#dew formation

[delicatelysublimeforester]

The Dance of Weather: How Trees and Forests Shape Our World

[yesandpeeps]

Somethinnng based on this post by @crimsonclergy , couldn’t resist <3

[coffeeghoulie]

Eternal Heatstroke

chapter 2: pieces of broken hourglass

The European leg of the Re-Imperatour goes about as smoothly as you might imagine.

Aeon practically spends the next few weeks split between the practice room and locked into their own room. They're fitted for a uniform and mask, and they're more than eager to start wearing it. The mask keeps the other ghouls' eyes off of them, covers the scars that rake across the left side of their face. Even in the common room, when they poke their head out from the safety of their room, they wear the helmet.

Aurora eyes them with something that reads like pity from where she's tucked between the other ghoulettes. She's managed to gel with the pack almost immediately, find her place within their ranks, but they're still on the sidelines, and they feel it itching under their skin, the envy, even though they're the ones keeping their distance. Aeon's been watching, a little shadow against the walls, haunting the pack like a phantom, and even though none of the ghouls they've met have made moves to harm them, they still don't trust them. The moment they let their guard down, turn their back, Aeon fears they'll have claws in their back.

Read the rest on ao3, or start from the beginning

[chiemikitahara]

good bye summer

[spoiledleaff]

i’ll make you beg for more. ✿ mountain + dewdrop.

— a commission for the lovely @littlemoon-beam! this was an absolute joy to write, and i hope everyone enjoys the filth, haha! ♡

wc ; 5k words.

cw ; explicit ✿ t4t sex, dom/sub dynamics, bdsm, clit pump, nipple torture/play, clit torture/play, size kink, t-dick kissing.

[ ao3 link here. ]

✿ “You’re actually quite lucky,” Mountain muses, and Dewdrop has to resist every urge to snap his jaws at the bastard, “Cumulus told me that Aether was still using her nipple pumps. So, I settled for this instead.” Dewdrop suddenly realizes how heavy the dampness in his eyes is getting, and he briefly wonders if Mountain would strike his face for crying.

“What… what is that?” Dewdrop demands, though his voice is already cracking around his consonants; it sounds much more like a desperate whine than anything else.

“You said you had the bigger clit,” Mountain finally speaks, slow and silky like a dangerous purr, “I called bullshit, and you were a goddamn brat about it.”

[ photo is courtesy of dänu; plekvetica. ]

[darkwood-sleddog]

Like a fish to water this one! My GoPro was unfortunately facing my jacket half the run (the good half urg.)

[haveyoureadthispoem-poll]

"露の世は露の世ながらさりながら" (Tsuyu no yo wa tsuyu no yo nagara sari nagara.)

Read the English Translation here | Reblog for a larger sample size!

[randombush3]

love's gonna get you killed

alexia putellas x reader

summary: alexia is older, wiser, and trying to make you the best. in doing so, she loses sight of more important things.

words: 5.4k

warnings: it’s a little bit toxic and there’s an age gap

notes: the request for this can be found here. genuinely never flinched more when writing something and this is only the beginning... NEW TRILOGY TIMEEEE

p.s. it's set in two timelines and i hope you clock otherwise this will not make sense

then again, this could've been a fever dream over the past few days soooo

Morning. 

Like dawn; like the freshness of dew on the grass and a light breeze. A thousand suns and the bluest of skies. 

How do you even begin to describe it? 

A spark? 

Yes. It starts with a spark. 

Barcelona play Levante. An away match for the former, but hardly a challenge. Tough games are increasingly difficult to come by with the depth of their squad (and the failings of their league), but Alexia doesn’t mind too much. The break is welcomed with open arms, and she loves nothing more than to crush her opponent. 

She is merciless, but she is never unkind. 

The goals come flowing like an unstoppable river; white-water rapids tearing up the shitty pitch and obliterating the Levante players. Alexia runs to stay afloat, to further prove the excellence of the club she adores, and her buoyancy is mimicked by those of equal skill. 

Weirdly, an intruder survives the flood. 

What was struck off as a clean sheet is flipped on its head; tainted, stained. 

One goal. 

One magic boot, one hero. 

One player saves Levante from losing four to nil. 

The small-ish crowd wildly shouts your name, well-acquainted with screaming those syllables after seeing the swoosh of the white net and the step towards victory. 

Alexia’s eyebrows furrow, although she knows they are not going to lose. It’s frustrating for her, having failed to apprehend a pass somewhere down the line that had connected and connected until it found your feet and soared home. In her head, clouded with pride, it makes no sense. 

Who the fuck thinks they can score against the greatest club in the world? 

(Maybe, thinking about it now, Alexia is a little unkind.) 

The rallying war-cry that she roars catches your smug attention. You’re glad she thinks you’re a threat, even if your team is technically being thrashed.

Somehow, Alexia assigns herself to mark you. The fluidity of Barcelona’s formation allows for the defence to press higher than their manager’s instructions, and, as you are clearly the best Levante has, you are all over the ball; drawn deeper into the action. You almost forget the definition of ‘striker’, too engaged in the midfield. 

You’ll be bollocked for it later, you think when there’s a brief reprieve, the ball rolling out of play for a Barcelona throw-in. You look at the gap you have left in the front line and the chaos you have caused in the midfield, and you try to convince yourself to return to the game-plan. But then there’s Alexia Putellas, her hand pressed against your back, fingers gripping your shirt to stop you from intercepting the bouncing ball as it hurtles towards one of her own. 

Alexia Putellas has a decisive grip on you. She pulls you back, and she makes it seem easy. 

You take one look at her expression, jaw clenched as she concentrates on ripping your team to shreds, and feel the need to roll your eyes.

Her determination to embarrass you is admirable enough. It’s clear that Alexia can’t handle losing in any capacity. It’s clear that she cares. 

She is worried, and that is obvious too. 

She doesn’t let you get very far from her, despite the shouts for extra coverage down the middle. Alexia is clever when it comes to football, and she can smell talent like a blood-thirsty shark. Preoccupying herself with defending meaningless passes that only wind the clock down would be useless; it will always be useless when you are on the pitch. 

Because you’re good. Really good. Young, fresh, talented, and just what the Barcelona squad might need. 

The ball comes to your feet and she is ready to quell the threat. She faces you, her closed defending designed to make you feel caged. However, when the ball slips between her open legs, she is left to catch smoke in the wind, and, though it’s at her own expense, she is impressed. 

Just like that, something ignites. 

...

Alexia wakes up with a low, determined groan. Her alarm is loud and you begin to move in your sleep, distressed by its intense, relentless mission to rouse the entire world. Alexia doesn’t care if you want to sleep in. She thinks you should be foaming at the mouth to train with her today. 

It’s the day after the latest league match. 

Together, Alexia and you scored three shared goals. The connection on the pitch is undeniable, and has been since Barcelona leapt at the chance to sign you at the start of last season. 

She’s an impactful player and is lethal when her passes are fired towards you. 

Days like these are tests. You hear the alarm and know you are waking up beside your captain, not your girlfriend. 

The alarm might as well signify the start of another trial; another exam. Do you want to be good, or the best? Do you know that talent is not everything? 

Whenever the questions appear, more in her eyes than on her sharp tongue, you hold back your remark. It’s the same every time. 

Maybe I don’t want to be the best, Alexia.

Maybe I have more talent than you, Alexia.

Captain Alexia Putellas is easier to shout at than the woman you love. 

...

Levante loses but you do not seem disheartened; you’re only twenty, and there will be many more matches to win in the future. 

You wipe the sweat from your brow, laughing at how some of the Barcelona players grimace as you hold out the same hand for them to shake. They are mostly the younger ones; those you know from the national team. 

They ask you whether you’re going to celebrate your goal later. There’s no real reputation of partying attached to your name, but there is a certain standard that comes with being a young and bright star. Kick-off was early, and it would be a good day to explore Valencia’s nightlife. 

“I’m going home tonight,” you explain pointedly, just to stop them from further taking the piss. 

“No way.” 

“Yeah, we’re having dinner.” 

“You and your family are–?” 

“I’m trying to move past it,” you reply. It’s curt and a clear end to the conversation. The crowd of players disperses soon after and you are following the victors back to Barcelona before you know it. 

A sleek, black car picks you up from the station with more than the necessary fanfare. The driver’s window rolls down, revealing an unfamiliar face; dark sunglasses, starch-ironed shirt. 

“You’re new,” you mutter to the driver as you slide into the backseat. He remains silent. “Where did the last one go? It hasn’t been that long.” He couldn’t have died or anything, you’re sure of it. 

It has only been, what, four years since you were last here? 

Your parents divorced when you were seven. Like most cases, you were caught in the crossfire, but that was hardly traumatic enough. 

They were liberal and believed in your emotional capacity with slightly more vigour than it deserved. They told you all the gory details: who slept with whom; who should go to Hell. 

The most gruesome part was the debate about who should keep you. It was a bloody battle, but not a choice a seven-year-old was able to make. And your father, the pathetic man he had become, bowed out after a month, fucking right off to Munich with a new job and bitterness in his heart that led him to vow to never, ever be in contact with you again. He lost and he chose to keep on losing. 

Fatherless, it was easy to attach yourself to the man your mother began to rebuild her life with. He was caring and he made your spiralling mother happier, funding lavish shopping trips and holidays. 

You moved into his house in the most affluent part of Barcelona – that was home, even if it didn’t quite feel like it. 

But you grew older, and so did the wonderfully in-love couple. Your father’s nose moulded itself onto your face, and his eyes grew more prominent whenever your mother tried to converse with you. It haunted her, your likeness, and it was unsettling to the man who wanted a family of his own. 

There was an easy route to rid themselves of you: boarding school in the US. You cried, riddled with homesickness, every night for months, while they procreated as though they had no pre-existing child. Soon came twins; a mix of their own, a family of their own. 

So they became four, and, at sixteen, you became one; emancipated and ready to train in the Wolfsburg academy, having progressed quite well through the years at school (earning your call-up to Spain’s youth teams, winning a few medals, showing off what you considered the talent that made your existence worthwhile – the usual). 

“Hi,” you say as the door to the mansion swings open. The marble floors are vaguely familiar, but the two boys peering at you behind the housekeeper are not. “Is, um, dinner ready yet?” 

...

With the alarm still blaring, Alexia runs a warm hand down your bare back, calloused fingers pressing into the divot of your spine. It is always like this with her: one thing said by her actions, another by her mouth. The nature of the message flips and switches as she pleases, but she never seems to be entirely able to make up her mind. 

You sigh into the pillow, burnt by the flames left in the wake of her touch. “I’m tired.” The sound is muffled but clear enough to slowly tick down the seconds until the bomb explodes. “I’m tired from last night, Ale. From the match and, you know…” 

She shuts the alarm off. It’s an hour earlier than what it needs to be, but once upon a time, there was a reason for that. 

You catch a glimpse of the past behind your closed eyes as you feel her weight shift on the bed, legs straddling your hips as the sheets are pulled down to expose more of your bare skin. Her hands traverse your body, pressing into the muscles of your back with too much pressure and none at all. She is a lead weight and she is a ghost. 

She is full of contradictions. 

“You need to come with me today.” She grazes over a purpling bruise, inflicted by her own ravenous mouth. You hiss in pain, but it is forgotten the minute her lips kiss the crime scene with something almost apologetic. 

“Baby, I’m too tired to train.” 

“Your passes were sloppy.” Kisses trail across the backs of your shoulders, the base of your neck, the middle of a canvas she wants nothing more than to wreck over and over again. “And you were lucky to scrape your goal.” Her teeth sink into your flesh experimentally; the sharp pain gone before you begin to process it. “It was a beautiful goal, though. You looked beautiful scoring it.” 

You groan, your body arching involuntarily into her touch, pulled in by something stronger than your will. Alexia is intoxicating; Alexia clouds your mind. “I missed that shot,” she continues, dangerously close to anger. “Your fault.” 

“How was it–” You whimper as she targets the knots in your back. “How was it my… my fault?” 

Her fingers dig into the tightness of your muscles, unaffected by how you tense beneath her. They are sore, but it is more than that. 

Alexia has trapped you, and you are at her mercy. 

It sends shivers down your spine. 

“Because,” she whispers, her breath hot against your ear, “I was too busy watching you. You’re such a fucking distraction, you know.” 

“Ale…” 

Her laughter is musical but plays a haunting melody that prickles the hairs at the back of your neck. “Don’t be so desperate,” she purrs, her hands roaming lower with a searing heat behind them. “I missed a hattrick because of you, and it was pathetic.” 

You whine. 

“Tell me what you need, and maybe I’ll give it to you.” 

Your breath hitches, the words caught in your throat. She knows exactly what she’s doing, how to unravel you piece by piece until you’re begging for her. 

She loves it when you beg. 

“I…” You’re not a stranger to demanding things. You’re not pathetic, you’re not. “You. I need you.” 

“Good girl,” she murmurs, rewarding you with a kiss that sears your skin. Her hand slips lower, teasing the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, making you gasp. “But you have to earn it. You can’t afford to make the mistakes you made yesterday again.” 

You’re no longer listening. It’s not what you want to hear.

...

Unwelcome is the word that first springs to mind.

There is a long, mahogany trench table set, looking unnatural with the five places that throw the balance off. As though to emphasise your differences, you are ushered to the head of the table by the housekeeper, your half-brothers hesitating at the open doorway of the dining room, almost afraid to be alone with you. 

You remember being told your mother had given birth by the housemistress at school. She’d offered to see if you could get on a flight home, but no request for your presence had come; the hint had been received loud and clear. 

If they didn’t want you, you didn’t want them. 

But you don’t miss the shirt one of the boys is wearing. 

“Where’d you get that?” you ask curiously, encouraging them to approach with a tight-lipped smile. The one dressed in a Levante shirt looks at the other. 

“It’s his,” they say at the same time. It’s a little creepy. 

“Papa wouldn’t let us get your name, but that’s what we wanted.” 

“You guys like football?” you ask, forcing a casual tone. 

They nod enthusiastically, thumbs poking into their chests as they state their positions and opinionated ranking on the local team. “We get our teammates to watch your highlights. We’re gonna see you at Barça next season!” 

“How do you know I’m going to Barça next season?” you tease. “Because I didn’t even know that.” 

“Papi’s friends with Sr. Laporta, tonta.” Frowning, you grow less amused of the tidbit. Maybe your stepfather feels guilty. Maybe he wants to give your career an unnecessary helping hand. But you’d rather be sent into the Queen’s League than sign because of your connections.

Despite the tension hanging in the air, you lean back in the chair, trying to ease the stiffness in your shoulders. The eyes of your half-brothers flicker between you and the table. You’re a stranger to them, and their apprehension is understandable. It stings, but it isn’t your fault. 

The housekeeper returns, clearing her throat to interrupt the stilted silence. “Dinner will be served shortly,” she announces, her eyes avoiding yours. You scrutinise her, trying to remember whether she was there when you were first sent away. Is she new? “Boys, why don’t you fetch your father from his study?” 

Emboldened by the prospect of their escape, the one in a Levante shirt steps forward. “Can we play after dinner?” 

Before you can answer, a familiar voice interrupts. "Boys, give your sister some space." They are scurrying away in an instant. 

You look up to see your mother standing in the doorway, her expression stern. There's an awkward pause as she takes a seat at the other end of the table, her eyes never meeting yours.

"Good to see you," she says, her tone clipped. You nod, acknowledging her presence without offering a response. “I was surprised to hear you were coming. Have you run out of money?” 

“I have money.” 

"Then why now?" she presses, her eyes still avoiding yours. The question hangs in the air as you take your time to answer it. Past arguments seep into the room, and, despite the large windows and high ceilings, you feel trapped. 

You take a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure. "I wanted to see my family," you say, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. 

Your mother's lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you think she might actually say something kind. But instead, she shifts her gaze to the polished surface of the table. "Well, here we are," she says, her tone flat.

...

There is something about the soft way Alexia cares for you that keeps you by her side. She’s not a bad person, and she is sorry when she is mean. You can be worse, so, really whose fault is it? Sometimes you provoke her. 

None of that matters now, though. Not in the airy space after sex and before the world begins to turn again. The sun is beginning to rise now, bathing the room in fresh light that must unsettle your girlfriend. She is trying to calm herself down, lying beside you to regain her strength before she will haul you both up. 

If you hadn’t wanted to train, you should never have spoken this morning. 

Your fingers draw lazy patterns on her stomach, nails grazing up and down tanned skin as you trace out words you cannot bring yourself to say. In this moment, everything feels perfect. You’re not sure whether your mind is still clouded with desire, but you have to close your eyes to stop tears from falling. 

“I love you,” you whisper, voice barely audible. 

“I love you too,” she replies.

It’s easy to say it because it’s true. 

It’s true because Alexia has been there for you like no one else. 

Your whole life has felt like a terminal at an airport. Everyone around you has their own emotions about their own adventures, and the crowd rushes to various gates – various destinations – with urgency you have never sought, nor found. You often stand in the middle of the bustling, bumbling mass of people, head in your hands, wondering why they seem to know where life is taking them. 

When you signed for Barcelona, it was a surprise. You hadn’t believed your little brothers when they had let it slip, and you were certain your worth was going to be exploited in another league – maybe you’d go back to Wolfsburg, maybe you’d explore abroad. Maybe your mother sending you away was a good thing, because it proved that Spain wasn’t your home. 

Sure, you held the passport and spoke the languages, but… but maybe you didn’t belong. 

Then came Alexia, who told you the opposite of what you were starting to live by. 

Alexia – older, wiser, with a clear head on her shoulders and a drive like no other – wanted you to stay, wished you’d see yourself for what was so clearly in front of her eyes. You knew you were talented, but she knew you could be the best. 

Just like she was. 

Because Alexia was aware of the intricacies of ageing, of how experience was not going to be her saviour in the very end. She was focused on a legacy: her brilliance would live on in you. 

She loved you for it. 

She loves you still. 

You can feel her heartbeat, steady and reassuring. Dawn casts shadows across Alexia’s features, hiding the dark circles under her eyes in a bath of dim grey. She smiles, and the tenderness in her gaze is reserved for you, reserved for moments like these. She reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek gently. 

“We should get up,” she murmurs. 

You nod, knowing she’s right. Alexia is always right; you’ve learnt that over the years you have been together. “Just a few more minutes,” you mumble back anyway. 

Hands slide over your waist, pulling you into her body. Her laugh is quiet and giggly, full of love and fondness for a sentence she had predicted you’d say. “Okay,” she agrees. “So we’ll do three hours today, not two. Yeah?” 

...

The dinner doesn’t last very long for you, although that may be because you make it painfully clear you want to leave after the first course. Your stepfather catches on – you question if he had been hoping for this – and jumps at the chance to drive you to a high-end restaurant in central Barcelona that he is sure you will enjoy. 

He knows the chef, he says. He’ll wave money in your face and pretend that it makes these things forgivable. 

You’re hardly arguing though, so there’s not much room for complaint. 

The restaurant welcomes you into the cocktail bar, having awaited your arrival after being enticed by the name of the credit card attached to the tab. Your stepfather is well-known around these parts, and although the notion of a fifth member of his perfect family has been obscured for a long time, there is a shared surname between you and your little brothers that offers you half a place in this small shroud of gente rica. 

Sitting alone at the bar, you order a martini. The glass is cold against your fingertips, and a shiver runs down your spine despite the warmth of the busy restaurant. It’s loud here, with every table full of happy, wealthy patrons who do both business and pleasure all at once, but you feel distant, disconnected. 

You don’t belong here. 

It’s a struggle of yours. 

You never seem to belong anywhere; always an afterthought, always an add-on. 

There is no space that is moulded to fit your body, no path that has been carved out solely for you. (Or, if there is, it is really fucking hard to find.) 

Football is sort of your thing, but the whole nature of professional sport is to fight hard so you don’t get replaced – therefore implying that no one is inherently one-of-a-kind. 

Sometimes, you convince yourself that that isn’t what you want, but that is a lie. Everyone wants to be unique. Everyone wants to be loved for who they are. 

A tap on your shoulder pulls you out of your self-damning thoughts. 

“Are you alone?” 

You turn to find Alexia Putellas standing beside you, her eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and something else you can’t quite place. It seems she is more surprised to see you here than you are to see her, but she swallows her comment to look you up and down. 

Her scrutiny is intimidating. Maybe that is how you are supposed to feel, maybe that is what she wants. After all, the intensity of the match still lingers in your aching muscles, and seeing her now, out of the context of football kits and harsh tackles, is almost surreal. 

“Alexia, hi,” you say, forcing a smile. 

She repeats her question firmly, concern knitting her brows together. She’s wearing makeup, but you decide she doesn’t need it. 

Alexia is really pretty. You get lost on your way to answer her. 

She places a hand on the same shoulder she tapped, unaware of how your skin sizzles because of her touch, fearing you will run away from her. You have a skittish look about you, she’s noticed, and, for some reason, she wants you to stay put. 

“Come, sit.” Her hand waves in the direction of her table, filled with women around her age who must be her friends. A part of you finds it unfair that Alexia appears to have friends because someone once said sacrifices are the bricks that pave the way to success, but you put it out of mind to deal with politely declining her invitation.

Your hesitation only seems to spur her on, however. 

“You remind me of me, you know.” Your martini glass is empty, and her nose wrinkles with disapproval. 

“I do?” you ask, interested in what similarity she is going to draw between you. 

She holds up two fingers to the bartender, mouthing her order with a small smirk, before looking down at you from where she stands and you sit, inspecting your face. Her fingers gently wrap around your chin, and she tilts your head upwards. “You have that look in your eyes.” 

Laughter rings out from her table, followed quickly by calls for her to return to her meal. She ignores the noise, focused entirely on you. 

Alexia tries to suppress her thoughts of how beautiful you look – how ruggedly captivating, how… enticing – and she is sure she is successful. 

Until you lick your lips and ask her to elaborate. 

She is silent for a moment. 

It’s the first time someone has made you feel like nothing and everything all at once; like the brightest star in the galaxy, like an unused lump of clay. Like you are both wondrous and plain. Exceptional and just like everyone else. 

Alexia’s and… not. 

You are completely at her mercy. 

You agree to join her and her friends for dinner. 

As you approach the table, the group welcomes you with warm smiles and a polite interest in who you are. Alexia’s introduction makes you blush as she details your goal and the success attributed to you at such a young age (she emphasises that part for her own conscience), and it is only a moment before you settle into an empty seat beside her, somehow put at ease. 

The conversation resumes its flow, light and lively, but Alexia is distracted from the discussion of their next holiday. She has questions, many of them, and she figures you are detached from the Catalan they speak in and are silently begging for a language you do understand. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Alexia murmurs in Spanish, leaning in a bit closer. “Figured you’d, you know, be licking your wounds in Valencia.” 

Two drinks are delivered to your table; one for you, one for Alexia. She watches your lips as they part to take a sip, pinching her own thigh when she catches herself. 

“I used to play for Levante,” she continues as you stoically nurse your drink. “When I was younger, Barça sent me off to get some experience. They called me back soon enough.” 

“I never played for Barça.” She raises her eyebrows in surprise, more so for your assumption of her assumption than anything else. You notice her expression. You laugh and Alexia finds she’s quite a fan of that sound. “I’m from Barcelona, Alexia. I speak Catalan and everything.” 

“You don’t sound–” 

“My stepfather has a house in Sarrià and told me to fuck off to boarding school when I was younger. So I went to America and I had to do Spanish classes, and ‘cause I’d renounced my family, it was like learning Castellano all over again.” 

“Like a madrileña,” Alexia finishes off, amused. “Boarding school, eh?” 

“Lost my parents, lost my accent. Childhood of dreams,” you respond sarcastically. “I’ve just come from a family dinner, actually. I left after the starter because… well, it fucking sucked seeing my mother pretend–” You hold your tongue, embarrassed. “Sorry, I don’t mean to dump it all on you. The martini’s loosened my lips.” 

Your laugh this time is self-deprecating and a little painful to hear. Alexia shakes her head and is about to encourage you to carry on, when she catches the heat rising to your cheeks and wonders whether that would be for the best. Instead, she thinks you might prefer to hear something else. “How about another drink after you’re done with that?” 

The rest of the night is a blur. 

Alexia is torn between wanting to impress you and wanting to protect you. She doesn’t know which to follow: the reasonable responsibility drilled into her head, captain of Barcelona, captain of Spain… or the pulse between her legs that grows stronger every time her gaze falls to the low-cut top you’re wearing. It’s this desire that must destroy her judgement, and, after you have insisted on paying for the meal with your stepfather’s credit card, Alexia finds herself having to text the younger girls at Barça to see if any of them can come get you. 

Pina’s busy, Cata’s out with her friends, and Jana claims she’s emetophobic. 

Briefly, Alexia wonders if she imagined you being friends with any of them, but, at the end of the day (or beginning – as it is rapidly approaching tomorrow), she really does have to take you somewhere. She won’t let your half-catatonic body lie on the streets of Barcelona, and so she hauls you into a taxi and waves goodbye to her friends. 

“Interesting recruitment method for the B team,” jokes one of them as they disperse. “Wait, sorry. You waxed lyrical about her tonight enough for me to know that she’d be on the first team with you.” 

“Her contract must be in the works,” Alexia agrees, choosing to ignore the saccharine tone such a compliment was voiced with. “I swear, she’s going to be the best.” 

You’re not paying attention to any of this, of course, too busy pressing your hand against the glass of the taxi’s window, giggling every time you imprint the shape of your palm. “Alexia!” you call out, wanting her to share your enjoyment. “Alexia, look!” 

She turns to look at you, her stern expression softening when she sees how your eyes have lit up. She can’t help but smile at the innocence of your little game, and if the taxi driver raises his eyebrows in the rearview mirror, Alexia chooses not to notice. 

“Very impressive,” she says, cringing at how she sounds like she is soothing a child. You seem even younger now, especially when your ears perk up as she speaks in Catalan, a picture of something you confessed to have lost years ago. 

It’s a horrible conflict to have brewing inside of her, and she shakes her head, trying to clear it. Her composure becomes harder to maintain with you being pressed up against her in the backseat, but all thoughts she has are thrown into a deep, dark ditch that she decides to deal with at a later date. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, your voice slurred and eyes wide with curiosity.

“My place,” comes the simple reply. It’s the only option left. She knows she can make sure you’re safe, and, besides, the idea of you at her place feels comforting, as though it were not supposed to be any other way.

When the taxi finally pulls up outside her apartment building, Alexia pays the driver and helps you out of the car. You falter like a newborn foal learning to walk, and she encourages you to lean heavily on her so that the journey inside will be quicker. The walk to her door feels longer, and each step is tentative as she continues to debate her decision. 

But she’s going to care for you. That’s all. 

You marvel at her apartment, which shocks her after she has learnt about your childhood, but she takes the compliment and guides you to her bedroom under the guise of giving you a ‘tour’. The spare bedroom is unusable, seeing as the bed has become the latest storage cupboard for her boxes of awards and PR packages, so, again, this is the only option. 

You collapse unceremoniously onto her mattress with a loud sigh. 

Alexia stands there for a moment, watching as you settle into her bed. As much as responsibility and protectiveness hangs over her head, she also feels something much deeper inside of her beginning to swirl into a storm. She’s not ready to acknowledge it yet. 

Taking a deep breath, she glances at you once more. “You need to rest.” Her voice carries the authority of the woman she is; a woman who is much older and wiser and who has more power than ethical to be feeling any kind of attraction towards you. Her hand hovers over you, brushing a stray hair from your forehead. The warmth of your skin under her fingertips sends a jolt through her, but she quickly pulls her hand back, focusing on her current task.

“Thanks, Alexia,” you mumble, already half-asleep. 

After that close-call, she rights herself, looking around her room for a moment before heading to the kitchen to fetch you a glass of water. She places it on the bedside table, knowing you'll need it in the morning, not wanting to wake you up to drink it now. She then finds a spare blanket and a pillow, setting up a makeshift bed for herself on the sofa in the living room.

Exhausted from the day, she expects to fall asleep quickly, but she is tortured by the same question, over and over again. 

How the fuck did she get here? 

[nebuliias]

Your probably busy with your own life but is it alright if I could request reader being the younger sibling of Sunday and Robin

Do you know the scene where Robin gets 'killed'? what if instead of Robin it was the reader? how would Sunday and Robin react to the news of their younger sibling getting 'killed'?

Thank you for your time and have a great day/noon/night!!

SYNOPSIS. . . With the Charmony Festival nearing by the day, the revered Halovian siblings start getting anxious when their kin hasn’t been heard of for days.

CHARACTERS FEATURED. . . sunday and robin

CW: hurt/no comfort (I tried), gn and sibling! reader, they’re your biological older siblings, potential spoilers, platonic, like one mention of Gopher Wood, reader is aged 16 and a Nameless

— A/N’s note: HIIII EVERYONE. wow i actually posted something since who knows how long LMAO. so sorry for lack of updates, motivation has been very low and dry lately. anyways NEW FORMAT everyone

The air in Dewlight Pavilion was thick with worry and tension as the Charmony Festival’s date approached. The legendary siblings, Sunday and Robin, were together in the study room, their faces betraying their concern.

Their precious youngest sibling—basically, you—had promised yesterday to pay a visit in Moment of Morning Dew since you haven’t seen them for so long, considering your occupation as a Nameless.

Normally, Sunday, your protective older brother, would let your delays slide—if only it wasn’t for the fact that you were three hours late.

As for Robin, she nervously combed her fingers through her hair while adjusting her dainty neck pieces. “Brother, perhaps you should sit down for awhile? You’ve been pacing back and forth for awhile. Maybe they’re just visiting some shop or strolling—”

“Robin, it’s been three long hours,” he abruptly stated. “I’m pretty sure they’re not strolling around at some random park in the Dreamscape. They’re always punctual, you know that!” The man sighed, eventually sitting down beside his younger sister.

Poor Sunday, he was visibly anxious and worried. He plucked at several loose hair strands and feathers from the wings by his ears. Ever the neat perfectionist, it was ironic to see him in such a distressed state. But Robin couldn’t blame him.

It had been a pretty long time after all…

Just when she was about to excuse herself to use to the restroom, a Bloodhound guard came bursting through the grand wooden doors, a manilla folder in his sweaty hand.

“Ah, Mr. Sunday..! Oh, and hello, Miss Robin,” he panted. “My deepest apologies for interrupting whatever was happening, but I have urgent news to report.”

Sunday rapidly approached the man. “What happened? Hold on, is this about..?”

“Yes,” the Bloodhound confirmed. “Another person has fallen victim to ‘Death.’ We’ve gathered enough information, but I’m afraid you’ll be displeased who said person was.”

There was a moment of silence as Sunday split the folder open, revealing three sheets of paper. His hand trembled ever so slightly as he picked up a sheet, already thinking the worst.

Please, don’t let it be who I think it is.

Robin, who was peering over his shoulder, audibly gasped, stumbling back with a gloved hand at her mouth, muffling the incoming sobs. “No.. No, it can’t be!”

The Bloodhound bowed deeply, his face contorted in distress. “My condolences, Mr. Sunday and Miss Robin, but Y/N.. was killed by the Memory Zone Meme.”

The siblings stared blankly at the papers spread out on the desk.

•••

Name: Y/N L/N

Family: Gopher Wood, Dreammaster and adoptive father | Sunday, Oak Family Head and older brother | Robin, cosmic superstar and older sister.

Age: 16

Affliation: Nameless

Cause of death: Memory Zone Meme, “Death”—stab wound through the heart.

•••

There were several photographs taken of the scene, and Robin felt overwhelming nausea at the mere sight of it. Her body went rigidly stiff, her chest rose and fell slowly, and the world around her blurred. One hand shielded her lips and the other was put over her heart.

Meanwhile, Sunday’s strong-willed heart shattered. He felt so many things at once: shock, fury, sadness, despair—basically every negative emotion wrote in the dictionary. Yet at the same time, he didn’t know what to feel.

After awhile, the Halovian idol stood up, her legs now jittery from the sudden revelation. She took in a shaky deep breath before exhaling, not daring to break down in front of her brother. “…I’m going to use the restroom.” With that, she slowly walked out of the study, leaving the revered leader alone with his turmoil.

None of them couldn’t think straight, but who could blame them? Their sibling was dead. Their youngest sibling was dead. Their kin was dead. Their determined Nameless. Their sibling was dead.

Sunday, now isolated, suddenly felt hot beneath his clothing. His mind was disturbed, and his blue-gray wings twitched madly. He didn’t know how to act, but in the end, he let out a cry and ripped the papers apart along with the photographs before throwing the folder in a nearby trash can.

Oh, how he felt like diving into it himself. He felt like trash itself now—unwanted, crumbled, and torn apart.

Back with Robin, she ran past several Oak Family servants and dashed into the restroom, madly locking the door to ensure no one would run into her. She fell against the toilet and heaved into it, her nausea reaching its brink.

After the ordeal, she wiped her mouth before staring at herself in the mirror, unable to hold back her sadness anymore. Transparent tears poured down her flawless face, carving dry rivers in their run. Sorrowful sobs sounded from her throat, her once melodious voice now gone harsh.

Poor you. Poor, poor, poor, you. You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve any of this. You didn’t deserve to have your life crushed like a ladybug.

Just.. why..?

all rights reserved © nebuliias. do not copy, re-upload, or plagiarize my fics. if you see anyone doing this to my work, LET ME KNOW.

[svsss-fanon-exposed]

Exposing SVSSS Fanon: 21/∞

SHEN YUAN'S ORIGINAL BODY LOOKED VERY SIMILAR TO SHEN QINGQIU'S

Rating: FANON - CONFLICTING

A widely accepted potrayal in fanworks is that Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu have a similar enough appearance to appear as if they were the same person, or at least closely related to one another. While this depiction provides for an exploration of a lot of interesting and entertaining plots, it actually contradicts the novel's text.

When Shen (Yuan) Qingqiu first examines his appearance after transmigrating, he notes the following:

It was a fine-featured face with pitch-black eyes and brows, thin nose and lips, and a most scholarly air. Combined with a slender body and long legs, he could more or less be considered beautiful. Though his real age was unclear, this was a cultivation novel: Shen Qingqiu had achieved Mid Core Formation, which meant he’d perfectly preserved his youthful appearance. He was certainly many times better-looking than Shen Yuan’s headcanon for him. (7 Seas, Ch. 1)

Notably, there is no comparison in this original assessment to Shen Yuan's original body. It would be expected that when one transmigrates into a different body with no relation to their own, the new body wouldn't resemble their original one that much, and that it would be somewhat surprising and notable if it did. Therefore, it could be argued that because Shen Qingqiu does not note any resemblance at this point, that there is little to no resemblance to be seen. However, it's also possible that he simply wasn't thinking too much about his former appearance at this time, and didn't make any comparisons because of that.

More telling, however, is the description of the body he created with the Sun Moon Dew Flower Mushroom:

The human cast they used had been based on his former appearance as Shen Yuan. It didn’t compare to Shen Qingqiu’s immortal poise, but it wasn’t a bad mortal container. It just had a bit of a certain listlessness—the listlessness of a worthless pretty boy idling his life away. But because he’d used some of his blood while cultivating the Dew Mushroom, a touch of foreign influence was inevitable. When Shen Qingqiu tumbled to the side of a creek and used a sharp mountain rock to scrape away his whiskers for a look, his new face was still three or four parts of ten similar to Shen Qingqiu’s. Without a word, he re-pasted the whiskers onto his face. (7 Seas, Ch. 9)

Here it is clearly noted that the mushroom body's resemblance to Shen Qingqiu is due to the influence of Shen Qingqiu using his current body's blood to cultivate it. Even then, it is only a 30-40% resemblance, which is far from identical. Without that influence, the mushroom body, and thus Shen Yuan's original body, would have likely barely resembled Shen Qingqiu's at all.

Furthermore, when Sha Hualing captures Shen Qingqiu to use as a vessel for Luo Binghe's cultivation, she is already aware that Luo Binghe specifically does not want to use cultivators who resembled Shen Qingqiu.

Who could have known that the vessel she had settled on this time would also coincidentally share some similarities with that fucking Shen Qingqiu’s eyes and brows! This was definitely another violation of Luo Binghe’s major taboo! (7 Seas, Ch. 10)

The resemblance between Shen Qingqiu and the mushroom body was slight enough that Sha Hualing didn't notice the resemblance on first glance-- only Luo Binghe, who had spent much more time with Shen Qingqiu, was able to catch it.

Worth noting here as well is the phrase "eyes and brows." In Chinese, this is 眉眼， and while literally it does mean "eyes and brows," 眉眼 also refers to physical appearance in general. So this may describe the specific features where the mushroom body is similar to Shen Qingqiu's, but it is equally likely (and this is how I read it) that it does not refer to specifically his eyes and brows but rather that there was just some similarity in his looks.

In conclusion, it can be said that canonically, the original body of Shen Yuan didn't really look like Shen Qingqiu at all, despite popular depiction. Of course, if the premise of a fanwork revolves around that physical similarity-- for example, if Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu were being portrayed as identical twins-- then just like any other aspect of canon, this one can also be bent and altered in order to fit the story being told. Nonetheless, it is good to remember that this depiction still contradicts canon.

[anotherbananasong]

Dewdrop looks a little too chipper, considering they both heard him stomp out of the catacombs and slam every door in his way last night.

Air raises a sleepy brow, silently asking him why in the nine circles they are being disturbed at the unholy hour of ten AM.

"Papa, uh, Frater, would like you to meet him in your common room in twenty minutes."

He's still smiling, and Earth can't help but be a little suspicious.

Dew looks at his feet then, digging his toe into the ground.

"Could you um... could you let Alpha know? I'll go tell River. And Omega, if he's there and not. With... You know."

"Mmn."

He takes that as a verbal affirmative and quickly backs out of their room, alerting the rest of the ancients to the meeting before taking a seat near their hearth. He couldn't bear to miss Copia sharing the good news.

.

.

A little excerpt for you 🫶 pardon the weird formatting because it's in an ask! hopefully i'll be able to finish this weekend, and i will tag you when it's done!

Everyone read this I am foaming at the mouth. I can’t wait to read the finished work!

(I love how Dew even has trouble just bringing Alpha’s name up… also 1000 hours is unholy to them? they are not morning ghouls 😂)

[lilspacewolfie]

How do you think Copia would approach a quiet, relaxing evening when you’ve both been stressed and need some distractionless quality time? ♡

Thank you Ibi! I think we’re all in need of some tlc right now! This can be read as Papa Copia or Cardinal 🖤

Content: ??? words (idk im so tired lmao), gn!reader, soft copia, pastina!, reader and copia are as exhausted as I am right now lmao, a lot of softness it’s killing me, tired idiots in love, bullet point format.

Please note my Copia is written as unrelated to the other Papas, Sister or Nihil.

So you’re both exhausted and stressed tf out. Ministry life has been busy as hell.

Desperate times call for pastina!

You get back to Copia’s apartment and start on it right away, using what spoons you can spare.

When Copia finally makes it back not too long after, looking disbelieved and about ready to collapse, he brightens a bit at the smell of your home cooking.

Pastina is his favourite, and while you might not make it exactly how his Mama used to, the effort doesn’t go unappreciated.

He leans on you over the stove, arms wrapped about your middle, his head buried in your neck and kisses you all over.

You don’t even need words, really. You’re both just exhausted and soaking up the precious time of being in each others arms.

When you knock your head gently against his, he lets out the *biggest* ‘old man sigh’ and deflates against your back, holding you a little tighter.

He keeps kissing your neck, behind your ear, whispering in soft mumbles how grateful he is and how much he loves you.

You love him too, you tell him, stroking his hands that are laced on your tummy.

When the foods ready, you both collapse on his bed; half dressed, shoes vanquished, cassocks undone, shirts or pants off and flung away because clothes are really awful when you’re trying to get comfortable.

Eating makes you both feel a little better, a bit more awake enough to shower off the tiresome day.

You know Copia doesn’t talk much when he’s stressed, and he looks even more weary than normal.

When you reach out and stroke your thumb over his brow, across the creases of his forehead and down the side of his face, he offers you a weary smile and a slow blink of his beautiful eyes.

You coax him to move, pulling him up by both arms.

You shower together, nothing sexual, just relaxing and leaning on each other. Skin on skin, chest to chest, just breathing in sync for a while.

Eventually you lather up his freckled skin and let him wash your hair, trading slow kisses and nose nuzzles.

You both don’t even bother drying your hair fully once you’re done.

Copia air-dry’s while you open up the windows in his room and run a towel over yourself. It’s a bit stuffy in his room what with the humidity of summer finally making itself known.

And finally, finally you both collapse properly into bed as naked as the days you were born.

You sink into a mess of tangled limbs and sweet smelling skin, damp hair, soft pliable bodies and the physical comfort of each other.

You run your hand through his chest hair, wiping away the few jewels of dew that cling to his chest hair.

In the quiet comfort, he offers a few things he’s happy to do if you’re still up for anything. He likes to read to you in bed sometimes, or if you’re too tired, you watch him play games on his ancient games console.

But when you lift your head from his shoulder and look at him, the man is barely awake. He might as well be sleep talking.

Turning his face towards you, fingers caressing his jaw, you kiss the corner of his mouth and it gets him to smile sleepily. His white eye cracks open a little, full of love and affection.

He nuzzles his nose against your forehead and wraps his arms around you.

You don’t need anything else right now. Just him. Just knowing he’s comfortable and taken care of.

You fall asleep in each other’s arms, satisfied, with full bellies and fuller hearts.

[myusuchaa]

Ellis Twilight 2nd Birthday Event Story

The Shape of Happiness - Embraced by the Thorns of a Mad Love: Part 3 this is a fan translation. i do not own anything. Cybird has the right of ownership to all in-game content.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ

Ellis: Hey, Kate... how happy are you right now?

Such were the words that left his smiling face.

Even though I've heard this question asked many times before, right now felt like the first.

Ellis: I'm happy.

Ellis: Being with you, being able to dress you up in things I bought you.

Ellis: To be able to fill you with thoughts of my desires.

I'm sure he may do the same thing to anyone if it made them happy but...this is the first time he's given me so many presents out of his own will.

Kate: I'm very happy. Maybe more than you, I think.

Ellis: Ah, no. Right now, I'm the happiest. Because right now, I'm glad you are alive.

He steps closer, the twilight gleam chasing after his profile.

Ellis: I'll kill to make the happiest moments last forever. That thought will never change.

Ellis: But I am happy whenever I realize that you are alive.

Ellis: I'm sure... it must be because my happiness would not exist* without you.

His hand that caressed my cheek felt gentle and warm, but I also sensed something strange.

Those eyes, which had been sparkling in the twilight earlier, have now turned a dark shade of night.

Ellis: ... I wish we could stay in this moment, a place where no one will find us.

As night approaches, the color of his eyes deepens.

Kate: ... even though you won't see Jude and the other Crown members?

Ellis: Mm, I'd be a bit sad about that, but I think it would be fine as long as you're with me.

Sometimes, I feel anxious for no reason at all.

Ellis: Whenever I see you talking with someone else, I want to tear you away.

Ellis: I only want you to look at me. I don't want you to be made happy by anyone else.

Ellis: To hurt you, and being hurt by you... I only want it to be me.

(The fact that he cares so deeply... something about it makes me uneasy.)

I'm so happy now that I wouldn't want it to suddenly end some day.

Perhaps that thought is what made me so anxious all along.

Ellis: ...Kate?

I smelled the scent of lavender and looked up.

I could see the purple flowers in the flowerbed along the road, their petals swaying in the wind.

Kate: Lavender...

Ellis: Ah, it really is, in a place like this.

The flowers wet with dew reflected the twilight, shining like stars.

A beautiful moment.

Kate: ..As you mentioned, I do think I would be happy going somewhere, just the two of us.

(But...)

I take my eyes off the lavender and turn their gaze to him.

The darkening sky matched the color of his hair, making it look like he was blending into the twilight.

Kate: I like watching you work..

Kate: I enjoy watching all the Crown members talk happily amongst themselves in the lounge.

Kate: Because of that, I can't say I fully like the idea of going somewhere** only with you.

Kate: And I won't be able to see my favorite parts of you.

I took his paper bag in exchange for the one I was holding. As he tilted his head in curiosity, I then told him to open it and look inside.

Ellis: ...Stormglass?

Kate: It rained today, which changed our plans. Although it was fun, I thought it might be better to know what the weather would be like before we go out.

Stormglass, transparent liquid in a bottle, is a tool that can predict the weather based on the formation of crystals inside.

Kate: I thought if you had this, it would be easier to predict the weather.

Delicate white crystals were floating down the liquid like remnant snowflakes, leftover from the rain that just ended.

Kate: I understand you want to make our happiest moment last forever, but I'm looking forward to being with you tomorrow, to being happier with you.

Kate: Even if I get hurt, I don't want things to end without me tasting the happiness that lies ahead.

As his hands wrapped around the Stormglass, he muttered:

Ellis: .....

Ellis: The reason I keep clinging to you so is because I feel like one day you may simply disappear.

Kate: ..?

Ellis: I know I should look forward to tomorrow, but...

Ellis: I'm always worried that by the next time I wake, you'd be gone.

Ellis: That's why I always feel like I need to finish this quickly.

Ellis is truly here with me.

I thought these long vines adorned with thorns*** was only proof of his possessiveness, but-

-it seems all along, I had felt the same about him.

Kate: I've been thinking the same.

I wrapped my trembling hands around his, and the crystals in the bottom swayed softly from the movement.

(I'm sure this anxiety will never go away completely.)

Kate: That's why I want to keep things as they are, to know you're still with me.

Ellis: ..You're something else.

Kate: Oh?

Ellis: You really are. You can easily express the feelings I can't put to words.

It was the first time I saw such a shy smile on his face.

Ellis: I feel like I'm falling in love with you again.

He brought his lips closer to mine.

Kate: Mm...

--

I woke up to the morning sun.

(Ah, we fell asleep without our clothes on last night.)

As I felt embarrassed being vulnerable with him like this..

Kate: Ah..

I was pulled closer until we were skin to skin.

Kate: Ellis?

Ellis: ....

It's rare for him not to wake up even when I call his name.

The early summer breeze flows gently on the sheer curtains.

In the quiet morning, I tighten my embrace on him.

(...It seems like this moment is fleeting after all.)

Listening to his heartbeat, feeling his warmth - it's confirmation that he is still with me.

Kate: I love you, Ellis.

Kate: Stay by my side, always.

Perhaps because I could smile easily after saying that, I relaxed myself and felt sleepy again.

(It's still early... I can go back to sleep.)

When I close my eyes, the Stormglass that fills my vision tells me it will be a sunny day.

I felt the embrace of a pure and warm happiness.

<- Part 2 His POV Epilogue ->

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ

*when Ellis says it must be that his happiness does not exist without her, the literal translation comes from the word 成り立つ, which means to be made up of, consist of, or established by. so on top of kate making him happy, it implies she literally is his happiness, and he wouldn't feel true happiness at all without her.

**by saying "go somewhere", it really means double suicide

***long vines with thorns is used as a replacement for "thorny limbs", meaning his reach for her can be painful, trapping her, and references his curse

a/n: honestly, it's written so well.. the idea of the stormglass, and her ability to talk him through his emotions aaaah

[coffeeghoulie]

If you're still taking kiss prompts, Dewther with 27. Thanks!

I love writing dewther so much lol. Sorry if the formatting’s scuffed, I wrote this on my phone lol, hope you enjoy!

Prompt from this list

#27: as a suggestion

Aether's not exactly sure what time it is when he looks up from his desk, the fine print on the paperwork in front of him all starting to blur in the blue light from his computer monitor. He pushes his glasses up to rub at his eyes, straightening with a jolt as he sees a figure stepping into the infirmary office, clearing their throat.

"Dew, darling, what's wrong? Are you alright?" He stammers, reaching out with his quintessence to quickly scan over his mate. He knows that Dew has chronic pain that ebbs and flows, aching joints and scars, fears not being there if a flare-up had hit, unable to soothe his mate's pain.

Dew chuckles softly, stepping closer to the desk as the quintessence flows over him. His copper eyes flutter shut at the sensation, like carbonation and ozone. "I'm fine, Aeth, Cold, though. In that big bed of ours, all alone."

Aether sighs, runs a hand through his hair, pushing the dark strands that had fallen into his face back into his mohawk. "'m almost done with this, Dew," he lies, gesturing to the mess of papers on his desk. He winces as Dew raises an eyebrow, both of them knowing that's not the case.

"Aether, starshine," Dew says, voice monotone. "You have never been able to lie to me. Don't bother trying now."

Aether sighs again, meeting his eyes. Dew's right, of course. He's always been able to see right through him. Sometimes it makes him feel like a particularly interesting insect pinned to a board, but others? Its a relief to be known.

"The papers will still be there in the morning, starshine," Dew says, leaning over the cluttered surface of his desk to take his face in his hands. He leans into it, staring up at his mate's face. Backlit by the shitty fluorescents in his office, Aether's own shirt slipping down his shoulder, revealing the long-healed bite that matches his, bare-legged, the hem of his shirt brushing the tops of his narrow thighs, Dew is the closest to angelic a hellbeast like them will ever be.

Dew smooths his thumbs over the stubble on his cheeks, overdue for a shave. Strands of hair frame his face from where it falls out of where it's been braided back. "You haven't been sleeping much, have you? You look like shit."

Aether laughs dryly. He knows it's true. But the paperwork needs to get done, both for the infirmary and for the Abbey's bookwork. He leans into Dew's hands, even as he sets his shoulders despite his exhaustion. "I do have deadlines, you know."

Dew's brow furrows, and Aether knows he's been late to bed for a week now, only collapsing into their nest long after Dew's fallen asleep. "You're killing yourself over this, starshine," he hums sadly, still stroking his cheek. "At least gimme a kiss good night?"

Aether gives him a little smile, bringing his hand up to cover Dew's. "Of course, darling. C'mere."

Dew leans further over Aether's desk, until their lips are so close Aether can feel the warmth radiating off of him. Dew kisses the corner of his lips, pulling away before Aether can give him more.

Aether keens, reaching subconsciously for his mate as the fire ghoul steps backwards from the desk. "Baby, come on, gimme a real kiss."

Dew laughs, a spark of satisfied mischief in his eyes. "Nuh-uh. You can get a real kiss if you come to bed, Aether."

"Oh, you brat," Aether growls playfully, watching Dew's face light up in a grin as he stands. "Tempting me away from my work."

"Your mate," Dew says, still slowly backing towards the door, "Has never been able to tempt you from anything. This is all you, you stubborn ghoul."

They both freeze, locking eyes for a long moment before Dew turns, darting down the hallway back towards the ghoul wing. Aether growls again, the noise broken by laughter, hitting the light switch as he follows.

[cryptidclaw]

Cryptidclaw's WC Prefixes List!

Yall said you were interested in seeing it so here it is! 

This is a collection of mostly Flora, Fauna, Rocks, and other such things that can be found in Britain since that’s where the books take place! 

I also have other Prefixes that have to do with pelt colors and patterns as well!

Here’s a link to the doc if you dont want to expand a 650 word list on your Tumblr feed lol! the doc is also in my drive linked in my pined post!

below is the actual list! If there are any names you think I should add plz tell me!

EDIT: I will update the doc with new names as I come up with them or have them suggested to me, but I wont update the list on this post! Plz visit my doc for a more updated version!

Animals

Mammal

Badger

Bat

Bear

Beaver

Bison

Boar

Buck

Calf

Cow

Deer

Elk

Fawn

Ferret

Fox

Goat

Hare

Horse

Lamb

Lynx

Marten

Mole

Mouse

Otter

Rabbit

Rat

Seal

Sheep

Shrew

Squirrel

Stoat

Vole

Weasel

Wolf

Wolverine

Amphibians

Frog

Newt

Toad

Reptiles

Scale

Adder

Lizard

Snake

Turtle

Shell

Birds

Bird

Down

Feather

Albatross

Bittern

Buzzard

Chaffinch

Chick

Chicken

Coot

Cormorant

Corvid

Crane

Crow

Curlew

Dove

Duck

Dunlin

Eagle

Egret

Falcon

Finch

Gannet

Goose

Grouse

Gull

Hawk

Hen

Heron

Ibis

Jackdaw

Jay

Kestrel

Kite

Lark

Magpie

Mallard

Merlin

Mockingbird

Murrelet

Nightingale

Osprey

Owl

Partridge

Pelican

Peregrine

Petrel

Pheasant

Pigeon

Plover

Puffin

Quail

Raven

Robin

Rook

Rooster

Ruff

Shrike

Snipe

Sparrow

Starling

Stork

Swallow

Swan

Swift

Tern

Thrasher

Thrush

Vulture

Warbler

Whimbrel

Wren

Freshwater Fish 

Fish

Bass

Bream 

Carp

Dace

Eel

Lamprey

Loach

Minnow

Perch

Pike

Rudd

Salmon

Sterlet

Tench

Trout

Roach

Saltwater fish and other Sea creatures (would cats be able to find some of these? Probably not, I don't care tho)

Alge

Barnacle

Bass (Saltwater version)

Bream (Saltwater version)

Brill

Clam

Cod

Crab

Dolphin

Eel (Saltwater version)

Flounder

Garfish

Halibut

Kelp

Lobster

Mackerel

Mollusk

Orca

Prawn

Ray

Seal

Shark

Shrimp

Starfish

Sting

Urchin

Whale

Insects and Arachnids

Honey

Insect

Web

Ant

Bee

Beetle

Bug

Butterfly

Caterpillar

Cricket

Damselfly

Dragonfly

Fly

Grasshopper

Grub

Hornet

Maggot

Moth

Spider

Wasp

Worm

Trees

Acorn

Bark

Branch

Forest

Hollow

Log

Root

Stump

Timber

Tree

Twig

Wood

Alder

Apple

Ash

Aspen

Beech

Birch

Cedar

Cherry

Chestnut

Cypress

Elm

Fir

Hawthorn

Hazel

Hemlock

Linden

Maple

Oak

Pear

Poplar

Rowan

Redwood

Spruce

Willow

Yew

Flowers, Shrubs and Other plants

Berry

Blossom

Briar

Field

Flower

Leaf

Meadow

Needle

Petal

Shrub

Stem

Thicket

Thorn

Vine

Anemone 

Apricot

Barley 

Bellflower

Bluebell

Borage

Bracken

Bramble

Briar

Burnet

Buttercup

Campion

Chamomile

Chanterelle

Chicory

Clover

Cornflower

Daffodil

Daisy

Dandelion

Dogwood

Fallow

Fennel

Fern

Flax

Foxglove

Furze

Garlic

Ginger

Gorse

Grass

Hay

Heather

Holly

Honeysuckle

Hop

Hyacinth

Iris

Ivy

Juniper

Lavender

Lichen

Lilac

Lilly

Mallow

Marigold

Mint

Mistletoe

Moss

Moss

Mushroom

Nettle

Nightshade

Oat

Olive

Orchid

Parsley

Periwinkle

Pine

Poppy

Primrose

Privet

Raspberry

Reed

Reedmace

Rose

Rush

Rye

Saffron

Sage

Sedge

Seed

Snowdrop

Spindle

Strawberry

Tangerine

Tansy

Teasel

Thistle

Thrift

Thyme

Violet

Weed

Wheat

Woodruff

Yarrow

Rocks and earth

Agate

Amber

Amethyst

Arch

Basalt

Bounder

Cave

Chalk

Coal

Copper

Dirt

Dust

Flint

Garnet

Gold

Granite

Hill

Iron

Jagged

Jet

Mountain

Mud

Peak

Pebble

Pinnacle

Pit

Quartz

Ridge

Rock

Rubble

Ruby

Rust(y)

Sand

Sapphire

Sediment

Silt

Silver

Slate

Soil

Spire

Stone

Trench

Zircon

Water Formations

Bay

Cove

Creek

Delta

Lake

Marsh

Ocean

Pool

Puddle

River

Sea

Water

Weather and such

Autumn

Avalanche

Balmy

Blaze

Blizzard

Breeze

Burnt

Chill

Cinder

Cloud

Cold

Dew

Drift

Drizzle

Drought

Dry

Ember

Fall

Fire

Flame

Flood

Fog

Freeze

Frost

Frozen

Gale

Gust

Hail

Ice

Icicle

Lightening

Mist

Muggy

Rain 

Scorch

Singe

Sky

Sleet

Sloe

Smoke

Snow

Snowflake

Soot

Sorrel

Spark

Spring

Steam

Storm

Summer

Sun

Thunder

Water

Wave

Wet

Wind

Winter

Celestial??

Comet

Dawn

Dusk

Evening 

Midnight

Moon

Morning

Night

Noon

Twilight

Cat Features, Traits, and Misc. 

Azure

Beige

Big

Black

Blonde

Blotch(ed)

Blue

Bounce

Bright 

Brindle

Broken

Bronze

Brown

Bumble

Burgundy

Call

Carmine

Claw

Cobalt

Cream

Crimson

Cry

Curl(y)

Dapple

Dark

Dot(ted)

Dusky

Ebony

Echo

Fallen

Fleck(ed)

Fluffy

Freckle

Ginger

Golden

Gray

Green

Heavy

Kink

Knot(ted)

Light

Little

Lost

Loud

Marbled

Mew

Milk

Mottle

Mumble

Ochre

Odd

One

Orange

Pale

Patch(ed)

Pounce 

Prickle

Ragged

Red

Ripple

Rough

Rugged

Russet

Scarlet

Shade

Shaggy

Sharp

Shimmer

Shining

Small

Smudge

Soft

Song

Speckle

Spike

Splash

Spot(ted)

Streak

Stripe(d)

Strong

Stump(y)

Sweet

Tall

Talon

Tangle

Tatter(ed)

Tawny

Tiny

Tough

Tumble

Twist

Violet

Whisker

Whisper

White

Wild

Wooly

Yellow

[elleloquently]

hi lovely <3 could i request protective!ellie and reader (relationship) in a patrol but things go south and she almost gets bit by an infected and ellie is just "i can't believe i almost lost you" and literally never gets reader out of her sight after that. thank u so much! :D

a/n : i literally love this sm thank you for requesting bc after reading this prompt i could not get it out of my head!! that being said though i'm sorry this took a bit ): the format for this is kinda weird i think maybe idk yeesh but i had too many ideas so anyway yes so cute love her c/w : weapons (guns mentioned,) violence against infected, protective!ellie my beloved (not quite edited </3)

fears all the way down - ellie williams

spring hesitated to make its welcome, the morning rays shyly peeking out from behind gray skies and dark clouds. every morning upon waking you would yearn for a sunny day, and finally the sun decided to grace the sky. it was the kind of brightness that would cause you to squint upon stepping outside, desperate to shed a few layers despite the air still being chilled, anything to feel the sun on your skin.

morning frost turned to morning dew, the slight crunch of a boot or a hoof that once crushed the delicate crystals into the grass was replaced with a slippery wetness and mud, new prints left to track.

you relished in it now, closing your eyes only briefly to imagine a world without infected, free to walk or ride without pausing at any given sound or movement. your horse followed faithfully behind shimmer, ellie's horse, as she led the way. she was always like this, leading and guiding and taking charge. it was infuriating and endearing, you would roll your eyes but only if your lips wore a smile as well.

you didn't patrol often, but when you did, ellie always found herself as your partner. incessant and persistent, you weren't aware of just how much trouble she had caused behind the scenes. rearranging shifts and lecturing just about anyone who would listen to her thinly veiled threats, the patrolmen of Jackson would rather give in with a sigh than have ellie williams worked into a fuss over who was partnered with her girlfriend.

even jesse, a dear friend to you both, knew exactly who was knocking at his door even before the sun came up on a day where you were supposed to ride out on patrol together.

it wasn't that ellie didn't trust them, or have good faith in them, because she did. and it wasn't that she didn't trust you, or think you to be capable, because she did. nevertheless, ellie displays her affections by protecting the ones she loves. you happened to be a lucky one, much to your frustration and adoration. you relished in her care but you also worried about her well-being, an endless cycle of stubborn lovers where you both seemed to keep simultaneously winning and losing.

"all good back there?" ellie noticed your silence, glancing over her shoulder with a curious smile.

you hummed in response, nodding to affirm your answer to her question. it had been a quiet patrol so far, but neither yourself nor ellie were one to let your guard down.

continuing down a well-worn path, you had spotted something in the distance that was once a house, part of it nearly collapsing within itself. it grabbed your attention anyway so you tugged on the reigns, signaling for ellie who seemed to have spotted it as well.

"think it's worth a try?" you posed, and ellie mentally debated your question.

"i think it's been a bit since anyone's gone down there..." ellie eyed the path, coming to a decision with a sigh. "might as well," she shrugged, directing shimmer towards the house.

your horses fell in step with one another as you approached your destination, weary of the trees that nearly covered the house. shimmer stopped first and ellie quickly jumped down from her faithful companion, coming to your side.

ellie shielded her eyes from the sun, offering up her free hand. you took it, gratefully, and landed feet on the ground next to her. you took a quick inventory as ellie pulled out a gun, cautiously scanning the surrounding area.

"be right back, tulip," you murmured to your horse, armed with your own weapon as you carefully approached the house.

less snow made it easier for delicate footsteps, but any infected were sure to be better blended with the greenery that were soon to be blooming again. no matter how often you were outside, or dealt with infected, you couldn't stop your heart from pounding with the threat of danger looming over your head at any given moment.

the door to the house was ajar, raising your own levels of suspicion. you glanced at ellie, who's eyebrows were drawn to a crease. you were practically holding your breath upon entering, only to let out a breath of relieve when yourself and ellie came to the conclusion that it was clear.

"i'll watch the front, do you wanna check the back?" you offered to ellie, relaxing your grip on your weapon.

"be careful," ellie responded with a nod, giving you a quick, cautious smile.

you glanced around the room, trying to see if anything was worth picking over when ellie's voice broke the brief silence.

"i mean it!" she called pressingly, though the desperation in her voice was just enough to make you laugh.

a quick glance out of the window at shimmer and tulip left you satisfied, so you pulled your attention to the wreckage that covered the room's floor. there wasn't much, not really, but some of your best finds thus far had been from searching through areas like this one.

you kicked at an old chest with your boot, watching dust particles fill the air. not expecting much, you lift open a fragile compartment and grin at the unexpected sight.

"ellie," you call, using a lighthearted tone so that she doesn't mistake it for trouble.

she appears quickly anyway, amused with the proud look that's painted itself on your face.

"more ammo," you clarify, presenting her with a little box. it wasn't much, but it was certainly more than either of you were expecting, considering the looks of the place.

"that's my girl," laughed ellie, reaching out to bump your arm to which you rolled your eyes affectionately. you could show her a rock and she would probably still respond with, 'nice!'

you poked around in silence for a bit, occasionally hearing drawers opening or a mumbled swear coming from ellie's direction. it was almost nice, and you admired the way that the sunlight was warming you from the windows when a sound broke through the atmosphere.

freezing immediately, you drew your gun and waited. you prayed that you were only paranoid, but the noise sounded again and this time it was closer, there was no mistaking it.

you were lurking near the doorway, close enough to keep a watchful eye on the horses when another croaking sound made your blood run cold. the floorboards underneath your boots creaked with every step so you stayed put, eyes frantically darting around the trees as far as you could see.

gun pointed through the door, you held your breath and waited. anything that knew you were around would be hot on your trail by now, and quickly.

you waited and waited, and all you heard was silence and the occasional snort from a horse. despite the nothingness that greeted you, you felt a growing pit in your stomach and a strong desire to go back to the main pathing where you had been previously riding.

you slowly crept through the doorway, carefully closing it only halfway while you checked everything within your eyesight once more before calling to your girlfriend. you frowned, glancing over tulip. shrugging off your extra jacket, you slung it over her saddle when you suddenly heard a branch snap.

at the sounded tell, it was already too late. a stalker came barreling out from behind a line of trees, hyper focused and thrashing as it hurdled toward you. with no time to think and hardly any time to move, you wielded your gun but the creature was faster than you, stronger than you.

your body slammed against the door, knocking it open and you nearly fell backwards which allowed you to slip through the infected's grasp as it thrashed for you. immediately footsteps pounded through the house and gunshots rang in your ears, the stalker lying at your feet.

dazed and trembling as if you were frostbitten, you stared down at the infected unmoving as ellie quickly pulled you into her arms.

"hey, hey," she reassured you, checking over your body quickly just in case for any marks, but you had been saved.

"ellie," your voice wobbled, but you quickly blinked back any tears. you wanted to just dust yourself off and move on, strong and brave like you always promised ellie you would be. she worried so much, and you didn't want to actually give her a reason to worry but despite your efforts, you found yourself falling apart in her arms.

ellie held onto you, tightening her grip with every shaky breath that escaped your mouth. "it's alright, i've got you. i've always got you," she mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

you stayed like that only for a moment, too anxious to make another mistake. you quickly gathered your bearings and decided to call it on patrol, ellie gripping your hand as you left the house together. she helped as you hoisted yourself up onto tulip, only letting go of your hand and returning to her own horse when you were firmly grabbing the reins.

ellie was in autopilot, checking in with you and mumbling directions as you rode quickly and carefully to Jackson. the obnoxious sunshine only made your tears look more obvious on your cheeks and you roughly wiped them away with your sleeve, not wanting to appear as pathetic as you felt.

ellie grew increasingly more quiet, only quickly squeezing your hand once you made it back to safety. without a word she moved to stable shimmer, and a horrible feeling washed over you. she was acting as if she were mad, and you couldn't blame her. you remained at tulip's side, stroking your horse as you watched your girlfriend wordlessly move around the stable.

"i'm so sorry," you whispered, and ellie froze once you broke the silence. her back was to you, and you almost expected her to simply ignore you, or to start into a lecture, even though ellie would swear she wasn't always like joel, all you heard were reflections of his words in her careful pleas.

"i don't know what happened, it was so dumb and it happened so fast, ellie, so fast and i had my gun out but-"

ellie slowly turned to face you, and the look of guilt was evidently written all over her face. you abruptly cut yourself off, feeling even more awful than before.

she tried not to often reflect the losses that she had experienced, but even as strong as ellie was, it wasn't something that could be buried. even when the wildflowers start to bloom again and the skies turn blue, the threat of potentially losing someone that you love was hidden in every corner, ready to jump out and completely envelop you at any given moment, any small slip or mistake. it was nearly maddening, not knowing if that could be the last time you ever hear someone's voice. her losses were her failures, and she refused to let you be one of them.

shame and worry took over you, your eyebrows drawing together as ellie stared at you, shaking her head before starting towards you. ellie quickly pulled you into her arms once more, furiously blinking away her own tears. "i can't believe i almost lost you," she whispered into your hair, to which you quickly drew back.

"hey," you started, relieved that she wasn't upset but devastated by her confession. "i'm okay ellie, i'm not going anywhere, i promise," you reassured her.

"i know," ellie pressed. "that will never happen again," she spoke, half telling you and half telling herself. "i promise, nothing will ever happen to you."

you yearned to make ellie the same promise over and over, but you knew it wasn't the time. you allowed her to dote over you for the rest of the evening, her hand never leaving yours, not even while you had dinner. with every quiet check-in of a whispered, "are you okay?" you would nod and squeeze her hand, allowing her to look after you because you knew it was what she needed, to feel competent and to prove to herself that she was capable of protecting the one that she loves.