#every now and then ill get reminded of this

[lucygxybaird]

billy & his mermaid lover have an important conversation.

Living here in San Diego is the first time in his life Billy has seen the ocean, and even after living here all these months, he still finds himself marveling at it. 

It seems almost like a living thing. It rages, it sighs, it lingers like a lover reluctant to leave. It is different from one day to the next, from one moment to the next, colors shifting from deep blue to slate gray, sparkling in the sun like a veil sewn with countless diamonds. He especially loves the way the moon will lay a path of ivory over the waves, reminding him of the snow in New Mexico, when it was freshly fallen and unblemished. 

Of course, the most miraculous, beautiful thing about the ocean is you. 

He’s waiting for you with his trousers rolled up to his knees, his feet in the water. Months ago, he found this little cove, sheltered by cliffs and conifers. He’d just been walking aimlessly, restless now that he didn’t need to run anymore. 

It might sound strange to some, to anyone who had never lived walking the knife’s edge of danger like a tightrope, but it’s difficult to get used to living any other way. The absence of adrenaline, of purpose — even if it’s just the jagged uncertainty of wondering where his next meal was coming from, or when he would have a roof over his head again — feels oddly like grief. There’s an emptiness, a vague sense of being lost, of drifting aimlessly like a leaf caught by the eddy of a breeze. And so he had just let the breeze carry him, pushing him across the country until he hit water.

Even once he was here, with nowhere else to go except across the Pacific Ocean, he didn’t stop moving. He changed lodging just about every month, if not simply for a different view. And he took walks nearly every night, when the cool ocean breeze reminded him of his mother’s gentle touch, teasing at his hair and fussing with his collar. Once, he’d never taken the same path twice, but that was before he met you. 

It’s different now, though. He thinks he could walk the way to meet you blindfolded, having memorized the particular whisper of sand beneath his boots, the barely audible murmur of the grass brushing against his legs, the call of the ocean getting louder with every step he takes. Each moment is so important to him, preserved in his mind like a photograph; he’s learned to appreciate beauty wherever he can find it, for as long as he has it, because it’s impossible to know when it will be taken away. 

In his experience, it’s always taken away. Illness, murder, demons of the mind or in the shape of men — one way or another, anything sweet and lovely in his life is stolen from him. 

As he spots a ripple in the water, getting closer and closer to shore, he hopes that this time is going to be different. 

Your head breaks the surface, your smile shining more brightly than the moon. Your hair is swept back, plastered to your neck and shoulders, but as you make your way closer to him, he watches as it flutters as if in a breeze, falling around your face in soft chestnut curls. 

It’s little things like that which remind him, even more so than the glimmering tail below your waist, that you’re a creature entirely apart from him. He’s seen you take a handful of sand, press it between your palms, and pull them apart to show him a pearl — seen you purse your lips and blow sea-foam into fantastic shapes, which firm up until they’re as solid as bone — seen you swim miles in a moment, jumping up from the water and arcing so high into the air that it seems you could catch the stars in your hands. 

You’re magical, that’s for sure, but the most magical thing about you is that somehow you’ve seen something in him worth coming back for, over and over. 

“Hi, baby,” he says, reaching out for you as soon as you’re close enough, pulling you into his lap. His feet remain in the water and so do your fins, and you lean back against his chest, turning in his arms to smile at him again. 

You wiggle your fingers. Hi. 

Of all the things you can do, the one thing you can’t is talk to him. He doesn’t know why, and you can’t explain it to him, but he supposes it’s something about your vocal cords. Maybe they only work beneath the waves, because something about the air ruins them. Or maybe you don’t even have vocal cords, the way he does. You’ve shown him so many times how special you are, it just stands to reason that the way you speak — or whether you can speak above the waves at all — would be different, too. 

The fact that it makes sense doesn’t mean it stings any less, though. 

“How was your day?” he asks, and you scrunch up your nose, holding out your hand and see-sawing it from side to side.

It was okay. 

You reach up and pat his cheek, gifting him with another smile, which he takes to mean: Better now. 

Billy smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist and hooking his chin ever your shoulder, breathing you in. You smell absolutely intoxicating — the sweetest, freshest breeze off the ocean, mixed with notes he can’t quite identify but bring to mind lavender and citrus, hydrangea and rosemary. 

You look at him, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. You?

“Better now,” he agrees. He presses a kiss against your cheek. “I’m always happy to see you, honey, you know that.”

You smile, nuzzling your nose against his. Billy leans down and presses his lips to yours, melting as you respond. You manage to turn completely in his arms, until you’re kneeling — for lack of a better word — between his legs, and you wind your arms around his neck, kissing him again. 

And then again, again, again, until Billy is pleasantly dizzy.

When you finally break apart, you rest your forehead against his, your arms tightening around his neck. Billy keeps his hands on your hips, closing his eyes for a moment. 

No one in the world is more important to him than you are, and all he wants is to tell you he loves you. The words nearly escape him every time he sees you, like a firefly managing to find a chink between a child’s fingers to flutter up into the night sky. And he thinks — he hopes, more like — that you feel the same way, just by the way you look at him. 

He’s been thinking about saying it for so long, but he just keeps losing his nerve. What if he’s wrong? What if someone like you — so extraordinary, so rare, so beautiful — could never actually love someone like him?

Not for the first time, he wishes he could hear your voice. It might be pathetic of him — childish, at best — but he just needs your reassurances, spoken out-loud like an oath, rather than gestures that are up to his interpretation. He doesn’t think he’s been wrong about figuring out what your little looks and gestures mean, exactly, but he’s always been (no pun intended) a straight shooter. Sometimes, he just wants to know for sure.

He feels your cool fingertips against his cheek, and he looks at you, managing a smile. “Sorry, honey, I was just lost in thought. What do ya need?” 

You tap his temple, before touching his lower lip. Tell me what you’re thinking. 

He smiles again, shaking his head. “I was just…”

Your brow furrows impatiently, which makes him chuckle despite the rainclouds staining his thoughts in shadow. “I just wish…I wish you could talk to me.”

Before you can react, he rushes on, “I don’t wanna change anything about you. I love you just the way you are, but—”

A moment later, his voice sticks in his throat as he realizes that what he actually said. You’re staring at him, and he feels his heart climb into his throat, heat rushing over his cheeks so powerfully that he’s surprised he doesn’t just burst into flames like a tree struck by lightning. “I…I…”

You frame his face between your hands and you give him a resounding, smacking kiss on the lips. His heart starts a descent back into its normal spot, and when he sees the way you’re smiling at him, it gives a pleasant flutter. 

Emboldened, he goes on: “I love you just the way you are, but sometimes I wanna…I wanna know what you sound like. I bet you have the prettiest voice in the world.” He reaches up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Sometimes I dream about you sayin’ my name, and then I think about how sweet it would be all day.”

You lean in, nuzzling against him. Billy closes his eyes, breathing in your intoxicating scent again. “My sweet girl,” he murmurs, and you snuggle closer.

After a moment or two like this, you pull back and look at him, nibbling at your lower lip. “What?” he asks, his forehead wrinkling with worry. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitate, and then point toward the water, before holding your hand at the level of your chin and raising it slowly until it’s above your head. Then you point to the ocean again, repeating the gesture. It takes a second to click, and then Billy blanches. 

“I…honey, I don’t…I don’t know if I can.”

Ever since that terrible day when the wagon collapsed as his family crossed the river — Billy swallows, his skin going clammy just thinking about it, as if he’s submerged in that greedy current all over again. Watching his mother lean over his father, desperate, white-faced, pleading with him to wake up, saying his name over and over like it could weave a spell to save him. Ever since then, Billy has hated being in water, especially being in over his head. He loves you, so much, but — 

You take his face in your hands again. Your eyes are wide and earnest, your touch gentle, and you take one hand to put it over your heart. He knows what you’re trying to say: I’ll keep you safe. I promise.

“I can’t,” he whispers, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, baby, I just — I just can’t.” 

You smile at him, but it’s not the same smile as before. It’s tinged with sadness, with — his throat tightens — disappointment, but you just kiss his forehead and nod. I understand. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, his voice rough, but you just shake your head and offer him another smile.

Don’t be.

Billy feels his eyes sting. He knows you were trying to say that you can speak to him underwater, which means he could hear you say you love him back. He can hear you, period. But the thought of the water closing over his head, his eyes seeing nothing but swirling blue-gray depths, his lungs begging for air…he doesn’t think he could stand it. The mere idea has his chest tightening as if someone is standing with a boot-heel pressed over his heart. 

The two of you stay on the beach for a few more hours. You dive in and out of the water, bringing him seashells, ropes of seaweed that you weave together and place on his head like a crown; you cup your hands full of seawater and pull your palms apart, countless water droplets sparkling in the space between like stars. You summon a dolphin and race with it (you win). 

Billy manages a genuine smile or two, but in the back of his head, a voice that sounds awfully like his stepfather’s keeps saying: Coward, coward, coward.

Eventually, you’ve tuckered yourself out, and you crawl back into his lap, curling up comfortably and dozing against his shoulder. He runs his fingers up and down your spine, leaning his cheek against the top of your head. He closes his eyes for a minute, steeling himself. “Honey, I…I don’t — I don’t think we should see each other anym—!”

Before he can finish his sentence, you’ve jackknifed upright in his arms, putting your hand over his mouth. You shake your head fervently, brows furrowed in a firm line. You flatten your mouth and shake your head again. No! Stop that! 

Billy gently peels your hand away from his mouth. “Baby, I — I’m crazy about you, but I’m not…”

You put your hand back over his mouth. Your frown deepens. Your eyes narrow dangerously. Stop. 

He lifts his chin, freeing himself from your palm against his lips. “Listen to me, please,” he says. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me — ever, ever — but how can you say I’m deserving of you when I’m too chicken-shit to be a part of your world? Eventually you’re gonna get sick of always makin’ the sacrifices, always comin’ to me, when I can’t even spend a second in the ocean.” 

You lean back and splash at his foot, which is extended out into the surf. He chuckles despite himself. “You know what I mean.”

You shrug, casting your eyes down and back up. And so? 

“And so, you deserve better.” 

You slap your tail against the wet sand, hard. He isn’t sure precisely what that might mean, but it’s clear you disagree. You fold your arms over your chest and glare at him. 

“You deserve better,” he repeats softly. “You should just leave me behind.”

He earns another tail-slap for this. This time, he supposes you mean, I’m not going anywhere. 

Billy sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “I…I want to,” he says, and you nod, knowing what he means. He wants to go underwater, so he can finally hear your voice. He’s just so damn afraid. “I…how long would I have to be…?”

You hold your thumb and forefinger a hair’s breadth apart, indicating it won’t be for very long. And then you wrap your arms tightly around him, looking at him earnestly. I won’t let you go. 

He knows you mean that in more ways than one. Billy presses his lips against yours, and your kiss gives him a small drop of courage. He knows you well enough to understand that you’re not just going to give up on him, that you don’t believe him when he says he’s not good enough for you. He can’t help but smile to himself. You’re so sweet and gentle that he never really noticed how stubborn you are before.

With this possibility out in the open between the two of you, he can’t just ignore it, and you can’t take the knowledge away. It will eat at him, being too afraid to do this for you, with you, and your tenacity can only hold out for so long. Eventually, he’ll push you away, even if that’s the last thing he wants to do — just because he’ll be so damn ashamed of himself.

He’s far too familiar with shame not to realize that’s the truth. 

Living this more settled life hasn’t always been perfect, hasn’t always felt like it fits, but he’s finally started to feel tall again. To push away the shame he’s felt about all the things he’s done, all the things he had to do, in order to do the right thing — or just in order to survive. You’ve been a big part of that, listening to him talk for hours; and no matter what he’s told you, you keep coming back. It helps him to understand that maybe he’s not such a lost soul after all. 

“Okay,” he says softly. “Okay.”

You smile at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. He disentangles you gently and nods toward the water, and you dive back in, waiting for him a few feet offshore. He strips his shirt off and rolls his pants up to the knees, wading in. His heart starts to pound as the water reaches his waist, and by the time it’s up to his shoulders, he already feels like he can’t breathe.

But then you put your arms around him again, stroking his hair away from his face. You widen your eyes slightly, questioning. Ready?

He nods. “Yeah,” he croaks. 

With your arms still tight around him, you dive down. Billy has just enough time to suck in a deep breath, holding it, before he’s underwater. 

He looks at you, and he feels his heart trip.

Somehow, you’re even more beautiful down here. The shifting light dances over your skin, illuminating it as though from the inside out; you shine like a pearl, like a star, like a whole fucking constellation. Your tail catches the light, too, looking like a thousand tiny brilliant jewels. Your hair shifts and flows around you, but it doesn’t obscure your eyes, the way you’re looking at him. You lean in, pressing your lips against the shell of his ear. “I love you, Billy,” you say. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Your voice is far lovelier than he imagined it would be, which is saying something, because he has spent hours and hours wondering. It’s warm and shimmering, full of music, ringing like a bell, yet somehow soft, gentle, intimate. He doesn’t think he could do justice describing it even if he spent the rest of his life trying. 

A moment later, you start to swim up again, and he manages to find his feet and wade back to the beach, despite the fact his legs feel weak. You follow him, smiling as you nestle yourself in his lap again. He puts his arms around you, holding you tight. 

“You’re everything to me,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against your hair. “Thank you.”

You look up at him, drawing your fingertips along his cheek. Gently, you ruffle his wet hair, getting it to stand up on end, making the both of you smile. You lean your forehead against his, looking earnestly into his eyes. Are you okay?

He nods, offering you another smile. “More than okay,” he says. “I think I’m the luckiest man in the world.” 

[dullgecko]

>>my bad kids overstimulation hcs<<

gorgug and adaine both get extremely scared when there's a loud noise. they will scream if they're caught off guard.

Fig needs COMPLETE QUIET in order to focus on her work (which is why she's failing since she refuses to stop listening to music for anything)

Fabian almost never gets overstimulated, so when he does the floodgates open and it's ALL THE EMOTIONS

all of the bad kids HATE talking to strangers. They've gotten better at it through their quests but when they're tired they still revert back to their default settings. (fabian, gorgug and kristen don't HATE it, but still don't like it) but they all deal with it in different ways

Adaine just freezes and goes semiverbal. Mostly nods and headshakes, Kristen covers for her by excessively talking and saying things she... maybe doesn't mean.

Fig gets REALLY aggressive and just starts thinking of MURDER. If she's silent, she's thinking about murder

Kristen wasn't really allowed to stim in their house because their parents would accuse her of faking mental illness (or insinuate Helio could heal them) so now (especially when they're overwhelmed) Kristen cannot stop stimming.

Every. Single. One of them has PTSD to some degree or another. Comes with the territory of being an adventurer and having to deal with some really fucked up stuff on the regular.

Adaines dad used to slam his hands on tables or slam doors shut when he was mad. It always triggered a panic attack instantly and he would berate Adaine and make it worse before storming off and leaving her to suffer alone.

Loud noises in Gorgugs house always meant that something had gone wrong in his parents workshop. He was in the room once when something exploded and his dad got pretty badly burned. Digby was healed up almost instantly but it's a pretty formative memory for Gorgug and he still doesnt like loud noises all that much.

Fig needs quiet to zone in but feels anxious without background noise so listens to music anyway. If she didnt have music playing in her room when her horns first started showing she could hear her parents arguing downstairs so the music was mostly to drown them out. She finds it easier to focus if she's listening to something quiet without lyrics so her 'do work now' playlist is all instrumental.

Fabian can get overstimulated by tight clothing or being restrained. Reminds him too much of falling in Leviathan and getting tangled up in all the washing lines. Especially doesnt like things tight around his throat because of how close a couple of them were to choking him. Tried to wear a turtleneck when it was cold once, lasted about two hours before he took a pair of scissors to the neckline of the sweater in a panic to get it away from his throat.

They try to keep their interactions with strangers to a minimum if possible. If they're specifically there to ask questions and get answers it's Rizs job (with a couple bardics thrown in to cover for his terrible charisma score) because he can do an interogation better than anyone else. Plus he's good at telling when people are lying to him. Otherwise it's Fabian and Fig who are the ones in charge of talking (though they tend to get very off topic if not given a specific goal).

They gave Kristen one of those spinny rings to wear when they noticed she would pick at her skin when overwhelmed. It gives her hands something to do so she doesnt hurt herself.

[phoenix--flying]

me when I'm imagining silly little scenarios for the nakamura/tanaka dad's wedding and then remember homophobia is in fact a real thing and is not made up so they actually cannot be married

[churbo]

look at my lawyer dude im goin' to fuckin' jail

(design by @sboopie)

[bunnihearted]

ᯓ★

[crunchycrystals]

i think ive mentioned this before but like i cannot stress enough how fucked up i think it is that i started dissociating at such a young age and continued that for months and never realized

[thalakro]

i miss thalias and samakro so bad rn

[todayisafridaynight]

no cuz fr the most unexplainable thing would be how they didn’t reunite sooner like,,, Mine could have been staying away because he wansnt good enough for daigo (in his mind) but still i don’t think he’d stay THAT far away 💀 at most bro is down the street at any given time 😭

reviews are in for Mine Isn't Dead Actually But He Is Emo So

[deus-ex-mona]

man. this song reminds me of physiology class

[orcelito]

Went skimming thru late trimax For Reasons, got caught up reading the Legato fight, realized things about the fight that I never had before & went WOW, I kind of want to write an analysis post right now!

Felt the same kind of insanity grip me, however momentarily, that fueled all my analysis posts however many months ago. Too tired to actually word things coherently right now, but...

I May or may not have a full(ish?) analysis of the Legato & Vash fight a la style of This post analyzing the Trigun: Multiple Bullets fight that got unexpectedly kind of popular. People seemed to really appreciate that one, & I even had some ppl saying it could be cool if I did that for others?

So. Legato fight. Maybe. Feel free to remind me later if u see no mention of it again for over a week lol

[mutalune]

hey siri how do I stop feeling gutwrenchingly anxious in the guilt way for using the treatment methods available to me to not be in constant misery

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Besties, it's clipboard season again, and not to brag but I'm really fucking good at colors

[widevibratobitch]

.

[todayisafridaynight]

One of my fave jackets is this green jacket with a fur hood im wearin rn because 1.) its green 2.) my dad gave it to me 3.) it reminds me of saejima. Who also reminds me of my dad

[catboyfurina]

.

[hellalugosisdead]

i love laying in bed and replaying cute moments with my bf in my head on repeat :3