#it used to be that streams were taken down!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eggfriedricedwasian · 1 day ago

Text

TimKon clone baby au but Tim heals after creating the baby.

Tim disappears after achieving Bruce back from the time stream, well he sent the information on how to get Bruce back from the tim stream rather.

The fight with Ra's, the LOA, all that happens, except, once he's fixed up, he leaves. Drops off the radar.

He's still severely unstable. Almost as if he's catatonic.

But he makes it to the lab, freeing the growing baby from the green liquid, grabbing the thing no, girl, this baby, his baby, was a girl.

He has a daughter.

Daughters are the most precious thing the world can offer.

He now has the most precious thing in the world. The most precious little girl he's ever looked at.

Hell hath no fury like a mother without a child.

So Tim drops off the radar. He goes somewhere secluded, cheap, and away from crime and heroism.

He raises his daughter, he fixes himself, he learns, she learns, he grows, and she grows up.

While he's being the best most doting dad in the world to his daughter, little Mary-Jane Drake-Wayne(-Kent), the Bats, with the newly returned Bruce, look for Tim.

Kon and Bart, who returned from the dead, also look for Tim.

Kon, of course, was the one who finds Tim first. Tim and a baby. An 8 month old baby.

This baby has fair skin, wavy bed headed locks, and bright blue eyes. This baby was on her stomach with her head up, hair standing up all over the place, looking at Kon, while snuggled in the crook of Tim's arm.

Tim was sleeping, legs curled up on his side with his arm out underneath the baby girl and his hand resting on her back.

"Ah"

The sound of the baby's voice snaps Kon's attention to her. She's so small and yet so big. Since when did Tim have a kid? And with who?

Tim stirs awake slowly and Kon holds his breath.

"Mmm.. MJ, what are you doing up so early, sweetie?"

Tim turns on his back, putting the baby called MJ(who is in the most adorable Superboy onsie ever) on his stomach.

Mj doesn't turn her head to him, eyes still transfixed on Kon's figure.

Tim turns to look over and sits up, pulling MJ closer to him chest, hugging her tight, and pulls a knife out from under the bed, backing up towards the wall.

"Hey, hey, it's just me, Tim."

"N-No! I don't know who you are, but you aren't Kon!"

It pains Kon to hear that.

"It is me."

Tim shakes his head.

"If it really was you, you'd tell me something only him and I know.

"One time, when we were on Young Justice, you almost gave away your secret identity to me before Batman said you could, but you did it anyways."

Tim seemed to calm at that. He slowly puts the knife down, and back where it was.

"H-how?"

"Tim travel stuff. Was with the Legion of Heroes in the future recovering for a bit before they sent me back."

That would explain it.

Tim slowly scooted off the bed, standing, but not letting go of his baby. God his baby.

They stand in silence for a while longer, looking between each other, and Kon between Tim and MJ.

"Who's the mother?"

He asks. He's not sure why he did. Why would he care?

Tim seems taken aback by the question. But he avoids it, smoothly, as if he was preparing for this scenario, in this way or another, to happen.

"You can join us for breakfast."

Kon agrees.

The kitchen is small.

It has a counter island protruding from the wall acting as both a counter space island and a table. There were two chairs at it, plus a high chair.

"Sit here, baby."

Kon hears Tim whisper to MJ as he sets her down in the high chair.

She fusses very little as she gets buckled in. She settles just as fast when Tim gives her a toy. It makes noises as she swings it around, smiling brightly.

She has Tim's smile. Kon thinks distantly, looking at the way her cheeks squished and her gummy smile showed. The dimpled weren't Tim's, though.

When Kon looks at Tim, he doesn't know what to expect. Tense? Sure. Shaking? Maybe.

He wasn't expecting Tim to be smooshing bananas in a bowl with a fork, putting a baby spoon in it and putting it in front of MJ for her to eat, all with a small smile on his face.

A smile he's never seen before. It's domestic. Motherly sort of domestic. His eyes are crinkled, his smile is so full of love for the little baby laughing and making a mess of her face, chair, clothes, and bib while she ate mushed bananas.

"Tim.."

Tim's smile falls shortly down, if he wasn't watching all that closely he wouldn't have seen it.

"What do you want for breakfast?"

"... Pancakes, if that's alright.."

Tim nods, turning and grabbing an apron, putting it on.

The apron said "World's Best Housewife" on it.

He grabbed a bowl, a pan, flour, eggs, oil, butter, milk, and chocolate chips and whatever else.

He made the batter, started up the heat on the gas stove, then added the batter, before plating and placing the pancakes, three on each. Syrup sat in the middle, which both of them drowned their pancakes in.

They started eating in silence next to each other. MJ's baby noises were the only thing that kept the silence even remotely tolerable.

"She's a clone..."

Tim started.

He looked at Tim shocked. Of course he was shocked. She was a clone!

"...Of us.."

Kon's heart stopped beating for a second. If the white noise generator wasn't going off somewhere in the house, he was sure he could hear Tim's heart beating really fast.

"...that I made."

Kon's world took a turn.

Tim Drake, his best friend, his Robin, someone he had confided in about his upbringing as a clone, made MJ out of both of their DNA in a lab as a clone.

"What."

He no longer felt hungry. He felt.. He didn't know what he felt. There were so many mixed emotions going through him right now.

Anger? His best friend cloned him after he told him how he hated being cloned.

Joy? He has a daughter. A daughter Tim made. Why did Tim make her?

"It was a hard time for me. I lost you, Bart, my dad, and then Bruce. I tried to clone you and Bart, and I had the bright idea of adding my DNA to the mixture when cloning you. It worked, and now she's here, and I'm here, and.. you're back."

He said it as if he didn't want Kon back.

Kon was about to speak up when Tim beat him to it.

"It's great that you're back, Kon, but I broke your trust and promise by making her. But she's my kid, so you don't have to stay, you can leave. I'm fine right where I'm at and I'm not going back, to the Bats, to the Waynes, to no one. Not even for you."

For the first time since their first meeting that morning, Tim looked at Kon. His eyes held such fierce determination, love, and compassion in them. All those felt for MJ, not for him.

What did he even say to that. What did he even do.

MJ was his kid too, right? She was a clone of Kon and him, so that makes her his child as much as Tim's, no?

Would Tim even let him be her other dad? Did he even want to be her other dad?

He did.

Lex and Clark didn't treat him like their son and he was their *technical* kid. He wanted oh so desperately to have parents that loved him, he wanted to give MJ that since he didn't get that.

She didn't deserve it. She was just a baby. A baby Tim made out of grief for him dying.

"What's her name?"

He asks instead of everything else.

".. Mary-Jane."

Tim answers after his initial shock at the question.

Tim turns back to her, seeing her finished with the bananas, now content playing with her toy while she stares at her father.

Tim takes the bowl and goes to put it and the plates in the sink, then cleans MJ up and the chair before extracting her and heading over to the diaper changing table in another room to change her diaper.

The door was still ajar so he could see Tim change her diaper and clothes and hear as she giggled while her father cooed at her and poked at her nose and belly and kissed her face.

I should be doing that too.

"Tim."

He calls when Tim walks back out.

Tim stops right outside the room's door, holding MJ, Mary-Jane, in his hip. She was now in a light blue little blouse and denim blue jean skirt with cute ruffled socks and a little bonnet.

"Can I.. I want to.."

He couldn't form his question.

"Could I be her other father?"

He blurts out instead.

They both stare at each other for what felt like the longest time of Kon's life.

"Really?"

Tim finally asks.

He nods, pushing his lips in a thin line and furrowing his brows, expecting a no for an answer.

"Okay."

"What?"

"I said, okay."

Kon looked bewildered despite hearing his answer.

"I know you, Kon. I know how you felt about Clark and Lex when it came to parenting, I expected this, actually. You want to be there for her, unlike they were with you. I had time to think about it these past few months."

That actually.. made sense, but it didn't at the same time.

Tim motioned for Kon to follow as he sat down on the couch. Kon sat next to him.

"Want to hold her?"

He nodded immediately, and was given MJ before he could finish.

She was small, so very light in his arms as she stared up at him with those big blue beautiful eyes, his eyes.

"She helped me, ya know."

Kon looked at him, adjusting his hold on her so she could hold his finger.

Tim watched her intently.

"I was in a really dark place when I had her, when we first came here. I didn't know what to do, but I knew I had to take care of her. But I knew I couldn't with how I was. So I got better, for her. She helped me. I've been clean, I've been taking care of myself, eating 3 meals a day, cleaning the house, raising her, taking medicine, regularly working out, meditating, sleeping a full 8 hours, and napping with her."

He paused to get a breath in.

"I don't regret it, leaving, going off the radar. I've never been more healthy and more stress free, and more alive in my life."

"I'm never going back."

Kon leaves it at that.

He doesn't know much about what happened, but he doesn't care anymore. This is his family. And he isn't going to leave it.

#dc #tim drake #timkon #kon el superboy #kon el kent #conner kent #timkon clone baby au

73 notes · View notes

benzendrine-nosebleed · 1 day ago

Text

"Sing Me To Sleep."

Guys!! I wrote a one shot based on Schlatt's most recent Drunk Driving stream after hearing him sing bits and pieces. I haven't proof read this (mostly because I'm not in any sober editing mood to) but I wanted to share this quick little bit.

1111 Words, Fluff, Schlatt X Reader

“I love hearing you sing like that,” I spoke softly. Jay was taking a quick break from his drunk driving stream, moving from his office to the kitchen. He has been streaming for a few hours now, and I could smell herbal liqueur on his breath. He grazed past, marching straight to the refrigerator with padded “thuds” from his socked feet.

“Do ya?” Schlatt asked, plucking a snacking cheese from the drawer inside. “Was it on stream?” He asked, unwrapping and popping creamy gouda snack cheese between his lips.

“Yeah, your mic picked it up, and I do, I love hearing you sing Jay, I wish you’d do it when you were sober. You have a wonderful voice,” I smiled, “I mean, your fans loved the album right? That should be enough motivation for you to sing like a canary,” I reached out to hold him for a second before he went back into his office. His mustache shifted on his upper lip as he chewed away. “Have fun with your stream Handsome, I’ve got to go to bed soon. I’m gonna get ready to crawl in. I’ll turn your side of the blanket on so when you make it back it’ll be warm for you too.”

Schlatt smiled and reached out, setting the wrapper on the counter beside me and wrapping his arms around me in a soft embrace. “Of course toots, I don’t know when I’ll end the stream, but I’ll be ready to climb into bed wit-cha.” He pulled me close into his arms, and planted a kiss on my cheek. “If I’m not back in there before you fall asleep, I hope you get some good rest in, I love ya,” he chirped. He pulled away, striding with a confidence he put up as a front for his audience. He entered the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

As he moved back into his room, I strolled across our home to the master bathroom and began drawing up a shower. I had a long enough day working at my own conventional job, that a Friday night was the night to relax. It was winter though, which meant I was in the busy season. I had to help shovel snow across the city, while in New York was enough of a task on its own, and brainstorm funding for public park systems and come up with plans for new designs. I climbed in, letting the hot water warm my bones, and I listened to Schlatt scornfully yell at his computer screen. As I continued, I could hear his agitation and laughs come in waves. He was thoroughly enjoying streaming again, and I was more than happy to let him enjoy it.

I climbed out of the shower and threw on some pajamas, in “Jay’s” style as I had begun to call it. I had taken one of his sweatshirts, which was baggy on myself, and threw it over a pair of my shorts. Once I finished brushing my teeth, I walked to the bedroom, careful as to not disturb Schlatt in his element on Twitch. His cats, Jambo and Soup, were sitting on the preheated bed, leaving me to shuffle in between them as not to disturb their own slumber. I plugged my phone in, and scrolled through TikTok until I began to drift off. I could feel myself nodding in between videos, so I made the choice to set my phone down, and sleep until I felt my lovely drunk boyfriend slam into bed.

This was somewhat of a common occurrence, since he used to film Chuckle Sandwich late into the evenings, we held this dynamic. I would end up in bed early, and sometimes I would wake up to him crawling in, or cuddling up to me. Sometimes I wouldn’t wake up at all and I’d hear my alarm, and feel Schlatt’s arm wrapped around my stomach anchoring me down. After the week that I had though, I was too tired to try and stay up until he was done streaming. I set my phone down on the bed next to me, and nodded off.

I woke up to Schlatt crawling into bed gently, not to disturb me. I didn’t know how much time had passed, but the room was still dark, and the lamp on my side of the bed was still on. He reached over me softly and shut it off, slowly letting the room fill in with a darkness. I didn’t move too much, it was more of my subconscious running my body at this point more than my own mental state. My eyes fluttered closed again, only squinting shut as soon as I felt his hand wrap around my shoulders. He shuffled closer to me, pulling the blanket from between us, and spooning into me.

“Sleep Warm, sleep tight, once you turn off the light,”

He softly lulled. His fingers slowly drifted into my hair, stroking through the strands softly. I recognized the song, being one Schlatt would throw on sometimes in the evening as the night came to a close. He slurred softly, his tone was indicative that he had been drinking most of the evening, but reached his most inebriated state before climbing into bed. He softly sang more, my mind came to life realizing he wasn’t just singing along to a song, he was singing to me.

“Let dreams within you dwell, sweet dreams of me my love,”

He continued softly, his fingernails tracing softly on my scalp. A smile had formed on my face hearing him singing so sweetly, softly into my ears as his lips pressed to the back of my neck with each verse. I still hadn’t moved an inch, hoping to not spook him out of continuing his warbling.

“Close your eyes now, and kiss me, and whisper you miss me,”

He pressed his lips to my neck with a soft kiss. His soft mustache tickled my neck, his fluffed brown hair pressed to mine, it was almost overwhelming how much I adored him like this. I scooted backwards into his body, pressing myself against him as his singing ended a moment later. His hand wandered under my sweatshirt, gently cupping my bare torso. I would normally feel a tad self conscious whenever he would do this, but tonight I basked in the feeling. His hand slid itself between the mattress and my skin, securing his place next to me.

“G’night sweetheart, I love you,” He whispered softly between another set of kisses on my neck.

“Good night Jay, I love you too,” I mumbled back, still flush from his lull.

#jschlatt #chuckle sammy #chuckle sandwich #jschlatt smut #schlatt x reader #jschlatt fanfic #schlatt #jschlatt streams #I WISH IT WAS ME

39 notes · View notes

sulfies · 2 days ago

Text

If I Lead (pt3)

Part 2 here

Vincesco stood true by his word.

Desmond didn't even need to use most of his skillset which he was happy about. He took it easy and dodged when he needed and accepted some punches when It seemed like he was going overboard. He was not trying to climb the ranks in a race and make a name, he just needed to be off the training wheels. And It had worked. The young lad looked a bit pissed off about not winning against him but Desmond didn't care much about it.

The next day he was given instructions and pocket money to get himself some gear that fitted him. Now equipped with warmer clothes and shoes that actually fit he was faring better.

Marsilio also was paying him quite a good amount of money for basically doing nothing but walking around and swinging his sword to train every now and then…. He really couldn't understand why the mercenaries complained about Ezio cutting their wages since he became in charge, just how much Mario was paying them before?

A month passed in this new lazy routine.

He made home in his guard tower. He was used to sleeping outside and wasting money on rent seemed unnecessary when he had little to no belongings. He bought himself some extra blankets to cushion the stone ground and shield from the cold wind at night. His lodging was enough for him.

He was rarely in it unless he was sleeping anyway.

He would wake up before dawn, bathe in the stream right outside the village a few minutes away if he needed, and then he would make his way to the barracks.

It was peaceful really…

He was terribly bored.

There was not much for him to do, sometimes he would get called to patrol outside the woods to see if any bandits were camping around but they have yet to see one since he has been here. Every now and then he would group with some people for training, but most of the time he was left alone as long as he reported to the barracks first thing of the day.

He had taken hunting as a hobby, going out around mid-noon to catch some small game to bring to the butcher. It gave him food and some extra savings money. He wanted to save enough to buy a horse so he could travel without problems, taking detours if he needed but horses were expensive.

The barracks stable had a few but they all had their owners and the ones that did not were there if the need arose. Also, he really wasn't looking to be known as -the horse thief-.

Sometimes Vincesco would call him over to go for a drink at the tavern, each time he would accept with the guilt eating him from inside out. He was not supposed to lay around and get drunk. He had people he needed to get back to, people who he was to guide but he could not refuse his bosses.

So he would drink a mug or two of the piss-tasting beer, the cheapest money could find as slowly as he could till the rest were drunk enough for them to not realize he was faking his stumbles on the street. Once everyone parted he would climb up to his den and force himself to sleep.

He was going mad.

Desmond wasn't used to being this useless. He was used to waking up and having a mission to complete.

Find us a new water-source Desmond, We need food Desmond the field has yet to yield any, Desmond help us move this rocks over so we can prepare the shelter, Desmond climb up the mountain to see if there is anything that survived

and he did it all without complaints.

He travelled for days or months to see if there was anything new, he noted down any new changes he could see. He helped Shaun with whatever he needed his strength or body for. He helped Rebecca gather whatever supply she was going to need to make their lives easier. That was his job.

He was there to calm the people down, remind them that gods had not forsaken them but they had been given a new beginning. To not panic but have hope so humankind could survive long after them.

It was all bullshit really, to keep the leftover people from going mad.

In the darkest times, religion was most of the time the home of hope they needed to shelter in. But it had worked.

They had a functioning farm, bushes that yielded berries, small huts that gave lodging to people. They were actually seeing growth after 20 years, grass was filling the land and young trees were growing taller. They were finally getting somewhere so Desmond had left on a new expedition to find some more survivors further back from the camp to see if anyone was left.

And then he was here.

Lying on his blankets he watched the stars, tracing the groups with his eyes trying to remember the names Shaun taught them, the ones he couldn't remember without his books, Rebecca had made up stupid nicknames for.

He missed them terribly nowadays… Even his father.

William had died just three years ago. The grief lingered more than he had expected. All the issues they had before seemed so small after the flare, they never patched things up but they didn't fight like they used to. Desmond knew he bore some guilt about convincing him to not go through with the shields. They all did.

They each had their turns to cry, shout and laugh crazy about it then cry some more. The three blamed themselves which in turn made Desmond blame himself more. It was an endless cycle they decided to put behind themselves to focus on the now.

Desmond turned to his side, inhaling deeply, his hair tickling his neck from the wind. He listened to the nocturnal birds and closed his eyes. He hoped they were safe above all else.

---------------------------

Two weeks passed by fast and Desmond's routine did not change. Wake up, bathe, barracks, busywork, hunt, do something… anything… then sleep. He had taken to sharpening the unused swords and upkeep of them for today's activity since no one else was bothering to do it.

Near a clearing around the stable, he was sitting on a stool, sharpening one sword after another with a whetstone on his lap, adding them to a pile.

“Actually working for your coins Domenico? You should join the others inside for a few cups.”

He looked at the voice that was calling him. Angelo, one from Marsillios circle. He gave a polite smile back. “Not much to do and I don't like drinking while the sun is up, gives me issues at night.”

“Smart man, keeping your soldier ready for when it's needed.”

Desmond made a face at the joke, He never stepped a foot in the brothel. A lot of the recruit's freshly earned coins ended up in there almost the day they gained them… then trickled back into the economy. He did not want to think about the amount of STD’s circulating around. Even if everyone was magically clean… sex had been the last thing on his mind for a long while.

“Please, If the wife learned I even dared to breathe next to one of the honey pots she would have my head.”

“Oh come on, how would she even know?”

He hummed in answer and smiled “Trust me she would… and I like to keep my manhood intact till I die”

Angelo laughed and walked near him. Eyeing the swords lying on a pile on the side, the ones that were ready to be polished.

“Needed me for anything?”

The other man shifted his weight “Marsillio wanted me to let people know to be extra sharp the next few days, actually do what he says and whatnot… not that you need a reminder.”

“Why is that? Is Ser Mario coming to check the barracks again?” He had seen him a couple of times, the man usually looked around for a few minutes then joined the backroom to talk about what he needed to.

“Nah, the actual big boss is coming back any day now. Sent in a word with his bird, arrived just an hour ago to the villa.”

Desmond's whole body tensed in a second. It was not hard to figure out who the nickname belonged to.

Ezio was coming back.

He forced himself to relax. “A-ah… so we need to be on our best behaviour?”

“Mmhm. You might be asked to go to the training grounds a bit more and longer than you are used to, we need to look busy lest we want more budget cuts. The young master has already been bleeding us dry…”

Desmond gave a nervous chuckle and placed the sword in his hand on the pile. “Alright, no problem for me but I know a lot of the kids are going to groan and moan about it”

“Yeah they already are, Vinchesco is not happy about it so I'm sending you up next to him for morale.” A soft pat landed on his shoulder “Think yourself as second in charge. A small promotion with no pay raise”

Angelo left his side with a smile.

“Great”

Not great… he couldn't even hide next to the recruits as they trained.

He might visit the church just to pray and hope that Ezio doesn't give a shit about the training area and just passes by it.

Maybe he could fake a stomachache or the plague… ask for a toilet break as soon as Ezio stepped foot through the gates…

---------------------------

For two days Desmond’s every limb was aware of every movement and talk around him. They were patrolling a lot more and training a lot longer.

He wished he was just given the duty of cleaning around the barracks but Vincheso liked him for some reason enough to ask him to stick by his side.

“If I have to hear any more whining I might actually have them train till sunrise…”

Desmond shrugged his shoulders and he listened to him complain, not much different than the recruits. He figured it out the second day while Vinchesco’s job was to babysit the newbies, Desmond’s job was to babysit him. “You know if you guys were more strict from the get-go they wouldn't feel this comfortable crying about it.”

“And make my own job harder? Training doesn't teach a man how to swing a sword anyway, they actually need to fight to become man is what I think. I sure didn't learn how to kill from stabbing these stupid straw dummies couple times a day.”

“I'm not sure just charging into the enemy will teach them much is all I’m saying… well other than dying.”

Vinchesco leaned back onto the railing “Meh, I send the ones that show promise to the others that actually put them to work.” he waved his hand around “All this is just, keeping the meatshields sharper.”

Desmond sighed, what a way to raise an army… Ezio really needed to keep tighter reins around these bunch and overhaul the system… but he rather Ezio do that once he got to Venice and away from here.

“You are way too uptight Dominico. It's good here. We get coin, we get food, we drink then we fuck and then we sleep. Living it up like nobles almost… you should enjoy it more, I’m sure you fought plenty of battles in your youth but this is not a battlefield and we got Ser Ezio behind us if else happens. The man is his own army.”

Desmond's jaw clenched, old memories of the fall of this Monterriggioni flashing in his mind. No wonder no one was alerted till it was too late… he always thought the Village was captured way too easily.

“Mmhm… I'll try” he smiled back with a strain “Old habits die hard, that's all… the guard schedule back in Florence was way more strict.”

“More the reason to-” “HE IS BACK! SER EZIO IS BACK”

A shout cut off Vinchesco’s word, The messenger ran towards them.

Desmon felt the anxiety boil in his gut

“Shit…”

#If I lead #assassin's creed #desmond miles #ezio auditore #we do a little timeskip speedrun here #Desmond is getting fed up with these mfs lol #he has been a leader at his camp for 20+ yrs at this point even if he doesnt think himself as much so the disorder of the merchs bothers hi #ezio is too busy fixing his own world to see the state of Monterriggione #hope it didnt feel like I passed the opening way too fast #im trying to have them meet by 4-5th chapter so I dont get bored lol #worldbuilding is fun but I rather see Desmond speak to Ezio than this lot lol

48 notes · View notes

moeitsu · 20 hours ago

Text

The Dark Tide Siren!Arthur Morgan x Reader Modern AU Ch 3 - Salt Remembers The Sea Summary: You and Arthur share an intimate moment as you connect on a deeper level, he allows you to explore him with curiosity and reverence. Arthur, slowly beginning to open up, reveals fragments of his painful past, shedding light on the trauma he's endured. wc: 6.5k tw: detailed monster anatomy, exploring body parts, slight nsfw, 18+ Swim Back! ↞ ﹏𓊝﹏ ↠ Sail Ahead!

AN: This is the chapter where things really start to get a little strange. You thought it was weird before? Just you wait. Its about to get very....wet. This is your warning :)

My sleep was about as good as it could get, considering my bed was nothing more than cold, unforgiving tile. My body ached, stiff from the awkward position I had curled into, but I had grown used to nights like this—odd hours, odder sleeping arrangements. Late-night emergency rescues often left me dozing off in Charles' office chair or curled up on the lumpy couch in the breakroom, a crumpled jacket serving as a makeshift pillow. None of it was comfortable, but exhaustion had a way of making anything tolerable.

Still, sleep hadn't been kind to me. My dreams were fragmented, restless. I was back on that beach, watching Arthur bleed out in the sand, his dark hair matted with salt and blood, his body broken beneath the weight of the cruelty inflicted upon him. Then, suddenly, the scene shifted—I was in the water, a sharp, searing pain lancing through my side. Panic constricted my chest as I tried to swim, but something unseen wrapped around my limbs, pulling me down, dragging me backward toward something vast and inescapable. I was running—no, swimming—but the ocean had turned against me, trapping me in its endless depths. A crushing sense of isolation settled in my chest, raw and suffocating. I wasn't just afraid. I was alone.

I jolted awake, my breath coming in short, uneven gasps. A dull ache settled in my spine as I stretched, my limbs protesting the movement. The fog of sleep still clung to my mind, blurring the edges of reality, but the cool morning air against my sweat damp skin grounded me. Sunlight streamed through the open skylights above, casting golden beams onto the tiled floor and into the gentle water of the pool. Reflecting off its surface like molten crystals. The soft cry of gulls outside mingling with the rhythmic crash of waves against the rocky shore. The steady hum of pumps and filtration systems filled the space, a familiar and constant background noise of the facility.

And then, through the haze of morning light, I saw him.

A pair of deep blue irises, locked onto mine. Watching. Waiting.

Arthur.

The weight of the night before came rushing back to me in an instant, the exhaustion, the surgery, the quiet unspoken bond that had settled between us. My heart tightened at the sight of him, submerged in the water, his body still but aware. He hadn't taken his eyes off me. And in that moment, I was reminded exactly why I was here.

Sitting up, I twisted my spine, relishing the satisfying pop of my joints as a deep groan escaped my throat. My muscles were stiff, my body sluggish from a night spent on cold tile, but none of that mattered now. As I shifted forward onto my stomach, tucking an arm beneath my chin, my gaze locked onto the creature watching me just as intently.

Arthur's presence was quiet but heavy, the weight of his stare pressing against my skin like the ocean depths. Only his eyes remained above the waterline, gleaming pools of deep blue, unreadable and vast. The rest of him lay submerged in the shallow pool, his massive form hidden beneath the rippling surface. I had the distinct feeling he was mirroring me—lying on his stomach as I was, observing with the same patient curiosity I felt toward him.

For a while, neither of us moved, allowing the early morning stillness to stretch between us. The air was thick with the scent of saltwater and antiseptic, the distant cry of seagulls filtering through the facility's high windows. The quiet hum of filtration pumps was the only reminder that we were not somewhere out at sea, but here—together, in this strange, shared limbo between two worlds.

Tentatively, I reached out, letting my fingertips trail through the water, tracing aimless patterns across the surface. The warmth surprised me, smooth and welcoming against my skin. It felt like the ocean at sunrise, still and peaceful before the day stirred it to life.

"Good morning, Arthur," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "How are you feeling?"

I wasn't expecting an answer, but the words felt natural, as though speaking to him was no different than speaking to any other patient under my care. And yet, this was different. He was different. I extended my palm toward him, driven by some unspoken need—to touch him, to feel his skin beneath my own, to reassure myself that he was real. That this was real.

To my surprise, he moved closer.

I kept my hand still, letting him decide. My lips twitched into a small smile, reminded of how we taught children at the touch tanks—hold your hands still, let the creatures come to you, let them explore you on their terms. Arthur was doing the same.

His gills flared as he inched forward, hesitation battling curiosity. I watched the way his body tensed, his movements cautious yet deliberate. He reminded me of a skittish sea pup, torn between instinct and intrigue.

His face came within an inch of my palm before he suddenly grimaced. His pupils contracted, his gaze darting between me and my outstretched hand. A subtle shift, a flicker of alarm or confusion.

Then it clicked.

Ah. The sweatshirt.

I had forgotten I was still wearing Charles' hoodie, the heavy fabric still clinging to me from the night before. To Arthur, I must have smelled foreign—like another male, unfamiliar and wrong. Dangerous even. Nothing like the woman who had held him the night before. I mentally noted that he was incredibly scent driven, like a shark or an octopus.

Without hesitation, I peeled it off, letting the cool morning air prickle against my sweat-damp skin. Clad only in my sports bra, I settled back onto my stomach, dipping my arm into the water once more.

"That's better, huh?" I mused softly.

Arthur's eyes flickered down the length of my arm, tracing over my bare skin before settling back on my face. I smiled. I could feel him studying me, the same way I had studied him last night. And I let him. I wanted him to.

I wondered, Did his species have a way of communicating outside of words? Did they swim in pods, share gestures, brush against each other like this? Or was he always alone?

Before I could dwell on the thought, Arthur reached for my wrist.

I tensed, not out of fear, but out of sheer surprise. His webbed fingers moved with delicate precision, his claws barely grazing my skin as he began unraveling the damp, bloodied gauze wrapped around my wrist.

I swallowed a wince as the fabric peeled away, the dried blood pulling at the torn skin beneath.

"Guess I should have Charles take a look at that today," I muttered, more to myself than to him. "Probably needs stitches."

Arthur didn't react to my words—only to the wound itself. His pupils contracted slightly, his nostrils flaring. Smelling my blood. Committing my scent to memory.

Somewhere deep in my chest, I knew I should have been afraid. Blood was a trigger for predators, a primal lure that awakened the basest instincts of the hunt. I had seen it countless times in the wild—how a single drop in the water could send sharks into a frenzy, how wounded seals would attract the silent approach of something lurking just beneath the surface. Even the most docile creatures could turn savage at the scent of it, driven by an ancient, unspoken law of survival.

But Arthur didn't move like a predator.

There was no sudden tension in his body, no sharp intake of breath like he was fighting the urge to lunge. No flicker of hunger in those deep blue eyes. His grip remained careful, deliberate—his webbed fingers barely grazing my wrist as if he were handling something delicate. As if he didn't want to break me.

It was a contradiction, this creature with the power to rip me apart, yet holding me like I was something worth protecting. He was watching me, not like prey, but like something fragile. Something he didn't want to break.

And yet, as I watched him open his mouth, as I gazed upon the pearly white rows of razor-sharp teeth that were almost human, I couldn't pull away.

There was no fear, no instinct screaming at me to recoil. Only a strange, electric stillness settling over my body, a deep-rooted certainty in my chest that he would not hurt me.

But nothing—nothing—could have prepared me for what he did next.

A long, dark blue tongue unfurled from his mouth, ribbed along the sides and top, an evolutionary marvel designed to grip and manipulate prey—but as it slipped past his lips, I realized it was something far more intricate. The ridges along the surface flexed with a sensual fluidity, the textured muscle curling and undulating as if tasting the very air between us. It was long, sinuous, almost serpentine in the way it moved, tapering to a fine point that flicked out experimentally before retracting.

There was nothing predatory in the way it reached for me, yet I couldn't ignore the way it twitched and pulsed, slick with warmth, glistening under the morning lights as it hovered tantalizingly close to my skin. It was slow, deliberate, exploratory—intimate in a way I didn't yet understand.

And then, he licked me.

Warm. Slick. Wet. The hard muscle dragged over my wrist, gliding over my open wound with an almost reverent touch. I sucked in a breath, heart hammering against my ribs as I watched, entranced. His breath fanned hot over my skin, and after that first taste, his lips parted further, his mouth closing around my wrist.

I should have been terrified.

Instead, I shivered.

Viscous saliva pooled over my cuts, coating them in a thick sheen, and his tongue worked methodically, spreading it deeper into my skin. The sensation was... indescribable. A pulse of heat shot through me, curling at the base of my spine. My body reacted—not with fear, but with something darker, something instinctual.

The act was so tender, so gentle, it completely betrayed his monstrous form. Arthur was the one in pain, the one suffering, and yet he was the one tending to me. Cleaning me. Marking me.

A soft noise slipped past my lips, and an ache settled low in my stomach. When he finally pulled away, a thick strand of saliva connected us, catching the light like a thread of liquid silver. And then—gods help me—he kissed it. A chaste press of his lips to my wrist, as if sealing his work, as if telling me you're mine to heal.

I exhaled, trembling. His pupils were blown wide, the black nearly swallowing the blue, his expression unreadable. But I could feel it—the weight of his gaze, the intensity in the way his fingers twitched toward me. The moment stretched, charged, thick with something I didn't dare name.

It wasn't until I caught the faint, flickering glow beneath his skin that I finally pulled my gaze away. His veins were lighting up again, faint but unmistakable, bioluminescence dancing beneath his flesh like phosphorescence in the deep.

I barely had time to wonder what it meant before I looked down at my wrist—

And choked on my breath.

The wounds were gone.

There was no trace of blood, no broken skin, no sign that I had ever been wounded at all. In its place, four iridescent scars shimmered beneath the dim lighting, their color shifting like polished opal, contrasting against the natural hue of my skin. They looked just like his own—etched proof of pain, survival, and something far stranger.

Had he... had he healed��me with his saliva?

I stared, my breath caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. My fingers trembled as I brushed them over the fresh scars, the skin smooth and cool to the touch, as if it had been untouched by injury. The realization sent a shiver down my spine, my stomach twisting with something I couldn't comprehend.

"A-Arthur wha—"

"I'm real sorry for hurtin' ya."

The deep, gravelly timbre of his voice sent a jolt of shock through my body, rooting me in place. My gaze snapped up to him, my pulse hammering against my ribs. I hadn't heard him say more than three words in the past twelve hours, and now he was apologizing to me?

"H-holy fuck, you can talk?!" My voice came out breathless, stunned.

Arthur only nodded, his gills flaring slightly. His expression was unreadable, but something about the way he held my gaze—steady, cautious, yet unguarded—made my chest tighten. Had I been too forward? Had I ruined my only chance to hear him speak again?

I exhaled slowly, trying to gather myself, to settle the erratic thrum of my heart. "Sorry, that was rude of me," I admitted, lowering my voice. "I just—I didn't think you could speak more than a few words. How do you know English so well?"

I waited, desperate to hear his voice again, to break the fragile silence hanging between us.

"Been 'round people long enough." He spoke slower this time, deliberate, like he wasn't used to stringing so many words together at once. "Picked up on it eventually."

Holy shit, he has an accent.

That drawl—low, thick, undeniably Southern—rolled through me like a gentle tide, and I felt its weight settle deep in my bones. It was rough around the edges, worn down with time, and yet, there was something almost soothing about the way the words left his lips. But the mention of people sent a ripple of unease through me.

Had he been around them by choice? Or had they kept him?

I had so many questions, but I forced myself to rein them in. Pushing too hard could make him shut down, and I wasn't willing to risk that.

"I see," I said gently. "Must have been really hard for you to talk last night, with all the pain you were in."

Arthur gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable. His slitted pupils flicked down toward my wrist, the scars still catching the dim light, before shifting back to my face.

I took him in, really looked at him. He seemed healthier now, stronger. His color had returned, the luminous sheen of his skin no longer dull and lifeless. For the first time, I realized just how much I wanted him to heal.

"You're looking much better," I admitted, offering a small smile. "The color's come back to your skin... maybe soon we can let you go home."

The words felt like a betrayal the second they left my lips. I didn't want him to leave. And I knew how selfish that was.

Arthur's expression shifted, his jaw tightening just slightly. "Don't have a home."

His voice was quiet, but the weight of those words crushed the air from my lungs.

I swallowed hard. "What about a family? Could they be looking for you?"

His pupils narrowed slightly—whether from fear, memory, or something else, I wasn't sure. But then, with a slow shake of his head, he answered me in silence.

That hurt more than I was prepared for.

I bit my lip, fighting against the ache settling in my chest. I had a feeling pressing him further would only make things worse, I didn't want him to shut down or feel overwhelmed. So instead, I softened my tone. "Would it be alright if I checked on your wound?"

For a moment, I thought he'd refuse. Now that he was awake, fully aware, maybe the fragile trust I had built last night would vanish. Maybe he wouldn't let me get close to him like that again. And yet, the ghost of his touch lingered—his tongue, warm and slick, lapping at my skin, the slow press of his lips leaving a phantom heat that refused to fade. Even now, my wrist tingled where he had kissed it, the memory of it searing deeper than it should have.

But then, those soft lips parted, his voice rolling over me like a slow-moving tide.

"Sure."

It was a lazy, drawn-out syllable—more like shoar—and something about the way he hollowed his mouth around the word made heat creep up my spine.

I smiled, trying to shake the feeling, and stood up, stretching until my muscles loosened with a satisfying sigh. "I'll go change into my wetsuit."

Arthur watched me, those deep blue eyes tracking my every movement. There was something unreadable in his gaze—something that made my pulse quicken just a little too fast. I turned on my heel before I could overthink it, heading toward the locker room, my mind still reeling from the way his voice curled around a single word.

⋅─⊱༺ 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 ༻⊰─⋅

Arthur sat on the lip of the pool, his tail partially submerged, the sun catching on the water's surface and throwing shimmering reflections onto the walls. The early morning light illuminated his body in a way the dim fluorescents of the facility never could. His scales, now clean and glistening, shimmered with a brilliance that nearly stole my breath. Blues and purples interwoven like the Milky Way on a clear midsummer night, scattered across the vast ocean of his skin. He was beautiful. Otherworldly. Ethereal.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. The facility would be opening soon. Hosea would arrive to check in, expecting an explanation for the frantic call from last night. And when that happened, everything would change. No more quiet moments, no more stillness between just the two of us. The world would come crashing in, demanding answers, demanding that Arthur be studied, tested, examined.

Selfishly, I already mourned the loss of our solitude.

I shook the thought away. That wasn't my concern right now. My focus was on him, on making sure he was healing properly. Whatever came next—I'd deal with it then.

From my position beside him, I traced my gaze down the long expanse of his body. I couldn't help but admire the way his tail gleamed as if the constellations themselves had been pressed into his flesh. As if sensing my fascination, he suddenly flicked his tail, sending a playful spray of water in my direction. Droplets pitter-pattered against my skin, cool against the morning warmth.

I gasped, swiping a hand over my face, then looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "Oh, real mature—"

But then my breath caught.

Was that...a grin tugging at his lips? Or just a trick of the light?

The idea of Arthur—cautious, guarded, pained Arthur—smiling at me made something flip in my stomach.

"You're quite a sight, Arthur," I said before I could stop myself, voice softer than I intended. "You put all the pearls in the ocean to shame."

For a fleeting moment, the iridescent glow beneath his skin flickered again. I was sure that it meant something. But before I could ask, he scoffed, brushing off the compliment like it was second nature.

"Oh, darlin', you ain't seen too many pearls then. I'm 'bout as pretty as the underside of a sunfish."

I lifted a brow, my lips twitching into a smirk. He winked. Not a trick of the light. A full-on, deliberate wink.

Was he...flirting with me?

A flutter of nerves ran through me, heat curling in my stomach. The tone of endearment, the teasing lilt in his voice—it sent warmth creeping up my spine, made my chest feel lighter. I had no idea what this was between us, but I knew I liked it.

I grinned, tilting my head, tracing idle patterns in the water with my fingers. "Oh, so now you're an expert on beauty, huh?" I teased, letting my gaze drift over him in exaggerated scrutiny. "Because I hate to break it to you, honey, but I've seen plenty of sunfish—and none of them have eyes that glow like starlight."

His gills fluttered, his bioluminescent veins pulsing faintly again, and I knew now it was a response to something. A reaction.

Shaking his head, he huffed. "They also don't got teeth like mine," he drawled, flashing me a sharp grin, "or a tongue that can make a grown man cry."

Heat flared up my neck at that remark, and I barely smothered a choked laugh. "Oh yeah?" I shot back, arching a brow. "And exactly how many grown men have you made cry, Arthur?"

His pupils widened slightly, something playful, something darkly amused lurking in those deep blue depths. "Wouldn't you like to know, pretty girl," he murmured, voice dipping into something rich and slow, something that sent a shiver rolling down my spine.

I sucked in a breath.

Pretty girl?

The most beautiful creature I'd ever seen was sitting right next to me, calling me pretty? The one with glowing veins, eyes like the ocean at midnight, and a tail that shimmered like the galaxies above thought I was beautiful?

My stomach flipped.

I swallowed hard, feeling warmth creep up my neck, and cleared my throat. "W-well, I'll be sure to keep my wits about me then," I managed, aiming for breezy, casual—but failing miserably as my voice wavered slightly.

Arthur just watched me, gaze steady, unreadable. My heart was hammering in my chest.

Gods help me, I was enjoying this way too much.

Looking down his torso, I reminded myself to focus on the task at hand—his wound. But as my gaze traveled over his long body, I found my thoughts drifting. I wondered what it would feel like to press my ear to his chest again, to listen to the steady rhythm of his tandem heartbeat's, that soft purring sound vibrating through his skin. I couldn't help but admire the way his muscles flexed, the subtle dusting of sandy hair leading down from his chest, tracing the curve of his abs.

There was something undeniably captivating about him. He had that rugged, raw appeal—the kind of man you'd find at the bar at the end of a long, hard day, sitting quietly with a drink in hand. His whiskey-smooth voice still echoed in my mind, and I found myself drawn to him in a way that felt all at once comforting and dangerous. There was a quiet strength in his presence, an unspoken promise of safety.

Shaking my head, I forced my attention back to the wound I had been avoiding. His mating slit, once gruesome, had begun to heal faster than I expected. It almost looked... normal again, as normal as I thought his reproductive organ could look. The swelling had gone down significantly, and the irritation had vanished, leaving behind smooth, unblemished skin where it had been torn.

I couldn't help but marvel at it. "This is incredible, Arthur," I whispered, a note of awe in my voice. "It's almost entirely healed."

Without thinking, my fingers hovered just above the area, drawn by a mix of curiosity and the desire to help, to feel for myself how much progress had been made. Would the stitches need to come out already? But as my hand hovered, I stopped myself. What am I even doing? It felt too personal, too intimate, to touch him like this so casually.

Before I could pull my hand away, Arthur's hand closed gently around my wrist, guiding it down his body, towards his slit. His voice was soft, almost reassuring. "You can touch me," he said, his tone quiet but firm.

I barely managed to get the words out. My throat tightened with his movements. "O-okay..." My voice caught as his hand led mine to the smoothness of his skin, the heat of him still radiating through the water. It felt like silk, like liquid warmth.

Arthur leaned closer, his breath brushing against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "I like it when you touch me," he murmured, voice low, filled with something I couldn't quite place but was undeniably erotic.

Oh, I'm so fucked.

A rush of heat flared through me. The careful distance I'd tried to maintain was crumbling beneath his gaze and his touch, replaced by a raw, intense need to be closer, to understand him more. And it frightened me. But I couldn't pull away.

Letting go of my wrist, he leaned back, and I felt my curiosity surge, pulling me under like a fierce undercurrent. I hesitated, drawn to the curiosity that had been gnawing at me since the moment I first saw him. My fingers traced the raised edge, gliding over the surface with a touch that was both deliberate and tentative, smooth and featherlight. The flesh here was softer than expected—more pliable—and strangely different. It was nothing like the taut muscle or the hard scales I had touched before. This was an entirely different texture, unfamiliar yet intriguing. Despite his hips being above the waterlevel, the area was wet, slick beneath my touch. And warm like melted honey.

I became acutely aware of how close we were, of the delicate balance between curiosity and respect. I dragged my middle and ring fingers down the center, carefully adding pressure, testing the entrance. The stitches were deeper inside, where the harpoon tip had once lodged between muscle and skin, leaving its mark in ways I could still barely comprehend.

Suddenly, Charles' words echoed in my mind, clear as if he'd spoken them just moments ago: The slit opening is where you'd expect female reproductive organs. I thought of my own, of the delicate way my body mirrored the things I had just learned about his own. The comparison felt surreal, yet there it was—more striking the longer I stared, more connections forming with every second. The shape was longer, more...animalistic in its own right. And then it struck me. The outermost part, thick and full, resembled the labia majora. And as my fingers slowly parted the skin, I realized that what lay beneath—hidden and delicate, like the petals of a water lily—was akin to the labia minora.

How incredible.

This hunk of a beast, this creature who resembled so much of a man in his upper half, shared the same organ as I did. The thought twisted through my mind, unexpected yet indisputable. I couldn't argue with the science right infront of me. Before I could stop myself, my thumb found its way to the top, gently moving over the soft skin, searching for that familiar, pearl-shaped bundle of nerves—one that could make a grown woman cry out in sheer euphoria.

Arthur's breathing hitched, growing rapid, and that thick, wet sticky substance coated my fingers. But I couldn't stop. I didn't want to. My thumb pressed deeper into his slit, pushing past the softness until I felt it—there, hidden beneath the surface. And oh, Arthur felt it too. I bit my lip as a shudder rippled through him, his body trembling in response, releasing a delicious, low moan that made my throat tighten. My knees wavered as his tail subtly twitched with the rhythm of his pleasure.

The sound of his moan snapped me from my trance, and I glanced up.

His eyes were closed, his face soft and serene, as though lost in the bliss of the moment. His veins glowed with an otherworldly light, a natural show of warmth that could rival Christmas lights in their brilliance. He was breathtaking in his vulnerability, in this raw display of emotion and trust.

And as the reality of the situation sank in, I suddenly realized—I was the one arousing him.

I didn't want to stop, but at the same time, I didn't know how to keep going. How far were we supposed to take this? Did he—did he want to finish? Could his species even do that? Christ, what the hell was I doing? I was fingering a man I barely knew—a species I hadn't even known existed until last night!

"What do they mean?" I blurted out, halting my movements. I could hear the faintest whine escape his lips, the sound so soft, so intimate, it almost felt like it was meant just for me. I quickly pulled my thumb away from his clit. "T-the lights, I mean."

Arthur's pupils were wide with arousal, and something deeper, more primal. He glanced down at his body as if he hadn't fully realized what was happening. "Ah, sorry if that's weird. Can't control 'em."

He thinks that's what's weird about this?

"N-no, it's not that," I stammered, trying to steady my breath. "It's just—is it a stimulus response? I've seen you do it a few times since last night." I explained, my words rushed but genuine.

He scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish gesture that only made him seem more vulnerable, more real. "Yeah. Like I said, I can't help it. They're always goin' off this time of year."

"This time of year?" I echoed, not quite processing it yet.

"Mmhm," he rumbled, the sound coming from deep within his chest, vibrating through the air around us. "Mating season."

I couldn't move. I felt stiff, like a statue, unable to shift or look away from the reality unfolding before me. This wasn't real. None of this could be real.

Mating season?! Gods above, I was dabbling in forces I scarcely understood.

Not knowing how to respond, I quickly pulled my hand away from his slit. My nerves were painfully obvious, but I couldn't help it. I'd only had one partner in my life—what the hell made me think I knew how to pleasure a siren? And during his mating season, no less. What the fuck was I thinking?

Staring down at my fingers, I noticed they were slick with the same sticky substance that had come from his mouth earlier. "Is this how you healed so quickly?" I asked, hesitant. "The mucus from your...uhm..." I couldn't finish the sentence, the words feeling foreign in my mouth. "It's the same stuff you used to heal my wrist, right?"

Arthur nodded, unfazed, as if my question was nothing new to him. Then, with the grace of someone who'd done it countless times before, he pushed himself off the lip of the pool and slid smoothly into the water, his head now level with my torso. The water lapped gently at the edges of his face, he looked totally nonchalant, as though he were casually offering up his body as a mystery I could unravel at my leisure.

His openness was undeniable, his body offering itself for exploration in ways I could barely process.

I started to connect the dots. He had some kind of magical property in his mucus—something that allowed him to heal rapidly, not just himself, but others as well. And yet, despite that power, his body was covered in scars, each one gleaming with an iridescent sheen, much like the mark on my wrist. His ability to reproduce on his own was extraordinary, but clearly, someone had tried to take that ability from him. During a time when his body was vulnerable, overwhelmed by hormonal changes. Was this same person trying to harness his power for their own gain? The same one who struck a harpoon through his body?

My breathing quickened, and my heart hammered in my chest. Arthur noticed the shift immediately. His large hands wrapped around my waist, grounding me in the moment. Oh god, it felt so good when he touched me, as though his very hands could steady the chaos within me.

"Oh, sweetheart, I didn't mean to scare ya," he murmured soothingly, his voice a deep balm that somehow settled the storm in my chest. I almost chuckled at the absurdity of it all—this creature, this beast, with claws and teeth that could tear through human flesh like it was wet paper, yet here he was, coddling me.

I ran my hands up the length of his forearm, the delicate fins beneath my fingers sending a strange thrill through me. His skin was so smooth, almost silky, yet there was an undeniable strength in the way he held himself. "You didn't scare me," I said, my voice soft. "I was just trying to make sense of it all..." I inhaled deeply, steadying myself for the next question. "Arthur, why would someone do this to you?"

I felt him shift, the tension in his body telling me he was about to pull away. But before he could, I sank down to my knees in the pool, the water rising to my chin, pulling us back to eye level. Looking into those deep blue eyes, I felt as if I were drowning in them—yet strangely, I didn't want to come up for air. I reached up, cupping his face gently in my hands, my fingers brushing through his beard, marveling at its softness.

"I can't help you if I don't know the truth," I whispered, my voice thick with the weight of my words. "You can trust me." Slowly, I traced my thumb over his lips, the gesture feeling both intimate and natural, as if we had always been this close. "These hands will never hurt you." I repeated the words from last night, when he had been bleeding out on the sand, his body trembling and begging for my touch, my reassurance.

Arthur moved closer to my face, and for a brief, breathless moment, I thought he might kiss me. Do sirens even do that? But before I could find out, he spoke, his voice low and heavy with something I couldn't quite place. "Got caught up with some disagreeable men, that's all."

"That's all?" I echoed, my voice trembling. "Honey, there was a harpoon lodged inside you. They tried to take away—"

He cut me off, his words sharp and bitter. "I know what they did. It's what your people do best." The venom in his voice wasn't directed at me, but it still stung. I bristled at the thought of being lumped in with them, with those people.

A deep, weary sigh escaped him, as though he were surrendering to the weight of his own history. "My father was human, and my mother was a siren. He took me from her when I was still learnin' to use my gills. Lyle sold me to a man who promised him a fortune—and promised me a family." The word 'family' slipped from his mouth like something vile, something toxic.

"For as long as I can remember, I was poked, prodded, and exploited. He was some kind of businessman, workin' with new-age scientists who wanted to harness my ability to accelerate cell regeneration. He told me it was love. Said I was helpin' folk, that it's what families do. And I believed every word. I gave him everything."

His eyes darkened, and the sadness that swirled within them carried a weight of betrayal so profound it nearly stole my breath. The intensity of his gaze shook me to my core. My pulse quickened as the realization hit me—he had used that same healing ability on me so freely, when his entire life had been spent with it exploited. Without thinking, I reached out, my fingers trembling as I threaded them through his hair, pulling him closer. I traced them gently down from the base of his skull to the curled tips of his shoulders, offering him the only comfort I knew how. I urged him, silently, to continue.

"As I started to get older, the lead scientist suggested that I produce an offspring, so they could continue their research once I was gone. Told me I was passin' on my legacy. So..." He paused, his voice faltering, and when he spoke again, it came out in a whisper, laced with raw emotion. "So I gave 'em a son."

Oh no.

Gods, please. Please don't let this end the way I think it's going to.

Arthur shuddered, his entire body tensing as though he were bracing himself against an onslaught of painful memories. I saw the tears well up in his eyes, and before he even spoke, I knew what he was about to say.

"Isaac didn't have his old man's ability to heal people, so—" He let out a humorless chuckle, the sound ragged and broken. His tears spilled freely now, tracing down his cheeks in silent testimony. "So, they took him from me..."

My heart shattered, the weight of his words crashing down like a wave. He didn't need to finish the sentence to confirm my suspicion. They had killed his son, stripped him of his only remaining piece of hope, because he served no purpose in their eyes. They saw Arthur as nothing more than a tool, something to be exploited, not someone with a heart, with feelings, with dreams, with goals of his own.

"Oh, Arthur..." My voice cracked as I reached up, using my thumb to brush away the tears that spilled from his eyes, cradling his handsome face in my hands. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." The words felt hollow, inadequate. Christ, how could I console someone who had faced such unimaginable loss? What could I say that would ever ease this kind of pain?

He leaned into my touch, his cheek brushing against my palm, the intimacy of the gesture both tender and heart-wrenching. His veins flared with their familiar, ethereal glow again. But this time, despite their beauty, there was something different about them—a sadness, a heaviness that lingered in the air around him. He hadn't been joking when he said his body was sensitive during this time of year.

"You're safe here. I won't ever let those men hurt you again," I promised, my voice steady despite the uncertainty that churned inside me. But even as the words left my mouth, I knew how hollow they felt. I had no idea how I would protect him. Hell, I could barely comprehend the danger we were facing.

Arthur shook his head slowly, his expression hardening. "I ain't safe here, darlin', I ain't safe anywhere." His voice was low, heavy with resignation. "That harpoon was just a desperate effort to control me, but it won't be their last. They'll come for me. They ain't gonna let their prized pony go so easily."

I wanted to argue—a harpoon through the mating organs wasn't exactly a quick or easy way to let go. But the words stuck in my throat, too raw to speak.

"Who, Arthur?" I asked, my voice tight with both fear and curiosity. "Who is the man that thinks he has some kind of ownership over you?"

His ocean-blue eyes darkened, a storm brewing behind them. The weight of his words hit like a slap, and the fury in his gaze sent a chill down my spine.

He spat the name thick with venom and years of bitter history.

"Dutch van der Linde."

AN: This chapter had me all over the fucking place. I was blushing, i was giggling, i was horny, then i was crying. However, despite the rollercoaster i really enjoyed how this came out and i'm honestly shocked i pulled it together because now i feel like i have some kind of real plot to work around! Yippee! But i must ask, chat, how do we feel about arthur being intersex and the reader exploring that female anatomy. Tbh, i wanted to do that first because i found it the most 'taboo' and wanted to explore it further. Literally. If you're uncomfortable with this, i do apologize. But there will be more fingerfucking of arthur's cunt. So be aware :)

I love you freaks <3

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #ao3 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #red dead fandom #ao3 #monster x human #monster romance #siren au #siren x reader #monster au #rdr2 modern au #fanfiction

23 notes · View notes

sorceresssundries · 17 hours ago

Text

Three of Swords

So excited to finally be able to share my contributions to the @bg3tarotdeck!!

First up, my story for Abdirak!

Project Kickstarter info here!

Warnings: grief, pain, self-harm.

He was nothing. He was no one. A carved-out hole where a heart once beat.

He waited. Gods, how he waited - counting each minute, each hour, each endless day, willing it to end. Hoping that one day, the edges of his suffering would pull together, that the relentless stream of torment would clot, that the rawness would dull into a throb and, eventually, fade into nothing more than a scar. But it never did. It never stopped. It beat on and on and on and on a crashing tide that filled his lungs and spat salt into repeatedly ripped-open wounds.

His family was dead, and his grief was a rot that would not allow the pain of it to heal.

He envied them. They were at peace, and he was not. And the pain was all he had left of them.

Abdirak had been found, grief-wrecked and alone, at the side of a flooded road by a wandering priestess of Loviatar. He was a ghost in a hollowed-out body, the pain had stripped everything else from him.

"I was drawn to you, broken one," she had murmured, clad in leather and chain.

He didn’t care.

“Get up,” her voice lashed with the rain.

But he could not move. His losses were too heavy, his will too shattered.

"I can’t."

The priestess stepped closer, the mud sucking at her boots, and leaned down to him. Her eyes softened, just barely, as if she understood him.

“You will,” she said, her voice a low, intimate promise. "This pain is not your end - it is your beginning."

She had taken him with her to the Undermountain beneath the City of Splendours. To the House of Pain.

Here, in the bleak and sparse temple, Abdirak knelt before a great stone altar. Tonight, in the dim and flickering torchlight, he would face his suffering in the most literal sense. He had come to this dark place in an act of absolute surrender.

He had come to take part in the Rite of Pain and Purity.

The priestess who found him had given him the title of "kneeling one," a novice at the very bottom of the goddess’s hierarchy. The others had taken him in, recognising the weight of his sorrow. He had witnessed their devotion, their reverence for agony, and at first, he had thought them mad. But something in their eyes spoke to him. He yearned for their clarity, their purpose - anything to replace the all-consuming void inside him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the woman who had found him.

"Abdirak," she said softly, "It is time. Your pain awaits.”

The Rite was sacred among the followers of Loviatar - a test of one’s devotion, where the body was broken to reveal the strength of the soul. It was whispered that, on rare occasions, the goddess herself manifested during the ritual, her presence heralded by a red ring of radiance.

Abdirak rose to his feet, his legs shaking as he followed the priests deeper into the heart of the temple. The corridor was lined with statues of Loviatar, her cold stone faces twisted in expressions of ecstasy and agony. As they reached the chamber of the rite, he saw the other initiates, kneeling ones like himself, gathered around a pit filled with shattered glass.

The priests, garbed in blood-red robes, stood in a circle, their eyes trained on him.

"The time has come for you to confront your pain," The voice of the high priestess echoed around the chamber. "Not to flee from it, not to bury it. Only through suffering may you be purified."

"Pain is what welcomes us into this world and holds us as we leave it. It is the great inevitable. Loviatar’s gift. And it is our duty to master it, to share it, to spread it to those who are yet to learn its lesson. We are the chosen. We will share this gift, split the skin of the unworthy, and let her red light fill them. We will draw screams from them as sacred prayers, and offer absolution. We will create beauty from pain, and joy from suffering. Let our mistress revel in the ecstasy we grant her. Step forth, and let Loviatar hear you.”

The weight of her words hung in the air as the priests guided Abdirak to the centre of the room. He stared down at the glass beneath his feet, sharp and glistening in the dim light. His heart raced, his mind flashing with memories of his lost family, of the grief that had nearly consumed him. How many times had he tried to push that pain away, believing it made him weak? Too many to count.

Loviatar demanded something else. She demanded that he feel every shard of it, that he let it pierce him completely.

"Begin," the high priestess commanded.

Abdirak closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped forward. The first shard bit into the flesh of his foot, sending a shock of pain up his leg. He winced but did not stop. He began to chant the sacred words they had taught him - the prayer to Loviatar that would guide him through the ritual.

I pledge myself to you, Loviatar.

His voice was shaky at first, barely above a whisper, but as he continued, the words began to take hold.

May your cold embrace guide me

Each step, each cut, each throb of pain brought him closer to something previously unreachable, unattainable.

Your searing touch transform me

The others watched as Abdirak moved across the glass, his feet bleeding, the agony coursing through him. He could feel it now - the connection between his physical suffering and the emotional wounds he had carried for so long.

For in pain, I find your purpose

With each step, the pain intensified, but so did his clarity. It was as though the shards of glass were cutting away the layers of grief, exposing the raw truth beneath: he was still alive. His pain had not destroyed him; it had simply become a part of him. And now, he would reclaim it.

And in your purpose, I find my path.

As the chant rose in his throat, the glass beneath him began to glow faintly. His steps quickened, his movements more fluid as he embraced the rhythm of the dance, each shard piercing deeper into his flesh. He was no longer afraid.

Loviatar, I am yours.

He had become one with his suffering.

The climax of the ritual came when the three senior priests stepped forward, each wielding a leather whip adorned with metal spikes. Abdirak screamed to the heavens as the first lash struck his back.

He repeated the words of Loviatar, over and over.

Pain exploded through him, and he leaned into it and against it. Clinging to it and letting it hold him up. The second lash followed, deeper this time, cutting through flesh and drawing blood. He cried out and let his screams entwine with his prayer. A song where agony met ecstasy and it was all the same sound.

The chant grew louder, more fervent.

By the time the third strike fell, he felt as though he had crossed a threshold - and he somehow summoned a miracle.

A ring of red light blazed above them, and the priests fell to their knees, their heads bowed. Abdirak, too, felt an overwhelming urge to kneel, but something held him upright. The light filled him, and with it, a voice - powerful, feminine, and commanding.

"You have called, and I have answered," the voice of Loviatar resonated, vibrating through every bone in his body. "Through suffering, you have found the truth. Through pain, you are made whole."

Abdirak felt the weight of his grief lift. Not gone, never gone, but transformed. His pain was not a weakness. It was a reminder that he had survived, that he had endured, and that he would continue to endure.

“Hear the word of Loviatar.” The voice was biting. “Obey me now. Praise the Absolute.”

The crimson light pulsed like blood from a freshly carved heart, and then - it died.

Abdirak stood in the centre of the chamber, bleeding but unbroken. For the first time since the tragedy, he felt a sense of purpose, of clarity. He was no longer the man who had been shattered by loss.

He had received Loviatar’s blessing.

He would spread her word to the masses, go where he was commanded. He would be the lash against the unworthy, wielding the blades of pain, grief, and torment to slice away the mould and decay that poisoned the weak as it had once poisoned him. His chosen subjects would feel the sting of pain and heal, or die. Either fate would be a mercy, a gift.

And as he walked his path - bare feet upon gritted, stony roads - he would let the lash of his whip crack against the skin of his back, the wounds felt but never seen. His blood would forever leave a trail of worship behind him.

Praise the Mistress of torture. Praise the Absolute.

He was Abdirak, blessed by Loviatar, master of his pain.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #abdirak #abdirak bg3 #abdirak fanfic #BG3 tarot project #bg3 fanfic

24 notes · View notes

innerempire · 2 days ago

Text

{starkercest - Intersex Omega Peter who’s alpha husband can’t get him pregnant because he has weak swimmers}

It’s not his husband’s fault.

But it feels like is, Peter thinks sourly to himself as he chucks the makeshift cock onto the floor, unsatisfied once more. His sex life had taken a complete downturn after a recent screening had revealed that his alpha husband, by some stroke of misfortune, had sperm that was…well, useless. It was the main reason why Peter still wasn’t pregnant after two and a half years of marriage.

Peter feels ashamed for feeling resentful considering that he had struck gold by marrying someone who truly cherished and loved him, but…still. He couldn’t help but to see his partner in a different light now, wondering if the other had purposely known about this prior to the marriage.

It’s caused a rift between them and it’s clearly affected their sex life, with Peter’s husband now unable to maintain an erection, nor the ability to keep Peter knotted. Honestly, this felt like a cruel joke.

Peter sighs.

Like he always does whenever he’s upset, Peter turns to his dad. Tony picks up on the first ring like he always does.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

The endearment feels like a soothing balm against the sting of being told that he might never conceive as a result of his husband’s fertility-related issues.

“Dad.” Peter sighs as he moves towards the fridge, peeking in to see if there’s perhaps a bottle of wine he can seek comfort in. “You were right.” You always are. “We should have consulted a doctor the first year I didn’t get pregnant.”

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

Peter bumps the fridge door close with the side of his hip.

“He’s got a ridiculously low sperm count for an alpha.” Peter knows sharing this information with Tony wasn’t going to help matters, especially since his dad was never fond of his choice of partner. “I’m just so- I’m so tired of trying, dad. My past three heats has been unsatisfactory, and this whole thing is affecting our sex life. He thinks we can give it another shot during my next heat in two weeks time, but frankly….I think I need some time away.”

The idea of returning to Stark Tower is tempting, because Peter knows he’ll be on the receiving end of his dad’s endless coddling and pampering. They’ve always been immensely close, even more so after Peter’s mother passed away when he was twelve.

“Kiddo, you know you’re always welcome back home. Just say the word and I’ll get Happy to pick you up.”

Peter doesn’t think he can spend another night feigning enjoyment from lackluster sex.

“Okay, daddy.” Peter decides on a whim. “Tell Happy he can come pick me up in an hour.”

- / -

The penthouse is empty when Happy drops him off. He tells Peter that Tony’s still tying up some loose ends at the office, and Peter’s fine with that. Just being home is already lifting his spirits up, despite the incoming stream of calls and text messages lighting up his phone.

Glenn must have realized that Peter’s side of the wardrobe was missing a handful of his clothes. Peter puts his phone on silent and leaves it on the bedside table before he goes on to get changed into something more comfortable.

He then wanders into the main bedroom that’s occupied by Tony, seeking comfort in his dad’s large plush bed with the ridiclously pricey sheets that he insists on using. He rolls over and presses his face against Tony’s pillow, inhaling the familiar scent that has not once failed to bring Peter comfort.

The silk sheets rubs against Peter’s bare legs and a second inhale as him pressing his thighs together. His dad always smelt fantastic in Peter’s opinion; just the right tinge of masculinity, with something else along the lines of woodsy-like.

Peter doesn’t know if it’s because he’s touch-starved lately, or it’s simply the scent of his dad, but he’s just so goddamn aroused. He’d always thought he would settle down with an Alpha like his dad, but he doesn’t think there’s anyone like his dad.

He gives a fluttery sigh, thankful that Tony hadn’t remarried after the divorce. He was such an eligible alpha, the perfect one really, and Peter doesn’t think he’d be able to cope well if he had to share Tony with anyone else.

Sometime later, cruising the line of sleep and wakefulness, Peter feels the bed dip and a smile creeps up on his lips when an arm snugly wraps itself around his midsection. He lets out what he assumes is a cross between a satisfied purr and a moan when Tony nuzzles his nape in greeting.

“You know, Stephen’s a fantastic divorce lawyer.”

“Dad”.

Tony chuckles and Peter twists until he’s on his other side facing the older male. As handsome as always, even more so with a glimpse of grey in his full head of hair. God, his dad had truly won the lottery when it came to alpha genes. Peter emits a pleased sigh.

“…dad, remember when you said you’ll do anything for me?” It’s something Tony has always reminded him of without fail.

“Of course, baby.”

His dad didn’t have it in him to ever tell Peter “no”.

“Because that’s what daddies do, right?” Peter continues. “Solve problems. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?”

“Without a doubt. What do you want, baby?”

Peter had given it some thought during the hour ride home. He was in the prime of his age, perfect for childbearing. There was no way he was going to waste another heat with Glenn, only to be faced with disappointment once more.

Even if it wasn’t about getting knocked up, he was just so…needy. Fuck, he was craving an animalistic satisfying pounding that only a virile alpha could give him. Just being in such close proximity with his dad was making him wet between the legs.

“What if…” Peter maintains eye contact with Tony, needed the older male to understand just how desperate he truly was. “…I want you get me pregnant, dad?”

“Pete. Honey…” But there’s no missing the want that’s evident in Tony’s voice.

“Dad, please. Don’t you want it?” Peter cajoles, inching his hand lower until he’s cupping Tony through the material of his pants. “Can you bear to see your own son go through another unsatisfactory heat, when you know that you can make me feel so, so good…because you’re nothing like Glenn? I know you’ll pump me so full of cum-“ Peter’s breath hitches when Tony grabs him by the wrist.

“I don’t think you even know just how long I’ve fantasized about it, baby.”

-/-

#starker nff #starkercest #starker #intersex omega #will continue thiz #tony stark x peter parker

23 notes · View notes

dreamaboutwhathappens · 2 months ago

Text

also insane to think that 10.1 million people attended with TICKETS but there were thousands of people outside each stadium every night, and countless more watching streams online all over the WORLD. like, the true number of people who attended the eras tour over the past two years is far beyond what we’re imagining rn. and i’m just so proud of her and amazed at this success and grateful to have been a part of it :,)

#just absolutely insane to think about #not only did she revolutionize the actual physical art of touring #but also forever changed how tours are attended #it used to be that streams were taken down!!!!#and now we live in an age where taylor nation is talking about watching streams with us!!! what!!!!#so much to think about.#eras tour #random thoughts with grace #*hits

554 notes · View notes

zenathezee · 4 months ago

Text

If you're curious what else was going on in Asheville when we all lost access to the outside world, please see this stick holding up a powerline at the entrance of a neighborhood. You must drive under the Death Prevention Stick to escape your home

#yes I said something #Asheville #Hurricane Helene #that stick is an official valued member of the neighborhood and shall be honored when this is over #half of me is trying to not dox myself but also please fucking donate to Asheville charities #I'm one of the lucky ones who prepared more than the average person for a storm we didn't think could possibly be this bad #we're in the fucking moutains! hurricanes shouldn't be able to reach us!!!#and extremely lucky that I have family able to house me indefinitely and they were accessible by the one highway we got open #everyone else still in the area is still dealing with sporadic texts only as a means to communicate so more pictures like these #are probably going to come out as we all slowly get access again #hopefully they get cell service working consistently again at least even if no internet #don't clown on our stick #whoever put it there risked down powerlines so that we could get out of the neighborhood #and whittled the end that's stuck in the road so it's secure #would have taken more pictures except #ya know #all the down powerlines #other entrance to the neighborhood is a twisty little moutain road that is now covered by trees #and it goes down the hill to a road next to a stream #that stream did not stay a stream #there was no road there #so yes our good buddy Death Prevention Stick let us get out so we could go find cell service and let friends/family know we were safe Friday

13 notes · View notes

guckies · 1 year ago

Text

Been seeing all the discussion about Tubbo being Em’s parents and…. 😬

It’s like we get a girl egg with all moms and it’s now feels like people are saying “she needs a dad!!” because a male is treating her like family…

I’m all for Tubbo being family to Empanada but being her dad?? It feels a lot like there are some misogynistic undertones there. Like family is not just parents it can be literally anything, same way Pepito has Foolish being grandma. Tubbo can have the same and be family in some way to Em.

But it’s like we have an all girl family but because the egg is interacting with others, people are inserting the males into it(the parent dynamic). Which just reads wrong when a majority of the island is male relationships and prominent male families where the girls are mainly just aunts to the children.

Have your headcannons but don’t try to insert them into the canon with your posts especially when a majority of the server relationships are male prominent.

#qsmp neg #qsmp discourse #just can we not have something for the girls?? also it feels even more weird when you do say that and people say well Tubbo’s gay anyway-#which how does that have anything to do with it??? like all for being strong family as in tio or smth like that #but pushing the hc of a gay dad in an all girl family feels like it has undertones i dont want to unpack rn #im not going to stop yall from having your headcanons but like take a step back and look at what the situation is and then think #also this literally happened when jaiden and roier were treating tilin and flippa like their children some people weren’t happy but not -#many weren’t watching multiple streams at the time so they’re wasn’t many complaining but its happened before #also happened a bit when bagi became richas mom #the only difference with those relationships where that the eggs choose and agreeds for them to be their parents #also it’s like yes we would love to see her parents log in more but literally they are all busy people and weren’t always incredibly active-#on the server apart from bagi which is smth the admins probably should have thought about if the new eggs were going to be taken care of #yes let em have her family and her lore but also let us have our female mums rep bc there is so little of it in qsmp #but calm down about em lore bc yall think its the most important thing out there when a whole losd of the eggs rarely have lore esp old eggs

17 notes · View notes

bibleofficial · 7 months ago

Text

i dream of being able to go get a couples massage but instead of w the love of my life it’s w my colon & she finally gets what the FUCK has been WRONG w her WORKED out 😭🙄

#stream #GET A GRIP #I HATE BEING ALIVE #i need to make a new tag where it’s literally just posts of my pussy causing my suffering #shitter nation #that’s it #that’s the one #swag #i say swag so innocuously that my chinese flatmate will just say it too & it makes me laugh like u know when someone has like an affirmation #& start saying it it’s that except i feel bad kind of bc the way i use it is literally butchering the word #me sitting on the bus & it stops: swag #it’s just so fucking funny ALSKLAKSLAKSLAKSLAKALAKSLA like I CANT HELP IT IM CONSTANTLY SAYING IT MY BROTHER GOT ME STARTED DOING IT LIKE #THIS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭#anyway #my family got hit by the hurricane yesterday & thank fucking GOD that PINE FELL IN THE OPPOSITE DIECTION bc YALL #literally it would’ve taken out the bedrooms #like the whole root system has TIPPED #but do we know why ? YES WE FUCKING DO & ITS BC FATHER KEPT CUTTING DOWN ALL THE BRANCHES bc ‘it’ll damage the roof!’ which i mean in this #case … FAIR …. BUT ALSO IN THIS CASE IT WAS SOOO TOP HEAVY #i mean like they always made ME afraid bc u can see them sway but i just thought ‘like a sailboat u need a mountain of a wave to tip’ &#hurricanes ? are the mountain … BUT SHE LASTED DURING ALL THE OTHERS #LITERALLY ALL OF THE OTHERS like this tree is older than the house & the house is OLD [FOR AMERICA] it was built in the late 70s/early 80s #like she took HARVEY & IKE FINE #which i was there during but i worry abt them bc of the lack of cell service wifi & power but i know its over so its just clean up now #sucks to be my brother bc my father sent pics of him w an axe having to cut the tipped tree from the road lmfao #wait why is he using an axe we literally have a chainsaw #probably bc the tree’s wet & it’ll fuck up the chain & it has to be out of the road bc that’s where it landed btw lmfao it was house or road #& it’s in the road thank FUCK - NO DAMAGE TO ANY CARS literally we were sooooooo LUCKY #ANYWAY i’m only on a few hours of sleep & tired & my knee kills bc it actually got damaged during the omar assault so ive a new knee brace #swag … :( im just so tired. i’m so over constantly feeling like im being watched 24/7 it has genueinly put so much stress on me

4 notes · View notes

theabstruseone · 2 years ago

Text

I slept in and just woke up, so here's what I've been able to figure out while sipping coffee:

Twitter has officially rebranded to X just a day or two after the move was announced.

The official branding is that a tweet is now called "an X", for which there are too many jokes to make.

The official account is still @twitter because someone else owns @X and they didn't reclaim the username first.

The logo is 𝕏 which is the Unicode character Unicode U+1D54F so the logo cannot be copyrighted and it is highly likely that it cannot be protected as a trademark.

Outside the visual logo, the trademark for the use of the name "X" in social media is held by Meta/Facebook, while the trademark for "X" in finance/commerce is owned by Microsoft.

The rebranding has been stopped in Japan as the term "X Japan" is trademarked by the band X JAPAN.

Elon had workers taking down the "Twitter" name from the side of the building. He did not have any permits to do this. The building owner called the cops who stopped the crew midway through so the sign just says "er".

He still plans to call his streaming and media hosting branch of the company as "Xvideo". Nobody tell him.

This man wants you to give him control over all of your financial information.

Edit to add further developments:

Yes, this is all real. Check the notes and people have pictures. I understand the skepticism because it feels like a joke, but to the best of my knowledge, everything in the above is accurate.

Microsoft also owns the trademark on X for chatting and gaming because, y'know, X-box.

The logo came from a random podcaster who tweeted it at Musk.

The act of sending a tweet is now known as "Xeet". They even added a guide for how to Xeet.

The branding change is inconsistent. Some icons have changed, some have not, and the words "tweet" and "Twitter" are still all over the place on the site.

TweetDeck is currently unaffected and I hope it's because they forgot that it exists again. The complete negligence toward that tool and just leaving it the hell alone is the only thing that makes the site usable (and some of us are stuck on there for work).

This is likely because Musk was forced out of PayPal due to a failed credit line project and because he wanted to rename the site to "X-Paypal" and eventually just to "X".

This became a big deal behind the scenes as Musk paid over $1 million for the domain X.com and wanted to rebrand the company that already had the brand awareness people were using it as a verb to "pay online" (as in "I'll paypal you the money")

X.com is not currently owned by Musk. It is held by a domain registrar (I believe GoDaddy but I'm not entirely sure). Meaning as long as he's hung onto this idea of making X Corp a thing, he couldn't be arsed to pay the $15/year domain renewal.

Bloomberg estimates the rebranding wiped between $4 to $20 billion from the valuation of Twitter due to the loss of brand awareness.

The company was already worth less than half of the $44 billion Musk paid for it in the first place, meaning this may end up a worse deal than when Yahoo bought Tumblr.

One estimation (though this is with a grain of salt) said that Twitter is three months from defaulting on its loans taken out to buy the site. Those loans were secured with Tesla stock. Meaning the bank will seize that stock and, since it won't be enough to pay the debt (since it's worth around 50-75% of what it was at the time of the loan), they can start seizing personal assets of Elon Musk including the Twitter company itself and his interest in SpaceX.

Sesame Street's official accounts mocked the rebranding.

#twitter #twitterpocalypse #twitter fail #elon musk #fuck elon musk

158K notes · View notes

carnalcrows · 1 month ago

Text

blood, sweat and tears

genre: smut

pairing: gi-hun x m!reader x in-ho

CW: bottom reader, top gi hun and inho, blowjobs, bathroom sex, threesome, exhibitionism, dacryphillia, fingering (reader receiving), anal, rimming, creampie, reader is taken from both ends, y/n is not used, the usual squid game warnings (blood, gore, etc etc)

word count: 0.8k

The bathroom door clicked shut behind In-ho, sealing the three of you inside a world momentarily free from the horrors of the games. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting a pale glow that accentuated the blood and grime staining your green tracksuits.

Gi-hun stood by the sink, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion as he scrubbed at his arms. “This never gets easier,” he muttered, his voice hoarse from shouting during the chaos.

You stepped closer, reaching out to rest a hand on his back. “We made it through. That’s what matters.”

In-ho approached from behind, his movements fluid and purposeful. He slipped between you and Gi-hun, crowding the two of you against the sink. His hands, warm and calloused, brushed yours as he turned the faucet on again, the icy water cascading over all three of your hands.

“You’re both terrible at cleaning up,” he said, his tone soft but edged with a teasing lilt. He reached for a scrap of cloth hanging by the mirror and dipped it under the stream.

Gi-hun laughed lightly, the sound strained but genuine. “We’ve been a little preoccupied.”

In-ho smirked, turning his attention to you. “Then let me take care of you.”

Before you could respond, he lifted the cloth to your face, his touch gentle but firm as he wiped away a streak of blood near your temple. His other hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your head toward him. His dark eyes held yours, their intensity stealing your breath.

Gi-hun shifted closer, his hand sliding to your hip as he pressed against your side. “He’s thorough, isn’t he?” Gi-hun’s voice was lower now, a hint of playfulness mingling with something deeper.

In-ho’s smirk softened as he set the cloth aside, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I don’t leave things half-done.”

The weight of their attention was intoxicating, their bodies so close you could feel the heat radiating from them. Gi-hun’s hand drifted upward, his fingers curling around the curve of your waist, while In-ho leaned in, his lips just a whisper away from yours.

“Tell us to stop,” In-ho murmured, his voice barely audible. “If this isn’t what you want...”

But you didn’t stop them. Instead, you leaned into Gi-hun’s touch, your other hand reaching for In-ho’s wrist to pull him closer. The tension snapped as In-ho closed the gap, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and consuming.

Gi-hun’s laughter rumbled softly in your ear. “Not fair, hogging him all to yourself,” he teased, before his own lips found the curve of your neck, leaving a trail of warmth that sent shivers down your spine.

“We have to be quick, the guards might show up at any moment”, Gi-hun whispered, alerting you. In-ho seemed relaxed, as he slowly pulled your track pants and boxers down to reveal you aching cock. “Cute.”, he stated. “You can't be saying things like that!”, you blushed, looking down. Gi-hun, held your chin and tilted it towards him for a kiss, while In-ho slowly lifted you up and onto his lap entirely. His fingers circle the rim of your hole, feeling the tight ring of muscle puckering and clenching around nothing. His breath hitches as his fingers pushed past the ring of muscle and into your ass. He could hear you moaning and whimpering from the sudden intrusion.

Gi-hun took the opportunity to turn you around so that your stomach was facing the ground, and you were looking up at him, all doe-eyed. “Such a pretty thing, " he stated, before pulling down his pants, revealing his leaking cock. You understood, and began to suckle on the angry red tip, giving it kitty licks before taking it down your throat. Gi-hun let out a breathy moan, and held onto your hair, tilting your head in such a way that his length hit the back of your throat at every thrust.

At your other end, In-ho felt that he had prepped you enough, so he stood up and removed his aching cock from its confinements. A glob of his spit fell right on your asshole, leading you to give it a (somewhat) high squeal with Gi-hun’s length still in your mouth.

In-ho slowly pushed his tip inside, which caused your eyes to roll back with pleasure. Gi-hun, seeing this, got turned on even more and his thrusts became more vigorous. “Such a dirty little thing you are, getting off to two men fucking you in a bathroom. I bet you’ll come even without either of us touching your cock, eh?

His degrading words, shot straight to your dick, which was leaking precum for a while. You mumbled around Gi-hun’s cock, while the man was saying the exact opposite of what In-ho said. “You're such a good boy for us, aren’t you? Taking us both like a champ.” You moaned around his dick, and the vibrations around it caused Gi-hun to come undone in your mouth without warning. “Shit– sorry”, he exclaimed, looking at your fucked out face as In-ho was still taking you from behind. In-ho’s thrusting was getting sloppier, and as soon as you came, so did he, painting your gummy walls white.

Your breathing finally slowed down, as In-ho gently turned you around to face the ceiling. As Gi-hun was about to say something, that bathroom stall opened, with a triangle guard standing outside.

“Shit.”

2K notes · View notes

rafeandonlyrafe · 4 months ago

Text

gold ring

words: 1.3k

warnings: brief suspicion of cheating, established relationship, soft!rafe, proposal, fluffy

“rafe!” you groan out, tired of hearing his phone constantly dinging for the past ten minutes.

when rafe doesn't answer, you slap your laptop closed, frown on your face as you head up the stairs, muttering to yourself about him interrupting your work that he KNOWS is important.

“rafe!” you shout, entering his bedroom. you can finally hear the spray of the shower, explaining why he was letting his phone go off.

you grab it from his bedside table, yanking the charger free as you go to silence it, but upon trying to stop the dinging, you skim over the notifications.

you don't believe it at first. it must be some kind of mistake, you're sure.

you click on the name of rafes ex girlfriend, opening up the text message thread.

rafe: when can we meet?

ex: whenever works for you 🥺

ex: i miss you a lot btw

ex: this friday at 6pm? we can meet at the country club like we always used to. maybe get dinner? can't wait to see you xxx

you frown at the messages, quickly locking the phone and setting it down when you hear the shower turn off.

rafe steps out with just a towel wrapped around his waist.

“hey princess.” he smiles. “how's the essay going?”

“fine.” your tone is cold, surprising rafe. “your phone was ringing so i silenced it.”

you walk out of the room without another word, needing to return to your homework, but when you sit back down at what has become your desk, you can't concentrate on the words on the screen, your anger bubbling over.

you want to confront rafe, but you need time to breathe otherwise the entire conversation will be unintelligible as you simply sob.

you head upstairs, grabbing your backpack and slinging it over your shoulder as rafe emerges from the closet, fully dressed.

“where you going babe? got study group?” he questions, glancing at the clock on the wall, realizing there's no way study group would be meeting this late.

“going home.” you mumble, making sure everything you usually leave at rafes is stuffed in your bag.

“you are home?” rafe questions, his expression turning sad when he sees you're not joking.

“no, im not rafe.” you sigh. “i want to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

truth is, you've practically moved into tanneyhill since you started dating rafe, but technically you still live at your parents house, only a few doors down from rafes.

“is everything alright?” rafe asks, trying to reach out for you. “what did i do wrong?”

you can't help it anymore, his obvious disrespect for your relationship, something you put years of work into only for him to go back to his ex girlfriend.

“how about you ask your ex?” you question, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“my ex? what are you talking about?” rafe asks, again trying to hold you by your shoulders, but you take a step back before his palms can land on you.

rafe: ive asked you a million times to give that ring back. you never should have taken it in the first place. it was my grandmother's and now it belongs to y/n, not you.

“i saw your texts, rafe. when can we meet? are you fucking kidding me!?” you shout the last sentence.

“baby, wait.” he says softly, grabbing his phone. he opens up the messages, scrolling up so you can see the full context.

ex: i don't know where it is

rafe: bullshit. give it back or ill call the cops

ex: fine.

rafe: when can we meet?

“see, baby?” rafe places a soft hand on your shoulder. “i was just trying to get my shit back. i have no interest in my ex at all. i love you.”

“oh, rafe!” you coo out, throwing your arms around his shoulders. “im so sorry i doubted you.”

“it's okay, id also be pissed if you were texting your ex. i didn't tell you just because i wanted to keep it a surprise.”

“keep what a surprise?” you furrow your brows together.

“what do you?- ohhh.” rafe finally catches on, letting out a chuckle. “i see what you're doing.”

you giggle, rising to your tiptoes to press a kiss to rafes soft lips.

“now let's get back to work on that essay, yeah?” rafe says. “i can help you.”

“and what do you know about microbiology that could possibly help me?” you snicker.

rafe rolls his eyes dramatically. “fine, but i can at least be there for moral support.”

you've been expecting it for months now, wondering when rafe will pop the question. you know he got the ring back, and while he's taken you on romantic dates and moonlit walks on the beach, you're not sure when he will actually drop to one knee.

“what are you thinking for your nails this week?” your girlfriend asks.

originally, you were doing all white and plain, but recently for summer you've been branching out to bright colors again.

“why, is there a certain color i should get?” you raise your eyebrow at her.

“well i was gonna get a sparkly white, maybe we could match.” she shrugs. it's no discredit to your friend, but her acting isn't good enough to fool you, and you're sure that rafe asked her to make sure you get something appropriate and properly bridal.

you of course get simple nails that you hope will compliment a silver ring on your finger.

you look at the calendar hanging on the wall, reading through your events for the upcoming week, trying to figure out when rafe may ask the question.

you ultimately give up on trying to figure it out as you head further into the house, calling out for rafe.

“baby? where are you?” you shout, surprised when you don't get a response. you head up to your bedroom, figuring he must be in the shower, but the bathroom door is wide open when you enter.

you almost miss it, so set on finding rafe, but the dress laying on the edge of the bed ends up catching your attention.

put this on and meet me outside.

you recognize rafes handwriting instantly. you set the paper to the side and look at the dress. its a soft light pink material, nearly white.

you are quick to undress and put on the flowy dress, admiring yourself in the mirror before touching up your hair and makeup next. rafe knows how you like to prepare for big events in your life.

your steps are slow, or at least you attempt to keep them slow, as you want to cherish this moment. your eyes light up with the glow of the backyard, string lights hanging from every tree, and on the edge of the sand, is rafe.

“oh.” you cover your mouth, feeling tears well up in your eyes. this has to be the moment. you run to him, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he spins you.

“baby, i haven’t even asked yet.” rafe chuckles, setting you down.

“and i’m already saying yes.” you giggle, although it’s no secret to rafe what your answer would be.

“still-” rafe places his hands on your hips, stilling you before he drops down onto one knee, pulling a box out of his pocket. he flips open the lid to reveal the most stunning ring you’ve ever seen, it’s exactly what you envisioned and somehow so much more.

“you’ve made me happier than i ever thought possible. you fixed all my broken pieces and made me whole again. there’s no one else i’d rather spend forever with.”

rafe looks up at you, tears brimming in his eyes, overwhelmed with the emotion of the moment. “will you marry me?”

“yes!” you squeal, falling to your knees alongside rafe and pressing your lips against his. “yes, yes. a million times yes.”

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @cameronswiftie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry @wearemadeofstardust0

2K notes · View notes