#perhaps nap in the meadows

[dotster001]

Waking Him up with a Kiss

Summary: Malleus/Silver/Jamil x Gn!Reader. You wake your lover up with a kiss.

Requested by an anon. Fuck you, Tumblr.

CW: Jamil is kinda sus but I wouldn't be doing him justice if he wasn't.

Also! Always get consent from your partner before kissing them in their sleep! That's a cool kid thing to do!

He'd been hinting at this for a while now. All his life, Lilia had regaled him with fairy tales where the sleeping prince or princess was woken with true love's kiss. Malleus had always been a hopeless romantic, and, damn, did he want that!

He'd left the books out when he slept over. He made sure that if he knew you would come looking for him, he'd nap on his back. He sighs dreamily (and loudly) whenever he rereads those fairytales next to you. He waxes on and on about how romantic being awoken with a kiss is. He knows he's dense. But he thinks you're worse.

Lilia giggles and says to be patient, Silver says to just tell you what he wants, and Sebek says to just banish you for the treason of making him sad. He decides that Lilia has never steered him wrong before, so he decides to be patient.

And one day it happens. He's dreaming of you, walking through a meadow, hand in hand. You turn to him, your radiant smile glowing brighter than the sun of his dreams. You press your lips to his, gentle as a cloud, and it feels so real that he doesn't want to wake up.

But he does, and he moans a little as he regrets losing the dream world. But the feeling of your lips doesn't fade. Light as a cloud, gentle as a dove, a feeling that makes him feel so full inside he thinks he'll burst.

His eyes flutter open, and there you are, on your knees in the grass, smiling softly as you push one of his dark bangs away from his eyes. He smiles sleepily, putting together that his dream came true.

“Now that you've given me a taste, I hope you know that I am insatiable,” he said, his voice still husky with sleep. You giggled, as though you thought he was joking.

Oh, you sweet little human.

He is not joking.

He has told you this on many occasions. If you are hanging out, and he falls asleep, do whatever you need to to wake him up. He originally tried to be chill about it, but eventually he let on just how much it distressed him when he missed time with you. He didn't want to miss out on any time with you. Yes, it was partially for you. But if he was honest, it was mostly for him. It hurt his chest to think about losing time with someone he loved. Being around the fae taught him every moment mattered.

Usually, you try everything. You shake him, you steal his pillow, you bang a pot, you set three alarms to go off at the same time. But today, you tried something different.

Silver blinked his eyes open, only to be met by your uncertain ones staring back at him, your face hovering a few inches above his.

He gently lifted a hand to his lips, the ghost of your kiss lingering. He may not have been fully awake for it, but he knows it happened.

His mind was immediately transported to a moment in his youth. He was sitting by his father, sniffling sadly because he fell asleep during Lilia's birthday party. 

“Ah, my sweet son,” Lilia said with a warm smile, gently nuzzling his cheek against Silver's. “I know it's not your fault. Even doctors have told you you can't help it. I am not upset at all.”

“But it's your birthday,” Silver sniffled. “I feel like I must be cursed.”

Lilia's eyes widened in understanding.

“That must be it!” He said excitedly. He ran to the nearby bookshelf and pulled off a book, before nodding sagely.

“Yes, that must be it, look,” he flipped to a page in the story, pointing to a picture of a sleeping princess being kissed awake by a knight in shining armor. “I know this curse! When you find true love, perhaps their kiss will save you!”

Silver excitedly nodded at the picture, his eyes wide.

Lilia snapped the book shut, authoritatively. “But until then, I don't want you to be sad when you fall asleep. Your hero will save you one day. And they might be sad that they took a long time to save you. So if you are less hard on yourself, it might help them feel better. Promise?”

Silver nodded happily.

Lilia is a menace, filling his son's heads with fairytales. /Affectionate

In the present, Silver smiled softly.

“Did you kiss me awake?”

“Sorry, I know I should have asked, but I figured when you said wake me up however I can-”

“That's correct. I could have said it plainly, but this is definitely what I pictured when I said that. But in case you need me to verbally say it, yes, please continue to wake me up like this. I think I will wake up every single time.”

You smiled at him, still hovering over him, making him long for your kiss again.

“You know, I wasn't awake for the last one. Would you please kiss me again?”

You giggled, then leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

“I feel like I need more ways to show my love for you,” you said thoughtfully. Jamil sat next to you on your bed in Ramshackle, reading over your report, and checking for mistakes.

“And what makes you say that?” He hummed in amusement.

“Seriously? You do everything for me! And I'm just kinda here!”

“I'm perfectly satisfied with that. In fact, I'd rather do all the hard stuff so that you have the energy to shower me in affection when I'm done,” he snickered to himself. If anything, a small selfish part of him liked the idea of you feeling like you had something to prove. It made you a very physically affectionate lover to “make up for it”. And while he was easily flustered, he very much liked the gentle caresses, warm embraces, and hungry kisses you gave him.

“Tell you what,” he hummed, handing you back the marked up report. It would take you hours to make the corrections. He loved you, but you were at a disadvantage when it came to college courses in the laws of magic. “I'm going to take a nap. When you finish, I'd really feel loved if you kissed me awake.”

He laid down, resting an arm over his eyes. 

“You could just stay the night if you're that tired,” you said in that tone of voice that only came when you were pouting.

“Can't. Kalim has a test tomorrow, and I need to make sure he wakes up for it.”

You grumbled something, but he was already out cold.

He felt…warm. He softly sighed, as he felt your kiss deepen. Still not opening his eyes, he wrapped an arm around your neck, and continued sleepily kissing you. Yeah. This is the life he wanted. To be rewarded for his hard work with your affection.

He finally opened his eyes with a scowl when you pulled away.

“I didn't say to stop. This is about expressing your love, right?” He snickered.

You pouted. “I miss when every single thing would fluster you.”

He scowled and stood up, stretching away the sleepiness as he prepared for his trek back to his dorm.

“I don't.”

You smiled sweetly, then reached out for his hair.

“Luckily,  I can still make you all blushy when I play with your hair.”

Tag list- @shytastemakerthing @eccedentesiast-sapphic @leoll @stygianoir @pikeru565

“Good night love,” he scowled as he stormed out of the room.

....

[seradyn]

A Beast of Greed Who Fell in Love

In honor of the Sylus myth dropping, I got possessed by writing demons and wrote this in one sitting. At 7am (I work swing shift lmao) 🫠🫠

Sylus pov as he thinks about how he fell in love with you, and reader absolutely spoiling him with love and affection. Tooth rotting fluff, slightly suggestive at the end 😇

Not gender neutral, but no description of reader is given, just some pronoun usage. No use of y/n

Word count: 2190

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Sylus could say, with utter certainty, that he had never felt such contentment before.

What more could an infernal creature desire, he wondered, than to have his most beloved treasure nestled into his chest, resting with him as he lay in that meadow of maroon flowers, swaying in the temperate breeze that blew across the grass? How could he fight the satisfied smirk that spread across his face as he looked down at her, his tail wound possessively around her leg, his arms cradling her fragile form as his clawed thumbs rubbed tiny circles into her skin. His heart beat, as he gazed at her, and he could hear it chant mine, mine, mine, a symphony of his most exquisite desires. And she, too, had a blissful smile on her face, eyes closed as she battled the temptation to nap. To let yourself be vulnerable and, in turn, fall prey to this most monstrous being, who held you so gently.

But you were already his, weren’t you?

He could see it, in the way your eyes lit up whenever you saw him, how you didn’t try to hide your love for him even slightly. He could feel it, when you both embraced, your hearts so close, he could feel them beating as one. He could taste it, when you were close enough to share a breath, when you leaned forward expectantly, like he hung the moon and stars just for you, like he was the reason there were bright summer days filled with laughter and silly dares, or that he caused the warm, cozy fires you huddled against in the cold, brewed the cup of hot tea in your hands, whose taste reminded you of cinnamon and family gatherings.

Like he was your world. And fuck, if he didn’t feel like it, with the way you looked at him.

Gods, he wanted that. To be your world. Forever he wanted that. To be your world until the stars went out, until the planets collapsed, until the universe winked out of existence, and he was plunged into darkness again.

Because you were his world, too.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, when you became more than a means to an end. Perhaps it was when he gripped you in his talons, ready to easily snuff out the life of another helpless interloper, and instead of seeing your eyes clouded with fear, instead of the begging for your measly life he expected, he saw them harden with defiance. Or, perhaps, it was the first time he brought you here, to this very field, where you held his hands so tenderly, kissed his claws as you profused how much you cared for him, how much he meant to you. Or, maybe, it was even today, when he took you flying again, how you laughed as the wind whipped your hair, and you reached out to run your hands through the passing clouds. Those raw, natural and alive moments where he could swear he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

Either way, he realized it didn’t truly matter. Because regardless of when you went from being some hopeless, hapless girl, and became the very reason for his continued existence, he was utterly consumed by reverence for you. If you asked him to raze the world, asked him to carve out his heart for you, he’d ask how thoroughly you wanted the earth to be scorched, how you would like his heart presented to you.

You were his. And he, yours.

His nose twitched, and he let out a soft sigh. He could scent you on the wind. This perfect, perfect creature. He wanted to consume it, gulp down your essence like one who only knew dry sand and crumbling earth feeling the lapping of ocean waves for the very first time. He wanted to submerge himself in it, drown himself in this warmth, this scent, this feeling that felt like how home was always supposed to feel.

Although, he was wise enough to know not to drink the salty brine, despite its temptations. If he allowed her sweet nectar to touch his tongue, he may not know how to stop. May not be able too until there was nothing of you left, trying desperately to feed an insatiable maw. He was a greedy thing, he was well aware, and knew if you permitted him a taste, you may never see the light of day again. His primal urges that demanded he sequester you deep in his cave of treasures, where you belonged, to hoard you like the most precious being that you were, would be too strong to fight. His urge to fucking lick you, clean you and cover you in his own scent, like the great wyrms did to court each other, as he was sure his own parents once did, would take over, and you would see the truth of the beast you laid with.

Perhaps, though, he didn’t do as well of a job hiding them as he thought. His beloved stirred, sitting up to look at him with what he could only describe as pure, unfiltered adoration. Your eyes - they sparkled brighter than any gem or coin in his collection. Like someone had flown high enough to chase the stars, managed to catch one in their rapacious claws, just so they could dust your eyes with its light. Your smile - bright enough to rival the sun, and warm enough that it felt better than basking on the smoothest, sun-kissed rocks. Your hair softly danced on the breeze, the mid evening sky an orange-gold crown on your head, and Sylus thinks he understood why mortals go to church so often; for a chance to see something half as divine as you.

Absentmindedly, you began to trace the red cracks along his chest with your fingers, watching as it is guided to the red jewel encrusted on his chest. He manages to suppress a delighted shudder, but allows himself the pleased growl that rumbles in his chest, much like a purr, as the soft pads glide across the shattered glass of his pearlescent skin. He watches in unconcealed fascination as your hand is led to his faintly glowing heart, before starting anew on a different line, further down. He lets his eyes close, leaning his head back as you map out his body, of how his scales turn to pillowy flesh and back again. He can feel when you finished on his left side, where you started, and move to the right, leaving no part of him un-lavished by your affections.

When you finish there too, he looks down at you again, curiosity scampering across his expression. You flash him a look briefly, a spark of mischief igniting in your eyes, before you abruptly lean forward and begin to pepper the edges of his ruby heart with kisses. He sucked in a breath through his pointed teeth, his eyes slightly wide as you surprise him again by utterly spoiling him. Pressure built in his chest, just below your sweet lips, and he let out a shaky breath, trying to find relief before those unfamiliar emotions became too much. His tail squeezed your leg as you rounded the arrow shaped emblem over his heart, not stopping until you covered the entire outline of it with your decadent touch. When you arrived back where you started, you paused to leave a long, drawn out peck directly on his crystalline heart. His eyes almost rolled back in his head in sheer ecstasy, his tail lightly thumping against your rear in pure delight.

You laughed as you pulled away, the sound like a swell of music that made him feel like he was floating. He couldn’t help but chuckle as you patted his tail to get it to settle, scooching forward so your face was right above his. He saw the intent in your eyes, that mixture of fire and wine that made him feel intoxicated, made him want to kneel at your feet, obey your every command.

When your lips touched his, it felt like he was in heaven. That magical place that mortals coveted more than anything. He had no doubt it was a fallacy made to comfort the dead and dying; a place of endless pleasure and devoid of suffering was naive to even dream about. But when your mouth moved against his, when he gently swiped your bottom lip with his forked tongue, and you opened your mouth to let him taste you, breathe you in…he thinks he may have just found it.

And it is his. You are his.

He hummed into your mouth, chasing your lips as you tried to gulp down air. It was a long moment before you parted, but you eventually leaned away from him. He had to fight the snarl that bubbled in his throat, his tail tightening around your leg just so, and a clawed, beastial hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. He pulled you back down, your lips reuniting, and he held your cheek with his other hand as he was returned to bliss.

You let out a surprised squeak as he did this, before letting out a giggle into his mouth. It took all of his willpower not to beat his wings against the cold dirt and lash his tail in complete euphoria at the sound. He nipped at her lips instead, thinking of how he would carve out the eardrums of anyone who dared to hear your angelic laugh. He was a greedy creature, and your sounds were his, for him alone. Your smiles would be directed at him alone, your laugh his to cherish alone. He must be a monster, he thinks, to steal the world's most precious flower and hide it away so none but him are permitted to admire its immaculate beauty.

But he is fine with that. He’ll happily play the monster, if it means he gets to keep you all to himself.

Slowly, you eased off his lips, yet you continued to kiss him, trailing a path up to the tendrils of scales that adorn his cheeks. He returned the favor, groaning quietly in appreciation as he pressed his greedy mouth into your neck, running his tongue along your pulse as you peppered his face with kisses. Although, because you simply must always do what he doesn’t expect, he finds himself frozen as you smoothly glide your hands up, grasping both his horns in your doughy palms and stroking them up and down, your nails scraping against his scalp as you reach the base of them. His head falls back again, a sound escaping his lips somewhere between a hiss and a purr. Gods, why did that feel so good? You must be an enchantress, a witch who has hexed him, to make him feel so many things he never even thought possible. He held you impossibly tighter, his claws nearly digging grooves into your back.

You chuckled from your place between his brows - he made it no secret he was putty in your hands. And it was because you cradled him so gently, allowed him to shape himself as he saw fit, that he permitted you to know such things. Would trust you, out of everyone, not to shape him in your own image, as you could if you chose. No, instead, he felt your hot breath roll across his ear as you leaned down to whisper to him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a bated breath at that, pulling you away to look you in the eyes. He once anguished over this, thought himself undeserving. You are his most precious gem, the apple of his eye, his dearly beloved, deserving of being draped in only the finest from his hoard, bathed in the softest silks from faraway lands, cherished and worshiped above all else. Where does a creature such as himself find the audacity to ask for your hand as he walks into oblivion, he wondered?

But, now, he only smirks. “I’ll hold you to that,” he purred, winding his tail further up your leg in promise.

You nodded once, satisfied. “You better,” you say, taking his hand, pecking the back of it. “Because you’re the love of my life.”

Sylus smiles. A real, genuine smile, while his heart hurts with how full it feels, like it might burst from his chest and soar into the clouds, where he can laugh while he chases it down. He wondered if he were to throw himself from the highest cliffs, let the wind whistle past him, if these feelings, this lightness he now felt, would carry him into the sky, and he wouldn’t even need to lift his wings to fly.

He tilts your chin up with a single talon, rising to rest his forehead against yours. “And you are mine,” he whispered, prayed, revered. Declared it to all who would listen, could listen. “My beloved.”

Because now that he had you, secure in the knowledge that you were his, he was never letting you go.

You were his. Are his. Forever.

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First Sylus (and LNDS) fic 🙌🙌 I have so many in the works and on the brain, including a huge long fic, but we’ll see what happens/what I post. One thing at a time 😌

Also it’s been like a year since my last fic lmaoooooo

[agaypanic]

Hello! I'd love to request Charlie Swan with a teacher girlfriend. Perhaps he comes to visit on his lunch or something and sees how attached the kids are to her and it makes him happy to see how caring she is. Please and thank you!(I work with pre k but my former class was todds and they are still clingy 💖💖)

Lunch Break (Charlie Swan X Teacher!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: Chief Swan visits his girlfriend on his lunch break, and can’t help but adore the way she is with her students.

A/N: i know nothing about taking care of or teaching little kids lol

***

Charlie wasn’t used to being around a toddler, let alone twenty of them. Even when his daughter Bella was at that age, he didn’t see her much. 

Yet here he was, sitting in his girlfriend’s classroom, having lunch with her while a group of toddlers napped on the floor.

“So, how’s your day been?” You asked in a whisper, picking at the burger and fries that Charlie had brought you from the Carver Cafe.

“Oh, not much.” He responded in an equally low voice, but more gruff. His fingers smoothed over his mustache before speaking again. “Still looking into those missing persons cases, but we’ve been coming up with nothing.”

“You’ll find something, bear.” You squeezed his shoulder, and he leaned into your touch. “You always do.”

“Yeah, maybe… But enough about me, how’s your day?”

You let out a tiny laugh, not surprised that Charlie would bounce the attention onto you as soon as he could.

“Well, today we had an art day.” You gestured to one of your tables on the opposite side of the room, covered in different drying papers. “Watercolor, crayon, markers, that kind of thing. That was really fun. I know I shouldn’t play favorites, but I really like Delilah’s. You know her mom, right? Samantha?” Charlie nodded after a quick moment of thought, and so you continued. “Well, she wanted to make a meadow, so she covered her paper in green, and then she stamped little fingerprints all over as flowers. I mean, you kinda have to ask her what it is to figure out what it is, but I don’t know, it was really cute and- oh my god, I’m rambling, huh?” You covered your mouth to stop more word vomit from spilling, a little giggle slipping past your fingers.

Charlie pulled your hand away, laying a kiss on your knuckles. He nudged your knee with his own, a coy smile on his lips.

“No, I like hearing you talk.” Your cheeks reddened, and you scrunched your nose at him. He squeezed your hand. “Come on, keep going. What happened after painting?”

“Read the kids a story.” You answered, trying to remember the title. “They really like that Llama Llama book. But some of the kids really wanted ‘Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus!’ so I told them I’d read that after nap time. Then they all had food, fell asleep, and then you came with lunch.” You ate a fry before stealing a sip of Charlie’s coffee. You liked how he didn’t mind, instead watching you with a fond expression. “Which is delicious, by the way, thank you.”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

“Ms. Y/n?” A tiny voice sounded from one of the sleeping mats. You gave Charlie’s hand a quick squeeze before letting go and standing up from your chair.

“Jayden?” You asked quietly, even though you knew it was him from his voice. “Are you okay?”

“Bad dream.” The little boy answered, rolling off his cot and looking at you with bleary eyes and a frown.

“Aw, I’m sorry, honey.” You said softly, crouching down close to him. “Do you want a hug?”

He nodded a few times, carefully walking through his sleeping classmates to reach you. He latched his arms around your neck, and you patted his back, waiting until he felt better.

Charlie saw the interaction from the corner of his eye, not wanting little Jayden to feel watched. He couldn’t help but smile at how quickly you were able to comfort him. It was clear that you were made for this kind of work, being so caring and nurturing without even thinking about it.

“Feeling better?” You asked Jayden as he let go of you, and he nodded. You smiled at him. “I’m glad. Now, you have a couple more minutes before we gotta start waking up. Do you wanna lay back down?” Jayden nodded again, and with a little wave of his hand, he tiptoed back over to his mat. 

When he was settled, you stood up from your crouched position and went back to Charlie, who was looking at you with a twinkle in his eye.

“What?” You asked, finishing off the rest of your food.

“Nothing.” He said, shaking his head a bit. Charlie looked at his watch and sighed, realizing his break was almost over. “I should probably leave. The boys’ll need me back at the station soon.”

“Okay.” You said with a slight pout, wishing you had more time with him. The two of you cleaned up, Charlie insisting that he could throw the trash away on his way out. “I’ll see you later, bear.”

“See you soon, sweetheart.” Charlie kissed your cheek and went to the door, giving you a wave before exiting the room.

[dicaxasinus]

imagine younger morgott and mohg growing up in the sewers. theyre big enough to use the weapons their dad left for them, but he hasnt come back to see them in a long time. they dont really know whats going on in leyndell, except MAYBE the ceiling shakes sometimes and dragon shrieking happens a LOT. the sewers absolutely suck major balls: the other omens arent exactly their allies, they never know when an omenkiller might show up, and theres part of the sewers where crazy people shoot fire out of their faces. they just avoid that place as much as possible.

and then one day, one of them hears something down a tunnel. an omen spotting something and going on the offensive before its opponent can. but instead of the sounds of combat, theres a squeak of surprise and an incantation's chime. lavender light appears from the same direction, followed by a girls whisper echoing, "youre probably grumpy because youre tired. a nice nap should help. sweet dreams!"

a little girl with long lavender hair walks through the sewers with all the comfort she might through a flower filled meadow, perfectly at home with all the grime and muck, and a smile on her face as she hums to herself. she shouldnt be so at ease in such a dangerous place, but she tries to talk to every omen she sees, only to perform that same lavender incantation each time shes attacked. against all odds, the omens lay down their weapons in sleep - and a peaceful sleep at that. the girl wishes each and every one sweet dreams before she resumes her stroll.

morgott has ample time to observe her strangeness before confronting her, not with violence but with a stern warning and a demand to know her identity. the girl seems awestruck by his intact horns, and his willingness to talk brings a brilliant smile - the kind rarely seen in the sewers - to her face. she introduces herself as trina, and she heard that there were people living down here. she just wanted to meet them, and see if she could help them. and so far, its seemed like everyone could use a good nights sleep.

theres no mention of miquella, nor his desire to learn his mothers secrets hidden away from the erdtrees radiance. his schemes are still percolating, and trina is only meant to gather information. but that wont stop her from talking to the omens, rats, and even the frenzied merchants hiding away in the depths. theres room in her heart for everyone, especially the royal omen twins who she unquestioningly accepts as her brothers. let them think that she is just another child of marika, an individual separate from miquella. in the sewer - in the muck and grime - she can be an individual, loved for *herself* and not for miquellas charms. she can love her brothers as they are, not for what miquella can take from them.

someday, trina will vanish like godfrey did, leaving the frenzied merchants with her song. mohg is caught off-guard by miquella, believing for a moment that he is the sister he loved so dearly. her influence made it all the easier for miquella to steal his heart. morgott does not know trinas nature, and doesnt realize the hand she had in miquellas treachery. she is just another person to abandon him, and perhaps the golden order as well.

and someday trina will return to the muck and grime, her love cast away by her other half. she will be at home there, among the putresence, as long as it takes for miquellas scheme to be thwarted.

[mandoalorian]

delicate

Pairing: High honour Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

Summary: When Arthur and the gang are out in Valentine, you can’t help but notice that he left his journal by his bedside, unattended. You’re aware that Arthur is never careless enough to leave something so valuable to him in camp and see you see it as an opportunity. Upon reading his journal, you discover something that changes everything…

Word count: 2,000

Author’s note: My first Arthur fic! It’s been a long time coming. This is also cross-posted on my AO3. I do not consent to my fics being posted anywhere else, or translated without permission. If you enjoyed this fic please reblog as it helps increase support!<3

Masterlist 

You saw it as an opportunity.

Arthur, John, Micah, Javier and Sadie were out in Valentine, following Dutch’s well-convoluted plan to rob the local bank. They’d been gone for three hours already and with Micah part of the team, you dreaded to think how they were getting on. Dutch and Hosea had gone to scout out a manor northwest of Lemoyne, in Scarlet Meadows. Hosea was following a lead he’d heard from a guy at Emerald Ranch – that apparently, a well-off family were residing over there. An excellent opportunity for a cash grab, Dutch was also sure. Lately, any possibility of getting money, Dutch got excited over. You didn’t understand why because the ledger appeared more filled out than ever. Perhaps it was merely nothing more than a sin of greed, although you were in no position to question it. 

Mary-Beth, Tilly and Karen were doing laundry as Miss Grimshaw supervised, and Miss Molly O’Shea was napping in Dutch’s cot. She’d been sleeping a lot recently, you’d noticed. Uncle was nowhere in sight, probably sleeping or drunk or getting himself killed by Raiders. And Abigail was with Jack, nursing him back to health as influenza he’d developed after your time in Colter hadn’t yet subsided. The camp was empty. Not a soul in sight.

There was a small crate in the corner of his tent and organised neatly atop was a framed photo of his mother Beatrice, a small vase of flowers that were native to New Hanover, and a beat-up leather journal that he kept close to his bedside. Arthur was so protective of his journal, you’d often tease him for it. Sometimes, you’d admire him from afar. After a hard day, he’d often sit by the lake, slumped against a tree, jotting down his thoughts or filling the pages with doodles of his ventures. 

And this time it was calling out to you.

You wondered why he hadn’t taken it with him. Had he really just ‘left’ it at camp? Forgot to put it in his satchel before he left this morning? You were hyper-aware that you’d more than likely never get this chance again. The curiosity was begging to be explored and you took one final glance around camp before slowly inching towards the crate by his bedside. Arthur’s tent was really just a canopy and once you were under you felt a pang of guilt in his heart. You shouldn’t be snooping around his business like this. He had done nothing to warrant you doing that.

It wasn’t malicious. It was harmless. Just a little peek…

You sat on the edge of Arthur’s cot and picked up the journal, feeling the worn leather between your fingers. Undoing the clasp, you pulled it open midway and were greeted with an illustration of a girl. It was the back of her, so there was no way of making out her face, but as you took a closer look at the pattern on her ranch boots, you couldn’t help but recognise the embroidered swirls and shapes. They were your ranch boots, and Arthur’s illustration was a depiction of you. It was dated noon, 5th July 1899, just a few weeks ago. It appeared to be a drawing from observation, and you were pictured helping Pearson put away an assortment of canned goods. 

It took a moment for it to dawn on you. He’d drawn you.

Now you were invested. You turned to the next page to see a verse of words:

‘Sometimes I wonder when she sleeps

Is she ever dreaming of me?

Sometimes when I look into her eyes

I pretend she’s mine all the damn time’

To the left of the words was another illustration of you but this one had a lot more detail. A delicate flower was placed in your hair and this time, you could see your face. You could see the shape of your nose and the creases in the corner of your eyes when you smiled. It had never been so clear. Your gaze flicked back towards the words as you reread them over and over again. Could they have really been about you?

Surely not. Arthur had never done anything to suggest that he’d had these feelings for you. As far as you were aware, he was still hung up on Miss Mary Linton. You’d never met her before. You’d only heard tales from Hosea, how Arthur was sweet on her and she broke his heart to the point he didn’t want to leave camp for days. You couldn’t imagine Arthur that way. You supposed that since then, he had changed, and maybe since meeting you, he’d changed again.

On the outside, Arthur was rough. His skin was sun kissed and his clothes were old, his boots were muddy and he could go months without shaving. You’d heard stories of his questionable temperance but with you, he was patient and soft and gentle. You’d seen him be kind around little Jack too, and that relationship spoke volumes since John was mostly absent from his son’s life. Arthur was a good influence on Jack. Hell, you could argue he was the best influence around camp in general. Although he was often gloomy and he would, on occasion, pick fights with Micah or Bill, you saw through that. He had a good heart, wether he believed it, that didn’t matter.

A loud cough interrupted your thoughts. You froze, and it was like you could feel time moving. Arthur’s journal was still in your hands and you could feel the eyes of a cowboy bore into your back. You hoped and prayed it was anyone but Arthur. At least then you’d be able to potentially mangle yourself out of the fact you went behind your friend’s back. You wanted to put the journal down, hell, you needed to, but it was like your feet were glued to the ground and your hands were locked in place.

“What you doing snooping through my stuff, girl?” 

Oh, it was Arthur. You winced under his question and took a deep breath. You carefully placed the journal back on his bedside, just as it was before you took it. Perfect. Like it hadn’t moved an inch. Not that it mattered anymore…

“Well?”

Fuck. You cursed under your breath. Say something. Anything.

“Arthur-I’m-so-sorry-I-don’t-know-what-I-was-thinking-I-just-saw-it-there-and-you-always-got-your-head-down-in-it-and-never-show-anyone-and-I-was-just-curious-and-I-know-it-was-wrong-but-I-just-“

“Now, why you talkin’ like that? Like I’m holdin’ you up at gunpoint? Turn around and look at me.” He cut you off, his question was rhetorical and his voice stern.

You immediately obliged and spun around on your heel. Your stomach was in knots. You wish you had never looked. Never betrayed him like this. Arthur’s eyes were a piercing blue like you’d never noticed, and his lips were curled into a frown. But still, he remained stoic. It’s like he was trying to appear unbothered, but you could see right through him.

“You know now why I let nobody look in here?” Arthur muttered, leaning over you and snatching the journal from his bedside.

You nodded apologetically and watched as he stuffed the journal into his satchel.

“I’ll be on my way now.” Arthur tipped his hat to you before turning around. He paused and when he was looking away he muttered, “’Am sorry if… you thought it was weird, miss…” 

Your mouth felt dry as you watched him walk away.

Weird? He was worried that you thought it was weird.

You chased after him and caught up pretty quickly, placing the palm of your hand flat against the broadness of his back. “Arthur, what you wrote in there was the sweetest thing… not weird at all, I promise.”

Arthur stopped and looked down at you, still frowning. 

“I just had no idea you felt that way,” You continued, shaking your head. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I overstepped your boundaries and we can just forget about it if that’s what you want…”

To clarify, forgetting about it was the last thing you wanted to do, but alas, this wasn’t about you anymore. You would do anything for Arthur’s forgiveness and if that meant pretending like today never happened, then so be it.

“Forget?” Arthur whispered. “You really expect me to forget about this?”

You pursed your lips together, holding back a sigh. “I don’t think you should. I know I’d struggle to forget what I saw in there… but also, I don’t want to forget. I… I’ve been sweet on you since the moment I met you, Arthur. Tilly and Mary-Beth would always tease me for it. Abigail knew too, but she said you’d never be interested in pursuing someone in camp. Hosea made it seem like you were still hung up on Miss Linton, and so I never said anything. Oh Arthur, you’ve always been so kind to me. So gentle and soft, you’re different to the others…” You placed a hand on his bicep and Arthur practically softened into your touch.

“I’m a bad man,” Arthur shook his head gruffly. “I’ve done bad things.”

“Haven’t we all?” you snapped back, exasperated. “I may just do the chores around camp but you forget my history, Mr Morgan. All of us are Van Der Linde’s and we are not good people. Hell, I struggle to even tell the difference between good and bad anymore. But when I’m with you, I feel good. Really good. I feel safe and protected and God, Arthur. When I saw you felt the same way… that you think about me in the same way…”

Arthur cut you off with a kiss. His lips were soft and plump and contrasted with the roughness of his stubble and quick-growing moustache. You let out a small gasp when his lips crashed atop yours but quickly melted into it, bringing your hands up to his head and running your fingers through his dark blonde hair. His tongue tasted like fresh mint and other herbs you couldn’t quite recognise, and you had never been closer to his musky familiar scent. Arthur’s big arms wrapped around your body and he held you tight against him. When he finally pulled away, he nudged his nose against yours and lingered for a moment, staring into your eyes.

“Forgive me for saying miss, but if it wasn’t already clear, I think I’m in love with you.”

The revelation made you giddy, your heart racing in your chest with the thrill of it all. You couldn’t believe it. Abigail…. Hosea…. They were all wrong. Arthur actually felt the same as you.

“I’m in love with you too,” you squeaked, tears filling your eyes as Arthur enveloped you in a hug.

When you finally pulled away from him, it was only to ask him another important question.

“Do you forgive me for what I did, Arthur?” you asked him sadly. Arthur could see the guilt; it was written all over your face.

“If you didn’t do that, none of this would have ever happened,” Arthur smiled, pressing his index finger to your chin and picking your face up so you were looking at him in the eyes. He was smiling. He was okay…

“I s’pose that’s true,” you shrugged. “I’m still sorry, and it won’t happen again.”

“I believe you,” Arthur said, lacing his fingers with yours. “Now let’s go grab some of Pearson’s broth and we can take it to the lake. I think we have a lot to talk about…”

You smiled, feeling your cheeks heat up. You and Arthur walked side by side to the campfire and the entire way you felt yourself bubbling with anticipation over what was to come next.

[onenicebugperday]

@karltface submitted: It's been a good week!

Ran across a young lacewing coming home tonight. Or at least a really small one. Lovely shade of green regardless.

Not too sure about this one, but it's got nice colors.

Found this yellow underwing while teaching the creeping Charlie a lesson. Also a couple larvae, but they were napping. Perhaps they're helping with the culling.

This fly has enormous, and hilariously dome-shaped, red eyes. Apparently they survive by imitating dollar-store toys?

Oh, and while she didn't hold still long enough for a proper photo, I saw a nice red ichneumonid. I choose to believe it's Moon Unit from last year, all big and strong.

All spotted in southern WI, as usual. All from home this time, in fact!

Glad you're finding all sorts of bug friends up there! It's definitely peak bug season.

Lacewings go through complete metamorphosis, so a "young" lacewing would be a larva. That fella is just a small adult. Green lacewings are commonly quite small!

The fella in the second photo I think is a true bug - a meadow plant bug, from the looks of it, with its wings open.

And the fly with silly eyeballs is just a male! He needs those big peepers for spotting ladies

[yanderecrazysie]

Dark Horse (Yandere Barbarian Bakugou)

A request from my Quotev!

I’m not entirely sure how to write barbarians, so it might sound a little like a pirate- please forgive me XD

Title: Dark Horse

Pairings: Barbarian!Bakugou x Fairy! Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, mentions of violence (not towards reader), Bakugou let her go you jerk

Summary: Bakugou is a bloodthirsty human and, you, a sweet animal-loving fairy. Can you really expect a barbarian to move on without you?

“So you wanna play with magic?

Boy, you should know what you're fallin' for

Baby, do you dare to do this?

'Cause I'm coming at you like a dark horse

Are you ready for, ready for

A perfect storm, perfect storm?

'Cause once you're mine, once you're mine

There's no going back”

-From “Dark Horse” by Katy Perry

It was no secret that Bakugou was a killer. A bloodthirsty beast of a man. A barbarian.

He lived his days like a carnivorous animal- ripping and tearing others apart for his own gain. Betraying his own comrades if necessary, killing his enemies with a savage, sadistic grin. Notoriously known throughout the world as a merciless monster. The only thing he cared about was wealth and materialistic treasures he took as his own by threats or his blade.

At least, that’s what he thought.

He was sure his heart had rotten away and numbed to every human emotion long, long ago.

But then he saw you.

At first he’d thought you were just another village girl but, one day, when he’d been napping under a tree on a hill overlooking a meadow, he’d discovered that you were much more.

You sang a song with words he couldn’t understand, and beautiful wings sprouted from your back. All of the animals in the area, even ones he hadn’t seen before, ran or flew to you at full speed and waited for your attention.

After gently stroking the fur, feathers, and scales of each creature, you began to glow brightly, shrinking down to the size of a small mouse as your wings grew even larger. If Bakugou hadn’t watched you transform, he’d assume he was just seeing a particularly beautiful butterfly.

At first, Bakugou was content to watch. He discovered that you did this multiple times a day and he tried to be present for each transformation. He discovered that you glowed at night. He discovered that you could talk to the animals that surrounded you.

He discovered that you made his heart twist and soar in ways he didn’t think was possible.

Was it fascination that drove him to watch you? Magic was something many barbarians sought to control to multiply their powers. And fantasy creatures like you were beyond rare.

Somehow, he knew it was more than that. His dreams all featured you in his lap as he pet your soft flower-woven hair and delicate wings, after all.

He longed for you, but he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt your routine, too content to watch you undisturbed like some sort of voyeuristic creep. However, his comrades grew restless staying in the same boring town, and Bakugou knew he had very little time left to watch you.

It made him feel sick, to think he’d have to leave you behind, the unexplored lands no longer bringing him any joy to think of. He went so far as to confide in his closest comrade, Kirishima, about you.

The redhaired barbarian grinned, his sharklike teeth glinting in the light, “Bring her with.”

Bakugou wished he could bring you with him at your full size, but he doesn’t know how to stop you from shrinking and escaping him or getting yourself hurt. Therefore, he only has one option.

You were never aware he was watching you when you did your daily rituals before, so perhaps you won’t notice if he gets closer. If all goes well, you won’t notice until it’s too late.

Until the glass jar becomes your prison for the rest of your life.

[shardminds]

all is for love, is for mind

pairing: elain archeron x lucien vanserra rating: g for god this is tame wc: 1k and a bit also available on ao3!

warnings: literally none, this is sappy as hell (some mention of canon typical past 'trauma' i.e. greysen, hyburn, the aftermath etc)

Lulled by the song of the wind as it called through the valley, Elain watched the clouds form impossible shapes, carried on the same breeze that cooled her heated skin, and asked the only question she had left. “What does love feel like?”

a/n: wrote this between flu med induced naps. you’re welcome. canon in the way that i took actual canon outside and shot it then rifled through its chest like a crone trying to divine the future but then only keeping the parts i needed to write this. if you see any typos, that's on me.

Somewhere between the border of Summer and Autumn, in a sprawling tall grass meadow littered with wildflower blooms that swayed to the cool breeze, Elain thought of only one thing. 

A simple question, really. Elementary to most. She thought she had the answer once. But old memories seen through human eyes had turned tattered around the edges in her mind, like sketches touched too many times, her fingers dark with charcoal smudges every time she dared to think on them too long. Tainted by the actions that followed — Hyburn, the Cauldron, the dark. Each time she saw a little less, each day she missed them a little more. 

She’d been happy, as a human. After their fortune returned and favour saw fit to grace them again — she knew now of its origin, how the glamour of belonging had shadowed all else. Part of her wanted to thank Tamlin. Another, less familiar part, would only ever crave his suffering. Perhaps she felt the dark ache of guilt about it now, knowing the suffering Feyre endured to ensure her ignorance, but she had been happy before Hyburn came — happy and blissfully unaware of circumstances beyond the wall. 

Her garden thrived, she found comfort in old friends and new, a good man she adored knelt before her father to ask for her hand. Life was simple then. She gave everything she had to Greysen beneath groaning boughs of ash trees, in the circle of his arms, skirts pushed to her waist. Rough scratch of gnarled roots against her back, the only memory that hadn’t faded with time. To touch the smooth bark of those same trees now— Elain had many regrets. 

And then there was this; a life she’d never asked for, that she’d never wanted. Irrevocably changed in the dark waters of creation. Everything she had, ripped away to nothing. She never saw that garden bear fruit, her friends never enquired after her (not that she would ever know), and her betrothed — his eyes held such violence as he tore out her heart and threw it to her feet, wet and thumping. 

Those memories were still fresh, in all their visceral clarity. 

A warm cloak, chestnuts and bonfires and petrichor, auburn and russet and gold. Mate he said, the most beautiful male she’d ever seen, as if the word meant anything in the wake of such encompassing loss. 

At first, it was darkness. Impenetrable. Elain could barely move with it. And then, a heartbeat. It followed her like a shadow, in the walls, in the floor, seeping through the stone to taunt her every moment, both sleeping and waking. But she could not bring herself to resent it, as much as she longed to. 

Her mind told her stories, a great many tales, of things that had and could and would happen. Faces and locations unfamiliar to her plagued her fitful dreams. There was no shaking them. 

She was cared for like glass. An object so delicate, as if to speak too loudly would shatter her completely.  

Through it all, he was there. In her head, in her dreams, a chord weaved taught between her ribs. She avoided him, and yet he stayed. She sought the favour of another, but he never wavered. He listened when others did not, fought for her cause whilst others watched helplessly as she wasted away. Even when he wasn’t there, Elain could see him, feel him, in the visions the dark had gifted her on her rebirth. 

Once, she’d seen him visit her father’s grave. Kneeling, he placed four white chrysanthemums in the dirt. The vision drifted, as they often did, into something else, but Elain was haunted by those flowers. Grieving flowers. The stark white of them against dark earth such a bright contrast in the starlight. They’d arrived at the battle together, their acquaintance obviously a result of that, but why? For her? For himself? 

She had Rhysand take her there the next morning, only to be met by four wilted stems at the foot of the headstone. 

Rhysand held her as she cried. Her sister’s mate, for all his faults, at least understood this.

The next time he arrived, announced by Cassian as they entered the river house, Elain sought him out, like a sunflower to the sun. Resisting such gravity was impossible, as much as she’d once tried. Whatever this was, whatever it could be, she wanted to try again. Thankfully, the rest came easily. 

Lulled by the song of the wind as it called through the valley, Elain watched the clouds form impossible shapes, carried on the same breeze that cooled her heated skin, and asked the only question she had left. 

“What does love feel like?” 

Lucien Vanserra, in all his sun-kissed glory, rolled to his side to face her, head resting on his palm. His golden eye caught by the light, glinting with promise.

“What do you mean, Elain?” 

“To love, or be loved,” she said, shifting to meet his gaze. “How does it feel?”

A furrow formed in his brow, never marring the beauty of him. Not even his scars had the power to do that. She doubted anything would. “Don’t you know?”

She turned away, back to the clouds overhead and their mercurial patterns. Yes? No? Her love for her sisters was sometimes fraught with tension, with too many things they hadn’t quite forgiven yet, but it was better than it ever was before — more equal, more permanent. The love she once had for Graysen had been relief, to be wanted after such hardship had been a gift at the time, but his cruelty had revealed it for what it was; possession. She loved the Inner Circle in their own way — their acceptance of her into their family in the wake of such devastation was a kindness she had never been afforded as a human, but they did not know her past the surface. She did not want to be a fragile thing forever. She didn’t want to be fragile at all. 

Lucien, for some reason, felt different. Lucien and his patience, his understanding. He saw through the veils she hid behind and did not flinch away. He gave her space when she needed, fought when she wanted, and took her from the dark place she’d been secluded to, partially by her own merit. He’d shown her Summer, Spring and Autumn. Winter, Dawn and Day. Velaris was beautiful, truly, but it did not feel like home. At least, not without him. 

She felt the bond simmering between them, a golden thread of light binding two souls. It begged to be acknowledged, accepted. She thought about it often, these days. How easy it would be to hand him a still-warm pastry — crisp apples wrapped in a choux crust, topped with almond flakes — and kiss him after, sugar sweet and breathless. How easy it would be to kiss him at all. 

“Elain.”  He said, soft palm meeting her cheek, easing it to face him once more. His russet eye full of something intangible, like if she tried to catch it, it would slip between her fingers like smoke. 

“Hmm?” 

“Like this,” He smiled, softly. “Love feels like this.”

[readyplayerhobi]

Because, I Love You | 10

; Genre: Fluff, smut

; Word Count: 3.1k

; Warnings: Discussion of outdoor/public sex, oral sex

; Synopsis: According to society, Jeon Jungkook should not be with you. He should be with a younger, hotter and thinner girl instead of wasting his time on you. It’s a good thing Jungkook doesn’t care what society thinks then.

; A/N: So this is just a fluffy one but...I swear you’ll all love it! Please reblog if you enjoyed it so that others can find it too...and leave me comments or send me asks to let me know what you think! I love hearing your thoughts and what you think about this story and the characters!

; Masterlist

-

Letting out a deep sigh, you close your eyes and simply enjoy the peaceful atmosphere. You didn't know where Jungkook had found this cabin - you'd tried searching on Airbnb - but you certainly weren't complaining. 

Set at the edge of a field, bordering woodland and facing a series of empty fields that ended in a dramatic cliff face with the sparkling jewel of the ocean just beyond, this log cabin looked like some kind of fairytale setting. If you ignored Jungkook's Mercedes parked outside. But it was isolated, with each breath giving you the clean and fresh scents of nature, from the dew-soaked grass in the mornings to the sun-drenched ground in the evenings. Combine that with the sweet sound of birdsong and the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind, it was perhaps the best place you'd ever visited.

Like all your stress and worries drained away into the soil and left you with the feeling of calm that only nature could give.

It was perfect, and not at all what you'd expected when Jungkook had asked you to book this week off for vacation. He'd decided that you two needed to go on your first vacation together to celebrate your first anniversary. A belated anniversary, because that had been three months ago but you appreciated the sentiment.

You'd thought Jungkook would want to go somewhere abroad. Given his energetic nature and love of thrill-seeking, you'd fully expected him to choose somewhere like New Zealand for all the physical activities it offered, or as a compromise to you then maybe Greece or Barbados. Somewhere you could relax whilst he still got to do his adrenaline junkie stuff.

Instead, he'd packed up his car and driven you both a few hours until you'd ended up in a rural area where the roads would only fit one car at a time. And then he'd finally stopped at the end of one tiny road, more a path really, with the cabin at the end of it and grinned at you.

Turned out, Jungkook just wanted to spend a week with you without the interruption of people or work. There was no phone signal out here, but there was a television and Jungkook had secretly packed the PS5 and Switch, which meant you'd both played games together each evening. A stocked kitchen meant that you'd cooked dinners together, and he'd even shown you how to bake his favourite cookies. Apparently the only baking recipe he ever remembered.

As well as that, you'd napped a lot with him on both the couch and the bed, taken some long walks through the woods and even ventured down the, albeit terrifying, cliff steps to the beach. And, of course, you'd had a lot of great sex with him. 

For the first time in your life, something Jungkook had been very proud of, you'd had sex in public. Okay, sure, the beach was empty and there wasn't anyone within sight but it had been outside where anyone could see! You'd had a cool breeze on your clit whilst Jungkook had thrust into you from behind, the two of you giggling at how the sand kept making him lose his balance. Though sand was a fantastic surface to kneel on when you're sucking the life out of him. Then you'd discovered how uncomfortable the ground was on your bare ass whilst he ate you out in the middle of a goddamn meadow.

But still, you wouldn't deny that they'd been unique experiences and you'd happily do them again. You'd also admit that they were just a little bit romantic.

Because that's precisely what Jungkook was - a goddamn, certified romantic. He'd even packed a whole picnic, by himself, for the meadow trip. Sure, he'd probably imagined fucking you on the blanket instead of being so horny he'd ended up railing you on the ground before he'd found a spot he liked, but it's the thought that mattered.

The sound of shoes crunching on the gravel path in a steady beat interrupts the chirping of birds, and you keep your eyes closed as the sound gets closer. You don’t need to check whether it’s Jungkook or not, the likelihood of some random person running up to this isolated cabin is slim.

As if he can read your mind, Jungkook calls out with a slightly concerned tone to his voice.

“Please tell me you didn’t fall asleep outside when you’re all alone in a cabin in the middle of nowhere! What if some random serial killer found you?” There’s genuine worry in his words, but you can sense the teasing in him as well. Just like you, he knows that the chances of this are slim-to-none, but he’s always been a bit more alert to danger than you. Not that you ignore it, but he just seems more attuned to stuff sometimes.

“Good job you’re not a serial killer then.” You call out, opening your eyes to find him standing in the middle of the path in front of the cabin, just a few metres away from the steps. He’s breathing heavily from his run, and a glance at your phone tells you that he’s been out for an hour now.

“And you’re one to talk, what if you got murdered whilst running on your own in the middle of the woods? Who would protect little old me then?” You flutter your eyelashes at him, causing him to snort in amusement. It immediately makes your eyes trail down his body, appreciatively taking in the solid muscle of him that contrasts against his timeless baby face.

He’d gone out in just some shorts and his favourite pair of running shoes, taking advantage of the isolated area and the warm weather. It wasn’t too hot, and there was a lovely breeze that blew in from the ocean that probably felt nice on his sweat-soaked skin right now. The sweat made him look damn good though, and you bit your lip as you enjoyed how his ab muscles became even more defined with each heavy breath he took in.

How the hell had you managed to end up with this prime specimen of a man? 

Scanning up his torso, and making a mental note to lick every part of him tonight for giving you this beautiful image, you make it to your favourite part of your boyfriend - his face. As much as you loved his sculpted body, it was his face that truly made your stomach go fizzy with happiness. He gave away so much with his eyes, and right now he was looking mighty proud of himself thanks to your blatant ogling. 

You’d let him have it.

“I think your smart mouth would protect you well enough,” He smirks, and it takes you a moment to remember the previous conversation. “But it’s a moot point as if a serial killer could take me on.” 

At that, he immediately poses by flexing his arms and tensing up his abs. It makes you bark out a laugh, and you grab your phone to take photos of him. He gives you one or two poses before simply standing straight and raising his arms into the air, grinning as he throws peace signs. It’s a great shot of him, with the gentle green grass of the fields behind him and the glinting blue of the ocean far in the distance.

Smiling to yourself, you immediately set it as your home screen wallpaper before looking up at him and gesturing to him in general.

“Cute.” You say, grinning at the way his nose immediately scrunches.

“Sexy.” He responds, shaking his head and rubbing at his sweat-drenched hair. To your delight, he’d been letting it grow over the last few months and it was long enough now to tie into a small ponytail, as it was right now.

“Cute.”

“Hot.”

“Sexy.”

"Cute."

“Adorable.”

As expected, he gives up and rolls his eyes with a snort. Jungkook never wins this game with you, but he doesn’t complain either as he climbs up the steps and toes out of his shoes. You’d demanded he leaves them outside when he does his runs here because you didn’t want them stinking up the cabin and he’d agreed without any complaint.

“M’gonna shower.” He says, leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead before disappearing inside.

You only get to enjoy the peace and quiet by yourself for five minutes before he’s back, rubbing his long wet hair with a towel and wearing his usual oversized black Nike shirt and some plain grey sweatpants. He sits down next to you on the upholstered bench and lets out a deep sigh as he practically sinks into the padded cushions. 

“Good run?” 

“Mmm, it’s so nice here. I could live here if it wasn’t for the fact it’s a million miles from anywhere, you know?” Jungkook hums to himself, letting his head fall onto the back of the bench and closing his eyes.

“Yeah, it’s nice to get away to somewhere like here but…I actually like being able to get to a store within ten minutes and not having to drive over forty minutes. Maybe that’s just because I’m used to being lazy or something. We’re definitely spoiled humans.” Laughing, you hand over the glass of water you’d been holding to Jungkook and watch as he gulps it down greedily.

A comfortable silence takes over between you both for a while, and you contemplate it for a moment. Being around Jungkook isn’t like being around other people, for you. With others, you spend time with them and then get the urge to just go and take time by yourself. They take energy to be around, as much as you love them. But with Jungkook, it’s like he gives you that energy instead.

Sure, you don’t want to be around him all the time, but when he is here, he’s a welcome addition to your life. You don’t feel the need to please him or talk to him, nor do you feel stressed and want him to leave. If you could explain it better, then you would. But all you know is that being around Jungkook doesn’t feel like a strain or a burden.

Glancing over at him, you take in his casual appearance and feel that same sense of fuzziness that you had earlier. Giving in to the intrusive thought in your head, you shuffle over and wrap your arms around his bicep, cuddling it tightly to your chest before resting your cheek on his shoulder.

“You’re my favourite person.” You state, not a hint of questioning in your voice. Jungkook clearly isn’t expecting it, as he jerks with a laugh before shifting to look at you. Or as well as he can do, given you’re this close. It pleases you that even Jungkook gets a double chin at this angle.

“You’re my favourite person, too.” He responds, and you smile happily.

“Good.” 

Sinking back into silence, you close your eyes and enjoy his solid warmth whilst the breeze provides a little coolness. You’re pretty sure you’re going to fall asleep, though the amount of napping you’d done over the last few days meant that you should probably at least try to stay awake.

“You awake?” Jungkook asks suddenly, nudging his shoulder and you murmur a response. Part of you wants to pretend, but you instead shift and open your eyes.

“So, if I’m your favourite person,” He starts, and you wonder what weird statement he’s going to come out with next - last time had been a serious discussion about whether you’d love him as a worm. “What are the chances you say yes if I ask you to marry me?” 

It takes a few seconds for his words to properly sink in, and you blame it on the fact that you’d almost been asleep only a minute before. Sitting upright, you turn wide eyes on him and take in the utterly serious expression on his face.

“What?”

He looks nervous now, looking away from your gaze as one hand moves to rub the back of the neck. For a moment, he stays silent before he does that familiar head tilt that indicates he’s about to do something and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to do it.

“I know we’ve not even been together a year and a half, but I’m being serious. I want you to marry me, I don’t have a ring because I wasn’t really intending to do this but when you know, you know. And I know. That I want to marry you. We were going to have a baby together and that’s way more permanent, you know? But I just…I love you, I love being with you and I just…I can’t explain it. It feels right to me. But we don’t have to if you don’t want to. Or we could have a long engagement or something, whatever you want.” Jungkook is word vomiting now, and the way he stutters over some of his words and lisps on others gives away just how anxious he is.

Still, you need to fully understand what he’s just asked you.

“Jungkook…are you…are you sure? I mean, you’re only twenty-six and as you said, we’ve not even been together a year and a half. I’m not even your longest long-term relationship! You might change your mind and marriage is serious, it costs money to get divorced. Your mom will lose her fucking mind.” You blurt out, pointing out all the potential issues without even thinking.

There’s a slightly hurt look on his face, and as much as you want to take that away, you can’t. Marriage is serious like you’d said. You didn’t want to end up a divorcee in a few years because he was just enamoured with the idea of it but unhappy with the reality. Jungkook was a romantic, and you didn’t want to be the reason that bright spirit became bitter.

Turning slightly towards you, Jungkook takes your hands in his and gives you his full attention. His hands are trembling slightly, and you reflexively tighten your own to provide him support.

“I’m sure. I wasn’t intending to do this now, or here, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about. I’ve not randomly said it, and it really is something I want. Yeah, you’re my shortest long-term relationship, but you’re also the one that I know is it. I’ve never been with someone I love as much as you, and I genuinely can’t imagine a future without you. Maybe I’m moving a bit too fast but…this is what I want. I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t. But it’s up to you. If you don’t want to get engaged now then…that’s okay too.”

Biting your lip, you scan over his face and take in how utterly serious he is. He really does want this, and you can’t ever say that Jungkook has been someone to rush into things. If anything, he seems to take too long to decide. It once took him a month to decide he wanted a specific type of speakers, because he ‘didn’t want to waste his money on a bad decision’. So if he was asking this, then you had no doubt that he’d been seriously thinking it over.

And he was right, in that you’d both been willing to have and raise a child together when you hadn’t even been in a relationship for a year at that point. Sure, a divorce cost money but a child would have tied you both together in a way that could never be undone.

Going quiet, you look away from him as you take stock of your own feelings about it. You’ve known that whenever you imagine the future now, Jungkook is there. You’d imagined marrying him and having babies with him, watching him chase around your children and growing old together. It was natural to think those things when in a serious relationship - especially after you’d gotten pregnant. Sure, the thought of him as a dad had an added painful twinge after the miscarriage, but it was still something you wanted to see.

His mom would be angry, but she was angry with anything he did when it came to you. The both of you had come to the sad realisation that she probably would never like you for taking her baby boy away, so whether you got married tomorrow or ten years down the line, she’d have the same reaction.

Jungkook himself was a stable person, he enjoyed his work as much as he could and he earned  a decent salary. He contributed his share towards the utilities and never complained about his own household chores, if anything he seemed to actively enjoy some of them. As a boyfriend, he was kind and sweet, always supportive and encouraging you with your decisions. As a housemate, he was considerate and clean.

“Okay. Yes, I’ll marry you. But I think we should probably be engaged for at least a year or so, you know? So we can save money for the wedding and the honeymoon.”

For a second, you’re not sure that Jungkook has actually heard what you’ve said. He’s staring at you blankly, nothing going on behind those eyes and you go to repeat what you’ve said. But then they widen and his lips spread into possibly the biggest smile you’ve ever seen.

“You’re telling your mom, though. I do not want to be there when she finds this out.” You tease, unable to not smile back when he looks so happy. Jungkook snorts in amusement, rolling his eyes before giving you a conspiratorial look.

“How about we tell her the day before the wedding? Or hell, maybe even the day after. I don’t trust her not to do something. But forget about her, we’re engaged!” He practically vibrates as he whisper-hisses the last two words, the excitement palpable in him.

“Oh my god, we have to go get a ring. You can pick out the ring! I was worried that I’d pick out the one you hated or something, but now you can get one you love. Should I get an engagement ring? Can men get one? I kinda want one.” He babbles on, that face that you love so much practically lit with excitement and happiness.

Laughing softly, you cup his cheeks and squeeze slightly. Jungkook’s far too deep into his ramblings to really notice the way you’re just admiring him, and he only stops when you press a soft kiss to his pursed lips. You smile at him when you pull away, stroking the softness of his cheeks with your thumbs affectionately.

“Like I said, adorable.”

[fiberturkey89]

"Silent Storm"

(A roleswap within my AU, where Jiro was the one Sora met instead of Zanth, takes place before the AU fix Staying Together.)

He had long forgotten what the taste of fresh fruits and meat felt like.

He missed the various types of earth that he used to roam, from the scorching heat of the volcanoes to the pleasant meadows of valleys.

The smell of the lands, a wisp he couldn’t quite grasp anymore.

It danced on his memory akin to the winds that used to aid his wings midair whenever he soared across the realms.

The winds in this place were aritifcal, the lights simulating a soft glow akin to one of his old nests, but without any of that comforting warmth.

He missed the airdrafts that carried him across the lands. The lands were new, different than previously. The people he met along his travels were even more so. He hoped that the few he met reunited with their families and tribes.

Jiro couldn't say the same for these foul ones, however. He eyed the green-eyed one as she departed from the chamber, that one treated him as if he were a mere hippo. Aggressive, without reason. Without thought.

Well. He was above that. He could control his claws and his thunderous breath.

His teeth and eyes had seen more than she could ever fathom. It was only by pure luck that these fools had caught him at all.

Curling up to take a nap, he yawned. Despising how they left him in here with his chipped and shedded scales longer than usual, it was perhaps only luck that they cleaned his prison every week or so.

He supposed it was only one person who really cared enough, anyway. He hadn't seen the one man who came in and cleaned them up now that he considered the length of time...

Peeling his lip back, he hoped that one was alive. Afraid of him as the man was, on occasion, he offered scraps of vegetables from his lunch as compromise to clean the prison without issue.

Jiro considered it ironic luck that one had the brains to keep him content. Using his wings to act as a cover for his head, he readjusted himself with a snort.

He was too tall, too long for this cell, he kept accidentally sitting on or stepping on his own tail. Grumbling, he closed his eyes.

"Is he okay?" A small voice asked, catching him off guard. How long had he been unfocused for? Was he losing his touch?

"I wouldn't worry. It has moments like this where it rests after it sheds its scales. " There it was. The deception, the lies.

Uncoiling from his position to see a newcomer and the green eyed rot-hatch, he was taken aback to see a young human staring at him.

She stared back, a full smile being the thing that greeted him. She lightly waved, and he sniffed in response.

What an odd one. She had no fear, no ingrained hatred for him.

What made this one different from the others?

"Nothing to worry about. It's always been the most responsive of the Dragons we've worked alongside. We simply caught it in the middle of a nap."

The words awed the girl, her eyes widening, though Jiro shot green-eyes a stare that would have even made a bull Elephant in musth halt its charge.

She ignored him, causing his claws to dig into the cold ground below. Fool. When he escaped, she would pay. Her and that red-eye moron.

He had more interesting matters to lend to, however, considering this child was eyeing him with wonder.

"A Dragon..." The girl murmured, approaching his prison. He cocked his head. How curious.

He thought more would know of him, considering how much they lied.

Especially whatever it was red-eyes often did with him in the background. Talking as if they were long time friends.

Jiro snorted at the thought, friends? With a Dragon Hunter? Boars and hippos would fly before that happened.

Though, this human. She resided in this place with them but seemed to have no interest in their occupations.

Other children or teenagers would have certainly spouted their loyalty to the Hunters or their queen by now. Not her.

She was.. young, for a human. Very young. She couldn't be any older than.. what were the words that humanoids regarded their ages with? Ten? Eleven? Something like that.

If his memory didn't fail him.. he was... about ten years older than her? He could be wrong. Humanoids were strange.

"A real Dragon.." The girl uttered again, making Jiro grin softly despite the circumstances.

Few children that came into this chamber gave him more than a passing glance or even recognition.

He had this pink haired one's full attention.

So far, he liked this one. He wondered how long it would take for her to turn violent against him, he thought wryly. All the children seemed to after minimal coaxing.

"I can't believe you're allowed to have them here in the lab- this place is magical!"

Jiro bit back the urge to laugh. This child had no idea what true magic was. It certainly wasn't this 'lab'. Perhaps if he ever escaped, he could have her meet one of the true magic users out there.

He did, however, appreciate that he had been associated with magic. Puffing out his chest in pride, he raised his head to tower above her, showing off.

She giggled, reaching a hand out upwards, and if he could talk, he would have warned her. However..

This time, he nearly laughed proper when her hand bounced off of the prison. He couldn't blame her at all. One couldn't quite see the barrier that separated him and the outside chamber.

Her grin faded for a moment, and he blinked in suprise when it disappeared for longer than a second.

He wanted the smile to come back. No child in his presence should be without a smile. They always did with genuinely instead of an adult.

Doing his best not to side-eye green-eyes, she walked over to the thing that would open his prison, he waited. "Oops, sorry. Let me deactivate the field. This one has long accepted its role in our lab. It won't be any danger."

The field went down, and he had to refrain from thwacking her with his tail in front of the girl. Perhaps if she tested his patience, he'd consider it, even if it meant dying.

He'd at least take this brute with him.

Besides, he was only dangerous when he chose to be, not when he felt like it.

If only they could get that through their skulls.

His eyes focused on the girl who strained to reach her arm over the gap. What an energetic one. Much different than the grumpy adult humans in here.

He supposed that was par for the course, humans seemed to naturally sour as they aged.

Craning his neck to bridge the gap, he pressed his snout into her hand gingerly, knowing how little it took to bowl a human over. He smiled softly, staying still.

She returned the smile with an ear to ear grin of her own, eyes alight with joy. Lightly bumping the edge of his snout to her fingers.

He surpressed the urge to recoil, surprised that she carried a charge like he did. It was faint, but it was undoubtedly there.

She had the Dragons Gift, much like himself. Allowing himself to smile freely in joy, he trilled. It was good to see a hatchling to walk free. She must be hiding it well.

Pressing his snout again, he inhaled her scent and committed it to memory. Smelled akin to flowers.. metal, and.. cats? What an odd assortment.

Her hand was warm, almost as warm as his fathers scales. Smoother than his, however, almost like his mother's velvet scales.

He crooned softly, causing her to break into a fit of giggles. "Awh, you sweet thing! Do you have a name?"

He would've told her his name was Jiro, but he was unsure of how to communicate that-

"Subject 152 stroke 9A. Though the janitor and the lab technicians have taken to calling it Sora."

His tail twitched. He was not an it. He was a he like how the girl was a she.

He had a name, thank you. One that had been gifted to him by his parents. Jiro was a fine name, if you asked him. Not whatever Sora meant.

It sounded like it would be a bad name for a Dragon like him.

The girls eyes widened, so she knew what it meant. Whatever it did caused her grin to vanish. It must be a terrible name for it to disappear. "Sora? The ancient Imperian word for orphan?"

...

Firstbourne's fangs, you lounge around a flock of Dragons to keep up with the latest news once, and then humans consider you family - he swore on the Source Dragons' names he was going to stomp these humans into the ground.

Except the girl, of course. She was a Dragon like he and had given him the proper respect. The others, however..

He had to refrain, very, very, very hard from blasting green-eyes with his lightning. He had to refrain from the thoughts that filled his mind for chewing out those others who called him that.

Even the one who cleaned his prison.

He however, kept his eyes and snout on the girl in front of him, taking care not to let his anger cloud his judgement.

Her eyes turned downcast, her shoulds loosened heavily, and she frowned. "What happened to your family, Sora?"

His jaws hung open for a brief moment, a thought he hadn't been willing to entertain in his time here. If at all since the Merged Lands.

..How were his mother and father and sister? Had they joined those tribes of others that came from other lands?

He wouldn't be surprised if they loosely stood with one, his kin of Thunder Dragon preferred to live in the same general region but never came together, save for mated pairs who would call relatives when it to was to welcome a new one into the world.

He backed away, laying his head down and staring at his scales. Attempting to gauge if they'd ever been caught by these blast rotten boar-brains.

As far he'd been aware, they had escaped safely in another one of the realms before the Shattering-

Breathing suddenly became difficult, his scales felt as if they were being slashed by an Ice Dragon who was trying to attack him.

His muscles tensed in searing hot pain, as if the lightning was being pulled out of his very being.

He roared, crying out in pain as his eyes narrowed at green eyes in hatred, the smile she adorned from seeing him writhe in pain sickened him.

"Stop it! You're hurting him!"

The pull faded, and he collapsed to the cold, hard floor. This cave of despair is the only thing to remind him that he was alive.

His vision was blurry, and his limbs felt as if he was buried beneath a heap of rocks. He panted, greedily inhaling air. He could just barely make out the argument to be having as his hearing faded in and out.

He couldn’t see what was becoming of green-eyes, and the girl, struggling to lift his head, he gave up as his vision continued to darken.

He wanted to see what was becoming of it, if the girl was okay- but he couldn't due to his weakness. "-This is why I brought you here-"

So that was her name.

It didn't suit her.

She had a much fiercer attitude than she let on.

She deserved a better name.

Her parents were weak. If they gave incorrect names to their children, then that meant they had unbefitting names, too.

Giving in to darkness, Jiro forcefully slept, unaware of what happened next and unable to do anything after that.

___________________________________________

The next time he had awoke, he had lost track of the time, coming to with bleary blinks. His scales felt disgusting and heavy.

His wings felt as if they were bound again, cramped and strained in this tiny space.

Shaking the sleep off of his scales and repositioning to rid himself of uncomfortable cramps that followed with, he noticed that it was the dead of night.

A moments peace, then.

Laying back down, his snout bumped into something lightly recoiling with a hiss and crackle of thunder. He calmed when he realized it was..

A bucket of water?

Looking around to make sure it wasn't one of green-eyes' behavioral tests, he carefully lapped at the water. Sighing in relief as it eased his burned veins, as if the rains themself were dousing him.

He kept himself from paying too much attention to the small shape huddled underneath one of the tables.

The door opened, and he quickly hid the bucket under a wing, meeting the guards' gaze with a look of disgust.

The human, wearing a helmet that prevented Jiro from being able to see his expression, simply turned around and muttered something incoherent.

He wouldn't return for a while.

Quickly finishing his water, the dragon sniffed at the bucket again, his eye ridges raising in suprise.

It was indeed one of the rare metals that a dragon like himself required to eat on occasion. The girl knew his kin supplemented their needs with things like these.

Smart one, she is. Very smart. He trilled in approval, even smiling. She would have been a good Dragon.

No, she was a good Dragon.

"I got you one of the copper buckets we use for the calves at the greenhouse," she whispered, approaching him and pulling off her hood.

Calves? Cow? Meat? He licked his chops at the idea of fresh meat. He couldn’t recall what he had eaten last, but it'd must've been ages ago.

Pulling a pack from her back, Jiro's desires for flesh were overtaken by surprise, how had this girl snuck in here unnoticed by annyone?

Was the patrolling really that horrendous? Poor fools, they wouldn't last a day if there was a competent Invader in their midst.

Quickly pulling the keep to his prison down, he noticed her eyes were red and swollen. "I also got you some steel torque nuts... I-I dunno how well these work, but these should give you back some strength."

His gratitude came to a stop when he considered how her own flock must already be turning against her for cutting his torture short.

He had heard the public shaming that they enforced on others for simple mistakes. Green-eyes had made the call to the others that there was a strange one in their group.

He felt a crackle of electricity spark in his jaw.

He would have words with whoever reduced her to this state. If they so much as dared harm this hatchling any more than they had.

Words would be shared with teeth and claws. This was a promise.

Taking out his hatred by ravenously eating the bucket and the small morsels she dropped in gently, he crooned softly - grateful to the child for coming back and giving him food.

She lay some more food down before him, one of them being a favorite of his. "I also got you some watermelon and bananas. Sorry, we don't have any red meat. I can try getting you some fish?"

He nodded quickly after carefully crunching through the watermelon, loving the memories that came back with the moisture rich fruit. He then ate the bananas next, his stomach more content than it had been in possibly seasons.

He felt some some semblance of embarrassment when he tilted his head and motioned to her pack in query after his fill, though.

Hugging herself for a moment, she presented a small thing in her hands that held food. "I do have two potatoes, but they were for me - you can have them if you want?"

Holding them out for him, he fervently shook his head and hissed, nudging the thing back to her chest with a harsh snort, startling her.

"Are.. you sure? I can always get myself more-"

He growled, causing her to go silent. He tenderly raised the thing she was holding to her chin and chuffed. Her food was her food. Not his. "Okay- okay, I'll eat."

He was hungry, yes. But he refused to take the share of a hatchling who had done more than enough for him and, by extension- needed the sustenance to grow into a powerful individual.

Watching her eat her fill, he huffed in satisfaction, the Thunder Dragon reclined in his seat, yawning. His stomach was feeling better, his bones weren't aching as much, and he had company.

Carefully shifting his scales into one corner of his prison, he sighed. The thought of his parents and sister coming back to momentarily haunt them, better him than either side.

If his parents had been the ones captured, either would've died of a broken heart if they'd been separated. His kin mated for life, and his sister had a full life ahead of her.

He's take this agony many lifetimes over if it meant preventing any of them from being captured.

Even if he wished he could escape himself.

He could say the same for the girl who would most likely needed to escape herself, as she was no longer welcome here.

The girl who needed a name. Because her sires were failures at naming their own offspring.

He watched her eat, eyes locked on the exit of the lab. She was brave, definitely, even in the face of being caught and the punishment that came after.

Perhaps he should wait for her to prove herself before he got hasty. After all, his original name had been Thunderstrike before his parents had bestowed his true name once he had completed a feat.

Even the precursor required a feat..

Once she finished, she began to pack her things and pull up her hood - stretching carefully. He inspected her state, good, good. She was healthy. Strong.

While they hadn't exactly conversed, there was nothing wrong with simply being in each others company.

The girl chewed her lip, gazing between him and the door after some minutes of silence. "I could help you escape? There's a city across the desert we can go to! I saw these bird-wyvern things flying during the day.."

Wyverns, what a rowdy bunch they were. Many of them were decent enough company if you were looking for news, very gossipy if you asked him.

However, he shook his head. Attempting to rise, he only fell over, causing the child to lurch forward as if she could catch him.

Hands moved to his snout, and he purred softly in confirmation. He was fine. Simply too tired to move properly.

She wasn't taking no for an answer.

"I can keep bringing you food and we can escape! I promise, I know the best ways out, or-or maybe I can get something that'll help your legs-"

Jiro's frowned, he shook his head. Raising a claw to show how it trembled, his scales chipped and broken, he motioned to it.

The girls eyes furrowed, her lip wobbling. "I can help you," she repeated, this time firm. "I can come up with a plan to get you through the main gate-"

He then lifted up the girls much more stable hand with a gentle bump of his snout. Raising his own claw again and then letting it drop to the cold floor.

"You're not weak!" She blurted out. "You wouldn't slow me down! We just... need to plan properly! I can do it!"

He shook his head again, truly stubborn like a Dragon. He nudged her towards the thing that would raise his prison.

He would slow her down. There was nothing to be said. No amount of planning could help him escape.

He had no fear of death. He would fight until his last breath.

She should, however. She should have a fear of the consequences that come. She had a life ahead of her.

His entrapment could be a lifetime.

The girl, frustrated at her limits, quickly pulled up the field and took off- early enough to avoid the patrol that would come.

Sighing, Jiro lay back down, closed his eyes, and went to sleep. Grateful for her help. Feeling some guilt for having to send her away.

___________________________________________

He was unsure of how long it had been since he saw her last, but she had gotten taller. Longer hair.

She was thinner.

He didn't like that.

She had become sadder, her eyes almost always shiny when she saw how his scales dulled and flaked from the constant drainage.

She hesitated to touch his scarred and scored snout, her once stable hands trembling much like his weakened claws.

Only, hers was out of sadness, his was out of weakness. She was powerful, for being able to mourn over a being she only met twice.

He was ashamed she couldn't see them in their proper luster, ashamed she couldn't see him in the prime of his life.

Yet he still attempted to ask how she was.

She wouldn't answer him. She avoided his eyes.

He felt some level of hurt. He had only been looking out for the Dragon Gifted.

What an odd thing that he would become curious about this girls life in the little time they had known each other.

He still stood strong whenever he saw her after. However, she visited him rarely, sometimes to simply have him as company, other times to share a quiet meal.

The seasons continued to change without him, and he worried for the girl as her eyes began to lose their sheen.

Faintly, but it was there.

__________________________________________

She brought him two watermelons tonight, a fish, a bucket, and torque nuts. "Here you go," she said.

She was doing too much. He could do nothing except offer his company.

He would repay her with the gift of flight when he escaped.

He watched her before he ate, how she turned around partially to keep an eye on the exit. He could see that her spirit was dying faster than he was.

He was the one in the cage, but so was she.

The two ate in silence. It was heavy. Much like the volcanoes he nested in for some nights, bathing in the heavy heat.

This was cold.

He finished his meal, resting his skull against her leg as she ran her hands up his head - her touch was still warm.

Still full of life. Full of power much like he once had.

"We can still try to go to the colored city across the desert," the words were hollow, no fight to them.

They had this discussion before, and she always came out unsuccessful.

She needed to escape. No, he needed her to escape on his behalf.

"I wanna go there," she announced. "But I don't want to leave you behind. It's unfair. You should be free."

He agreed, and he should be free. Where the winds and the thunderstorms call for him, the cool nights and the warm days. The seasons came and went along with him.

It was a distant memory that he could only fathom thanks to the food she was giving him. The seasons hadn't stoppped to acknowledge he was gone, of course.

They stopped for nothing, and no one.

The task of bringing him food was draining her.

Her hand's tremble proved that. He'd seen what an outcast among the flock looked like. She had no place here.

Perhaps it was time. No, it was time. His strength only came back little. The food amount was not enough for him to properly heal himself.

Moving his head away from her leg, he sifted through the dull scales in his prison, his most recent shed having come at a bad time.

He picked up the most rich scale he could and placed it in her lap. Calling up his lightning to gently charge it, for only she would be able to feel it.

This was his gift to her.

"You're giving this to me?" She said, voice hushed. "I... thank you."

He chuffed in welcome, it was a very pretty scale if you asked him.

This was his way of escape, even if he couldn’t be there to see the dusk and dawn, the stars and sun.

He nudged her, pushing her to her feet. "Wh- Sora! What're you.. doing?"

He unfurled his wings, still able to shine that undercurrent akin to lightning as he motioned to the cieling.

"You.. want me to go?" She bit out, and he nodded in conformation. Offering her a smile that no doubt was more of a grimace considering how her lip wobbled.

"But-" He silenced her with a huff and a headshake, forcing himself towards the blasted thing that would entrap him.

No, the thing that would separate him and her.

This was her feat. His test to her.

Make it across the desert to this city and.. live.

She didn't cry but instead, she sighed. "You really are a stubborn Lightning Dragon," her eyes became as glassy much like the sands he would scorch for amusement, and he used his snout to wipe them away.

Jiro wholeheartedly agreed. He and his sister got it from their mother, the comment making him chuckle in amusement. His laughs not as full they would have been some time ago.

The girl hugged his snout, gripping tightly. He pressed against her, gentle to make sure he wouldn't bowl her over.

She couldn't be any more than.. twelve, or thirteen if he was remembering human ages right.

It was a while before the two separated, blue fleckered gold eyes met his own. He bowed his head and trilled gently, motioning her to raise it.

With great reluctance, she raised his imprisonment. Holding her hand there for a few moments as it twitched in the opposite direction.

"I'm sorry, Sora."

Jiro, he would have corrected. Instead, he snorted in goodbye to her. Watching her pivot and run out of the lab.

Leaving him alone.

Sora. A name for orphans in this place called Imperium.

It's what the girl would have been calling herself. She and him both knew that.

He disagreed on her being an orphan.

She would always be welcome to his family.

The name spoke of loneliness, of heartache. It's what that name would make most think.

But he had already given her a precursory name, one he considered worthy of the little Dragon.

She would make her own name in time, one that would truly fit her and be the one that told everyone else who she was.

One that she would roar whenever somebody used that infernal name her parents had given her.

He wished he would be able to hear her roar it to the winds, much like the quiet thunder she brought with her.

She had yet to cross the desert, in her view.

But to him, she had already done it. He was no longer as alone as he thought he was, in this place called Imperium.

For Silent Storm would give him company.

[cruelfeline]

This specific banter playing here made me think of Frey taking naps in the Forbidden Meadow. It's a safe place, after all.

Perhaps she falls asleep to whatever story Cuff finally nags her into letting him tell. Just dozes amidst all the flowers that Cuff can take time to admire.

I like to imagine it becoming a regular activity for them.

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

⚔️On Love: Silver Edition⚔️

You had simply been minding your business when two little birds crossed your path.

Your eyes followed the pair twirling around each other, their silvery wings shimmering in the warm sunlight. You couldn’t pinpoint what type of bird they were but they were pretty little things, probably enjoying the fresh spring air now that the frigid winter had come and gone. You’re a little startled when they keep diving at your head, never quite making contact but still vaguely intimidating as you didn’t know what you had done wrong.

The forest path had many trees, so perhaps you had stumbled too close to a nest? Or perhaps their nest had fallen from a tree and they were asking for help? Ever since you’d begun dating Silver he had told you that animals can talk in more ways than one if you’re willing to listen, and while it sounded like odd advice, you supposed the birds were just trying to get something across. They seemed to understand that you were paying them proper attention now like they were a glowing objective marker, heading off path into a deeper part of the woods.

While this is how most fairy tales began you had a moment of hesitation as not all of those tales had happy endings, but then again, not all of those people had magic at their fingertips. You brushed off the nagging that this might be a bad idea and followed after your twittering harassers, finding they were fast but were clearly keeping an eye on you as they never wandered too far ahead.

They led you to a clearing that had a few more animals, a little family of deer grazing off to the side, sparing you barely a glance as they went about their business. There were birds singing in trees and squirrels skittering across the ground, one particularly fat one running up to a form slumped against a tree and snatching some food straight from their hands.

It seemed Silver had taken an impromptu nap while in the middle of snacking, an unsurprising sight but you still felt a little sorry for him as the squirrel made off with his meal. One of the birds sat on his head as if to say ‘ta-da!’, taking flight as you leaned down to brush Silver’s hair out off his face.

Sometimes Silvers dreams felt too real.

At first your touch was never quite there, like a ghost brushing against him, something he could easily assume was the wind. But the closer he had gotten to you, when he truly got to experience the things he had only dreamed of before, his dreams had gotten more real. He could feel the weight of your hand on his, he could feel your hands resting on his back as you hugged him in greeting; he still thought the feeling of your lips against his could be compared to a feather lightly brushing against them.

He let out a little mumble at first, overwhelmed by the thought of you, not at all surprised when he woke up to see you looking down at him fondly. It still felt like a dream, the sleepiness having not worn off quite yet, and he feels that his heart is about to overflow. You were so beautiful, so wonderful, such a sudden strike of lightning that had struck him and turned him into a new person. A stronger person.

A man in love.

“…I love you…” He mumbled, reaching up to touch your face; he felt the softness of your skin and sighed, envious that this was only a dream even if it did feel real. He hadn’t gotten to see you that day as he left to train before you had risen, and he knew once he woke up properly, he would be heading straight to you. “I’ll come see you… soon…”

“Why not right now?” You teased, mirroring his movement and cupping his cheek with your hand. “I’m right here in front of you, you know?”

“…Eh?” Silver pulled his body up into a sitting position, eyes glancing around the meadow that he had stumbled upon his travels. It took him a moment to work it out, to rub his eyes and realize what was happening around him was real. It was disconcerting how he could get lost in dreams but the longer you touched him, the more real you became, and the more he realized that his words were said out loud to ears that could actually hear him.

The pink that dusted his cheek was a rare sight but a welcome one, leaving you unable to hide your smile. You were willing to just give him a pass on this one as he had clearly been half-awake but you see a certain determination set in his eyes. His hand removed itself from your face and reached up to hold your hand on his, leaning into the touch as he closed his eyes once more.

“I love you,” Silver said again, but in a much less dreamy way; he was confessing to the person he knew was real, not the dream version of you.

“I love you, too, and the beautiful places you seem to make your bed. Are you hungry?”

His stomach grumbled and he looked to the side, remembering that he had only stopped because he needed sustenance to continue on. There’s nothing beside him yet his empty stomach told him he hadn’t eaten it… You pointed up and Silver’s eyes followed, the fat squirrel still munching away unashamedly.

“Luckily, I have food at my place, if you can walk a little farther.”

“I can.” You helped Silver stand, brushing the dirt off his pants and gathering his sword before he turned to you expectantly. You hooked arms with him, pointing to the entrance you had used and leading him back to your home for a nice warm meal that will hopefully stave off his sleepiness for some time.

The two little birds who had led you to your lover sat next to each other on a branch, tucked together, watching as you went.

[autville]

curious question: what does autville look like?

a curious question indeed!

it's a very foggy morning here in autville. the many trees are still holding onto their lush summer greenery, but they'll soon turn to the glorious golden colors of autumn!

I am sitting on the window perch inside one of the town's cozy stone cottages, which I call my home. my cottage is the perfect distance between the bustling town hall in the center square and the quiet orchards at the town's edge. the cottages in this neighborhood are close together to minimize those pesky lonely feelings...while still allowing for that sweet, sweet sense of ample personal space.

some autville residents live together in shared cottages, and some live more solitary lives, often in the company of (sometimes several!) animal companions. as I type this, my own cat is currently napping right in the middle of my bed. feline companions are plentiful in autville, perhaps because many of us believe that cats are pretty heckin autistic themselves...but that is a topic for a separate news bulletin.

however we choose to spend our days as individuals, we as town residents of autville frequently gather for community events like our weekly same foods feasts at the pavilion (I usually bring macaroni and cheese!) and special interest roundtables at the town hall, during which we take turns sharing wondrous fun facts about whatever we're interested in.

autville does not exist in isolation, of course. there are plenty of accessible modes of transit into the nearby hustle and bustle of all those more neurotypical realms, if that's your thing!

...it's not really my thing, though. I prefer to spend my free time researching disability studies at the endless library, perusing rotating exhibitions at the museum of special interests, or lounging about and stimming freely in the meadows...weather permitting, of course.

anyway, I thank you for this question, dear reader! cartography isn't one of my special interests, but I'm sure I can find a friend in town to create an official map of autville...

[feverinfeveroutfic]

Paradise | kinktober 2024 | “clouds of violet”

or rather, Alex’s birthday gift as a companion collection to the main event 🌹☕️

prompt: roleplay

pairing: alex/one of my many girls

word count: 5060

song: “lazy calm” by cocteau twins

contains: mermaids, cold weather, antarctic ice, booze, very subtle belly kink, and lots and lots of role playing

He lifted his head from the ice bank only to find that his ship had gone back to Ushuaia some time earlier, and he had no clue as to when it would return again to pick him up. He rubbed his brow with his fingers and glanced behind him to the lush ice bank underneath the veil of a purple and pink sky. He had fallen asleep and lost all track of time: all he knew was he had wandered on over to Victoria Land in search of the mosses and the lichens in question to search for the answers to life itself, and he decided to lay down in the snow for a moment. A moment alone had become a couple of hours.

He had had a long flight from the United States to Ushuaia, and then a long boat ride from Ushuaia to the base, after all.

He nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose and glanced behind him to the bank of glacial ice once again, at the thick icicles that had formed on the side closest to him. He raised himself up onto his hands, only to feel a deep shiver in his arms and chest, and it was right then that he understood why the other sailors told him to not have anything to drink prior to leaving the ship.

That false warmth that came with the mulled wine.

He rolled over onto his back and let his soft, slightly plump belly rise up from under his parka. Though he had eaten some time prior to his nap, he knew he would have to eat again before it grew too dark again. At least he was warm.

He took off his gloves and ran his long and lanky fingers through his long, shoulder length jet black hair, only to be met with the cool breeze emanating off the chilled Antarctic waters. It was summertime at the South Pole, and yet everything still carried with it the cold of the heart of winter.

He did have a motorboat, but it had gone somewhere away from the coast of Victoria Land, perhaps out to the vast expanse of Indian Ocean before him. Everything got lost and disoriented in the Southern Ocean, especially when the compasses continuously pointed away from the South Pole, and especially after a few drinks of delicious and decadent mulled wine to stay warm against the vast ice sheet.

His eyes drooped closed even with the cold underneath his body; the frosty earth cradled him like his mother's arms as a young boy. With the mulled wine came the memory of homemade babka and krantz courtesy of his grandmother. All those times at Hanukkah where he would indulge himself in the soft warm chocolate of babka and he would watch his grandfather and father drink down the spiced mulled wine and apple cider. It was still December, after all. December, and yet, somehow, by some dark magic, he found himself down at the bottom of the world where he was subject to the eternal sunshine of the midnight sun. It was enough to disorient him.

He lifted himself up onto his elbows and let his hair drift down over the lapels of his parka. He stared down at his belly, which poked out before him like a little watermelon, and he thought back to being a young man in all of his sleek slender elegance.

“How did I get so fat,” he asked himself, out loud, and he sighed through his nose. He then lifted his gaze to the stretch of lichen across the barren ground before him. He had laid down in the snow and the ice, and yet there was the one stretch of greenery on the entire continent. “I could've been laying in a meadow of sorts.”

He rubbed his brow with his fingertips. Maybe this wasn't the life he wanted. Maybe there was something else to vouch for, but he had been all but stranded there at the edge of Victoria Land, left up the creek without a paddle.

“I'm thinking of food,” he muttered aloud. “I have to get back to base. I have to get back to the Atlantic side.”

Gingerly and with a bit of a groan of pain, he lifted himself into an upright position. If only there was a way to return to Villa Las Estrellas, and if only there was a way to do it without having to cross over the entire top cap of the Thwaites and Pine Island Glaciers, both of which stood between him and the Antarctic Peninsula. A sailor without a ship. A scientist without a lab nearby to serve him while held to his own personal demon within him. It was hundreds of miles back to base, away from the expanse of lichens and mosses, and yet he had not a boat to be found anywhere. He had to find his way back to the settlement on the other side of the vast, frigid ridges behind him, and he knew that it would be a long walk all the while. This whole entire time he had been told that he was the smart guy, the walking encyclopedia, and yet he had let himself go all for the sake of a few glasses of mulled wine because he was cold and in need of some cozy comfort in the vast nothing.

He gazed up to the sky overhead, to the clouds of violet and rosy pink, to the tapestry of orange and soft pink which then bled into rich royal purple down by the ocean's surface. It all looked like an oil painting, all courtesy of the marriage of the incoming midnight sun and the Indian Ocean.

Another gust of cool breeze welled up before him, and that was his cue to stand up all the way. His knees quivered from the cold, but he managed to maintain his composure.

Surely, his boat couldn't have gone that far away from the shoreline. It was a motorboat and he swore that he had tied it down on the edge of the shore before him. He swore that the roots there at the ground's edge proved to be strong enough, but upon second glimpse there from whereupon he had fallen asleep, he noticed that they weren't. He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

Though he wasn't hungry yet, he could sense it in the wings.

“What the hell was I thinking,” he muttered to himself. “Coming down here with booze and thinking I could come over here lock, stock, and barrel on my own without anyone else in the boat with me. Such an idiot. I am such a bloody idiot.” He shook his head, and he thought of walking over to the meadow to search for his boat, but then something caught his eye. He turned his attention to the vast expanse of ocean off to his right and the slight glow of blue near the surface off in the distance. There, he noticed the shape of a boat.

His boat.

“Oh, Jesus,” he groaned to himself, but there was something else. The blue glow underneath the water's surface. It seemed to be coming closer to him.

Whatever was there seemed to be nudging the boat closer to him against the waves and at a rather quick pace as well.

“What on Earth?”

The boat moved in closer to the shore's edge, and it was there he noticed the blue glow taking shape. For a brief moment, he believed that a particularly large bloom of luminescent plankton had brought it back to him, but when he put his glasses back on, the cloud thus took shape in the form of a woman's head and shoulders. Once the boat had been brought back to shore, she lifted her head out from the water's surface, and it was there he believed that he had still passed out from the mulled wine because he saw the gills on the sides of her neck, the dorsal fin on her back and the filmy fins on her wrists as well.

Nevertheless, he knelt down to the shoreline just to feel the safety and reassurance of the boat itself. Hundreds of miles away from base and yet he had a little motorboat to carry him back there.

“Oh, my god… thank you… thank you so much.” He extended a hand to the bow of the boat, and he set one foot on the floor, followed by the other and he climbed inside. The trio of bottles of mulled wine were still in place at the bottom of the boat, as well as the packets of dried food. He took his spot on the bench in the middle of the boat, but he never switched the motor back on. Instead, he turned to the mermaid, with her rich blue hair and the way it shimmered in the painterly twilight around them against the water. Her skin was like porcelain from the cold, and she had a line of little blue stars underneath her brown eyes. Her eyes, brown and crisp like the paradise of the smooth soil of Victoria Land; under the wavy surface of the cold waters, he made out the shape of her long shiny blue tail and the filmy blue rudder fin at the back.

“Note to self: don't come to Antarctica with any liquor,” he said aloud, and the mermaid giggled at that. He showed her a little smile. “You will get drunk and you will pass out in the ice. And you'll wake up and find a mermaid next to you in the waters.”

She looked on at him with those rich brown eyes and that soft little smile, his very own personal Mona Lisa.

“It's so nice to be with someone who doesn't understand the horrible blithering nonsense that comes out of my mouth,” he remarked.

“Oh, but I do,” she replied in a voice so soft, he swore that it came in on the breath of the Indian Ocean. He raised his eyebrows at her.

“Oh, dear,” he quipped, and he held a hand to his mouth.

“We are quite real, mind you,” she insisted, but the smile never left her face for one second.

“Question,” he began, “seeing as you're…” He then cleared his throat. “…a creature of the aquatic deep, do you mind at all if I hitched up my boat better and stayed here for a little while longer to gather my bearings? Just so I'm on steady land?”

“Of course!” she replied. “I can beach myself for a time, just so you're not by yourself.”

He showed her a little smile again, one that felt so rosy as if leftover from the wine. She raised one hand and nudged the boat closer to the shore, and he picked up the rope to secure the bow to the shore's edge, that time to a thicker root jutting out from the earth.

“This is kind of hard to do when there's no civilization nearby,” he explained to her as she swam up closer to him to ensure the boat was properly tied down. “No piers, and no harbors for hundred of miles around.” He tightened the knot and held back against the ground. He then unzipped his jacket and leaned back against the small bunches of grass and moss behind him, and all the while, he showed off his thick but toned body. The mermaid looked on at him with big eyes, as if she had never seen a man more gorgeous.

“What's with this lore that mermaids are seductive sirens that lure sailors to their untimely demise?” he wondered aloud. “You brought me my boat back. You volunteered to stay with me a while. Now a small part of me wants to share my wine with you.”

“Alcohol dries us out and turns us into mummies,” she explained with a shrug. “That is unbelievably sweet of you, however.”

Without thinking twice about it, he rolled over onto his side and cocked out one hip to show off the shape of his body to her. It was right then he began to feel the hunger within him.

“I need to find something to eat,” he confessed to her, and he rested one hand on his side. Though wrapped up in a parka and thick warm trousers, thick enough to protect him from the immense Antarctic cold even in the beginning of summer, he lay there on his side to show her the shape of his body, the peacock he was.

“Are you really that hungry?” she asked him as the cold water dripped off her long blue hair and the sides of her face.

“Nah, but I will be eventually, though,” he assured her, and he propped up the side of his head in his hand as if he was modeling for her. She squinted her eyes at that, and she paddled up closer to land's edge to be face to face with him. She folded her arms upon the ground and lingered closer to him; he anticipated that she would smell of seaweed and old fish, but she instead carried a soft scent of salt and minerals, as if she had been burrowing down in the sand of the continental shelf down below all this time.

“Let me think of something,” she told him. “Think of something that human men like.”

“We like a wide variety of things,” he replied. “Well, I do, anyways.” And he gently patted his belly.

“When I think of all of the times in which I came across human men, of sailors who traversed their way down from Cape Horn, they came in all manner of shapes and sizes, of varying tastes and things, but there's something about you, though. Something hypnotic and something that pulls me in closer to you. Something that… makes me want to be pressed up close to you.”

“By the way, they come from Cape Horn specifically?” he asked her with a raise of his eyebrows. “And not say… Christchurch or from Cape Town?”

“Sometimes they would,” she clarified with a shrug. “But they usually come from Cape Horn.”

“All the way from Cape Horn.”

“From Cape Horn. Against the storms and the raging waves. The bravest men come from Cape Horn. Not that I'm thinking of... your...” She paused, and he showed her a playful little smirk at that.

“Saying a lot of things, aren't you?” he teased her, and she giggled at that.

“It does get vast and lonesome out here,” she pointed out.

“Indeed, it does,” he agreed with her. “I mean, really, it's not often I meet a mermaid who's more beautiful than most women I've seen on land.”

“And it's not often I come across a man who's more gorgeous than most mermen who live down below the surface with me,” she echoed him. The smirk returned to his face, and it was right then he remembered why he had volunteered to be on this mission to Antarctica for the time being.

“I have, what we would call here on land, a face for radio,” he confessed with a slight bow of his head.

“Nonsense! You are very handsome. Very handsome and lush…” She dropped her gaze to the rest of his body. “…and you look like you eat really well, too.”

“Ooh, you bet I do,” he assured her, and he inched his body closer towards her as if to show off more of his belly to her. “I love to eat.”

“You seem very strong, as well.” She extended one arm out from the waters, and she ran her fingers down his arm towards his wrist and his hand.

“Would you like me to come onto land with you?” she offered him.

“If it makes you comfortable, and the fact that you keep on saying 'come',” he pointed out in a single breath, and he squinted his eyes at her once again. “Are you trying to insinuate something to me?”

“That's just the lonely sailor in you,” she teased him, and he chuckled at that.

“Okay, you got me there,” he quipped with a little roll of his eyes. He then cleared his throat and looked on at her for a good long moment before he spoke up again.

“May I just point out that you have impeccable English,” he remarked. “Like … you speak better English than most human Americans, the place I hail from.”

“When you meet lots of sailors, lots of travelers on their way down here or passing through, you will find a way,” she assured him. She lifted herself out of the waters and flicked her tail back from the land's edge as she lay down next to him: she had a full hourglass shape to her body, much to his pleasure. Blue and gold seashells cupped her breasts like a pair of pasties, and her otherwise slim and toned belly had a slight curve to the lower part. His eyes wandered down to the shape of her hips as well as what would be her legs and feet; her long tail shimmered with that rich royal blue under the pink and purple sky; she still smelled softly of salt and sand.

“I am Vostok,” she introduced herself to him.

“Vostok. As in Vostok Station.”

“The very same,” she replied with a little smile.

“Call me… the fallen sailor,” he told her. “'Cause I came fresh off the boat in a drunken haze and woke up transformed.”

“Transformed and next to beauty and love that you have never experienced before,” she added, and he lifted himself up next to her to look at her straight in the face. “How far is it to your home?”

“You mean, home home or where I'm staying at down here at the bottom of the world?”

“Down here?”

“Hundreds of miles away,” he replied. “I don't know how I can get back there before night falls, to be perfectly frank.”

“Oh, baby, you know it's December,” she assured him. “The sun never sets all the way here this time of year. The only place where it's dark this time of year is... down below.” She flicked her eyebrows at him, and he showed her a little smirk as well.

“I'm not sure how this would work between you and me, though,” he confessed to her in a low voice.

“Oh, it's so easy,” she assured him, and she ran her fingers down his chest onto his soft, silken belly. He shivered from the feeling as well as the wall of ice behind them.

Vostok lifted her tail to make the rudder fin wrap around his legs from the hips downward. She enclosed him and tugged him closer to her; all the while, she ran her hand down his chest onto his soft belly once again, and she lightly patted him there.

“It’s like I’m petting the head of a jellyfish,” she remarked. “Really soft and pillowy, like I could lay my head on you forever.”

“You don’t think I’m too fat?”

“No, no. You’re very soft.” She rested her hands on the sides of his face. “I want you to be soft and healthy forever. I don’t want you to drink that much anymore.” She pressed her lips to his own. “To feel the sun on our faces and the cold as our bed.”

“Give me your poetry and your heart,” he said to her, and his voice sank down into a breathy whisper without his even thinking twice about it.

“Come, you are the love of my life,” she coaxed him, to which he bowed his head at her and showed her a gentle little smile.

“My fallen sailor…” She touched his face with the very tips of her fingers, and she moved her hands down to the collar of his parka. She revealed his button-up sweater underneath. She opened the top three buttons to expose his skin; she leaned in for a kiss on his collar bones and his chest.

“Kiss me more there…” he begged her. “Please.”

Vostok buried her face in his chest, a feeling that he wanted so much and for so long up to that point. Something he wanted but had no idea how to ask for it.

She opened his sweater some more to show off his belly: the cool crisp ocean air kissed his bare skin; when she rested her fingertips on his bare skin, it made him think of little icicles. Touching his skin and yet she gave him the slightest bit of discomfort from the feeling of the cold. The way the cold kissed him and caressed him down. The way it all burned inside of him, burned like the heat of the hole in the ozone layer.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back so he could breathe. She held onto him with nothing more than her tail rudder, such that it made him think as though he was being swallowed whole. Swallowed whole and treated to utmost softness, utmost softness laced with a bit of agony.

“Please… touch me,” he whimpered to her. “Touch me. Kiss me. My precious mermaid…”

He opened his eyes to behold the sight of the sunlight, still very much intact over their heads and bodies as if the nightlight had been left on. It was still so light out and yet he thought about being under a neon sign all the while. A neon sign with a woman from the darkest depths of his mind that he never shared with anyone ever.

Vostok slithered down the front of his body for kisses on his soft bare belly. Though her lips were soft and silken, the swipe of her icy cold skin sent a wave of shivers up and down his spine like the pull of a zipper. It was a feeling that he could never sum up into words, and a feeling that he never knew that he wanted, either. It was something that he could never ask to anyone else.

He rolled over onto his back once again, that time with his clothes wide open so he could feel the Antarctic breeze on his skin. Vostok brought her head onto the middle of his chest, and all the while, she never let go of his legs with the wispy feeling of her rudder fin. Her lips down onto his belly again, and he could feel his trousers tightening up from the feeling.

He could feel his hips shifting about upon the ice. He could feel her hips bucking against him.

“Unzip me,” he begged her. “I need it.”

“And I need it, too,” she said, and she unzipped his pants for the both of them. She opened her mouth and slipped her lips around the full length of his dick, which was almost fully erect. Though her skin and body carried the chill of the Southern Ocean, her mouth and tongue were as warm as he could ever imagine. Her tongue slithered about his tightening skin, and he could feel himself rising and tightening up even more. He closed his eyes from the feeling.

His breath quickened from the sensation, that is until she lay her body on top of him.

He had no clue how it worked with merfolk, but she managed to rub herself against him.

He opened his eyes again, that time from the weirdest euphoria he could ever experience. The only thing that would make it better was if Vostok had a strap-on on her person.

All he could see and hear was her coming first. She helped him so she could reach the peak of her orgasm right then.

She ground down upon him as if she was crawling over him, but it took him a moment to realize what she was doing. The mermaid version of the Amazon. She ground upon him slowly, deeply, and at a firmer pace upon every gyration. 

Vostok gasped and treated him to a soft moan as she came a second time. She was gyrating on him by way of her own clit rather than an actual opening on her tail.

He was rising more and more, and he finally relaxed and let go. He treated her to a gentle moan, followed by a soft whistle, both of which sounded as though they came about on the Antarctic winds and the back of the midnight sun.

He ran his fingers through his hair again, and his hips shifted about upon the soil from the feeling.

“Ooh, that was lovely,” he said, out of breath and with his eyes drooping closed. Vostok lay down next to him and lightly kissed him on the neck and collar bones again. He put his arm around her and rested his hand on the crest of her hip.  “That was everything and more.”

She nuzzled her head underneath his chin and lightly stroked his chest.

“Question,” he began.

“Go ahead.”

“Has a mermaid ever gotten pregnant by a human man before?”

“Not that I know of,” she told him. “It’s kind of hard given how I was grinding up against you like that and rubbing my clit on you. My lips are in a different place than on that of a human woman.” He raised his eyebrows at that.

“Let me take you back to your base,” she offered him.

“Can we just lay here for a bit, though?” he asked her, slightly worried. “I want to feel you for a little bit longer, and it’s quite far, too.” He lightly stroked the curvature of her hip. It was so strange to think that her clit was so close to him and so out in the open, but he wouldn’t let anyone else know about it.

No one needed to know about it.

The next thing he knew, he woke up again to some more sunlight, that time spread over the crown of their heads, as well as the feeling of the cold on his bare skin, and to the point that his skin felt like fresh glacial ice. He lifted his own head to find the boat still docked at the land’s edge behind her, which meant they could go back to base in one fell swoop. Vostok awoke with a kiss on his neck again, and that time she slithered back out to the water next to the boat.

He climbed back in once again, and that time with his sweater undone a bit to feel the cool morning air on his skin.

Vostok held onto the back end of the boat with both hands. He held onto the edge of the bench with both hands as she pushed as hard as she could.

He bowed his head to protect his face from the cold winds, but Vostok pushed him along around the Ross Ice Shelf and the rim of Antarctica, back to the peninsula. The next thing he knew, he recognized the base there at the end, through the icy arches and past the free-floating glaciers peppered across the water.

She held back to slow down the boat, and it took them quite a bit to slow down all the way on the water’s surface. He held on for dear life on the bench, and he hoped that he wouldn’t fall headfirst into the water.

They came to a stop and he shook his head about.

Vostok rounded the edge of the boat and looked on up at him with big wide eyes filled with adrenaline.

“Merfolk are quick and have immense strength,” she explained.

“I can see that!” he proclaimed, and he returned his attention to the buildings that comprised the base, about a mile from where they were there in the water. He lay down on his belly to be face to face with her there in the water.

“Thank you so much,” he told her over the lapping waves all around them. “I know where to go now should I ever come back down here on an assignment again.” He extended his hands to her for one last kiss before he fired up the motorboat again and she ducked back down into the water.

She fluttered her eyelashes at him, and she lightly touched the side of his face with the very tips of her fingers.

“My soft sweet maiden,” he breathed, “soft and sweet, and yet as firm and strong as iron. I love you. I love you forever.”

Vostok slipped away into the cold waters below him, and the feeling of the cold wind swept over him. He knew it would be time to return to his base soon enough, but he wanted to see her off into the darkness below. He watched the shape of her fins beneath the wavy surface, the rich royal blue color to them, the soft delicate nature of them. She gazed up to him, and he knew in his heart that he would see her again. He would never forget her for a second as he tugged on the cord of the motor, and it roared to life.

He held onto the handle and guided the boat back to shore. Before he reached the shore again, he peered over his shoulder to see if he could find that blue glow again.

To find that aquatic girl again and tell her that he loved her and everything that she did—

“Alex?”

He opened his eyes and lifted his head to find Christine right over him, with her hair hidden back with a bright blue wig, just like Vostok in his fantasy. He showed her a smile and lay his head back down on the pillow.

“God, that was glorious,” he said to her. “I didn’t think I’d like roleplay but that was—” He rolled over onto his back and kept one hand up on his forehead. “—that made me feel so good.”

Christine leaned over and gently patted him on the belly, still soft and like a donut, but not as full and pillowy as in the fantasy. She then leaned into his face for a kiss on the lips.

“I was hoping you’d like it,” she whispered to him. “I’ve been working on that for a while now.”

[asitrita]

For whatever reason I felt like sharing some of my thoughts about spuk today.

I kind of have this hc that Arthur's a really good story teller (probably because i've grown up with tlotr, hp and arthurian legends, plus, you know, the chronicles of narnia, alice in wonderland, peter pan and a lot of fantasy literature for kids and teens), and I like to imagine that, perhaps, back in the day and before all the drama, during the Middle Ages and first decades of the Modern Era, when Spain (and the different Spanish kingdoms) and England had a rather good relationship, when visiting England for whatever diplomatic mission, Antonio would ask Arthur to tell him some stories before bedtime, or during "nap time" after lunch, while laying on a meadow under the shadow of a tree, maybe a oak or old chestnut (so romantic u.u) It is kind of canon, I believe, that Antonio was a huge fan of chivalric themes and medieval heroic epics, like most of Europe at the time, and Spain fed a lot on the chivalric poetry and romance, not only during Medieval times, but also later on. It may seem out of topic, but Spanish conquerors and explorers (which would led to the begining of the Spanish empire), for better or for worse, were greatly inspired by both, classic epic, but also chivalric novels (maybe it is not a coincidence that the literary work that universally mocked the chivalric genre ended up being a Spanish production, Don Quixote). Medieval romance poetry is also a big deal in Spanish literature and folk culture, so it is only fitting he would enjoy fantasy tales and chivalric epic, as well as romance and poetry. The two would complement each other. Arthur would enjoy making up stories, and telling old chivalric romances, adding a little bit of magical and fantastic elements to it (like the magic cauldron tell, or magical swords,and whatnot), that Antonio would very much enjoy, while Antonio would passionately deliver passages from classic works, like The Aeneid, and recite poetry, also around the themes of chivalry and romance, while playing the lute, sometimes singing, rather than merely reciting the verses.

I also have this hc about Arthur being an exceptionally good archer and timidly trying to show off so Antonio notices him. On the other hand, I think Antonio would be skilled in the art of poetry, and be good at languages in general, making him a good rhapsodist. He would also be a pretty skilful musician, and play the lute, the vihuela and be surprisingly good at playing the clavichord (not at all referencing Antonio de Cabezón here). I even imagine during the times of Catalina de Aragon as queen of England he would try to teach Arthur how to improve his fingering and playing technic.

Just a few of my silly hc.

[meatymidnightmultiverse]

PoV of a girl getting lost in the woods, only to stumble on a cottage that's abandoned. Yet, whenever she tries to leave she just ends up back there, and she's just getting fatter and fatter from the food in the pantry-

All these trees... It's so dense, everything is looking so similar the deeper you go. Small bits of light shines through the leaves, but not so bright to blind you either. It all really is confusing... Until you come upon a meadow... And in the middle of it was a cottage. Even though it seems dim inside, it doesn't seem to be in any state of dilapidation. Though, the door opens quite easily. Hmm, you call out to see if anyone is inside... But it seems to be empty... Investigating around, it seems plenty easy to roam about the foyer and into the kitchen... A spacious table and many chairs sit within... And the door to the pantry is open. Odd... But the sight and smell of food fills your senses quickly. With how long you've been lost, you must be famished... Surely it'll be okay to eat something, right? Nothing seems to be dusty or moldy or rotten... No, it's all... Simply delicious! The first bite into a creampuff fills your mouth with such sublime sweetness! One after another... Following suit to a cupcake next! A different sort of sweet mixed with a savory in there is truly magical! Many minutes later... You've had your fill and you feel the energy to once more brave the woods in search of a way home!

To which you attempt as such... But circling around has led you to the cottage once more in a matter of minutes... But surely you were just going in one direction... Weren't you? Strange... Perhaps it's simply a similar design? Venturing within... Well, even the furnishings seem mostly the same... Though... To a discerning eye, perhaps an inch or two larger in width? Not that you'd notice such a detail... But once again, the pantry is open just as the last and this was well stocked too! Hmm... You know you just ate... But this odd hunger tugs at your gut... Perhaps... One more snacking is in order... And a nap...

Okay, time to set out again as dawn has painted the sky and a breakfast has been consumed. The bed was incredibly comfy, but your attire felt a hair more snug than yesterday... No matter, it's surely nothing...

Again and again, you find yourself finding cottage after cottage with nary much change than that tiny little widening of furniture and perhaps a few new morsel types to be found within... And... Well, it isn't just the furniture that's been widening either...

But, surely it's naught but your imagination... However, upon the twentieth cottage... The door slams shut after you enter! And... You can feel something ushering you towards the kitchen... Your feet stumbling across the floor... The hunger roaring so loudly in your belly... And this time, the table is set... Take a seat... Indulge yourself...

Oh... What's this? Are you full? Are you sure about that...? Can you truly resist the feast that still sits upon the table...? Even as... Odd... Is that slice of pie getting... Closer...? Is it... Floating...? The answer is as swift as the slice flying past your lips! And it isn't alone... An army of floating servings is now marching down your gullet... As you feel hands glide across your stomach... But you can't see anyone! What... Is this...? And why does it feel so warm...? So good... So... Pleasurable...?

"EmBracE tHat feEliNg... EAT... grOw FATTER."