memories are stubborn, not wanting to come back to you, only allowing you to recall the sight of blood on the beach and the crashing waves around you.

With a grunt, you attempt to push yourself up off of the ground, a grunt escaping you as your breasts push against the sand. Tearing your eyes from off of the beach in front of you, you shiver as you feel the water wash up, brushing against your limbs.

Looking to your hands, a startled gasp escapes you as you hold one out in front of your face. No longer are they webbed, no, instead, your fingers are separated. Curling your hand around the dark sand before you, you clench it in your fists, watching as it poured past it. Your hips ache as you shift, placing your cheek back against the sand.

Your head is spinning, you can't think of a single thing aside from the fact that your mouth is dry, horrifically dry.

You muster up what little spit you can, expelling grains of sand as the spit clings the your bottom lip, dribbling down the side of your mouth.

The water moves further up, and as you go to move your tail, you're startled by the sound of footsteps on the beach beside you, only, you're too tired to even check who it is.

I've failed as a sister, so if I must go out like this, then I will.

'Ma'am! Oh fuck, ma'am, are you okay?'

The tone is light, different to what you expected to hear counting you have washed up onto the very same coast you had seen Serelia on the night before... if it was even the same day as her disappearance, that is.

The sand crunches beside you as a shadow looms over you, keeping you from the brutal beams of the sun, a hand pressing against your shoulder.

Picking your head up, you muster out a pained whimper as you look at the man in front of you. Concern is etched on his brow as he stares down at you, shrugging off a piece of clothing, resting it against your shoulders.

Your eyes are narrow as you keep your eyes trained on him, unable to look anywhere else as he carefully places his hand against your cheek.

'Can you tell me your name?' he gently asks.

You swallow hard, your chapped and cracked lips pressing together.

Your eyes grow heavy.

You hear another curse under his breath as exhaustion rattles your body. Your head falls heavy and his hold on you slips away, gently placing your head back against the ground. You hope he leaves you be, allows the sea to swallow you whole so you can be with your own once again.

Two firm hands press against your shoulders, gently guiding so you're lying on your back.

His shadow keeps the sun from you once again as he scoops you up into his arms, keeping a firm grip around your shoulders and tail. his hand slips slightly as he uses his jacket to cover your breasts, and you shift when you feel his hand move lower, being extra cautious to cover up your tail.

His breathing is rough as he rushes up the beach with you in his arms, every step causing you to shift or hiss.

'Sorry, love,' he softly apologises, pulling you closer. You note how his pace slows upon him noticing the pain he's causing you by running, 'do you know where we are?' he asks, looking down at you.

Cracking your eyes open, the back of your neck burns as you attempt to look back at him. Poking your tongue past your lips, sand scrapes against the back of your throat as you open your mouth, all for a hoarse croak to escape your lips.

'Have to get you somethin' to drink,' he says firmly, 'you're okay now, love, I promise,' he reassures, pulling you closer to him.

You muster up a short 'hm', resting your head against his chest, listening to the little muscle in it thumping as he heads up the stairs, taking your further away from the beach.

The pair of you remain in silence and you hear the passing giggles and whispers of passersby as he keeps you against him.

You're unsure of what they're saying, though you're sure they're most likely laughing at your tail.

It's surprising hearing such a humorous reaction from them, figuring they would respond in a similar manner to how they did when you had heard Serelia screaming on the shore.

Mustering up a grunt, you flinch as your body is lightly pressed into a door. It squeals as it opens, and the very first thing you hear is a booming voice. It causes the dull ache in your head to worsen as you flinch.

'Am tellin' ye, it's straight out of a fuckin' fairytale it is,' booms the voice, 'can y'—'

There's silence.

Your eyes crack open as you observe the room you're in.

It's different to home, there's a rich smell, similar to the smoke from the lights on the beach.

'Found her on the beach,' confesses the man holding you, 'Johnny, go get some water, please,' he asks, 'she's got a mouthful of sand, she can hardly speak.'

There's a short answer, you can't quite hear it, as he moves you further into the room, setting you down.

Your damp hair hits the plush fabric of a pillow and something is pulled over your body. It's light, harmless.

'Where was she?' asks an unfamiliar voice. It's low, his accent is thick and as you turn your head to the side, you note the man has a thick brown beard, his hair quite short. Stepping towards you, he rests his large hand on your forehead. 'She's burning up.'

'She was near the same spot as last night where that... siren was,' he says.

It's as though life is breathed into you as you quickly sit up, ignoring the dizziness wrecking your mind. The man quickly pulls his hand from off of your forehead, moving it to your shoulder. 'Calm down, love,' he gently instructs, looking to the man standing beside you, 'you reckon she was attacked by it?'

'Could have been; she seems shaken,' he confirms.

Confusion hits you as you lift your tail, only to find that is has vanished.

As you lift your legs, a distraught gasp escapes you as you catch sight of legs.

Two legs- the same as the three men in the room have.

Quickly, you slap your hands to the side of your ears, your chest heaving as you realise your ears have shrunk, resembling that of the legged folk. Everything seems to come tumbling down in front of you, your head pounding as your eyes begin to sting.

'Hey, hey, you're fine,' hushes the man who found you on the beach. The door opens again and a cup of water is handed to him. Taking a seat beside on the bed beside you, he brings to the cup to your mouth. 'Have a drink,' he instructs.

You want to tell him no, to demand to know what they have done to her, yet, you know you can't do anything until you have something to drink.

So, you press your dry lips against the rim of the cup, allowing him to pour it into your mouth. The feeling is euphoric, unlike any sensation you've ever dreamt of, and you eagerly swallow down mouthful after mouthful of water, taking the cup in your own hands.

You're aware of the eyes on you, but you don't care, drinking from the cup until it is empty. With heaving breaths, your wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, keeping tight hold of the cup.

A hand settles against your knee, and as you look back up, the man who was sitting in the corner is now standing behind the two closest to the bed. You note the man who brought you water has an odd haircut, while the much taller man's face is completely covered aside from his eyes.

It's strange, the fabric of a thick hood pulled over is head, his eyes peering through the holes of a skull.

Is that real?

'Sorry, sweetheart, I didn't mean to upset you,' says the brown-haired man, squeezing your bare shoulder.

You look at him with your lips pressed together, bringing the cup closer to you as you swallow hard.

Despite his caring words, you find yourself unable to open your mouth- unable to trust him. He's going to hurt you if he finds out what you are, then what? You're forever bound to their land?

'What's the last thing you can remember before you washed up on shore?' he asks.

You look at him with beady eyes, and the man with his hand on your knee pats you gently, 'you're safe here, we're not gonna hurt you,' he reassures. 'You seemed panicked when we mentioned the mermaid, does it have something to do with her- or more of them?'

Your mind is racing trying to piece together a narrative.

Confirmation that she was the thing that put you in such danger will surely be a death sentence- if she isn't already dead. Living with that on your consciousness is a horrid thought to even think of, so, you distance yourself away from creating an accusation, though you find yourself in trouble as you realise how you reacted to the mention of her.

Essentially, you've acted on impulse and no matter the response, you're unsure if it's going to suffice.

'I- I...' you begin, your throat burning as you bring your hand up to clasp it, 'I was on a ship,' you answer, 'I remember it in water- b- but then there was a storm,' you explain, your voice choppy and broken as you rub your hand up and down your throat finding that even your gills have disappeared. 'The siren,' you begin, clearing your throat, 'she tried to help me.'

'Help you?' mutters the one with a strange haircut. 'How'd she do that, lass?'

'I- I was stuck,' you say, 'I couldn't get out an' she tried to, uh, pull me out,' you explain, 'but she got hurt- it might not even be the same one but... there was one, a good one,' you explain, gulping hard as the masked man standing beside the man with his hand on your shoulder shifts on his feet, his eyes burning into your flesh, the sunken eyes behind the skill mask leaving goosebumps on your flesh.

He's harsher than last nights current.

Keeping your eyes trained on the man, you observe him as he peers down at you, his built frame making you feel small. Most definitely, you do not want to get on his bad side; he could probably crush you with one hand.

'Couldn't have been the same mermaid,' he answers, his tone causing your chest to almost rattle, 'took an entire night for you to even wash up here, you wouldn't have survived if it was her,' he notes, the others around you shaking their heads in a collective agreement.

Your heartbeat is pounding in your ears, you feel blood coursing through your veins as you look up at him with teary eyes.

Your bottom lip protrudes as water begins to pour from your eyes. It's unlike anything you've ever felt, and, despite your burning eyes, you find the sensation oddly relieving.

You throat grows tight as you sharply inhale, allowing the cup to rest against the covers as you press the tips of your fingers into your cheeks.

A hiccup escapes your lips as your mouth trembles, all the misery of being lost and having lost escaping you in a cathartic sob that causes your entire body to shake.

'I- I don't know where I am, I- I'm scared,' you confess as more water clings to your eyelashes in little droplets, clinging on, only for their grip to fall loose as you blink, releasing more fresh streams onto your flesh.

Releasing a hand off of your shoulder, the man stationed beside you looks to the man who has his hand on you knee, 'you think you can go and get her some clothes? Poor things on show for the entire village to see,' he says. The man purses his lips for a moment, 'she's gotta have something that she doesn't want.'

'Has so many fuckin' dresses she won't even notice one has gone missing,' he says, standing up from off of the bed, 'I'll go and try and find something, as long as I don't take her cyan one I don't think she'll be too bothered,' he shrugs, 'keep an eye on her for me, won't you?' he asks, looking at the three.

The man with the peculiar haircut places his hand against his shoulder, patting it, 'she's in the best hands of the entire village,' he reassures, 'go an' find the lass some clothes, Gaz, we'll kep 'er safe,' he promises.

Gaz. What an odd name.

The rest of their conversation is lost on you as you're far too caught up in the tightness in your chest and the sounds of the screams you heard on the beach the night before to even think about anything else.

Only, when the door shuts, you startle at the sound of the slam, snapping your head up.

'MacTavish, I need you on patrol today,' says the brown-haired man. The disappointment on his face is notable as his eyebrows curl, 'everyone's on edge with the entire mermaid incident, the last thing I need I people trying to cause more trouble or almost drownin' going to find one of their own,' he says, 'speaking 'f which, need to go and check on her myself, make sure the head wound isn't goin' green,' he huffs, turning to the masked man standing behind him. 'Keep an eye out on her,' he states, turning his attention back to you.

Inwardly, you breathe a sigh of relief, allowing yourself to bathe in your emotion as you come to terms with the fact that she's alive.

Your eyes meet with his, your heart burning at the sight of pity burning in his gaze.

If things were any different, you very well would have wiped the soft smile off of his face, but you look at your options and his uniform, likening it to one your mother had described to you in the past.

'They like to think they have control, dress up in clothes just to make the isolation of their species more capable,' she explained while sitting in upon one a rock. You accompanied her, looking at her. She had such knowledge of the world beyond the water that you were simply awestruck with every story she told you. 'Fabric makes people listen, they're scared of the people with the golden buttons and sharp metal swords.'

'If you need anything, ask him and he'll get it for you,' he asks, looking over his shoulder at the man.

His tone grows harsher upon the mention of him doing his duty, your eyes falling to the man.

'Won't you, Ghost?

The masked man grabs the chair he was sitting on when you first entered the room, moving it as the brown-haired man and MacTavish move in the direction of the door. The chair settles at the side of your bed, as the pair move towards the door.

'Affirmative,' he grunts, taking a seat beside you while the two leave the Station, leaving you alone with the masked man called Ghost.

You look at him briefly, swallowing hard.

It's difficult to sit in silence, your stammering breath a reminder of all you've lost.

Beady eyes look at the masked man as you attempt to choke up the courage to say something to him. Despite sitting, his frame is much bigger than anyone else's you have ever seen, and as he leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, you flinch.

'Where's the mermaid?' you ask.

You watch his eyes scan the area surrounding you.

The fabric of his black mask moves as he sucks in a breath, 'can't say,' he confesses, 'confidential; unsure if anyone is listening out to try an' find her. If word gets out where she is, she'd be dead by tonight- if not sooner,' he explains.

'Why do they want her dead? Has she done something to you?'

You want to scream.

The man beside you is short with his responses, speaking of her as though he understands the whole picture, when in reality, their confinement of her is a crime punishable by death.

'She said somethin' she should've have,' he answers simply.

His words drag against his throat as he speaks to you.

'Oh,' you muster, resting your back against the wall behind you.

'Where were you goin'?' he asks.

You raise an eyebrow in his direction, tilting your head as you attempt to process what exactly he means by his statement.

'You said you were on a boat and you were rescued by one of the sirens,' he reminds you, your face flushing with colour as you realise you have already forgotten the tale you were twisting.

'I was with my sister,' you say, 'the memory is quite fuzzy,' you confess, knowing your knowledge of the surrounding land is limited to a map of the sea, not what is beyond it. 'It was for one of her trips, she was travelling to see her husband and then the storm hit.'

'The sea isn't too fond of forgiveness,' he remarks.

'Neither is the land,' you say, falling back into the security of the covers over you, allowing your back to slip from off of the wall, lying down.

Pushing himself up, he looks down at you, mustering a small hug as you sleeping exhale.

All the emotion and crying has your eyes drooping, disregarding your conversation. The man doesn't judge you for that, however, as you watch him looking over you with gentle eyes behind the mask.

'Get some sleep,' he says.

You expect him to say more to that, yet, instead, he pulls his chair from beside you, moving to it back to the corner he was sitting in before.

You keep your eyes on his broad back, watching as he sits down, kicking his feet up on to the desk, keeping his eyes out of the window.

Your eyes stay there as you drift off to sleep.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

When the door eventually bursts open, he's quick to send his eyes in the direction of Gaz as he walks through it with a bundle of garments. His mouth is open as he goes to speak, only to quickly shut his mouth when he is eyes falls to you, sleeping in the cot.

Holding the handle of the door, he pushes it shut so the lock clicks as quietly as possible, even going as far as to wince while doing so.

'I managed to find some clothes for her,' he says, 'not sure if I'm going to be a single man when she gets home, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.'

Setting the clothes down on the desk, Ghost stands up, picking the green cotton frock up from off of the table holding it out.

'I've never seen her in it,' Kyle says, 'don't even think she remembers having the thing, so she can't be upset about it if she completely forgot it existed, right?'

'Affirmative,' Ghost responds, 'wouldn't be too sure about it, though. She has an eye for the strangest things,' he warns, to which he laughs.

'You're right with that,' he says, 'I saw the Captain while I was out, he was comin' back from checking on the siren, told me to ask you if you're alright taking the girl in until she can remember what day it is; we can't leave her alone.'

He feels his chest tighten as he looks to you, seeing you peaceful sleep as you turn under the covers, your bare arm over your covered torso. 'You're the only one without someone... not too sure how—'

'I'll do it,' he says keeping his eyes trained on you.

Kyle looks at him with wide eyes.

'Well, she has no money does she? Not like an inn keeper is gonna give up a room for her, and I don't want to pay out of pocket to house her when she can just stay at my place.'

The man in front of him grins brightly.

'She'll hardly be any trouble, I'm sure of it,' he reassures, leaning against the desk, 'did she say anything else to you after I left?'

'She was with her sister on a ship heading somewhere to meet her sisters husband and that's then a storm hit and the ship was swallowed by the sea,' he says, 'she didn't say much, too out of it to really make much sense of the world around her.'

'Poor thing,' Gaz sighs, looking at Ghost, 'be nice to her, hey?'

'Wasn't planning on bein' cruel to her.'

'Good, good,' Kyle nods, 'Price told me to tell you that y' can have the rest of the day off if you get her out of the station, by the way. Take her home, get her something proper to eat and see if she wants to talk about it- he's sending something out to other villages to see if they have anyone who fits her description.'

'Doubt there'll be any news back for a while,' he says, approaching you, 'they don't care much for their own.'

His hand rests upon your shoulder and you grunt.

'I'll leave you to it,' Gaz calls from behind Ghost, 'gonna go and try and catch up with Johnny on patrols, doubt my lady would be too pleased with seein' another girl naked,' he chuckles, heading towards the door.

Waiting until the door is closed, Ghost proceeds to crouch down in front of you, rough hand nudging you again.

Your eyes crack open, a startled gasp escaping as you're greeted with the sight of his bone mask right in front of your face.

He feels you tense in his hands.

'Didn't mean to scare you,' he says, 'got you some clothes to keep people from starin' at you love, and then you're coming back to my place,' he explains.

His voice is softer than the tone he held with you prior and you swallow hard.

'Your place,' you croak, your face burning red from the sudden scare from your sleep.

'Yeah; until you're back on your feet and until that head of yours start workin' you're gonna have to stay here,' he explains, 'Price has sent messages out to local villages, see if any family members pick it up.'

Your face falters.

You're going to be here a while.

'Gaz got you some clothes,' he says, motioning over to the table.

Pushing yourself up, you manage to move your legs so your feet are planted against the floor. Ghost averts his eyes away from you, turning away. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you look at the ground at your feet.

Surely it's not that difficult.

Pushing your self up off of the bed, you take a short breath, your legs wobbling as you land back onto the bed.

Despite being gifted the ability of legs, you find it quite pointless that you cannot use them. The water is much easier to navigate than the land is, that much you're sure of.

Looking up at the man in front of you, you let out a small breath.

'Can you help me?' you ask.

He doesn't bother saying anything to you, simply walking over to the table with the dress on it, it's an ugly green colour and you catch yourself grimacing at the fabric. Though, as soon as his eyes are on you, the sneer on your face fades away.

He's rough in the way he pulls the dress over your head, though you manage to get your arms through the sleeves with ease. It's an odd feeling, feeling the fabric against your skin, the elastic cuffs of the sleeves clinging to your arms.

Helping you to your feet, you stagger forward, your face growing red as you grab his arms for some form of support. Yet, he doesn't move, he doesn't even flinch, busying himself with pulling the skirt down, it stopping mid-thigh.

Your legs tremble as you wince, you grip growing tighter on him as you fight to stay on your feet.

'Guess I haven't quite found my footing after the accident,' you awkwardly laugh, wishing to be relieved of this torture.

Your face is beat red as you continue to curse the moon for putting you in such a position, cursing the your words during that night.

Leading you back down onto the bed, you're quick to let go of his arms as he looks at you. He knows you're not going to be able to walk to his house, and he fights off the urge to huff.

There's something so simple yet so difficult about the task... he's a fucking lieutenant in the village guard and he's been put on babysitting duties.

Be nice to her, hey?

Kyle's voice is like a dagger through his skull, and even though you can't see his face under the mask, he musters up a tight-lipped smile, swallowing all his pride for himself and his position.

'I'll carry you.'

Neither of you are happy about this, though a tight-lipped smile of your own appears on your face.

'Great... thanks.'

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

His home is humble, quaint, tucked away in a quiet pocket of town.

Pushing open the door, he tilts his head towards the entrance of the house. With uneasy feet, you wobble as you take a step up into his house, his hand grabbing your forearm when you nearly loose balance.

During the course of your travels, you had fought against him, insisting after catching people staring at you for him to put you down and let you walk freely.

At first, he doesn't listen, keeping his eyes trained on the path in front of him, though, fortunately, he relented after you started to squirm in his arms.

It was difficult at first, but you got the hang of it... as long as his arm was around your waist.

It finds its way back around your waist for a short moment as he helps you up the steps.

'Careful,' he utters.

'Thanks,' you respond, holding the sides of the doorframes as you walk into the living room.

It's a quaint and simple little space, although, your cove is much better than this place. Yet, you suppose you cannot be picky while undercover, his hospitality rendering you speechless.

The mystery of the red moon and her tide is still very much fresh and new, you know you must not do something to compromise your safety or your chances of finding Serelia.

Even if it is resulting in you finding shelter in a man with a skull masks home.

Pulling his hood from off of his head head, he shrugged his cloak from off of his shoulders, hanging it up on a wooden stand placed beside the door.

You stand and watch, your arms pressed to your side, still trying to understand how exactly humans manage to stand so straight on their legs.

He turns to look at you, you see his eyes shift under his mask, 'it's not much, and you're going to have to be okay with sleeping on the couch.'

'Much more than what I have right now,' you respond with a soft smile on your face.

'Thank you, Ghost,' you say

'Of course,' he says with a short nod, 'you can help yourself to whatever you want, all I ask from you is to keep out of my room.'

'I can do that,' you reassure, nodding your head.

He doubts you'll even be able to climb the stairs as he can only liken the way you're walking to that of a baby deer learning how to walk for the first time.

He can't complain however; it's entertaining to watch you, and he does so as you make your way over to your new bed, holding your arms out either side to balance yourself before toppling onto the couch with a large exhale.

Sometimes his limited compassion still manages to get him into terrible situations, and as he looks at you, he can't help but worry about what he has gotten himself in for.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

After spending some necessary time in his home, you eventually find your feet... both literally and figuratively.

It's difficult for you to stay confined to the four walls of his house, granted, you don't really do much and find joy during your first day there reading through an old shabby collection of books on his shelf.

There's nothing interesting, and you're unsure as to whether or not he himself has read any of them as when you open one, you sneeze from the amount of dust covering it.

It's a fun past time you find, especially during the few attempts of being more steady on your feet. The moon must have heard your complaints as, during the second day, you're nearly unstoppable, aside from the burning in your calves each time you take a step forward.

By the third day, you're almost sprinting out of the house into the village.

It's difficult to adjust to first.

The land is unknown to you, yet, you don't threat.

Instead, you search the village high and low, walking into every store, listening to every conversation of the locals in the village. You feel your skin crawl whenever you hear their laughter, though, it's as though talk of the siren has disappeared completely.

From spending time reading in the library to simply perusing the streets, you're wounded by the lack of information.

Why isn't anyone talking about her? Surely they know where she is; humans hate us and they'll want us gone for the issues we've caused.

The question follows you for a while, only stopping when you see the door open during your fifth night of staying inside Ghost's home.

He appears tired and as his hand moves to his cloak, he quickly stops himself from pulling it down when he sees you in front of him.

It's an odd thing, you've observed him over the past few days, and not once has he shown his face.

Still, you don't care for his habits as you open your mouth over dinner after swallowing a mouthful of food. Your hands is grabbing for the water next to your plate as you state, 'how come no one in town is mentioning the siren anymore?'

He looks at you, chewing under his mask which he holds up after each bite. 'Price has made it a rule,' he states, 'Lords out of town right now on business, until he comes back, we have to hold her per his request,' he explains, 'we've gotta keep her safe and if anyone is heard discussin' her, he's treating it as though it's treason.'

You offer a short nod, going back to eating your food.

'Why?' he eventually asks.

'I just thought, with something as big as this discovery, it would be the talk of the town for years,' you say, 'I thought it was strange, that's all.'

The look he gives you makes you think that he doesn't quite believe what you're saying to him, though, he doesn't press on the matter, going back to eating his dinner.

It's strange to spend time with a human, especially living with them.

He doesn't speak much, only really talking to you at dinner time or greeting you after returning from his shifts around the village to make sure everything is in check.

'You can take the mask off, you know,' you say, observing his discomfort, 'your identity doesn't make a difference to me, besides... this is your home,' you say softy.

Truthfully, the mask is just as much as an annoyance to him as it is to you.

Surprisingly, he listens to your words, pulling the mask tied around the back of his head off of his face allowing you to see his mouth.

Really, he does even know why he committed so long to wearing the stupid thing, growing especially frustrated as dinner grew to be more of a chore than something of enjoyment.

Old habits die hard, he supposes, and the habit of wearing around you died that night thanks to your comment.

While eating, he attempts to ignore your eyes on him, though he is far too aware that you're staring at him, not missing the way your cheeks have a light tinge of red to them.

Grinning to himself, he shakes his head at a crude thought that suddenly pops into his mind, narrowing his eyes as he lifts his head to look at you.

You drop your head immediately, focusing much more on your food than on him, though your embarrassment is difficult to miss.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Simon seems warmer to you after you've been at his house for a little longer. The longer time passes by, the more trips you're taking to the ocean.

It started with one in the early morning, although, you find yourself walking there at the beginning of every day all to talk to the waves, hoping you'll see the familiar face of one of your sisters in the water. Yet, you don't.

Part of you is happy with this fact, not wanting them to see you in such a state wearing the ugly green frock, the only thing you own aside from a pair of sandals which Ghost brought with him upon returning from a shift.

On occasion, you bump into one of the men you saw when you first stop at the station. You learn that MacTavish's name is actually Johnny, and Gaz, the man who found you on the beach, is named Kyle.

They stop to talk to you for a while, sometimes walking with you to the beach where they speak with you.

Nothing interesting really comes from the conversations until, a month into your stay in the village, Johnny blabbers a little too much.

'He enjoys your company, bonnie,' he confesses after complimenting your new pink dress Simon bought you, 'was telling me that he's enjoying giving you little gifts and having you with him for dinner. I'm tellin' you, he like you more than you think.'

'How can he like me when I don't do anything but steal his food and sleep on his couch?'

'Couldn't tell ya, lass, strange man is our Simon.'

You hold your breath.

'Simon?' you ask slowly, a smile creeping on your face.

He slaps a hand over his mouth, his face growing red.

'His names Simon?' you ask, craning your neck forward to look at the blushing mans face.

'Forget I said anything,' he demands, rubbing his face with his hand. 'Please,' he almost begs. 'What I mean to say, lass, is that he does like you, and if you haven't thought of doing something for him, maybe consider it.'

His words follow you into the nighttime as you're helping Simon cook.

It's been something you've been doing for a while, intrigue taking you down the strangest path.

'My mum used to make this soup,' he explains, 'the recipe for it is somewhere, I don't know where it's gone though. It was great for nights like there.'

You hear a bell chime in your ears, thinking back to Johnny's words. Simon doesn't miss the smile on your face.

'What? What did I say?'

'Nothing, Sim-'

You freeze.

The pair of you stare at each other.

'Ghost, I mean Ghost!' you exclaim, holding your hands up, realising that you have most definitely gotten poor Johnny in a hell of a lot of trouble.

'Johnny told you didn't he?'

'He slipped up while he was talking to me today, he didn't mean it and I'm sorry if-'

'Say my name,' he cuts you off quickly and your eyebrows furrow.

'Simon?'

He grins to himself, turning his head away acting as though you have just done him the greatest act of service. 'I like how it sounds when you say it,' he says, going back to chopping up the vegetables, 'much better than Ghost.'

Redness spreads to your cheeks as you admire the look of joy on his face, finding that you want to do that more in order to see that look on his face.

So, as you're eating dinner that night, and even when you're lying on the sofa, you scheme like a criminal.

You toss and turn before you eventually get up and begin your search. Holding a lit candle, your eyes scan through his shelves looking high and low.

You spend what must be hours flicking through books, moving things, looking under the sofa, attempting to squint your eyes to look through floorboard before you find it tucked between the countertop and stove in the kitchen.

Only then can you rest easy, your eyes closing as you think about the mission you have got to complete tomorrow.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Walking through the bustling village main street, you listen to the bright tunes of the surrounding marketplaces, small stalls on either corner of the street, pushing everyone on the main road closer together.

You brush shoulders with a few people, keeping your arms out in front of you as you walk with a basket in front of you, the gold coins Simon has given you per your request rattling in your other hand.

It's rare you're outside as you spend most of your times in the library or back at Simon's home. Though nothing is going to stop you from making Simon the soup he mentioned last night.

Your heart flutters at the thought of how much he has done for you, and as a form of a thank you, you're going through the crumpled up recipe you stole from out of his kitchen, going to different stalls to get the things you need for the recipe.

The trip renders you exhausted, and by the time you're back at his house, you're fighting against sleep as you chop up the vegetable, putting them into the pot. You're unsure if you're doing it right, although, the longer you leave it to simmer, the more it takes the shape of something edible... you suppose.

You keep it on the stove until you hear the door open, and whether or not it tastes good, you're fine enough with the delightful smell that is exuding from the pot on the stove, looking in the direction of the door as it opens and Simon steps into the room.

'You're back,' you cheer, dropping the wooden spoon in the pot, approaching him.

The door shuts and he pulls his takes his hat from off of his head, pulling off his mask.

A crooked smile greets your eyes.

'What's all this?' he asks, his arms resting on your shoulders. It's common now, him touching you, and you sink into his hold on you with a sigh.

'Well, I thought you'd appreciate me making dinner for you,' you say sweetly, grabbing his hands, pulling him through into the kitchen, motioning to the table set. 'Also, you mentioned the old recipe your mum used to make for you, so, I thought I'd try my hand at it, see if I'm a good cook or not.'

He lets out a small ‘hm' as he grabs two bowls from out of the cupboards, placing them down on the countertop beside the stove. His hand hand is touching the small of your back as he grabs hold of the wooden spoon you left in the pot, tugging down the black mask covering his nose and mouth.

You watch, holding your breath as you await his reaction.

'Is it terrible?' you quietly as, looking on his face for any form of reaction, yet, he's unmoved. 'We can get something else to eat if it's really terrible,' you offer, pushing down the cuticles on your nails as you keep your eyes on him.

Setting the spoon back into the pot, he exhales. 'Needs a tad bit more salt, sweetheart,' he gently says, 'but considering this is your first time making it, I think you've done a pretty good job, hey?'

You can't stop yourself from smiling at his gentle words, feeling the warmth of his large hand pressing against your back as he reaches beside the stove, grabbing a salt shaker. 'A little more practice and I think I'm going to have my own personal chef,' he comments, adding some more salt into the soup.

Grabbing the spoon, you stir the mixture, scooping up another spoonful, holding it out to him with your hand underneath it, 'how's it now?'

His eyes are on you as he places his mouth against the spoon.

'Much better,' he says with a smile, 'go sit down, I'll do this.'

'Are you sure?' you ask, feeling him move his hand from off of your back. He gives you a short nod.

'Don't want you to burn yourself, go sit down.'

Over dinner, you share brief words, but it is in the silence and the company of him that you find you're most at peace.

There's nothing from either of you, and you take time to eat the soup you have been working on all day. It's okay, a little on the watery side, and you do think that Simon is still definitely a much better cook that you.

He thinks the soup tastes a tad funny, but he doesn't say it to you.

Such thoughts leave the pair of you to sit together, silently thinking about each other, yet not having the heart to disrupt the peaceful silence.

After dinner, you attempt to help him clean up, only, he refuses your help, requesting you stay in the living room.

'Simon you always do stuff for me,' you whine with a huff, 'let me help you- washing a dish isn't gonna kill me, y'know?

'I have a surprise for you and you're not going to get it if you keep going against what I've asked of you,' he warns, 'be a good girl for me, yeah? Go sit down, I'll be right through and you can have your gift.'

Suddenly, it's like your legs don't work anymore.

Knees almost buckling at his words, you gulp hard, managing out a short breath as you nod your head, not saying another word to him as you approach the living room, taking a seat on the plush sofa, sinking into one of the many black cushions.

Pressing your face into your cupped hands, you fight off the urge to scream at the very fact he only has to speak to you and you melt like butter in a pan.

Death would be easier than this.

Eventually, he reappears holding a box in his hands. Setting it down on your lap, you smile at the sight of a white ribbon tied into a bow. It's a charming sight, and you fight off the urge to rest your head on his shoulder as he sits next to you.

'You didn't have to,' you whisper.

'Well, you don't have many dresses, sweetheart,' he comments, 'my mum would have my head if she found out you only had two dresses,' he said with a short chuckle, his eyes narrowing as he sighs, 'I saw it the other day, been trying think of a good time to give it to you.'

Carefully, you untie the ribbon, pulling the top of the box off, setting it aside.

Peering up at you is a white cotton frock. Small flowers stitched into the open neck of the dress.

Pulling it out, you hold it out in front of you, letting out a squeal as you see the fabric touching all the way to the ground.

You jump into his lap, pressing a firm kiss onto his cheek.

'I love it!' you exclaim, holding the dress to your chest, before quickly pushing yourself off of him, shrugging off the sleeves of the green frock you've had since arriving in the village. 'I don't even wanna wait to try it,' you say brightly.

He watches amused as the fabric falls from off of your body, pooling around your feet. You're unapologetic of your appearance, tits on full show without a single care in the world.

Pulling the white dress over your head, you wiggle your hips as it hugs your waist, covering your legs.

He watches you, his hands on his thighs as you clumsily spin around in a circle, your skirt raising as you do so. 'What do you think?' you ask, 'does it look nice?'

He exhales deeply.

'Was made for you, sweetheart,' he replies with a bright grin on his face, 'gimme another spin.'

Your cheeks flush red, though you comply, your heart swelling at the request.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

In the midst of the night is where you roam free, walking through the streets of the village, treading down to the shore all to sit by the water. You watch as the waves roll in with a joyous glint in your eye, knowing home is right at your fingertips.

But oddly, you find home is also on land in the form of your sister and the tall man with a strange mask.

The very thought of him makes you feel nauseous, the thought of him washing all your sentence just as the waves do the shore.

Dinner tonight was almost too much for you to handle, to have someone so close to you, to feel his hand on your back and to hear the humans terms of affection leave his mouth with the intent of the meeting your ears... everything.

You blame the dress you're wearing too.

You feel like you're betraying the words of your dear mother.

She has warned you time and time again of the dangers of the human folk, and here you are, wearing their legs, missing your tail and your vibrant scales, yet, prepared to throw it all away all to hear him utter your name and call you sweetheart just one more time.

All that for a human who doesn't even know the truth of who you are.

'I thought you were here,' you hear a voice call from behind you, almost submerged in the crashing waves.

Turning your head, you see Simon approaching you, his boots leaving prints in the sand.

Stopping beside you, you turn your head as he sits beside you. 'Why 'ave you come all the way out here at this time?'

'Needed some fresh air,' you mumble, resting your chin against your knees, hugging your legs.

'You'll find her again,' he says.

Your blood runs cold.

'Sure that siren saved her just as she saved you, yeah? You'll be with her again some day soon, and who knows, maybe she's become one of them herself.'

'She'd like that,' you whisper, looking at the tide.

I'd like that too.

'Until you know where she is or receive a letter from home, you're stuck with me,' he says, 'sorry.'

You laugh.

'You've been the thing to keep me sane through all this, Si',' you reassure, 'without you I would've lost my mind. I need you, and what you've done for me means more than anything any else has ever done for me.'

'Thank you,' he speaks with his chest, you can hear the smile on his face as he speaks. 'I've enjoyed the company, it's nice to have someone to come home to, makes a change from the constant silence, gets me down sometimes.'

You will die before he is ever alone again, you're convinced.

Letting go of your legs, you pull away from the shore, moving towards him.

The light of the moon bouncing off of the water illuminates his features deliciously and you can't help but think of how he would look beneath the water where the pair of you could live out your days together.

Placing his hand on your knee, you rest your head against his firm shoulder, letting out a small breath as you look out onto the sea.

'Do you want to go back home to your village?' he asks.

'I don't have attachments to places, only people,' you respond, 'doesn't matter where I am as long as I have the people I care about with me- and if they wish to go somewhere else, then I'll will let them to do so.'

'So, when your sister finds you, you're gonna go back home?' he quietly asks, looking at the calm water.

'I don't know,' you say, 'so used to having you with me, and she's found her love now, she doesn't need me anymore. If she even is still alive that is.'

Leaning into the narrative is bruising, and in his silence you sit and think about whether or not you would return to the sea once you finally know that Serelia is safe.

These are the people who have hurt her, the man beside you is keeping her from you, yet, there you are in his arms, seeking comfort in the idea of living out the rest of your life at his side.

Really, you should want to put the entirety of the village under water.

'I want you to stay,' he quietly confesses, 'too used to y' now,' don't think I could go back to normal if you left.'

The feeling of nausea hits you again.

'I wouldn't know what to do with myself,' you say, feeling his grip on your knee tighten.

He holds his breath and you turn to look at him. Half lidded eyes stare back at you, and you find your hand reaching out to slip beneath the mask of the skull on his face, hooking your fingers beneath the fabric of the mask.

'Can I?'

He looks at you, though says nothing.

As you pull your hand away from his face, he pulls the hood down off of his head, undoing the tie around the skull mask on his face, allowing it to fall onto his lap.

Pulling the mask down, allowing it to pool around his neck, he looks you in the eyes. You stare back, settling your hand against his cheek. As you listen to the calmness of the water and under the watching eyes of the moon, you have little issue in leaning in closer.

His hand finds the back of your head as your lips ghost each others and you can feel hit hot breath fanning against your mouth.

'Am I gonna regret this?' you asks.

'You might,' he replies, 'but I won't judge you for it if y' do.'

Your breaths mingle as your lips finally meet, a soft and hesitant connection which sends shivers down your spine. Its delicate, the feeling of his mouth against yours as he holds you as though you're seconds away from turning to ash, leaving him forever.

And while your lips were against his, the thought of doing such doesn't cross your mind.

Not even once.

Upon returning to his house, you walk past the couch you have been lying on, his hand on the small of your back pulling you past, guiding you up the stairs to his bedroom.

Nothing like what you have read happens, instead, he helps you out of your dress, leaving you in your panties. You ask for nothing from him as you climb into his bed as he undresses.

It's intimate, the feeling of his hot flesh against yours setting a light afire in your stomach as you curl into his side, just as you curled into your cove hidden within the depths of the sea.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Days progress and your search for Serelia quells as you keep an open ear on the talks of the city folk.

You could have ended all of this a lot sooner with a song, louring all of them into the water to give you an ample opportunity, but you haven't.

Some other time you would have, though, you've heard your voice while humming a song as you clean your flesh in the mornings, and it's devoid of the deepness to travel as far as it did while sitting upon the rocks on the sea.

She is still alive and well wherever she is, and you're quite sure she has been moved around quite a bit as a safety precaution, and with Price's willingness to keep her from the wrath of the village folk, you know that at least some of the men in the village are good.

The more days roll on, the softer the touches from Simon grow, and as you're sitting in the village library again, holding a book in your lap, your fingers trace over the words written, leaving your words caught in your throat.

Reading has been the one thing to keep you from the curse of whatever has happened to you, and you find the stories written by humans to be quite amusing.

Perilous speculation at it's finest! Your favourite.

Though, you find it's difficult to breathe as you progress further and further through the books in the library until you were greeted with one covered in dust.

The lady didn't see you pull it off of the shelf when you did, and as the sky grows orange before eventually fading to darkness, you're unaware of the change in workers as you press your thighs together, hot breath fanning against the pages of the book.

Only, it's not the story that has you blushing.

Rather, your own thoughts as you replace the characters in your head, seeing the same set of eyes that have been greeting you for the past week while waking up.

It's wrong and it's dirty, but you can't help but think of him.

Perhaps this is simply how humans show affection, and it's not like you haven't been close to doing it; your bare breasts have been pushed against his chest when the pair of you wake in the dawn, and neither of you have moved an inch during the closeness, relishing in the closeness.

'I've got work, love.'

'I don't care, too comfy for you to leave me.'

Your mouth grows dry as you contemplate whether or not he has thought of you in a similar manner, if the thoughts carry onwards to his mind from your own, or if he sees you in a different manner.

A voice calls out your name, the flame of the candle on the table beside you causing you to jump, and as you look up, you're quick to slam the book shut, clearing your throat as you tightly smile at the man standing in front of you.

'Scared me,' he says to you, 'I thought you were home.'

'I got bored,' you shakily say, gripping the book in your hand tightly, holding it as you push your chair in, 'I got caught up reading.'

Even though you try to keep the book out of his view, you find he doesn't care about the stupid collection of pages, his eyes dragging down your body as though they're scanning for any source of possible harm.

'I'm fine, Si',' you whisper.

He nods shortly, 'c'mon, it's late and you need to eat,' he says, stepping to the side, allowing you past.

Keeping hold of the book, you walk along side the man and out of the library.

'You didn't have to drag me out, y'know?' you ask, walking alongside him.

His eyes fall on you, you know it without even looking at him, your eyes scanning over the words in the book, 'could've left me in the library to live with the books, let the pots of colours ink stain my skin and cover me up. Wouldn't have bothered you every again.'

The book is ripped from your hands, slamming shut as the man standing beside you takes it off of you.

'Strange woman,' he remarks, keeping the book in his right hand as you proceed to walk through the town.

Your frustration is obvious but he clearly doesn't care, you see the way his face settles beneath the mask.

'Strange man,' you remark, 'walking around the village with a skull mask on, especially in the dark.'

He only grunts in response to your words, pulling your book in front of him, looking at the title with a raised brow. 'Saccharine?'

He looks at you with a look telling that he knows what's beyond the pages, the possibility of such making your cheeks flare red as he flicks through the pages.

'What's it about?'

'Uhm,' you look at him with weary eyes, 'it's an... adventure.'

He nods his head.

'An adventure,' he says, eyes scrolling down the page he lands on, reading aloud, ''use that pretty mouth of yours for me, sweetheart, tell me what y' want,' he grunts, watching her squirm below him.''

Your face is bright red.

'Something fuckin' adventure that is, huh?' he barks out a laugh, as you elbow him in the side, snatching the book out of his hands. 'You dirty thing reading that out in public,' he mocks, your throat growing dry as you look at him.

'Shut up,' you grumble, slamming the book shut.

His laughter doesn't cease as you head towards his home, 'maybe I should have left you in the library by yourself.'

You wish for the ground to swallow you whole, longing for the cold ocean to reach right into the village and pluck you right from his side, placing you right back into the ocean.

Grabbing his key from out of his pocket, he heads up the steps to his house. You don't miss the glance he gives you.

'Who says I can't sort it out here?' you ask.

The keys fall from out of his hand.

Reaching down, you snag them before he can even muster the strength to breathe after the comment you've just made.

'You'd have an audience,' he says, grabbing your waist as you put his key into the door, turning it.

'I don't care,' you whisper, placing your hand against his cheek, 'especially if it's you.'

You don't quite process what happens until his lips are pressed against yours, the pair of you clumsily stumbling into his house, a giggle escaping you as he keeps you pressed against him.

The next couple of minutes are lost to clumsy steps, giggles and kisses as the pair of you waste no time rushing towards his bedroom.

Somewhere along the line, your dress is discarded, as is his shirt, all for it to be put on you as you sit in his lap clumsily doing up the buttons as the cuffs fall past your hands.

It's an alien feeling, the feeling on someone's lips against yours despite all the chaste kisses you have shared during sleepy mornings, and as he grabs you with greedy hands, you feel yourself melting into his hold, pressing your chest against his as you stifle out a short sound in delight.

You're unsure what exactly the sound was as it's muffled by your lips pressing against one another's, your hands clutching at his shoulders as his hand holds the small of your waist.

You feel the little muscle in your chest flutter as he tilts your head slightly with his other hand, deepening the kiss.

Keeping your eyes close, you feel as though you are one with the tide of the ocean, your limbs become that of liquid, flowing with whatever he wills as you fall apart in his arms.

Your firm grasp against his shoulders melts away as you loosely wrap your arms around his neck, your chest growing tighter as it grows harder to find gasps to take a breath from the kiss.

Placing another kiss against your plush lips, he pulls away, placing his hand against your cheek, rubbing the pad of his thumb against your cheekbone, letting out a gentle sigh as he looks at you.

Such gentleness is unheard of, no man should be so kind, yet, here he is, holding you as though you're the most fragile seashell on the seashore, intending to hold you close to keep you as a memory.

There's an odd heat flooding your stomach when he pulls away, a pulsing in the area you're somewhat familiar with. It's a dull ache, a bruising urge and you began to squirm in his lap in an attempt to chase the feeling away.

The feeling of his pants against you brings a satisfying wave over your body, willing to continue squirming in his lap in the hopes to find some form of quick fix. A breathy whimper escapes you as you continue to grind hopelessly in his lap, chasing after the release you so crave.

Only, your his are grabbed by his hands, as he holds you in place, grunting.

'Hurts,' you grumble, your hands falling to grab his wrists in an attempt to pull them away. Yet, his hold on you persists, keeping you firmly in place.

'Please,' it escapes your lips before you even understand what it is that you're begging for, though there's something that you can only describe as longing to extinguish the fiery blaze in the pit of your stomach.

You continue to fight against his hold on your hips, you lips pressing together in an unhappy manner.

There's a glint you spy as desire in his eyes, though, much to your displeasure, he keeps himself from acting on whatever that particular desire is, leaving you teary eyed in his lap.

'Sweetheart,' Simon breathes, shaking his head, 'hey, hey, it's alright, what are you getting teary eyed f'r? Haven't hurt you, have I?' he asks as your try to blink back the tears forming in your eyes. You're frustrated, unable to tell him what exactly you want because, truthfully, you've only read about such in the books in the library during the times he was busy with work.

All of it is new, and you wish for the blessing of experience you wash over you as you look at him with a lingering frustration.

'No,' you say, 'it's not that, it's that I...' you're unsure what to say, so, you let go of his wrist, lifting your hips as you look him in the eyes, placing a hand against your core.

He looks at you with a crooked smile when he finally catches onto what exactly it is, and all you can muster, in pathetic whisper is, 'need you.'

Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you're relieved when one of his hands is pulled from off of your hip as he gently moves his hand against you, cupping your cunt, pressing his thumb up in a particular spot.

You let out a whimper at the strange, yet welcome sensation, noting how his hand is far better than your own.

There should be something shameful about this, only you push into his hold, hoping he returns your enthusiasm.

It's in his arms you feel the most safe you have ever felt, even the tide of the ocean cannot compare to him in this moment as he pulls you loser, looking upon you with moons for eyes, conveying the idea that, maybe, he does think you're the prettiest thing he has ever set his eyes on.

Your back is pressed against the bed, the absence of his touch like a dagger through your heart. He looms over you, arms either side of your head. The lack of light, the flickering flame of the candle and the beams of light from moon shooting through the window render you speechless as you look at him.

'My pretty girl,' he utters underneath his breath, his hand brushing under the cotton shirt, moving further up your skin. Goosebumps form on your flesh as he does so, cheeks red the longer he keeps his eyes on you. 'Made with wind an' sea, you are,' he says, brushing his hand down your stomach, resting it against your pubic bone as he looks you. 'Tell me what you want, sweetheart.'

Opening your legs for him, you muster up a small whimper, looking him in the eyes, 'want you to touch me,' you quietly say, 'please, Si', need you to make me feel better,' you beg, feeling as though you're seconds away from collapsing.

A breath escapes you as he pushes your panties to the side, trailing his fingers up and down your folds with a groan.

There's a distinctive wet noise as he does so, spreading your cunt open with two fingers. Looking down between the valley between your breasts, you swallow hard at the sight of him touching you, jolting when his fingers brush against your clit.

It's unlike anything you've ever experienced.

Continuing in a fluid motion, your back arches as pretty moans escape your mouth, writhing beneath him. The heat in your stomach only grows as he does so.

'That's it, sweetheart,' he utters, sliding his fingers downwards, pressing one digit against your hole. 'Gonna be good for me an' take my fingers?' he asks, to which you eagerly nod your head.

'Y- Yes, please,' you respond, your back arching against the bed as he pushes a finger into you.

An odd stinging sensation causes a tear to slip past your eye as you fist the sheets below you, letting out a small sob. He pauses, you catch the orange light from the candle in his eyes as his mouth falls.

Then, you begin to feel him pull away.

'No,' you quickly exclaim, 'no, no, don't pull away, it's just...' you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, 'I've never done this before.'

He looks at you with wild eyes as he expression softens. Leaning forward, he places his lips against your and you cup his face with both of your hands, your mouth falling open as he begins to thrust his finger in and out of you.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he sighs, 'I didn't know, love,' he confesses under his breath, 'I shouldn't have made assumptions—'

'It's not your fault, Si', you didn't know,' you reassures, 'but I don't want you to stop,' you say, toes curling as his finger presses against a spot which almost has you seeing colour.

The air in the room is hot, only growing when you see a crooked smirk on his face as a crude squelch sounds.

You feel another finger against you.

'Gonna make sure your pretty cunt is taken care of,' he says, 'won't want anyone else after you've had me,' he utters, pushing another finger into you.

It burns for a moment, the stretch aching, yet working to contribute to the cord tightening in your stomach.

You're unsure as to what to expect as a delicious heat envelopes yous body, clumsy hands letting go of his face, moving to his shoulders. More tears slip down your cheeks, a loud moan escaping you as both his finger brush against a spot which has you falling apart in his hold.

You expect him to relent, though, he positions his fingers to proceed to hit that spot. By now you're a babbling mess under him, all the while he's grinning at the pretty mess you're becoming, soaking his fingers as you edge closer and closer to the edge.

You're not going to last much longer, he knows such as you clench around his fingers, his cock hardening at the very thought of having that pretty pussy around him.

There's a panic in your eyes as you edge closer to the edge, so he presses a chaste kiss against your lips, 'you're okay, princess,' you gently says, let go, cum for me, cum around my fingers, let me see how pretty you look,' he says, cautious not to make a demand as he continues to work his fingers into you, stretching you out.

Your chest heaves as you screw your eyes shut, your muscles tensing as you find yourself bracing for the coil in your stomach to snap.

It's odd to be scared of something that is making you feel so good, and you relax realising you're in his arms.

Your thighs begin to tremble as you let out small moans, drool trailing down your chin as you press your head back into his pillow, the heat in your stomach dispersing, crashing down into a pleasurable wave which has you almost sobbing.

Your hole clenches around Simon's finger, your entire body turning stiff as you stifle out a crude gasp, your orgasm washing over you. You watches as you completely fall apart, your juices flooding his fingers as you cum. 'That's it, you're okay,' he breathes, 'I got you, you're okay,' he reassures, his fingers fucking you through your orgasm.

Your raging breath steadily quells as he pulls his fingers out of you, sitting back on his thighs. Your hair is sticking your back as sweat soaks into the shirt you're working.

Whimpering, you watch as he presses the two digits he used to fuck you between his mouth, cleaning the mess you made of his hands with his tongue, letting out a short moan as he pulls his fingers out of his mouth, 'as sweet as honey,' he remarks, taking a moment to admire your glistening cunt.

Instinctively, you close your legs, all for him to tut, placing his hands on your knees, pulling them open again.

'Prettiest cunt I've ever seen sweetheart,' he say, 'don't try and keep it from me, yeah? You're not gonna be cumming around anyone else's cock aside from mine; gonna ruing you, shape that pretty hole for my cock and my cock only,' he gruffly speaks.

You hear the shift of fabric.

Pulling his underwear off, he tosses it somewhere into the room, sifting upwards, a crude wet slap filling the room as he slaps his cock against your clit.

You let out a small yelp as the sensation, your cunt still marked with sensitivity from your orgasm. Though, as you feel the blunt head of his leaking cock between your folds, you find the heat returns with a vengeance, leaving your mouth dry as he presses himself against your hole.

'It's gonna hurt for a second,' he warns, grabbing your hip with his hand, 'just keep breathing for me, let that pretty pussy stretch around me- I'll give y' all the time you need, just tell me,' he utters.

His tone is much darker than any you've ever heard, and as he begins to push himself into you, your mouth closes as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip so hard that you're quite sure you're going to draw blood.

A filthy moan escapes your lovers lips as he pushes into, the heat around his cock making it hard to keep a clear mind as the longing to fuck you until you're sobbing possesses him.

It won't take much, he knows that, counting on the fact that he's not even half way in and tears are already pouring down your cheeks.

Gripping your hips, he eases himself in to the hilt, moaning as you clench around his cock.

'Good fuckin' girl,' he curses, his nails digging into your skin as you wince. Never have you felt so full, feeling his cock pulsing in your core as you squirm beneath him.

Without even moving, you're sure he's pressing against that spot that brought you to your release just moments prior, you stomach twisting.

I'm not going to last.

Your legs merely wrap around his waist as he looks to you, and with a trembling mouth, you nod your head, 'y- you can move,' you say with a small nod, hissing as he pulls out, only to thrust back in.

Your skin is hot as sweat drips down your silky flesh, pushing downwards to meet his thrusts as he picks up the pace. The sound of you skin slapping together is vulgar, though neither of you care as you burble out weak 'ahs' under your breath as he drives his cock into you. Simon isn't quiet either, vocal grunts through gritted teeth as his bruising grip on you maintains a steady pace.

'Fuuuckkk,' he moans, grabbing the bottom of his shirt, ripping it open. You offer him as startled look as he drags his blunt nails up your stomach, grabbing your tits, rolling your nipple between his fingers. 'Prettiest fuckin' girl to ever walk the land,' he claims, 'made for me and my cock, and it's all mine, isn't it?'

'A- All yours,' you confirm, unable to keep a sane mind about you as he's fucking you dumb.

All your mind is sticking to is the thickness off his cock as it's hitting all the right spots. You're sure you're drooling from the sensation, your eyes falling back into your head as you babble out nonsense.

'No one else's,' you manage to get out before you're completely at his disposal, the feel of your next orgasm creeping up on you.

'You gonna cum for me again, princess?' Simon asks, greedily sucking in air as he looks at you, feeling your cunt clenching around him. He himself is edging closer to the edge, the tightness of you around his thick cock simply being too much to bear.

'Yes, 'm so close... so fucking close, please, please let me cum,' you dumbly beg, not able to keep the words from flowing past your lips.

'Go on, sweetheart, cum around my cock, make it yours,' he demands, his thrust growing much more sporadic as he chases after his own release.

A moan escapes your lips as you arch you back off of the bed, your entire body spasming as you allow yourself to fall into the pleasure of your orgasm as the cord in your stomach snaps, forcing a gasp out of you.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a brittle sob, tightening around his cock as you cum. The sound of your skin connecting is wet as Simon fucks you through your orgasm, his curses and grunts filling your ears.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck, that's right sweetheart,' he moans, 'gonna make you mine, fill you up with my cum, no one else is having you, you're mine,' he grunts out, pressing into your, your cunt against his pubic bone as his hands tremble.

He lets out a moan as he fills you up.

It's a filthy feeling, but you love it terribly, your hole twitching as you feel his pulsing cock empty his load inside of you.

A short breath escapes him, and you moan feeling him push deeper inside of you, thrusting and out of you to ensure you're not missing a drop of it.

Remaining inside of you, he moves to lay beside you, keeping bodies pressed against you, the smell of sex and sweat in the clammy air of the room, but he doesn't even think of pulling out, let alone pulling away. Instead he settles with his cock inside out you, pressing another kiss against you.

Your eyes feel heavy, your entire body sluggish as you press your face into the crook of his neck.

'Good girl,' he utters against your skin.

You lay together for a short while before he eventually pulls his softening cock from out of you, you whimpering from oversensitivity as he does so. Your inner thighs are wet, and as your hole clenches around nothing, you're face grows red as you feel his cum dripping out of you.

He leaves you alone for a short while and you lay, your body blanketed in the moonlight. Beyond the window in his room, you spy the ocean in the distances, seeing the rolling waves, your throat tightening are your eyes move around the room, spying his side of the bed, then lifting back to the water.

You can't possibly stay here forever? Can you?

You have people, you have your sister still to find, getting no closer to having Simon confess to you where she is being kept.

When you uncover it eventually, what are you going to do? Free her and stay here? Will the even want you back when you return with the marks of a human all over you?

Your eyes water when he comes back into the room with a cup of water and a damp cloth in his hands, approaching you.

He sees the furrow of your brow and the discontent on your face, taking a seat beside you, pressing his hand against your face.

'I haven't hurt you have—'

'No, no,' you quietly state, sniffling, 'just...' you look at him, holding his wrist. 'I like you,' you whisper, his eyes growing wide at your confession, 'I- I know it's soon but—'

'I like you too, sweetheart,' he reassures, setting the cup of water down on the nightstand.

You rejoice in the outcome of your diversion, noting it works well as he looks at you with all the adoration the human heart can muster. 'Let's get you cleaned up, yeah? Can't leave you like this,' he utters, to which you nod in appreciation.

The night is sleepless for the most part as you're in his arms. It's difficult to confess to yourself, but you're aware of the lies you have told and of the possible consequences to come from it.

Even if he isn't fearful of what you are, there's still the fact that the betrayal will be too great as, essentially, everything you have together is built on a lie, and you're only encouraging it through playing the role of human.

A part of you wishes to wake him from his current sleeping state and tell him, yet, you cower in the thought of conflict destroying the night the pair of you have shared.

So, you tell yourself that you'll tell him tomorrow instead before falling into the heat of his body, closing your eyes.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

In the morning you wake with a dull ache between your thighs, looking to the side of your bed.

Simon isn't there and you sit up quickly, eyes scanning around the room, a panicked breath squeezing out of your lung as you search for him.

Has he left for work already?

You feel an odd sense of betrayal well in your breast as you shuffle from under the sheets, stopping in your tracks when you hear the creak of the staircase leading into his room. His head appears first and you quickly fall back onto the bed, eying him.

'I thought you left for work,' you confess as he climbs the final step. He shakes his head, looking out of the window to the early morning sun. It covers his frame in a delicious light and you take a moment to admire him. How his white shirt settles against his chest, the mask on his face right back where it usually it.

It's a shame though; you want to see his blond hair in the light of the sun.

'I'm not that cruel, sweetheart,' he reassures, 'want you to come with me today; I'm sitting in the Station by myself while the other three do whatever, want some company with me,' he says, we'll stop by the library and bakery before we go there, I'll get you that pastry you like,' he offers, fixing the buckle of his belt, 'what do you think?'

Propping your head up with your hand, you look as hm with rosy cheeks and a bright grin on your face. 'Make me a cup of tea when we're in the station too?' you ask.

'If I must,' he says, laughing, moving towards one of the drawers in his bedroom, pulling it open.

Grabbing a dress and panties, walking up to you. Shifting in the bed, you push the sheets back, standing up, taking the panties from his hands.

Stepping into them, you look up to see him holding your dress, the skirt bunched up. 'Hold your arms up,' he instructs, to which you giggle at, but comply, holding your arms up.

Placing the fabric of the dress over your head, you slip your arms inside of the sleeves, as he kneels down in front of you, pushing his mask up slightly so he can press kisses onto your stomach as he lowers the skirt of the dress further and further down.

More laughter spills past you as you watch him with do so. The skirt reaches your ankles and he stands up, grasping your waist. 'Happy I got this dress for you,' he comments.

You quirk an eyebrow.

'I thought you said it was plain.'

'Nothing's plain when you're wearing it, sweetheart,' he responds, pressing a kiss onto your lips. You roll your eyes at his sappiness despite melting into his hold.

'You're an idiot,' you say.

'And you're slow,' he retorts, letting go of your waist, 'finish up getting ready and meet me downstairs, don't take too long; don't wanna be stuck in a queue at the bakery.'

'You're the reason—'

'Don't wanna hear it, princess,' he calls as he walks down the the stairs, leaving you alone in his bedroom, crossing your arms over yourself as you watch him disappear.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

He cannot take his eyes off of you as you sit in the station, stray crumbs of the pastry around your mouth as you babble on about one of the books you found in the library.

It never occurred to him until now that it's very much possible to be a love drunk fool, and he feels himself grinning under his mask as you speak with such passion, it's making him lightheaded. He has little understanding of what you're talking about, but that doesn't matter.

He sits and listens to you, only stopping you when he reaches out his hand, brushing away the clumsy flakes of pastry from around your mouth. You stare at him, eyes panning down to your skirt as you blush at the sight of golden flecks on the white fabric.

Brushing your hands over your covered thighs, you brush them away, looking back at him. Opening your mouth, you go to speak, all for your moment to come crashing down as Kyle barges into the Station.

Taking one look at the pair of you, he lets out a comically loud wretch, 'save it for the bedroom, please,' he breathes, closing the door behind him.

'What are you doin' back?' Simon asks, checking your face for any more crumbs, letting a small grunt when he's satisfied there are none, pulling his hand away from you. 'Thought you were going to be out all day.'

'I've been looking for Rhys,' he says, 'he's supposed to be keeping an eye on her and I haven't seen her, when I went to the cabin the door was locked, all the curtains were drawn too,' he explains, rubbing his head.

Your ears perk up with the mention of a cabin, glancing at Simon before back at Gaz.

She's in a cabin somewhere nearby and she's still alive.

Your heart settles with the thought.

'He couldn't have gone far,' Simon says, 'might've slept in or something- if something was wrong, he wouldn't disappear on us.'

'You're right,' Kyle says, closing the door behind him, 'he's a good kid, shouldn't be thinking badly of him in the first place, just difficult not to worry when he's usually there at the crack of dawn, you know?'

'Are people still demanding a trial?' you ask.

'Yeah,' Kyle responds, approaching the fireplace to the right of the bed you're sitting on, pulling the lid off of the kettle. Fortunately, Simon replenished it after making you both a mug of tea. 'We're trying to push it back; she's a nice girl from what I can tell, doesn't speak much though- to me at least,' he explains.

'Why don't you just let her go?'

'Letters from the Lords telling us we can't act until he's back home,' he says, 'unfortunately, we work for him. If it was up to me, she'd be back in the water; I think everything people are saying about her is nothing more than fairytales.'

You smile at his words; he's right, in terms of her, they are all fairytales.

If he's looking for the sirens from fairytales, he's already eyeing her as he talks to you.

'Do you want another cup of tea?' Kyle asks, looking at the pair of you. Simon shakes his head but you nod, though, before you can reach for your mug, it's taken from out of your reach as Simon holds it out for Kyle.

You give him a short look which he returns after handing your cup to to Kyle who busies himself with minding his business.

'You my servant now?' you ask.

'Can be if you want me to be,' he answers.

You roll your eyes, leaning your back against the wall, dusting the remnants of your breakfast off of your hands.

'You're sweet talk is making me sick,' Kyle calls, approaching you, carefully handing you your mug of tea, 'need some lessons in it, Simon,' he adds.

'Fuck off,' barks the man.

'I've got nothing to do so you're not getting rid of me for a while,' he says, 'I'm gonna stay here for a while before heading back up to the cabin, haven't had a moment to relax this morning,' he scoffs, 'could do with a moment of rest.'

Sitting forward, you move your legs off of the bed, allowing Kyle to take a seat beside you, sipping from your mug, 'there's always something to be doing,' he begins to complain, 'never a fuckin' quiet moment in this—'

The door to the station bursts open, slamming against the wall opposite.

'She's dead!'

The cup in your hand drops as you jolt from the sudden noise, the hot liquid merely missing your thighs as you shift out of the way, hearing the tea cup shattering as it meet with the stone floor.

You curse under your breath, looking at the mess you have made as you go to drop to the ground to clean it up, all for Kyle to shake it head while Simon stands up to address the man at the door.

'It's fine love,' reassures the man sweetly, 'you'll end up cuttin' your fingers, I'll clean it up,' he says, looking down at the shattered tea cup on the ground.

Frankly, you appreciate his kindness as you raise to your feet, looking around Simon's bulky frame to the man who scared you.

He's shaking as he speaks looking at Simon, his eyes blown wide, reflective of the surface of the moon as he tugs at his fingers while attempting to express the horrors of which he has witnessed.

'I left for the night, an' when I returned she was dead,' he says, 'bloody and beaten, whoever it was took all her scales, left them around the room like it's some sort of fuckin' confetti.'

Scales.

You're sure you hear Kyle yell, but you're unsure what he actually says.

There's anger in the young man's eyes, genuine emotion as he details every single gruesome detail of the scene.

Serelia.

The siren.

'W- Where?' you manage to get out, not caring if Simon is about to say something in response. 'Where is she?' you roughly demand.

The young man standing in front of you looks at you with wide eyes as you move in front of Simon.

Your lover doesn't say anything.

'Tell me!' you demand, grabbing his shirt.

'T- The cabin just beyond the Lords house,' he stutters.

Without much thought, you're rushing out of the station without any hesitation, rushing through the streets as your heart rages in your chest.

Your mind is racing with his confession, shoving past and barging shoulders with everyone as you push through the busy town square, staggering up the steps towards the direction of the Lords house.

You're aware of the man behind you; Simon never really did let you out of his sights, after all.

Everything seems so much smaller in your eyes as you stumble further and further up, tears flowing freely down your cheeks.

Perhaps it's some form of sick joke- she's okay, she's just playing dead; she's a smart girl, even having tricked you a few times.

She's okay- she's got to be okay.

You're in a fit of hysterics as you pull the door open to the small, reserved cabin.

There are footsteps behind you, a distant call for your name, only, when you pull the door open, you seek the sister you had lost that night on the shore. Still bleeding as she was when she had been taken despite her pleads for freedom, only, she isn't moving.

She lays on the wooden ground of the room, her hand open in your direction, as stray tear slipping down her face as her open, bruised eyes stare into nothingness.

You stand at the door, your bottom lip trembling as you scream out, 'SERELIA.'

Rushing up to her side, you collapse onto your knees, trembling hands hovering over her swollen body, blood seeping into your white frock as you simply sit and stare in horror.

Placing your hand against her cheek, you flinch at the icy feeling of her skin, trailing the tips of your fingers over her soft flesh. Stray scales sit on the ground from around you, plucked like petals from a daisy.

Her body is destroyed, pretty face so swollen, you hardly know who you're looking at.

Nausea hits you, though you fight against the urge to vomit up your breakfast, lunging forward, slipping your hand beneath the bleeding body of your sister, resting your forehead against her shoulder as you pull her close, her body falling over your lap as you sob, brushing your hair through her dirty ginger locks as your body shakes against her still one.

This all feels like a bad dream that you wish to wake from, only, you cannot.

'I- I'm sorry, my urchin,' you manage to get out between spouts of hyperventilation and nausea, your nails digging into her flesh as your arm settles in her blood.

'My beauty, they have destroyed you,' you mumble under your breath, unmoved by the stench in room as your chest swells.

Pulling your head off of the corpses shoulder, you press your hand firmly against her rotten cheek, observing the countless amount of cuts.

You feel the room spinning as you observe the true brutality of mankind, how they are so careless towards the rest of natures creations and you feel like a fool.

A fury burns within you, your tongue ceasing as two hands are placed on your shoulders, attempting to move you away from Serelia. Looking up over your shoulders, you spy the bewildered eyes of your lover.

'Let go of me, Simon,' you demand, turning your head back to the woman on the ground.

His hands stay firmly on your shoulders.

You wish for him to relent, but that's not in his nature. No, he wishes to keep you from all danger, and with the mess you have made of yourself and the crime scene, somewhere deep inside, you understand that you cannot have the very thing you desire.

You're pulled to your feet, crying as you kick and scream in his arms, the bloody skirt of your dress sticking to your legs as you fight against him.

'Let me go!' you cry, turning in his hold, bringing your hands to his chest, weakly hitting him as though it is he who caused the bloody slaughter. 'Let me go,' you hiccup as you're pulled out the door, away from the sight that is sure to haunt you for the rest of your life.

Pushing your hands against his chest, you shove him with all you might, though he does not move.

Placing you against a tree, he gently guides you to the ground as your legs give, kneeling on the ground before you as you chase after your breath, your legs laid out in front of you, your hands resting flat against your thighs.

Looking up towards the sky, you spy the moon staring down upon you despite the morning sky, proceeding to cry as you recall the lights on the shore the night Serelia was taken.

Your throat burns with the desire to scream and scream until you have torn the very vocal cords nature gifted to you, seeing no use in them as you come to realise that you will never call her name and get a response ever again.

'You were never on our side,' you sniffle harshly, hot tears flowing free as Simon simply stares at you. 'I see their torches in the light of your stars. You make us the villains, fool us into doing your dirty work, and then leave us stranded when you want no more to do with us,' you seethe, turning your head to the side as you continue to sob.

Simon's hand presses against your flushed face, pushing your head up from off of your shoulder, 'love, you need to calm down,' he utters gently. 'You're gonna make yourself sick if you keep on like this,' he warns.

He means well, you love him enough to acknowledge that in the midst of your fury.

Yet, your punishment leaves you weak and weary, missing the water you grew up in, missing life prior to that night.

'I already am sick,' you retort in a broken tone, 'infected with the parasite that makes me you, that separates me from her,' you cry, 'no longer a siren, only human.'

You don't care what happens, and, if you do, your emotions keep you from logic.

'W- What?' the man beside you chokes out.

You don't miss the way his hold on your face tightens, yet, you do not flinch, permitting his harsh hold as you look him in the eyes, swallowing harshly.

'I'm not a human,' you whisper, 'I don't know what I am anymore... I never had a sister, I was never in a wreckage, I was looking for her, my Urchin,' you admit, turning your head in the direction of the cabin. 'And now she's gone.'

Your sobs fill the void of silence, only, nothing fills the void of warmth against your face as he pulls his hand away from your face. Looking at him, your bottom lip wobbles.

Every lesson your mother has ever taught you is urging you to hate him, telling you that it is his fault that there she's lying there alone in a puddle of her own blood, unrecognisable.

However, no matter how much you wish to lunge forward and claw his eyes from out of his head, you find heart and mind conflict easily.

'Please say something,' you beg, caving to the gaping hole in your chest, longing for the return of his touch for, what is left after him? An outcast? Nowhere to return, even the ocean doesn't want you, and your bleak reality begins to settle in as his eyes do not change. 'Please, please talk to me, I- I've already lost her—'

He's unsure how to tread, you see the weariness in his eyes. 'What part of you is real?' he asks, 'or are you just a liar?'

'My love for you is real,' you blurt out, 'I cherish you, all of you for caring for me and for taking care of me when I needed it the most,' you continue, 'but I couldn't tell you, Si'- I- I've been trying to think of a way to tell you the truth and I was gonna do it today- I swear to you.'

'Why?' he lowly asks, 'are you afraid of me?'

'Are you afraid of me?' you question, looking him in the eyes as a stray tear falls past your eye.

He pauses.

'Your people murdered one of my own, Si',' you choke out, a flurry of emotion blowing over you as your face and skin prickle with an insatiable heat. 'We act accordingly, you treat us violently, we react with violence, but she...' your words trail, 'she did nothing to anyone, Simon. Had a voice as sweet as honey, charming, loving to the creatures of the sea, and look at what happened.'

'What's stoppin' you from hurting me?'

His voice and tone are raw as you look at him.

Truthfully, in the midst of your misery, you're unable to see the reason which keeps your fury at bay, though, when you look into his eyes, you understand for a moment long enough to form a response.

'You tried to keep her safe,' you whisper, 'keeping her from everyone, keeping her out of the way. They got to her, you didn't.'

And I can't let myself get to you for something you haven't done.

He exhales, looking towards you with bleary eyes.

Always, the desire to push him away is going to nestle within after the events of today, but nothing stops you from lunging into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck with as you sob.

His large hand presses against your head as he pulls you close, his hold on you almost crushing as you cry into the nape of his neck. If he is hushing you, you can't hear him.

You're in his arms and he's got you.

His hold feels the same as the one you have became accustomed with during your time on land, nothing has changed.

Feeling him tug at his mask, you settle when you feel his lips press against your forehead, and with a small voice he utters, 'I love you,' he says, 'human, siren, sea monster, sea urchin, I don't fuckin' care,' he states firmly, placing another kiss on your forehead.

'I love you too,' you tightly say, feeling the urge to smile at his words, but you don't, simply remaining in his arms.

'I'm sorry, love,' he utters. 'She didn't deserve any of this, neither did you.'

With your face buried into his neck, you nod your head.

'I know.'

You lay in his arms for what seems like an eternity, holding his bloody shirt as he rubs your back.

There's nothing that can be said, you know that.

Both of you do.

A man of few words can hardly be expected to become a flowing fountain of knowledge in the span of an hour.

Anyone else would curse him for not trying to make you feel better, maybe even say he doesn't care about you. But his rough touch turns gentle with you. His boisterous manner is reserved to calmness.

Oddly enough, it's in the most violent man that you find your faith in humanity is kept from drifting off of the cliff, toppling over into the ocean.

Eventually, you feel him shift beside you and you're moved as though your a doll in a child's arms. Looking down at you, he brushes his hand against your face, wiping away the tears that have flooded your face. You place your hands over his much larger ones, looking him in the eyes as you sniffle.

'We can't leave her there like this,' he utters, 'they'll wanna burn her body, 'not gonna let that happen.'

You mouth grows dry.

'We'll bury her up here, there's a clearing near the cliff, overlooking the water so she's not too far from home.'

No words leave your mouth so you simply nod your head in agreement as the pair of you raise from the floor.

Her helps you up and keeps you steady, not daring to let go of you, seemingly fearful that, if you fell, you would shatter and leave him forever.

He does all the work, leaving you to sit and watch as he carefully raps the girl in a sheet, lifting her into his arms with ease.

You standby and watch idly, holding a shovel in one hand and a lantern in the other, unable to look the dismal sight in the eye.

As, you step outside of the cabin, keeping your head bowed as you follow after him, heading towards the burial sight he mentioned.

It's hidden, private, and you stand near the edge of the cliff, looking down into the darkened abyss of water below you as you hear the occasional grunt from behind you as Simon busies himself with digging the gave.

At this moment you're resentful, wishing for some form of blow to the head to send you over the cliff, rejoicing in the short fall before you're able to escape from the consequences of your failure.

Only, you cannot will yourself to go over the cliff on your own accord, knowing if you did, Simon would most likely blame himself- if not follow right after you.

Living in the idea is enough to keep the action at bay, the resounding guilt and regret you imagine you would feel after taking the leap filling you with dread.

So, you turn yourself around and sit next to the woman wrapped in white while Simon makes a grave for her to finally rest her weary head.

It's difficult to say goodbye.

It was difficult when you said goodbye to your mother, a bitter pill to swallow when old age claimed the crazed woman on the seas, though, the guilt stabbing into your heart like a dagger proves to make this send off much worse.

Never did you dream of doing something so horrible, yet, here you are, unable to escape reality.

It's the dead of night by the time the grave is ready, the lantern in your hand flickers as Simon holds the body of Serelia in his arms, lowering her into the grave he constructed using a shovel.

The sheet she's wrapped in is stain red, marked with her blood, and while your chest grows heavy at the sight you find solace hiding in the shadows away from the moonlight.

Kneeling to the ground beside him, you tear the edge of your skirt, placing it onto her body with a shaky sigh.

He looks at you.

'When someone passes, we pull one of own scales and lay it with them to rest so they always have a piece of us with them,' you explain, 'I can't do that for her, but I'm not going to leave her with nothing,' you state.

Grabbing the edge of his shirt, you watch with a sunken smile as he rips a piece of his shirt of, laying it beside the piece of your dress you laid upon her.

'It's an apology,' mumbles the man, 'couldn't be there to keep her from harms way in this life, but she'll have me in the next. She'll have the both of us, yeah?'

'Forever and always.'

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

You return to his home covered in blood.

He helps you wash, rubbing a sponge around your back as you lean forward, chin resting against your knees with void eyes. You say nothing to him, only listening to his gentle requests.

While doing so, he feels a heat growing his stomach. It had been set alight from the very second he heard you screaming and crying, and the longer he focuses, the more he finds his blood boils. Someone in the village knew where she was and they killed her- perhaps even multiple people.

A poor young girl was murdered, and in the process they murdered your spirit.

And now he is scared as he looks at you.

There's nothing to tie you to the land anymore, he understands that as he wraps you in a towel, carrying you up the steps to his bedroom in a woeful silence.

There's nothing to tie you to him and he wishes to paint the town red for the crime committed against you, swearing to himself that he will find the perpetrator.

The next time he's cleaning blood from under his fingernails will be the time he has avenged you.

Until then, however, he's committed to being beside you until you no longer want him there as he looks onto you after helping you get ready for bed, lying on his back beside you.

Nothing is left in you, your soul devoid of anything as your mind wanders to her body wrapped in that white sheet, and as you look to the dress discarded on the floor, you find you're not too far off her fate.

Laying your head upon his head, you listen to his heartbeat to make sure he's alive, fearful that he will leave you before you get the opportunity to leave him first.

'I love you,' you croak.

'I love you too, sweetheart.'

After a while he his breathing calms, soothing and melting as a wave on the beach did.

Your mind has been made up since he placed his shirt beside yours, and as you watched him cover her with dirt, you stood with crossed arms and contemplated for a while. The crashing of the waves over the cliff edge called for you as you stood there.

You cannot stay here.

For the good of yourself and the good of him.

Too much is at risk now, and too much has been lost.

Too many thoughts fill your head, bad thoughts. Bringing him to the water all to sing a song to pull him into it.

You'll watch as he fights for air, trying to break the surface of the water once more, but you will not care, simply watching him fight and fight until all life leaves him and his soul has left you.

Foolish mortal men.

You hear your mothers voice ringing in your ears as you look at his sleeping eyes, then to the blood beneath your nails.

Sinking into the watery depths of a sirens den.

Crawling from beside him, you offer him one final look at you lean over the sleeping man, pressing a kiss onto his temple, watching as his hand curls around the pillow on your side of the bed.

Misery strikes you as you look at the empty spot, something within you urging to you to crawl back into bed beside him, only, you're reminded of the celebrations litter through the town, the festering buzzing of the flies in the cabin, and the swollen face of Serelia.

How is one to move past such when they lack the very emotion of remorse?

And how are you supposed to keep your emotions at bay when you feel an unquenchable urge to bring the village into the water?

Both are impossible to solve, and somethings are better off left broken, for, if you act on your anger, you betray the man you love with all your being.

But, if you act on love, you betray the women in the sea who are most likely worried sick with your disappearance. So, you take hold of the first dress he bought you, pulling it over your head, eyes teary as you look at him sleeping.

You're making the right choice in leaving, you say that to yourself when you place another chaste kiss against his cheek, allowing the thought to follow you as you push the door of his house open, stepping onto the pavement.

It follows you down the twists and turns of the street, leading you from place you have both loved and lost back to the ocean where you have only ever know strength and family.

The land is cruel, harsher than the sea.

Even during a violent storm you find you prefer the sea for the land houses people capable of despicable things, maintaining the ability of hurting you, not only on the outside, but also on the inside. You long for normality, for a sense of belonging again, and while you know you will always have a place in his bed and arms, you have a duty to fill elsewhere, an anger to keep at bay, people to keep safe.

You have to go, and you hope he understands.

A man of few words yet the only man who could ever hold your heart and not shatter it, and as you're walking on the sand, stumbling towards the water, you allow yourself to cry an ugly and loud cry as you fist at the fabric of the dress he gifted you, pulling the skirt to your mouth, pressing your lips against the fabric. Your legs carry as you remain with the skirt bundled in your arms, inhaling the scent of the place you have grown to know as home.

But it's never going to be home again.

The water greets your feet as you allow your arms to drop to your side, walking into the sea.

The waves crash down, soaking the bottom of the pink fabric and you continue to sob as you edge further and further into the water, cupping your face in your hands as you stiffly wade through the waves.

Wiping under your eyes with your fingers, you raise your head in the direction of the sky, seeing the moon sitting above the sea. You keep your eyes trained on the red moon, unmoved by the winking stars in the night sky as you turn your back to her.

Observing the land one last time, you fall backwards into the water, whispering an ode to Serelia under your breath as the ocean swallows you whole.

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

[idyllic-affections]

What if hashira reader gets hurt on a mission and when they come back, muichiro finds out? (İ love angst to comfort)

what if hashira!reader was hurt on a mission?

summary. muichiro has kept track of the days with impressive precision for someone with such poor memory. he knew for a fact that it had been far longer than usual. his mentor was gone for much longer than usual.

trigger & content warnings. non-graphic depictions of injury, crying.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. hurt/comfort. muichiro tokito & hashira mentor!reader. 0.8k words. they/them pronouns for reader.

author's thoughts. this post is an expansion of out of all the clouds in the sky, you are my favorite. DELICIOUS. thank you for the idea anon <33 me too. i love hurt/comfort, it is one of my favorite tropes tbh. so i made this a little angstier than what you mightve meant and made it so that its implied that [name] had an encounter with an upper moon (in my mind, it was upper moon one/kokushibo) bc i am silly like that

it's been two weeks.

muichiro has kept track of the days with impressive precision for someone with such poor memory. he knew for a fact that it had been far longer than usual. his mentor was gone for much longer than usual. worst of all, he's heard nothing from them. they've replied to not one of his letters. it was as if none of the letters ever arrived to them, as if the messenger crows could not find them. half a month was a very long time to not have the well-beloved cloud hashira around. it was a long time to not hear anything from or about them.

in that time, he's been on a variety of missions himself, all of which were concluded within a day or two.

it's when muichiro is coming back from his last mission within the two week period that he finally gets some kind of news regarding his mentor's whereabouts. the news comes in the form of his crow.

"tokito-sama," his crow caws, batting her ridiculously long eyelashes as she settles on his shoulder, "[surname]-sama has been found and has been escorted back to the butterfly estate."

his heart stutters in his chest at her ambiguous statement. that told him nothing. what he needed to know was if they were breathing or not; either way, he'd be at their side in an instant. he would much prefer the former, though.

"...are they alive?"

"yes, but—"

that's all the confirmation he needs to speed off in the direction of the butterfly estate.

muichiro gets to shinobu's estate within the hour, his crow having long since abandoned him out of fear of getting blown away from the speeds at which he was running. the insect hashira is gentle when she tells him that the cloud hashira is unconscious. she's even gentler when she describes the severity of their gashes and cuts to him.

"they've lost a lot of blood," she had said. "there is... unfortunately, no way to know if they will pull through or not. only time will tell."

muichiro sits at their bedside for days.

surprisingly, he hasn't been called away for a mission. he wonders if oyakata-sama knew that he'd be rendered so... helpless by his mentor's injury. would they scold him if they were awake? probably. he should be out on the field, but he is not. in his defense, oyakata-sama has not assigned him anything. he'd most likely be able to function if he had to, and yet... he hasn't needed to. oyakata-sama has not forced him to do so.

muichiro sits at their bedside for what feels like an eternity, absentmindedly watching the slow rising and falling of their chest. as such, he's there when they begin to stir.

he nervously clasps one of their hands between his, leaning over their body and quietly calling their name. they stir even more, eyelids twitching. he calls out to them again.

relief rolls over him in waves when they open their eyes.

"hehe..." they laugh hoarsely, tired eyes crinkling with fondness. he feels their fingers shake slightly in his hands, and suddenly they're holding one of his hands back, giving it a weak squeeze. "hi, mui-kun."

"who did this?"

"wh— what?"

"who did this?"

their breath catches in their throat. they're taken aback by the sheer rage burning in his eyes; it's as if he's been blessed with a brief moment of clarity from the never-ending haze in his mind. they're hardly even awake yet, but they can see his fury clear as day.

then, their expression hardens slightly.

"i will not tell you."

he looks betrayed, like a kicked puppy. they almost falter.

"[surname]-sama... please, i—"

"no." they remain firm nonetheless. the sheer authority in their tone triggers a heavy wave of nostalgia to wash over him, though he cannot quite explain why. who was the last person to be so hard on him..? he can't recall. "this conversation ends here. you will not ask me again. do you understand?"

"i..." he trails off. his throat tightens. "why?"

"because you'll get yourself killed if i tell you." he goes quiet. then, they gingerly reach up to his face, tenderly brushing their knuckles across his cheekbone. the moment of firmness is gone in an instant, and their eyes are soft again. "i have to be hard on you. you won't listen otherwise. you understand, don't you? you're a stubborn one. you don't listen if someone isn't firm."

his mentor's soft touch snaps him out of the daze he was in. it's then that he realizes he had been crying.

"shh... it's alright. don't cry. come here."

their arms open for him. he gladly accepts their invitation, cautiously kneeling down and laying his head on their chest. to properly hug them would be forcing them to sit up; he doesn't want to disturb them anymore than he already has. they've just woken up and they're already having to console him.

a visceral sob tears from his throat. his shoulders shake.

how humiliating.

their hands smooth over his hair with such love and care that it overwhelms him.

"it's okay, mui-kun," they murmur kindly. "i'm okay."

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

[avesdraws]

I started writing a lethal company fic with my character like months ago. Uhhh...have it anyway even though it could have been better <- not a writer

Water droplets fell rhythmically to the ground, feeding pools of murky water that littered the halls. Somewhere nearby, a steam pipe had burst, letting out a horrid hiss and filling that portion of the facility with dense, white condensation. If Tom didn't know better, they could have easily mistaken it for breathing- more than once the sound had them spend the night awake, facing the entrance of their little shelter and expecting to see a thumper charge in.

About three days ago, they had a close call with one of those bugs when they had tried to retrieve a soda it had been carefully watching over. Tom came out victorious in the end, but the oversized insect had left its mark- a blood stained bandage rolled over their ankle where a claw had sunk in.

With that, the employee had decided that a shovel was not enough of a weapon. It made quick work of snare fleas, but it was slow and awkward to swing, too feeble for the other sorts of animals in the bunker, and absolutely useless against the ones that roamed the outside.

Even the baboon hawks had learned their tactic and lost fear of them. Quickly they would move out of the way before they could whack them, going in for a bite while they recovered from the swing.

No, what they needed was a gun.

They had no luck scavenging one, weaponry had become scarce. The Company had not offered any to their team, though they certainly must have known what threats the moons hoarded on their surface.

However, they did know who had a gun around here. Never before had the employee dared to face that thing, the mere sound of its footfalls would have the human run the opposite direction and hide. 

But just like how the creatures had adapted to their schedule, so had Tom adapted to theirs.

They had stalked it for some time now, carefully studying its behaviors and movements, the way it hunted- in such moments, they felt like one of their old crewmates. She had always been interested in these animals- they never understood why- and it had been one of her beloved dogs that had claimed her.

They still remembered her desperate pleas to be let in the ship.

Either way– they had learned this thing’s patterns, and any moment now it should show itself. It was early morning, time for a territory patrol.

It could have been minutes, or maybe an hour, until finally one sound cut through the steam and their heavy breathing.

Their hands clenched against the wooden rim of the shovel, they held their breath– it was here.

The stomping, a display of how fast the monster was with its long legs. Heavy, wooden boots hit the floor in a militaristic cadence, as if it was parading for a crowd to see.

It stopped somewhere in the dark, body clacking as it took a peek around, before hiding back inside its shell and continuing.

The human stood straighter, anticipation hitting them. Their fingers shook with energy, their heart beat so hard they thought it could burst out of their chest. They were scared.

Engaging with these creatures was never easy- as much as they hated them it was far smarter to avoid, keep their stamina and most importantly their life. 

A single miscalculation and It would be all over– They could not afford to fumble.

Each step brought it closer and closer, until the human could finally see its dark shape down the hallway.

It stopped and looked outside, its large eye blinking in search of prey. It was staring in their direction.

Not yet.

A clacking noise let them know that it was turning around. 

Almost.

It waited a moment, and then the large head of the toy faced completely away from their position, staring somewhere in the dark.

Now.

Throwing themself to their feet they sprinted forward, they raised their garden tool over their head, and with as much strength as they could muster they brought it down upon the vulnerable, squishy eye of the creature, staining the metal with red, unknown liquid that they were sure wasn't blood.

It turned and glared down at them.

They might have miscalculated how tough the animal was.

Tom’s mind froze with fear, slowly they took a step back, shovel held close to their chest. They had to crane their neck all the way back to look at it in the eye– its hideous, disgusting eye, which blinked down at them as if trying to make heads and tails of this little being that had so boldly tried to attack it.

Could it ever be curious? Did these things know or feel anything outside of bloodlust?

Slowly, one small step after the other, the human backed away from the predator, taking advantage of the soldier’s stillness to perhaps make an escape. They could not fight it this way, but maybe they could still escape, maybe they could still live.

Its arms moved, mechanically opening its massive shotgun and dropping a few pellets in there.

It was tired of waiting.

Tom turned and bolted. 

It fired.

Concrete chipped, blood sprayed and they screamed. But they managed to duck behind the corner with their head still attached to their body.

Their shoulder hurt horribly, and yet they ran still, quickly turning down one hallway to the other in the hope of throwing their pursuer off their tail.

They ran until they had no more breath. The employee threw themselves against a wall, hand coming up to grip the suit over their heart. They looked up at the ceiling as their breath clouded their visor slightly. Their chest hurt so bad, but their injury even more so.

Gingerly, the human turned to assess the situation. It wasn't– horrible, their shoulder was still in one piece, but a bullet must have gone in and, hopefully, out as well.

They grit their teeth and laid a palm on the injury, attempting to ease the bleeding.

Stomping cut through the air, and their blood turned to ice.

No

No, no, no– It couldn't be, how the hell did it track them?! How could these monsters traverse the facility with so much ease while they had gotten lost in the maze over and over again?! Why?! It wasn't fair!

Both hands went for the shovel, frantically Tom looked around in an attempt to spot the stalking creature. They felt slightly light headed, it took effort to prevent themself from falling to their knees. All they wanted to do was to curl up and hide away, to not see.

They didn't want to die.

They heard the steam around the corner, and they froze.

They were still standing, there was still a chance.

Breathing hard the human attempted to force themself off the wall and into the open, against everything their body told them they slammed the metal head of their tool against the concrete.

The stomping stopped and clacking replaced it. Bullets went flying their way.

Now they had its attention.

With that, they turned and dived for the thick barrier of white. They couldn't see a thing– the only confirmation that they were being followed was the angry music close behind– but they knew that the thing was going to be just as blind.

Tom jumped to a corner and crouched, waiting.

It stopped close by, weapon ready. This time the clacking was quick and awkward– confused. The plan worked.

The human jumped up and swung. Something squashed beneath, but the creature turned. It fired to their right, completely missing its mark.

The employee didn't let the opportunity go to waste, and they swung again and again.

Each shot from the gun came closer and closer.

Until finally they hit their target.

Something exploded, viscera coated their mask. The thing stiffened and fell to the ground like a plank of wood. Dead.

It didn't hit them immediately, for a moment they stood there in complete shock.

The threat that was keeping them upright was gone, and the employee fell as well beside the slain beast.

Tom felt on the verge of a heart attack, and the injury on their shoulder was still leaking, but they were alive, and they had won.

A grin spread on their face and they laughed. 

Turning, they came to face the carcass of their tormentor. The eye wasn't there anymore, just its creepy white head to greet them. Their body wanted to rest, but laying down there wasn't safe, so Tom stood once more.

Without regarding the creature a second longer they reached down and claimed their prize.

[kittyplushy]

Fireflies

Night/Confession. One month apart yearning and wanting. Finally.

Confession fic!! Enjoy!! Yippee!!! This is a month after something silly happened, so go see what's up with that first..

Should I make a House Guest fic superpost? For people to follow along? Or to reread? Hmmm

Nature has its own spelling of perfection: you call it a pattern. The reoccurring, unmistakable mark of the natural world stays consistent and clean. It stamps itself on the living and the dead to mark its omnipresence. Once we notice it, the image burns itself into our psyche and our hands scramble to replicate it. Consistency is hard to capture, but we try, and we practise, practice, practice, practice…

You could only draw spirals so many times until you see them everywhere.

Under the moonlight, the burgundy of fresh blood looks a little bluer. It leans into a velvet-like shade, and when you squint, it begins to look like rose. I dipped my claw into the pool of blood that collected on a lid and practised drawing a heart again. The cling wrap proved to be an inconsistent canvas. The tails of each heart were either sharper than the last or each scribble began looking like molars. I had drawn fifteen in a row. This was supposed to be a quick night trip but I’ve lost myself in thought of the emerging pattern. I heard a branch snap somewhere and began my work. As I was sawing through the body of a snowy egret girl. Her blood stained her pristine white feathers and light blue top. I was cutting through her thigh when my saw nagged on something hard on its side. I pulled a plastic bag from her pocket. It was full of sand and shells- particularly these pebble-like shells, all marked by a spiral in the middle. I pocketed them all for later.

When I drove back home, my senses were ringing, bothered I might have been caught or snuck up on again. I reassured myself that nothing like the past two years was happening again. Sometimes the venom creeps into my mind and it bites against my only other paranoia. There I was driving back when just a few steps past the Woodbrook welcome sign was a sparkle. It was emerging past the grass and trees. Curiously, I stopped the car in the middle of the road and stepped out into the grass where more began to float. Fireflies.

Stepping into the woods following the bugs, I was greeted by more and more of them surrounding and illuminating the upcoming clearing like a fire. Then my eyes readjusted to the sudden light of the moon that shone on the grass. Then past the petri dish was an even bigger field that shone not just a sparkle, but a swarm of fireflies. The dizzying sight only made the fuzz in my engines worse. I knew the forest around Woodbrook by heart- but tonight it felt so suffocating, swarming, and large. It was larger than I could have remembered.

The next morning, I was back in the store as usual. I did my morning sweeping in and out of the shop as the town began to get itself busy again. The usual faces waved to me and greeted me, and here came the gritted teeth greeting me a good day. Melody Davis came up with somebody in hand. Julianne Lucky’s eyes peeked up and realized they were getting close to the store. She hid her face by looking down to her shoes and covering her face. Melody just smiled at me.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me why Samantha bothers you so much?” I heard her say, not even a distance away from me.

Her gesture wasn’t new to me though. For a whole month, she did every single step in the book to avoid looking at me. She looked down on her shoes, pretend to be aloof, look away abruptly, or avoid my vicinity in any possible way. On the other side of the street, hiding in aisles, wearing a jacket, hiding behind backs. She thinks I couldn’t see her but my mind has been trained to look for pink. I can’t help it anymore.

I had wanted to say hi or call her to break the awkward streak but I didn’t want to startle her. I thought that I’d call January 2nd. That sounded too nosey. Okay, then I’ll call January 5th. No..not today..10? 15? 25..?

I began to get stupidly anxious as well.

But I’ve thought about the kiss. I’ve thought about her suddenly getting so forward. She sat on my lap then wrapped her arms around me. She kissed me still. She looked so gorgeous and raw and plush. So endearingly imperfect. I was never bothered by it, just surprised even though I reciprocated the feeling. Then I felt like kissing her too. I pathetically brushed up against my pillow to kiss it, pretending she was there. Then I was reading through my gay comics to look at dykes like myself kiss. Then I heard more romantic music outside, and everything was punctuated in hearts. It was getting bothering. Repetitive. Mushy.

The lamb was calling for the trap when it had dashed out of it.

I was dreaming of her too. She’s been a part of them, sure, but we hadn’t done anything so forward in them. In the dark theatre on a weekday. No families to see us. Some worthless film reeling. We weren’t in my favorite seat. But Julianne told me the church was nearby so we had to keep it far, far away.

This was the furthest we got and I let her sit on my lap again. We were already getting weary of the distance so I broke the tension and led her lips on mine. I pressed deeper and harder causing her to let out a small moan. I broke away for a moment to look back at her, then continued. It felt exactly as hungry as the first time it happened, and nobody was watching what we were doing. Nobody knew it extended this far when all they understood was friendship or sistership. I whispered to her she should lie if anyone asked what we were doing. She bashfully nodded. The theatre continued to blur and burn and I woke up looking at the ceiling. 

I went to sleep again holding my pillow, pretending again.

.

.

.

This morning I came to Bubbles at Tina’s to get my laundry done. The warm, sterile environment smogged with the smell of detergent and conditioner pulled my mind away from her memory at least for a little bit. The radio is not playing love songs again, thankfully. The five or six people I arrived with all left within 30 minutes, sticking to the timeframe of the rush hour discount they only offered on Mondays from 8 am to 10 am. I still have time.

I was rushing through my collared shirts when a bump was peeking through my grey ones. Falling out of them were five pebble-like shells with the spiral pattern. My mind rang and remembered I had tucked more shells from the egret in my pants. I spent five minutes digging through each pocket to find just another shell with a spiral pattern inside one of them at the bottom of my basket.

Needless to say with the wasted time, I ended up paying full price for laundry that day. She still found ways to worm into my life.

The bell on the door to Tina’s on my last basket fetch to my truck. Talking to the otter helper was a cat in a flowy blue shirt and jeans. She told her she had another bag just outside as she struggled to carry what she just brought in. I picked her second bag up for her and quietly entered, setting it down next to the first. Julianne turned around and her expression immediately tensed. She still profusely blushed, then covered her face.

“Thank you.” She whispered awkwardly.

“No problem, Julianne.” I don’t know why my voice was so stiff. “...I’ll..see you around.”

That came off colder than I expected.

When I came home, I spent minutes looking back at the shells. They were imploring me to just do it. Go on and talk to her. I couldn’t yet. I have laundry to finish packing up tonight. But each warm fabric on my hand was reminiscent of her body. It sounded like her fascinations. It smelled poisonous and territorial. I was surrounded and I couldn’t finish my chore, sitting on the edge of the bed for hours.

The shirt on my hand grew cold. I threw it aside my other unfolded clothes. My hands picked up the shells and pocketed them. Then my body propelled to my keys and into the truck, driving by itself to the red building at the edge of town. Visiting hours was about to close in on me but I entered wordlessly to the top of the complex, banging my forehead into her door. Then my consciousness returned.

Fuck, that was loud.

“Hello?” I heard her ask from behind her door. She slowly opened it and jumped when she saw me.

“S-sam?” She answered the door with a plushie on her hand. She rubbed her eyes and finally looked up at me without hiding in public.

“Hi Julianne. Good evening.”

“It’s so late..they let you in..uhm..do- is..is there anything you need?” The shyness creeps back in. I hold her hands to avoid intuition.

“I need to show you something right now..” I said “Please come with me.”

“Sam, it’s 10 pm, I’m not sure where we’re going..” 

“I can’t show it to you if you don’t come with me tonight. I promise we’ll be quick.”

She blindly left the plush toy behind and locked the door. Dressed in a soft pink nightgown, she held my hand and followed me outside where the cold wind shocked our fur. Julianne remained quiet the entire drive somewhere. I was relying on my memory to find the same spot I wandered into nights ago. I couldn’t tell which tree marked the entry. But the grass was taller outside the town boundaries and the fireflies began emerging from the ground when the truck roared by. I could see her pupils dilate at how many were coming up. Maybe she knew what I was up to tonight, maybe she was just at awe (maybe of how rare they are from where she’s from). I like to think I do things right at least out here in the wild.

Eventually we walked minutes past the welcome sign when my gut told me I went this way. She tightened her grip on my arm passing through the dark corners of trees and branches until we came to the circular clearing, the trees surrounding us to form like the full moon. Julianne took a leap ahead of me to catch a firefly in her hands. She dove and cupped her hands over one, laying in the grass to let it go and see it rise. She tried this hunting method for a bit until she rolled back to look up to the stars. It was cloudy. There was nothing to see, sadly. The lightning bugs made up the sight though- creating temporary and fleeting constellations. I laid back next to her waiting for something to say to start the ritual.

Julianne turns to me with the same bashfulness. She fidgets with her fingers.

“Julianne,” I began, “Why have you been avoiding me?”

She plucked the blades of grass on her side. I saw her relaxed smile wear into a cautious frown.

“I made it so weird. Kissing you suddenly last month.”

“Weird? You’re still my friend, Julianne. I’ve long forgiven you for it. Why are you still so bothered by it..?”

We sat in silence listening to the beetles and crickets sing. I brushed a hand over her hair, brushing and scratching behind her head and ears to bring an instinctive reaction out. She attempted to contain her purring.

“Don’t bully answers out of me, I’m being too obvious..”

“You’re always so obvious..”

She shuts her eyes, feeling her tail curl from behind her and drop on her soft tummy. I felt the shells on my pocket rattle, bringing one out to compare to the poor kitten.

“Shaped like a spiral…you remember? You told me we can only draw so many spirals until they appear everywhere. I see one riiiiight here…” I teased, “You have an interesting pattern.”

“Pattern?”

Julianne sits herself up. The glow of the moon shone past the passing thin clouds. The sky began to clear up again, brightening our dim hideaway. Her half lidded eyes struggled to stay open.

“You know, when I was travelling after college, I’d go from town to town picking up girlfriends who, admittedly, I had a transactional relationship with. I’m not bragging about it or anything- but I was alone and I had little money and getting with them was how I was able to live for a few years in Europe. And in the middle of these encounters, I began to wonder: ‘Huh, why am I sensing a pattern here?’. I wasn’t wrong though: all the ladies I’ve been daing have been cats! Then when I got back home, I stopped dating around for a bit since I had the store to take care of but I couldn’t help but think that it still followed me home even 27 years later.”

I could see her pupils dilate from down here. Her poor mind was beginning to freeze.

“You catch on to that?”

“Do..you like me?”

I furrowed my brows in annoyance. It would be kind of obvious that that’d mean I was similarly attracted to her, right? All of that effort becoming desolate and yet my chest was too heavy to correct her.

Is she letting me go?

“Of course I do. I am your friend.”

“Like..a friend-friend or do you see me as a casual..or..do you..?” 

Julianne knew the answer.

Go say it.

Just say it.

“Well what about you? Do you feel the same too?”

Yes I do. I opened my mouth to speak but I could only exhale. The signals in my mind were beginning to slur again.

“Cause I don’t wanna say..anything..if it’s just casual or platonic..to put a bigger gap between us..” Julianne choked. I slid my fingers between the gaps of her hands then squeezed it.

“What do you have to say?” I already knew what she was thinking. The lamb was creeping closer and closer..

She scraped her knees against the grass as she crawled and laid on top of me, as careful as ever. Her body was shaking.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I love you.” She said to me as fireflies landed on her white fur, “I love you a lot.”

“What?” The pressure in my chest released. I felt light-headed and warm just hearing those sweet words. Is this what it’s really like?

A fever that sweeps by..

Julianne just laughs and rolls off of me realizing what she just said. The same words were at the tip of my tongue. I came over to her side and rolled her back to face me. Her poor face was wet with tears. She was sobbing, giggling, and blushing clearly embarrassed with herself.

“I heard you, you know?” I leaned down closer to her as my voice softened.

“No..no..you’re joking..”

I just smiled.

“Well, say it again so I can hear it better..”

The kudzu that invaded many of our gardens padded her back as the night froze still. There was nothing to hear but cicadas and our breaths. I knew I heard it correctly. I just had to make sure. This should sweeten the deal. 

“I love you.” She said a lot more confidently. My heart burst with a warm feeling. Another lamb walked right into the trap. 

My hands reached up wipe her tears. They trailed to her own hands to hold them against the grass. I carefully pressed my chest against hers. Her face reddened, confused as to what I was doing.

“Close your eyes..” 

Cupping her cheeks I brought her lips closer to mine and laid gently but despairingly. It felt so desperate, perhaps lasting hours and hours. Her hand reached up to hold the small of my back inviting me closer. I could feel it. Every vein. Every cell. Every drop working overtime to contain itself. 

She let go of my lips moments later giggling uncontrollably. I just looked at her in amusement. Her excited little flaps made her look like a circus seal. I’m endeared to such stupid things, unfortunately.

“You too!?” She smiled, “You too!”

“Yes, me too. I love you too.” It slipped out of me accidentally.

She leaped up to hug me and hung her arms on my neck playfully like a scarf. I caught her and held her up like a plush. 

“Ahh yes…I was worried you would tell people I did that to you.”

“You did tell Melody about me though, did you?” 

Her smile froze before she stiffly nodded.

“Just a little…I needed some advice from my sister. I guess this means we’re girlfriends now?”

“Yeah.” I said, “Then we can pretend that that was our first kiss if it’ll make you feel better, Julianne..is it okay if I come to your apartment again?”

“You can sleep over tonight!..uh..shit, wait.” She murmured realizing that she came with nothing but herself.

“Forgot your keys?”

“Yeah. I have a spare with Ms. Humphrey but it’s like..12 am now- I’m not waking up my landlady.”

“That’s fine. We can just sleep at the back of my truck tonight. Let’s drive it to the back of the store or..somewhere still out here so you can still see the fireflies.”

Julianne was still distracted though. She cups her hands to catch a nearby firefly and peeks into the tiny gaps of her paws to see it upclose before releasing it. For a second it was like there were stars in her eyes. She does look better with warm light. Like the pinks of a sunset.

“You heard me, right?”

“Ah, yeah, we could but could it fit us both?”

I nodded, wrapping an arm around her again as we made our way back to the road.

“It’ll be comfortable enough.”

.

.

.

"Does it feel good?"

"It..feels alright.." Julianne sounded like she was lying. She adjusted herself for the third time, arranging again the duffle bag pillow behind her head. I chuckled and pulled her close to me, embracing her head and waist. 

"Naw, don't lie. It wasn't alright. Now is this alright?"

"E-even better.." She stuttered.

I kissed her forehead before ruffling her fur. She began to purr with delight.

"You're just too easy and sweet to turn down. I'm sorry you had to wait this long."

In return, she planted her face tight into my chest and continued purring.

"I waited..so long to have this with you..I even fantasized about it, honestly..."

"No need to be ashamed about it now." I whispered. "Besides, here nobody can see us except you and me. Far away from churches or homes...with the wind and the stars...Nature can feel us..."

Indeed, nature could hear us too. Like everything it deems worthy, I called it a pattern finally finishing at the apex. The eye of a spiral. The end. 

Perfect.

[annoyinglovetyrant]

Authors note:

Mon=months

Scon=Day

Alien!OC x reader

Earth, a treacherous planet, once beautiful but striped and harvested of every resource, now nothing more than a barren, lifeless rock. That’s where I’m told you’re from now; It’s fitting, from what I remember as a youngling, Earth is a prison, a place where souls go to learn and grow, stuck there until they’re able to understand. To coexist with other living beings.

It seems the humans got too greedy, killing themselves and their planet. Not you, though. You’re the last. Did the universe align for us to meet again on purpose? Is it some sick cosmic joke I have to see you after all this time? Your face haunts me, yet you haven’t seen mine. A part of me wants to show you, to show you what you’ve done to me, for you to see the actions of your past self. I want you to agonize over me as I did you. Another part wants to shield you from it, to hide away from you so you don’t see the irreparable damage you caused.

I walk through the flower and vine covered walls that make up the halls of the palace, my eyes and senses are alert, searching for any sign of you. I feel as though I’m a prisoner here, trapped in here with you. My mind is no better, I think of you constantly, I see you even when you’re not here. Your laugh rings through the halls, invariably talking to the King, it’s a haunting sound to me. You never laughed like that when it was you and I. Did you need to live a life without me to find peace? I can’t seem to find any of my own. With or without you, I suffer

The halls are quiet, aside from you and your father speaking. He may not be related to you by blood anymore, but he is your family, always. I haven’t heard so much life in him since you took yours. I know I shouldn’t be listening, it is not my place, but the way you speak, it appears to carefree, so alive. You speak of beauty: the intricate valleys of greens, purples, and blues that make up our trees and plants, how our waters sparkle almost blindingly, and the sky. The details in which you describe the sky, it feels as though I’d never seen it before. An immense beauty of swirling colors you’ve never before seen, how the stars twinkle pink and blue, other planets resting wonderfully with Quint, what you call our moon. I think I like moon better, it sounds softer, kind of like you are, now.

You’ve been here several mons now. A short duration, only a couple cycles around Quint. It’s been long enough, however. Long enough for me to remember, remember the centuries we spent together, the complete and utter devotion I had for you. What am I to do now that you are no longer cruel? I have nothing to hold onto anymore. Every scon that passes, I forgive you more and more.

I worry Im beginning to feel for you again, even more so now that your soul is free of its anger and torment. I incessantly long for a form of me that has never met you, this version or the other.

[vacantgodling]

CURRENT BETWIXT THUMB AND FOREFINGER (AKA 19TH CENTURY TWILIGHT ADAPTATION THAT CRASHED INTO GOTH LIT SOMEWHERE) RESEARCH AND PLANNING and generally my chaotic thought process lmao.

sponsored by: @sarahlizziewrites & @ink-flavored

tl;dr: all of this is still subject to change bc i'm still planning a lot of this stuff out. however, i want to post what i have so far bc how i plan things is kinda intriguing to me and i wanna talk about something but bc i'm not Writing Prose atm this is all i got.

transposed under the cut but i wanted to showcase what the actual doc looks like :p

WIP NAME ⟶ BETWIXT THUMB AND FOREFINGER

(the hell) betwit thumb and forefinger — the time between solstice and equinox

with the secondary title that almost implies that the story is taking place over a short time period between solstice and equinox — which is a 90 day period, so about 3 months?

idk if i have to keep that in the title, but perhaps the title is a reference to how short a time this is in the grand scheme of things, especially in the life of an immortal creature, but for biscella this is a lifetime. going through every stage of grief and sommemore shit. so i think i’ll call it betwixt thumb and forefinger (BTAF)

some kind of celestial name (twilight/new moon/eclipse/breaking dawn) ⟶ something in this realm to tie back to twilight’s inspo’s somehow but idk if i wanna give that bitch the luxury

dark adaptation — the eyes’s transition to night vision

equinox / solstice

retrograde 

betwixt retrograde and amnesia LMAO

betwixt equinox and solstice

i need to decide what year i want this story to take place in cuz that’s gonna hinge everything.

History of the Netherlands - Wikipedia

peninsular war was 1807-1814. sjaak did not see the end of this conflict as he was turned into a werewolf by a fellow soldier “gust” (why, idk yet).

joined the french army (netherlands and french were allies during this time the batavain-french alliance™) and fought in the battle of zaragoza (1808) ; was injured and near death when he was found by gust a gravewalker. there’s been a rumor going around during the battle that people have seen corpses up and walk away from the battle and their wounds and its because gust (and others) have been turning them into werewolves for some greater purpose. — sjaak becomes one of these when he leaves.

if i assume that for all intents and purposes sjaak is 18 when he finally leaves the netherlands and joins the spanish FRENCH army, then maybe he’s 20 when he’s turned into a werewolf. so… 20 during 1808.

born: 1788 in the netherlands — black mother who was a slave but then brought to the netherlands and subsequently freed. father was the master of the home she worked at.

biscella is younger than sjaak and i want her to be a naive 18 during 1808—perhaps this happens during 1808? but then we would have the war to contend with going on unless it was removed from the battlefield somewhat.

the “cullens” are located in castillo-nuevo in what is now navarre spain and have cleared it out to build a castle there. that lonely castle in the middle of the wilderness is where biscella lies. the crypt is hidden among the mountainous landscape, and even though biscella was there during the funeral, another aspect of everything is eduard appearing to her in dreams/visions/as an apparition keeps her from knowing his location fully by scrambling her mind.

i want sjaak to kill that baby

“you have the face of the woman i love. but the blood of the man i hate flows thorugh you” or something. kills the damn baby and makes biscella’s death worthless in some ways

“she would’ve wanted you to live. she would’ve wanted me to show you the ways of the world and the sun in the trees and the apples that hang low from branches. but i am a monster filled with utter darkness and hate. i will kill what she cherished, and hope that in your death, her memory will haunt me.” or something.

NAMING STRUGGLES ⟶ Spanish naming customs - Wikipedia / Category:Catalan-language surnames - Wikipedia / Names Categorized "Twilight characters" - Behind the Name

possible names for bella (romani, coming from germany into netherlands after being expelled from the country or whatever)

biscella 

mirella ⟶ variant of amaryllis (meaning to sparkle)

sibella ⟶ prophetess (variant of the name sybil)

tsarla ⟶ evening

gisela ⟶ hostage/pledge

biscella schwann

tsarla schwann

gisela schwann

sibella schwann

karl schwann + tsarla schwann >> biscella schwann >> 

surnames for eduard & the cullens™ ⟶ casavantes (the name taken from the patriarch of the family; comas is the 

CHARACTERS

biscella schwann de casavantes (bella) ⟶ follows the standards of the region + is not spanish so she just goes with the flow

karl schwann (charlie father, dead)

tsarla schwann (mother, dead)

sjaak de witte (dutch) (jacob)

luis jofre casavantes basurto (carlisle) ⟶ created via union but killed his parents so he could defect to a “vegetarian” lifestyle (aka hibernation). he forbids the usage of venom to create more of their coven, forbidding the femme vampires from autonomous reproduction essentially.

maritxell comas miranda (esme) ⟶ wife and half-sister of luis; created via union and assisted luis in killing their parents so that they could start their own coven. completely loyal to him and was defanged in an act of loyalty (aka; she can no longer make other vampires stronger as luis removed her fangs, this also keeps her from drinking blood AND solely dependent on him for protection)

i want maritxell to actually have a more prominent role than just like. a sad woe is me matriarch. i want her to be like those women who uphold the patriarchy by being misogynistic towards other women. women like her own daughters (rosita and azelie) need to know their place, and because biscella is romani, she views her as subhuman (and also just as a breeder for eduard’s seed).

i don’t want her to be like romilda in vdtrt who’s more battered wife syndrome. i think maritxell and luis are very very complicit in one another’s bullshit.

rosita casavantes i comas (rosalie) ⟶ first child of the union between luis and maritxell, defanged at birth, rosita desperately wishes to be with child (need to figure out why). she is intensely jealous of biscella despite knowing the woman will die, and torments her now that eduard has been buried in the crypt.

eduard casavantes i comas (edward) ⟶ uses ‘i’ instead of ‘y’ or ‘de’ because he’s specifically from catalina ; created via union of luis and maritxell, and despite being the middle child, is the strongest of the vampire children.

azelie picard (alice) ⟶ luis impregnated a french woman who azelie assumed the name of once she was born. she was the one who met biscella first and despite everything is protective of her. she did not approve of eduard impregnating her (lesbian undertones and may defect and help sjaak, we’ll see). does not want to be defanged.

silvano di luise (jasper) ⟶ youngest child of the coven and born of an italian woman, his surname means ‘son of luis’ (as he is). he is very conflicted on the matter of whether or not they should stay ‘vegetarian’ if they’re still going to kill human (women) anyway by impregnating them with their spawn and thinks that human men should receive the same treatment by being killed for food or made as spawns as well. its caused infighting amongst the coven.

the other question is if i should add other characters. bc i included all the twilight vampires that are Actually Interesting (sorry emmett you’re fucking boring to me) and i’m also only including the werewolves that are interesting to me… which is mostly ig sam, leah, and whats her name. 

WORLDBUILDING AND SHIT

HOW VAMPIRES WORK (biologically)

vampires are made only through human hosts; vampires with penises can impregnate women and the pregnancy will last for 2 years until the woman is fully drained of all her blood and innards, then perish, with the baby bursting out of the womb

vampires without can impregnate men or women via their venom and it will take the form of a parasite forming in their stomach. these vampires tend to be more deadly, though because of the times it is rare to have these kinds of non-producing ‘coven’ leaders. they will do so if their mate is killed, but usually they use their venom to strengthen the other vampires in their coven.

vampires that are created via the union of two vampires in coitus will have a normal “human like” pregnancy, and tend to be the most powerful of all) (ie: eduard)

unlike werewolves vampires cannot be “turned” they can only be born.

HOW WEREWOLVES WORK (turned)

werewolves are the natural enemies to vampires as they were specifically engineered hundreds of years ago to be on par with the nightwalkers’s (vampires) habits.

they cannot be born biologically; once you are turned a werewolf you are infertile.

werewolves are created via consumption of the compound moonstone, which, as its name suggests, is what people of this time assume to be rocks from the actual moon.

whether it is or isn’t is debatable. its not Really important. you eat it and you are now lycanthrope congrats

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

Summary: Gabriela Cruz invests in a Victorian mansion in the middle of America where the rule of Buyer Beware is absolute. When her twin sister goes missing, a couple of federal agents show up. Lucky for Gabi, Dean and Sam Winchester are on the case.

Characters: Gabriela Cruz, Camila Cruz, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Ed Zeddmore, Harry Spangler

Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, language, mentions death of family members, cursed object, mentions of blood + gore, sarcasm, twin dynamics, explicit sex

Words: 4,600

Author's notes: thank you, @brrose-apothecary and @stusbunker as always for the pre-reads and support!

CAVEAT EMPTOR

I consider myself a strong, independent woman. I pay my own bills, put a little money away in savings every month, and I just recently took out a loan all by myself to buy an old Victorian mansion cum bed and breakfast in my hometown.

Which brings me to my first point — that most of the time, I think I’m rad as fuck. Then, once in a blue moon (literally, in this case), some guy finds his way into my life, and I personally end up winding back the advancement of women by a century for good dick.

It’s humiliating.

How, you ask? Well, let me tell you...

“When you said Victorian bed and breakfast, I thought it’d be all lace doilies and ornately carved wood. This place is sick!” 

Camila, my little sister by 15 minutes, had driven down from Minneapolis to help me move into my new home. We hadn’t seen much of each other in the past year because she was living with a man who considered our twin bond to be “unhealthy” (read: he’s a pissbaby.)

What he couldn’t wrap his tiny brain around was that Cami and I were not only twins, but we’d spent the entirety of our adult lives with only each other to call home. Our older brother was killed by a drunk driver, our mom by breast cancer, and our dad by colon cancer, all before we were old enough to vote.

Anyway, Camila told him he could stay in his glass box of a top-floor condo in the city while she popped down “just for the weekend” to help me unpack. Little did he know, she’d brought with her an obscenely priced bottle of pink Taittinger Comtes de Champagne 1973 from his wine cellar. 

“Camila Beatriz!” I cackled as I popped the cork.

She was living with a guy so worried about our “connection” that he never bothered to ask about her predilection to permanently borrow (her phrase, not mine) things from the men she dated.

“He’ll never miss it. Just pour.”

We sipped, kind of unpacked, nibbled on a fruit and cheese platter, and generally basked in each other’s presence. As we squeezed the last drops of pink bubbly from the bottle and the sun dipped below the horizon, I felt a chill. I assumed it was exhaustion, nerves, stress — whatever. 

“I’m tired, sissy,” Cami confessed. “Show me to my room, would ya?”

I did, giving her a long squeeze. “Thanks for coming, sissy,” I whispered in her ear. “Sleep sweet.”

I gave her a kiss on the cheek, and she kissed mine before I headed to my room to take a warm shower. Even though the chill never quite left me throughout slathering myself in lotion and wrapping up in my warmest pajamas, it didn’t occur to me that anything was off off.

Then, at midnight, when the third full moon of the season was at its fullest, I was awakened by a blood-curdling sound that seemed to hang in the air for hours after it was released.

“Camila!”

I bolted from the warmth of my bed, flung my heavy door open, and sprinted down the hall to where my sister was supposed to be sleeping. What I found inside that room can never be erased from the darkest corners of my mind.

There was blood everywhere — on the floor, the walls, the ceiling. The room was frigid and vibrating. I felt a presence that turned me inside out, and I started to sweat and heave, regardless of the temperature of the room.

“Cami!” I called out to her, receiving no reply. “Sister!”

I rushed further into the space as whatever it was that I felt began to recede.

“Camila! Where are you?”

I searched and cried, but my sister was nowhere to be found.

The police arrived within minutes, and neighbors hovered on the edge of the property, haphazardly bundled in robes and coats like vultures at the site of carnage. There were hushed whispers of a ghost, a ghoul, or dark spirits.

An ambulance came.

Once the police had questioned me, I was examined by the EMTs and given a sedative. I was told I was in shock. Someone asked if I had any relatives or friends in the area who could stay with me. 

I shook my head. “Cami’s my only family.”

The sedative dumbed me down more than anything. I wasn’t able to sleep or relax. Before dawn, two FBI agents appeared on the scene. The local police were reluctant to let them speak with me, but they somehow persevered.

“Ms. Cruz?”

I looked up to find a string bean of a dude with puppy-dog eyes and a tentative, soothing voice. He introduced himself as Agent Gass and his partner as Agent Black. He asked how much time I’d spent in the house.

“Not even a day.”

Both men nodded. 

I suppose it should have tipped me off that they were not run-of-the-mill federales since they didn’t seem at all surprised by my answer or the situation the way local law enforcement did.

“You just bought the place, right?” asked the other agent.

Until he spoke, I hadn’t realized how tightly wound I was with fear and grief. The quality of his voice had a visceral effect on my senses, like a deep tissue massage or an epic fucking orgasm. 

This man’s voice, you guys...

I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision, then found that the face belonging to that voice was so beautiful I could no longer hold the tension in my body, and the tears began to flow.

(I know this sounds very dramatic, but I promise we won’t be spending much more time on the grim details. Also, don’t worry; Cami’s fine. I mean, she’s fucking traumatized, but it wasn’t her blood decorating the walls, is what I’m saying.)

The agents quickly bookended me. Agent Gass tugged a paper towel from the roll I’d left sitting on a side table the night before and handed it to me, muttering something about my nose and tears before Agent Black started talking again. 

“There’ve been reports of strange occurrences in this house for decades, but nothing violent.” He was so close that I could feel the rumble of each syllable like the hum of a lullaby or a stealth percussionist in the wild. “Have you witnessed anything out of the ordinary in the last 12 hours?”

I sniffled. “Besides all the fucking terrifying shit I’ve already told the cops?”

Agent Gass cleared his throat beside me. “We’re sorry, but we need to record our own findings. Do you mind telling us what happened?”

I rolled my eyes and blew my nose. “Fine,” I sighed, tossing the wadded-up snot rag into a nearby trash bag.

“It started when the sun set…” 

I recapped the evening’s events, groggily noticing once again that neither agent seemed nearly as taken aback as the local police.

“‘Blood-curdling sound’ — like a scream?” Agent Black’s question pinged in my brain while other parts of me continued to react to the sound of it. 

“I don’t know why I keep using that phrase... it wasn’t a scream, but... it woke me up, and I immediately knew something was wrong. I was chilled to the bone.”

Agent Black nodded. “You said you were cold before, so you took a shower. Was it the same kinda chill you felt when the sound woke you up?”

I shook my head, squinting to try and remember. “No... I- there’s cold chill and scared chill — I felt both at different times. I... I don’t know how else to describe it.”

Agent Black nodded, peeking over my head to his partner, and they exchanged a silent agreement.

I cannot stress enough how aggravated I am that I felt attraction at that moment. My twin sister was missing, and yet I couldn’t stop staring at his stupid mouth. At the time, I didn’t rationalize it at all, probably because of the drugs the EMTs gave me, but suffice it to say that Dean Winchester is a sorcerer. 

He pushed up from beside me, smoothing his tie and buttoning his suit jacket. “Thank you, Ms. Cruz. Try to get some sleep.” He made a subtle gesture to his partner, spurring him into action, then turned to survey the room with a narrowed gaze.

Agent Gass handed me a card. “Please give us a call if you think of anything else. We’ll be in touch.”

Well into the next day, my new home was under constant guard, filled by local law enforcement and various consultants. I didn’t see Agents Gass and Black again until two weird little guys with video equipment showed up. 

I walked out onto my side porch from the kitchen, wiping my hands on a dish towel, wondering what kind of new crew was on the case. By the time I made my way outside, Agent Black was there, hovering over the bearded guy with glasses.

“...I will shoot you, and you know I’m not fucking kidding,” he growled.

“Agent?” I asked, amused beyond reason at his violent threat and casually draping my dish towel over my shoulder. 

At this point, I’d been able to get some sleep and put a bit of time and space between my cognitive processes and the happenings surrounding Cami’s disappearance. So when that cocky little (there’s nothing little about Dean Winchester, OK, I’m being facetious) shit stretched those long, strong legs and climbed up onto my porch, I was fully aware and accepting of just how incredibly attracted to him I was.

He turned, his posture neutralizing and his eyes softening.

“Ms. Cruz. Yeah, hi...” He strode toward the porch. “Thought I’d stop by, see how you’re doin’.”

“Gabi, Agent.”

He grinned wide as he took the last step to stand in front of me, sliding his hands into his pockets and rocking to his heels and back. 

Such a little shit.

“Gabi… right.” He smirked, then glared over his shoulder at the newcomers. “These two botherin’ you?”

I peeked around him and shook my head before pulling back and looking him in the eye. “This’s the first I’ve seen of them. Coffee, Agent?”

He smirked. “Call me Dean.”

In hindsight, inviting him in for coffee was probably my first mistake. I could’ve offered coffee to him and those two boneheads from Wisconsin outside, but, as previously mentioned, I was busy derailing feminism. 

“How do you take it, Dean?” I asked, swiping one of the clean coffee mugs from an array of disorganized kitchenware yet to be shelved from the move. 

As I took the last two steps to my second-hand Nespresso machine, Dean remained silent, so I glanced over my shoulder before reaching for a coffee pod. He shook his head and blinked up from where he seemed to be mesmerized by something in the neighborhood of my hips.

“Black,” he answered with a lush, lopsided smile.

I nodded, then turned to focus on my task. “What brings you back this way? Is there something new with my case?”

“Uhh, yeah, actually — Agent Gass found some interesting things about the layout of this property on the county assessor’s website. D’you know this was a safe house in the Underground Railroad?”

“Yeah.” I turned and handed the agent his coffee. “That’s one of the reasons I bought it and one of the attractions of the bed and breakfast.” 

He thanked me for the cup, eyeing me closely. “So you’re aware of the secret passages in the home? In the room where your sister was sleeping the night she disappeared?”

I shook my head. “What? No. There’s no passageway in my sister’s room, only in the basement and the outbuildings.”

Dean shook his head, holding my gaze. “There’s a full network of passageways in the exterior walls of this house, Gabi,” he continued slowly and pointedly. “Your sister could be trapped. We’d like to take a look at the room again.”

(The next night, over a post-orgasmic cigarette, Dean told me all about another structure he and his brother had cleaned out and sealed off. Someone had erected an apartment building on the execution site of America’s first serial killer. Because Dean Winchester, in addition to being exasperatingly sexy and good with his hands, is a ghost and monster hunter with his brother not-Agent Gass, they come across this kind of thing all the time, I now understand.)

Five minutes after agreeing to let them explore the alleged secret passageways, Agents Black and Gass were sans jackets, rolling up their sleeves, and peering into the mouth of the Rosebud Suite’s small closet. 

“So...” I paused, absorbing the confirmation that all the things I feared went bump in the night and more are real. “What do you think you’re gonna find in there? A ghost? Vampires? My twin sister’s disembodied head?”

For the first time since meeting them, the agents looked at me in alarm. 

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Dean said, crossing the room to clasp a big, warm hand around my wrist and squeeze. “You’re twins?”

I nodded.

“Then if that twin stuff everybody talks about is real, you know she’s gonna be fine.” He smiled down at me with kindness. “All we know is that she’s missing, and we know the blood in the room is animal blood.”

Dean was right; I knew in my heart that Gabi would be fine, but as relieved as I should have been, I was suddenly much more disturbed on an entirely different level.

“Animal blood? No one told me this was animal blood. What the fuck is going on?!”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Agent Gass appeared at Agent Black’s side, and they exchanged looks before Agent Black continued.

“I dunno why the police didn’t tell you about the animal blood. Maybe they didn’t want to alarm you-”

“Alarm me? I’ve been walking around here worried Camila’s guts were all over one of my guest room walls. I’ve taken sooo much Xanax since Friday night. Is there anything else alarming I should know about?”

They looked at each other again for a beat before Dean shrugged.

“Those two little weirdos outside?” 

“Yeah?”

“They picked up readings that indicate the presence of a cursed object as well as confirmation of human life other than those of us in plain sight.”

I sighed, dropping my eyes to where Dean helpfully caressed my wrist.

“I feel like I’m in catechism... what’s a cursed object?”

I didn’t pull away because, like I said, his caress was very helpful.

“Just like it sounds. Somethin’, usually old, that’s been loaded up with black magic. If we can find it, we can cancel out the magic-”

“Black magic?! Who the fuck- wait, old?” 

Dean nodded, and sadly, he released my wrist.

“Oh, my god, the wine!”

The agents perked up at that and exchanged more silent looks.

“Gabi... where’s the bottle?”

When I say that I am unreasonably attracted to Dean Winchester, this is what I mean: watching him and the clean-shaven Ghostfacer pepper and ash an empty champagne bottle in a graveyard after telling me said bottle was “cursed” should have made me worry about their and my eternal soul like any other good Catholic girl, but no — I still took him to bed. 

Once we found Cami, of course.

“Cayenne pepper. Interesting.”

Dean unwedged the shotgun from propping his trunk of many wonders open before dropping it shut. “Not just for cookin’.” 

He shifted and swayed and sighed as he slid his hands into his pockets and fixed his crinkly, sparkling gaze on me with a lick of his smug smirk.

“Sam?” I asked about his gigantic younger brother, who was back at the house with the other Ghostfacer, rescuing my sister. “Does he have Camila?”

Dean’s face lit up, and his eyebrows popped. “Oh, yeah. She’s good. She’s talkin’ to the police.”

I sighed. “I’d like to go home now.”

I must’ve looked like a frightened and exhausted child at that moment because Dean’s entire demeanor softened as he reached out to pull me in for a hug. His clothes and skin felt and smelled warm, and I started to cry into his white button-up. 

“It’s a lot to take in, I know, but I gotcha, sweetheart,” he murmured, holding me close. “You’re fine, and so’s Camila.”

This. Man.

This gorgeous, brave, smells-like-you-expect/hope/pray- for-Axe-body-wash-to-smell (but it doesn’t) man, holding me like a fragile doll and calling me sweetheart is the only man I have allowed to witness a sliver of vulnerability since my dad died. So you can imagine the abject horror I felt at the increasing flip-flop from my guts and the heat pulsing even lower. 

I’ve experienced attraction, okay? I’ve had romantic and sexual partners, I self-lubricate at appropriate times. I orgasm.

But the way Dean Winchester made me feel was so alarming that I have since added that feeling to the stack of alarming things happening after Camila and I opened that bottle of wine.

He loosened his embrace but didn’t pull away completely, looking down at me with curiosity in his tender gaze. “Let’s go.”

Dean ushered me to the front passenger door, opened it, and helped me inside. We were quiet as Dean drove back to my bed and breakfast. The silence allowed my thoughts to dance until he pulled into the alley behind my house.

“They’re just wrapping up with the cops,” Harry said, sliding forward with his phone in hand.

The lights were on inside. Sam was standing in the middle of the kitchen, behind Cami, with one hand on the back of her chair. She was wrapped in a blanket, nodding her head at the men on the other side of the table, and Ed was in the corner, pocketing his phone.

It was all so clear, and I couldn’t wait to get out of the car and inside to hug my sister. 

“Whoa, gotta put the car in park, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled, doing just that.

I guess I really couldn’t wait.

And then I was sprinting to the back door.

Like I said before, Cami is fine. She’s shook, but alive and breathing and not bleeding. I’ve never felt so sick and relieved at the same time or cried so hard. That experience didn’t only bag me the sexiest, warmest, most loving man alive, but it also further strengthened Cami and my priorities for each other. 

Dean kicked the cops out, and Sam made coffee for everyone (which Dean spiked). At some point, the little Ghostfacer dudes squirreled away into guest rooms for the night, Sam and Dean lost their ties, and Cami fell asleep draped across my lap where we were huddled in the front parlor.

“Sammy’ll put her to bed,” Dean whispered, gently tugging me to my feet as Sam indeed lifted Camila in a bridal carry. “Which room you want her in?”

“The one adjoining mine, east wing at the end of the hall.”

Sam nodded, and Cami mumbled, burrowing into his massive chest. He turned and swept toward and up the stairs into the quiet darkness.

“Is it really over?” I asked the house itself as much as Dean. Thankfully, only Dean answered.

“Yeah, it’s over.”

I turned to face him, heaving a sigh. He watched me with that same inquisitive expression as the one from the graveyard, this time with his hands in pockets, sock-footed, sleeves neatly cuffed to his elbows, crisp white collar open at his throat — and he looked like he belonged there in the center of my parlor.

“Agent Black-”

“Yeah... about that...” He dropped his eyes for a beat before looking me in the eye with a renewed spark. “We’re not really federal agents.”

You might think that another surprise would send a person careening into catatonia, but not me. No. No, no, I laughed. I started laughing because it was fucking absurd — the whole thing was berserk, right? 

Cursed objects? Cayenne pepper as some kind of supernatural DEET? This remarkably handsome man existing? I was being Punk’d, right? Is that show still running? What is Ashton Kutcher doing these days anyway?

The answer to me being Punk’d is no. You might want to Google Ashton Kutcher because I still don’t know what he’s doing these days. 

Do I sometimes still stop feeding my chickens to look up at the clear blue sky and pinch myself in case this is all a dream?

The answer to that is yes.

“My name’s Dean Winchester. Sam’s my brother. We've been hunting ghosts and demons and-”

“Demons?!”

The good Catholic girl inside me stammered over that, and Dean nodded slowly, blinking even more slowly as he took a step and reached for me.

“I’ll tell ya everything,” he said with a tired smile and an easy clasp of my hand. “D’you mind if we get a few hours’ sleep first?”

I didn’t mind.

I led him upstairs. We peeked in on Cami, where Sam was watching over her, stretched out on the chaise in that room. They were both fast asleep. 

Dean followed me to my room, and I didn’t think twice about stripping myself bare as I made my way to my ensuite. Before I could conjure any pesky stranger-danger excuses, his hands were on me under the hot spray of water.

The next day, Cami dumped her boyfriend. I have a feeling she’d have done it even if the deadbeat had been assed to make the trip south during her 36-hour absence, but his ineptitude made it easy.

Turns out, the brothers Winchester are more than okay with Cami and my connection. Turns out, they’re more than familiar with that kind of connection too.

Dean molds himself to my back, pressing kisses to the side of my neck and the parts of my shoulder that are bared by my tank top. 

“Almost done? Sammy’s makin’ breakfast.”

I hum, letting him swallow me up. “Shower first?”

Ever since that very first night, Dean and I have showered together just in case the water’s cursed, and if it isn’t? Conservation. Right?

Plus, we really like giving each other orgasms.

Five minutes later...

“God damn, I love your mouth,” I sigh as water sluices over my shoulders and spirals my arms before filtering into his hair, where he’s burying his face between my thighs.

Dean’s let his hair grow lately, giving me a lot more to grab onto, not that he needs direction. (He has a beard, too, which wouldn’t normally be my thing at all, but because I know what’s under there, I’m good with it.)

He hums and licks and moans and sucks. The pressure’s always just right — never too much or not enough. I’ve never had anyone down there who knew as much about eating pussy as Dean Winchester. He’s good with his hands, his dick, and toys, too, but man, he loves giving head and is a mother fucking pro at it.

“Dean,” I gasp and flail, nearly busting through the shower curtain and toppling over the end of the claw-foot tub to my death.

Dean lunges up and hooks an arm around my hips, gathering me closer, and I explode.

“Mmm, such a good girl, Gabriela.” He licks his lips as he drags me into the tub with him. Water beats down on his back as he notches his hips in the place his face just vacated. 

I toss one calf over the back of the tub and watch Dean grip his hard dick to slip and slide along my slit. 

“Don’t tease me, Dean. Get inside.” I thrust my hips and reach for him. 

He cocks a brow, lifting my other knee to drape over the other side of the tub, punching the curtain, and slopping water onto the floor. “Honey, I ain’t teasin’; I’m goin’ easy on ya.”

“Pfft!” Now I’m panting like a dog with my ass suspended three inches above the base of the tub. “Who asked you to take it easy on me? I sure didn’t.”

Dean smirks, wrapping one big hand around one hip and steadily guiding himself inside. 

“Fuck.” I drop my head to the porcelain under me and clamp my hands around the edges of the vintage bath to take what he gives.

Every time.

Every time, he feels so perfectly hardhotsmooth, so thick, so heavy. 

And I can’t not stare because he is perfectly beautiful.

“You’re so beautiful, Gabi,” he whispers as he slides his other hand around my other hip and grinds into me.

“Uhhh!”

We both groan, and my back arches all by itself.

He tells me I’m beautiful, and sometimes it feels like a lie — not because I think he’s dishonest but because Dean Winchester is the most beautiful man I’ve ever known.

He drags out slow, and thrusts back in hard and hot, swearing before biting his lip. 

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, tossing his head back into the fall of water before looking back down at me as he blinks water out of his eyes. Then he smiles wide and bright, almost like he’s laughing. “Hold on tight.”

I never take Dean’s warnings lightly.

He sets a hard rhythm, grunting with each thrust, and I echo.

“You look so good, baby — fuck me so good.” 

Dean’s a tough guy and everything, but he loves praise. I give him pet names and tell him how smart and strong he is. I am always sure to thank him for every little thing he does to help me. And he goes fucking crazy when I praise him for fucking me right.

“Give it to me,” I breathe, clenching around him. “I love your dick... so hard and thick — please, Dean.”

I can’t pretend with him, either. No praise I ever give him is lip service. I really do love his dick.

He pitches forward, bracing his hands on the edge above my head, stretched over me like a telephone wire, and that fucking shift-

“Hooofuck, I- ahh!” 

Dean arches and grinds up against my g-spot, pinning me in place until I burst.

“Yesyesyes!” Dean beats a hand against the side of the tub in time with my pulses and throbs around him. “Fuck, honey, yes.”

And then five minutes after that...

“All I’m saying is, if you want some alone time,” Sam actually uses air quotes. “Just say so, and we won’t wait. At the kitchen table. Directly beneath your bathroom.”

Dean rolls his eyes, and Cami and I stifle corresponding giggles.

“It’s not like I personally came down here and burned the toast,” Dean pretends to make sense as he folds a piece of bacon into his mouth. “Bacon’s good.”

He looks to me for agreement, and I nod. 

“It is good bacon!” Then I look at Sam. “We’ll be quieter next time.”

Cami guffaws. “No, you won’t!”

I playfully backhand her and shrug. “Probably not, but the bacon’s still good, and I love you guys.”

Sam snorts and shakes his head. “Yeah, OK, I love you, too, Gab.”

“Hey, don’t be gettin’ my girl mixed up with yours.” Dean mumbles around a mouth full of food as he stabs into his pile of fried potatoes.

I peek over at Camila and catch her looking at me. A memory flashes in my mind of pink bubbly and shivering myself to sleep and that awful fear that my sister was gone forever. Then, Camila blinks, and I’m filled with the warmth of knowing she would return to me and that we would both live happily ever after with the perfectly imperfect Winchester brothers from Lawrence, Kansas.

MJ's Master List

MJ's SPN Master List

MJ's Dean Winchester Master List

What did you think?

[bahllinsqrews]

Love of Eternity Pt.2

Masterlist

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Manifesting this part 2 for the blog @yourfatherlucifer and a couple other friends who wanted it. This one is a bit different from the last.

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Deep smut

Jongho drains the reader

Reader turns undead

Celebratory sex

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It has been months since you and Jongho got much closer together, you and him were now deep within the dating phase. Jongho had taken you to where he lived, a glorious mansion he's kept tidy for ages. He didn't specifically wear a cape but a suit did look good on him.

You didn't have anyone else to live with so you moved in with him pretty easily. He insisted you wear the dresses and clothes he made you and had your hair done a certain way. "Wouldn't want my wife to be seen so low now would we?" He would say, making you want it even more. You walked around with it on and others saw you as his queen now, the respect was high. After a bit of exploring you went to see your loving boyfriend on the main bedroom balcony. The moon was shining bright amongst you both as he was deep in thought. You turned to him, fixing your dress.

"Jongho.." you called, making him look at you with bright eyes. He admired you for a second before looking at your neck, then your lips. A little secret is that he had been sneaking his blood into every one of your drinks, a bit of your food, all for the question he was about to ask. "Are you alright dear?" You asked and your hands, one to his larger hand and the other to his face. He leaned into your touch. He took another minute to bask in your touch before answering. "Yes dear...just deep into my thoughts. They overwhelm me sometimes but I wanted to ask you something important." He said and got a bit closer, chest to chest with yours. You kept your eyes on him as he took his time asking.

"I would like you to spend eternity with me, be with me forever, would you...let me turn you? Be the same as me?" He asked with both his lips and his eyes. You really didn't have anything for this human life so you thought being a vampire could offer you so much more. You took your time answering, then gave him a soft kiss that lasted for what felt like forever. You pulled away and his eyes were just tracing yours, finding the answer in your smile but wanting verbal confirmation. "Yes Jongho, I would love to be yours forever. Let's be each other's eternal love." You reply, him giving you a genuine big smile. He prepped you for it by giving gentle kisses on your neck, slowly biting more and more into you, then he bit down hard, you gripping onto him, him with his arms around you, he drained you of every last drop.

That's when his blood, inside of you, began working its magic, replacing your stilling heart with what your love was. Once you fell limp in his arms, he made sure to hold you close hugging your warm body one last time as you slowly died. Hours, days, weeks passed where you didn't wake but you changed, your body only lost its warmth but not its young age nor its shape, one time you woke up though, fully changed. Jongho was out, hunting for something to give you to eat. You had gotten up and checked yourself out, seeing that you also slightly reduced your age in certain ways.

You had gotten dressed in a comfortable dress and as you did, your love walked in, seeing you awake made him drop the glass he held for you, rushing to your side in the lightning speed. You were quick to hold him. Tightening hugs around each other. He was happy that you woke up. He gave you heated kisses, getting you onto the bed in giggles and laughs. "Oh my love, you don't know how much you've scared me when you didn't wake!" He said, pressing kisses on your jaw and neck. "Well I am now, dear!" You reply, making him growl playfully at you as he slowly strips you of the dress you tried to get on. You follow suit in undressing him, both of you using your speed and getting under the covers

He touched you and realized that your body was still warm, this slightly baffled him since no vampire had contained their warmth after turning, he didn't complain though. In fact, he loved it. He flipped you over onto your stomach and got off the remaining clothing in seconds, only using time to press against you, rubbing his hardening cock against your pussy, making you shiver. "Good to see you haven't lost your sparks either~" he said in your ear, gently biting it made you squeak and get a little more wet. He found it amusing so he continued to leave bites everywhere, and even deeper ones when he pushed in, bottoming out while holding a grip on the headboard. He cursed over a few times, feeling his tip hit your cervix.

You let out a bit of a moan, moving your hips back into him to keep yourself full. His movements made it that much better, the slow drag in and out while your walls became tighter than before made it all of the time you two spent together worth it, Jongho gave you a series of groans into your ear that made you flutter around him, then he began picking up the pace, his moans only getting louder. "Fuck, Y/N, loosen up a little, please, my darling?~" he asked and you couldn't comply, your head was stuffed into the pillow while he practically railed you into the mattress. You both went through many positions, him giving praises to how you will be with him forever and to thank yous for letting him turn you. By the end of it, you were covered and filled with his seed, about to pass out from multiple orgasms with him, he got a towel to clean you up, then got back in bed with you for cuddles, you and him were now happy to be starting this adventure.

A Love of Eternity.

[hhoneyglasss]

kill bill

notes: i think our favorite vampiric princess is in order for valentine’s season. hope u enjoy.

pov: alexis solaire — first person limited

pairings: past relationship(?) with alexis/sam, present relationship with darlin’/sam

word count: 2.2k

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46534081

!! TWs {these begin under the cut} !! unhealthy obsession, physical threats, aggressive language, and graphic imagery. please proceed with caution or do not interact with this work if these topics r triggering for u.

reblogs r v much appreciated!

Time is cruel to those who go against its laws, but it's even crueler to those who follow them.

Time has always been something to rival against—a force that dares test the permanency of the Solaire name. Like all things who attempt the same feat, it is crushed into dust, and Solaire blood reigns victorious once again.

It’s a vicious cycle, but it’s one that’s kept us at the top—crimson crowns spilling red onto those beneath it. It can be ugly, even tragic, but it’s worth it. It’s power—indescribable power.

But it’s a lonely game between us, immortality and I. Eternity is kind to no man, to no creature of the night, and I, a Solaire, am no exception. A night of forever endlessly stretches out in front of me, a path I must travel alone.

Or so I thought.

Sam Collins was something more than the immortal night I was damned to. He was the moon, the stars, that lit up the dark blanket of sky who smothered me in its hold. He was always more than immortality or power—he was alive.

Maybe it was the drumming of his heartbeat in his chest or the way his cheeks flushed rose in the summer sun, but Sam Collins exuded life. He was vitality itself, a man who radiated it whenever he walked into a room. He was the true definition of human.

That’s what drew me to him. His humanity reminded me of the life I had lived so many years ago, those memories now forever captured in this perfect man. A gentleman with a heart of gold, but one who let close to none see it.

I was one of the lucky few.

I was falling—drowning in the river that was him. From his warmth to his touch, he invaded every aspect of my being, and I found myself hooked. Suddenly I saw a brighter future ahead, a future where someone would lead me through the night. I found my own northern star—he was Polaris, and I was the once-lost traveler.

But then his light started to dim. Precession began and suddenly the earth wobbled beneath my feet and Polaris was no more. He laid limp in my arms, fallen from the sky into my lap with a car door lodged in his abdomen. My vision stained red, the moon now blurry, and the future I saw now nothing but a faded fantasy.

I thought of the solution—I found a way to restore the life that had once pulsed through his veins. It’d be different, he’d be different, but he’d still be the same Sam. He’d still be my Sam.

My nails in his skin, his eyes locked on mine, and then my teeth in his throat. I hadn’t ever bitten him before—he said he hadn’t wanted that, so I listened. It was different now, though. He needed this, even when he pushed my hands away and begged me to stop.

My blood then dripped into his mouth, and it was complete. The golden glow of Polaris now shone silver, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t care. Sam Collins was alive, even if his heartbeat had slowed to an eternal flatline.

He didn’t understand.

One who had once fallen asleep in my arms now refused to even be in the same room. One who used to kiss me good night and walk me home now couldn’t bear to look at me. One whose heart I thought was mine now claimed I was dead to him.

I thought it was a phase. Bloodlust’s bitterness, or whatever you’d wish to call it. I pictured him coming back to me when it was over—that same crooked smile looking down at me, just with canines a little pointier.

But then the days stretched into weeks, then months, and then sooner than I realized, his bloodlust was over and the silent treatment showed no sign of stopping. He continued to avoid me like some foreign plague, but I still watched him, still thinking about the day he’d come running back to me.

The day hasn’t come.

Not yet, anyway.

That first year turned into two, then five, and ten and then fifteen years had gone by without a single look in my direction. Even if our progeny-maker thread had been cut, I could feel his change in breathing whenever I entered the room. The nervousness in it, the tension.

The pure, unbridled fear.

I was now the creature lurking in the shadows, the monster hiding underneath his childhood bed. The leviathan with fangs dripping crimson.

All hope was not lost, though. The moonlight still shone through the end of the tunnel, and I was patient. He would find his forgiveness eventually—Sam Collins is a good man, and good men know how to forgive.

That hope stood strong until I started to see the beginnings of the oncoming dawn.

This dawn made their grand debut at a monthly clan meeting in the shape of a wolf. A damned creation with scars slashed across their skin, beginning right underneath their jaw and wrapping around their arms, torso, and legs.

One of Sam’s flannels wrapped snug around their frame.

I watched them, my knees pressed to my chest as I sat on the stairs. I watched Sam’s hand rest on the small of their back, and I watched the way they leaned into him. I watched the kiss they placed on his cheek in greeting, and I watched the tilted shy smile he gave in return.

I watched all of it. I saw everything.

Ten minutes after my vigil began, Sam left them with a kiss on their forehead to speak with Vincent and William. They now stood alone on the right side of the room, their hands fiddling with the cuff of Sam’s shirt.

They must’ve detected me watching them when their gaze quickly shifted in my direction. I didn’t stop watching—I simply stared back. Their eyes were wide and curious before they crinkled into a small smile.

They waved.

They had no idea who I was.

All they knew was that someone in this wide room of vampires had done something ‘dreadful’ to their mate, something ‘unforgivable’. As far as they knew right now, everyone was innocent—everyone was a smiling face welcoming them into this clan with open arms.

How wrong they were.

I didn’t smile, nor did I wave back. Their smile faded slowly, and they dropped their arm and turned away.

Good. Pathetic chew toys are to be crushed ‘neath a Solaire’s marble heel, not given allowance to make eye contact, let alone smile.

I stood up from my perch on the stairs and walked away. I went past where Vincent, William, and Sam were speaking to one another, and like the past fifteen wretched years, I noticed the muscles in Sam’s arms tense and I saw his fists clench. His back straightened, and he became terrifically still when I walked by.

I paused, then turned to the mutt. Did they notice how Sam had reacted to my presence? Did they see how his posture changed? Did they notice the half-inch that his brows furrowed inward? Did they see it? Did they see him?

When I examined the expression on their face, I knew that they did.

The small smile that had tugged at their soft features had now completely dissipated—their mouth was pressed into a hard, straight line. Their eyes, once liquid sun in the light of the full moon, had frozen solid.

Resentment was in their eyes.

And protectiveness. As expected from a dog.

All wolves are the same—they bark, they bite, and then they die. One by one, they shrivel up and fall. It’s just nature.

I used to feel a sort of sympathy for them, us both being moonbound. I felt a kindred spirit in a way.

Not anymore.

The thing with the mutt was that they would not last. They had a few measly, troubled decades in this world while I had until the end of time.

I had eternity—they had a ticking clock.

There is no room in this world for immature vagabonds with a pension for death. There is no room for wolves who are fatally tied to their own mortality.

They will die eventually, and the Solaire blood will reign victorious. I will wear my crown again.

I went to stand beside the wall, watching once again when Sam made their way back to them. They jumped up to kiss his cheek again. I gagged.

Over the course of the night, I watched them. I saw when they both sat down for the clan meeting to begin. They never stopped touching for the entire night.

I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

If his hand wasn’t against their thigh, then his arm wrapped around their shoulder. If they weren’t leaning against him, then their hand closed over his.

Nauseating, disgusting, vile, obscene—there were a million words in the world to describe the scene playing out before me, but none of them quite held the venom I wanted.

The hour-long meeting seemed to drag on into oblivion until William finally dismissed the clan, a good natured smile warming his eyes as he bid us good night. I got up from my seat and began to stalk towards the door, my coat tucked under my arm.

I didn’t get very far when I heard a voice behind me. “Something tells me that staring at Sam’s partner like a tiger about to pounce isn’t gonna make him hate you less.”

Vincent. I stopped and turned around, but I stayed silent. His arms were crossed over his chest, his glare disapproving as it bore into me.

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Vincent.”

“Tch,” he huffed, “I’m not stupid. Do you think I am?”

I didn’t answer that.

Vincent continued, “It wasn’t just me who noticed, Alexis. I heard them whispering to Sam about it during the meeting. You’re making them uncomfortable.”

“I don’t care.”

His eyes narrowed. “Fine, then. It’s making Sam uncomfortable.”

“You’re saying that to get me to care about their feelings.”

“And what if I am?” He asked, “He’s the only thing that gets through to you anymore.”

I paused. “…Does it really make him uncomfortable?”

He nodded. Silence fell over us.

He broke it. “So you’ll stop?”

I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’ll try.”

Silence again.

Vincent leaned on the railing of the stairs. “You need to get over him.”

“I don’t need anything,” I growled.

“Yes, you do,” he countered, “It was different when he was single. You could chase after him all you want—he could handle the staring when it was only directed at him—but it’s not like that anymore.”

I braced myself. I knew what was coming.

“He’s with someone now,” he continued, “They’re mates, Alexis, and you know what?”

“What?” I whispered.

“He’s happy,” he said, “He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him. Maybe you would’ve noticed the change in him if you weren’t so stuck in your own head all of the time, but he’s content now. He smiles. A lot. And he laughs. A lot. He didn’t do that much before.”

Another pause. I started to curl into myself.

“He loves them, Alexis.”

There it was.

The arrow through the Achilles’ heel, a wooden stake piercing my stone heart. Sunlight burned through my flesh until nothing was left but a pile of unlovable ash, blown away in the winter wind.

I didn’t realize how hard I was gripping my coat until my fingers stabbed through the fabric.

I looked up at Vincent. “Say that again, and your tongue will be shoved so far down your throat you’ll be dead before you hit the floor.”

I didn’t wait for his reaction. I turned on my heel and swept through the meeting room’s double doors, ignoring his angry shouts. They were static now.

I made my way around the building, hoping to find my car before I shattered my keys when I saw the two of them in the parking lot.

The mutt had a bundle of flowers in their arms, the bouquet tied together neatly with a red ribbon. They held a card decorated with hearts in their left hand.

Valentine’s Day. How could I forget?

They gazed with awe at the card and flowers, and the brightest smile lit their adoring features.

I could almost see the stupid fucking halo.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck with his palm, a gesture he always did when he was bashful.

It was sickening.

I stared at the bouquet.

There were roses in it.

I looked back up at Sam.

I wondered what I could do with those thorns.

My imagination began to run wild. I imagined snatching the roses from their bouquet and sinking the sharp thorns into Sam’s throat, dragging them through his skin while they tore him open. He’d fall to the ground, his hands around his neck, and his wide, too human-like eyes would beg for help. The dog would scream and scream and scream and I’d scream too, relishing in the noise, and my vision would bleed red just like it did fifteen years ago.

They’d call for help, but no one would come. The hours would tick by and the sun would soon rise. I’d watch from the shadows as Sam’s corpse burned to ash instead. He was the forgotten one now.

The asphalt would bleed red too.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

[eleanor-bradstreet]

The Night We Met

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett Ficlet Rated: G Word count: 800

Summary: Just Benedict and his thoughts, staring at a full moon. Author's Notes: Inspired by two favorites on my Ben playlist with similar nighttime longing vibes, The Night We Met and Talking to the Moon. Links are to cover versions, but I love them so.

Benedict shifted in the window seat, settling in for what he knew would be long hours ahead. The full moon hung heavy over the grounds of Aubrey Hall and bathed his room in its cool blue gleam. It always seemed larger in autumn for some reason, which exacerbated his conundrum. He could no longer sleep during the full moon. It had been five months and each time, without fail, when the moon had waxed to its brightest, his mind would not quiet no matter how he tried to block out the light or dull his senses with substances or pleasures. It called to him, compelling him to sit in its beams and stare at it helplessly. Because it was the closest he could get to her, remembering the night they had danced in that same pearlescence, and hoping beyond hope that she may be on the other side looking at it too. He knew she was somewhere out there, somewhere far away.

His memories of that night had grown so soft, hazy with the shimmer of her skin and glittering silver dress, the sweet sound of her voice, how the blood rushed in his ears when he saw her, tingling with that premonition of something good to come. As soon as she had left, it all began to seem like a dream, something his fevered brain concocted thanks to too much champagne, or perhaps Colin had spiked his tea. Nearly all of his friends and family had thought him crazy and reinforced this suspicion when none of them could claim to have seen the woman at the masquerade, or to have any idea who she was. 

He only had three things that convinced him she truly existed and that he really had experienced the heady magic of that night. First was Colin, who had briefly interrupted their meeting. In desperation the next day, Benedict had asked him to confirm that he had seen the lady in silver with his own eyes, which he admitted he had, but knew nothing further about her. Next was her glove, the silver silk he had slid off her delicate hand and which she left behind as she tore out of the ball. Though it hadn’t helped him to find her, it was a precious token, physical proof that she had been in his arms and wasn’t just a beautiful spectre.

And lastly was the full moon. The way it made him feel, the memories of that night flooding over him each time he looked up at its persistent glow. It was like a waking dream, recurring every month and paralyzing him with his desperate longing for her, a reminder of how she had slipped through his fingers and how he had no way to find her. If he had one wish, it would be to go back to the night they met. When he had all of her, or at least most of her, not knowing her name. This time, he would be sure to learn it, he would hold her tighter, kiss her longer, run after her faster if she still ran away. If she wanted to refuse him, of course he would respect her decision, but he wanted her to make it after he told her how he truly felt. The way his heart soared when his arms were around her, the way her kiss wrote a hundred poems onto his tongue, the way his soul had told him that she was significant, that she was the one he had always been waiting for.

Now he had none of her, not her name or even the full image of her face. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of her, a gossamer memory of green eyes and silver skirts. He knew that lunatics were so named because it was believed their madness derived from staring at the moon. Now in his fifth month of torment, going mad sounded like the preferable alternative to the pain of knowing that he had met the love of his life, had kissed her lips, and then watched her disappear without a trace. 

He knew that finding true love would be difficult, but he could never have anticipated this cruel trick of fate, to tempt him with a taste of bliss and then tear it away without explanation. Perhaps he was born to suffer. At the very least, he could channel his energies into his work as he already had, painting canvas after canvas with dark vistas of that night on the terrace, a face hidden by a demi-mask, gloved hands, a lady in silver, always turned away. Perhaps with time the memories would start to fade and he would no longer be robbed of a night’s sleep. But the resounding ache in his heart made him doubt that would occur any time soon. And so he sighed, surrendering to the moonlight, to his pain, to his madness, wondering where in hell she could be.

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp

[dragonbanexxi]

Soul of Bronze; Blood of Fire

Helaena Targaryen x OC Targaryen Royce

Not canon Compliant!!!

The Heir of Runestone would often joke that he should be referred to as Rhaegar Stone. Seeing as his father (Prince Daemon Targaryen) had no want for him and his mother (Lady Rhea Royce) was long dead. All jokes end when he and Ser Gerold Royce are summoned to the capitol by none other than King Viserys the First of his Name. The King wanting nothing more than to bring his estranged nephew into the fold, Viserys offers Rhaegar his so called Targaryen Right. A betrothal to the Princess Helaena and the chance to claim a dragon. Will Rhaegar be able to claim such a beast? Even if his valyrian skills were lacking? Prince Aemond seems to think so. Though he’s mostly is just thrilled to finally have someone around who’s willing to be his friend. Also the court begins to notice that the Princess Helaena seems to have taken a liking to the new prince. Much to her mothers dismay, who’s fighting tooth and nail to have the girl be given to Aegon. Something neither sibling wanted. To Rhaegar everything was going smoothly until the news of Laena Velaryon death had dampen everything.

Chapter 13: Rhaegar

The clouds above were heavy and gray making the ambience befitting of Rhaegar’s grim mood. The Runestone heir stands next to his regent, solemnly observing Ser Gerold’s departing party.

“The time has arrived my boy” His uncle says jovially. “The wind summons me home.”

Rhaegar frowns unhappily. In all his ten and four years of life, Rhaegar has never been separated from Ser Gerold. The boy understands that Runestone needs its lord to run the keep. That in order to maintain peace and stability, its lord cannot wonder too far, for too long.

Still Rhaegar didn’t want to his uncle to leave him alone in King’s Landing. Ser Gerold is the person he trusts most in the world. His uncle gives him a sense of secured devotion and protection. Rhaegar likes to think that’s what a fathers affection feels like. It’s not like Rhaegar knew what that felt like, since he didn’t have one. Sort of… Yet Uncle Gerold was the closest thing he had to one.

“Can’t you stay uncle?” His voice soft. Lavender eyes sparkling with sadness. It makes his uncle smile sadly.

“Don’t let the small council catch you making watery eyes now Rhaegar” he jests.

Rhaegar blushes in amusing embarrassment.

“We’ve been here for almost a turn of the moon nephew. I have to make sure Gunthor and Yorwick haven’t burned Runestone to the ground while we’ve been gone.”

Also to make sure they haven’t tried to press their claim of their home to the wardeness of east. Though Lady Jeyne Arryn is as shrewd as she is astute. She’d likely turn them away if they even tried to bring up the subject. The wardeness of the east understands what it feels like to rule in a castle of vipers ready to strike at her heels and do away with her.

It won’t be problem for Rhaegar much longer, he muses. Soon he will return to Runestone. Though unlike how he left; on horseback, the king’s nephew will return on dragonback. No one will be able to better defend him, the Princess Helaena, Ser Gerold and even the Lady Jeyne Arryn if need be; better than his Cannibal.

“If you won’t stay, than I should go home with you.” Delivering an alternate approach. Desperately trying to prolong time so they don’t have to part ways.

The older man sighs dejectedly.

“His grace wants you to stay longer lad. We cannot refuse his grace’s will.” The raven haired boy slouches his shoulder in defeat.

“Besides you have to stay to get lessons from the dragon keepers.” His voice now serious. “I’m no dragonlord nephew but even I understand the gravity of neglecting to attend these lessons. That obsidian beast of yours will have to be put to heal or else Runestone will turn against you if anything bad happens.”

“I understand” a sad smile spreading on the boys lips.

“Stop it! We will only be apart for another month lad. Pull yourself together!” The older man gripped his wards shoulder firmly and gave him his signature hearty laugh.

“Enjoy this time you have Rhaegar. Not to mention there’s a pretty maiden waiting for you in the keep. I think she’d want you to stay a little longer.”

The newly knighted boy’s cheeks flare up again. A goofy twitter-pated expression takes over his face. By the gods Rhaegar is severely taken with the Princess Helaena. Remembering how just a few nights ago she’d snuck into his room, glowing in the pale moonlight. Looking like the angelic nymph she was.

“Seven hells lad, you’re damn near drooling.” Ser Gerold says barking out an amused hearty laugh.

True to his nature the newly knighted boy blushes but this time giving his uncle a small glare. It doesn’t last however. Instead the boy hugs his uncle and feels him do the same. The older man gives three firm pats on his upper back before letting go.

“Rhaegar” he begins seriously. “I need you to be wise here. Stay out of conflict and stop thinking like a boy.”

Rhaegar’s lavender eyes grow wider not completely understanding.

“I am leaving you alone in a dangerous city, I cannot protect you from all the way in the Vale.” The older man puts a kind hand to the top of his nephews head. “I need you to become the man you were always destined to be”

His uncles honey brown eyes warm but holding a bit of sternness. Needing them to make his point as they locked with Rhaegar’s lavender ones.

“Not tomorrow, not next year, NOW. Behave yourself and uphold honor.”

Rhaegar nods his head in agreement. “I promise uncle.”

Ser Gerold smiles proudly at his ward before mounting his white steed and riding away back to the Vale.

Rhaegar paying no heed to area around him, eyes focused solely on Runestone’s retreating party; failed to notice footsteps nearing him from behind.

“Ser Rhaegar” a deep voice spoke, causing the newly knighted juvenile to jump in fright.

He turns around to find himself face to face with none other than Otto Hightower. The hand of the king looked down at Rhaegar with peering eyes, standing like an arrogant peacock.

“Lord Hightower” the juvenile replies in acknowledgement, giving the older man a poised raised brow.

Helaena had told him through their secret letters that her grandfather was the main reason why she and Rhaegar were not courting openly. That the newly reinstated Lord Hand thought the match between his granddaughter and the son of the Rogue Prince was a misjudgment on the King’s behalf. The Lord hand played it cool, hiding his disdain for the Daemon Targaryen’s son with civil chatter when forced to be in each other’s presence. Rhaegar however finds it difficult to keep up appearances. The temptation to outwardly show his dislike and give a piece of his mind to his betrothed’s grandfather was always at the tip of his fingers. However no matter how strong the urge to lash out at the Lord Hand, Rhaegar never gives in. That would be falling into the Otto Hightower’s trap. The arrogant peacock wants Rhaegar to break, to prove is bogus biased true. The prejudice bias that deep down Rhaegar Targaryen Royce truly is Daemon Targaryen’s spawn through and through. Nothing makes Rhaegar’s blood rage more than being compared to his sire. He would not give Otto Hightower that satisfaction. Rhaegar would carry himself with honor and prove them all wrong.

There they stood at the castle gates, getting sprinkled on by light rain; in a stand off of bronze and emerald green. Observing each other in shrewd calculative contempt.

“His grace wishes for you to be brought to his study, Ser Rhaegar.” Hightower breaks their tense silence.

“Very well” was all the juvenile said, walking away from the obstacle that is keeping him away from his princess.

Rhaegar made his way to his kingly uncle, taking the shortcut Aemond had taught him not so long ago.

Perhaps it was the sadness he felt from Ser Gerold’s departure, but there is a wave of uneasiness swirling in his gut. He pulls a folded note Aemond had passed to him earlier, from the Princess Helaena. He didn’t get the chance to read it since he had to see his Uncle Gerold off. Rhaegar unfolds it and begins to read Helaena’s pretty handwriting.

‘A red worm mourns a silvers seahorse, while little silver hatchlings meet a bronze horse.’

Rhaegar scratches his head in confusion as he walks further into the King’s hall. Tucking the note back into doublet, he’ll try to study it after he’s done with his summon with his grace.

The guard makes Rhaegar’s presence known to the king. Uneasiness hitting his gut once more. Normally his uncle would welcome him with a warm smile and a hug. This time King Viserys’s eyes are filled with sad anticipation.

“Dearest nephew” the king begins sadly. “A letter has arrived from Pentos.”

The Knights heart begins thump uncomfortably, if news has arrived from Pentos than no doubt it was from his sire, Prince Daemon Targaryen. Rhaegar doesn’t say anything but nods at his uncle to continue.

“Your fathers lady wife…” his grace pauses in hesitation, “the Lady Laena Velaryon has passed away. She died in the birthing bed.”

The Heir of Runestone lets out a haggard breath. His lavender eyes now glued to his black leather boots. “That’s awful news” was all he could say.

The king puts his good hand on his nephews shoulder.

“There’s more” The weak king says as his sad amethyst eyes lock with his nephews lavender ones.

“My court will sail to Driftmark for the funeral. I hate to command you nephew, but I expect you to join us as well.”

The juveniles jaw tightens in annoyance. If he’s expected to sail to Driftmark with them, than he’s expected to come face to face with HIM. Rhaegar isn’t sure he’s ready to face his sire just yet.

He lets out an exhale “of course your grace” Agreeing only because he was commanded by the King himself.

Said King gives his nephew a sad smile. “Don’t fret boy, if you don’t wish to converse with my brother than you don’t have to.” His uncle king says with promising conviction. “I’ll be there to halt any offenses Daemon gives your way. I may be his brother but fortunately for us both I am also his King.”

The glint in the Kings eye did nothing to reassure Rhaegar at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sorry for the wait you guys! I told my peeps from my other fic that I’ve recently been taking new meds and they make feel a little funky! Thankfully I’m seeming to get used to them! So hopefully I can get back to regularly posting every Thursday and Friday! :)

Thanks once again!!! ❤️❤️❤️

[kyogre-blue]

OK, post timeskip GD, go!

Got up to the bridge, which means unifying the Alliance and presumably starting an offensive against the Empire.

I've gotten all the B ranks on my supports, a bunch of A ranks, and all of Byleth's available ones except Lysithea A (which is blocked off) and someone's S. The A ranks really vary a lot in terms of how involved they are, with some being quite nice, but others being pretty whatever.

Unfortunately, some of the basic issues with the support system start to get pretty obvious. You end up doing them in batches, so they get tiring. Additionally, if you watch a few for the same character in a row, there's often overlap in what they discuss, since the characters only have a few traits. Worse, none of the growth in one support can carry over to another or even a paralogue (or to the main story). The supports just become disconnected what-ifs, in a way.

(And this not mentioning the issue that some major character details always end up hidden in the most out there support, which in 3H will require some bizarre recruitment combination.)

In regard to the main story, I don't have too much to say. It's kind of spinning its wheels while we get the new plot on the road, but it's fine. It's just... fine. Hopefully, it'll pick up once we start the real battles.

Notes again:

1185, nearly 5 years since the monastery fell. But it fell several months into 1181, so like... it's 4 years and change.

Kingdom capital has fallen, Leicester alliance is split between supporting the Church and the Empire.

Sothis is here again somehow.

Tomorrow is the Millennium Festival, how convenient. Byleth came floating down a river from Garreg Mach. It is Ethereal Moon, but... Which one is that again...

Ok, I see why AC said the reunion was underwhelming. It's cute but the buildup is non-existent.

Byleth's first concern is Rhea (relatable) but Claude thinks it might be better that she's gone. He doesn't explain why. I am gonna need some time to get used to everyone's adult voices.

Lorenz is quite chill about his father's uh allegiance.

Lorenz: This was inevitable, since our lands are so close to the empire, we have to side with them or lose our necks. Lorenz also: BUT MAYBE IF CLAUDE DIDN'T SUCK

The amount of times you can ask after Rhea is... hum. Rhea is the most personal priority for Byleth. They're definitely not upset or unsettled by her, which is funny.

Seteth thought that maybe Rhea would turn up on the millennium festival.

Claude wanted to use the monastery as a base of operations due to its location.

Why are we talking to this Seiros Knight NPC? Was an unavailable playable meant to be filling this role?

Leonie A1 with Lorenz: she gives back a handkerchief... after 5 years. Leonie's village is called Sauin. It turns out Lorenz's family were the ones who hired Jeralt to help the village all those years ago. Lorenz is still punchable, btw.

Marianne A with Hilda: Their previous two ranks were more abrasive than I expected. The A is... OK? Given their popularity as a pairing, I expected something a bit more.

Cyril A with Hilda: This doesn't feel like it should have been gated to the timeskip. This A is also kinda underwhelming. It's okay, but knowing their relationship can't advance any further is... yeah.

Not really feeling the new monastery and menu music.

They did at least change the skybox to be yellow, which is something. Makes it feel autumn-y, which is... not correct. It would be nice if somewhere aside from the cathedral interior had some visible damage.

Claude A with Byleth: He admits to not being born in Fodlan (presumably because this has nothing on Byleth being potentially not even human) though doesn't name where he's from specifically. In Almyra, people from Fodlan are viewed as cowards, which Claude attributes to ignorance (if they just met and interacted with real people from Fodlan, like his mother, they'd know better). They also looked down on him for being of mixed blood.

He came to Fodlan to try and find "a new perspective" in his goal of breaking down those barriers, but people in Fodlan are even more racist, seeing people from other nations as just beasts. He wants to bring the whole world together and start anew. I know nothing bad happens, but uh. That's, hm... At least he realizes that it was extremely unrealistic... but Claude recognizes Byleth's magic dragon god powers and thinks they can make it happen together.

At first, I was wondering why we can view Ferdinand supports when he didn't turn up, but he IS here? He wasn't in the battle or the scene after...

Ferdinand has lost his territory and is determined to stop Edelgard no matter the cost. Per his B, he always intended to unseat his father. I guess, like Lorenz, he wasn't really onboard with his evil dad from the start.

Marianne and Lorenz A is....... uh. She's not going to smile while telling you about how her family is cursed, dude.

OK, so for weekly Instruct, we're using the Cardinals' room that was sealed before, and instead of the faculty giving staff training, we run advanced drills with the students.

Byleth's open mouthed shock when told Dimitri was killed (supposedly). And then a droopy sad posture.

"Faerghus Dukedom"

Claude approves if you ask him whether he hopes Rhea is dead. He just has things he wants to ask. It's interesting given that Claude presents himself as being in your corner, and Byleth has a big bend toward asking after her, seemingly in concern.

Claude thinks that most people accept the "noble system" because of their belief in the Seiros faith. They also have prejudices against non-believers too. That's... hm. A take, for sure.

So without Rhea, the supposed closed-minded Church doctrine will weaken and there will be more room for free thought, which Claude considers a cure-all.

Claude's ultimate goal here is to have Byleth take over the church and lead Fodlan that way. Then, people could be free to think for themselves. He thinks Edelgard is after something similar. He just doesn't like that she's using so much bloodshed to get there. Not necessarily because he disapproves but because the world "can't get behind" it.

But since Rhea is probably still around, we still have questions, and Byleth ambiguously might care about her (MY A RANK), Claude backpedals into finding her being the next step and quickly hurries you off to bed.

Claude and Cyril B: Claude never knew that there were people in Almyra in Cyril's situation. Which is to say... poor and exploited? Or...?

If no one else is in Rhea's corner, Cyril is. I appreciate that he doesn't just support her because she helped him personally, but because that's the kind of person she has been - trying to help those without any status and nowhere to go. Rhea helps refugees and orphans not just because of the goddess's teachings, but because it's the right thing to do.

Claude: OK, maybe Rhea is fine. Maybe.

GROWTH??

Too bad supports are basically not canon.

Claude and Lorenz A: Claude is fine giving up leadership of the Alliance to Lorenz now that he's gotten to know him. But same is true for Lorenz. Kinda gay. Not bad.

Claude was only recognized as the heir to Reigan thanks to Judith's recommendation. Which is interesting given his background.

Marianne's paralogue: One of the 10 Elites got cursed by his crest and he turned into a monster... that was still sentient and can talk. And he ate people. Unclear if anyone else with the crest was actually affected, or if they just carried that stigma for a thousand years...

Claude and Marianne A has an interesting implication about the timeline. Claude frames it as him running away from home as soon as he was old enough because he was tired of being discriminated against and hoped that Fodlan would be better. It was only after he arrived in Leicester and realized that it's no different that he came up with his idea to break down the boundaries between Fodlan and Almyra.

It makes more sense that his plan would be so weirdly underbaked if he's had it for less than a year and made it when he was despairing over having no place he could belong.

Flayn and Ignatz B: Flayn forgets the Church party line about the Elites being good guys, lmao. Also forgets that Saint Cethleann is generally portrayed as a woman, not a girl.

Ailell, the Valley of Torment, is the required lava stage. It was created when some kind of big heaven light destroyed the forest that used to be there. It's rumored to have been the wrath of the goddess, but that isn't recorded in scripture. (It's actually the Agarthans lol)

Count Rowe was in charge of Arianhodr (spl??) but betrayed the Kingdom to join the Empire. His general, Gwendal, wasn't happy about all this.

Judith accuses Claude of neglecting the Alliance territories for years. He left his territory with a reliable retainer ("Nardel"). Without Byleth's clout, he'd look like a "scoundrel leader." Judith leaves her territory with "Nardel" too, which is... lol.

One of Judith's men saw Rhea be dragged off by the Empire five years ago.