#dr nix

[moonygryffin]

Here’s a new oc im working on, haven’t figured out much yet.

They’re a doctor on the Airship and a pyromaniac. They have a burn scar on their face from messing with fire lol. (Phoe)Nix is their first name, no surname, and their top hat doubles as a weapon that can shoot fire

I have Plans for them in my au, but am still working on their personality

[mordredsheart]

disney villains ranked by how good they would be as a toxic romantasy love interest

10. gaston. make no mistake, he ranks highly in toxicity, and would no doubt excel in one of those romance novels about douchebros reenacting the most dangerous game with nondescript brunettes. but there’s simply no way he can hold his own against the faeries and monsters and sorcerers you’ll meet in chapter three.

09. hades. lord of the underworld is a fantastic gig, but i personally feel that his reliance upon comedy and snark somewhat undercuts the promising menace of him shouting that he owns you. he’d make a real charmer of a sidequest flirtation, though, if you survive it.

08. captain hook. manipulation is the bread and butter of your common or garden toxic romantasy love interest, and we all saw the way he played poor tinker bell. it ruled. do me next. extra credit for an underplayed tragic immortal angle (hey, he’s stuck in neverland, too!) and being figuratively and literally haunted by his own doom.

07. shan yu. for a villain with limited screentime he really has a way of setting the imagination aglow. what if your village was razed by a warlord and you ended up encountering him repeatedly in battle and for all the casually contemptuous evil he’s previously displayed he faced you with respect as an equal (and he *remembered* you) and oh no he’s hot. what then. he also gets bonus points because i think they made his hawk a beautiful lady shapeshifter in the live-action movie. two for the price of one.

06. the evil queen. she sets a high bar for unhealthy obsession, and “mad scientist” is an underrepresented flavor in this genre, plus the magic mirror has a lot of creepyhot stalking potential. she’s pretty high-maintenance, though, and her vanity simply wouldn’t allow your heroic quest and/or the other corner of the love triangle to share the spotlight with her. she might be better off as a supporting character in the deadly decadent court who calls you menacing endearments and strokes your face and gives you the feeling that you’re suddenly in way over your head.

05. frollo. oh, i hear you gnashing your teeth and wringing your hands. “not frollo!” yes frollo. if i was reading a romantasy novel and the villain told the protagonist that they were just imagining a rope around her beautiful neck, i would feel ripped off if they weren’t at *least* furiously making out in secret by the climax. your conscience may demur, but who hasn’t secretly yearned to have a city burned to the ground over them?

04. mor’du. who? you know mor’du. the big fuckoff bear from brave. the big fuckoff bear who once was a brooding, hulking celtic prince who massacred his whole family and underwent a devastating transformation-by-curse into a literal monster. it’s only his sheer bad luck that he ended up as a minor character in a heartwarming mother-daughter narrative and not the villain protagonist of a romantasy that’s half beauty and the beast and half texas chain saw massacre. but, with your help, we can change that.

03. jafar. he doesn’t rank more highly because it’s less fun when they’re only creepy to you and obsessed with you for, like, five minutes at the end, but still. he pulls it off *so* well, he’s got just the right kind of megalomaniac agenda, and he gets extra credit for style and the hypnosis thing. cue the agonizing yet erotic internal monologues from our protagonist about how he *compels* them.

02. TIE! between two gentlemen who operate on very similar levels of charming toxicity and would therefore thrive in this setting:

hans. it’s honestly a shame he’s in a disney children’s movie and not a five hundred page novel called a realm of ice and snow or whatever. he would not only be endgame but he would also have a small army of booktokers calling our protagonist names for doubting his love for them after one eensy little lying to them and leaving them to die incident. he’d be exactly as awful as he is canonically and he’d come out smelling like a rose.

dr. facilier. the *perfect* balance of tragic backstory versus inexcusable jackassery, and no one is immune to the charms of a roguish magician dabbling in that which he should not. he’ll sell you the prettiest vision of a future together that you ever did see, and then he’ll sell you out to evil forces to further his personal agenda, and he will not be sorry about it. he’ll call you doll while draining every drop of your blood for The Ritual and he won’t lose a wink of sleep. no romantic groveling apology from this one, either, i’m afraid. but he’d be so worth it.

01. maleficent. evil sexy faery who lives on something called the forbidden mountain, who devoted sixteen years of her life to tormenting a beautiful peasant with a secret royal lineage, up to and including kidnapping the “correct” love interest to prevent them from saving our protagonist from her own wicked plans? if there *isn’t* already a romantasy novel out in the world that is blatant aurora/maleficent fic, i will eat my hat.

honorable mentions:

rasputin. sure, he’s only a disney villain by technicality. but what romantasy protagonist worth their salt would kick the rotting lich-priest who murdered their whole family, and is trying to murder them, out of bed on a technicality?

bruno madrigal, who wasn’t a villain at all, but by gods he should have been. secret uncle who lives in the walls and is tragically haunted by your seemingly immutable shared fate *and* you’re his *favorite*? the gothic romantasy fans would devour him.

[tybaltsjuliet]

i almost forgot to tell you guys the most important thing i learned today at universal which is that the little europe area of their backlot was used not only for the classic monster movies like dracula and frankenstein (mostly angry mobs) but also for the village in the brandy cinderella and. GENOVIA. in the second princess diaries movie

[hunter-sylvester]

"See you around, bitch."

Metal Lords 2022 - Dr. Troy Nix

[13-wonder-writer]

Wenn die Tatorte "Das Opfer" (Berlin) und "Die ewige Welle" (München) ein Kind bekommen könnten, wäre es "Vergebung" (Stuttgart) geworden

[thenixkat]

Idk, I just think if a supervillain has a body count over a certain amount on some evil for evil's sake shit? Then it's not a moral dilemma for a superhero to kill them. Especially the fuckers that keep doing the shit/all other options haven't worked.

[starleska]

this is an OC x Canon chart i made for a Secret Santa art trade i'm hosting...all my OCs and their respective blorbos (plus a wildcard 🤭)!! this isn't normal taste, is it? 🙈💖

[allergic-to-four-leaf-clovers]

the books I got for christmas!! I've heard some good things about them and they all look so cool!!

[climbing-starrs]

!!!! What about,,, Nix and Orion hanging out :]

@phoenixiza

they r silly!!! >:]

[blabbin]

27 + 53 cunette >: DD

Sick/Injured Fic + Mutual Pining

ou you're kilign me here,,

Cuno finds Annette standing at the front of the bookstore, as usual, and she looks exhausted - *more* than usual. He asks her what's wrong (and by that i mean he says "you look like shit, the fuck happened?"). She waves it off, says smtn about 'just a sore throat' and 'nothing some tea and honey won't help.' he goes 'oh myy fucking god you're sick, does your mom know, why the fuck are you out here in the cold.' she thanks him for his concern but insists that she's not sick, which ofc only makes Cuno go into a spiel about how 'Cuno's NOT concerned, Cuno just thinks you're acting stupid as fuck.'

He doesn't see her outside the next day. When looking into the store he can only see Plaisance. well, shit. if even Plaisance let Annette have a day off then it must be bad.

He decides to go visit her at her place. He's walked her back home a handful of times but never went in. He feels a bit (a lot) embarrassed to be going out of his way to see her - feels that he should just wait till she's back to 'work' to talk to her, but he also can't help feeling worried (not that he'd ever admit it) and wants to check in on her, especially since she'd be home all alone.

He knocks (slams) on the door and it takes a while but she finally opens the door a crack, hiding.

CUNO - Instantly, the first words out of his mouth is: "See? fucking told you, you were sick."

ANNETTE - She groans. "Of course that's why you came here. Just go away." She sounds awful and nasally.

CUNO - "Man, stop being so whiny. Let Cuno in."

ANNETTE - "No way, you could get sick." She is afraid of him getting infected, but she also hates how she looks a mess.

CUNO - "Fuck off, Cuno doesn't *get* sick. Cuno takes so much mag - he's invisible at this point. You should probably take some too - before you die."

ANNETTE - She rolls her eyes. She hesitates a bit, but lets him in after all. She does appreciate him checking in on her and having company sounds nice.

she starts to grow dizzy and he quickly ushers her to her room to rest. Cuno wasn't just making an off-hand comment earlier, he did get her some vitamins. seeing her so sick, he kind of goes into auto pilot - getting her water, a cold water-soaked towel, tissues, whole nine yards.

she tries to tough it out, but ends up falling asleep from how tired she is. Cuno spends the time reading one of the books off Annette's shelves, just laying down on the floor, and getting up to check on Annette's temperature every now and again.

after a few hours, she wakes up feeling a bit better, enough to actually sit up and be aware of her surroundings again. she gets up from the bed and almost trips over Cuno (on the floor) who she has entirely forgotten came over to visit. She's surprised and flustered and embarrassed, and he quickly shuts the whole awkwardness down with a comment about how he's starving and they should just get something to eat.

so they do - they make whatever simple, quick thing from the kitchen, and spend the next while chatting and hanging out. they talk about the book Cuno was reading and Annette tells him he can borrow it until he's done.

He has to leave soon because Plaisance will be back and neither of them want to deal with that. Annette thanks Cuno for taking care of her and says she'd give him a hug if she weren't so sick, which he promptly responds with 'gross, i hope you STAY sick' (he's a little disappointed even if he won't admit it lmao)

anyway smtn smtn they both cant help but think about a reality where they could just spend the whole day - after day after day - together like that smtn smtn

[lordiavolo]

DOES ANYONE IN THIS FANDOM WANT TO EXPLAIN THIS LINE OR CAN. IS SHE LYING. IS SHE TELLING THE TRUTH ...????????

[astraldoesart]

👀👀 i might be late but. orion and nix interaction possibly..... im curious

Oh don't worry!! You aren't late at all! And here we are. I imagine Nix is talking about some ALTRS it cares for and ALTR care in general

[drinking-tea-at-parties]

Sure, I love talking about underrated characters but I also want to talk about underhated characters. Dr. Nix Gottlieb is a bitch and I hope he dies in an explosion.

[dyscomancer]

can you explain what happened with larian and hasbro? why are the next 5 years going to be so bad?

So, Larian had to purchase from Hasbro/WotC the usage rights for the Forgotten Realms setting and the D&D 5e systems, among other things, to make Baldur's Gate 3. Larian self-published the game; it was not published by Hasbro or Wizards of the Coast.

However, they still had folks from the WotC D&D team help them with the integration of a setting they did not own. Having folks on hand to provide visual reference for artists designing characters, items, and architecture, having lore bible folks checking the story and dialogue for lore consistency, having rules designers help to change the 5e rules for the reality of it being a video game and not live tabletop; that sort of thing.

Thing is, since then, Hasbro has let every single one of the WotC employees Larian worked with (with whom they had a great time, by all accounts) go in their recent downsizing layoffs.

Larian owner, Swen Vicke, has been outspoken about the video game industry's quarterly profit mindset and how it has been ruining the industry. These downsizing layoffs are emblematic of this toxic business structure; by nixing employees, you can claim to your all-powerful shareholders that you got a bigger profit than you would have otherwise! Because god help you if you have to tell the shareholders that you didn't double your fucking profit margins from the previous quarter. Don't worry about how you just let all your veteran talent go, I'm sure that won't have any effects down the line.

Recent news has confirmed that Baldur's Gate 3 will not be receiving any DLC, despite previous statements that the concept was being looked at. It will not get any expansions like BG games before it did. It will not be getting a sequel from Larian. It will not be getting any expanded content outside of further updates and patches. Big extra content like that requires the aforementioned involvement from the WotC team; the team that has since been entirely fired.

Larian, as a company that generally eschews firing people for bullshit reasons and don't adhere as much to the bean counting mindset, found this firing of people to be horrifyingly unethical, as many of its staff and ownership have publicly stated. This almost certainly had something to do with the previously mentioned 'no DLC/sequels' announcement. Why would you want to work with a company that treats its people like that?

The '5 years' statement I stated was just a rough estimate. Hasbro has already started up on publishing their own video game titles in-house without the aid of studios like Larian, and 5 years is a pretty good window for titles like that to be released in the future. And judging by how their previous titles from a previous effort (bad mobile games, bad steam games) were received, I don't see any reasons to believe that this push would be different.

Had they just not fired people to please a bunch of asshole suits from some holding company doing fuck-all but sitting in meeting rooms to collect money, they'd likely have had a better chance at working with Larian on more stuff for BG3, more Forgotten Realms stuff in the future, and just generally had more chances for quality products made by a passionate and proven team.

tl;dr; Hasbro fired all their people who worked with Larian, and Larian rightly saw this as a dick move.

[comfortless]

Deep Water

nix! König x fem! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. no.. intentional harm done to reader but there are sporadic mentions of murder (drowning), König is kind of a creep here do you guys forgive me (say yes), implied sex; dubcon everything. König is wearing a fishing net rather than the usual hood because. it made sense to me sorry.

notes: yet again, i have found that i can not manage to write anything except for silly fantasy nonsense… bear with me this will pass (it will not). if you’re uncertain of what a nix is, i recommend skimming over this (or tl;dr— a shapeshifting water spirit).

You’ve always been told to beware of the river, especially on nights like this. When the singing starts up you were to run, as far and as fast as your feet could carry you. It would be the most beautiful sound you had ever heard, as well as the last. Whatever beast lies in wait along the silt of the riverbed luring people in with its haunting song isn’t kind. The drowned bodies resurfacing bloated and paled are enough for the townsfolk to assume that assuredly, a monster lies in wait someplace within the glassy water.

For all of the fear, town myths were just that— myths.

As always, there’s no singing when you seat yourself on smooth, mossy stones by the river’s bank. The moon hangs low, casting its brilliant reflection on calm, dark water. The air is alive with the buzzing of cicadas clinging to the trees at your back and night birds calling out to the wind. Nothing is amiss; it’s only peaceful, and that’s why despite the warnings, you often find yourself here when the temperature is favorable.

There are nights when the river isn’t calm, and currents are the most reliable reasoning for the deaths from past summers. The water is full of large rocks with sharp corners, teeming with plants that could so easily snare an ankle, and when the water is frothing and cruel it’s no surprise that one could be thrashed to unconsciousness if they weren’t careful.

You didn’t come here to take your chances on swimming, anyhow.

If anything, it’s a mere reprieve from the bustle of the town. No one wanders here any more since the myths gained traction, passed from mouth to listening ears time and time again, leaving this place entirely untouched. Occasionally the obnoxious teenager would cross your path on the walk here, declaring loudly to their friends about how they supposedly saw some slimy beast, eyes like moonbeams and scales like razors lying on the bank.

During your little adventures here, you often carry a snack with you, but not for yourself. Tonight, it’s just a small package of vanilla flavored cookies. In truth, they were awful— dry and near flavorless, but you suspect your friend here wouldn’t mind too terribly much, and if it got them out of your pantry without wasting it was a win for the both of you.

When the large dorsal fin crests over the water mere meters from the bank, you gratuitously crush the treats in a closed fist and toss the crumbs into the water. Time and time again, you’ve fed the large animal, watching as it thrashes about just below the surface before disappearing back into its depths. You’ve never gotten a good look at it, either, but you imagine it must stretch out past your height or further; some sort of gar or sturgeon.

Just as many times before, it glides further in, fin entirely out of sight now. The only evidence of it ever appearing at all were the small waves rippling in its wake. All is quieted once more as you embrace the placid bliss, readying your small flashlight and losing yourself into the book perched in your lap.

The next night, you’re greeted by a large snake basking over the rock you typically sat upon. It lies still, coiled into itself as it regards you, forked tongue flicking out for several moments before it simply slithers off, hiding itself away beneath the moss and stone.

“Best to leave you alone, huh?,” you ask to it’s retreating tail, feeling a bit silly for speaking to the reptile at all. It doesn’t respond, of course, nor does it bother to come out of hiding either.

You opt to seat yourself on the hill overlooking the water instead.

You find that after a day occupied by tedious tasks, there truly was no greater place to abandon your woes than here. Everything was peaceful; wild yet simplistic. Even with all of the death that seemed to haunt this place, you never feared the thought of ghosts. You’ve even entertained your imagination a time or two, that if you ever did meet one, you would only ask it not to disturb the wildlife you have grown so fond.

There’s a freedom and a mystery to places like this, places without the foot traffic of other people. It brings with it a sense of whimsy, especially when you glance towards the water and see the surface reflecting every twinkling star above.

The fish doesn’t appear, even as you listen to the water in wait, your head tilted as you lie back on soft grass to watch for ripples, for the swell of a large fin moving beneath. Nothing. You read your book as the night progresses, nearly completing it entirely before you make your way back home.

Weeks pass by like this— work, river, home and repeat. Occasionally it’s the same large snake that greets you when you wander there, more often it’s the large fish circling about waiting for crumbs of whatever treat you choose to bring. The bank and the small hill overlooking it have become a separate home to you, one where you can be away with the fairies, talking to your animal friends that never seem to stick around for long.

When the weather grows warmer, you even dare to take a swim.

You’re stood on the slick stones of the bank, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of underwear. It’s not proper swimming attire, but you reason that you’re not at the beach, not a soul is around, and it doesn’t really matter at all that you might look a bit silly. The prospect of swimming along that behemoth below is a tad terrifying, but you wouldn’t dare to wander too far in. Maybe the fish would even be intelligent enough to not attempt to eat you after you’ve been so kind to it.

It’s hot, and with a sticky layer of sweat glossing your skin, your worries seem minuscule in light of an easy way of cooling off. You toe at the calm water for a moment, testing its temperature before willing yourself to take a step forward, then another before you seat yourself in the vibrant expanse of darkened blue. Here, you realize, is the best place to stargaze, too; they shimmer all around you, within reach as you tap at the surface of water, watching it undulate beneath the pressure of your fingertips.

You could reach the moon, too, if you swam further out. A few meters from the bank and you would be directly beneath its reflection, bathed in that ethereal glow.

You watch for your friend for a time, trying to prioritize your wariness over your whimsy. When the fish doesn’t tread by you, the water remaining calm, you rise to your feet and take slow, metered steps as the water parts and flows against your shins.

Though the river is disturbed no matter how gently you stride forward, nothing slides out from its depths in pursuit of you. Nothing happens at all when you reach out to splay your hand out against the reflection, the water now gently lapping against your stomach rather than your legs.

You hadn’t expected any sort of shift in your reality, that would be ridiculous, but perhaps some sort of clarity; a further calm for a weary mind. It doesn’t come, and with a disheartened splash you wade your way back towards the shore.

This has been your sanctuary for some time. Excusing the snake, there’s not been any sort of threat to you, not here. A safe water world all your own. Though, that peace is shattered the moment that you make it to the bank and hear the water shift some small distance behind you. Turning your head, you’re met with the sight of a man, the bulky muscular silhouette towering in the patch of moonlight you had just stood in. Bright blue eyes catch the light, reflecting like an animal’s as you scramble back to where you’ve left your shorts.

He stands there, silent and unmoving like an obelisk even as you hastily dress yourself with a thundering heart and breaths that sound more or less like gasps, senses heightened by your panic as you turn tail to run.

No one had been there. You were sure of it when you sunk into the water. There was no sound when this person had swam over to take your place. He was just there, as if he had been the entire time and you somehow failed to notice.

You make your way into the woods framing this place, hurried steps and untied shoelaces. You don’t even bother with your flashlight.

Finding your way back home with aches in every muscle, the desperate rampage you had taken to get away finally coming to a close when the door slams shut behind you, you quickly shower and mull over what’s just happened. A ghost, perhaps. It had to of been. Any other person would have made noise in their approach, especially being that big. The mind could play its tricks; what you had seen was likely not even there at all— a terrifying figment of your imagination. That sets you at ease, somewhat, but not enough.

You don’t sleep well that night, tucked beneath your blanket and staring at the filtered moonlight through your curtains. Work isn’t on your mind at all come morning until your phone chimes with a notification from your manager, questioning your tardiness. A languid crawl out of bed follows, another shower, an unsatisfying breakfast, all before you opt to send a text back to let him know you won’t be in today.

It could be excused, you’re reliable and decent enough at the job; not one to boast, but far more eager to please than the rest of your coworkers. You would be entirely useless if you went in on no sleep, you reason.

You don’t want to go back there, not under the veil of night, but you find yourself horribly curious the longer that you bide your time indoors. You had to know if the thing that you saw was really there, had to calm your nerves. What if he had always been watching each time, and you simply hadn’t noticed? The forest bordering the river is terribly dark at night, anyone could crouch behind the shield of a tree and remain undetected until they willed the courage to drag you in, cup a palm over your mouth to silence your cries.

Maybe it was the monster the people in town rumored about.

The thought of some strange, silent thing living beneath the water waiting for an opportune moment to take you by the neck and drag you down to the silty floor to watch you drown horrified you. Yet, that’s the one conclusion that sticks. Those eyes… so lurid and haunting, no human being had eyes like that.

You inhale sharply, steeling your nerves as reach for a pocket knife for defense, toss it into the bag slung over your shoulder, and storm out the door.

The trek there is nothing short of dull.

No matter where you look, what shadows rise up beneath the dim glow of a falling sun, there’s nothing out in the woods. The river is equally tame. The water babbles over rock, cicadas buzz off in the distance, and not a thing seems amiss. Your search for footprints that don’t belong to the soles of your shoes turns up empty. The only thing that suggests just maybe it wasn’t all in your head is the book you had neglected to retrieve in your fear the night before.

The cover, every page within, now warped as though it had been pulled into the water and spit out to dry. You pick it up, peeling through damp pages, running your fingertips over the smeared ink. It’s possible that a particularly aggressive splash could have sullied it, but something tells you that that isn’t the case. Either way, it’s unreadable now. You sulk a bit as you slip the ruined thing into your bag and step towards the smooth stones to watch the water instead.

Night creeps in slowly with you there, and you’re on high alert for a time before you begin to relax as usual. Even giggle to yourself at how silly it was you believed you saw a ghost at all as you entertain yourself by skipping small stones across the water.

No large snake, no massive fish, no titan of a man appears before you, only a calming crescent moon and a few wandering wood ducks, gliding down from the bank to splash about. A thought comes to mind as the calm emboldens you: what would happen if you got in just one more time?

There’s nothing to suggest that you’re playing with fire as you leave your shoes neatly in the dry sand. If the ducks could swim unbothered by fish or men, then surely you could, too. You watch the little creatures a distance away as they dip their heads beneath the surface and chitter away amongst themselves while you take your first step in.

You don’t dare to go as far this time, stopping when the water brushes over your knees. You wait there while time seems to slow to a crawl, expecting the absolute worst, glancing further down the river, dipping your hand below the glassy surface until your fingertips brush the sand beneath.

It’s horribly hot and you’re still exhausted from the sleepless night before. The water feels nice, and you feel as though you have some sort of claim to it as you’ve been here more often than anyone else would dare to. Ghosts and monsters be damned, you seat yourself and let the water lap over your shoulders, tilting your head back to watch the stars.

When the singing begins it takes a moment to register just what it is that you’re hearing. It’s not beautiful, not like the myths have said. It’s hissed, a low whisper, a mockery of what a human song would sound like. The voice is rasped, lilted yet cold. The realization that it sings words from your book of poetry is what terrifies you the most, the warped pages all making sense now.

Your eyes dart to either side of you, forward, before realizing the voice is coming from behind you. Cold spreads through your veins as you try to force yourself to stand, but in your fear you find yourself petrified, rooted in water that would surely become your grave.

You can’t bring yourself to turn around, to inevitably find your eyes locked onto the shadowy frame of a man far too large, his eyes glistening and pale like the moon hanging above.

The voice pauses when it finds you unmoving, and you can hear the rustle of the creature shifting its weight where it’s stood on the rocks lining the bank. You’ve no clue how deep the river gets, where the opposite side leads, but your only chance of escape seems to be swimming through in the hopes that this thing doesn’t choose to chase after you. A part of you knows that he would, that that is exactly what he expects you to do, goading you to flee deeper with his eerie song so that he can drown you just as he did the others.

You do the opposite as you squeeze your eyes shut and crawl back towards the bank, making sure to keep some distance despite your willful blindness. You wouldn’t look at it, wouldn’t talk to it, you would just go home and never come back.

“Best to leave you alone, hm?”

You still as your fingers brush against wet moss, the voice no longer a whisper but loud, loud as it echoes your words from days past just above you. Beating back your own curiosity proves futile, because you look up at the damned thing then, expecting to see an impossible terror before you, sharp fangs wet with blood and appendages too spindly reaching out for you. Instead, you see only a man.

He’s crouched, only a meter or so away, and you immediately recognize his broad figure. The same as the night before. From this distance you can make out the finer details, the length of net covering his face and neck, the webbing between each finger. Still a scary sight, but only in the way it’s unfamiliar and imposing rather than instilling any sort of primordial fear.

“Excuse me?” You pull yourself fully out of the water, rising to your feet and taking a tentative step back. You’re prepared to run, a coil pulled too tight on the verge of snapping.

The man, creature, whatever he may be just tilts his head, lets the silence hang in the air for a moment before he has the audacity to laugh whether to himself or at the strange, bewildered expression on your face.

His stare is assessing as he sucks in a breath, follows suit in rising to his full height. From the size of him alone, you know you’re not getting away. A mere stride for him would be two or more for you, a deliberate tug of your wrist from him could snap it in an instant.

Yet, he doesn’t reach for you, only gestures toward your bag lying on the ground with a subtle flick of a finger. You give him a quizzical glance in turn, not bothering to retrieve it. You could come back during the day with a friend, gather it and never return. Only, your knife sits somewhere inside, the only protection that you’ve got. The realization spurs you to bend over and toss the strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll… I’ll be going now.”

The stare remains fixed upon you as you take another step back, blinking slowly every now and then as you both remain in some strange stasis.

It takes you a moment to put the pieces together. The reciting of words from the book, the mimicking of the words spoken to the snake, the hint at your bag… he’s expecting something and it’s not to steal away your life, only to be fed and have your company. It’s not charming, it’s awfully strange and eerie, but you find yourself giggling at the prospect of taming some murderous, shapeshifting monster with subpar treats and poetry.

You pull open the bag, searching for anything you may have brought along that he could eat, eventually prying out a small package and offering it out to him.

“Is this what you want?,” you ask, voice hushed and trembling.

He shakes his head, rustling the net cloaking him in the process. So, he understands, he’s just been willfully ignoring every other thing you’ve said prior. You store the package away with a perturbed expression crossing over your face.

“Then what?”

Any relief you had felt seems to dwindle when the giant takes a half-step closer. His skin is cool and wet as the river as he brushes his hand over your forearm, curling a set of fingers around it. The touch is gentle, but there’s a promise of violence lurking somewhere in the depths of his eyes.

“Come with me,” he urges in that harsh whisper from before, delicately squeezing as he pulls you towards him, leading you back to the river with a tight grip and a step back over the stones. Though his touch is passive, there’s a frightening strength lurking someplace beneath his flesh, tacked to bone, and as your gaze trails lower to rest to rest at your feet, the space between you two, the evidence of a life prone to violence and strength is laid bare before you.

You don’t fight the hold as he leads you to water so deep it caresses the base of your neck, right below the milky glow of a waning moon. Deeper still, as you’re pulled below, pressed down to the very bottom with his body lain over you. You can only hold your breath so long before an involuntary gasp leaves you, and a wave is funneled straight into your lungs.

Panic is fleeting, but the adrenaline stays ever-present. You claw, push, kick, to no avail. Pinned down by a hand weighing like an anchor you feel your vision flooding and hazy as his head knocks against your jaw, mouth sealing tightly over yours. It’s not a gentle kiss, the net fashioned into a hood digs into your skin, teeth scrape over your lip until you feel the sting of blood drawn.

All at once, your vision darkens and it’s over.

You find yourself lying back on the shore as the morning sun warms your face, causes your dampened shirt to cling to your skin. Disoriented, but alive, brushing your thumb over your lower lip as you sit up to stare at the subtle waves lapping over moss and rock.

Just a dream, you tell yourself, knowing full well you hadn’t fallen asleep.

Just a dream, even though you avoid the river entirely now. Your route home from work changes too, avoiding even a glimpse of the path that leads down to that place. You don’t even replace the book, you toss what remains of it after fishing through your bag, murmuring something about it surely being cursed and entertain yourself with film at night instead.

Sleep remains tentative, you wake with every sound, and your dreaming is filled with visions of a figure pushing you down into deep water, his weight bearing down upon you so heavily that you can not move until you wake with a start, eyes searching your bedroom.

Several weeks, and the fear does eventually fade.

The morning that the rain begins to fall, you realize you haven’t even thought about the river in days. There’s no monster prowling your nightmares anymore. You lived through what may or may not have occurred, and that was the end of it, simple as it may have been.

A late shift at work has you wandering out into the rain, umbrella in hand. You’re grateful that you live close, that you’re not entirely soaked to the bone when you step inside of the mundane building. Your coworkers notice your change in demeanor immediately, chirping about how glad they are that you’re finally feeling better, looking more yourself as the hours pass you by. It brings a smile to your face, a real one that you haven’t had in place since that last night.

Even in the summer, there’s a chill to the air in the late afternoon as you hurry home from work and make your way inside, stripping out of your wet clothes and setting your umbrella aside. It’s darker outside than it should be, even more so indoors. Reaching for the switch to turn on the lights proves useless— the power’s out.

You light your way with your phone, ignoring the way your pulse quickens and your heart flutters with the fear that something just doesn’t feel right. Your skin prickles with the thought of some unseen pair of eyes watching you, blue and cold. You only relax when you slam your bedroom door shut, locking it and pressing your forehead to the wood as you sigh. The puff of breath that escapes your lips is not the only in the room, you find out when the light of your phone illuminated your bed. Crouched beside it, a towering figure with a face veiled by fishing net. Words don’t come when you open your mouth to speak, and your heart stutters in your chest as you stand shaking but otherwise petrified.

“You didn’t come back.”

Of course you hadn’t.

Most people wouldn’t have.

“No. I’ve been… busy,” you choke out the excuse, hoping to pacify whatever emotion you imagine lurked beneath his tone, undetectable through the hiss of his voice. “I’ll visit soon, promise,” you lie, back pressed against the door as your fingers curl over the knob.

Your fear seems almost unwarranted. He doesn’t move toward you, only stands to wander back to the window where he must have broken in.

“Tonight?,” he asks in a voice so soft, the voice he must use as a lure because tugs at your heartstrings immediately, makes you want to follow despite the threat this thing poses merely by existing, despite everything.

“It’s cold— I’ll get sick,” you murmur. “How did you even find me..?”

“I will keep you warm.” The question goes unanswered.

You find yourself stifled again as he lumbers towards you, brushing cold fingers across the side of your face. It’s not a mockery of a kiss you receive next but a firm bite where your neck meets shoulder, not yet hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make you shiver, to grip at the wall of muscle that makes up his chest.

There’s a desperation to his movements as he herds you towards the window, pushes you toward the path leading back to the river. You’re soaked to the bone in seconds, hardly able to keep your eyes open past the weight of dampened eyelashes. The rain is so heavy it feels as though every step is like the first you took into cursed water, your feet sinking into the mud along the path with each tentative stride. The realization that you’re there doesn’t even hit you until you’re chest-deep in the chill, violent waves pushing against you, each carrying the threat of toppling you over entirely.

The palm splayed out against your bare back keeps you upright, leading you to a smooth rock jutting out in the midst of what seems a sea of frothing white and blue. The sea above is just as dark, angry clouds roaring as you’re pressed down onto your back, shivering terribly.

He keeps his promise though, a tight grip on each thigh as he pries your legs apart, sinks in between them and blankets you from the rain. Even with the cold pressed to your back, you feel the warmth of a summer sun above you, scorching from inside, just as blazing as the look in his wild eyes. The last of any resolve slips when you’re pulled beneath the violent waves, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses coaxing oxygen into your lungs. Each roll and pull no less tumultuous than the waves overhead. A placid end when the rain comes to an impromptu halt, just as he stills over you. Hands rush to cup your face with one final, desperate and biting kiss.

When the morning sun pulls you from sleep, cool moss against your back and the weight of his head resting over your middle, the shallow water lapping lazily at your figure, you find that you no longer fear drowning.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Dr. Edwin Payne (Ghostcrow Art AU)

It was the only problem that there was in their relationship, the only crack that split the earth too close to the heart, threatening the very foundations. 

(And Charles Rowland had spent over a decade giving Edwin the best foundations in the world; nothing could truly shake them, Edwin knew. No doubts could ever break Edwin, because Charles’ love for him would always bolster him stronger than any quake could ever shake.)

Monty loved Charles and Edwin in other ways. He was affectionate in bed, was an absolute delight to debate with, was open enough with them to trust them with art, the one thing that he truly loved, and was so vulnerable and open in other ways, on other topics. He clearly loved Charles and Edwin outside of that one sticking point of visiting family.

And Edwin loved him. Loved Monty in such a similar way to how he loved Charles, the feeling taking root so deep in his heart that maybe the earth would never split because the roots pulled the crust so tight to itself.

-aletterinthenameofsanity, underneath the sunrise (show me where your love lies)

I don't wanna seem the way I do

But I'm confident when I'm with you

Lately, all I feel is bad and bruised

Tired of tripping on my shoes

But when he loves me, I feel like I'm floating

When he calls me pretty, I feel like somebody

Even when we fade eventually to nothing

You will always be my favorite form of loving

-Beach Bunny, Cloud 9

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