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mermaidgirl30 · 7 months ago

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✨Fading Into Lilac Skies✨

Boyfriend’s Dad! Joel Miller x fem! reader

A/N: “Colors” by Halsey inspired this one-shot, and I’m absolutely in love with them. Thank you to the lovely @alltheirdamn for being my beta reader 💜 This has been permeating in my mind for a few months, and I’m so glad I finally wrote it. Reblogs and comments make my day ✨

Summary: You never meant to fall for your boyfriend’s dad, but it happened. You just couldn’t stay away from those shades of blue and grey. But your favorite thing was turning them the color your soul was. Lilac.

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: Yearning, longing, forbidden love, secret affair, secret relationship, mentions of smut, falling in love, angst, boyfriend’s dad! Joel, age gap, no use y/n, no outbreak! au

“Everything is blue. His pills, his hands, his jeans. And now I'm covered in the colors, pulled apart at the seams. And it's blue, and it's blue. Everything is grey. His hair, his smoke, his dreams. And now he’s so devoid of color, he don’t know what it means. And he’s blue, and he’s blue.”

- “Colors” by Halsey

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

There’s a point you had passed long ago, a restricted section that should’ve had bolted locks forbidding you from ever daring to enter such a dangerous territory. Those gates were torn down and ripped open the moment you met him. Your boyfriend’s dad, Joel Miller. There was just something that kept you coming back to his house, back into the lion’s den. Back into his arms. Joel Miller’s.

It all started that first time you laid eyes on him while he sat in his garage, a large brewed cup of coffee in hand, taking slow sips while he watched the sun slip into the sky, painting vivid pinks and oranges from the sunrise.

He was intense, pensive, brooding. Something about him screamed sorrow, regret, maybe mournful like he had lost something or let someone slip from his fingers. His salt-and-pepper scruff framed his shadowed face, long greying sandy hair silhouetting his hooded chocolate eyes. His green flannel clung to his large arms, broad shoulders hugging the soft fabric. His thick veins spiraled down his tanned arms like a waterfall, and his thick fingers hugged the curve of the coffee cup with every sip he took from the steamy drink. You almost wanted to become the sides of that curved coffee cup, just so you could maybe taste what it was like to be kissed by lips that looked like they were soft enough to fall into, and maybe he’d swallow you whole.

His dark eyes fell on you, slowly slipping over your form entirely as your boyfriend, Jackson, introduced you to his father, an extremely handsome man that made butterflies flit through your stomach.

“Dad, this is my girlfriend. Had to finally introduce you,” Jackson smiled enthusiastically, like he was the proudest boyfriend in the world.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Miller,” you said shyly, fingers curling against your cotton summer dress, eyes widening with the slight grunt and nod your way from him.

“Call me Joel, sweetheart.” He took your hand slowly, calloused fingers colliding with your own to leave you choking on your own shaky voice. His eyes were like wildfire, dark flecks glistening up at you, tempting you to jump into the raging flames.

His big hand lingered against yours a little too long, not even paying attention to his son who stood right next to you, until he dropped your hand and flicked his eyes back to his only son. “I trust you’re takin’ good care of her?” he asked, eyes slightly narrowing at his twenty-eight-year-old son.

“Sure am, pops.”

Joel hummed, flicking his eyes back to you as they nonchalantly slid over your body again, making your breath falter at the sight. “He gives you any trouble you come to me, understand?” he demanded with a slight gruffness to his deep voice, almost sounding like he was commanding you.

You nodded, gasping at the dominance in his tone. “Yes, sir,” you murmured.

“Attagirl,” he smiled, coffee eyes swirling in your vision. You nearly buckled your knees at the word. Attagirl. Jackson never told you that, didn’t dare call you a good girl. But Joel? He might as well have fucking just said that, he basically did say that.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it. You two stay out of trouble, alright?”

“Sure, dad. See ya later. Gonna go drive down to the lake.”

You gave him one last glance as he said your name low, nodding his head your way as he watched you walk to the hunter green jeep, waiting for Jackson to unlock the car.

Your eyes trailed back to the garage, making you gasp when you saw Joel staring directly your way, sipping on his coffee and keeping those cool, dark eyes on you. Your breath shifted and your heartbeat skipped a beat, making your legs feel like mush. And when you finally drove off the pavement, his eyes still stayed locked on yours, even as you left the street. They never once looked away.

Fuck. You never expected to have a crush on your boyfriend’s dad, but here you were. Fingers tangled in your fabric with your breathing rapid and unsteady.

Yeah, this was not going to be good.

Jackson later told you his father had gotten a bad divorce a couple years ago, had a struggling fight to keep custody of his daughter, Sarah, and had gone through a bunch of shit with his previous contracting company. He really had seen the tolls of hell lately, and now you started to get why he always seemed so sad when you’d see him working in his garage by himself or sitting out on his wooden porch drinking freshly brewed coffee and strumming along softly on his acoustic guitar. He was lonely.

There was always something missing, a fraction of a piece lost in those dark, somber eyes of his. And you felt bad for him, even sorry, like it was somehow your fault. You wished you could make it better, give him something to cling to for the sadness to settle away, maybe take a teaspoon of those grey skies and turn them to bright blue ones. But you shouldn’t think that, not with your boyfriend’s dad. What kind of girlfriend would that make you? But apparently those thoughts completely flew through your mind, getting lost to the soundless wind and muted regrets.

A couple of weeks went by and you found yourself at his house again, just so he could fix something on Jackson’s jeep. Something with the alternator. Just when you thought you were safe, Jackson ran to the car parts store, leaving you alone in Joel’s house. Somewhere where you should’ve never been left alone.

You meandered out on the back porch, finding him sitting in a wooden rocking chair and sighing, his back hunched while he watched a pack of deer graze on the tall grass. He looked somewhat content, but you could see in that far off gaze he was contemplating something very deep in that ocean of a grey mind.

“Mind if I sit?” you asked, watching him nod his head to the polished rocking chair sitting next to him. You took a seat cautiously, careful not to disturb his morning peace, but he didn’t seem so bothered by your company.

His eyes flicked to yours slowly. They were a shiny amber color today, deep brown flecks glittering against the rising sunshine. And they were so beautiful that a gasp slipped from your lips unexpectedly. Closing your gaping mouth, you briefly smiled, and his eyes seemed to crystallize over into a deeper chocolate color.

He was so beautiful.

“You doin’ alright, sweetheart?” he asked calmly, his breath warm, gently blowing against the side of your face. You smelled the coffee simmering on his tongue, and his pine scent kissed your skin, awakening something deep inside you that should’ve never bloomed in the first place.

“Oh, mhm. Great, actually. But what about you?” You tilted your head and watched the way his jaw flexed, his eyes cloudy with a tinge of gloom in those brown doe eyes of his.

He shrugged and took a slow sip of his coffee, looking far off into the open field that had deer and cattle meandering out in the lush green acreage. “Workin’, stayin’ busy. Guess you could say I’m jus’ fine. Got everything I need right here.” His eyes flicked over the open field, but you saw the faint hint of regret as his eyes darkened, and his body slid a little further down into his hand-made rocking chair.

Slowly turning your knees to him, you leaned against the solid arm of the rocking chair and caught the way his eyes slid back to yours, like he knew you were about to say something else. Taking a deep breath, you went for it. “Jackson told me about… about everything you’ve been going through these past couple of years. And I wanted to say, if you ever need a friend or just someone to talk to, then you can talk to me. I’ll be here.”

Your hand slowly reached over, timidly grazing over the top of his rough hand, until your palm cautiously settled against his broken skin, starting a warm fire in the pit of your stomach as your skin brushed against his.

His back went rigid, and the way he was looking at you all wide-eyed and soft had your heart pounding uncontrollably in your chest. An unsteady rhythm that had your throat closing up like there was no more air available in your lungs. There was only him swirling around your heart.

He flicked his gaze across your settled hand and slowly but surely, his other hand came down to rest on yours, his fingers lacing in the crevice of your fingers until they formed like impenetrable clay. And suddenly, a shade of grey cleared from his foggy eyes, and warmth spread across his tanned cheeks. He wasn’t so blue after all, at least not when you were around.

“He told you?” he asked quietly.

“He told me everything,” you answered back discreetly.

“Why?” His thick eyebrows threaded together, and the wrinkles on his forehead formed a map of lines that you strangely wanted to trace with the tip of your finger, so you could maybe reach into his mind and tear away anything that hurt him in the past.

“Because I asked him…” you answered shakily, your fingers curling nervously into your white summer dress, twisting them until you pinched skin and flinched.

“I see.” His voice came out hushed, his eyes stormy as if he looked to the past and saw heartache all over again. You could see it in the way he held himself, fingers flexing, his shoulders hunched over, his back stiff. And your heart broke just thinking of the years that tore his body to shreds.

“And jus’ what did my son say to you?” His voice was deep, but it didn’t come out unkind or aggressive. It was just quiet, almost silenced, like he didn’t want to hear those hurtful words repeated.

“Well, he told me about Sarah and your messy divorce and then your job and…”

“‘Course he did. Always runnin’ his mouth ‘bout private matters that don’t concern anyone else,” he scoffed, shaking his head like he was used to his son always sharing secrets that should’ve been kept under lock and key.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Miller. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You scooted your body into the back of the wooden rocking chair, making yourself smaller like you had just crossed a line. You shouldn’t have asked Jackson, but you just had to know. You weren’t sure why, but some part of you yearned to know what made this beautiful man so weathered and frayed like his cracked, calloused fingers. It wasn’t any of your business, but you wanted it to be.

“Nah. Don’t do that. Don’t apologize like any of it’s your fault, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong.” His arm came down on the side of his rocking chair briefly, thick fingers digging absentmindedly into the polished wood. His eyes were long gone into the hazy field ahead of him, the wildflowers gently blowing in the breeze, the oak trees swaying like the shiny pond water that lapped against the lush grass, your heart thundering in your chest with every stolen glance to the broken man who sat right next to you.

You couldn’t help but memorize the shine of his syrupy eyes, dark chocolate irises glowing in the rays of the sun peeking out of the grey clouds. They were so beautiful yet so sad. They deserved to be sparkling. Instead, they were full of turmoil, and that made you feel so empty for some unknown reason.

“Oh, okay then,” you eventually answered after staring way too long at his worn but immaculate face, his calloused fingers still on top of yours, the tip of his thumb brushing lightly against your knuckle like maybe he was trying to commit to memory how your skin felt against his. And just the thought of that had you dripping with sweat on the back of your neck.

“And jus’ Joel,” he replied, pressing his hand deeper against yours.

“What?” you whispered out.

“Jus’ call me Joel, darlin’. That’s my name, after all.” You blinked a few times, your mind reeling at the ask. He already told you to call him Joel once, the first day you met him in the garage, but something about first name basis was dangerous, forbidden. You shouldn’t say his name, shouldn’t call him anything but Mr. Miller, but here you were about to let his name be tattooed on your tongue like it was the only word you knew how to speak.

“Alright. Joel…” you answered cautiously, letting the wing sweep through your messy strands.

After waiting a beat, you spoke again. “Well, the offer still stands. I’ll be here, if you need someone to talk to.”

A gentle smile curled against his mouth slowly and for the first time, you saw the clouds clear fully in his dewy brown eyes. “You’re a pretty fuckin’ special girl, ya know that? Jackson got lucky. Beautiful girl like you deserves the world…” His eyes flicked down to his lap momentarily, but they quickly reverted right back to yours.

“Oh, I’m not… no, I’m not that special,” you laughed, shaking your head like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever said to you. You’re nothing special.

“Don’t be modest, sweetheart. Beautiful and special. The perfect combination. Don’t you ever forget it either.” His smile was so genuine. And his eyes, those exquisite brown doe eyes that made your voice shake, were making you forget how to form a coherent thought.

Oh. Beautiful…

“That’s kind of you to say, Joel, but I really don’t think...”

He lifted a rough-edged palm and stopped you right there. “Well, s’true. Don’t take anything less than what you deserve. I mean it when I say if you ever need anything, you come straight to me, darlin’. Wouldn’t ever leave you hangin’.”

His hand slowly reached out, your body completely paralyzed with every steady movement his fingers made. His fingertips brushed against your cheek, leaving scars you’d soon regret ever touched you, but they felt like a fine paintbrush drawing an entire masterpiece with every careful stroke he drew across your skin.

Electricity zapped through the cool air, sending sparks of lightning across every square inch he touched. And his eyes were absolutely sparkling, crystal domes that reminded you of citrine and smoky quartz. And when his fingers traced a loose strand behind the shell of your ear, it was like the world completely stopped, and the only sound you could hear was his slow breaths that smelled like strong coffee and pine trees dancing in the wind.

He was magnetic, and you wanted to burn right there in that little wooden rocking chair until you were nothing but burnt embers in his gentle palms.

Tires treading over gravel broke the intense spell you were under, and Joel’s palm fell from your cheek, leaving a trail of warmth behind in their absence. Both of your eyes were wide and daunting, and you knew you were fucked.

You shouldn’t be out here sitting alone with Joel, but you didn’t really care. He had you hooked, and now you were a baited fish.

“I should probably get back to Jackson,” you said quietly, pushing your shaky body from the rocking chair. The one that Joel had made by hand.

“Yeah, afraid you should,” he murmured in a hushed tone, his dark brown eyes following after you until you turned a corner where his electric stare couldn’t hold yours anymore.

You watched him sigh, his thick fingers curling back over his ceramic coffee cup as his plush lips met the sides. And in that moment, you so desperately wanted to be the dark coffee that caked his tongue in a swirl of various flavors. You wanted to be the sugar that left his body begging for more.

Taking a deep breath, you spoke without thinking it through. A plea to continue the conversations with this dream of a man. “Joel, your ex-wife was stupid to leave you. The way she treated you? You never deserved that. You deserve much better. I just hope you don’t think you were ever the problem because it never sounded like you were.”

Your hand latched onto the handle of the screen door and just as you started pulling it open, his deep voice made you lose your grip, and then the door swung shut with a bang.

“Sweetheart?” he called, craning his neck to look back at you with deep brown eyes.

“Yeah?” You slowly circled around and met those dazzling brown eyes that turned you into mush.

“You sure do know how to light up a room. Bring that pretty smile around here more often. You seem to keep the cloudy skies away.”

Your heart leapt into your throat and for the first time, you felt a heated warmth pull through your entire body, twisting around your veins until his name imprinted a mark on your heart.

Giving him one last smile, you turned and made your way back through the house, back to where you should be. With Jackson. But was that what you really wanted now? You never expected to have a crush on your boyfriend’s fifty-year-old dad, but here you were. Completely and utterly falling for something that should be so forbidden.

As the weeks went by, you found yourself at Joel’s more and more often, finding any excuse to visit or to have Jackson take you there. It started so innocent, so friendly but quickly faded into something that started to smother your insides until you bled Joel entirely.

Mornings became fresh cups of coffee on the back porch as you watched the golden sunrise and talked about life; the evenings you’d spend curled up on the floor, reading a book while he scanned over articles in the newspaper. Sometimes you’d sit on top of his workbench in the garage and watch him work on his truck.

It was the way he completely spilled his soul to you, making you feel alive, a feeling Jackson never could quite reach. Even just being in his warm presence was enough, where you could breathe in his lingering coffee scent, his cologne that smelled like pinewood and cedar trees, the aroma of sandpaper and palms caked in traces of paint that made you completely dizzy.

The small conversations started to not be enough later on; none of it was enough for you anymore. The slow touches became more frequent. Each time he’d walk past you, he’d brush against your shoulder, letting his hand trace against your strands of hair, your back, your hand. And you let it happen because it felt warm, right. And Jackson didn’t even fucking have a clue. Joel was that subtle; Jackson never saw it coming. You didn’t see it coming until that first day in his garage. You knew right then he was something special, and you just couldn’t learn to leave him alone.

Jackson was completely oblivious when the two of you would stay for dinner at Joel’s, not even noticing the lingering glances and the small brushes of knees under the kitchen table. And that’s all it took to fall.

And that first kiss. God, that first fucking kiss. The one that was so earth shattering it felt like you had the world in your hands. You were only supposed to help him with the watermelon in the kitchen, but then he pulled you into his arms, crushing you to his broad chest, and looked at you like no one else ever had before. Like he was completely and utterly in love with you.

You saw flickers of onyx and dark chocolate swirling in your vision, tempting you to jump into the flames. And when his calloused palm traced your cheek softly and he leaned in, you drowned in the flames.

His mouth molded to yours perfectly, shooting sparks of lightning through your bloodstream the way his taste fell like water against your soft lips. And you lapped it all up, committed his coffee taste to memory, even the wafts of spice that drizzled off his slicked back greying locks.

And that was the moment you sold your soul to hades because this calamitous decision would drag you down into the inferno. But you’d burn, never regretting the day his lips fell into yours.

It wasn’t even a one time thing. No. It formed into the most catastrophic, impending decision of your life, but you let it happen anyways. If Jackson was granite then Joel was gold. Impenetrable, unique, beautiful. You just couldn’t let him go.

Hot summer days turned to cool autumn evenings where you spent hours curled up against Joel’s warm chest. The sheets damp, clothes long forgotten, sweaty bodies that burned hot for each other. You forgot all your morals each time his head was between your thighs, his mouth fused to your drenched center, his tongue stroking and lapping up your breath-taking release each time he took you over the edge. And the way his cock stretched you, filling you so full of him, felt like fireworks shooting off inside you. His mouth swallowed your echoing moans with each snap of his hips, his body like a burning furnace that set you ablaze time and time again.

And that first moment he told you he loved you while you were curled up in his lap on the porch swing was magic. He was magic. And god, you loved this man with every fiber of your being.

There were no more cloudy days, no more grey shades threading his body like his tousled curls. No. He was vibrant, alive, and your red shades collided with his blue hues, mixing together to form the prettiest lilac skies you ever did see. And when he weaved his body around yours like a tight string, claiming you as his, entire hurricanes crashed and left your body to float out to sea. But Joel would keep you afloat, even through the pain of losing Jackson.

One day you’d have to tell Jackson, end it, but you had no strength to do that. Neither did Joel. So you were both doomed, damned to burn together in the pits of hell. You’d never forgive yourself for betraying Jackson, but Joel… well, you just couldn’t lose him. So you wouldn’t.

Joel found a way to thread every inch of you to him, sewn into the very essence of his soul as you swirled yourself into his shades of blue.

And then you were nothing but lilac skies.

#joel miller x reader #Joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #boyfriend’s dad! Joel Miller #bfd!joel #joel miller fic #joel x female reader #joel the last of us #tlou fic #no outbreak!joel miller #joel tlou #soft!joel miller

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honey-minded-hivemind · 1 year ago

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🐋Siren AU, Scene One:

(Warning: mentions of cannibalism, Reader being chased from their old home, possible child murder, and Reader wanting to bite everything that tries to touch them. You have been advised)

• The ocean before you spreads beyond you, vast and impending. There is no coral, no colorful fish, no seaweed. It is an unending abyss of blue, fading darker and darker the farther it is from the sunlit water above... But, you have nowhere else to go...

• You used to have a different home, a different life. Born to a school of reef mers, all colorful and elegant, you were different from birth. You were black and white, not a speck of any other color to your tail... And your tail, it wasn't built like the others', full of trailing fins and frills, but bulkier, thicker. While the other guppies made fun of you, you took care of yourself. After all, you were stronger than them. If one bit you, you whapped your tail against their head. If they scratched you, you pinned them to the sandy floor until they begged to be let up. After awhile, you were just left alone, ignored and abandoned in favor of more similar playmates...

• You hated when you found out what you were... It had been a regular day, learning what you could from an elder, playing by yourself, and keeping away from the gossipy guppies, until a hunter had burst into the coral reef. The moment they saw you, they had screeched, "I finally know what they are! A siren!" Murmurs went up, followed by an elder asking for proof... "Proof! Here is your 'proof '" they had spat and they tossed a fin, just like the one along your back, into the group. "I tore that from a siren north of our territory! It was large, a behemoth! In the same colors of that one, bone white and ink black! It wasn't just any siren, but an orca!"

• THAT set the entire school into an uproar. Shrieks and cries burbled into the water as the nearest adults lunged at you, claws aiming for your fins and eyes. You managed to duck by, swimming as fast as you could around the panicking mer. The reef flashed past you as you swam, bits of rock and coral scraping against you as you dodged reaching claws and sharp harpoons. Until finally, you slipped out into the open waters, slapped out by the tail of one of the hunters, who tried to follow you. It only took that for you to turn tail and flee, striking out into the uncharted waters...

• And here you were now, alone, bleeding, and with no skills or school to help you survive. The one thing you had that was yours was your pearl earring, long and dangling, that you had found by yourself when you were only twelve winters old... You weren't sure how it wasn't torn off in the chase, but it brought you a small comfort to keep it. With a bubble-filled sigh, you kept swimming...

• The sea stretched on, never stopping or ending. No signs of any other life were to be found, save for small squid that came up at night, fleeting and swift. It was... unnerving. It had only been a week since you left, and your wounds had started to heal. You found out, only a few hours after leaving the reef, that a harpoon had nicked your tail, leaving a jagged, painful scratch along its side. That complicated swimming, but you couldn't stop. If you stopped, it was likely something would try to eat you while you rested. You couldn't risk a shark, or dolphins, or another siren finding you. If mer would kick out one of their own, someone they had raised, all because they were a siren... Would an actual siren do worse?

• Your reprieve from these thoughts was finding a small, rocky outcrop pointing out of the endless blue. The waters here were colder, foggy and sometimes filled with chunks of white. It wasn't ideal to stop here, but you needed rest, and this was the only opportunity you had had since your escape... Still... You approach the rock carefully, and once found clear of danger, you curl into a small crack, just big enough to fit you.

• Your dreams are fitful, full of sharp claws and deadly spears and familiar voices leering at you, pouncing in for the kill-!

•With a sharp, fearful click, you wake up. Your fingers rub over your arms, as your tail curls up, trying to squeeze yourself into a smaller ball. You feel the small gills of your neck flit, until you are able to calm down from the nightmare... But just as you settle back down... You hear an eerie sound, something that reverberates through the water around you...

• Tensing up, you stay quiet, staring out into the darkness beyond the crack. The moonlight filters through the water, painting everything in alien blacks and silvers, until the noise dies out... Everything is quiet, save for the small rush of a current nearby. The world seems still, unmoving... until something shifts into the light, something large and dark, and you shrink further into the crack. It's the largest thing you've ever seen...

• Another eerie sound rings out, something between a hum and a wail, loud and fervent. You clap your hands over your ears, trying to muffle the noise. Whatever is out there moves again, until you can't see it anymore... With a small shudder, you turn your head away from the crack entrance, and drift back into slumber.

• In the morning, when you wake up, you cautiously approach the crack entrance, sensing the water near it for any vibrations. Luckily, none are there... When you gather your nerves, you slip out, careful not to aggravate the scars on your tail. There are more white chunks in the water, and there are small bits of light turning the water a jewel green. Nothing seems off... No mers, no fish...

• "So, that's where you were hiding."

• A shriek escapes you as you turn around, only to find something larger than you and the rock outcrop...

• It's large, with scars banding it's arm and chest, with old wounds lining its tail. Their teeth are sharp, and their eyes are reddish-brown, like drying blood. Talons as sharp as hooks are at the end of each of its fingers, long and deadly... And their tail... It's... It's... the same as, yours...?

• "What, never seen another siren before, kid?" it asks, in a growl-like voice. In a sharp arc, you dive back into the crack you came out of. A curse echoes around you, as the being shifts around the rock so they can gaze into the small crevice. "Kid, kid, calm down. It's just a joke."

• "..."

• "You've... never seen another siren, have you?" It- he, it sounds like a he- peers at the entrance. One of their claws scrapes at it, but it won't entirely go in. "You can come out, kid, I'm not gonna eat you," he tries. You push yourself as far back as you can go, even when you feel the rough walls scrape your harpoon wound open. A hiss escapes you, following a small stream of blood. Another sound comes from the much (much much) larger siren, like a low growl. "Are you bleeding, kid?"

• You don't answer, only squeezing yourself in further. You're uncomfortable, pressed this far back, but it's the farthest you can get from what is essentially an adult who is bigger and obviously more dangerous than the mers you knew. A billowing sigh escapes the larger creature, the water rippling around it. "Kid... if you're bleeding, it needs to be looked at. Can you please come out?"

• "... No..." You shiver, trying to will yourself to be strong. If push comes to shove, you can't go down without a fight. What are you, afraid? You survived a murder attempt! SEVERAL, murder attempts! You can face some oversized whale, right?!

• "Kid, I can't take 'no' for an answer. Now, please come out. Don't make this difficult." The creature sounds tired now, maybe a little irritated. You let out a warbling click, the most threatening one you can muster. The creature stills, and seems to back off...

• Then... something weird happens. A loud, mournful wail-click, filled with a desperate, assertive tone rocks the waters, sending a cool ripple into you... But... the song sounds nice... Soothing... You shake your head, ripping yourself free from it.

• "No! I'm not going out there! You might eat me! Or WORSE!" you yell, covering your ears. The siren outside let's out an annoyed noise, only for it to pause...

• "Why the h*ll would I eat ya, kid? And what do you mean, 'do worse'?" Then there's a loud, deafening growl, and he speaks again. "The mers... they did that to you, didn't they?" When you don't speak up, he takes that as an answer. "Of course those sons of eels would do that... Kid, look, I'm not like them. We are not like them. We don't do that. We don't scare off kids, we don't try to kill 'em, and we definitely aren't about to make you bleed. Now, I'm going to say this one more time: Please come out."

• You shiver as the water only seems to get colder the longer you stay still... But still... "I... I can't...." You can't go back out there just to be chased off again, or have to battle against a siren whose older and stronger than you, who could easily rip you apart and leave you for the sharks...

• "I'm sorry, kid. That gives me no choice..." The calm wail-click starts again, and even though you try to cover your ears, it does nothing to block it out or to stop the vibrations rocking you gently. Tears enter your eyes, and you try to beg him to stop... But the song seems to echo inside your own head, a peaceful noise offering only relief and warmth... A small whimper escapes you, only for the song to get louder, softer, until you're lying down on the rocky floor and drifting off... The song keeps going, deep and affectionate, until you feel relaxed and tired... A slow rumble halts the song, and you let out a small warble, asking for it to come back...

• " 'Kay, kid, let's see ya." Something clicks besides you, dragging you out of the dark rock and into a warm palm. You sigh contentedly, the heat from it like the warmth of a thermal vent, constant and inviting... Something turns you, until you're staring into dark, vibrant eyes. You blink sluggishly, reaching out a hand to touch it...

• "Oh cr*p, kid... they did a number on you, didn't they?" A sad noise escapes you, and the voice stops. "Don't worry, we'll fix you up... Wait..." A nudge rolls you onto your stomach. "Kid... you look... just like me..." A croon comes from above you, and you feel more warmth pressed into you. "Okay, kid... Looks like I might just have to keep ya, huh? You sure are quite the little survivor, aren't you?" When you nod sleepily, the grip shifts, until your tucked against a warm wall... "'Kay, I can't say no to that... Let's get ya back to the pod, okay, kid? I know the other pups will be happy to see you..."

• You yawn, hearing a deep chuckle. "Seems like you need a nap... Night, kid. Get some rest. I'll keep you safe..." And with the gentle heat keeping you content and sleepy, you fall asleep... "Let's just hope Creed doesn't get word of you..."

#honeycomb thoughts #platonic yandere marvel #yandere platonic marvel #platonic yandere #platonic yandere xmen #yandere x-men #platonic yandere x reader #platonic yandere marvel x reader #🐋Siren AU #platonic yandere wolverine #he's the older siren in this #platonic yandere xmen evolution au

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utterlyotterlyx · 11 months ago

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Hello! Can I request a fic for Helion where reader finds out she is pregnant after years of trying, where she had started being hopeless and close to giving up, and decides to surprise Helion with the news.

Hell yeah you can! x

Precious Gifts

Summary - After centuries of trying to conceive, you're just about ready to give up, that is until the Mother decides to give you the most precious gift of all.

Warnings - mentions of sex, mentions of miscarriages, depression, so much fluff that my heart can't cope.

There was nothing you wanted more than a baby.

After everything had finally come to an end and Prythian felt safe again, it seemed like to perfect time to bring your own bundle of beautiful babbling joy into the world.

Helion was your mate, the love of all of your lives, the one your soul searched for in the darkness, the one you always knew you'd find no matter what world you landed in next. He was yours and you were his and that was it.

You and Helion had tried for centuries to have a child before Amarantha, and each time your nights entangled in one another had been successful it seemed like the Mother had decided it wasn't your time yet and ripped your dream out of the palms of your hands. It was painful, and it made you feel like less of a woman, like you weren't worthy of Helion.

Of course Helion thought that notion was nonsense, he loved you for you, not what your body could give him. He remembered the moment the bond had snapped for him, he spied you walking along the sandy shores of the Day Court beach by his palace, your hair was unbound and you wore a loose fitted white dress, no shoes to be seen. Helion believed you were an angel plucked from the heavens and sent to him, so beautiful and pure, and submissive in the only way that mattered. In the bedroom.

Helion recounted the copious amounts of times he had pulled orgasm upon orgasm out of your body, turning you into a bumbling ball of pleasure beneath him that shuddered with oversensitivity as he worked you through endless highs. No one could compare to you, his old ways went out of the window abruptly, all he wanted was you.

Trying for a baby had made him so happy, the excitement in him was so clear that it hurt even more when your body failed your dreams. The sex became more of a chore, neither of you were enjoying it anymore, and it was breaking him to see you so torn and conflicted, so you decided to stop actively trying to conceive, to love yourself and your relationship again.

A babe would arrive when the time was right, Helion had cooed it to you plenty of times whilst you had cried in his arms, apologising for what you couldn't do. Helion would tell you that babes were rare, that it took some couples a few centuries to conceive their first.

Then Amarantha happened, and Helion was taken from you whilst she raided your plush libraries to the ground, taking what she wanted whilst teasing you cruelly about your failures as a woman, to not do the only thing your High Lord required of you.

You had spent fifty years ruling over the Day Court in his absence, you had spent everyday missing him and yearning for him, your touch starved body crying out for its mate. Every citizen had made it clear how well you were doing, how you did your best to not let them feel as though all was lost, it was exhausting but you did it, and the Day Court was thankful for your endless efforts to preserve their way of life.

Helion had returned, and his advisors had sent him to you, telling him you were in your usual place along the shore with your pup trotting along behind you with ears flopping in the breeze and splashing in the waves.

He had ran to you, you had both cried endlessly, and he had made love to you on that beach with the sun dipping low against the ocean and the sky kissed with orange and pink.

Then the war with Hybern, the war you doubted you'd win. But you did, and Helion had come back to you, weary and traumatised; he had fallen into your arms, and you had caressed his hair until he fell asleep on your lap.

And then finally, you both knew it was time to start again, that the reason you weren't able to withhold a pregnancy was because the Mother needed you elsewhere all of those years, she didn't want to burden you with being a single mother whilst your mate was locked away or fighting in a war to save all of Prythian.

Helion had always been the most doting and passionate lover, rolling his hips into you with perfect precision toward that spot he knew made you go wild, his lips attached to your neck, his whispers telling you how much he loved you and how good you were for him, his fingers always knowing which part of you to touch next. Helion was the best in Prythian, you were sure of it, and had no issue expressing that fact to him as he made your vision explode in a kaleidoscope of white sunshine foaming with golden fire.

Then, one morning, you felt it. The panging pain in your breasts and the slight nausea that pooled in your stomach along with the dull throb of your head. Inhaling, you gasped, noting the all too familiar change in your scent. Your hands drifted to your stomach and you smiled, tears pricked the corners of your eyes and you giggled, allowing a shaky exhale to flow from your lips.

The sun streaked through the thin curtains that danced in the summer breeze, the ocean twinkled against her light and your looked to your right to find Helion still softly dozing on his front, his body bare and perfectly sculpted. It was clear you had both slept right through to the afternoon.

Quietly, you tiptoed to your shared bathroom, filling the tub with hot water and oils to make your skin glisten, and you submerged yourself in it, you hair tied up so that it didn't get wet. You felt like you were glowing, like you could feel that swelling seed inside of you growing with each passing moment.

"Hello, My Sun," Helion purred from the doorway, his lower half covered with a thin sheet that left little to the imagination, he truly was delicious.

Your mate approached, lips still swollen from your hours long entanglement from the night before, and pressed a kiss into your hair before dropping the sheet and climbing in behind you. Helion's fingers grazed along your sides and he tugged you into his embrace, humming in relaxation as the water and oils soothed his body.

"Wine? I know you love a glass whilst you bathe," he worked his fingers into the knots of your shoulders, unknowing to your changed state due to your scent being masked by the oils and candles he had lit, ocean salt drifting through the room.

You hummed, "No, I can't drink anymore," you ran your fingers over his muscular thighs, having vivid flashbacks of you riding them the night before with shaky moans falling from your lips as you came on them.

Helion frowned, "You've never said no to a wine," he noted, huffing and moving you so that you were straddling him, you bottom half was submerged and wrapped around his nose, your nipples just reaching under the surface of the water. Helion searched your face, "What's going on?"

A bright smile beamed on your face and you reached for his hands, playing with his fingers before resting them on your stomach, "Nothing, I just can't drink anymore."

Helion looked at you with pure bewilderment before following to where his hands now lay flat against your stomach, he gasped and snapped his gaze back up to you, inhaling deeply before laughing softly, "You're pregnant," he breathed, wasting no time in bundling you into his arms and kissing you deeply, tears of pure joy flowing down his face.

"It's our turn for some happiness now," you told him, squealing in laughter when he scooped you from the tub and took you to back to bed, hovering over you with that delicious arousal you adored.

"A baby or not, I will never not be happy with you, My Sun."

Let's just say that neither of you left the bedroom for the next three days, Helion was happy to keep you wrapped up with his body, making you feel things you hadn't before, all whilst taking every opportunity to caress and whisper his love to your soon-to-be bump.

#imagine #fanfiction #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #maasverse #helion x reader #helion acotar #helion spell cleaver #high lord helion #helion x you #acotar fandom #acotar oneshot #sarah j maas

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damned-punk · 1 year ago

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Shooting Stars (Killer x Reader)

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Content Warning: kissing, implication of drinking, references to sex

Content Description: oneshot w/ gender neutral reader who has had long term feelings for Killer

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You were a relatively new member of the Kidd Pirates but you were no stranger to their activites when the Victoria Punk was docked. It was customary for nearly every crew member to attend either a bar or brothel at the end of each evening. You weren't exactly into that kind of thing so you'd been stuck with the duty of guarding the ship.

Although, there wasn't much guarding to do as she was docked at the rear entrance to the island where there was little more than trees and a sandy path leading to the inner town. As you sat against the mast, your mind wandered to the indecent acts that your captain and crewmates might be up to. A pang erupted in your chest at the thought of Killer indulging with the others.

The masked brute had captured your attention from the moment you'd been introduced to him. He was quiet, stoic, and collected no matter the situation and despite his intimidating appearance, it gave him a devistating allure. When Killer was around, you could rest assured that you were safe.

Acting as a nurse for the crew, you worked with the ship's doctor to treat any kind of illness or wound a crewmate presented with. This was where you had your first intimate interaction with Killer. He had gotten hit in the head during an altercation with a rival pirate group and the impact split the skin of hairline.

House had assigned you the task of stitching him up and while you wished it could've been under better circumstances, your heart was beating out of your chest at the idea of being able to see his face. His cerulean eyes burned into yours so brightly that he had to ask if you were alright. You could tell that he was nervous having to show his face but you'd never understand why. He was the entire package, the pinnacle of the man of your dreams.

As you reminisced on that day, you were torn from your thoughts by the sound of boots on the wood of the deck. Everyone should've been elbow deep in their vices by this hour but when you lifted your head to meet the intruders gaze, the air was swept from your lungs.

Killer loomed over you and after a moment, sat beside you. Your nerves fought tirelessly against the warmth that was radiating off of him. You wanted to say something but you were afraid of saying too much. An awkward silence began to form and just as the pressure reached a boiling point, your eyes caught a shooting star cascade against the dark sky.

"You better make a wish.", Killer's voice was gruff and could almost pass as flirty.

"You should too.", your voice was shaky and definitely gave away your anxiousness.

"I would but it'd be a waste. I'm already where I want to be.", his words warmed your heart as you pictured he and his best friend making their dreams come true on the open sea.

"I figured you'd be with everyone else tonight.", you decided to strike light conversation with him as you weren't sure you'd ever get an opporotunity like this again.

"I don't really need that sort of thing...", he trailed off, "I have my eye on someone. What would they think if I went out and acted like a bachelor?"

A lump began to form in your throat. Of course he would already be interested in someone. It was likely one of the strong women on the crew who you couldn't even begin to compete with. It only made sense, there was no chance in hell he'd be interested in someone like you. Your eyes welled and a few tears slipped past your waterline, littering the worn planks below.

"Is there anyone you're interested in (Y/N)?", he asked quietly after several minutes had passed.

"There is, but I don't think he's interested in me.", the sound of your voice made it obvious that you had been upset and it caused Killer to glance at you.

"Who is it?", he turned to fully face you, your prolonged silence partnering with your expression to elicit the realization that it was likely him that you were talking about, "I see..."

Your face burned red and embarassment began to course through you. His reaction was so incredibly vague that it left you frozen and unsure of what to say. The space between the two of you seemed to stretch endlessly and the need to escape the horribly awkward situation became too pressing. As you stood to walk away, he followed suit and grabbed your arm to stop you.

"I couldn't go out with everyone tonight because I didn't want you to think differently of me... I'm sorry, I'm not good at these types of things.", he unclipped his mask and held it in his hand to allow his eyes to meet yours, "I stayed on the ship because I wanted to spend time with you."

It was your turn for some realization and when Killer lifted his hand to cup your cheek, your knees nearly buckled. He leaned in close and placed a long, intimate kiss on your soft lips. He began to lick your bottom lip as an indication that he wanted entrance. As your lips parted, he began sucking your tongue and pulling you to his chest by your waist. Your whimpers were exhilarating to him and while his desire wanted to take you at that very moment, he figured that it'd be best to take things one step at a time. He wasn’t a man of many words, but he was certainly a man of action.

He broke the kiss for air and lead you back to his cabin where he nuzzled you comfortably at his side. His large, warm hand rubbing your back coupled with the steady sound of his heartbeat gave you a sense of security that you'd never felt before. It wasn't long before your breathing slowed as you peacefully slept with your head planted on his shoulder. He admired your face for a while and couldn't quite get a grip on the fact that he finally mustered the courage to confess to you. He felt his own exhaustion take over and the same contentment that he felt as he drifted to sleep returned the following morning as rays of sunshine illuminated your perfect face for him to admire once more.

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#eustass kid #one piece #killer x reader #killer one piece #kid pirates #one piece x reader #anime #one piece fanfiction #eustass captain kid #massacre soldier killer

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unclejellyfish · 3 months ago

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I've been thinking about the Flight Anthology graphic novels and one particular story has lived in my head rent free for years. It was written and drawn by Amy Kim Kibuishi in Flight Volume 4, in 2007.

On a distant island lives a young fisherwoman named Sandy Balgan, who just wants to share the glory of fish produce with people who rely on the local Clam merchant Gladys Perna.

Sandy's luck takes a turn when she encounters a giant fish. After a fierce fight, the girl harpoons the sea beast and realizes she can be somebody now.

News of the fiery young lady's catch spreads, and the people of the island are eager to try something new after a generation of Perna's clams.

Of course, old Gladys isn't gonna be upstaged by the new generation, so she ups her game, and the competition gets ugly.

And ugly in more ways than one, as the two women become so obsessed with outdoing each other they gradually change, transformed by their own obsession.

Sandy and Gladys become monstrous giant versions of the sea life they used for their livelihood. The village becomes divided into factions of who prefers what to eat. It turns violent quickly.

But shit really goes down when Sandy hits one of Perna's customers, prompting the two mer-monsters into a bloody brawl that takes them into the coastline itself.

Just when it seems Sandy has murdered her rival, Gladys rips back up and the two she beasts bloodily brawl in a fight that seemingly ends in their deaths. They sink to the depths of the sea they relied on all their lives.

And yet this isn't the end. At least not for the island. Just as the islanders despair over both their food supplies gone, one little girl discovers a new form of produce: Sugar cane.

And so the villagers move on, no longer torn between two merchants turned monsters, and sweets and baked goods become their biggest export.

It's kind of odd how dissonant this ending feels. On one hand the villagers have a prosperous and happier future. On the other two woman have been destroyed in a horrifying fashion. Poor Sandy Balgan literally transformed into a monster out of desperation and envy, while Gladys Perna became embroiled in a petty competition with the younger generation and ultimately both of them died pointlessly, their dreams amounting to nothing. It might be an allegory of how capitalism destroys one's mind and body in the pursuit of false dreams, yet it isn't treated as a tragedy.

Either way, it's a creatively morbid fable. Bonus fact, the artist, Amy Kim Kibuishi, actually adapted the Goosebumps book, Deep Trouble into a graphic novel. It's pretty wild how the "horror" series tale is leagues more lighthearted than this one-shot tale. I mean which would you guess is the Goosebumps story: the one where a kind boy befriends a Mermaid and fights to save her from capture, or the one where two fisherwoman go insane from their heated competition, mutate into sea monsters, and kill each other?

Either way, Miss Kibuishi is the perfect artist to represent the whimsy, terror, and wonder of sea adventure stories.

#Graphic Novels #Comics #Flight comic Anthology #Comic review #Goosebumps #scans #Body Horror #Transformation #Mermaids #Amy Kim Kibuishi #Amy Kim Ganter

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galavantinggiant · 4 months ago

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"Just For Tonight"

Enjoy the product of my sleep deprived, solavellan infested brain. Can also be read on Ao3 here.

...

Sounds of a forest echoed through the dream, the ghostly rememberants of a mind who dreamed of familiar landscapes. Tonight it was a forest in the free marches. A bubbling stream cut through sandy shores, brightly coloured wildflowers decorated the grassy banks and the gnarled roots of giant trees twisted together to form natural arcs. Overhead the melodies of unseen songbirds could be heard. Their songs hauntingly beautiful.

A peaceful memory from one's youth, Solas mused. The forest reminded him of Arlathan Forest, though less grand in stature and untouched by the closeness of the fade. He padded along the mossy undergrowth with his ears prickling at the quiet humming of an elvhen melody. The tune still known by dalish but the words as lost as his people. He recalled the song being sung by lovers awaiting the return of those they were parted from. How fitting, Solas thought bitterly. Did she know? Or was it another pretty song the Dalish believed holy.

He continued through the twisted roots, keeping to the shadows so that he might catch a glimpse of the one he tracked without revealing his presence. It never stayed that way. No matter how many times he tried to remain hidden a traitorous part of him would betray his resolve, allowing her to catch a glimpse before he forced himself to flee. It was cruel. To both of them, he knew it and yet could not stop his nightly journeys into her dreams.

Perhaps it would be best to leave, to go before he saw here and they're nightly ritual had begun in earnest. There would be a chase, as there had been every night since he started to haunt her dreams. She would see him, call to him. He would flee and she would give chase. She never caught him, he wouldn't, couldn't allow it. Yet as the thoughts of abandoning his folley tempted him they were just as swiftly banished. Wandering the banks and bathed in soft rays of light was she. Inquisitor, Herald, Vehnan. Her voice low and smoothly humming the song that had guided his feet. The vision of her gave him pause and his heart ached. He wished to reach for her, to take her hand in his and finish the ballad she sang. To rest in her arms and know he was not alone. All it would require was for him to step from the brushes, to show himself to her. But he did not. Instead he watched her song come to an end and her eyes to close as the warmth of sun touched her face.

He found himself moving before the better part of his judgement could stop him. The bush rustling with his every movement as he revealed himself. She turned now aware of his presence. This was it, she would call to him and the chase would begin.

Her lips parted and his name passed her lips but was cut short. Eyes widening she turned away from him in a panic and gasped, her arms raising to protect herself from an unseen assailant. In that moment she was gone, torn from slumber to leave him in a fading dream. The warmth receded, the vibrant colours of the wildflowers became muted with her disappearance and a hush fell across the forest. The atmosphere around Solas crackled as cool mist curled from his figure. The fade reflecting the cold shock which had possessed him. The look of fear that had painted her face in the brief moment before she awoke frozen in his memory. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

He spun on his heels and marched back the way he came spurred on by single minded purpose. The world lurched, sending him to the dreams of another. An elven woman, one of his various agents he had in Fereldan, who dreamt of her alienage. Dreamt of the warm fire in her childhood hovel. He needed not announce his arrival, his presence was felt by any he deemed fit to enter the dreams of. "Fen'Harel," She bowed in respect. "How may I serve?"

"I require a report on the Inquisitor's current whereabouts and state," Solas's tone was level, betraying no hint of the turmoil he felt inside.

"It shall be done." The elvhen woman was gone, her dream with her.

Solas awoke amongst the warm furs of his bed. His hands came to clench at his chest as he calmed his breathing. Once he had he rose and dressed before wandering from the room. His path took him directly to the Eluvian through which he could access the crossroads. He stared at the magnificent mirror as he infused it with magic, opening the paths that lay past it.

Solas fsltered, where would he go? Skyhold was mostly abandoned now and his knowledge of Lavellan's location rough at best. Even if he knew there would be no promise that she had remained there, or that this was not a trap set to lure him.

Clenching his fists he turned from the Eluvian. He would have to wait it seemed. Until the evening when she would sleep again.

...

He paced in circles, frustration easily taking his mind. In the privacy of his abode the mural his love, his vehnan stared down at him. His eyes flickering between her and the ground, his mind restless. Two days. It had been two days since Lavellan had slept. Or at the very least dreamt. He had been unable to reach her in that time and the constant worry that gnawed at him had impacted his plans. The situatiom was a distraction he could not shake.

His agents had tracked her location down by the evening of the first day. Their news solemn. An attempted assassination, they had reported, by a noble who felt slighted by past actions of the Inquisition. The man had not survived long after that, he had been found mutilated in his bed in the wee hours of morning. There had been no struggle, no entry to the otherwise secure room, his death a mystery. Solas only regretted that it had been over so quickly.

The Inquisitor had escaped with her life. Yet she had not returned to the fade in her dreams and Solas had been forced to wait. He stared out at the shifting landscape and sighed. It was time, though he feared another night of wandering the fade with no sign of her. Yet he had to see her, even a glimpse to ensure she still drew breathe.

He felt it the moment she slipped into the land of the dreaming. It was stuttered as if she had struggled against the inevitability of sleep. Three quick strides and he was in her dreams.

He faltered for a moment at the familiarity of the landscape. The air was cold and heavy, mist hung in lazy wisps that fled from him and the light was muted. The two massive halla statues seemed sadder in the shadows, their stone eyes watching his passage. A pang of regret stung him.

He swallowed the thick wad of emotion threatening to bring him to tears and steeled himself. A small part wished to turn and flee but it was ignored. He had to see, had to make sure she was alive with his own two eyes. Solas pressed on, each step fuelled with purpose and need.

It was exactly how he remembered. The faint blue glow of moon on water and misty spray of the falls immersing him in the memory of that night. The night he had almost revealed everything. Everything was as he remembered, even the woman with her back to him.

He forgot how to breathe the moment his gaze found her. She stood in the shallows bathed in moonlight she wore like an aura. There was a hunch to her stature, he noted, like she was being ever so slowly crushed by an invisible weight.

"I knew you would come," Her voice barely a whisper but it carried across the distance between them. "Sometimes I wish you wouldn't, then maybe I could finally rest." Her voice cracked, a sob barely stifled. Still she did not turn to face him.

Solas's mouth was dry and his words insufficient as he spoke them softly, "Ir Abelas, Vehnan." Sorry, he was always sorry but it would never be enough.

She turned finally to face him. Tears, turned silver in the moonlight, trailed down her pink cheeks drawing his gaze downwards to the exposed neckline of her outfit. There a cruel permanent reminder of how close she had come to death was etched into her clavicle. Mere inches from being a killing blow. Rage and sorrow took shape as static in the air around him. His jaw locked in place as he resisted the urge to find the one who had landed the blow. It would be in vain however, the would be assassin already long gone from amongst the living.

He stumbled toward her, his footing unsteady, till he came to a pause at the edge of the lake. She stood just out of arms reach with only empty space between them. With slightly hunched shoulders, a tear stained face and a tiredness to her eyes he was unfamiliar with, she looked fragile.

"I did not wish to sleep... Varric and Cassandra, they promsied I would be safe but...," She trailed off but he could see it clearly. To have the illusion of being safe in ones own bed while dreaming of sweeter times ripped so violently away would cause anyone to fear the moments of vulnerability sleep brought. Even to someone accustomed to being constantly at war to survive. At times it had been easy to forget the woman behind the title of Inquisitor.

Lavellan moved to reach out to him. Solas flinched backwards. It had been too long since he had felt her and he knew he would not be able to leave this place so easily if he allowed it now. He turned to leave, now that his purpose for coming here was complete he had no reason to remain.

Her eyes, which had not till this moment been able to look directly at him, gave him pause. They were filled with a silent plea as they met his own.

"Solas, please don't leave me."

How the words he had heard before in a not so distant memory cut him deep. In this place of all places it was even crueller.

"I- I can't," He echoed, but he didn't not move, did not flee from her as he had the last time. He saw it in her eyes and face. The weakness of his rebuttel renewing her resolve.

"Just for tonight can we pretend that neither of us are who we are. There is no Inquisitor, no Dread Wolf, no veil. Just us, here, together." Each word was a blow to his heart. He yearned for her, to hold her, to forget everything but her. Even if only for a moment. But it was dangerous, he could lose himself to this sweet dream and that was not an option... not for him.

"Vehnan," The word soft and genuine shattered the last of his resolve. She knew it too.

His hands found her face and his thumb swept away the last of her tears. Foreheads pressed together and noses touching with lips inches apart they breathed heavily in unision. "I will stay, just for tonight," the words soft on an exhale. Her lips soft against his own. Tension seeped from her in a sigh. A wave of desire crashed upon them, threatening to drown him. He held tight to her, his one life line, as his hands and mouth memorised every inch of her body. Phantom touches would persist upon his skin when he awoke, he would forever feel the trace of her fingers on his jaw and the brush of lips against his own. Tonight he would allow himself this moment, this illusion of what could have been, and in the morning when cruel reality would tear them both apart again a small part of him would not survive.

#solavellan #dragon age #solavellan hell #dragon age trespasser #fanfic #solas #dragon age the veilguard

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angelfoodcake222 · 1 year ago

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I'm back on my LMK x Hurt!Reader kick!!! Yippee!

"How would these characters react to their friend or S/O, Y/N, coming home after a big fight that made them temporarily forget about a prescheduled meet-up at their (Y/N's) place?" &/or something to that effect. Here's what I have for Mei, Pigsy, Tang, & Sandy.

TW: The reader [that's you] gets into a big fight. Mentions of combat, blood, violence, & bandaging/suturing (like that big, curved needle & all that). Comfort at the end of each.

A/N (Author's Note): I'm labeling this as NSFW as it is dealing with violent elements. I'll make a traditional NSFW version if this one gets some traction via likes & comments. Since there is often a lot to read in one sitting, I'll sever this up to a select few for now. even with the splitting, it is still a fair bit to read. On with the reading, enjoy.

🐉Mei Dragon

>She was so excited about some one-on-one time with you, finally!

>She had set things up to the nines for you; favorite snacks, drinks, fast-paced racing games & movies, karaoke, you name it.

>She was in her cozy PJs, snug on a mound of pillows & blankets that looked like a dragon lover's dream collection (she contributed a few things as you asked her to let you do you, "earn them yourself" as you put it).

>She agreed so long as she got to gift you some things on special yearly occasions; birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, etc. You can bet your bottom dollar that each & every single gift she got you fits you to a T. To the point where it's nearly uncanny that you'd gotten used to it quicker than you thought you would.

>Just as she reclined to stretch out on the cozy hill she heard the door to your apartment swing open against the dense drywall followed by a hard thud generously seasoned with curses in your voice.

>She felt a pit in her stomach, suddenly forgetting her want to stretch, slipping & sliding in her plushie dragon slippers to the source of the pained grunts to find you on the linoleum part of your doorstep.

>Your torn, tattered shirt did little to stop your essence from oozing onto the generic tile below you that acted as a mini-mudroom of sorts. Your jeans shared the same fate with your shoes soaked like the floor mixed with once-stagnant water.

>Mei was seething at the damage to your body & your favorite wardrobe choices as they were gifts from her, gifts you had been maintaining near-religiously.

>You loved those threads, too. You even scrounged to buy her a matching set that was safe in her room at her family's home.

>"Who did this to you, bestie!?" "Gimme a name, a face, license plate, I'll teach 'em to mess with you!"

>Your low chuckle surprises her until she spots the dark markings on your knuckles & knees. You fought back, brutally from what she could tell, too.

>"Don't worry, Mei Mei, I handled them well enough. They won't be giving me any more trouble anytime soon. Mind helping me to the bathroom to patch up?"

>Your smile is crimson, gums ooze, but you move your tongue over your side-front teeth as if to free something from between them. Had you taken a bite out of one of your attackers? Probably.

>That's a question for later.

>As you asked, she aided you to the bathroom. All the moving & stretching caused by said movements began releasing more of your life's essence, staining the wood-themed vinyl as you both shuffled to the small bathroom where you had stashed a massive first aid kit in. The kind medics would pack with them.

>Your hand shuffled through the open kit once you were seated on the closed toilet's top as Mei fidgeted in the doorway a mere three feet from you.

>"Those are some deep wounds..." She mused aloud, cringing when you pulled a suture needle out, its curved sturdy form shining in the dim light overhead.

>"That's why I got this." You spy her flinch in your periphery.

>"It's okay if you don't want to be present for this part, Mei Mei. You can step out if you'd like." She frowns pitifully.

>She wants to be there for you to help with your injuries. Holding the kit open for your convenience at the very least, but she just felt so uncomfortable around needles of nearly any kind. She doesn't know why & you never pressed for a reason.

>Once you calm her down, she agrees to step out & close the door dejectedly behind her.

>She nearly slipped on some drops of red that pooled under your foot when she was fighting with the weirdly shaped door handle.

>That's dangerous! You could slip & reopen your freshly stitched wounds! Not on her watch!

>Your robe, a usually soft & comfortable garb, felt different from your hides as you carefully tied it. The soft fabric snagged on the fresh stitches & raw wounds that simply needed to be cleaned. You would have bandaged them to hasten the healing process, but you had forgotten to restock that aspect in your arsenal of medical aids.

>Honestly, you blame the treats you passed by & began ogling on an empty stomach on your way to the pharmacy.

>Aching & fatigued, you limp to the door but stop at the smell of cleaning products.

>She had cleaned the whole apartment in the time it took you to join your severed skins back together. She was walking out with an emptied bucket adorned with an old rag & other scrubbing tools.

>A soft tilt of your head was all the "Thank You" she needed.

>You helped put the supplies away & together you both eased into the mound to enjoy the setup Mei had made up for you.

>Soon enough, your eyes drifted down seemingly with gravity hauling your lids over your eyes.

>Slumber came swiftly.

>While you rested, Mei paused her half of the game your character would have nearly crashed in if she hadn't put her avatar between yours & the obstacle right as she paused.

>With as light of a touch as she could muster, she pulls the fluffiest blanket over you to tuck you in. Good & cozy.

>With that, she began her research.

>She had faith & trust in your brawling abilities, she promises she does & you believe her, but she just couldn't let this go without having some tabs on whoever hurt you. Just to be safe.

>As much as she hates to admit it, she was happy to be able to see the imprint of one jerk's insignia ring that was left on your forehead.

>Tracking that scumbag & his buddies shouldn't take much time at all...

🐷 Pigsy

>He sat patiently in your kitchen, watching the pot's lid rattle with trapped steam as the dumplings cooked.

>You had both agreed to watch the Chang'e Cooking marathon you had both been excited to watch for over three months now.

>It took a little time to convince him, but he agreed on the condition that you cooked together while watching the countdown to the marathon's start.

>You agreed.

>Unlike the others who set up mountains of fabrics & pillows galore, he set up something simple: a couple of blankets, some pillows, healthy little snacks to follow the meal you were both going to make, that's it.

>He had stood up to check the noodles & dumplings when you staggered in, once-bagged groceries cradled in a gifted/found basket under your less bandaged arm before noticing your friend standing in your open kitchen.

>You thought back quickly to that scene in the park half an hour ago leading to your home, when some punks were picking on some unfortunate granny & her friends.

>How could you just walk away & turn a blind eye to such an attrocious act of disrespect & inhumanity!?

>The battle was gruesome, to put it lightly, but the Granny Squad managed to ban together & help you.

>One of the ladies gifted you her recently emptied sweets basket & head scarf to hold everything together after helping you wash the goods off with a nearby hose. Once that was taken care of, they focused on you & on as much as they could help you with (which was quite a lot).

>With cleaned ingredients in your arms, you thank the ladies fervently & dash off to put the items into proper storage.

>"Aw, noodles! The marathon!" You grit through blood-stained teeth as Pigsy blinks.

>He looks like he's stuck between shocked, confused, worried & upset.

>The countdown showed that there were still a couple hours left before the show started, so you looked to the boar in your kitchen sheepishly before shifting the tucked container to holding the covered basket of goods.

"Sorry about the ingredients, I tried to clean them as best as I could..."

>You tried to explain before he shook his head.

>Carefully, without causing any extra discomfort for you, he took the ingrediants & set them onto the countertop.

>One thing you've learned about your friend in the past few years of knowing him is that he may act all big & menacing, but he's arguably the sweetest guy you've known (Right by Tang & MK, of course).

>You thank him & scurry to your bathroom to properly clean up & bandage yourself with the added maintanance of your teeth so you could properly enjoy the meal undoubtedly leading to a taste sensation.

>When you step out to the living room, you're treated to Pigsy setting the last tray of food onto the coffee/tea table with a low grunt.

>For the remaining hour you two sat on the sofa, he bandaged the spots you couldn't reach for one reason or another, shared the dumplings & snacks, & conversed over your favorite Chang'e recipes, all drizzled with him telling you to be more careful on your way home from now on.

>With the finished meals' plates & utenciles cleaned of food & settled into the deep kitchen sink, you all bandaged up, the pair of you slouch into the couch, watching the last few minutes of the countdown tick by in comfortable silence.

"Hey, Pigsy?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For everything."

"No problem, Y/N."

>With that, the marathon began & was theroughly enjoyed.

👨🏻‍🏫 Tang

>You wanted to understand JTTW in-depth, you truly did, but your brain wouldn't let you. Tang to the rescue... Sort of.

>Name the type of Monkey King media available to the public & then some & you've barely scratched the surface of what Tang packed to your appartment with a little help from MK who had to leave for FFM.

>He hadn't done anything to set up your living room in any sort of special way aside from the merchandise & historical items.

>Okay, he got some Pigsy's take out to nibble on throughout the session.

>He even remembered your favorites!

>He just set the last "historically acurate" figurine & its stand onto the coffee/tea table when you groaned through your front door.

>You had stopped by a local supply shop for an ample amount of note taking material, just knowing how Tang was going to get once he got really into his favorite work & figure.

>Simple, mundane, task.

>Notebooks of favored rule (college rule or Wide rule, dotted & gridded paper is also an option), colored pens/pencils of your choosing, Monkey King stickers for Tang ranging from plain to shiny to puffy as a 'thank you' coupled with a Mankey Cop cap to wear whenever he pleased, & some drinks to go with the food he most likely sweet-talked out of Pigsy.

>You were nearly half way home when some ruffians jumped you to snatch the selectively academic & fandom items from you.

>They were most likely trying to steal your large totebag (labeled with "bookworm" in cutesy stenciled characters you had done with MK not too long ago) for the items within it to price gouge the merchandise in person or online, chug the drinks, even misusing the writing materials.

>The fight took a lot out of you, tore your bag & clothes, even saw you getting cut by one of the broken drink bottles when you tripped.

>You still managed to save the rest of the drinks but they partially stained the cap & your notebooks.

>Serves you right (affectionatly) for picking a brand that didn't wrap their product in the same wrapping your pens/pencils & stickers were protectively cloaked in.

>You had to coddle the items in your cut up arms like a baby, your wounds seemingly throbbing into a dull ache when you spotted Tang kneeling next to the figurine of a midflight Monkey King on his Cloud, staff in hand/paw.

>Despite your carrying two or three reminders of your preagreed plans, your focus was rattled about until you turned to settle your tattered bag onto the sofa in your living space.

>He was just as frozen as you were, both standing a few feet from the other.

"Uhm... *clicks tongue awkwardly* Imma go bathe & patch myself up. If you still wanna do this, you can stay. If not, I'll help you pack up once I'm done. Okay?"

>Tang nods nervously, glancing over your battered form & tote before you lurch to your bathroom.

>You were so busy cleaning yourself & clothing your injuries in the stock of medical items that you didn't notice Tang busying himself in the living room: Stitching your bag's edges back together, touching up the character with a marker near the same color group as best as he could, drying the pages of your notebooks with a hairdryer you had forgotten in your nightbag you had left in your living room that you said you'd pick up & put away days ago.

>You stagger out with a sigh to see Tang trying his best to save your sullied materials, seemingly not noticing that the drinks, stickers, or the cap was for him & not for you.

>You quietly watch his back as he mumbled to himself about worrying over your safety, how he'd learn to bandage your wounds whenever you needed, how he'd never let you walk alone again as he would guide you down the safest streets & paths he takes daily, even learning basic self defence to at least grant you a little back up when you needed it.

>Your tired eyes drift about, over the messily stitched up bag, the pencils/pens sitting in their case on the table beside the rest of the items, all surrounding Tang who was a little too focused on not burning your book's pages with the blowdryer.

>Strange how the rainbow of writing items stood out so starkly against the reds & golds that seemingly engulfed his emediate space.

>Without holding it back, you give a soft giggle which startles him into turning your way.

>He accadentilly blasted the dryer's air straight under his face in turning to you causing his hair to tussle wildly over his fogged glasses, earning another giggle from you.

"I- your things were a little beaten up &- well, they neede dto be fixed so you could learn- &- &-."

>Stammering is all he can do at the moment until you boop him from his sitting position as you now stood languidly beside him.

"Tangy, breathe. It's all good."

>He smiles in relief before glancing over the table with a now calmed gaze.

"Is that a Monkey Cop cap!? With the real badge & everything!?"

>He procedes to ramble happily, occasionally looking to you to see if you were listening to him speak before continueing on.

>You peacfully watched his adorable rambling expressions, quitly taking mental notes on whatever you could snag from the 100 mph info dumping.

>Not long after you both finish your meals (A task that took a while as you needed to cease his fanboying longenough to actually eat), you both sat on the sofa watching a SWK action movie of some kind he had picked out for you.

>The movie was good despite the overly amped up sfx & horribly down played dialog audio, though that's most action movies that you're aware of.

>Snoring catches your drowzy attention as you peek down to your side where Tang had slumped over the opposite arm of the couch, fast asleep.

>Knowing he gets enough back pain hunching over a study desk, you stand & lay him onto thsofa in a more comfortable position while removing his glasses to set them on the side table.

>Good thing you had plenty of lap blankets around for him. Pillows, too.

>Kneeling beside the snoring man, you can't help but tuck the blanket in to create a cozy setting for him.

>You'll have to reschedule the study session for later.

>For now, a light snooze sitting up by Tang would do your eyes some good.

Here it is! I haven't picked who I'm writing for next but I'll try to think of someone later. I hope you enjoyed & have a lovely day/night!

#lmk x reader #lmk tang #lmk pigsy #lmk mei #Pigsy #Tang #Mei Dragon

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holybagelsstuff · 3 months ago

Text

Imagine if The Lorax (2012) was adapted for the book.

I've been thinking about this for a while and I finally did this. This story covers O'Hare coming up with his idea of monetizing air and what changes occured in Thneedville because of it. I'm not sure how much it resembles Dr. Seuss' writing style, but I hope it didn't turn out to be bad at least. Enjoy! 😺

(The described events are supposed to take place right after the Lorax left.)

...Not so long after that story took a wild turn.

Even though all the Thneeds were gone once and for all,

And the factories stopped,

And the trees disappeared,

There was hope sparkling there somewhere in between.

Thneedville had no fresh air,

And the Thneeds could not help,

And their plan was to move far away from this land

So the light breeze would fill up their nostrils again

And they'd not have to deal with this sour-smelling air.

But how many of them would have handled the road

With the smog in their lungs? Most of them sure would not.

The crisis seemed tough and they almost gave up:

"So be it." Thneedville says. "Right in this land we're stuck."

And they stayed there, inhaling the same stifling air,

Trying hard to ignore overwhelming despair,

And continuing their lives with no sun to be seen,

But hope was still there sparkling right in between.

And one day, that one day like the day weeks ago,

With all people addressing the almighty God,

Begging Him to give back the lush life they once had,

An idea struck one of them (who could expect?)

He was no one at all. Just another young lad

Chasing for his big dreams, and he'd catch them, he'd bet.

He was very short, though. This could cause you to stare.

Just another of them, Aloysius O'Hare.

He was mopping the streets, and he mopped them all right,

When his old colleague's chest felt suddenly tight,

And he coughed. Then he frowned,

And he looked up above.

What he saw was a poster up there, on a billboard.

Had been colourful once, but now it was all torn.

They both knew what it was. Couldn't be wrong.

A Thneed advertisement. There were plenty of them.

And the old man then said (but first coughed in his hand):

"This thing made him a fortune", he commented with envy,

"I just wonder what's next", his breathing now heavy.

"New invention that's coming, will it change our whole life?"

Aloysius was silent. He got lost in his mind.

He glanced up at the poster. He saw the green man.

He sold people his Thneeds. He had a great plan.

But he lost all of this thanks to trees. What a waste!

What use did these Truffulas have in the first place?

The green man went bankrupt and Thneedville went broken.

"Something has to be done". Yet these words were unspoken.

That was it. That was hope

Sparkling there in between:

A young lad who had finally caught his own dream.

"Something has to be done, and I know what I'll do,"

Aloysius had thought. That came out of the blue,

But it sounded so fair:

If the green man sold Thneeds, then he would sell air.

And that was a turn, a wild turn indeed,

For Thneedville had thrived on this noble deed.

People got their fresh air, and they had to pay,

But why would they not if O'Hare saved the day?

The town had turned plastic. No flowers, no trees.

They're far from these things that everyone needs.

Their water's still dirty? Not a problem at all!

Instead there's a nice ski resort with fake snow,

And a warm sandy beach, and a new parking lot.

And if that's not enough, people here share a thought:

You can always buy more! That's what money is for.

And if these plastic trees and large cars and canned air

Seem to be way too much to possibly bear,

Then you must have a problem. Because everyone knows

That in Thneedville no one is ever alone

As long as they have the stuff that they own.

#took me 3+ hours to write and polish it #also it was heavily inspired by thneedville original demo #thats why i used the lines from there in the end #i hope i didnt make any major mistakessss #the lorax #the lorax 2012 #dr seuss #the onceler #aloysius o'hare #thneedville

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hananoami · 10 days ago

Text

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ⌞ 𝑮𝓮𝓶 𝑨𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ⌝

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Illusio with RAFAYEL dressed in [Sandy Dream: Torn] ⊹₊ ⋆

requested by: @aloodonut

HAVE A REQUEST?

Want to see your love interest of choice wear a specific outfit in a kindled memory, but don't have them in your collection? I'm currently open to taking ILLUSIO REQUESTS until 02/07!

✧ ILLUSIO MASTERLIST ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ REQUEST STATUS ✧ ✧ MEMORY + OUTFITS CATALOG ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ REQUEST ? ✧

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #l&ds #love & deepspace #gem affection #sandy dream torn #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel #qi yu #giwook #homura #rafayel love and deepspace #lads rafayel #lnds rafayel #l&ds rafayel #rafayel lads #rafayel lnds #rafayel l&ds

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productofnfld · 2 months ago

Text

“I Can’t Rest Here!”

St. Paul’s, nestled on the Great Northern Peninsula of Newfoundland, has long been a place of stories — some well-remembered, and some only carried on the breeze.

According to the history books, it all began with a solitary man — Elias Gifford, a trapper who ventured into St. Paul’s Bay and lived alone, hunting the land. For a time, he was the only soul to inhabit the sandy point jutting into the bay, his solitude broken only when others arrived, drawn by the promise of fish and lobster. In the early 1880s, a Halifax firm set up a lobster factory on the point, and St. Paul’s began to grow. Over time, however, the community shifted away from the point, settling closer to the coast where there was more space and better land.

But this quiet corner of Newfoundland, hidden deep within the shadows of Gros Morne National Park, has another story — one that doesn’t appear in the history books; one that is more likely to be told fireside on a stormy winter night.

It’s another story of why the community moved to the coast. Yes, they sought better land, but what most have long forgotten is the dark reason the land turned bad. It’s a tale of a family torn apart, of love lost, and a broken promise that came to haunt an entire settlement.

Old Martin of St. Paul’s

Once, St. Paul’s on Newfoundland’s west coast wasn’t the coastal settlement it is today. Instead, its people lived upriver, hidden away in the wilderness. Among them was Old Martin — a quiet, reserved man, well-liked by most. Few knew much about him, but whispers often floated through the village, hinting at a darker past. Some said he had once been a criminal, though no one knew for certain.

One year, as autumn’s chill deepened, Martin fell gravely ill. He refused all help, snapping at anyone who approached. Only young John Oates, a fearless neighbour, dared to intervene. “I don’t recall asking for your help, by,” Martin growled. But John stayed, tending the old man with a stubborn kindness, though Martin’s bitterness never softened.

Years before, Martin had lived with his wife and daughter, Mary. His wife had passed, and Mary, estranged after a bitter fight, had left for St. John’s where she worked ‘in service’.

Everyone in the settlement knew there was a romance between Mary and John—a relationship that had once seemed destined for happiness.

A Love Torn Apart

John and Mary had grown up together, inseparable as children and, later, as sweethearts. Their love had blossomed beside the low spruce trees by the water, where they would steal moments to talk and dream of a future together. But their fathers’ friendship, once strong, had soured. Martin accused John’s father of cheating him, and the Oates family returned the accusation. Bitter words were exchanged, and Mary, torn between loyalty to her father and her love for John, was caught in the middle.

The final blow came when Martin forbade Mary from seeing John. Though they tried to meet in secret, the tension grew unbearable. A fierce argument erupted one night between Mary and Martin, and she left the house in tears. Within days, she had taken work in St. John’s, leaving John behind with a broken heart.

Years passed, but John never stopped loving Mary. Though he buried his feelings, his connection to her lingered, unresolved. It was perhaps this love—and the hope that someday Mary would return — that compelled him to stay near Martin, even as the old man grew colder and more withdrawn.

A Warning Unheeded

By November, it was clear Martin’s end was near. In his final days, he summoned John’s father, a man he hadn’t spoken to in years. Their conversation was private, but whatever was said seemed to settle the years-old score. Oates promised to carry out Old Martin’s wishes to the best of his ability.

When Martin died a week later, he shared Martin’s last will and testament: He hoped his daughter, Mary, would marry young Oates. If that were to be the case, she could have his house and all his worldly possessions. If not, everything should be turned over to the parson, for the good of the church.

Furthermore, Martin wanted to be buried far away from the town, in his favourite spot on the coast, a little cove round the south head. He was emphatic about it. If his wish wasn’t fulfilled, he warned, he would never rest in peace; nor would the people of St. Paul’s.

Oates had good intentions. He wanted to honour Martin’s wishes but the weather had turned ferocious. Storms lashed the coast, making it impossible to reach the cove. Reluctantly, the villagers buried Martin in his garden. They said, they would make good on their promise in the spring, that they would remove his bones to the quiet cove when the weather improved.

Perhaps they believed it at first but it wasn’t long before their thoughts of Old Martin faded. By the time Christmas came, he was a distant memory.

It was the dogs in town who first noticed something was amiss. One old water dog became obsessed with the house, refusing to leave, spending hours howling at the garden, staring fixedly at the disturbed earth.

If the people of town noticed the strange behaviour, few gave it any serious thought; focusing instead on the festive season.

A Boxing Day Visitation

By Boxing Day, the village was alive with celebration. The Oates’ house was filled with music and laughter as the community gathered for a party. The warm glow of oil lamps lit the frost-covered windows, and the lively stomp of boots on the wooden floor kept time with the fiddler’s tune.

In the middle of the revelry, a small group of mummers arrived unannounced, their faces hidden behind strange, cotton drapes. Their exaggerated movements and sing-song voices delighted the crowd.

Then the fiddle screeched to a halt. There was a palpable shift in mood.

Outside, the dog was howling again. It wasn’t alone, it sounded as if every dog in town was joining in chorus. The wild, frantic cries silenced the room. The mummers froze mid-dance, their masks suddenly looked menacing in the stillness.

Oates cracked the door to investigate.

The moment it opened, the dogs burst inside, tails tucked low, their bodies trembling as they cowered beneath the tables and chairs. Whispers spread through the room. Some of the men exchanged uneasy glances, muttering about wolves, while others, determined to confront whatever danger loomed, grabbed weapons — hunting rifles, knives, even an iron poker — preparing to defend their homes.

Before they could move, there came a sharp, deliberate rap at the door. Steeling himself, Oates once again cracked the door. There was nobody there; No living soul, anyway. For a fleeting moment, a pale glow seemed to hover above the snow.

John hesitantly stepped outside.

The ghostly light now hovered near Old Martin’s abandoned house, drifting toward the ‘temporary’ grave.

A low, mournful voice echoed in the icy air:

“I can’t rest here. Oh, I can’t rest here.”

A Terrifying Winter

By morning, the village was blanketed in snow, but there were no tracks — nothing to explain the night’s events. The men, who had hoped for answers, now felt the heavy weight of dread settle deep in their bones. Old Martin’s spirit was restless. He had warned them, and now they were paying the price.

The haunting grew more intense.

Night after night, sharp, deliberate knocks rang out on doors and windows, always in threes. Children awoke screaming, claiming to see pale faces in the dark. Martin’s house glowed faintly, a flickering light in the window, but no one dared enter.

Low mournful cries pierced the night: “I can’t rest here!”

At gatherings, lamps would extinguish themselves, chairs would topple over, and a cold draft would fill the room, bringing with it the unmistakable scent of damp earth. As villagers drifted off to sleep, they were jolted awake by the feeling of icy fingers brushing their skin. In every shadow, Martin’s gaunt face seemed to flicker, watching.

The community descended into a quiet, helpless terror. He would not allow them to forget —

“I can’t rest here,” he whispered.

By spring, the villagers could take no more. Promise or not, they wanted nothing to do with Old Martin. Rather than dig up his cursed grave, they abandoned the settlement, fleeing to the coast.

Mary’s Return

Word of Martin’s death reached Mary in St. John’s. A sharp pang of guilt washed over her — guilt for the years of silence, the anger that had kept her from her father. The last time they had spoken, their words had been cruel, sharp, filled with regret. Now he was gone, and she was left with nothing but the weight of unspoken apologies. By spring, she could no longer ignore the pull to return to St. Paul’s.

When she arrived, she found John waiting. The years apart had done little to dull the connection between them. If anything, the grief of losing the old man, combined with the shared pain of their past, brought them together in a way nothing else could. They spent hours talking, trading memories of better times and the ache of lost love. The sorrow they shared reignited the passion that had once bloomed between them, before their fathers’ bitter feud had driven them apart. The walls between them crumbled, and by July, they were married — reunited by tragedy.

Neither she nor John could bring themselves to disturb Martin’s grave.

But as the days passed, a quiet unease settled over Mary. She began to hear it — the whispering on the wind, soft at first, but impossible to ignore: “I can’t rest here.”

The old community, all but abandoned, felt like a place of shadows. Mary couldn’t bear the thought of staying — even if her father’s old cabin was now hers. Soon John built them a house by the shore, far from the cursed land. It was meant to be a fresh start, a new beginning, away from the darkness of the past.

But the past does not let go so easily. Forgotten and left to rot at the old settlement, Martin’s grave was soon consumed by the wild.

To this day, when the wind howls through the trees, his voice rises with it—faint at first, then growing louder, filled with chilling desperation:

“I can’t rest here!”

And he hasn’t.

He waits still, a restless spirit bound to a forgotten grave outside St. Paul’s, lingering for over a century, waiting for a promise to be fulfilled.

#ghost #boxing day

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imaginedreamwrite · 2 years ago

Note

Steve and muse on vacation in another "nation" (Ari and Ariel's region?)

Pacifici stretched across the shoreline and into the northern mountainous regions of what had been Calirfornia, and with a long extension east that touched the bare edges of the North, East & South. It was a beautiful faction that had been led peacefully by the rulers that were elected since the downfall of the structures regime that settled humanity during the plague.

Pacifici was your home, it was the place you had wondered if you’d ever leave, and returning to the soft sandy shoreline had been somewhat of a fever dream that had become a reality when Steve had insisted you go with him back to your old home.

It was both a pleasant visit and a political trip, with Steve & Ari discussing trade agreements and the shift of eligible visitors to increase the generic pool between survivors. With a handful of already established volunteers on both sides, Steve and Ari were planning on bashing out the details with intent to extend the mending of civilization.

“Do you miss it?” Ariel questioned you with a soft voice, torn between watching you and watching Ari as he spoke with Steve over a couple beers. “The shore and the water?”

“I do miss it but not how most people think. It was my home but now…” you trailed off and looked behind you, your eyes finding and falling to Steve. There was something in the air between you and Ariel, Ari & Steve, something that was hopeful and peaceful, as if they were lifelong friends from birth.

“Steve is my home, Steve is my husband. He’s my…” Short of saying everything, you let the silence speak for you.

“You’re welcome back anytime,” Ariel leaned forward and pulled you into a hug, arms wrapped around you tightly as you reciprocated the friendly and sisterly-like bond.

“You too,” you whispered softly in reply, “please come back whenever you want.”

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froggyfeetsies · 2 years ago

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“The dawn of the Golden Age began after Lunar Lamas and the Pookhan Brotherhood had made the most important scientific breakthrough known to sentient life; the ability to manufacture the heart of a planet. The heart, also called the Light, of a planet allowed the art of creation magics to be applied to a planet as if it had its own soul to shape. It made the will and belief of the planet’s inhabitants tangible enough to move mountains, dig seas and forest the barren plains. Terra formation was a science as well as an art, and became one of the most difficult walks of life a youngling might tread. It allowed for the infinite expansion of the Empire, allowed for the infinite creation of garden worlds to populate and flourish amongst the universe, evolving into behemoth constellations sprawling across the once empty skies. Such a breakthrough became a lifeline during the Shadow War, after it was adapted for battle against the Dream pirates and the fear geas. After intense modification it was ready to be infused into living beings, to give them both the strength and fortitude to match their own heart and will; the blend of both immense destruction and a gift for creation. Blending these two principles, the new Enlightened were as horrific as they were the ultimate salvation against the Dream Pirates and Nightmare men. While they turned the tide of the war from desperation to jubilation, and in turn ultimately leading to our beloved Golden Era of Dreams, the Enlightened came at a steep price. The Eternal Light of a planet was meant for no mortal to hold in their hearts, and although some went on to become Enlightened, others did not and were torn meat from soul, completely obliterated even from Time itself as if they had never existed, leaving them lost even to the Pookah and their mastery of the Timeways. The presence of Enlightened after the War and the subsequent imprisonment of the Nightmare men and Dream Pirates left only the bitter reminder that fanciful notions like love wasn’t always enough.”

in my mind they had to create things to beat the fearlings, who’s gonna go at a living shadow with a plain sword not fucking me lol, and in the end made space paladins like nightlight since his kind wouldn’t be the only kind right? like different kinds of light, white light and gold light? They obvs know that some kind of light works since they have a living lamp near mim and I mean the flash he gives off puts pitch and 10,000 fearlings into a coma and he’s a child right? Imagine that but an adult infused with star heart and metal, nearly immortal but at the price of maybe being completely destroyed from existence, that used their power to make weapons like sandy makes his stuff like the plane etc. kind of like how blood is full of iron? Maybe have them full of metal blood that reacts to the star heart. like an amalgamation of the different races to try and stem the tide in the war, pookah lightbulb magic llama belief magic and star weapons. Tied into the idea that belief isn’t just an earth thing but an engineered thing created in the other universe being repurposed for war. Like they don’t fight with light but fight as infused with light that they can create metal/light weapons at will like sandy can, like you need the light to make the metal work. Or like infused with molten star metal that glows with spoopi light, and people call it light since it’s less emotionally damaging than “we pump you full of molten star metal that should actually be inside a star so you glow now.” Basically I like the battle!sandy idea but horrific rather than a natural born star you feel me as in “we replaced your heart with starlight and your blood with starmetal and it’s only your belief that stops it all working sorry bud.” Not sure the details but metal/light is the foundation.

I’ve never read the books, only the wiki and then vague memories from like 10 years ago from fanfics about book stuff (still no idea why Katherine and nightlight exist but they’re always cute so) so I’m not actually sure what’s cannon (I’ve tried reading the wiki but it just confuses me more like apparently now jack can now change age at will?) but in my mind eldritch metal light horrors that use the heart of a star to power themselves sounds about desperate enough for a universe under threat of eternal nightmares tbh, although the wiki says they didn’t kill them I am going to ignore that 😂

like the pookah were meant to have transcended time itself right, and then the lunar llamas were like peak spiritual awakening, and then the stars were like the dreams right? All make a nice balance imo, and almost sound like a magical girl formula to me tbh. And the pookah are said to be caretakers of planets who time walk so it’s not much of a jump to say they might be able to create planets imo especially if they’re meant to have enough garden worlds for an empire. Iirc bunny brought an egg lamp to earth to start a new world?? So 🤷‍♀️

basically I am completely baffled about what’s going on and this is my explanation for it 😂 (like pitch is woken by a curious moonbeam??? Like literally or) maybe I’m wrong but to me the idea of a theoretically immortal last bastion of hope getting demolished and repurposed to head the enemy army as a husk filled with nightmares is 100000% believable as a reason why the empire could fall to a single man. I’m not sure how far into the body horror I want to go tbh, but. Like is he alive is he aware like who knows but I’m horrified

anyway it’s 2am goodnight xoxo

#Rotg #rise of the guardians #guardians of childhood #pitch black #kozmotis #kozmotis pitchiner #My art #headcanon #Fearling #Nightmare #nightmare men #dream pirate #rotg fanart

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littleprincessfawn · 8 months ago

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Trying to get back in touch with my sexuality, because I feel like my sense of self and my sexual side has taken a beating over the years from how badly my ex-husband treated me and then messed with my head.

I'm thinking back to the daydreams and fantasies I used to have as a teenager, you know, when you first start developing urges and feelings like that?

A list of fantasies under the cut ->

One of my most played fantasies was a kind of dark guardian angel, a male with black angel wings, wavy black hair, who would come and protect me. He lived in a stary night time realm. He could read my thoughts and he could feel when I cried or was scared and he would send his presence to comfort me. He appeared to me in dreams. I think his name was Damian. (Side note, no wonder I loved the Court of Mist & Fury book by Sarah J Maas so much!) The concept of this dark guardian angel protector figure lives deep in my soul and is maybe my most romantic/deep fantasy that means the most to me. I know he wasn't real but the idea of him got me through my dark times of childhood (looking back I consider my young teenage hood as childhood as I absolutely should have been protected by adults but I was not). Sometimes this dark saviour was linked to crows/ravens. Sometimes he was a vampire.

Another fantasy was me being a fallen angel, my wings injured or sometimes even ripped off, and a ranger found me in his forest. The ranger tended to be kind of gruff/blunt/quiet and had brown hair and stubble. He would take me back to his cabin in the woods, even though he hated people, but he had to heal me. Sometimes he kidnapped me and was cruel or kept me chained up, sometimes he was caring and sweet. In all my fantasies though he tended to my wounds and took care of me as I slowly healed, and he helped encourage me to fly again.

Another fantasy was of an Elvish Prince or noble son who would find me hiding in a tree and fuck me up on the tree branches. Idk what was with that. I guess I like nature? He would have long hair, either light brown or sandy blonde. Sometimes I'd be a peasant human or elf girl and be his childhood friend that he protected from bullies. Sometimes I'd be a stranger, a human princess who was lost.

Ohhh that reminds me another fantasy I had about being a runaway or exiled princess who was lost in the forest with a torn princess dress. All manner of things might happen to me, evil queens dominating me and poisoning me and keeping me as their slave girls, strong warrior men finding me and protecting me or degrading me (or a mixture of both!).

One fantasy I often had in some variation was either being a spoiled princess or a shy servant girl and there was a royal wizard who made me his apprentice. I was thirsty to learn magic to become powerful and he was happy to teach me... if I paid him with being able to use my body. As a spoiled princess he would humble me, it would be hate-fucking until he fell in love with me and I revealed I had a crush on him all along, I just acted like a brat. If I was a servant girl I was quiet, obedient, loyal and took whatever punishment he gave totally submissively, earning his grudging respect, and he encouraged me to step into my power.

I also had fantasies involving women, I mean first was of course meeting Lara Croft or Angelina Jolie and being taken for a ride on her motorcycle, and then she kisses me and corrupts me and I become her sidekick.

I definitely wanted to be Gabrielle to a Xena. I still very much have that Gabrielle type persona when I have a crush on someone, the loyal sunshine follower archetype.

I did often fantasise about a cruel witch or unseelie Fae princess or queen who would abuse me, slap me, whip me, chain me up, humiliate me in front of fantasy creatures and degrade me while I bore it all stoically, showing quiet grace that she could never take away from me. Lots of kissing and fae fruits.

Oh and don't even get me started on the sexual fantasies I had about being Persephone in Hades underworld with the pomegranate seeds. There's a reason pomegranate is my favourite fruit. In my fantasies he might have thought he was abducting me, but I always went willingly, though I may not have told him. I refused to tell him how attracted I was to him because I didn't want to give in, not to his lust, not to his power, until eventually he humbled himself before me and confessed his deep love for me, offering me the role of being by his side as his equal, as his queen. Only then did I tell him I loved him too, that I would willingly be his consort, and submit to him sexually.

I definitely had a thing for teacher/mentor and student/apprentice dynamic, and still do. I read a ton of Snape/Hermione fan fiction in those early days. I loved a stern teacher, or an encouraging teacher, who pushed me to be my best, to aim for perfection. And would punish me if I did wrong. I loved being a teachers pet. I still do, and had crushes on some of my university lecturers.

Oh the priestess fantasy! Okay I often had a fantasy either being a Greek priestess of a cult like maybe Diana, or later a priestess of Ishtar (once I learned of Ishtar/Inanna/Astarte, I think I was 18 then) and being a kind of forbidden fruit, a sacred holy woman. And some hot soldier and I having BIG lust between us but not giving in to temptation... until we finally do.

I fantasised and wrote erotica about Jeannie and Major Nelson from I dream of Jeannie, the idea of being some guys magical devoted sexy slave and calling him Master? Yes please!

These are all the fantasies I can remember for now, I'll add more if I remember any, but they were all the main things that I thought of, daydreamed about, got myself off to. Thinking about all of them now makes me feel good, they feel like my true desires, not impacted by other people.

#deerdiary #personal #fantasies #sexuality #figuring myself out #coming back to who i am #bringing myself back to life #long text #long post #fae being thirsty #bd/sm journal #bd/sm kink

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