#but enjoys a few specific sensations of it in the right contexts

[autistic-katara]

this post is so fucking chaotic 😭

“i’m going to kill myself” tired. overused. actively harmful to you.

“i’m going to commit an act of terrorism against the united states government” beautiful. reasonable. makes both your mental health and the world so much better.

[penroseparticle]

Curation 2024: Flesh and Marble

Hey! You got an hour?

I love curation. I like taking the unending deluge of information, of sensations, of stuff that the world throws at us, and I just. I think one of the kindest, most gentle things you can do for another person is say "look at this. Decision paralysis is banished, information overload is dead, check out this story I've created. Look at these specific rocks out of the infinite combinations of rocks there are. Not just these rocks, but this order. See the narrative? There's a through line, if you look. Trust Me. Take my hand."

I love making playlists for that exact reason. You almost have to make them like throwing pots, with a reckless abandon that allows for a stroke of inspiration. But also, you kind of have to be allowed to let a few off the wheel lumpy and potential but not fully realized. You gotta Get Down with the concept of failure. To burn through them until you find just the right combination of songs that captures a feeling, a time, a memory. A museum of music.

I like museums because they are, more than anything, a signpost for what we find important. A landmark. The public art of city streets given form in an art museum, sometimes even through that same public art, often divorced of context, because museums don't let themselves be weird enough. To commit to the bit enough.Too few museums truly curate, truly immerse in the story. Give you a reason to follow the threads they lay. You start to almost resent it. Get in your feelings. Feel Sum Kinda Way. But once you learn to speak museum, you realize that they can only meet you halfway, and you are your own curator as you wander hallowed halls and learn about building materials, about Rothko, about postage stamps. You pick your own adventure. And you fall in love with museums all over again.

So when I find a museum or something that I enjoy, I just. Lose It. I want to share it. I want to take you along and say "LOOK AT THIS. How Does It Make You Feel." I want you to share in the wonder, and the marvel. So sometimes I even write. Sometimes I say, I can enchant you, ensnare you. I can bring you along the line, into the fold, I can capture a sunray for the length of a paragraph. Time frozen in amber, in service of you seeing just a touch of the magic.

I almost died again this year. Maybe more than once. There's Comedy in death. Even near death. We have to let ourselves laugh at it. We stay silly right? You can't greet death as an old friend if you're scared of him. But you can't chase after him either. He's coy. He's shy. He'll come when he's ready. And I'm not ready now either.

I don't think I'm as scared anymore though. I wouldn't say You're My Best Friend, Death. But you're certainly no stranger. You're not someone I would turn away, and I would share a drink with you. I would be tender, I think. You have it rough too.

I think this year of all things I'm falling in love again. I fell out of love with life, a while back. It was rough and it was scary and I didn't feel like myself. And I still don't, but we all know time pulls us forward, yadda yadda, you can't step into the same river twice, you are a construct and all constructs are ever changing, time stole my front porch; can't have shit in ship of theseus. I Want To Know Your Plans, time, but the future is that quote from Nightvale, always flinching first, leaving me only a present.

So I'm different now. In the present. In some ways worse. in some better. I think I'm gentler, at least I hope so. I want to be kinder. I want to treat people with care. And I want to share an idea to cap off this year, because I want to have curated my own experience, and maybe I can help you fall in love with life again too. Next year is going up, because I am on the Up and Up.

I can't get past the idea of choice. What makes the gardener pick flowers or weeds? The tastes of the gardener. What they cultivate, what they choose. They curate their garden and all of living is just. This same action again and again, on larger or smaller scales. When I was little I tried to get into Rollerblades. I thought they were super cool, I thought I'd be a cool kid in rollerblades. But I was drawn to biking. I still bike now. You can stand, if you dare, with the wind blowing through you, wheels turning all on their own, you king of the world on your personal palantir. You can pump your legs and get your heart singing and I can't imagine my life if I'd picked rollerblades. You know?

I started chasing an idea halfway through this, but to loop back to what I wanted to explain is- I want to curate my experience of this year. I want to be able to point to this year down the line and show just why it mattered- not for the time everyone will think, but the time that happened after. I looked at my life and said, I can Make It Better. I can rebuild it, different this time. I can be me, but a little further down the river. A few more boards replaced.

Can I do it? Can I Be Him? The me I want to be, the one who took this year and kindled something bright? I miss my surety. I miss my certainty. Everything feels like a big muddy middle right now, and I don't think I can ever reach as high or as low as I once did. But I think I can be steadily climbing up. Boot up bitch, the stairs are slippery but it turns out you have nothing but time.

My mom wants me to move home. She's scared, for me, out here "alone". She doesn't think my friends took good care of me, given what happened in March. I can't blame her. I wasn't taken good care of. I wouldn't let people, I hid it all. I was ashamed. I was embarassed. It's Hard To Live In The City, but not for the reasons my mom thinks- there's so much going on here. There's so much information and so many things to know and see and do, you can hide in plain sight. You can craft a narrative. You can shape the experience so that what you are, what you need, who you have become is hidden.

I know now that I need to be seen, to be known. I need other people to get who I am. But I'm not Fred Astaire- I can't be someone to everyone, even just a name. I have to curate (sick of me yet?) my own experience. My own image. I have to choose who my audience is now. It's tougher to decide who is worth your attention (And it is attention- that's all an audience is). It feels like gardening. Who's a flower and who's a weed. I don't like it. But you have to, to live. And I'm tired of not living.

And so I walk forward from my own Easter rebirth. Shaky legged, on stilts like Bambi, just becoming a new man. I hate it but you make yourself every day, don't you? Why would now be any different. I'm just more aware of it. It'll fade, with time. Like the scar it is. But I don't want to forget this feeling. I want to remember it. To have a story to tell that circles around it, gives it edges and definition. And so I wrote this.

It's part playlist. It's part poetry. It's prose, but it's prosaically just a list of songs as well. I sat down to write and my hands started moving, and I got here, with you. Are you still with me? I'm glad. I'm glad I'm still here, and I'm glad you're here with me. I'm even glad I'm still awake,writing this instead of sleeping. What's The Time Where You Are? Here it's late-about 1AM. And I have to finish this, I'm almost done. I wanted to leave you somewhere better than we started. This story is going up, remember?

I've picked a better audience, actually. That's a good first step. They're not the King Of My Heart, but they might be as close as it gets. I feel sweet. I feel simple. I feel at ease. But more importantly I feel like I can do. I can accomplish. I can rest. I can recover. I can just. Be.

Maybe this music isn't to your liking. But that's ok, I Don't Mind. I didn't make it for you to fall in love with. I made it to make you fall in love with the idea. I want you to curate your own life. You have to. Or you're not living. I want you to love the life that you've made. I don't love mine yet. But I want to, and I'm going to. And that's that on that.

I guess the elephant in the room is, why Flesh and Marble? Why not Clay, like old man Ozymandius? It ties better to the throwing pots above. Of getting muddy biking, of being down in the dirt before rising three days later. Even now I'm thinking that Feet of Clay is a much better title. But I like Flesh and Marble. The first song I put on here was a similar title structure. But I didn't want to give the concept air time, actually- too close to March for my liking, although the song was great. It just wasn't the vibe. But the name was close. And the artist. Armani Caesar. What a name! So I guess. The title is an oblique reference. A circumnavigation of the problem. A polite, detached nod to the impetus whilst giving it no credit.

But yeah. I hope you've listened, as you've gone. The songs matter a great deal to me this year, and they almost always do. I'm sappy and I stick to a song once I love it. I'll love it for 10 years. 20 years. 100 years. I attach so fast, and sometimes forever, if indelibly.

Curate your life. Build something of value. And by god find beauty or you'll die.

Peace.

[indecisive-dizzy]

Accenting the Fae

~1.6k words

A zero context thing I wrote for a Fairy!Eddie Au I came up with,,, yesterday? Recently. Enjoy! Or don't!

🍃🌼🌷🌻🪻🌺🍃🌼🌷🌻🪻🌺🍃🌼🌷🌻🪻🌺🍃

White Pines towered overhead, shading the ground cover beneath. The overgrown vines and leaves made traversal difficult for Grace. Luckily what she was looking for would be on the ground, so keeping her head low had some benefits at least.

Although, thinking about it now, Grace doubted it would be covered up by all these vines. Weren't they usually out in the open? Like in a-

A clearing. Like the one right in front her. The brush ended suddenly and Grace looked up to see a wide, sunlit patch surrounded by trees and thicket. It was radiant, the open sky above shone onto bright grass and wildflowers reflecting the light from the morning dew. In the center of it all there was a circle of red and purple mushrooms. It was gorgeous, but it's fantastical beauty put Grace on edge. She had found it.

Grace hesitated. Could this really work? Was coming out here a mistake? What if she messed up and bit off more than she could chew? What if nothing happened at all and she skipped school for nothing? It was too late now, Grace reasoned to herself, she'd been walking for hours to find this. It had to work. She walked into the clearing, standing under the sun.

With one more deep breath, Grace stepped into the circle. The ground under her boots felt the same as the ground outside the ring, soft and unassuming. After a moment of nothing she turned and nearly stepped out but as soon as she lifted her foot she felt a tug.

The breeze picked up, Grace watched the blades of grass sway and leaves swirl around the clearing. Then all at once, it stopped. She felt a presence behind her, one that left a tingling sensation in her mind. She didn't move, unsure if she should dare to do so.

"Hello?" A gentle, deep voice rang behind the teenage girl, "I can't talk to you when your back is turned." The presence laughed gently, airily without a care.

Grace turned around. Be respectful, be polite, use those Southern manners.

"Sorry, The wind distracted me," It wasn't a lie, she was temporarily mesmerized by the display.

Now that Grace was facing the source of the voice she could get a good look at him. The Faerie standing with her had curly red hair that looked cloud soft. Orange felt with a yellow triangular nose surrounded by light freckles. His bright violet eyes were lidded in a gentle, calming demeanor, his eyelids themselves were only a few shades lighter. Full, long lashes completed the beautiful draw to his eyes. But Grace knew not to stare.

He tilted his head and smiled almost sheepishly, "Oh that's alright. I can get distracted by little things too."

Grace nodded, unsure of what to say. Or where to begin. Luckily, the Fae seemed to understand that struggle as well.

"May I help you?" He continued, "You seem to want something, am I correct?"

"You may help me," Grace chose her words carefully, "I don't need somethin’ from ya, I actually would like ya to take somethin’ specific." Here it comes. Mentally, she crossed her fingers.

"Is that so? What would you like me to take, sweetheart?" The endearment dripped with a saccharine sweetness, it was impossible to tell if it's artificial or not.

"I would like for you, Fae, to take my accent," Grace's voice quivered as she finally made her request. She begs to whatever may be above that he responds well.

The Fae looked confused and stayed quiet. Seeming to think it over.

As Grace waited in nauseating anticipation, she couldn’t help but think back to why she was doing this. Life was fine back in Texas. She had friends, close family, and everyone talked the same talk. But since her parents dragged her upstate, she's been miserable. The mockery, insults, and bullying was too much to bare. And it wall all over her voice, her accent, and where she came from. Her parents did nothing, the teachers did nothing. Hell, her English teacher was constantly correcting her pronunciation every other word. She hated it. She hated her heavy accent and the trouble that came with it.

"Why should I take your accent? What can I do with it?" The Fae broke the quiet, startling the other in the circle. His soft cadence never changed, but a lilt of confusion was clear.

Grace thought for a moment, she didn't quite think of that. She had assumed it would be like giving him her name or voice. He would just take it to have it.

"Well, ya could use it yourself, if ya like. Or maybe give it to someone else?" That made sense, at least to Grace, but she couldn't be too confident.

"I suppose you're right, child," The Fae hummed, "I do like the sound of your accent, and I may use it. But tell me, why do you want to part with it?"

"I want to give ya my accent because I don't like it. I am thankful you do, it’s all the more reason to give it away." Even if she thought it was, Grace tried not to make her accent seem worthless.

The Fae thought over the girl's answer, a sad look crossing his face.

"You poor thing," The Faerie sighed, "I will take your accent but I would like to give you something in return. Is there anything you want?"

"Thank you. And Yes, I would like to leave the forest safely, please, so I can get home." Grace didn't want anything, honestly, but knew it was best to take the trade. He was kind enough to offer and it would be rude to refuse. Also, she really didn’t want to go through all those roots and vines again.

The Fae nodded, curls bouncing gently with the motion, "Of course. You will return home safely, and in return I get your accent."

There was a tightness in Grace's throat that left her unable to speak. The Fae in front her motioned her closer, cupping her face once in reach. He studied her, turning her chin up as though to get a good look of her neck. Another bounce of red curls told Grace he nodded again, for what reason, she had no clue. The constriction in her throat was uncomfortable yet she was somehow able to breathe just fine. He titled her head back down and patted her cheeks. After doing so the feeling vanished and she swallowed.

"How's that?" The Fae asked, with a new rich tone accompanying that of a typical Texan accent. He did it.

Grace could only stare upon hearing his voice. Quickly, when his brows furrowed, she remembered to speak.

"It's," Grace paused stunned once more hearing herself, "Different. Thank you." Her shoulders dropped in relief, she can't believe it worked.

"You're welcome," The Faerie smiled, "Now get yourself home, darlin'. You're supposed to be in school."

"Yes, of course. Goodbye," Grace ended the interaction, ready to leave the nerve wracking moment behind.

She took one step backwards, but was stopped by his voice.

"Darn it, I almost forgot somethin'." The Fae pointed at her, like a scolding parent, "You, missy, should never do this again."

"Wha-"

"No," He interrupted, "What you did was reckless, had any other Folk shown up you'd be left with nothin' but that pretty head of hair. You're lucky I ain't so particular 'bout these sorts of things."

The Fae sighed, his expression returning to that sad look from earlier. "I'll give ya some credit, ya did some things right, but it wasn't perfect. And that imperfection is what gets ya into trouble."

Grace nodded, it was all she do. She was more or less fully shell shocked by now. This Fae, of all creatures, was scolding her behavior just like her mother would.

The Faerie nodded in return, taking a step back himself. The wind picked up once more, slower this time.

His eyes grew dark, "Don't. Do it again." The Fae waved her off with a stern, but polite, goodbye, shooing her outside the circle.

Grace stumbled backwards out, the wind kicked into gear the second her foot landed. She closed her eyes as her hair blew in her face, the wind was much stronger outside the ring than she thought.

Then it stopped. Grace's hair fell in her face, now a complete mess. She opened her eyes to... nothing. The fairy ring was gone, with no evidence of it ever having been there at all. The whole thing felt surreal. Had it even happened? Grace spoke the question aloud to find her answer.

A perfect, upstate accent fell from Grace's lips. It only just occurred to her she never said what accent she wanted instead. She could've gotten something worse, but she guessed it had been the doing of the Fae that was kind enough to give her this one.

Grace took one last look towards the sky, it was clearer than it had been before. Not a cloud in sight. She breathed a deep sigh of relief, glad for it to all be over.

Turning around, Grace started her venture home. Along the way she found a trail that led her safely out to the edge of the forest where she had entered. A trail that definitely hadn’t been there before. Mentally, she thanked the kind Fae one more time.

Grace really didn't like that expression he made before leaving. She didn't know him, but that serious, almost threatening demeanor didn't suit his eyes. She didn't want to know what would happen if she went against the Fae’s wishes, and she didn't want to find out either.

She's never going near a Fairy Ring again, that was for sure.

[workscounselingcenter]

Body Scanning: A Tool You Can Use at The Dinner Table

Think about a recent time when you’ve felt an unwanted feeling. Maybe when someone cuts you off in traffic. Or when political opinions come up at the family dinner table. Perhaps it involves taking out the trash, the Titans losing, or a memory of a lost loved one coming up at the wrong time. Regardless of the context, whenever you are feeling overwhelmed, anxious, on edge, or upset, a quick body scan could help to regulate your nervous system and allow you to feel more grounded. This tool is especially helpful in times when a feeling comes up and you cannot remove yourself from the stressful situation. In the example of political conflict at the family dinner table, body scanning could help you identify and regulate your feelings without getting up and leaving the table before dessert.

Body scanning can help calm your nervous system by encouraging you to identify sensations felt in your body. When using this exercise, there is no need to judge or change the sensations you feel in your body. Rather, the goal is to observe and identify these sensations, and simply let them be. Sensations can include physical sensations that you feel throughout your body at the time you decide to practice this exercise. This could be the feeling of your shirt on your skin, the seat you are sitting in, the way the ground feels beneath your feet, or tension built up in your muscles.

With exercises involving mindfulness, it is always important to not put too much pressure on your exercise completion to look a specific way. If you feel a million sensations in your body, that is perfect. If you feel no sensations in your body, that is perfect as well. There is no right way to use this exercise, and no one method or script will work best for everyone. You know your body, and you know what works best for you. The only thing you must do is choose to spend a few intentional minutes to check in with yourself, be vulnerable and allow yourself to feel.

A body scan exercise might first include a prompt to sit or lie down in a comfortable position. If possible, you can close your eyes or let your gaze soften and take a few deep breaths. Next, you can begin at the top of your head or the soles of your feet, or wherever feels most helpful for you. Once you’ve identified a starting point, you can begin noticing sensations in each part of your body. You might find yourself skipping over body parts that you don’t typically check in with at first, such as your knee or your pinky finger, but with time you will begin to learn where to check in. As you move through your body, pause for a few seconds to breathe between each part. This intentional pause will give you the space to identify sensations that you might not have felt before the exercise began. It could even allow you to extend gratitude towards your ability to identify these sensations. As you conclude the scan through your body, you can slowly begin to open your eyes or sharpen your gaze again. I have included a link to a body scanning script, as well as a link to a guided body scan. Enjoy!

Get the help you need.

[meta-derm-group]

What You Need to Know About Botox Treatment!

Botox, short for Botulinum Toxin, has gained significant popularity in the world of cosmetic procedures. Its ability to reduce the appearance of wrinkles and fine lines has made it a go-to treatment for those seeking a more youthful look. Let's delve into what Botox treatment is all about, especially in the context of places like New Jersey, where it's known for its efficacy.

Understanding Botox Treatment

Botox Basics: Botox is a neurotoxin that is derived from the bacterium Clostridium botulinum. When used in small, controlled amounts, it can temporarily paralyze muscles. In the world of cosmetic treatments, this property is harnessed to reduce the appearance of wrinkles and lines.

How Botox Works: Wrinkles and fine lines often form due to the repetitive contraction of facial muscles, like when you smile or frown. Botox is injected into these muscles, causing a temporary relaxation. This prevents the muscles from contracting fully, thus reducing the appearance of wrinkles in the treated areas.

Popular Treatment Areas: Botox is commonly used to address wrinkles and lines in areas like the forehead, crow's feet (around the eyes), and frown lines (between the eyebrows). It's also utilized for other purposes, including treating migraines, excessive sweating (hyperhidrosis), and even certain medical conditions.

The Procedure: Botox treatment is a relatively quick and minimally invasive procedure. A qualified healthcare provider or dermatologist will inject the Botox solution into the targeted muscles using a fine needle. Most patients experience only minimal discomfort, often describing it as a brief, stinging sensation.

Results and Durability: Botox doesn't provide instant results. It typically takes a few days to start seeing the effects, with full results appearing in about two weeks. The results are temporary, usually lasting around three to four months. As the effects wear off, muscle contractions return, and wrinkles may gradually reappear.

Safety and Side Effects: When administered by a trained and experienced professional, Botox is generally safe. However, there can be side effects, including mild pain at the injection site, temporary drooping of the eyelid or eyebrow, or headache. Serious complications are rare.

Why Choose Botox in New Jersey, Specifically Moorestown, NJ?

New Jersey, and Moorestown in particular, has become a hub for high-quality Botox treatments. There are several reasons why Botox in Moorestown, NJ, is sought after:

Experienced Providers: Moorestown boasts a cadre of experienced healthcare providers who specialize in cosmetic procedures, including Botox. These professionals are skilled at delivering natural-looking results.

Customized Treatments: Whether you're looking for a subtle enhancement or a more dramatic change, providers in Moorestown, NJ, tailor Botox treatments to your specific goals and preferences.

Cutting-Edge Facilities: Many clinics in Moorestown are equipped with state-of-the-art facilities, ensuring that you receive the latest and safest Botox treatments available.

Client-Centered Approach: The healthcare providers in Moorestown prioritize patient satisfaction and safety. They take the time to understand your needs and ensure you are comfortable throughout the process.

In conclusion, Botox treatment in NJ has become a popular and effective solution for addressing wrinkles and lines. When seeking Botox, especially in places like Moorestown, NJ, it's crucial to choose experienced professionals who prioritize your safety and satisfaction. With the right provider, you can enjoy the benefits of a more youthful appearance without sacrificing your well-being.

[bakageta]

A tie! Hiding the fic under a read more because it's a lot!

Number 1 is My Reluctant God Eddie Brock fic I've been picking at for ages. But the whole idea is that Eddie is trying much harder than in comics canon to stick around for his family. Unfortunately, being the god of the symbiotes isn't a job that can be ignored. Or done by a human.

The snippet I have is from the pov of Flash, who is a codex in charge of a big ol' symbiote dragon still, finally reaching out to Eddie to deal with a klyntar who has come to Earth specifically to meet Eddie. It goes weird immediately.

---

A mug it was then, at least there’d be less waste if it learned that it didn't like coffee. Flash poured its portion into one of the off white mugs–which matched the off white dishes that were all he had now that he'd come back to life–and set it in front of his guest.

"Have at it," he encouraged it once he'd stood back up and taken a sip of his own. 

Back when Flash was alive and mentoring her, Andi had reveled in showing him mildly fascinating videos. Mainly because it kept him hanging around, but also because she enjoyed the expressions he made at some of them. One of her favorites had been of a magnetic putty slowly engulfing a cube of steel in exactly the same way his symbiote guest was pulling in the cup of coffee.

Flash took another sip.

The symbiote made a gurgling noise.

“Please don’t eat the mug.”

The mug re-emerged from the symbiote’s mass, now empty. 

“Thanks.”

"Coffee is the dirt taste and phenylethylamine is the artificial sustenance?"

"Yeah, probably."

It bobbed its head in some sort of sagely nod. "Eddie now?"

Flash sighed and pulled his phone out of the void in his hip that served as a pocket. Navigating to Eddie’s contact information was rote by now, but this time he actually hit the call button before he could talk himself out of it. The line rang a few times, enough that Flash thought Eddie might not answer, but on the second to last ring the line picked up. 

"...Hello?" Eddie sounded exhausted. Worn down more than could be justified by the admittedly late hour.

"Eddie, I've been meaning to talk to you for a while. I need you to come over–" Flash was no longer in control of his body. 

There was a presence. It built and shifted Flash’s body and for a second he thought he was reverting to a dragon in the middle of his tiny kitchen. Instead he grew taller and bulkier, his already dense and cramped body somehow becoming more so.

“Flash?” The presence in his body called out.

---

Second is a fic inspired by @kitausuret's fic Complicate Me, Elevate Me. The doc title is 'casual wear eddie' and I hope to god I figure out a better title for it. It involves Eddie and the symbiote figuring out a more comfortable form for themselves; a shape that is more influenced by who they are than who they hate. It takes a while to do and they get Flash to help.

---

“How did you figure it out?” Eddie asked abruptly in the middle of the night, much more awake than he had any right to be. 

“What?” Flash dragged himself back to a semblance of awareness. Eddie, the big spoon in their current sleeping arrangement, had leaned back and let a draft of cool air rush under the blankets. “Ugh.”

“Your– your Venom casual wear. How did it happen?”

Reluctantly, Flash pulled away from Eddie’s chest and rolled to face him. “My what?” He was missing at least half of the conversation– not unusual when one third of the relationship lived in another third –and wasn’t awake enough to puzzle it out through context clues.

Eddie seemed to realize he’d continued a conversation that Flash hadn’t been a part of. “The other night… You said Agent Venom was a work outfit–”

“So you decided our Cosmic form was casual wear?”

“I never heard it referred to as anything other than a comforting, all-encompassing sensation.” Eddie paused and Flash assumed his partner was embarrassed at his imagined faux pas. “Like the lounge pants I change into after a shower. That’s the feeling our symbiote gave me.”

Tagged by @anisecandy!

Rules: Pick a bunch of your WIPs and summarize them as badly as possible, then ask your followers to vote on which one they'd be most likely to read. Multiple/none/all options are completely optional.

Enjoy my poorly described Blue Beetle and Venom fics!

I'm tagging @saja-star, @kitausuret, and @gallus-rising

And You who are reading this! I also tag You!

[lilpunkrock]

where you go (i will go) — part vi

Summary: When your plan doesn’t go as expected, you and the Dream Lord find inspiration in an unexpected place: A wedding. 

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x f!reader

Words: 5.8k+ AN: Thank you all so much for the outpouring of love for parts i-v! I can’t tell you all how grateful I am and just how much I adore each of you. We’ll be adding some time jumps into the story from here on out, but context clues will be provided to keep you all up-to-date on the timeline. Enjoy!

series masterlist // mood board // ao3

. . . 

"Either your head or your heart, 

You set the other on fire."

The Other (stripped), Lauv

. . . 

part vi

“Death, dear, you look terribly exhausted. Has it been a long day? Why don’t you take a rest, yeah? Allow us to take care of this one,” a young feminine voice cooes from within the darkness.

“That’s very generous, Maiden, but I must say, I’m taken aback to see you,” the warm voice, Death, says. “What are you three doing here?”

“We are here for the dawn of a new age. The creation of a new goddess,” a motherly voice explains kindly. “Your brother has plans for this one.”

“Truly, this human fool? To be a goddess? Perhaps Destiny should review that text of his,” an elderly woman rasps, voice full of disdain. 

“Come now, sister-self. You know that Destiny is all-knowing,” the Maiden chastises softly. Her voice is sweet and drips like warm honey as she continues, “And after all, it’s quite romantic. Look at her—even now, she wants him.” 

“Indeed, she does,” the Mother tuts. “Poor dear.” 

“I see,” Death murmurs, her intrigue palpable. “But I’m still confused. Why are you three here, specifically?”

“She is to be our ward,” the Mother says.  “A Goddess of Love, the embodiment of all that is selfless and unconditional. The scales of selfless and selfish desire that your sibling once presided over alone have been unbalanced for far too long, with disastrous effect. We will provide her direction, and she will pave the way for all forms of love among humans to flourish. Such is her fate.”

“Well, I would quite like to see fewer instances of…this. But a goddess balancing scales against an Endless…surely it can’t be so. That hardly seems fair. The power dynamic is too great.”

“Her fate is written in the book of Destiny of the Endless,” the Crone growls, and Death goes quiet. With spite in her voice, the Crone continues,   “If your sibling had not soured and allowed selfishness and vanity to blind them, there would be no need for this. And yet, here we are. But you are right—a deity is beneath the power and authority of an Endless. If our ward is unable to uphold her side of the scale, she will surely perish. Her fate has been spoken.”

For a moment, all is still. And then, there is a feeling of being hollowed out, every last piece of yourself being scooped and scraped and carved. It’s jarring, panic-inducing. You itch to crawl out of your own skin and escape the feeling, but lost in the endless darkness, you’re utterly trapped. Then, suddenly, a new sensation pours into you. A feeling of being refilled. Warmth trickles through you like fire licking at frigid fingers, like rain seeping through new soil. You suck in your first breath of air in what feels like ages. 

When you finally open your eyes, you expect to see four women standing around you. Instead, you only see one—a beautiful, dark-skinned woman with eyes you’re meeting for the second time in your life. “Hello, Love.” 

. . . 

“Are you up for a road trip today?”

Lucienne’s dark eyes widen in surprise from her spot just a few paces away. The two of you have spent the last hour carefully cataloging tomes back into place within the Library of Dreams, relishing in the whisper of rustling pages and the smell of well-loved leather. It only took you a few trips to the Dreaming to notice that the Dream Lord prefers to conduct business with his subjects in the morning so that his afternoons are free for crafting. As such, a new routine has developed for you over the past several days: Grab a coffee from Cliff’s shop, travel with Matthew to the Dreaming, assist Lucienne, pop home to check on Theo midday, then spend the afternoon observing and working with Morpheus. 

After being a solitary being for so long, you’d thought it might be difficult to integrate, to socialize. And yet, you find yourself looking forward to your time in the Dreaming more with each passing day. Your mind warns you to be careful, to not get too close. Your heart is having too much fun to care. 

“A trip, miss? Wherever to?” Lucienne slips the final book she holds into its spot on the shelf, eyeing you curiously from behind her spectacles. 

“I seem to recall a certain someone being interested in visiting another magical library,” you say coyly, quirking one eyebrow at her. “Morpheus will be busy until midday at least. We should go!” 

A quiet chuckle hums in Lucienne’s throat as she dips her chin at you. “I’m not sure, Miss Love. My place is here in the Dreaming. I have never left Lord Morpheus’s Realm. That is Matthew’s job.” 

You shake your head gently, seeking to assuage her concerns. “We don’t have to leave to go to my library. My Realm overlaps all others, like layers of a tapestry.” At Lucienne’s curious expression, you backtrack. “Let me explain… Imagine standing in one room while your friend stands in another. Just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean they aren’t there. My Realm functions in much the same way. It’s even here in the room with us now; you just can’t see it. We can go there without ever technically ‘leaving’ the Dreaming at all.” 

A glint of intrigue sparks in Lucienne’s eyes at your words, and you lean in, pressing harder. Much like the Dream Lord, you’ve noticed that a desire to learn burns brightly within Lucienne. Whether this is a piece of Lord Morpheus himself within her, or her own unique personality trait, you’re unsure. You adore it regardless. “Come on, now, Lucienne. You work so diligently every day. Let’s have a little fun, shall we?” 

Lucienne’s dark lips pinch slightly as she considers your proposition. After a long moment, they ease into a small smile. “Very well, then. I must admit, ever since you spoke of your library, I have been quite eager to see it.” 

A wide grin peels across your face, giddy warmth rising in your cheeks. “Fantastic. All we need is a doorway, then.” 

“A doorway?” Lucienne asks. 

You nod thoughtfully, eyes sweeping the aisles between the bookshelves around you for another member of Dream Country. After a few quiet moments, your ears catch the quiet sound of whistling in the distance. You beckon Lucienne to follow as you weave through the aisles of books, pace quickening as the whistling draws nearer. 

As you round another corner, you spot him: Mervyn Pumpkinhead. The sardonic janitor’s lanky form is crouched beside an empty bookshelf, his left hand guiding a board back into place as his right grips a screwdriver. As a new screw spins into place, his fist thumps against the top of the board. Pleased with its sturdiness, his wide, carved mouth closes into a satisfied smirk. His hands dip into his pockets, emerging with a fresh cigar and lighter, eager to celebrate this small victory.

“Mervyn.” Lucienne’s stern voice cuts through the janitor’s reverie just before he can bring the flame to the end of his cigar. “Do you really think that’s wise? Lighting a cigar in the midst of the universe’s largest supply of kindling?” 

“Oof, sorry, Loosh. Got carried away there,” Mervyn says as he flips the lighter closed, tucking his cigar back into his pocket. He stands hastily, twig fingers patting down the front of his coveralls. “What can I, uh, do to help you two?” 

You smile kindly at Mervyn as you come to a stop just before him, his handkerchief bowtie within arm’s reach. “Lucienne and I were just about to take a little trip. We were hoping you could help us get there.” 

Mervyn’s carved eyes, normally narrow with cynicism, widen slightly in surprise. “Oh, yeah?” he rasps. “Well, uh, sure. What do I need to do?”

“Just stand there and look pretty, Mervyn. That’s all you’ve got to do.” Your hand slips into Lucienne’s swiftly, squeezing once for assurance. As Mervyn opens his mouth to reply, your palm presses flush against his chest. While Mervyn Pumpkinhead may not have a physical heart, you’ve learned through years of experience that all beings have an incorporeal one. Something much greater than a flesh-and-blood organ—their soul. As you connect with this piece of him, reaching out, reaching through, your mind seeks the place you wish to find. Your library. 

You are first greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and the soft creaking of wooden shelves. When you open your eyes, you find that Lucienne has beat you to it. Her studious brown gaze sweeps the room, drinking in the rows of bookshelves illuminated by the golden sun streaming through the skylight ceiling above. Having gone directly from Lucienne’s library to your own, it’s easy to identify their differences. Where Lucienne’s library has several hallways of tables so that all members of the Dreaming may come to sit and read, yours features just one solitary table in the center of the room. Whereas Lucienne’s library features stories upon stories of bookshelves, yours is only a ground floor. From this central reading area, the aisles of bookshelves weave outward, stretching on and on in labyrinth from to the very first book that appeared after your rebirth. 

Suddenly faced with how modest your library is compared to hers, you lick your lips nervously. Your study was certainly no Library of Dreams. It was quaint, simple. It was part of your home. “Welcome, Lucienne,” you murmur softly, “to my library. Where a record of the past, present, and future attachments of every being since my rebirth resides.” 

“Oh, Miss Love,” Lucienne breathes in a hushed whisper. Your heart skips a beat as you await her judgment. “...I love it.” 

“You do?” you say as your nerves fizzle into tentative glee. “Oh, what a relief. It’s definitely not as grand as yours, Lucienne. But I love her all the same.” 

Lucienne chuckles softly. “I imagine it requires a great deal less cleaning than mine, which is no small victory.” Your quiet laughter joins with hers as the two of you begin winding your way through the aisles. Lucienne’s hands ghost over the rows of leather spines, eyes settling on the signposts at the top of each bookshelf. “We use the same archiving system,” she comments.

“Yeah. Seeing how organized your volumes were might have inspired me to do a little reorganizing myself.” You grin. 

Lucienne smiles softly, giving a quiet hmm of appreciation. As her fingers begin to dance across volumes under “L,” her curious gaze finds yours. “Is it possible that I have a book here?” 

You blink, taken aback by her question at first. As you hold her gaze, however, you note the tentativeness there. The nervous curiosity. Her shy interest makes you smile. “Have you ever loved someone in any way? Romantic or platonic? If so, there is a record of it here.” 

Lucienne gives a brief nod, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. You smile in turn, asking no questions. 

As the morning creeps on, the two of you weave your way through the aisles, eyes pouring over the attachments of figures throughout history, renowned and otherwise. As you watch Lucienne flip eagerly through volume upon volume, it suddenly occurs to you that, since your rebirth, no hands have touched these pages but yours. To allow her into this place is to reveal a part of yourself which has never before been seen. 

You’re letting your guard down, the voice in your head chastises bitterly. You’re going to regret that. 

You ignore it. 

. . . 

“It’s not working.”

The slap of your sneakers against the stone floor echoes off the throne room walls as you stalk toward the Dream Lord’s throne. Hearing your approach, Morpheus’s ocean eyes flick up from the large book he is reading halfway up the staircase. You’ve noted before that he seems to prefer the cold stone of the stairs to the formality of his throne, and today is no different. 

As he peers down at you in diluted astonishment, it suddenly occurs to you that perhaps you should have requested a special audience to discuss this matter. Diplomacy has always been a touch-and-go battle for you. In this moment, heart hammering, mind racing, you’re too rattled and flustered to care. 

“What do you mean?” The calm collectedness in Morpheus’s tone makes you want to throttle him. 

“The plan. It’s not working. Or, not as well as I’d hoped,” you huff, coming to a halt just before the first stair. 

Slowly, deliberately, Morpheus closes the text he was reading and lays it beside him. When he rises to his feet, it’s with the grace of a shadow stretching at dusk, a bead of ink leisurely dripping from a saturated quill. “Tell me what happened,” he instructs, clear voice cutting through the chilled air of the throne room. 

You breathe in deeply, seeking to organize your frazzled thoughts. “I’ve been watching the mortals for over a week now. Some of the attachments are going perfectly. Take Cole and Rose, for example. They bumped into each other in the school parking lot five days ago, and their eros attachment went off without a hitch. I think they’re going to the homecoming dance together on Friday.” Morpheus quirks one dark brow at you. Rather than trying to explain what a homecoming dance is to an immortal being from the dawn of time, you shake your head and press on. “I definitely think that what we’re doing is helping. But at least a fifth of the dreamers I’ve been following are still being corrupted by Desire. Just this morning, I watched a philia couple make heart eyes at each other in the grocery store. Just as the attachment was about to take hold, the guy noticed that the cashier was wearing a particularly revealing shirt, and it was all downhill from there.” Winded from your rushed explanation, you draw in another breath. Morpheus eyes you intently, his expression betraying nothing. With a sigh, you add, “Well? Are you going to say anything?”

Morpheus descends the staircase in silence. His slowness to speak, usually something you appreciate, is maddening as you await his answer. You draw in another deep breath, honing in on his footsteps, trying to slow your frenzied heart to match the pace of his gradual descent. Thud, thud, thud.

By the time he comes to stand but a couple of feet away, you feel marginally calmer than before. Marginally. Your eyes flit back and forth between his, seeking answers. 

After a long moment, Morpheus speaks. “It does not sound to me as if your plan is failing. What you are describing is progress.” 

Your eyebrows furrow slightly. “Well, yes, technically. But it’s not enough. Desire is still overpowering my attachments.” 

“You are unlikely to ever defeat my sibling entirely. They are incomprehensibly mischievous, stubborn, and strong-willed.” 

Stubborn and strong-willed. Must be family traits, you think half-heartedly. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re an Endless. Your life doesn’t depend on the work you do.” 

The words are out of your mouth before you can reign them back in. Instantly, you regret them. His gaze has a sharper edge now than it did moments ago. As if to say, Watch yourself. 

You sigh. Though the core of your statement is true, you know the sentiment is not. If the past several days have taught you anything, it’s just how much Morpheus does care for his function. His dedication and devotion to his work is evident in every word he speaks, every action he takes, every decision he makes. You extend your hands palm-upward in apology. An olive branch.  “I’m sorry. I’m just…overwhelmed. And scared. Everything I know and love is at risk. The very balance of love and desire in the world is at risk. I can feel them in here.” One hand rises to your chest, settling over your heart. “My scales. I feel them inside me. I know they’re unbalanced. If a fifth of the dreamers we’ve impacted so far are still falling to Desire, then countless more that we haven’t impacted are, too.” You draw one step closer to him, eyes searching his, imploring. “Something has to change.” 

The throne room is silent save for the quiet breathing of Morpheus and yourself. He watches you quietly, eyes clear and blue, pale skin cast in shades of red, blue, and green from the stained glass behind his throne. There’s a slight shift in his jaw, one you’ve noticed arises when he’s striving to choose his words carefully. After a long moment, he murmurs, “For every problem, there is a solution. We will find it.” 

Your eyebrows unknit at his words. We. A spark of hope alights in your chest at the thought of searching for an answer, of finding one. Of not doing it all alone. 

“Now, come.” A wave of Morpheus’s hand pulls you from your thoughts, and you follow behind him as he walks toward the throne room doors. “Let us work first, then strategize. A frantic mind reveals no solutions. ‘What worries you, masters you.’”

John Locke, you think. Or, rather, you suppose you should cite Dream of the Endless, since he was the one who likely inspired the thought in the first place. A tentative smile reaches your lips. “Okay, yeah. Let’s go.” 

. . . 

“Alright, Dream Lord, it’s your turn to ask the first question.”

“I still do not understand why I cannot simply ask all my questions at once. It would be much more efficient than this.”

“Because that ruins the intrigue, Dream Lord. And if I don’t have some leverage on you, how am I to be certain that you’ll answer my own questions?” 

“I will answer what I choose to, regardless of the secrets you retain.”

“Touche. But it ups the likelihood that you’ll answer me, at least.” 

Stardust dances in Morpheus’s eyes as he turns to peer down at you. You tilt your head up at him, grinning impishly from where you sit cross-legged on the dock in the Dreaming’s sea. You imagine he has come to expect your playful teasing over the past several days just as you have come to expect his lack thereof. In spite of his aloof front, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, some part of him appreciates the challenge. Perhaps it’s the hint of a gleam you swear you catch in his eye, or something in the way his chin tilts upward at your provocations. You wonder when the last time Dream of the Endless heard phrases such as “no” or “yes, but on one condition…” 

“Why do you live as you do? Like a human in the Waking World. Why have I not heard of you before now?”

“Ah, that’s two questions, Dream Lord.” Morpheus’s eyebrows raise, lips parting slightly, seemingly surprised by his slip-up. As he mutters a muffled, “Apologies,” you smile. “Since you were so kind as to apologize, I’ll answer them both. As for the why—well, old habits die hard, I suppose. I’ve never felt entirely at home in your world. The world of gods and deities, of Endless and angels. I love my job, of course, but it still doesn’t feel quite…real. Sometimes.” Your gaze drops to the water below the dock, seeking the flashes and glimmers of dreams that flicker beneath the waves. “I was one of them once. At the end of the day, I still feel more at home with them.” 

You feel Morpheus shift in the space beside you, imagine his unruly black hair bobbing as he nods. You feel his pensive gaze pin you to the dock. “And my second question?” he rasps.

Now, that one makes you bite your lip. Nibbling nervously, you mull over your answer for a moment. “Well, I’ve been called something of a…hermit.” Desire’s voice rings in your ears, a sour, ugly sound. You swallow thickly. “I suppose I’ve always just sought to…keep to myself.” 

A pause. “You do not strike me as shy, or reserved.” 

You laugh softly, inclining your head to look up at him. “Who said I was shy? I said I preferred to keep to myself. I didn’t say anything about why.” 

Morpheus pauses, lips pursing slightly. “...why?” he finally asks, pressing his luck. 

You feel your heart jump at his question. After so long, the traitorous organ is all too eager to connect, to share. Because it’s easier to avoid getting hurt that way, you want to say. 

But the fear is stronger. Your brain crams the words back down your throat before you can get carried away. You click your tongue in disapproval. “See, now, Morpheus, that’s three questions. And that’s just far too many. It’s my turn.” 

Morpheus opens his mouth, Adam’s apple bobbing. Then, suddenly, he pauses. You lean forward slightly, watching him. That traitorous voice in your chest whispers, Ask me again. Ask me again, and I’ll tell you everything. Just as you think he’s about to press further, his pink lips close. He dips his head. “So be it. What is your question?” 

You give a contemplative hum, eyes pulling away from him to stare across the waters of the Dreaming. Your gaze settles on the pale wisps of fog, the swirling stardust above, the glittering stars beyond. All is still here. Peaceful. It would be a lie to say that you hadn’t enjoyed the past several nights that you’d spent here, crafting dreams of lovers and soulmates with the Dream Lord. In this pocket of time, so far removed from the rest of the world, it was easy to hold your problems at bay. Easy to forget everything else for a while and simply be. 

Your mind briefly wanders over your earlier anxiety, over your present situation. The question for him rises to your lips unbidden. “Do you ever wonder if you’re the right one for your job?” you ask quietly, eyes trained on a cluster of stars gathered high above your heads. 

A beat of silence. “No.” You laugh once, humored and disappointed simultaneously. Of course not. He was an Endless, born out of his very function. Why would he have any reason to wonder? 

You feel a shift beside you and turn your head to find Morpheus hunched over slightly, peering at you more closely. There is the slightest hint of a crease between his brows. “But you do?” he asks softly. 

The quiet voice in the back of your head tells you to change the subject. After all, it’s not too late. But your confession rises in your chest again, burning sharply. Perhaps it would be okay to open up, just a little. To relieve the slightest amount of the pressure inside you. Concentrating on the wrinkle in Morpheus’s brow, you press onward. “With everything going on right now…Desire, my scales…I don’t know. I just can’t help but wonder if perhaps someone else would have been better suited for this role than me.”

Morpheus studies you quietly. His pale blue eyes appear bright and all-knowing, and you suppose they are. You’re surprised by the lack of judgment you find within them. A surprising sense of calm settles over you as you await his response.

In the days you’ve known each other, you’ve quickly learned that Morpheus is not the wishy-washy type. Though your heart aches for validation, you don’t expect it. But after a long pause, he murmurs, “The Fates do not make mistakes. Nor does my brother, Destiny.” Morpheus lifts his chin slightly, and the cosmos of the Dreaming scatter stars in his eyes. “Your divinity was written in my brother’s book for a reason. Perhaps one you have not uncovered yet.”

There is a soft, yet piercing sensation in your chest. One you’re feeling for the second time today. Hope. You suppose it is only logical that he can bring it to light in you. After all, he is the King of Dreams. 

As your gaze drifts to study the star-lit sky in silence, you feel the vaguest of shifts within your chest. When you breathe in the salty sea air, you swear it comes a little easier than before. 

. . . 

Two mornings later, you find him lurking like a shadow amongst the bookshelves in the Library of Dreams. “I have something special in store for us today,” you say with thinly veiled giddiness. 

Morpheus’s eyes linger on the text he’s reading just a moment longer before they flicker to you. “Is that so?” he murmurs, fingers still splayed over the book’s inked pages. 

You smile widely at him as you approach, trailing your fingers over book spines as you go. Your restless nights spent mulling over ways to combat Desire have been largely fruitless thus far, but they feel far from your mind in this moment. Your gratitude for this distraction cannot be overstated. “Yes. Consider yourself a very lucky Endless today, Morpheus. You are about to witness one of the most treasured aspects of my function.” 

The soft thud of the Dream Lord’s book closing echoes off the wooden shelves, bouncing up toward the towering ceilings. “And that is?”

Your smile grows wider still. “A wedding.” 

. . . 

One groaned “Oh, brother, this again?” from Mervyn later, you and the Dream Lord are slipping between the towering trees of British Columbia’s Cathedral Grove. The lush canopy of Douglas and Grand firs, Western Hemlock, and Western Red Cedar overhead is so thick that you can hardly see the rainbow-threaded sky of the Realm of Attachment beyond it. The golden leaves of numerous bigleaf maples burn brightly throughout the forest, the first signs of autumn in a place that is almost perpetually green. 

You smile, hands gliding over huckleberry bushes as you guide Morpheus through the woods. Some of the trees are as wide as cars, some nearly 800-years-old. Some you had watched grow from the time they were saplings. Being in a place so vast and ancient typically leaves you feeling small, humble, and human. As you watch Morpheus drift between the colossal trunks and lush fauna like a shadow, you find that he blends in superbly. 

“You spoke of today as if it was to be quite the occasion,” Morpheus says after several minutes of quiet walking. “Outside of the obvious involvement of love, what is the significance of a wedding to you?”

“How do you feel when you finally see one of your dreamers react to a dream or nightmare you’ve crafted?” you ask in turn. “It’s always nice to see the fruit of your labor. Plus, I like to do a little extra work on days like these.”

As the two of you slip around the base of a massive Grand fir, you find yourselves walking into a small clearing. An intimate gathering of guests sits before you. Their rows of chairs face a wicker arch interwoven with flowers and greenery in shades of burnt orange, blush, and ivory. An aisle draped in a white runner splits the guests in two. Their hushed, excited whispers drift toward you on the breeze, the air humming with excitement.  

“This way, Dream Lord.” You feel compelled to whisper even though the mortals can’t hear you. You beckon him to follow you toward a golden bigleaf maple on the right side of the clearing. “The ceremony’s about to begin.” 

Just as you come to stand beneath the maple’s branches, a hush falls over the crowd. Every head in the clearing seems to turn in unison toward a thick collection of cedar trees at the end of the clearing opposite you. A middle-aged man with graying hair emerges from the treeline dressed in tan trousers, burgundy suspenders, and a white dress shirt. The Bible he carries in his hand as he approaches the altar looks well-loved, brimming with colorful bookmarks. 

The soft sound of a piano instrumental drifts from a small speaker at the edge of the crowd. All watch in contented silence as the procession of wedding party members begins to slowly walk through. The smile on your lips as you observe them is small and tentative. If there’s a dull ache in your chest as they pass—well, you tell yourself it’s just because you’re happy. So, so happy for them. 

As the groom takes his place beside the pastor at the altar, cheeks flushed with nerves and eyes alight with excitement, a new current of enthusiasm ripples through the air. All rise in unison, turning toward the treeline with wide smiles on their faces. And there she is—the bride, escorted by her father who positively beams with pride. A dream in white, she shines radiantly against the rich background of the forest. Your heart swells three sizes when you see her. You know this is your time. 

“I’ll be right back,” you murmur to Morpheus.. As the bride slowly approaches the aisle, you delve into the thick entanglement of attachments connecting the wedding guests together. While their eyes are trained on her, your eyes are trained on them. With a sweep of your hand, you begin plucking at attachments of every color, playing the strings like a harp. You imagine the swell of their hearts as they look upon the bride, the groom, then look at their own partner. You weave nostalgia and reminiscence through the air, shimmering, dazzling. Hands clasp one another, squeezing tightly. Tears are shed, wiped away by the hand of a lover. Memories rise to the surface from a week ago, a year ago, decades ago. When you come across attachments woven alongside black threads, you whisper particularly sweet words to them, grinning triumphantly when they are outshone by their colorful counterparts. 

As you weave your way through the aisles, you can’t help but bask in the glow around you. This right here—this moment, this feeling—is everything. The air around you feels warm and thick, cluttered with attachments, overflowing with love. Your skin positively sings with it. You are alive. 

By the time the bride has reached the altar, you are making your return to Morpheus’s side. His expression is intrigued, thoughtful. You beam at him as you take your place by his side, mind reeling, feeling giddy and breathless. 

The pastor clears his throat, and the crowd quiets. “Beloved friends and family, we are gathered here today…”

You watch in silence as the ceremony proceeds through the opening prayer and message. Your mind never fails to wander on days like these, adrift on a sea of “what ifs” and “if onlys.” Normally, you’re left to muddle through your solemn thoughts and their suffocating aftermath alone. 

But today, you’re not. As your mind starts to drift, a subtle shift of Morpheus’s dark form in your periphery draws you back to the present. Your eyes glide over, sneaking a curious peek at him. He analyzes each member of the crowd equally, attentive gaze taking in each face, each expression intently. His desire to study mortals, to understand them, is palpable in this moment. It’s…endearing. You want to tell him the truth: Mortals hardly even understand themselves. Instead, you let him study as he pleases, unwilling to dampen this show of genuine interest. 

As the pastor concludes his message, your fingertips ghost lightly over the sleeve of Morpheus’s coat, capturing his attention. “This is it. My favorite part,” you whisper. 

You drift to stand at the altar on a breeze. The bride laughs softly as it blows a loose curl of hair into her face. The groom smiles fondly, a thousand unspoken words conveyed in a single curve of his face. His finger reaches out to slip the curl back into place with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. The eros, philia, pragma, and erotoropia attachments between them gleam in shades of red, white, orange, and purple. Your fingers quiver, eager to fulfill them. 

The pastor clears his throat at your side. “Before the exchange of vows, the couple has requested I recite Ruth chapter one, verses sixteen and seventeen…”

Your lips ghost lovingly over the words, cherishing each vowel and consonant, caressing each syllable. “Do not urge me to leave you or to turn back from you.” You strum your fingers across the threads of attachment before you, relishing in the radiant glow they cast on your face. “Where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay.” The threads sing as you strum them again. “Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried.” Another strum. “May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me.” 

Your eyes lift to look over the glowing attachments before you, across the clearing, to Morpheus. Once intent on studying the wedding attendees, he now looks only at you. You hold his gaze as you walk slowly back across the clearing. The farther you walk from the crowd, the more your adrenaline fades. You smile tentatively at him, suddenly bashful, though you’re not entirely sure what for. You re-take your place by his side in silence. 

Several moments pass before he asks quietly, “You said that is your favorite part. For what reason?”

Your chest aches with something sweet and sorrowful. “What more could one want than to not go through this life alone?” 

The Lord of Dreams gives no response. 

“And now, the bride and groom will exchange vows.” 

You watch as the groom procures a folded piece of paper from his front pocket with trembling fingers. When he raises his gaze to meet his bride’s, it’s as if they are twin stars orbiting one another at the center of the universe. The rest of the clearing and its guests seem to fall away, leaving no one here but them. The groom smiles. 

“Mila,” he starts, voice cracking. His bride giggles, and the groom laughs breathlessly. He  draws in a shuddering breath before pressing onward. “Mila. I can’t believe the day has finally come. When I bumped into you that day in the break room, papers scattering all over the place, coffee spilling absolutely everywhere, I never would have guessed we’d be standing here today.” His gaze flickers upward, and she smiles reassuringly. “Do you remember the first thing you said to me? Because I do. I’ll never forget it…” 

Do you remember the first thing you said to me? Because I do. 

I’ll never forget it. 

Clarity crashes over you like ice water. Adrenaline sends you sucking in a sharp breath. “Morpheus,” you choke, spinning abruptly to meet his blue gaze. “I have an idea.”

[thefanficmonster]

Filterless

Corpse Husband x Plus-sized Reader (Female)

Warnings: Body Image Insecurities, Low self-esteem, Swearing

Genre:  Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Feeling comfortable in her skin has hardly ever been the case for Y/N who’s been struggling with body image issues all her life. However, they only get worse when she sees the ‘type’ of girls her crush is into.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your request (hits close to home 😅) I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to fulfill it and post it but here it finally is and if you’ve stuck around long enough to read it, I hope you enjoy! ALSO! - Never forget how beautiful and amazing you are. Never compare your beauty to someone else’s. We’re all beautiful people and we all shine so brightly and uniquely. No one deserves to be compared to anyone when we’re all so different yet so incredible. Love you and appreciate you with all my heart, Vy ❤

If I ever need my ego taken down a few notches - it never does, it’s barely even present, to be honest - all I have to do is go on Instagram. To be honest, regardless of how I’m feeling, opening that app is bound to make my mood plummet and come crashing into the ground so hard it drives a hole in it - probably in the form of a broken heart.

Being a content creator myself, I often get asked questions about my absence on that social platform specifically. I mean, the questions are based and rational I guess, considering I’m not a faceless YouTuber and yet my Instagram account is void of any photos. It’s not like I don’t post at all - I do! I post on my story often but it’s more often than not scenery I find pretty or a poster I’ve made for a movie/video game. Bottom line is: I barely ever allow a picture of me to make it online. The most my fans are ever gonna get of me is a selfie which is also a super rare occurrence because of how long it takes me to take and choose one I don’t hate.

Ok, but how am I supposed to find the motivation to post any sort of picture of myself when on my timeline I’m always faced with people worthy of posting pictures of themselves. People with such perfect bodies and beautiful faces. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not jealous or envious of those people - good for them! They know what they’re working with and they’re working it well. I have nothing against them, in fact, I love seeing people proud of their bodies no matter their size, shape or weight. Those are my role-models: people who are proud of themselves, their bodies, their attributes and capabilities and don’t hesitate to show them off. Those are the people I look up to but, deep down inside I know I’ll never be like.

Insecure about my body, having been referred to as ‘chubby’ and ‘squishy’ all my life. Inappreciative of the stuff I do: starting from my job as a graphic designer leading towards my job on YouTube - nothing I do, professionally or otherwise, satisfies me. Nothing I do is enough in my eyes because I feel incapable of ever being able to do enough. I’ve been called lazy and a half-asser a few too many times to be able to brush it off as a meaningless insult. 

With these problems I’ve had with myself and my own perception of who I am and the work I do, I’ve never had the time for romance or romantic relationships. I second-guess the intentions of everyone who ever shows any interest in me because in my mind I’m nothing special and I have nothing to offer - nothing attractive or likable at least. That being said, I haven’t even been one to make heart eyes at others either. I busy myself with my job and some side-gigs, brushing off any relationship questions with the excuse that I’m ‘just too busy to be in a relationship’ which is technically true.

Having spent twenty plus years with that mindset, one can imagine how surprised I was when I found myself catching feelings for someone. And that someone just couldn’t be any other than the biggest YouTube sensation at the moment - Corpse Husband.

I’m close friends with Poki - her and I were roommates at one point too - so her inviting me to play Among Us with them wasn’t so strange. One or two games, I thought, nothing unusual there, just friendly curtesy. I wasn’t expecting to warm up to the group of famous streamers nor did I expect them to welcome me among them so easily, mostly because my channel is so small and practically invisible to the YouTube algorithm. But soon enough, I became a permanent member of the team, making friends with every single one of those YouTubers I practically thought of a celebrities.

This journey of branching out to other content creators has proven itself to be surprisingly pleasant and has packed my book of friendships to the brim. All of that came unexpectedly, along with a wave of new subs and a higher view count. However, as I mentioned, it hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows. I came to finally understand what my high school friends were talking about when they were head over heels for a boy - the butterflies in the stomach whenever he speaks your name; the importance of the laugh you share with him, how special and different it is; how cool it is to be impostors with him - ok they never said that, obviously, but it’s what I have as a substitute to the ‘when the two of you make eye-contact’ bullshit since Corpse and I have never seen each other in person. That is, of course, because of him being a faceless YouTuber and me being a self-conscious and insecure girl.

We do talk all the time though - texting, calling, chilling on Discord, you name it. Our conversations range from deeply philosophical to ones that might mislead someone into thinking we’re high. There’s no topic we haven’t touched upon and yet we still manage to find something new to talk about. We have plenty of similarities but we also never seem to run out of differences we slowly come across as we keep getting to know each other better and better. 

And somewhere along that journey I ended up catching feelings.

Human nature of wanting to connect with other people, I curse you for what you’ve done to me.

You might think I’m being overdramatic about the whole ordeal and that this is just a normal, natural occurrence many people experience in their life - some even daily. Well, not only am I far from used to it, but it’s also taking a toll of a different kind on me.

It’s like a constant slap to the face. 

That slap turned into a punch when Corpse and I started following each other on Instagram and I started getting daily reminders of how out of my depth I am with this crush on him. In over my head, especially when you look at all those girls whose pics and videos he reposts on his story. Imagine how that makes me feel, what that does to me - puts me back into the ‘Constantly not good enough‘ basket, the one I’ve been fighting to get out of all my life. In the past and in different contexts I could easily say that it was all just my mind hating me intensely but now - now that I know for a fact I’m not good enough and don’t fit Corpse’s criteria - it hurts ten times as much. I’m not one to do shit for someone’s attention or to attract someone’s eyes, but it really hurts my feelings. Often times, it also leads me to doing dumb things and making rash decisions. 

Like the one I made two days ago.

Imagine me cringing and shaking my head at my own stupidity as I admit this: I, in a frenzy, ordered a whole e-girl getup with overnight delivery. 

Wait, hold up, it gets worse. 

I received it yesterday and spent the whole day regretting that decision, but then, in my most insecure hours - which was somewhere around midnight - I equipped the get-up, took a picture and posted it on my Instagram page. First full body pic I’ve ever posted on there. First pic I’ve posted there of any kind. There to stay, not to be gone in twenty four hours. First pic, and it’s not even of me. It’s of who I want to be in order to fit someone’s criteria. And that fucking stings.

As you might imagine, I’ve spent today’s day regretting that decision as well. Recently my mood’s been nothing but regretting rash decisions that have surfaced under the influence of my ridiculous, constantly-present insecurities. And I would’ve probably gotten over it rather quickly had I not received a message from Corpse that read:

“Didn’t think of you with an e-girl aesthetic“

I didn’t open the message, I peeped at it as it was a notification on my lock screen. It’s still there, an unread notification. It’s been two hours since I received it and I cannot think of a single thing to say in response to that. 

Truth is, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of so many things right now.

I’m afraid of becoming that girl in the photo, cause I’m most definitely not her.

I’m afraid of letting Corpse down by admitting I’m not her.

I’m afraid of what my own mind has made me do because it hates me so much and I’m terrified of what it might do in the future.

I’m afraid and stranded on things to do.

You can’t be her forever, you know. Being her won’t make your insecurities go away, it’ll only make them worse. Haven’t you learned that by now?

I sigh, frustrated and irritated with myself as I grab my phone and tap on the notification, finally deciding to face the music and allow my instincts to carry me through the interaction. Improvisation, that’s one of the few things I’m good at. Let’s hope it doesn’t fail me.

I’m just about to type out my response - not sure what it’s gonna say - when I give the message Corpse has sent me a second glance.  I furrow my brows, finding there’s more to it than that peep through the notification let me see.

“Didn’t think of you with an e-girl aesthetic. You’re personality is so bright and colorful, I could’ve never imagined you were into the darks and blacks“

Because I’m not

I fail to realize until the message has been sent that my thoughts are exactly what I typed out and sent.

And honestly, I’m glad. It feels like I’ve spoken my truth, like I’ve lifted a huge boulder off my chest.

With that rare confidence in mind I go on and delete the picture.

In its spot, I post a picture I just now took - a mirror selfie in my homey get-up consisting of hot pink sweatpants and an oversized blue tee, my hair in a messy bun, my face free of make-up.

I caption it: ‘Oops, had the e-girl filter on for the last one. This is filterless me tho so...Hi 🥴’

A lot better, I’m surprised to hear my inner voice say. I hope I don’t get used to all this kindness on my brain’s part, probably won’t last, but damn if I don’t milk every second of it.

Just then, I receive a new message from non other than Corpse.

“Now that’s the girl I see when I think of you. She’s super cute 😉“

My, oh my, who would’ve guessed Corpse has a game like that - and by that I mean the ability to make me blush so intensely with only a text message.

Now ain’t that better than being someone else, Y/N?

It sure is, it sure is.

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[savagesbonergarage]

ok, i need SMUTTY thrawn. like anything you wanna write

Don't we all 😏

I’m weirdly a little upset with Thrawn right now for ridiculous headspace reasons, so this is gonna be interesting. I think I have a good idea, though...We’ll see how this turns out lol

Update: Wow this has a lot of feelings??? Apparently I needed to get that out of my system *shrug*

A/N - Tried to write this for a gender-neutral reader so let me know how that works 🤐, longer than I expected but what else is new, yeah feelings like I said, but it turns into you domming Thrawn so I think it’s worth it, face-riding, cumming in pants, role-play? kinda?, the smut’s at the end

Thrawn

“Neglect”

“What is this?” you asked with a knowing curiosity and no small amount of irritation in your voice.  

You held the painted helmet in your hands, Thrawn’s gaze never leaving it until he eventually answered you through a defeated sigh. “It belonged to one of the rebel captives I’ve been tracking. The boy Jedi.”

“I see...” you retorted unflinchingly, inspecting the crude loth-cat design on the front of it through hardened, yet undeniably sad eyes. “So this is what you’ve been up to this entire time? Spending your vacation working instead of...” 

Instead of being with me, like you’d promised.

The chiss finally rose from his seat, although he still couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes. He was fully aware of the situation he’d created, of the promises he’d made and failed to keep, and most importantly the lies he’d told in order to continue tracking this particular band of rebels. “I...I apologize for disappointing you.”

You uttered a scoff, nearly rolling your eyes at his words. After finally catching him in the act when he’d sworn he was too tired to stay up with you and was heading straight to bed all these nights, it was difficult not to take this revelation a little personally. Not to mention his superiors had specifically instructed him to use this shore leave to actually relax and enjoy himself after his continuous dedication to the Empire and his duties without fail or complaint - and when he’d arrived with more luggage than usual, you interpreted that to mean that he was intending to stay the entire length of his trip this time with no intention of returning to work early as he typically did - however, that extra baggage was ultimately filled with rebel artifacts that he was fully preparing to study. 

“I’m not disappointed, nor am I surprised,” you admitted through a sigh, moving to stand straight across from him with only the width of the helmet between you as you continued, “I don’t know why I was expecting this time to be different from any of the others. I know you. When you’re dedicated to pursuing something, there’s no stopping you or trying to change your mind.”

His lips parted as though he had something to say, but ultimately decided against it. He must have seen through your facade of trying to keep your expression firm as he gently spoke your name, and you silently cursed yourself for never being able to keep a straight face. You caught his hand when he moved to bring it to your cheek, only holding it firmly in mid air as you kept your head down while you asked him the question that had been plaguing your mind for years.

“Are you still pursuing me?”

You clutched his hand even tighter, your frown already shifting into a grimace as you stared straight down into the visor of the helmet. This talk wasn’t one you’d been particularly looking forward to having, especially since you more or less already had a preconceived notion of what his answer would be. Perhaps your relationship really had changed, and rather than voice it outright, Thrawn expected you to determine the status of it through context to avoid having an uncomfortable conversation. It certainly didn’t feel like the two of you were lovers anymore, and with this revelation that he had the time for intimacy if he desired it and was choosing his usual activities over being in your arms, there was little reason to believe otherwise. 

The helmet was abruptly removed from your hands and placed elsewhere, with the hand that was holding yours moving to snake around your waist as you felt him pull you against his broad chest. It was a kind gesture, but what you really wanted was a definitive answer. 

“Thrawn-”

“I’ve always been adept at coursing after my targets,” he began with an ounce of regret in his somber tone, “yet I find that the ones affecting my career operations tend to take precedence over the ventures in my personal life.”

You’d already known that much, and yet the sinking fear that came with the prospect of the inevitable “it’s not you, it’s me” parting discussion still began to overtake you. It felt like you were going through all the stages of grief all at once - denial, anger, bargaining, depression...but you weren’t ready to accept this just yet. You weren’t sure you ever would be. Anger was definitely occupying the forefront of your mind; anger at Thrawn, anger at the Empire, anger at yourself...you wouldn’t be enduring all of this if you’d never fallen for him in the first place. You just had to go and fall in love with a man that was emotionally and physically unavailable, didn’t you? You’d known at least some extent of what you’d be getting into when you agreed to be his significant other - that your rendezvous together would be short-lived and few and far between, with his work always taking priority over you, but this...knowing that given the choice, given the mandate, he was still choosing the rebels over you...

It hurt.

You were tensing up in his arms, doing all that you could to keep the tears from forming. If only to encourage the transparency you wanted to see from him, you began solemnly pouring your thoughts out against his chest, the release of the words you'd been keeping to yourself for so long aiding in your preemptive recovery somewhat.

"I've often thought about joining the rebellion just to reclaim some of your attention," you admitted, the statement sounding more pathetic to your ears than you'd anticipated, "I've never been an artist, but I like to imagine what it would be like if I made rebel propaganda for you to find. I've wondered if you'd even be able to figure out it was mine, and that with every stroke it was really just me trying to tell you..." ...that I love you.

You hadn’t realized you were crying until you felt yourself involuntarily choking on a sob, and before you could hide your face from him his hands were caressing either side of your jaw and pulling you up into a deep, tender kiss. 

How long had it been? When was the last time you felt his touch like this, let alone a kiss? It almost didn't feel real, and you instinctively returned his vigor to make sure it wasn't all just a fantasy. Your tears were stinging against both of your faces now, and Thrawn drew back to wipe them away with the pads of his thumbs. His glowing red eyes were so melancholy, his brows threading into a line as you held his indigo hands to your face and leaned into them, as though the warmth of his skin was a rare sensation that you were savoring to remember back on when you'd be without it again.

"My love..." Thrawn began, his voice soothing as he brought his lips to the tender flesh of your ear, "if I've been so neglectful of your needs that you would become my enemy to be closer to me, then I've failed you so much more exponentially than I ever could have surmised. For that, I am so, so very sorry."

Part of you perked up at the implication that perhaps he wasn't intending to cut ties with you just yet, although it was clear he had much more to say. You brought his hands down to your chest and interlocked your fingers with his, holding onto them for dear life as he continued. "I...I have become consumed by my mission. My mind won't allow me any reprieve unless I've made substantial new discoveries and analyses concerning these rebels on a constant basis. I haven't faced any challenging opposition like them in quite some time, and to feel the invigoration of facing a worthy opponent with the potential to outmaneuver me...it's...addicting."

You listened to his confession intently, relieved to have him opening his heart to you once again. You brought his hands up to your mouth and smiled with amusement before you placed a kiss against them and bore into his concerned gaze with a look of alleviation gracing your own features. “I think I’m beginning to understand where your superiors were coming from when they demanded you take this leave.”

Thrawn’s countenance softened as he returned your smile, even managing something of a titter while he brought your own hands to his lips. “Am I that insufferable?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

He flashed his teeth in an impudent grin, moistening your skin with his lips as he resumed speaking against it. “Reassuring, as always.”

“Thrawn...” you spoke gingerly as the seriousness of the conversation recommenced and you withdrew your hands, rubbing the place where his warmth had just been while you gathered up the courage to proceed with your thoughts, “I need to know where we stand. It would have been stupid of me to expect our relationship to be like anyone else’s...I’ve been aware from the beginning that your duties come first, and I’m perfectly content with that. I want to see you succeed, and I love that you’re so persistent and driven. But...”

“I know,” he interjected, his guilty conscience evident simply by the tone of his voice, “my behavior as of late has been inexcusable. You mean so much more to me than I’ve led you to believe. It has been despicable of me to overlook your wishes in favor of my work when it is unnecessary. I...I love you, and...I’d like to make it up to you.”

Your heart breathed a sigh of relief, remedied by the fact that it still belonged to him. Before you knew it, you were back in his arms in an instant and planting another passionate kiss at the corner of his mouth while you grasped at his light civilian clothing. “Do you mean it?” you asked before he could properly perform the action in return.

“Of course. There are few things I wouldn’t do for you.”

For you, that was about as good as anyone else saying that they would do anything. Some things were off the table, such as leaving the Empire or betraying the Chiss or halting his investigation of the mysterious alien race that posed a threat to the entire galaxy - but other than that, he was yours, and that was more than enough.

“I might already have a few ideas...” you admitted pleasantly, capturing his lips in a more heated kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck. His smile granted you more access to the rest of his mouth and you obliged, nipping at his skin and warring with his tongue as both of your actions became more lascivious. It wasn’t long before you felt his warm, strong hands snaking up your bare abdomen while you fumbled with the clasps of his shirt, though it become more difficult to concentrate once he reached your chest and focused his activity there, drawing a moan from deep within your throat. Taking note of your struggle, he briefly took his hands away from you to discard his top and aid you in removing your own. 

“I’m intrigued by these ideas, if you wouldn’t mind enlightening me,” Thrawn said as he reached both arms around you to grasp your behind and knead it through the fabric of your pants while he continued to kiss you along your temples and hairline. Your mouth was too busy peppering his pecs with kisses and love-bites to really say much, but that was alright - you were more of a demonstrator, anyway. You brought his hands to your sides and he helped you slide your bottoms down, giving your ass an excited smack once it was bare for him. He attempted to sneak a hand around the supple flesh of your inner thigh and curl a few digits upwards, but you smacked it away.

“Ah-Ah,” you tsked, guiding his arms away from you entirely. He started working at the sealing strip of his own waistband, but again, you stopped him. “No.”

“No?” he asked, a brow raised in amusement but also plenty of genuine confusion. 

“No,” you reaffirmed as you stepped completely out of your pant legs and planted your palms onto his chest, pushing against him with enough force to influence him to step backward. The pressure was continuous, so he didn’t stop until his back hit the cool metal of the durasteel wall behind him. “You’ve kept me waiting for a long time, Admiral.”

“I...yes,” he uttered, slightly taken aback by the firmness and determination in your voice, and especially the mocking tone you used with his moniker, although he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy it. 

In an impressive display of flexibility, you raised your leg up until your heel rested in the curve of Thrawn’s neck and over his shoulder, holding him in place as you stared him down with an air of dominion. “I’ve lost most of my patience,” you explained as you applied a significant amount of strength down through your foot and into his muscle, indicating once again that he was to move. He did so silently this time, enraptured by your confidence as he slid down until he was sitting on the hard ground. Your foot didn’t let up, adding more pressure as your tone became a little more demanding. “Down. All the way.”

He obliged, shifting downwards so he could lean back onto his forearms and lower himself completely onto the floor. Your foot remained on his shoulder, a smile contorting your face as you could see he was taking in the view and enjoying it, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His eyes eventually met yours, giving you an innocent and questioning look as he spoke.

“Would you like to take this outside of the office? To the bedroom, perhaps?”

“Here’s fine,” you retorted smugly, and for a moment your attention was captured again by the painted rebel helmet that was perched atop the desk beside you. You took it, examining the artwork on the front one more time before you smirked at the curious Chiss beneath you and donned it upon your head. His breath hitched when you suddenly dropped to your knees over his chest and slid your hand around to the apex of his skull, lightly grabbing a fistful of previously perfectly slicked-back hair before gazing straight down into his crimson orbs.

“Are you still curious?” you asked with an inflection of authority.

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion before he spoke lowly, just above a whisper. “I believe I understand.”

“Good,” you began, positioning yourself directly over his face as you pulled his head forward so that the tip of his nose was only centimeters away from the source of your pulsing heat, “...you kriffing Imp.”

With that, you saddled his face and sighed when you felt the hot wetness of his mouth envelop you, the room quickly filling with the sounds of the obscene slurps and smacks of his ministrations on your flesh. Your other hand grasped another lock of his hair as you bucked against him, his tongue finding all your most sensitive spots as it darted over them, and all the while you carefully supported his neck while he fucked you religiously with his face. You looked down at the master tactician through half-lidded eyes before throwing your head back in ecstasy, feeling the creep of your climax edging closer and closer. You were having a difficult time catching your breath, and eventually you decided that this sensation ought to be somewhat mutual.

You reached your hand back behind you and starting palming Thrawn’s erection through the fabric of his pants, earning an approving sigh between your legs as you stimulated the head through the still-expanding wet stain of his precum. You jerked him as well as you could in tandem with his movements, struggling to suppress the moans and expletives that erupted from your lips as he went at you even harder. His hands gripped your hips with a cautious desperation as both of your breaths became increasingly ragged, and it wasn’t long before your thighs were quivering against his ears as your orgasm crashed over you in waves of absolute pleasure. Your gasps of euphoria coupled with the intensified friction of your touch had Thrawn stilling and slightly jerking his hips not long after, finally leaning his head back away from your entrance as his face flushed while he came in his pants.

The both of you relaxed as you were overtaken by the surge of your highs, and after a while you managed to shift downward so that you were straddling his waist as you removed the helmet and set it aside. You returned your attention to the handsome, feverish warrior panting beneath you and moved a stray strand of his mussed hair back into place. You leaned forward and kissed him gently on his swollen lips, not minding the taste of yourself as you rested on top of him and listened to the accelerated beating of his heart together with yours.

And when his arms wrapped around you while he planted a loving kiss on your forehead, you looked up at the ceiling and pondered just how much work he’d get done the next time he studied that helmet.

[insufferablelust]

Naughty list. (ThrilledAu!Mgg x Reader)

Warnings : Slight smut, Spanking, D/s themed ofc, The use of ‘sir’ & ‘daddy’, mention of edging, mention of overstimulation for future reference, sadist!mgg, condescending!dom, Marking, Its.. um Filthy as many of you already know. Please read at your own discretion.

Hello this is the christmas one shot i’ve promised, its 3 am rn and im so sorry i just done finishing this because things had been so chaotic. But i hope y’all enjoy and please wait up patiently for my next fics which will come in the next several days as promised.

PLEASE NOTE : This blurb sets inside my Thrilled Au, after the Bratty Rendezvous chapter which i have yet to upload, though i will upload it very soon. So basically this fic is the filler chapter and a teaser for the two upcoming chapters of thrilled! so i hope that makes sense and i hope y’all enjoy it. Happy holidays and Merry christmas! Take care, x D

MASTERLIST HERE.

He felt her before he even opens his eyes, a small smile threaten to quirk at the side of her lips in response to the feeling of small kisses all along his face down to his neck— the oh so warm familiar kisses by the love of his life.

“Matthew wake up.” Y/N whispered, giggling to herself as she felt him grunt below her at the feeling of her sinful lips nips and bites onto his skin, “It’s christmas morning, come on daddy.” She whispered once more, but this time doing it with grinding down where her bum was sat prettily atop of his crotch, just enough to make him wrap his hand around her neck.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” His grip tighten a bit just then, as her eyes closed and a smile etched beautifully onto her lips. Matthew scoffed at her reaction before sitting up on the bed, bringing her up with him so he could lean against the headboard.

“J-just waking you..” Was all that she could manage, with shallow breaths and innocently batting her lashes up at him. “Oh, princess..” He murmured as he finally took in the sight of her.

She’s perched up beautifully on her lap, with her thigh high christmas themed socks, his sweater and a collar— a special one he had gifted her a few days prior, with the color red and his named engraved on the inside lining where nobody could see but she certainly could feel. On the outside, it might look like a normal choker necklace but they both know very well that that’s not the case. Its a symbol of him, latched onto her every second of the day— its their dynamic, its how they work.

“You look like a dream, little one..” He gasped, as she whines on his lap, a perfect little noise reserved only for him, making his hard on pressed oh so good against her bottom. “Dressed up for y-you!” Y/N exclaimed happily and slightly out of breath by the way Matthew’s grip just tightens and tightens— just like he was trying to squeeze the cuteness out of her.

God, you’re his, and his his his only.

“I know baby, so so pretty for me, being so so good.” He gave her cheek a pretty light slap, just to make her gasp and leave her sweet little mouth open slightly— all messy and beautiful. “Thank you daddy, just for you.” She smiled then, awaiting for his instruction just like how he likes it— or more importantly, just like how she craves it.

Matthew cocks his head to the side a little as he contemplates on what he’s going to do with her, it’s always like this with them— just wanting to do so many things, explore everything, explore each other’s limits, especially hers. Always hers, he thinks, whatever makes her happy.

So with a simple instruction he lessen the grip on her neck before pressing a small kiss on her forehead, “Go to our room now, and be on your position, daddy has to make some calls for our party this evening but you better be on your position by the time i get there or else.” He taps her cheeks twice, eyes pierced onto hers— as she nods a little, “yes daddy.”

“Go on.” She smiled before pressing a gentle peck to his lips, getting up and padded her tiny feet towards the door, “Oh and princess?”

“Yes daddy?”

“anything off but the socks and your collar.”

—

He’s doing this on purpose, your mean mean daddy is doing this on purpose— making you wait on your knees by the bench inside your dungeon, just waiting and waiting until you feel your knees beginning to fall asleep on you. But you tried your best to be presentable, just how daddy likes it.

Your body jumps a little when the sound of his footsteps rang through the room, sound of the door closing has your feet tingling and your cunt wet, oh he could definitely see the glisten gleam from it for sure.

“I thought you’d be well acquainted with my rules by now, pup.” He let out a disapproving sigh, which made your cheeks warmer and you instantly straighten your back, part your thigh a little and gulps— trying to remember what you did wrong this time.

“I—“

“Ah ah, you know better than to speak without my permission in this room do you?” He scoffed, walking around the room just to tantalize you, sending shiver up your spine. “you were good this morning, so good that daddy had half the mind to make you cum but now i’m not so sure.” He adds, which earn a gasp from you, Oh how you wanted to cum, you want to cum so so bad, the last time you did was a week ago when you were still in Paris— but right after your little bratty rendezvous there was no way in hell, he’d let you cum, oh no no, kitten doesn’t deserve to cum until master says so.

You bit your lip in agony, trying to block the tears that were about to slip from your pretty eyes down your heated cheeks, just trying to do anything he asks— anything. You let out a gasp as he tilt your chin up, which he cooed at and sigh softly, whilst his thumb brush side to side on top of your lips.

“Look at your tears, baby. Do you think it’ll work? hm? you think because daddy’s little elf put on a show this morning, that daddy is going to let this slide?” He pouts condescendingly, watching as the tears finally dripped down your cheeks, oh he wanted to photograph this so bad, his little fairy.

“Go on, answer daddy.” He pats your cheek with his thumb as you tried to find the courage to speak, “I-I’m sorry d-daddy.. i.. please..” Matthew sighed softly, seeing the genuine regret behind your eyes has him reprimanding your punishment, daddy was a tamer, but he was and will always be fair— forgetfulness is a human mistake, besides it’s christmas, and he figured he needed to give you something from all the torture you’ve endured since Paris.

“Up, princess. Let daddy braid your hair.” He tugged her collar a little which earned a gasp from her, though it was a combination between the sensation on her neck and realization on what she did wrong, “Daddy i—“

“Shh, up.” He cuts you off before you could mutter an apology, or several apologies. You should’ve known better, if he told you to be on position, what he always meant is for you to be on your knees by the bench, with your hair untied specifically because he likes to braid you before play time, and today you’ve put your hair up, completely forgetting a clear important rule. Matthew helped you get on your shaky feet, as you trembled a little, whispering a small, “thank you daddy.” Before facing the bench, back toward him so he could process on your hair.

“Tell daddy why he’s punishing you tonight.” He hummed behind her, fingers expertly tangle and untangle through her hair, looping each side to the center as he formed a perfect braid from the top of her hair and making his way down. “Because i forgot daddy’s rule.” You muttered shakily, voice laced with regrets at yourself for disappointing daddy.

“Which rule is it, pup?” His voice seemed so close now, she could practically feel his warm breath against her skin that she zoned out for a moment before a tug on her hair brought her back, “I— i didn’t untie my hair, sir.”

“Why is it important?”

“Because daddy needs to braid my hair, and.. and it teaches me to.. remembers daddy’s rules.” You finished with a sigh, before feeling a soft kiss placed on top of your shoulder blades, “10 with my hands. Go and bend over the bench, bunny.”

—

Y/N braced herself as she felt the stinging, heated sensation smacked across her bottom, making her grip tighten onto the railing bench and her body shakes a little. “F-Five, thank y-you daddy.”

“Color?” Matthew pressed his palm against her stinging skin as he try to soothe the aching pain a bit, it’s true that they both love this— loves the thrill, the pain, and the overall pleasure that comes from this. However, Matthew would never enjoy hurting his bunny without any context, or out of proportion, it might look like he has all the control but they both knows well that she has all the control, if she wants to stop, she knows what she needed to say.

“G-Green sir please.” Oh how he loves the way her voice croaked underneath him, the way she arched her back toward him— as if asking for more, ready for more just as she deserve, as she behaved. So he delivered then, 3 slaps in a row as she cries out between each milliseconds, and sobs out the thank you’s and pleas.

“just two more now, y’think you can take it, petal?” Matthews hand crept up to where your collar snuggly wrapped around your neck, thumbing the soft leather as he makes sure you’re still okay which you confirmed by a ‘yes daddy, please continue’

The last two slaps were unexpected, catching her off guard as it landed way way below where her cunt drips dewy sweet honey, and where her by now— swollen little pearl sits, making her jumps and scream out in a blissed pleasure. “Fuck! oh! nine ten! daddy thank you!”

“Shh shh, come here, good girl.” Matthew gently helped her stand before picking her up bridal style and sit down onto the bed which was installed on their room, his lips were pressed tightly onto her forehead as he soothes her aching skin and mumble calming words. “It’s okay, ‘s all over, such a good girl, little one.”

“Daddy...”

“Yes angel?”

“Do i deserve to cum now?”

“Oh petal, you will be begging to stop cumming later, just you wait.”

—

EXCUSE MY GRAMMARS AND TYPOS, my laptop is not accessible right now so i have to use my phone to write and upload so please bear with me. Thank you, i love you and take care.

Don’t forget to support!❤️

Taglist! (reply or message me if you want to be added or removed)

( @slutforthegubes @maybankslut @midnightsubmissives @bxnnywriting @keentreeoperatorcookie @autisticratty @mjwritesfics @getdevils @muffin-cup @tomsmilkytea @sinnersandsugars @edgycowboy666 @mgg-theprettiestboy @addie5264 @hushfakebitches @bucksgoat )

[nanowrimo]

5 Tips for Finishing Your Novel

April’s session of Camp NaNoWriMo is drawing to a close, and you might find yourself nearing the end of your novel. If you need some tips on writing and polishing the ending of your story, author Derek Murphy is here to share a few! Plus, you can check out the rest of our novel-finishing resources on our #NaNoFinMo page. 

You won NaNoWriMo and have a 50k collection of scenes and sentences, but how do you clean it up and get it done? How do you make sure it’s finished, satisfying and enjoyable? Here are 5 powerful strategies for finishing your novel and some helpful writing tips that will push you past the finish line.

1. Give it a satisfying resolution.

In order to have a powerful story, your book should probably focus on a main character’s change or transformation. There’s an inner war, a.k.a. the character’s emotional healing, and an outer war: the conflict that forced the reckoning. If it’s a purely symbolic internal realization, you can mirror that with actual conflict in the real scene: the breaking of a dish, a fit of rage, a sudden ray of sunlight (or a storm… this should not be pleasant; It’s a breaking point and spiritual death/rebirth).

You can clarify the moment of change by setting up an illustrative contrast, a before and after, that shows how those internal changes have resulted in real-world consequences or benefits. Each character’s unique challenge will match their personal weakness or fear. The price for victory is the one thing they have so far refused to do, or something they cannot give up or bear to lose.

Make sure your protagonist has gone through a transformative struggle to arrive at deep insights, knowledge or awareness. Find a way to deepen the incidental scenes so that they become instrumental to a deeper purpose, leading towards an identity-shifting event.

The plot is what happens, and it’s important. But you can make it more dramatic and meaningful by making sure you demonstrate how hard it was and what it cost. It matters, it is remarkable, because it forced your protagonist to change.

Your conclusion might include:

Physical tension as allies perform a tug-of-war battle against resistance, that shows how difficult this struggle is, and how much force is required.

The consideration phase, as characters are tempted last minute or the price for victory is revealed: the sweet memories that give them awareness that this fight is worth the cost or risk (you need to show them making the choice, knowing what they will lose).

The final flashback, as the full backstory is revealed so we can see exactly why this conflict is so difficult or meaningful for the main character.

2. Add (unresolved) conflict.

Your story is made up of the events and scenes, where something happens. Each new event will push the characters further into the plot. Slow scenes where nothing is really happening can be red flags, so the first thing to focus on is increasing conflict, drama, suspense and intrigue. This is what creates urgency. The full reveal, demonstrating why THIS challenge is so difficult and powerful, should happen just before the final battle or resolution.

You want to make sure every scene, especially in your conclusion, has enough conflict. I recommend these three:

Outer Conflict (threats): Challenges or obstacles that prevent the character from achieving goals.

Inner Conflict (doubts): Moral struggles, decisions, guilt or shame, anger.

Friendly Fire (betrayal): Strong disagreements between allies or supporting characters. 

You want to extend and deepen the potential conflict, without resolving it too easily. The biggest destroyer of conflict is conversation: when your characters just sit around and talk to each other. Most conflict involves a lack of information, and a desire for clarity. A lot of conflict is perceived or imagined.

The most important information needs to come last, and come at a great price. The information that has an emotional impact, and influences their actions and decisions, should be big reveals at dramatic peaks. A surprise or twist should be treated as an event: each scene is leading towards a change or new piece of information that provokes the protagonist to respond.

3. Fill plot holes with character motivation.

After you’ve made sure that “what actually happens” is intriguing (opening questions and raising tensions without resolving them) you can focus on making sure the plot holes are filled, and characters are properly motivated – these two things are usually adjacent.

You can find and fill plot holes by asking:

Why are the characters doing this?

Why does any of it matter?

Basically, readers need to respect the main characters enough to care what happens to them, so their choices and actions need to make sense within the given information. If there’s a simpler, easier solution, readers will get stuck up on “why didn’t they just…”? To fix plot holes and gaps in logic or continuity, or make the story go where you need it to, you can add urgency, fix the mood of the scene (bigger stakes require bigger justifications), show characters in a weakened mental state, or raise concerns but have them dismissed, with an excuse or justification.

You need rational characters to make plausible choices that lead to dire consequences. You need show why they don’t do something easier, or nothing at all, or why they face clear challenges, despite potential obstacles.

They’ll also require a deeper motivation, for why they’re willing to put themselves in identity-destroying conflict, rather than just giving up or running away. Why do they stay in THIS fight, when they’ve run from similar ones? If they weren’t ready at the beginning, why are the ready now – what changed in them, as a result of your story’s journey?

Your protagonist needs to have a strong, consistent internal compass, and it needs to be revealed through incidents that establish their character. This is who they are. Without this reliable core identity, we won’t be able to tell a story that forces them to change. 

4. Let readers picture your story with detailed description.

In the final stages of revision, you can begin improving the description with specific details.

It’s smart to start – or end – a chapter with a vivid, immediate scene. You want to leave readers with an image they can see in their minds, hopefully connected to the feeling you aim to evoke. You can close a chapter with a reference back to a motif or image, with a deeper or more reflective context; applying meaning to the metaphor. This will help readers feel engaged, be moved, and leave a lasting impact.

Vivid scenes are mostly a matter of detailed description, so add the specifics about the story environment. Be precise, not vague. Instead of “she put a plate of tea and snacks on the table” you can write “she gently placed an antique porcelain teapot on the table. I could smell it was Earl Grey from the scent of bergamot. The half-sleeve of Oreos and can of onion-flavored Pringles seemed incongruous with the fancy dishes, but I knew she was making an effort to welcome me.”

Focus on the sensations and feelings; but also zero-in on any potential sources of conflict or internal emotions or states of mind. In my example above, the host might be nervous or ashamed of her spread; or perhaps she has a degenerative brain disease and doesn’t notice the incongruity. Tensions are unspoken, potential sources of negative feelings. They hover in the background of your description.

Readers will remember the pictures you put in their heads, not the words on the page.

Description should serve and be bound to the story, not distract from it.

It should be squeezed into and around the scene action, when the protagonist is using or exploring.

Show what’s different, not what’s the same.

Leave space for readers to fill in the gaps, but get them started in the right direction so they aren’t surprised later.

Sidenote: be careful about your metaphors, analogies and similes. Each one will put a picture into readers’ minds, and it can quickly get overcrowded with imagery. You’re asking them to ignore your real scene and think of something else. Use them to confirm and amplify the scene you have, and limit distractions.

5. Prepare to publish.

Typos are bad, but perfectionism will ruin you. This section is about editing and proofreading, but I don’t have time for all that, and you don’t either. The real problem with a story is rarely the number of typos. A very clean book isn’t better if people stop reading.

You can solve a lot of common writing problems, with my big list of 25 common writing mistakes, and self-edit your manuscript to make it as good as possible. After that, a copyeditor or proofreader isn’t always the best investment (and it can also be the biggest publishing cost).

Instead, use an editing software (I like Grammarly) to root out obvious mistakes, but don’t dwell on the small stuff like perfecting every word or rearranging the commas. Spending a very long time wrestling a poorly-written manuscript in shape is less effective than getting something (actually) done to the point where you’re comfortable sharing it.

This may be difficult at first, but you can’t learn and improve without genuine reader feedback (from people who aren’t your mom or best friend; nor the short-sighted opinions of a self-proclaimed literature enthusiast). You need to find readers who enjoy your particular genre, and the sooner you find them, the more valuable feedback you can get.

Shorten the feedback loop: Get over the fear and focus on learning by getting feedback early and often. However, this doesn’t just mean joining a writer’s club: writers are brutal and might focus on trivial things. The safest bet is to make it public, on Wattpad at least. Or get a cheap cover and throw it up on Kindle, Draft2Digital or even your own blog.

Making it public is scary and vulnerable, but it’s better than letting the fear of messing up keep you from the brutal, necessary experience of allowing readers to tell you what they liked and disliked about your writing. Will some people be critical? Yes! But guess what, you’ll get negative reviews even if you’re a brilliant, famous writer. Those are inevitable. And the first negative reviews may teach you more about writing than 10 years attempting to self-edit, afraid of putting your book out into the world.

PS. You can use resources, like my 24-chapter plot outline, as a way to spot story gaps in your manuscript and improve the structure (especially if your book suffers from a “soggy middle.)

Derek Murphy has a PhD in Literature, writes urban fantasy and is the founder of the alliance of young adult authors. More recently, he’s started sharing writing tips on http://www.writethemagic.com

Top photo by Adegbenro Emmanuel Dipo on Unsplash.

[peachysnzs]

self-indulgent homest/uck snzfic

omg i literally entirely forgot i wrote a snzfic already a bit ago... its so self indulgent and messy writing wise and also homest/uck but uploading just in case

okok short debrief for context, karkat is a troll, dave is a human that can fly long story, matesprit is romantic partner, and trickster mode is a mode where ppl get drunk/high off a specific lolipop and have little to no restraint of themselves + gives them bright colors

// mess, intentional contagion

“h-hehh…eH’tchIUh!!!”

Karkat paused from reading his book. That... was a sound that sounded suspiciously like Dave sneezing. Hesistantly, he pushed himself up, walking out of his room and peering into Dave’s room. After all, he had no idea if the pitiful human was sick or not. What kind of matesprit would he be if he didn’t even check?

Dave’s room was empty. Which was odd. Karkat could’ve sworn he said he was going to be in there for the day, though he didn’t explain why, where the fuck did he head off to? It’s not like their joint house was big or anything. Where the hell was that nookwhi-

Something that sounded… almost like giggling rang through the air.

What the fuck.

It sounded like it came from behind Karkat, and he quickly whirled around, but not fast enough. He saw something that almost looked like a flash, a flash of bright colors and cheery pastels, before it vanished in the blink of the ganderbulbs. Like said before, what the fuck.

A sniffle. Alright, thats too much.

Karkat whirled around, shouting “Dave, what the FUCK is going on??”, not really caring for his dignity much in the moment. It had to be Dave. This was a prank or some bullshit. And then slowly, following the noise, his eyes trailed up. Up….up…up….

Dave Strider was currently floating in the air, dreamily staring down at him and just barely grazing the surface of the ceiling, adorned with mint-green hair, a pastel pink-and-yellow god tier outfit, and red, thick gunk dripping steadily out of his flushed nose as he grinned at him. Holy fucking shit, who the fuck was this and what had they done to Dave?

A vague memory registered in the back of Karkat’s mind, of Dirk mentioning how some candy made everyone insane and go Trickster mode as their outfits and demeanor became more…colorful. How the fuck did Dave go Trickster mode??? How the fuck does that work???

“hey karkles hows it hangin? cmon dudeee lighten up a lil, your expression is s-so… hiH’TCHUh! so shocked right now” Dave drawled. As he sneezed, he lazily spread his hand over his nose, catching half of the snot in it and letting the rest of the bright red concocture mist the floor beneath him, which included Karkat. Karkat could feel the wet moisture on his skin, and he shuddered, stepping back.

“Dave, what the fuck??? Gog, fucking cover your mouth, are you contagious?? Get down, now.” Karkat spat out, exasperated at how nonchalant the imposter was. Dave simply laughed at him. “me? contagious? nah im fineeee”

Dave sniffled again, the sound much more wet than previously, and rubbed his fist against his nose, smearing the red gunk all over his hand. He smirked as he slowly withdrew his hand, spreading his fingers experimentally and watching the red mucus web between his slender fingers, glistening. “totally not contagious at all” he fibbed.

Karkat could only watch in horror as Dave slowly flew down, feet clicking against the tiled floor.  “hey karkitty i do-hihh…n’t k-know about you…” His expression screwed up for a second, as he fought to calm his hitching breaths. After a moment, Dave’s grin returned to his face, and with a face smeared with germ-laden gunk, he purred. “but i feel like making out right now.”

Karkat found his voice again, and he stumbled back a few more steps. “Holy shit, no- are you even *hearing* yourself, Dave??? You’re sick, you can’t-you can’t just pretend you’re not, what the fuck??? Dave, I-“

Dave leaned forward and nipped at Karkat’s neck and he whimpered.

He could feel it. The wet mess dripping onto his neck, as Dave gave a shallow sniff and as his breath hitched even more, the vibrations against his skin, Dave’s saliva intermingling with the rest of the shit getting onto his neck as he sucked gently and gave him a hickey. The sensation was so taboo and revolting it was almost…

Dave leaned back, expression contorted. His narrow eyes seemed to almost stare through Karkat, and he paused, before, oh, fuck, it sunk in. “g-ghh- gonna…sn-heHh..eeze!-“ he forced out, and even as he was about to fucking sneeze, he still managed a wavering smirk as he tried to stare down at Karkat. It didn’t even look like he was trying to pull away, if anything, he had leaned forward, leaving only a few inches between them as he used his finger to gently guide Karkat’s chin up.

Speaking of which, Karkat felt himself frozen in place, too shocked by how quickly everything had just happened to dodge the incoming flood. “heh-HE’tchIU! hihh..hih..h’tsHIU!!” The lazy covering that Dave had done before wasn’t even present. Dave sneezed freely and openly on Karkat, and Karkat instinctively shut his eyes, feeling the contagious mist against his skin. Dave wasn’t done yet, though.

Karkat could only open his eyes for a second, seeing a strand of snot dangling from Dave’s nose as he leaned his head back, right before Dave went back to sneezing. “EH’tchu! Hi’hishuu!! Ehtchuu! hih..ih-HISSHU!!” Sneeze after sneeze, rapidfire. Fuck, it was disgusting, but Karkat’s face felt soaked, totally fucking decimated after Dave’s sneezing fit that he didn’t even bother covering. Was this his plan? What the fuck??? Realizing that he hasn’t breathed at all during all that, Karkat let in a shaky breath, and then immediately regretted it as it set in that he probably just breathed in more of the shit.

Shuddering, he quickly wiped off his face, cringing as he saw the red fluid coating his sleeve. Holy shit, how much even was that? “D-Dave, what the fuck-“ Karkat started, but Dave cut him off with a smile. “dont worry im not contagious karkitty. now about the makeouts…” Dave reached up to cup his cheek and run his thumb against Karkat’s lip, and Karkat went pale as he remembered the web of wet gunk between his fingers. Oh goddamnit, he had just wiped his face.

Deep down, he knew wiping his face did nothing.

“We know that’s fucking bullshit. Are you trying to get me sick?!? I-I’m not going to make-out with you, not when- ah-“ Karkat started, and then Dave shut him up by licking a stripe up the hickey he had given him earlier.

Dave let his red eyes fall upon Karkat’s. His red nose dripping, glistening, eyes narrowed, mouth curled up like a cheshire cat, he leaned forward and whispered in Karkat’s ear, the congestion in his voice evident “karkat. lets entertain the thought i am contagious, ok?” Karkat shivered, but this time in an entirely different context.

“its too late for you. from the first sneeze, from the moment i got this cold, you were doomed. even if you tried to leave” He giggled, deliriously. “i already sneezed into your pillows, to let these theoretical germs have home there too. sharing is caring, right? and you’re going to get this cold…hih…” Karkat stared, dumbfounded. Dave leaned back from his ear, and placed a finger gently on Karkat’s nose, tracing the edges. “i-in here.”

a pause, and then a grin.

“so-hiHh- s-so why try to…t-to avoid…ihh…hiH’TSHIUU!! eh’tsHIU!!” Dave’s head snapped forward. His sneezes were getting more wet, and mucus sprayed onto his face, leaving wet stains on his sweatshirt. Karkat couldn’t even process what was going on any more. And then, Dave gently leaned forward, stopping just before his lips. “just enjoy it.” The taboo of it all… the seductive gleam in Dave’s eyes…Dave’s erection pressing against his leg… the most obvious fact that Dave was into this (and that they probably had to had a talk later, jesus, openess about kinks was important)…God, it was too much.

Karkat’s may or may not have leaned forward to meet his lips.

And well, if Karkat let Dave shove his tongue into his mouth, if he let Dave sniffle and sneeze onto him, damning him and most definitely ensuring he’d be just as snotty and disgusting as him later, if he did, well, nobody had to know.

[echo-of-sounds]

adhd

How Aizawa, Toshinori, and Hizashi would help and support their s/o who as ADHD.

Warnings: nothing incredibly explicit, but a couple of these talk about sex

Aizawa Shouta

Overstimulation is hard to explain to someone who’s never experienced it. The TV, that lavender candle, the taste of tomatoes, your own hair touching your shoulder overwhelms you to the point you’re crying. Every noise is too loud. Every smell makes you feel like throwing up. Anything that touches you scrapes your skin. Every sensation is just too much.

Aizawa pays attention to anything specific that may trigger you. That lavender candle that’s too strong? He’ll throw it away. Loud restaurants or sand on the beach? Eh, he doesn’t like going out that much anyway. He’ll ask what you can tolerate and will change his shampoo, detergent, or whatever else to help you, even if it needs to be odorless. He isn’t picky so the change is easy. He’ll also come up with a nonverbal signal for you to use. Like when you walk by that store that always smells like someone poured out a thousand perfume bottles. Squeeze his shoulder and he’ll lead you someplace safe.

He isn’t bothered by fidgeting, squirming, or overall restlessness. He’s been around Hizashi most of his life and now he’s a teacher. That stuff doesn’t faze him anymore. However, if you’re a pen clicker or a beat tapper, he may snap at you once or twice. Sometimes he just wants a silent room after a long day and hearing those noises could easily set him off. He’d apologize after but will also ask if you could find something else to fidget with, something that doesn’t make noise. When you keep going back to clicking and tapping because it’s mindless, he’ll buy you multiple fidget toys that are quiet. 

He likes to think he’s pretty good handling mood swings since he can control most of his emotions quite well. But the keyword is most. His anger and frustration flare up every now and then. It all depends on his stress level and how tired he is. So when you can’t pass a level on that stupid phone game or when the bread tie is on wrong and it ignites your anger so much that you lash out to a simple question he asked, he might just snap back. An argument could brew quickly even though you aren’t actually mad at each other. 

It’s in your best interest to take some time to calm down and gather your thoughts. When you’ve relaxed, you’ll have to be the one to approach him. He won’t since you snapped first and wants you to have space. He also won’t know when you’ve calmed. You’ll find him stewing on the couch with his little pouty face. After some apologies, he’s fine. He understands you have difficulty managing emotions. He just wishes you wouldn’t take your anger out on him.

He really tries not to get frustrated with your trouble focusing and poor planning/time management. He has to keep reminding himself it’s something you struggle with- everyone has things they struggle with. But you can hear his heavy sigh as he repeats himself for the fifth time this conversation. You don’t need to apologize. He knows you did nothing wrong. His sigh is more out of exhaustion than anything. More patience is something he’ll learn for you.

Hypersensitivity is somewhat daunting to Shouta when it comes to sex. He’s generally rough, fast, and quiet in the bedroom, often without realizing. It’s his go-to setting. If he ever looked up and saw you crying because his fingers and tongue hurt, he’d feel uncertain of himself next time. To help you, he'll train himself to go slower and be gentler. He’ll also start talking more during sex to be more open with you.

Yagi Toshinori

Chores and tasks can be difficult to remember. You’ll look right at the pile dishes and not notice it. Or you’ll say you’ll do them then forget for three days. Toshi won’t get frustrated. Instead, he’ll place bright sticky notes with reminders where he knows you will see them: on your laptop, bag, pillow, or shoes. 

He’ll learn other ways to work with you. Any appointments go in your phone calendar with notifications on so you can’t ignore them. Whenever you get home, keys and wallet are placed on the counter in their designated spot. Since he has to plan his meals, he’ll set a dinner schedule for you so you don’t forget to eat. If something works, he’ll have you keep doing it. Soon, it’s part of your everyday routine and you do it without thinking.

He’s the best when it comes to handling emotions. After working as a Hero for so long, he’s built up a tolerance to people lashing out. However, if he’s having a bad day, specifically one where he’s insecure, one quick snap from you would upset him deeply. He won’t reply. He doesn’t want to fight. But he will recoil, leaving you alone. Find him when you’ve gathered yourself. If he’s ready to talk, apologize and explain why you were frustrated so he knows it wasn’t about him. Also cuddle him. He could use it.

Any fidgeting or clicking he’s fine with. It’s when you start to pull strings from your clothing, bend and twist something so much it breaks, or pick at your skin, that his concern rises. He doesn’t want you ruining anything, especially yourself. When he sees you fidgeting in a way that’s not exactly good, he’ll hold your hand, either to stop you completely or to let you play with his fingers. It’ll become second nature to him- every time you mindlessly pick at yourself, he’ll mindlessly reach for your hand.

If you’re ever out in public and become overstimulated, he’ll give you his jacket. It’s comfortable. It’s heavy. And it smells like him. He’ll let you wear it and direct you towards a quieter area to sit for a while. If he can’t leave with you, because he is All Might and does attract a lot of attention, he’ll drape it over your shoulders and tell you to go find someplace to rest while he talks to the people swarming you. He’ll find you after and ask what you want to do.

The ebb and flow of your sex drive isn’t a problem for him. During the times where sex has no appeal to you because it’s too many sensations at once, he takes care of himself. When you are in the mood, he’s very aware of your sensitivities. His hands remain light as they run over your skin. His fingers slip tenderly into you. His tongue is gentle with every lick. 

Reaching orgasm is another struggle that’s beyond frustrating. You’re aroused, enjoying every sensation, almost there, then your mind is somewhere else entirely and you’ve lost the build-up. Any accommodations to help you focus, such as a dim room with no noise, he’ll do it. It’ll also let him hear every small sound that comes from you, creating a more intimate moment. It also helps that he loves foreplay- cuddling, kissing, caressing, anything he can get. It relaxes your body, making you in tune with intimacy rather than just reaching your orgasm.

Yamada Hizashi

Hizashi is a physical person. He loves hugging and cuddling. He also loves to talk and sing. All are great qualities by themselves. But if you’re prone to overstimulation, the constant noise and touching can be difficult to manage. Especially since he does it without thinking or telling you- he’ll all of a sudden plop down on your lap or hold your waist or start whistling right next to your ear. If he ever set you off, even if it was an accident, he’d feel terrible. He’ll begin to ask if you’re okay for some cuddling and he’ll tune down the volume of his singing. It might take some time however since he’s always done it without thinking.

Anything that helps you, he’ll buy. Seriously, he’ll buy you so much friggin’ stuff. Blankets, fidget toys, puzzle boxes, candles you find soothing, soft towels, the list goes on. You’ll need to tell him to stop when he brings home a ninth weighted blanket. He might protest and pout a little, saying he just loves you and wants you to know that. Explain that you do, in fact, love him and everything he does but there’s only so many anxiety bracelets one can wear before their arm weighs ten pounds. At least he uses the toys and blankets as well so it isn’t a waste.

You don’t need to hide your excitement and knowledge. If you want to ramble about the differences between Homotherium, Smilodon, and Dinofelis Hizashi will listen with a giant smile on his face even though he has no idea what you’re talking about. He’ll ask questions just to keep you talking because he adores seeing you so excited about and immersed in a subject. In his free time, he’ll look up whatever you were talking about so he can follow along better. And when you’re done, expect him to start venting about a new band he found or some weird instrument he really wants to get.

Being impulsive and blurting out your thoughts before someone else gets to finish their sentence can be annoying to some. It’s not to Hizashi. He does it too and understands that sometimes your mouth starts moving before your brain can consider if it was a good idea. Your conversations are a lot of back and forth babbling while the original context gets lost.

Disorganized? Cluttered? He’s right there with you. To keep your place from getting absolutely chaotic you will need to set aside days for cleaning. It’ll go great until you get distracted by the book you haven’t seen for ten years. And he’ll join you, playing the harmonica he thought he lost.

The desire for or needs during sex can suddenly change. That sex position you loved two days ago could be overstimulating today. Be open with him about where you don’t like being touched and whenever you feel too stimulated. He’s mindful and will focus on all the places you love. And since he likes talking during sex, he’s always checking if you’re comfortable with whatever position you’re in. If he sees your focus shifting, he’ll bring you back with deep kisses and a few tickles to your sides.

You know what? When you think about it, he probably has ADHD as well. Good luck trying to keep each other on track.

[ofhouseadama]

Hello! New follower here, delighted to find that someone I followed on a mild whim a) marriage ficc'd irl b) has apparently got a bdsm ask repertoire??? where can I find the posts, are they tagged with something in particular, etc etc.

Some context: I'm an inexperienced person interested in exploring kink and bdsm in particular, albeit from a more devotional angle rather than discipline and punishment, which is most of what seen in mainstream representations. I don't have a partner, don't know how to seek a play partner, and I have no idea where to start when looking for the kind of thing I'm interested in!

Like do I just watch Secretary and sign up for FetLife or??? (joking. but also??????)

I have a few bsdm tags, a generic one where I'm talking about my own sex life/BDSM in general which you can find at #tmi tag and #bdsm tag but I also have #lizard bdsm for garashir and #spooky catholic bdsm for lored.

My personal tastes run the submissive gamut from pillow princess to brat to pleaser/service sub. It just depends on my emotional and physical needs (and my wife's emotional and physical needs) any given day. It sounds a little bit like you want someone who is more of a soft dom or a service top. Labels are of course only an imprecise shorthand for communicating things about ourselves, and that communicating directly what you're looking for and what you want to try out and feel safe trying. The BDSM Test is a helpful tool to help you figure out what you might be interested in and how to communicate that.

SSC (Safe, Sane, and Consensual) is the more mainstream guideline for how to safely engage in kink but I also like a newer acronym, RACK, which stands for Risk-Aware Consensual Kink because it reminds us all that we have the responsibility to inform and educate ourselves before we engage in kink. That being said... I would advise against signing up for FetLife or any kind of kink dating site before you have explored yourself, your boundaries, and have practiced communicating and asking for what you want and especially what you don't want. Until you feel secure it saying stop, no, or using a safe word or gesture and figuring out how you will get yourself out of an unsafe situation.

In general, I am very pro having sex with your friends. A friends with benefits with someone you know and trust and who you know trusts you and respects you is a great way to learn about your body and how to have sex. I don't recommend doing BDSM right away, just focus on pleasure and comfort and figuring out how you best reach orgasm and what kind of sensations and scenarios and positions you enjoy.

I am also very pro talking about sex when you're not having sex! You should not be negotiating kink or any sort of play, new positions, new toys, new lube, etc during sex itself. No one's in the right frame of mind for that. Visit a sex shop, read smut, read forums, talk about sex with your friends. Learn how to verbalize what you're interested in and learn the specifics of the type of products, scenarios, etc you want to be engaging in. Feel comfortable verbalizing them and practice how you'd talk about it with a partner. Buy sex toys and use them on yourself. Buy lingerie or a robe or something that makes you feel sexy and wear it. Once you become more comfortable with yourself and more needs, you'll feel more comfortable seeking a partner.

[junglekookbook]

Papilionem

Yoongi × reader

Genre: crack, yandere, angst

A/n: I write for my one muse and one muse only, I am scared to be posting again but it really helps to have a friend always have your back and support you. Hopefully I don't disappoint people with my writing. @cosmostae

Prologue (for context)

The human species as Y/n would soon come to understand was extremely selfish and pompous. Not a week had passed since she had crashed onto this planet and suddenly it became her job to save them. Like she owed it to them, when she barely managed to survive there was not one huan that worried about her but only criticsed her and called her incompetent and said that she was bad at her job. Duties aside, she did not deserve this. Why was babysitting this ungrateful species her responsibility. Her duty was to protect earth, the planet not it’s inhabitants. Maybe she should let these pitiful creatures just freeze to death. She hated Yoongi, but somehow she had grown to loathe the human species more. She had managed to secure a home in a rundown building far away from the city. Really far away. Something called ‘radioactivity’ or something was present in the area. She found it funny. ‘Just another one of those superstitions’ she thought. Her large crimson wings shimmered in the golden light of the setting sun. The warmth soothed her skin and helped her take away her attention from the pain from all her injuries that she had sustained while duelling with Yoongi. Her species was really not equipped to handle the cold. A cold dry laugh escaped her lips, finding it comical how over the years while the species of other planets focused on evolving traits that could be weaponized, hers had focussed on peace and aesthetics. Look where that got them. Cryonovians had evolved a trait to specifically destroy her planet and win the long cold war while her planet focussed on stupid things like ‘what is the meaning of life?’ “Mass extinction” She blurted out bitterly. Whilst it was true that her loyalty would always be with her home planet she could not help but be filled with disdain at the pompousness of all those philosophers. Sounds of cracking glass shook her out of her thoughts, straightening her back she poked her head from the sill to survey the surroundings. It definitely was not a human, they were very rigid with this superstition. Swinging her legs off the window sill she floated over the floor to the source of the sound. Her hands were already preparing a small ball of energy. 

Yoongi stood leaning against the door frame, a plastic bag in his hands. Y/n was in no shape to fight and he knew that. If she chose to fight now, she could die, only he wouldn’t let her. He had always found them to be like lamb and lion. There was no winning chance for the lamb but he found it cute how it still tried. His amusement had developed into an infatuation that he had denied for a very long until Hoseok, his closest friend from the neighbouring planet had made him realize that he was smitten with the lamb. It was from then that he did everything in his power to get the two of them together on Earth, away from all the dirty politics, of course he did not want the annihilation of her planet, but then that Jimin showed up and suddenly that planet needed to go. The first time he saw her on this filthy planet, looking so vulnerable, he was ready to recite the confession he had spent days preparing. He expected her to be angry or cry but he really did not expect the way his throat constricted and heart raced at the sight of her. His words formed a lump in his throat that made it hard for him to breathe.  That night she had knocked him off his feet, in every sense of the phrase. The days that followed seemed like a fun show to put on. He realized that watching her lose made him happy. This part of himself he was still battling with. How could he enjoy hurting someone he loved? Was it the fact that he hurt her or the fact that he never killed her? He enjoyed the control and the act of mercy he showed her everytime they duelled. It felt like a bonding activity to him.

“What? What are you here for? You are going to kill me aren’t you?” Y/n asked when she saw him leaning against the door. Yoongi took in her bruised body, and ripped wing, the bruises on her knuckles when she had had the grand idea of using physical attacks with him, it had felt like punching a brick of ice. It pained him to see her like that, knowing that he was the reason for it. That is not what he wants their future to be, when they do get married he would not be caught dead hurting her. “Why would I do that?” He asked, furrowing his brow. Y/n’s lower lip jut out in annoyance, eyes glaring daggers at him. “Oh, right I forgot, you prefer to mock me publicly everytime we fight.” She spat. “Mock you? I-” Shaking his head, he chose not to talk about it, “I came here bearing gifts.” He said raising his hands and showing her the plastic bag, the act making her flinch and making a dull pain settle in his chest. She did not feel safe around him, but he would fix that, starting with these juice boxes and packed potato chips. “I want nothing from you.” she said, moving away to create distance between them. “No, don’t say that! I had to freeze the cashier for these!” He protested, walking towards her again. 

“I don’t have a home to go back to. Do you know what that is like?” She blurted out, her eyes welled up and voice broke at the end of the question. Yoongi felt his heart constrict, “I would not go back either, I will stay here with you.” He offered, he did not want to see her in more pain, he had already caused her enough of that. His offer was met with the faint feeling of getting hit by her energy blasts on the arm. She did not have the strength to hurt him, it felt like a slight tap on the shoulder at best. “You have people to go back to. People who love you, care about you, who are waiting for you. I- I am alone on this planet, trapped with no where to go, their stupid atmosphere feels like a glass jar. I have no one to go to and no one who would take care of me! I can’t live with this loneliness forever!” She screamed, tears streaming down her face, she hid her face in her hands, falling to her knees, cutting them against the glass shards. Green blood dripped from her wounds, unlike the humans it was nitrogen her species needed. Most species relied on nitrogen and helium, luckily earth had enough nitrogen to sustain her. “You’re right, I don’t know what that is like.” Yoongi finally admitted, he took slow steps when approaching her, with great caution he wrapped his glacial arms around her “but I am willing to understand. We are away from all the war, away in a world of our own, maybe sometimes we just don’t have to fight,” He cooed at her, running his hand through her hair. He did not receive an answer from her, but as the sun set, Y/n cried herself to sleep inYoongi’s embrace. 

When she woke up in the morning, Yoongi was not around, a cool sensation lingered on her arms but it wasn’t the kind that caused discomfort, it made her understand why humans used ice on wounds. After breaking down last night in front of the man she had sworn to kill, she felt the pain fade and dull in a manner that fomentation with ice could only do. His words played in her head “A world of our own” he had said, no one would know if they fought or not, last night she felt a comfort she had not felt in a long time, but then again, she had not been shown kindness in a long time. It was the bare minimum on Yoongi’s part, she brushed it off as basic courtesy, as for what he said, she would give him an answer once her wounds healed. In the words of the human philosopher, Taylor Swift “Band aids don’t fix bullet holes” and she had just endured air bombings. 

The wings took the longest to heal, it took great patience to see them come together and for the scar to disappear. She took a day for herself, tried those potato chips and almost gagged at the ridiculous amount of sugar in that litchi juice box. Given that she hated sugar so much, she figured that she would use it to address Yoongi. She was growing tired of using that Cryonovian name. She wrote him a letter that day, to be fair, she wrote him at least thirty but sent only one. 

“Dear Yoongi, Yoongi, Suga,

What happened between us, nothing happened betw Maybe it is easier for you to ask for a few moments of peace, you have not lost everything that you had known to be true about your existence or purpose. With my planet no longer existing, I have often questioned why I must still keep the promises of an extinct species, but I understand it now. You froze a man to death for some edibles, something I could never do, these humans, they are so fragile… they need my protection, I must protect them from people like you who simply take and take and take. You took my home and my love, you are taking from these people too. I may not be strong enough to defeat you yet, but I will never stop trying, so long as humans can see that I am good and you are not, I will fight. When next we speak it will be as rivals.”

They did meet as rivals again. High above in the sky, a crimson winged fairy fought a white haired cryokinesis wielding assassin. With new found motivation coursing through her veins, she fought Yoongi. A part of her acted impulsively, filled with denial for finding comfort in his arms. She was relentless in her rain of energy on his figure. She knew that she was doing better than she ever had, she might just win, maybe she would mock him too. Let him live to be defeated again. Make a spectacle out of him like he did everytime. She allowed herself a small glance at the crowd gathered below that cheered for her today. That believed in her after so long. Only… they didn’t. They hated her for doing well against the mysterious bad boy villain with ice powers. They hated her for trying. They hated her no matter what she did. A sudden sense of despair consumed her, making her mind go numb, a window that Yoongi used to gain the upper hand. He had not intended to hit her heart, he aimed for her arm, he watched with dread filled eyes as her unconscious body started falling through the air. In his panic and desperation he reached out his hand to hold her, letting her survive that fall. Losing control of his powers in his state of distress he watched the icicle impale her heart in horror. The screaming of the crowd died down and the sound that echoed in his head over and over was the thud that had accompanied Y/n’s fall. He had killed her.

[drxwsyni]

Tell Me What You’re Thinking (pt.1/2)

Yandere merman!Shinsou Hitoshi x gn!Reader

Summary: Studying abroad on a remote tropical island, a life threatening event prompts a certain merman to come to your rescue. Coincidence or not, the meeting results in his intentions being set in stone.

All characters are aged up (18+).

Warnings for this part: drowning, injury, swearing, suggestions of poor parenting

Words: 6.8k+

a/n: This fic is my entry for @bnhabookclub‘s Mermay event! It’s not my usual style but I tried my best―definitely need to practice different au’s. For context Shinsou can still use his quirk, he’s just also a merman at the same time. That and he’s a soft yandere for the most part. Hope you enjoy!

Prompts: 13. “It’s all right. Come here.” 7. “It’s really not that complicated (used in the second part).”

_____

The path of least resistance proved to be quite useful in the recent years.

It wouldn’t be your first option under ideal circumstances, but such a thing wasn’t currently present in your life anyways. Occasionally it would grace your day to day living, but for the most part passing occurrences tended to be on the less enjoyable side.

Whether you should be grateful or not was beyond you, but in this unchanging routine you managed to grow accustomed to things. It lead you into a complacency of sorts―not preferring it in any manner, but still having the understanding that sometimes it was easier to let the world dictate your actions for you.

And right now, this complacency had earned you the opportunity for travel.

Specifically, an offer to study abroad to work on a take home final for your university class. Four weeks on a remote tropical island with your fellow students and accompanying professors. Done with intentions to gather otherwise unobtainable first-hand experience and, more importantly, data that would significantly improve your final grade―only if you managed your time wisely.

The opportunity was impossible to pass up.

You weren’t the biggest fan of flying, or boating―really anything that had you leaving the comfort of land. But as usual these bothers weren’t considered when you were being so heavily advised to pack your things and take advantage of the ‘once in a lifetime opportunity.’

Sometimes you tried making an attempt to discern what warranted such treatment being placed upon you. Not once could you seem to recall any one event that may have ended with the conclusion that it was acceptable for you to be handled in such a manner. To have your limits disregarded so thoughtlessly.

Maybe it was because the limits in question were more so mental in nature. They weren’t outwardly observable, and so it made it acceptable.

Of course, you knew that wasn’t the truth.

But with this perhaps you could catch a break from the pressures of your loved ones. If you did well enough in your studies, they might just tone down their expectations enough to give you the room to decide something for yourself.

It was settled―you would once again take the plunge into semi-uncertainty. Mostly for the sake of others, and only marginally to satiate your need for freedom.

You’d been on the island for a little over a week, and in that time you’d managed to scope out the perfect spot for collecting the samples you needed for your paper.

It was secluded―a rocky area that was just slightly raised from the sea level that was home to multiple small ocean pools. They were filled with very particular types of marine life. Ones that you had chosen to focus on after hearing just where you’d be travelling to. In the ecosystem you found yourself in the possibilities for research were quite extensive. There may have been less taxing options, ones that didn’t lead you to the ends of the island all by yourself. But those wouldn’t earn you the validation you desired.

So instead you came to terms with your situation as usual and gathered up your equipment for the journey. Almost every day just an hour after dinner you would head to the rocky expanse of the seemingly endless beach. The weather was comfortable, a light breeze to stave off the heat with the sun not close enough to the horizon for it to be getting too dark, but low enough to begin emitting the intricate display of warm coloured clouds drifting slowly above.

In the moments where you simply sat and took in your surroundings, the thought came to mind that perhaps you would be able to focus on something that wasn’t directly related to the pressure you were under to succeed. If these were the conditions, the clarity that came along with relaxation might be possible.

For now however, you needed to be focused on what you truly came here for.

It was roughly quarter after six in the evening. You had set your backpack down on a rock that was raised above the pools of water and used the rest of the free surface as a makeshift table. On it you placed a clean sample jar with the lid popped off in wait for the contents that you were currently fishing around for.

If there was one thing being pressured into studying was good for, it was having the image of what you were looking for committed to memory.

It was nothing special, just a remnant of the marine life that took up residence in the little pools you were currently crouched in front of. You carefully extracted the sample out of the water, placing it in the little container.

Part of you should be proud of what you were doing. University classes weren’t always the easiest. Your course was just as difficult as any other―disregarding the fact that you probably wouldn’t have gone into it if it weren’t for the ‘advice’ of your family. The research you were currently conducting was more than satisfactory.

Yet, as you looked at the now filled sample container, part of you couldn’t help but want to accomplish more. You didn’t need to―your pace so far was good for what you were trying to get done in the time you were given on the island. But it was second nature to want to perform above satisfactory expectations.

You knew that the area you were in was home to a certain species of coral that would greatly improve the chances of you earning a better GPA. Based on where you were, it would take a small swim just off the shoreline to reach its natural habitat.

Doing a cost-benefit analysis, you decided that it was worth the brief struggle. It was likely that the coral wouldn’t be too far underwater, meaning you wouldn’t require any special diving equipment. You were already wearing a bathing suit, and before leaving had packed a belt bag that could be worn underwater should you need to bring any sample collection gear with you while swimming.

Technically, you should be asking for help when it came to something like this. There was a certain danger to it―being in the ocean by yourself. If you knew any better then maybe you would’ve asked for assistance. However, it simply wasn’t in your nature to do so.

There was always a resistance in your mind when you wanted to work with others. An anxiety of sorts. Time and time again had you tried to overcome it, and each instance had you failing. Now was no different.

Your bag was strapped securely to your body, pulled tight so it didn’t shift around too much in the water. Without the ability to force yourself to go back to the cabins and request a second set of hands, there was quite literally nothing holding you back.

The ocean water was startlingly icy as you let it submerge your lower limbs. The feeling wasn’t pleasant, but it was temporary. You’d be quick―collect the sample and then gratefully retreat to the warmth of dry clothes and eventually the soft bed in your assigned room back inland.

Gradually, the frigid liquid crept up your body as you waded forward. Shivering slightly at the sensation, you willed your mind to ignore the uncomfortableness. And thankfully enough, after spending a few minutes with the water at neck-level, you became more accustomed to the sensation.

The easy part was over.

Pushing off from the sandy ocean floor underneath, you swam away from the coast. It was only roughly ten or fifteen feet away, but already you were having problems seeing the earth below. The sight was unsettling, to say the least.

What it did mean however was that you should be in the perfect spot where the coral you were hunting for could be found. It wasn’t rare or anything―you should be able to see it no problem. But you had to go underwater first before that was possible.

For a moment you hesitated. You weren’t exactly afraid of the ocean, but the concept of such a vast unexplored space wasn’t exactly comforting. Sure, you weren’t in any sort of area that was frighteningly undiscovered, but the thought that such a thing did exist didn’t help in calming your nerves.

But you digress―the take home final was more important than any passing worries over your predicament.

The feeling of being so completely engulfed in the water sent a shock through your system. So much so that you had to resurface for a few seconds to get your bearings. Once you’d settled down once again, you plunged yourself underneath the water. Only after a second or two of swimming further below the surface and you had come face to face with your target. You went back up for a breath and to extract a sample bottle from your bag. 

It was then you took notice of the particularly strong winds that had picked up since you entered the ocean.

They wouldn’t have been a problem if it weren’t for the waves it was forming under its influence. Small at first, but in the distance you could see them forming as well. Meaning that by the time they reached your position they would be bigger―much bigger.

But they were still far away. You had time.

With a little more haste you maneuvered yourself under the water until you were able to grasp the cluster of raised rock littered with marine plant life to steady yourself. Holding your breath, you tried working the coral off its hinges with a gloved hand.

It would seem coral was much stronger than you once thought.

The sturdy and jagged material was proving difficult to remove from the rocks it stuck to, and you were running out of air. The concept of having to make more than one trip under the surface wasn’t ideal, but your lung capacity wouldn’t support otherwise.

With rushed movements you emerged from the water, sucking in deep breaths of relieving oxygen.

But that was short lived.

It would seem the waves were moving faster than initially perceived. Now they were forceful enough that one sent you plummeting back under the salt water.

You couldn’t make heads or tails of which direction you were facing. The current of the waves was jostling your body in every way imaginable. Limbs flailing, you tried desperately to steady yourself. Yet you were no match for the strength of the ocean, and there was nothing in reach to hold on to.

For a moment of brief reprieve you were pulled back above the violent waves. Lungs already slightly filled with water, you sputtered into a coughing fit. Your eyes were frantic as they searched the shoreline, but there was nobody to help you.

If only you weren’t cowardly enough to have gone back and requested assistance in your now failed expedition.

Another wave collided harshly against your body, this time with much more power. It caught you off guard and in the middle of gasping for air. The final half of your breath was cut short, oxygen replaced with the frigid ocean water.

It burned. Your lungs couldn’t handle the intrusion, reflexively demanding another response of inhalation. If it weren’t for the already present liquid, tears would’ve been seen running heavily down your cheeks.

You couldn’t breath.

The current made you sway violently, pushing you deeper into the depths. Finally you collided with something, but the relief was short lived.

Sure, you were able to steady yourself, but now there was a more pressing issue.

A loose strap that was meant to tighten your belt bag had been caught on the jagged edges of the rock. Somehow tangled or wedged between the surface―it held you down under the crashing waves above.

The effects of the storm was causing your limbs to scrape painfully against the rock and coral with each sway of the current. Your lungs were filled, heart pounding against your ribcage.

Was this how you died?

Your mind was racing with a slew of thoughts all pertaining to potential escape plans.

But there were none. You couldn’t free yourself, and even if you did the storm would only pull you back under.

You choked aggressively on the water, body unnaturally convulsing. Black spots were forming in your vision as you registered that there was nothing stopping you from losing consciousness.

In a last ditch effort you tried pulling at the buckle that was holding the bag to your chest. Your luck only got worse―it was somehow stuck and would not unlatch.

Your last moments of struggling were futile. No matter what you did, or how hard you fought, you were going to drown.

As your mind slowly drifted into unconsciousness, your eyes just barely registered the thrashing waters around you. And yet, just before you succumbed to the darkness, you could’ve sworn something in the water caught the light, almost reflecting it. Whatever it was, it seemed to be quite large.

But that’s all you could comprehend―body going limp, along with your ability to stay awake any longer.

_____

The feeling of a hard surface underneath you was the first thing your brain identified. After your eyes opened, it was the sensation of some form of fleece blanketing your body.

You could still smell the ocean―hear it too. A sharp pain shot through your neck and spine as you forced yourself into a sitting position.

A cave.

There were no exits, at least not ones you could get to on foot. But you could swim.

To your right was a pool of water, and just vaguely you could see light shining through an underwater tunnel. Even then it was just barely there, meaning it had been quite some time since you blacked out, the sun likely setting for the night.

Oh right...you drowned.

The memories came flooding back. You ripped off the blanket, revealing an almost even more shocking sight. Your limbs, mainly your legs and a few patches on your arms, had been wrapped and padded with...seaweed?

That was most definitely not on your body before. Arriving fully to attention, a wave of panic came over you.

How did you get here? Why was there seaweed coating parts of your body? And most importantly―how on earth were you not dead?

Experimentally, you reached for a piece of plant life that was stuck to your skin. It was clear someone placed it there, and likely placed you in the cave, but who?

Peeling off the slimy layer revealed some equally alarming information. It wasn’t obvious when it was hidden, but now you could see the rough scrapes and cuts that littered your legs. The wounds didn’t hurt, but they didn’t feel comfortable either. There was some form of slimy substance coating it, which thoroughly grossed you out. In fact, the whole thing grossed you out.

Your body practically acted on its own, fueled by the feeling of disgust and unsettling anxiety. One after the other you ripped the seaweed from your limbs, exposing more gashes and marred flesh under each application.

You had no clue how you ended up in the cave, and if that wasn’t enough to disturb you, someone had put their hands all over your body to encase you in the questionable greenery while you were out.

One thing was for sure―you needed to get the fuck out of here.

Looking around, you figured it was worth giving the cave a once over in case there were any escapes that didn’t involve you blindly swimming through an airless underwater tunnel. And as you scanned the room you found there were still no alternatives. What you did pick up on though was the almost lived in aspect of the cave.

Somehow the stone walls were receded in parts above the water. They were like makeshift shelves, and in the crevices held an array of miscellaneous items. One spot seemed to be designated for various jars and tubs. Some were filled with unrecognizable substances, while others had equally foreign objects floating in semi clear liquid.

Eyes shifting to another display, you landed on a collection of trinkets. Mostly in the form of jewelry―a few rings, necklaces, even what looked to be a fairly expensive watch.

Someone was living here. It was good news. It meant that you should be able to swim out to safety in one breath.

You’d spent enough time taking in your surroundings. It was time to leave and hopefully never have to experience something like this again.

Yet, as you tried standing up, the pain of your injuries seem to catch up with you. To be fair you weren’t expecting it, so you didn’t feel entirely ashamed for falling right back onto the cold and slightly sandy rock. It was almost laughable―how you were foolish enough to land yourself in this predicament.

And in that distracted mindspace you managed to calm your nerves slightly, but it also drew your attention away from the pool of water that you should be plunging into for escape. You didn’t want to wait to find out who brought you here, but it was too late for that now.

Just as you mustered up the strength to pull yourself to the water’s edge, your eyes landed on something moving beneath the rippling surface. Something big.

And it was getting closer.

Frantically, you scrambled back a few feet from whatever was in the body of ocean water. Not a moment later and the thing had made its way to the surface.

It emerged―a man.

No.

There was a tail.

There was...a tail?

“Are you alright?”

And the creature spoke.

Peculiar was an understatement. The top half―its human half―looked normal. The man had deep indigo coloured hair, face sporting some impressive eye-bags. His voice sounded human enough―on the lower side but nonetheless indisputably ordinary.

However from what you could see from your position, the lower part of his body was entirely inhuman. Straight out of a mythology book―he had a long, scaly looking fish tail that was coloured the same as his hair―except it was shimmery, maybe even iridescent.

What on earth were you supposed to say in a situation like this?

He must’ve caught on to your speechlessness, judging the unmoving expression of shock on your face. “I found you trapped underneath the current. Your bag was tangled in some coral so I had to cut you out of it.”

Looking down, you saw that he was correct―your belt bag was missing.

Apparently he wasn’t done with his speech, “I brought you back here to take care of your injuries but―why did you remove the bandages?” You watched as his confused eyes scanned your form, taking in the exposed cuts and bruises that painted your delicate skin.

You said the first thing that came to mind. “Where am I?”

Without missing a beat, he responded. “My home. Why did you remove the bandages?”

...Is that really what he’s worried about right now?

Forming words proved to be a difficult task when you were suffering from a shock to your once perceived reality. Surely you were dreaming. There was no way a fish...man, was talking to you right now. Right?

“I just―I didn’t know what it was. So I...took it off?” You were hoping that you’d wake up any moment now. But as time drew on that wish seemed to grow less likely to come true.

Reality didn’t matter―you needed to know. “Are you like a...mermaid, or something?”

Eyebrows slightly furrowed in what looked to be annoyance, the man responded. “Merman, actually.”

It was like this was just another regular occurrence for the merman. He acted completely unfazed by you discovering his existence, whether he felt different about it mentally or not.

“Okay, so why didn’t you just bring me back to the shore?” You prided yourself in not stuttering over your words despite your brain doing mental gymnastics trying to comprehend the situation.

He shifted in the water a bit, resting his hands on the stone where the water and dry earth met. “You were bleeding too much. If I brought you back to the beach you may have died from it. And even if you didn’t the storm was too rough―you would’ve been swept back out into the ocean.”

The events were discussed so matter-of-factly that it disregarded just how much danger you were in. It baffled you how he managed to stop the bleeding. Actually, you weren’t even sure where the bleeding would’ve been coming from. Looking over your wounds, none of them seemed to go deep enough to require such attention. If anything, they looked quite healthy―healed even.

Now that you didn’t need to be so wrapped up in the concern over your physical state, the gravity of the situation came falling down upon you. This complete stranger of a creature had dragged you to who knows where, and as far as you could tell getting out might just be impossible.

The colour effectively drained from your face.

It just so happened that the merman would continue to be perceptive to your reactions. “I was just waiting for you to wake up so I could bring you back. You’re safe here, I promise.”

His words brought untold relief to your anxieties, yet you still needed a little more reassurance. “That’s good. So you’re not gonna, like―”

“What, eat you?” He gave a half-hearted chuckle at the thought, “I’m not a monster. And even if I did want to don’t you think I would've done it already?”

It wasn’t what you were going to ask, but realistically your intentions on the subject didn’t matter all that much in the moment.

The indigo haired man sighed, likely expecting a response. “Look, I just wanted to help you. That’s it.”

Help you. That wasn’t something you were normally accustomed to.

You had problems asking for assistance on your own, and even if you wanted to there was never really many who would be willing to indulge you.

The sentiment he offered was nice. Even nicer was that it wasn’t just an offer―he already had helped you. He’d saved your life. It was more than anyone else had done for you throughout your many years of living.

It was nice, to say the least.

But you still needed to get back to the beach. “So, are you gonna help me get out of here now? Cause I don’t exactly know where that exit leads to…”

He smiled slightly, the most positive emotion you’d seen him express since emerging from the depths. “Of course, I did say I would after all.”

Your eyes followed his hand as it outstretched towards you. The first reaction you had was to automatically take it, but you stopped halfway through the motion when you registered his physique.

He had claws.

They weren’t long, but they were for sure sharp looking. You hesitated in your advance.

“It’s all right. Come here.” He gestured to you to approach, but still you wavered. “I won’t hurt you, little human.”

Not that you weren’t still wary of the dangerous looking appendages, but you didn’t exactly have a choice. He was your ticket out of the cave after all.

Without a word you took his hand. He gently guided you to the edge of the water, supporting your weight as you clambered into the ocean pool.

There were still small waves entering from the mouth of the cave, a weak current lightly hitting your body. It was enough to wash away whatever substance the merman had applied to your injuries. Now that they were clean, you could see just how much they’d healed in the short amount of time.

You could think about how that was even possible when you were back on land.

When the man spoke again it startled you slightly, him being so close. “The tunnel is long. I’m afraid that even if I swim fast you’ll still run out of air before we break the surface.”

The statement made you panic a little, eyes going wide.

He continued before you could give your take. “I’ll have to give you some air halfway through, just let me know when you need a breath and everything should be okay.” The merman pulled you into his chest as he spoke, one arm wrapped around your waist while the other gripped your upper arm.

“Wait―how are you even gonna do that?” As far as you could tell he wasn’t carrying an oxygen tank or anything of the sort.

Looking down at you with a slight smirk on his face, he responded. “You trust me, right? I’m not going to let you drown, don’t worry.”

That didn’t really answer your question, but he wasn’t done. “And I’m your only way out of here so does it really matter? That is unless you want to stay here with me forever.”

Frankly, you had no clue what he meant by ‘giving you air,’ but he was right―how he kept you alive wasn’t all that important in the grand scheme of things. Before you could make a point to push your concerns he pulled the two of you underwater. You thanked the heavens you were able to fill your lungs with air the second before you were submerged, inwardly cursing the man for not giving you a heads up.

Your body was flushed to his, and as he swam you could appreciate the robustness of his frame. It was impressive, and if it weren’t for the stress of the situation you may have liked to take more time to admire it.

It was hard to keep your eyes open as the water rushed past you. That was indication enough of just how fast you were going, and you realized just how screwed you would’ve been if you had tried to make your way out of the cave by yourself. If you didn’t drown before, making that attempt would surely do the trick.

The two of you were roughly twenty seconds into the swim when you felt the burning in your lungs start to become unbearable. Without knowing what his methods of relief were, you held out as long as possible without asking for help. Yet it was only a few more seconds and your body was practically screaming at you to breath.

He didn’t tell you how to get his attention, so you opted to rapping on his chest with one hand. Thankfully, he stopped his journey towards the exit immediately after you began thrashing in his arms. Still slightly drifting forward in the water as a result of his momentum, he brought your body to be eye level with his. Not a moment too soon and he was pressing his lips firmly against yours, hands gripping the sides of your face to still you. And then you realized―this was how he was going to supply you oxygen.

Your lips parted and a relieving wave of air was forced into your lungs. He pulled away a moment later and you pursed your lips once again to contain the air. You hoped he didn’t see the faint blush on your cheeks as he pulled you back into his chest and continued swimming.

Another twenty seconds and you felt him angle upwards, and much to your relief you felt the water break around you.

Sound finally returned to your ears, having been previously replaced with the muffledness of rushing water. You blinked a few times to clear your eyes, readjusting to your surroundings. The sun was setting now, having lowered much closer to the horizon and casting a whole new set of colours upon the clouds.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His teasing attitude wasn’t entirely appreciated, but it did help to alleviate the stress of the situation somewhat.

“I guess, not...thanks.” You gave him a small smile to show that you were grateful, given that your own tone was still a little shaky from the strange events that were taking place.

The merman allowed you some space now that he didn’t have to drag your body through the water alongside his. “The beach isn’t too far from here.”

From where you treaded you could see the shore clearly in the distance. You followed him as he began heading in that direction, presumably going at a slower pace seeing as you didn’t exactly have the same swimming capabilities as he did.

While staying above the waterline, the man continued the conversation. “So, I believe that it wouldn’t be too much to ask you to keep quiet about my existence. Not that anyone would believe you anyways, but still―in exchange for saving your life I think it's fair.”

Somehow it took him saying it to remember that you’d forgot to thank him for doing so. Sure, you thanked him for bringing you out of the cave, but that was a requirement if he wanted to free up his home once again. It was a little embarrassing, but you gave yourself some slack as nothing right now was anywhere near a sense of normalcy. “Ah―yeah, I think I can do that.”

He smiled at your sheepish reply, giving you the idea that he picked up on your abashed emotions.

The rest of the journey to the shore was done in silence. He would never go too far ahead of you, and for a moment you wondered why he didn’t just pull you the rest of the way there as well. It would’ve saved more time, but you weren’t exactly in the position to be judging him on his actions given all he’d done for you.

Eventually you reached the mainland, much to your gratification. He helped you up onto the rocks that were jutting out of the waterline―the area that kept the ocean pools you were studying. In fact, he had brought you right up to where your bag was still laid.

Still feeling a little ashamed for how much of a burden you’d been, you gave him one last condolence. “Thanks again. I don’t know how you found me but I’m glad you did. The last thing my parents need is to hear their daughter drowned trying to work on her final.” Awkwardly, you rubbed the back of your neck. It felt like you were oversharing, and at this point you should probably just shut up and head back to the cabins. Yet strangely enough the phenomenon of your realization that such a creature did exist was still very much enticing. You didn’t want to stop talking to him.

He stayed at the edge of the rocks, “It’s no problem. You should go back to wherever you’re staying on the island to rest. It’s getting late anyways.”

His concern was appreciated, but still―a small part of you was sad you would have to part ways with this otherworldly being.

“Ah―right. Um, I was just―”

“I’m Hitoshi, by the way. I’ll be here if you ever need me. Take care, (y/n).”

With that he was pushing off the rocks, and before you could get another word out―if that was even possible―he was already underwater. You saw as the slowly dimming sunlight reflected off his indigo tail, and in a matter of seconds he was so far submerged that his body entirely disappeared.

Well, that wasn’t how you expected your afternoon to go.

You had to take a few minutes to collect your thoughts, mostly consisting of you questioning everything you thought you once knew.

Briefly, you wondered just what people would say if you told them what happened to you. That you got stuck on coral, drowned, and then were rescued by a merman.

They wouldn’t believe you.

Maybe the drowning part, but the rest...not so much.

But even if they did believe you, there was no way you would break your promise to the man. He helped you―saved you. Nobody had ever shown you so much kindness, and it wouldn’t be right to just disregard that for the sake of attention.

Having had your full on adventures for the night, you quickly gathered your previously abandoned belongings. With a bag once again stuffed full of research equipment, you made your way back to the cabins.

And naturally, no matter how much you tried that night, sleep was immensely difficult to achieve. How could it not be―there was now a plethora of things to think about and you couldn’t tell a single soul. Frustrating was an understatement, but it was also kind of nice. The act of compassion the merman―no―Hitoshi, gave you was causing a certain feeling of warmth. It felt comforting.

You recalled his last words, saying he’d be there for you if you needed it. It was likely just a quick send off so he could get out of your way and return home. Yet the sentiment was still appreciated.

Eventually you managed to fall asleep, this time not doing so under the influence of painfully salty ocean water.

_____

Waking up wasn’t the most pleasant―there was a hoarse burning sensation in your lungs. Not that it wasn’t present the day before, but now it would seem that the effects of them being filled with a liquid that they should most definitely not be filled with was taking a toll. Whether it was swelling or simply the after affects of salt remaining in them didn’t really matter.

You popped some pain reliever into your mouth, wincing at the feeling as it slid down your throat.

Regardless of yesterday’s events you still had a schedule to follow. However doing so proved to be a challenge. At each task you were met with you found your thoughts drifting back to the strange encounter. At breakfast, sitting down at a worktable, lunch, editing a portion of your report―everything had you returning to contemplation over Hitoshi at least once.

It was safe to say that you didn’t get as much work done as normal.

The anticipation for the end of the day was unbearable. You had to return to the ocean pools to collect samples you weren’t able to gather yesterday.

Mostly, you had now developed a slight fear of the ocean. How the waves turned so violent while you were swimming was beyond you, but it only proved how unpredictable nature could be.

And you still wanted that piece of coral.

Your sense of self-preservation wasn’t the best. It had never been, really. After time and time again of putting your own needs second it was only natural at this point. Maybe not today, but you were going to try and return to the ocean no matter how much the prospect intimidated you.

Like you’d done for the past week, you assembled the necessary gear for your work and stepped out into the heat. To get to the area you simply had to walk along the beach. It was probably the best part of your day―with nothing to do while you walked you needed only to think.

And right now you were thinking about Hitoshi.

He was handsome―no denying that. Clearly he had a good heart, why else would he save your life after you’d so foolishly gone and put yourself in a situation that could’ve been easily avoided. He wasn’t the most expressive, but you could still tell that he meant well.

Or at least you hoped.

Either way you wouldn’t be forgetting about him anytime soon.

Finally you had arrived at the ocean pools, thankful to be able to rest your feet after the long walk. Looking out onto the ocean caused an involuntary shiver. The weather was warm, but the water that once threatened to kill you wasn’t.

There was no time to stew on harmful thoughts though―you were behind schedule. Disregarding the lingering worry that had settled into your heart, you pulled the bag off your shoulders and began removing its contents.

Almost methodically, you laid out your equipment on the flat expanse of the dry rock. It was important to be neat in your area of study, now being no exception. You were distracted with the meticulous arrangement of research gear, eyes and mind trained on setting it up to perfection.

“How’s the work coming?”

You nearly jumped two feet into the air.

In fact, you knocked over a petri dish as your body jolted from sudden noise behind you, it sounding off with a light splash as it landed in a nearby pool. Your head whipped around in the direction of the voice.

If your mind didn’t register the owner of it by sound, it would visually.

And there Hitoshi was, in his still unbelievable merman glory. He was propped up on his elbows, casually resting against the rock.

You breathed a sigh of relief, having come down from a brief adrenaline induced high. “Jesus―you can’t just sneak up on people like that. And it's going fine, I guess.” You bent over to pick up the piece of equipment, now having to disinfect it for later use. His sudden presence still had you a bit tense, and you warily eyed his form.

“Are you afraid of me?”

The question caught you off guard―clearly you looked a lot more nervous than you thought.

Of course you weren’t afraid of him. Maybe you felt a little awkward, given the vast difference between you two, but certainly not afraid.

“No, you just startled me a little. And the ocean’s still got me kinda freaked out, so…” You waved lazily with one hand in the general direction of the body of water as you spoke, returning to the task at hand.

You heard the water around him splash slightly, “Well, you can relax. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Actually…” Looking in his direction, you saw him reach below the surface of the water. “...I’ve got something for you. Here.”

In his right hand Hitoshi produced one of your plastic sample bottles. Inside of it was the frustrating piece of coral you were trying to pry off the rock before meeting your demise yesterday.

Your eyes blew wide at the sight―of course he could’ve gotten it so easily. He’s a goddamn fish after all. But there was one thing that didn’t quite add up in your head. “How did you know that’s what I was looking for?”

He looked at the jar before returning his unperturbed gaze back to you. “I, uh…” Just barely, you could pick up on an almost abashed look across his face. “I was sort of...watching you. That sounds creepy, I know. It was when you went in the water―not a lot of people come to this part of the island so I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors.”

Now it made sense. “Oh, well if that’s the case then I guess I was lucky. You might not have found me if I got stuck on the more populated area of the beach.” It was practically a blessing that you came across the area―you might have been dead if not.

Standing up from your position, you walked over to the break in rock and ocean where the merman was stationed. You sat down next to him, “Thanks for this, Hitoshi.” You took the bottle from his extended hand. “I really need it if I want to do good on my final. And I probably would’ve tried going back out there sooner or later for it.” You laughed a bit at your own statement, knowing how bad of an idea it was, but still finding the humour in your lack of survival instinct.

He didn’t seem as amused, “You’re telling me you would’ve risked your life just for a piece of coral?”

At that you smiled, “It’s not just a piece of coral. I mean―it’s not rare or anything, but it’s relevant to what I’m studying. So yes, chances are I would’ve.”

Hitoshi shook his head, lips slightly upturned at your behaviour now as well. “It’s a good thing I’m here then. Can’t say I’d be so inclined to let you out of my home if I found you half-dead again. For your own sake, of course.”

You rolled your eyes. But really, you were grateful for him. “Seriously, this means a lot.” Forming your next words was difficult, given that you didn’t want to sound too much like a loser, but they needed to be genuine. “I don’t get a lot of help when it comes to stuff like this. I’m not the best at asking for it either. It’s just―you’ve done so much for me...I don’t even know where to begin when it comes to repaying you.”

There was a moment of silence, and your heart sunk a little thinking that you’d said too much.

“Why don’t you start with telling me about yourself.”

That only confused you more.

“You want to know more about me?”

The toothy grin he gave as he laughed a bit at your response wasn’t expected, but it did help ease the tensions. “Yes, little human. I don’t get to talk to many of my own kind, let alone yours. And as you said, you need to repay me so technically you don’t have a choice.”

His condescending pet name didn’t go unnoticed, but you’d let it slide―he had done more than enough to earn the right to a little teasing.

You have a half-hearted shrug. “Okay then, what is it you want to know fish boy?”

Now things could finally start getting interesting.