#that man is just as invested (if not MORE so) as you!!

[rebellum]

Keep your meds that you take as-needed next to where you spend most of your time. Mine are in a drawer right next to my computer.

You're not supposed to store meds in the bathroom because it gets hot and humid in their during showers

If you only occasionally use a cane, get a fold-up one and always carry it in your backpack. You can take it out on public transit, even if you have a seat, so that people don't judge you for sitting down. This is especially important if you're someone socially perceived as a young man.

There's no shame in "giving in" to your illness. Do what you need to do. Eg if you're having intrusive thoughts about a certain object, you don't have to force yourself to practice resisting it or practice moving on from those intrusive thoughts. It's okay to just put it in the other room so that you don't think about it. You dont need to constantly practice resistance, you need to practice active compassion towards yourself.

You can fill a pill bottle with various OTC pills are carry that around in your bag. Like I have a mixed-pill bottle that has advil, naproxen, and Tylenol in it, rather than bottles of those all separately.

This is just general life advice: it's good to buy things that will make everyday life more enjoyable. I know this sounds like "well, DUH" but guys I got a mechanical keyboard for Christmas and it makes me SO happy to use my keyboard. Invest in making your daily tools constantly enjoyable and pretty. Things can be better than 'good enough'

You don't need to be someone else's inspiration. You dont need to be the one pushing societal boundaries. It's okay to do what you want or to hide your illness if that's what makes you feel the most safe and comfortable. [Relevance: I'm a trans POC with mental health issues. I am in a position where I could help to normalise 'weirdness' like stimming, counting out loud, and being open about intrusive thoughts and hallucinations. It would be good to do that, because I'm a fashionable young middle class feminine person, so it would help to remove the association of those behaviours with drug users and unhoused individuals. If those behaviours are more normalized it also helps those people, since they are then seen as doing fewer 'bad' things. But it's scary! I'm an openly trans poc! If i get mistaken for being high I could have to deal with police. I'm not in America, I'm not in as much danger as Black Americans are, but I'm still at a much increased risk of arrest and violence. It's okay if I want to keep my mental health issues and neurodivergence on the down-low and not be some sort of activist.]

I've been disabled for almost 29 years. Here's what I've learned.

Tablets sink and capsules float. Separate out your tablets and capsules when you go to take them. Tip your head down when taking capsules and up when taking tablets. Liquigels don't matter, they kinda stay in the middle of whatever liquid is in your mouth.

If your pill tastes bad, coat it with a bit of butter or margarine. I learned this from my mom, who learned it from a pharmacist.

Being in pain every day isn't normal. Average people experience pain during exceptional moments, like when they stub their toe or jam their finger in a door, not when they sit cross-legged.

Make a medical binder. Make multiple medical binders. I have a small one that comes with me to appointments and two big ones that stay at home, one with old stuff and one with more recent stuff.

Find your icons. Some of mine include Daya Betty (drag queen with diabetes), Stef Sanjati (influencer with Waardenburg syndrome and ADHD), and Hank Green (guy with ulcerative colitis who... does a bunch of stuff). They don't have to be disabled in the same way as you. They don't even have to be real people. Put their pictures up somewhere if you want; I've been meaning to decorate my medical binders with pictures of my icons.

Take a bin, box, bag, basket, whatever and fill it with items to cope with. This can be stuff for mentally coping like colouring books or play clay or stuff for physically coping like pain medicine or physio tape.

Decorate your shit! My cane for at home has a plushie backpack clip hanging from the end of the handle and my cane for going places is covered in stickers. All of my medical binders have fun scrapbooking paper on the outside. Sometimes, I put stickers and washi tape on my inhalers and pill bottles. I used my Cricut to decorate my coping bin with quotes from my icons, like "I've seen enough of Ba Sing Se" and "I need you to be angrier with that bell".

If a flare-up is making you unable to eat or keep food down, consider going to the ER. A pharmacist once told me that since my eye flares can make me so nauseous that I cannot eat, then I need to go to the hospital when that happens.

Cola works wonders for nausea. I have mini cans of Diet Pepsi in my coping bin.

Shortbread is one of the only things I can eat when nauseous. Giant Tiger sells individually-wrapped servings of shortbread around Christmas or the British import store sells them year-round. I also keep these in my coping bin.

Unless it violates a pain contract or something, don't be afraid to go behind your doctor's back to get something they are refusing you. I got my cardiologist referral by getting in with a different NP at my primary care clinic than who I usually saw. I switched from Seroquel to Abilify by visiting a walk-in.

If you have a condition affecting your abdomen in some way (GI issues, reproductive problems, y'know) then invest in track pants that are too big. I bought some for my laparoscopy over a year ago and they've been handy for pelvic pain days, too. I've also heard loose pants are good for after colonoscopies.

Do whatever works, even if it's weird. I've sat on the floor of the Eaton Centre to take my pills. I've shoved heating pads down my front waistband to reach my uterus.

High-top Converse are good for weak ankles. I almost exclusively wear them.

You can reuse your pill bottles for stuff. I use my jumbo ones to store makeup sponges and my long skinny ones to hold a travel-size amount of Q-Tips.

Just because your diagnostics come back with nothing, it doesn't mean nothing is wrong. Maybe you were checking the wrong thing, or the diagnostic tool wasn't sensitive enough. I have bradycardia episodes even though multiple cardiac tests caught nothing. I probably have endometriosis even though my gynecologist didn't see anything.

You can bring your comfort item to appointments, and it's generally a green flag when someone talks to you about it. I brought a Squishmallow turkey (named Ulana) to my laparoscopy and they had her wearing my mask when I woke up. I brought a Build-A-Bear cat (named Blinx) to another procedure and a nurse told me that everyone in the hall on the way to the procedure room saw him and were talking about how cute he was. Both of those ended up being positive experiences and every person who talked to me about my plushies was nice to me. If you don't feel comfortable having it visible to your provider during the appointment, you can hide it in your bag and just know it's there, or if you're in a video appointment, you can hold it below frame in your lap.

Get a small bucket, fill it with stuff, and stick it in your bed (if you have room for it). I filled a bucket with Ensure, juice boxes, oatmeal bars, lotion, my rescue inhaler, etc. in October 2023 in anticipation of my laparoscopy and I still have it in my bed as of January 2025.

If your disability impacts your impulse control (e.g. ADHD, bipolar disorder), you should consider setting limits around your spending -- no more than X dollars at a time, nothing online unless it's absolutely necessary, and so on. Or, run these purchases by someone you trust before committing to them; I use my BFF groupchat to help talk sense into myself when I buy stuff.

Feel free to add on what you've learned about disability!

[chleem]

request idea? thinking about how Drew would drop everything for his girl ❤️‍🔥 like if she showed up at his house crying because she needs him (something with her parents or something? maybe they forgot something important to her)

and Drew is with his roommates or friends (who love the reader) but as soon as he sees his girl sad, he has a soft spot for her and for taking care of her 🫶🏼

⋆.˚ Warnings: none, pure fluff (still, read at own caution

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: enjoy! sry i haven't replied for so long, i was spending cny w/my family.

word count: 2.2k

──── 𝜗𝜚 ─────

The sound of the basketball game is practically vibrating through the walls—close to the end, with the score tied and everyone on edge. 

Drew’s lounging on the couch, leaning back, eyes glued to the screen. 

The room is full of his friends, all hyped up, throwing out their commentary and joking around. It’s guys’ night, and it’s a vibe they’re all soaking in.

Then the doorbell rings for the second time tonight, and Drew’s eyes flicker to the door.

"Did we order pizza? Again?" Drew asks. 

“Dunno, man, check,” his friend says, not looking up from the game, clearly too invested. 

Drew sighs, a little annoyed at the interruption, but his feet move automatically toward the door.

When Drew opens the door, he doesn’t see pizza. 

He sees you.

His expression shifts instantly—his confusion giving way to something deeper. 

Drew notices the smudge of mascara under your eyes first—the dark lines trailing down your cheeks. The rest of your makeup isn’t much better: foundation starting to fade where the tears have blurred it, the eyeliner long gone from where it used to frame your eyes.

His heart skips a beat. The noise from the game and his friends’ laughter suddenly feel miles away, as if the room has gone quiet in an instant.

Then, through your teary eyes and blushed cheeks, you give him a smile. It’s weak, almost forced, but you try. You shrug your shoulders, like you're attempting to downplay whatever’s hurting you.

“Hey, Joseph,” you say, your voice cracking just enough that Drew hears it. Your smile fades, and the act you’re trying to put on crumbles just a little.

Drew’s heart sinks. He knows you too well. The moment you said his name like that—broken and vulnerable—he realizes just how much you’re holding back.

Without a word, Drew steps closer.

The easy-going grin he had on earlier is gone. His brows furrowed with concern as he reaches for you, hands cupping your cheeks. 

He holds you gently, but firmly—like he's grounding you, keeping you steady.

His gaze softens, and he watches, helpless for a second, as the first tear escapes and trails down your cheek. His heart aches seeing you like this.

His eyes never leave yours, and there’s an unspoken promise in them—I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

When you speak again, the apology slips out almost before you can stop it. “I’m sorry…” you start, feeling bad for interrupting his night with his friends.

“Don’t. Don’t apologize.” He says, as if he’s trying to erase that sense of guilt before it can settle in. 

He gives you a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, “don’t ever apologize for needing me.”

He takes a moment, watching your eyes carefully, making sure you understand that he means it. There’s no disappointment in his gaze—only warmth, care, and an overwhelming need to protect you from whatever’s hurting.

Your eyes flicker away, sparkling with unshed tears as you struggle to catch your breath, trying to muffle the cries threatening to break free.

“It’s just- it’s just my parents-“

Your words falter as his friends cheer loudly in the background, their excitement rising with each point scored in the game. 

Drew notices immediately—your discomfort, the way you're struggling to open up in this moment—and it hits him: you’re still standing out in the hallway, exposed to everything.

“Let’s, let’s get inside,” he murmurs. He doesn’t need to say more than that—his hands move to your shoulders, guiding you toward his room, tell you everything.

His friends, too absorbed in the game, don’t notice the subtle shift in the air. They’re still yelling at the screen, completely oblivious to the fact that his girlfriend has showed up crying. 

As he leads you down the hall, you finally feel the air change—calmer, quieter. 

The second the door of Drew’s room closes behind you, the outside world fades.

Unknowingly, you’ve sat down at the edge of his bed, the soft mattress dipping under your weight. 

Drew quietly moves around his room, as he finds a box of tissues on his dresser. He doesn’t take his eyes off you, though—watching the way you sit, the way your shoulders shake with each breath, how your chest rises and falls, unevenly.

Once he hands it to you, Drew settles beside you. His arm slides around your shoulders, pulling you closer but not forcing you.

He listens carefully to the soft hiccups that escape from you, tiny gasps caught in the air. 

He just continues to rub gentle circles on your back, his touch light and comforting. 

Finally, Drew speaks, but it is barely above a whisper, “what’s wrong?”

You grab a tissue, dabbing your cheeks where the mascara has ran down. 

When you see the dark spots on the tissue, your chest tightens. The tears come faster now, and you let out a shaky breath between sobs, “now my makeup’s ruined!” 

Drew can’t help but chuckle lightly at your reaction, the sound soft and gentle. His hand, still resting around your shoulders, takes the tissue from your trembling fingers.

With a small, reassuring smile, he dabs at your cheeks, wiping away the smudged makeup with care. 

“Don’t, don’t worry about that,” he says quietly. 

The tenderness in his words feels like a balm to your frayed nerves, and for a moment, it’s the only thing grounding you.

As you look up at him, your breath catching in your throat, you notice how close he is. 

His face is inches from yours, and his eyes hold nothing but softness, nothing but a promise of comfort. His hand lingers at your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I…i had dinner with my parents,” you start. 

“I know,” he murmurs softly, his gaze never leaving yours. He'd seen the date marked on his calendar weeks ago, the reminder of your private dinner with your parents, and he had known it might be a tough night for you.

It was a dinner just for you and them—an attempt to reconnect, to have a moment where things might feel normal again. But Drew knew, from the way you’d talked about it in passing, that it wasn’t going to be easy.

“They still think, I made a huge mistake,” your voice cracks once again, and you swallow hard, as if trying to force the pain down, but it’s no use. It bubbles up too quickly.

Drew knows exactly what you mean. He remembers you telling him about dropping out in the middle of your final year. How it had been a decision made for yourself, even if your parents couldn’t understand it.

Drew watches you quietly for a moment, then speaks softly, “You did what was right for you. If they don’t get it, that’s on them, not you. Who cares what they think?”

He gives you a small, reassuring smile, before adding on, “you should see yourself through my eyes. You’re beautiful, smart, and more than enough as you are. You don't need a...certificate to prove that.”

His words settle over you, and for a moment, you feel your heart soften at the quiet sincerity in his voice. But you quickly look away, feeling a bit shy under his gaze. 

“Yeah, well…” you mutter, “we got into this huge fight, and I just stormed out- and look where I am. Ruining your - your guys’ night.”

“No, no,” Drew immediately interrupts, “you’re not ruining anything.”

Then, unexpectedly, without missing a beat, Drew throws the tissue in his hand toward the trash can in the far corner, and you watch, distracted by the sudden movement. 

You can’t help but let out a small chuckle when he makes a perfect shot, the tissue landing neatly inside with a satisfying swish.

Drew turns toward you, his smile both confused and amused, clearly unsure of what exactly made you laugh but happy to see you smile. “What?” he asks, his voice still holding that easy charm.

You stare at him for a moment, your eyes catching on his lips, the way they curve just slightly in that grin, and for a fleeting second, the urge to kiss him overwhelms you. 

It’s like everything else in the room fades away, and it’s just the two of you in this small, quiet moment.

Your breath catches in your chest, and before you can even think, the space between you seems to vanish.

Without a word, you lean in, your eyes fluttering shut, letting instinct take over. His hand gently cups your cheek, warm against your skin, as he tilts your head just slightly.

And then, you feel it—his lips against yours, and everything feels…right.

The kiss is calming, full of quiet affection—comforting in a way that eases all the tension, like a safe place where nothing else matters.

You could taste your own tears, salty on your lips, but somehow they only make the moment feel more real—more human. There’s something about the way Drew holds you, his lips soft and patient, as if he's absorbing all your hurt without needing to speak.

You pull away just briefly, catching your breath, but before you can even fully regain yourself, Drew leans in again, this time with urgency, as if he needs this kiss more than you.

His lips press against yours, deeper this time, gentle but insistent. His hand moves to your back, pulling you closer as if he’s anchoring himself to you, or to this moment.

You smile against his lips, hands wrapping around his neck. 

You want to push him against his bed, take him right there, show him how appreciative you are of him, but seems like, the rest of the world wants him too.  

The sound of his friends cheering from outside breaks through the moment, reminding you that Drew has guests over, and this isn't just your time with him.

You pull away, resting your forehead against his, closing your eyes for just a moment to catch your breath. 

When you reopen your eyes, you find Drew’s gaze already on you—soft, steady, and full of something unspoken. There’s a quiet intensity in the way he looks at you, like he’s taking in every detail, as if he’s memorizing this moment, just as you are.

“You have- you have people, in the other room,” to your own surprise, you’re stuttering. You pull your head away slightly, finding the fun in tracing the line of his jaw. 

“I wanna stay here,” he murmurs, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place, but you feel it in your chest, a quiet certainty. 

He doesn’t break his stare, and in that moment, it’s like he’s asking you to stay with him too—not just in this room, but in everything he’s feeling, everything you’re both sharing.

“Ask them to leave,” you whisper back, a small smile tugging at your lips, though the words are more playful than serious.

You both know it’s not that simple. 

“Join me,” he says, referring to his guys' night, to his friends in the living room. 

“Well, at least let me... change, and redo my makeup.”

“I don’t know…” he lets his words trail off, his eyes scanning your features with mischief lurking in them, “they might like- like having a panda around.”

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch, unable to hide the small smile. You hear Drew’s throaty laugh escape his lips, a sound that makes your heart skip.

“Alright, just… take your time,” he says, his playful tone softening as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering just a moment longer than expected, like he wants to make sure you feel it.

You watch him, your chest warming at the gesture, as he moves across the room to his dresser. 

He pulls it open, rummaging through his clothes, and then, almost casually, he grabs the hoodie you recognize to be 'yours'. It’s his, but with how often you wear it, it’s practically yours now. 

Then, in one smooth motion, he opens the top drawer and takes out your shorts, underwear, and bra. He places them beside you, not even needing to say anything—just a small, thoughtful gesture that tells you he knows exactly what you need, even before you ask for it.

You look up at him, surprised by the simplicity of it, but somehow it feels even more intimate than words could say. It’s the way he just gets you, without needing to make a big deal of it.

And because it felt right, you whisper, “I love you.”

Drew’s gaze softens, the teasing smile melting away into something more sincere. His eyes hold yours as he says, “I love you more,” his voice quiet but filled with warmth. 

There’s no playfulness now��just honesty, raw and real.

“…now get out of here,” you tease, the corners of your lips lifting into a smirk.

He leans forward, his finger lightly tapping your forehead in a playful push, “so eager to get rid of me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, and he smiles, shaking his head. 

With one last glance, he turns and walks to the door.

And once the door closes behind him, you’re left with a warm feeling in your chest—safe, loved, and entirely at peace.

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

happy cny! angpao for everyone <3

i apologize in advance if this isn't good and has mistakes- i wrote it in a rush! (also, i realized there was a sudden pov switch- tf

other

[hexhomos]

Hey man, I follow you on bluesky, but I’m too shy to interact openly 😔 Could you maybe share more about the state of the fandom before season 2? I was watching Arcane as it was coming out in 2021, but I never interacted with the fandom back then so a lot of things that you say come as a surprise… Even I knew that a lot of people disliked Jayce tho which was crazy to me because he was my favorite after Jinx and Silco and I always found him to very compellingly written. But I never thought that he was hated to such an extent! Was Jayvik really a crackship with a small fanbase as some people say? I knew it was much smaller than Caitvi which I thought was totally fair and understandable, but I’m pretty sure that I saw a decent amount of fan art on my Twitter TL back then…

Its very inaccurate to call jayvik a crackship during season 1 LOLLLL s1act1 had such a JV boom it was partially marketed by word of mouth as possible canon yaoi. And I say "marketed" with intent, netflix official pages and riot official pages made posts/memes with these two, including some sexual innuendo. Keep in mind, vikjayce was an old ship: from 2012 onwards there's already faint niches in the community and even fanfics.

I have some of those social media posts here.

The marketing yaoi memes became a problem after act2 came out and a lot of the audience felt rightfully betrayed/led on by corporate; i think on the netflix side they got confused on who the canon gay pair was but old time players were well acquainted with riot's HORRID handling of mlm couples - the disappointment wrt jayvik in season 1 was palpable and impossible to ignore, partially because their stories WERE well liked ingame as their lore selves, and in act1 as a potential couple.

for a little while back there "riot HATES gay men" became a whole memetic chorus repeated ad nauseam, and this did affect the decisionmaking process. In the following months they got lil nas X to collab on their yearly esports theme and collab on the new gay champion release (a man permanently separated from his ex partner because he was terrible in the relationship. no comment) and we also got the pride month reconfirmation that tfgraves are gay for eachother, though once again not in a relationship and not allowed to even confess, they were just posing in general proximity under the rainbow flag; an obvious step down from the pitch where they had Old Romantic History. Not even a kiss. You can sense the pattern on how riot approaches gay men here, and /why/ a lot of people on the fence have rallied behind jayvik after season 2. It would finally subvert the trend.

I would say post season 1 it was obviously caitvi city, with some other niches, biggest ones being timebomb and jayvik. Caitvi were Mega viral, successfully tricked general audiences into calling the game "league of lesbians" for a while back there, ascribing progressivity to the company where it was pinkmoneying at best. People's general hatred of jayce made it so he was underutilized, misread and mischaracterized at large, INCLUDING in caitvi or general fanworks. He was a republican trumpian dumbjock stocks guy, insert your least liked man here. It was not uncommon to click on a jayvik fic/fanart and see some sort of sentiment related to "oh jayce sucks but someone needs to kiss viktor", and this was mild ribbings when compared to people who DIDN'T ship it. On these other waters it was common to see "Viktor deserves much better!!!!!!" plastered on all the walls. hence the massive y/n stats on viktors page.

still, people who stuck by jayvik were generally doubly invested on it, and they even got a couple of zines made! Secret santa projects were also up and running for some years. There was fanmerch though not as much as we are seeing now, and also a recapture of league vikjayce content in much, much smaller numbers. Even back then and in the years before season 2 some rioters would already share and interact with these fanworks; people insisting that jayvik is "new" or was uncommon before are extremely wrong. In AO3 stats alone they were in the top 3 league ships of all time after season 1, and they are firmly #2 as of now, rapidly growing. The fanbase is cosmically larger now but the seed was always there.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Monster, Inc. 6

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss is an asshole, you know this. But what happens when he turns his wrath upon you? (plus!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, this reader is known as Missie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

Maestro’s is a nice place. Your dress feels even louder in the high-end restaurant. And you feel even more tired as the dim lighting softens the edges of your vision. Mr. Hansen looms there too, ushering you after the hostess as she leads you to your reserved booth. 

A man awaits you. He doesn’t stand or offer Lloyd a handshake. He simply finishes his martini and shoves the empty glass at the hostess, keeping the olive to chew on. 

“’Bout time,” he mutters at Hansen around the garnish. 

“Nice to see you too, Hugh,” Hansen nudges you ahead of him. You slide onto the curved bench silently. The man finally looks up from his glowing phone. He scoffs in your direction. “Who’s the grade school teacher?” 

“Assistant,” Hansen drops down and glides in close to you. “She’ll keep minutes.” 

“Really? Alright,” he snorts. 

“Well, you want an investment so... it’s business, isn’t it?” 

“Thought we were getting drinks and steak,” the other man he called Hugh sits back casually. 

“Missie, Ransom, Ransom, Missie. There, all introduced,” Hansen picks up the liquor menu and pets his mustache. You notice how he toys particular with the shining silver strand. 

“Nice to meet you, uh, Ransom,” you intone. 

“Yeah, sure,” he sniffs and rolls his eyes. You’re an intruder, if not an imposter. Not just at this table but in this restaurant. You should be with Peter getting your sandwich with extra pickles. 

The men are silent. You look between them as the tension rise. A waitress reappears with a fresh martini and puts it before Ransom. Hansen sits up and puts down the small menu.  

“Scotch, top shelf for me, and a vodka tonic for the lady. She’s watching those hips,” he orders. You don’t put in that you’d rather not drink. You doubt he’ll notice if you touch it or not. Besides, it’s a courtesy you don’t expect of him. 

“You going to the reunion?” Ransom asks over his martini. 

“Nah, stuff’s sad. Bunch of washed out legacies and stringy armed pledges.” Hansen retorts. 

“Mr. Big Stuff’s too cool for school,” Ransom chortles. “Imagine this, honey,” he gestures to you with his stemmed glass. “Big boss man used to be the frat’s treasurer. Penny pincher. Kept a fucking stranglehold over every penny. Wouldn’t even put out for cups for beer pong--” 

“Not all of have grandaddy’s trust fund to fall back on--” 

“Bro, don’t even. Your mom is loaded.” 

“Where do you think I got my good sense from?” Hansen counters. The server returns with your drinks and sets them down, offering a food menu. The men wave those away. Your stomach growls. 

Hansen slides the sparkling vodka in front of you. He sips his own dark liquor and you let yours sit on ice. He huffs and flicks the brim of your glass, “drink.” 

“Sir,” you lift the glass and take a tiny sip. 

“Don’t be ungrateful,” he pushes on the bottom until you gulp. You nearly gag on the bitterness of the tonic and alcohol. 

“So what’s going on here?” Ransom leans his elbows on the table. 

“Business, talk about your damn books,” Hansen demands with the snap of his fingers. 

“New imprint. So long as I can get the backers,” Ransom shrugs. “Grandfather says I have to put work in. Mom says the same.” 

“Oh, and how is the insatiable Mrs. Thrombey?” 

“Hey,” Ransom warns. 

Hansen cackles, “now that’s a woman. Tall, domineering—you know, she still got it--” 

“Would you quit?” 

“I’m having fun,” Hansen chuckles and drains his glass. He takes out his phone and Ransom sighs, nursing his own drink in agitation. 

You squirm in the roiling air. You wet your lips as you wait for them to continue. Neither of them do. 

“That’s a nice ring...” you comment, just to ease the silence. 

Ransom twists the mother of pearl band then fidgets with his hands, “thank, er...” 

“So you went to school together?” You prompt, afraid of another simmering tension. 

“Pfft, no. Do I look old?” Ransom sneers. “I only heard the stories. After. L-Dog made quite the name for himself.” 

“Hugh,” Hansen puts his phone screen down. 

“What? I’m making conversation since you can’t be bothered,” he shrugs and leans forward, focusing on you. “What’s it like working for him? He a tight ass? I mean, he’s got you here past six. I’m thinking so.” 

“She’s here to take notes,” Hansen insists. “It’s her job.” 

“Suuuuure,” Ransom drags out the word. “Still the same as you ever were, huh.” 

“Shut up.” 

“This guy, oh, everyone knew what he liked. Really chubby ch--” 

Hansen slaps the table and it jolts as he kicks Ransom underneath, “you want me to back your nepotistic venture or what?” 

Ransom laughs and reaches to rubs his shin, “you know, this could’ve been an email.” 

“Could’ve,” Hansen signals for the server. “But I prefer to deal with you with a dash of good scotch.” He taps your glass again, “finish that.” 

The waitress reappears and Hansen orders another round for the table. You deflate just a little. You hoped you might get out early enough to meet Peter, or at least call him and explain. You’re not sure your frantic apology via text made sense. 

“You’re too nice for him,” Ransom says. “And it’s me saying so.” 

“Get on with it,” Hansen sneers. 

“Fine. Erotic thrillers. Granddad’s scandalised but I told him, times are changing. People like horny with their fear.” 

You stay quiet. You’re rather content to do so. Let them chatter. You take out your phone and take notes; trying to translate his crass explanation into business speak. Hansen gets his second drink and yawns. 

The more you transcribe there blustering chirping, the more you feel that needling in your head. You shouldn’t be here. Neither of them need you here. You know it’s punishment; because you saw your boss at his weakest, but when did you ever step a toe out of line with Hansen. You’ve ever been loyal. You are sitting at that table after all. 

“Hips, if you’re not gonna drink, don’t let it go to waste,” Hansen snatches your untouched refill and slurps it down. 

Concern tickles behind your ears. He’s drinking a lot and fast. The longer you’re here, the more he knocks back, you’re assured that you won’t be catching up with Peter tonight.  

You quickly flip out of your notes app and check your conversation. You deleted Hansen’s message but not before it was read. Even so, Peter’s response is ‘understood, we’ll do another night’. You reply to him quickly 

‘Sorry again. Boss has important stuff. Maybe this weekend?’ 

You switch back to your notes as Hansen slaps his chest and stifle a belch. Ransom sucks on the gin soaked olive and shakes his head again. Looks like you’re going to be the adult at the table. 

[wtfaniii]

Escape To The Bathroom

Summary: You love adrenaline, you are shameless and you are not interested in anyone but yourself or sometimes your brother, however... a certain guy can make you bend your legs with just one look.

Warning: Slight smut, drugs and inappropriate language.

Lee Myung gi x fem reader

Your eyes were filled with amusement even though your lip was split and you could taste your own blood in your mouth.

—Rawrr... the old man knows how to have fun —You said, standing up without taking your eyes off of player 001 who had intervened in the small fight that your brother, his friend and you had created against 333.

Thanos and Nam gyu turned away tired and in pain after the beating he had given them but you continued to keep a smile on your lips despite the slight body pain you felt.

You turned to Myung gi and blew him a kiss before returning to your group.

—He's an idiot —Your brother Nam gyu complained as he sat on the edge of his bed.

—So do us —You responded, sitting next to him —Mom would be embarrassed if she knew we fought at lunch.

He grumbled at your words knowing you were making fun of him.

While you were sitting with your group your eyes were still fixed on Myung gi, you couldn't deny it, the idiot was handsome, since you saw him in his YouTube videos you considered him a potential crush but after having left you in ruin for that investment you reconsidered your thoughts, you wanted to hit him but you also longed to feel his lips on yours.

He felt your gaze and directed his eyes towards you, his look was irritated but also curious, ¿why did you see him so much? It was uncomfortable to a certain extent and you noticed this so you formed a teasing smile on your face.

Your eyes remained fixed on him, it was like a silent battle of glances, only he transmitted annoyance and you conveyed challenge.

You didn't even realize Thanos was talking to you until he snapped his fingers in front of your face to get for attention.

—The earth calls you —He said at the same time that he directed his gaze towards where you were still looking —Don't tell me you liked him.

—It's cute —You responded without much importance, looking away.

—Go and talk to him —The rapper encouraged you by playing with the rings on his fingers.

—¿Talk to who? —Nam Gyu approached you and gave you a friendly blow on the head, making your lips twitch.

—Nobody —You responded immediately, giving Thanos a threatening look but he was more focused on his music than on your conversation.

You knew Nam Gyu like the back of your hand and if he knew that you liked the man he didn't like it was definitely going to be a problem.

When it was time to play the next game, they took them to a colorful room where they had to form teams of five members. Your brother integrated you into the team with Thanos, but your eyes and mind wandered to a certain player with the number 333.

—Maybe I should look for another team, we don't know what we are going to play —You excused yourself by walking away from them without letting your brother object.

You walked between the players until your gaze fell on Myung gi, you formed your best smile and went towards him, he jumped a little when you suddenly put your hands on his shoulders and shook him to annoy him.

—It seems that we will be a team —You said standing in front of him.

—¿Your team didn't want a woman? —he ask, scanning you from top to bottom with a judging look.

—It's not that, I thought it would be smart to divide us.

He seemed to brush it off and motioned for you to follow him in search of his other members, it was simple and once their team was ready they sat on the ground while they gave the order.

You felt Nam gyu's gaze burning the back of your neck but it was the last thing you cared about now, you needed to get through these games alive but your mind was also flying towards the guy who was next to you.

—¿And what are you good at?

—I'm good at whatever you want —Your response caught him off guard, you were supposed to hate him ¿and now you were flirting with him? That small smile on your lips and the look in your eyes did not go unnoticed,but when you did not receive a positive response to your suggestion you said the following: —Gonggi.

Your team passed the test and they were sent back to the huge room, your brother and Thanos had not yet passed through so you stayed silent and sat on your bed.

You admitted it, if you cared about your brother but you also tried to keep a cool mind and your feelings buried, here had to survive and win, the chances of dying were very high so you were prepared for that.

—This is very stressful —Myung gi's voice brought you out of your pensions and to your surprise he was standing next to you, watching you cautiously.

—But fun —You responded, moving a little to the left to make room next to you —The worst that can happen to us is a shot in the head.

You tried to ease him tension but that seemed to stress him out even more so you quickly spoke up.

—Anyway, I don't think they'll eliminate us, you're good.

—You too.

The answer was sincere, you had paid each other a compliment, Myung gi continued looking at your profile while you kept the gaze down, you were pretty although had a shitty character, however... maybe he could ignore that.

The silence between you was not awkward, in fact it was loaded with attraction, your heart was beating like crazy to the point that you could swear he heard it, your red cheeks and the shine in your eyes were beautiful to him, your thoughts wandered into fantasies that you wish you could do him, fuck it, you had nothing to lose.

—Hey... I'll go to the bathroom, to relieve some stress —You said softly and with a slight smile, a clear invitation for him to accompany you.

You got out of bed and walked cautiously towards the door with him following you, you asked the guard at the entrance for permission to go to the bathroom and the two of were guided down the long hallway.

The bathrooms were divided into men and women but when the guard turned around to watch, you and Myung gi entered the women's room.

As soon as you heard the "click" of the door closing, you launched yourself at him to kiss him needily.

He reciprocated the kiss and backed away towards one of the stalls where he opened the door with a light kick and sat on the cup with you on top of him.

Hearing him rapid breathing and feeling him hands on your hips was just as you imagined, a gasp escaped your mouth as he pulled you closer to his body to feel each other.

—You gave me a black eye —He murmured to you with a touch of reproach but also with the heat of the moment.

You were going to mock him but your words were interrupted by a small cry of pain mixed with pleasure when you felt him teeth dig a little into your neck.

—Now we are even —He said proudly, pulling away from your neck to see the purple mark he had left on your skin.

You bit your lower lip and continued with the heated kiss, him hands were responsible for removing your clothes and you did the same skillfully.

The cubicle they were in was small and not exactly the most comfortable but the only thing you could feel was how he entered you again and again with erratic movements, hearing him grunt and gasp quietly was like music to your ears and in those at times the thing you least cared about was the risk of another player entering the bathroom or even the guard.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as you pushed yourself up and down to reach climax, Myung gi's gaze was fixed on your face, seeing your closed eyes and the sweat that fell on your forehead, with one hand he removed the hair that bothered your face as he listened to you moan and gasp.

Like a gentleman, he let you finish first and then he finished off of you to avoid future consequences.

—If you tell anyone, I'll blacken your other eye... —You said as a warning, taking deep breaths and relaxing your body on him.

—I don't promise anything —He responded while kissing your neck and caressing your hair.

You knew that if Thanos or Nam Gyu bothered him again he would defend himself with this just to make your brother a little more angry, he was an idiot but you didn't regret anything.

You and him heard the knocking on the door and the guard's complaints telling them that they had to leave to return to the other players so you stood up on shaky legs and adjusted your clothes.

—¡Come out now! They've been in there for a long time —The guard demanded for the fourth time, knocking on the door —¡I'm going in!

When he opened the bathroom door, fortunately you and Myung gi were already dressed and outside the cubicle, you had just finished washing your hands when you saw the guard with a look of indignation and displeasure.

—¡You can't go into the women's bathroom! ¡This is harassment and disrespect! —You said, looking at him with annoyance as you walked past him to leave.

The guard looked at Myung-gi who also kept a serious and firm look.

—¿What? I'm a gentleman, I'm not going to leave a girl alone with a masked man in a place like this —He said in defense, passing by him side but not before bumping he shoulder into him in an act of disdain.

The two returned to the other players and you smiled calmly when you saw your brother sitting with the others on the stretcher stairs.

—¿Where were you? —Nam Gyu asked curious but calm, the drug he had consumed with Thanos had not yet fully worn off.

—I went to the bathroom —You responded without importance, sitting between him and Thanos, your gaze went to 333, who also saw you with a slight smile on his lips.

—Shit ¿What happened to your neck? —Thanos asked seeing the purple mark on your skin and you instinctively covered it with your hand, Nam Gyu also turned to look at you with intrigue.

—An insect —You knew it would be a problem to fuck your brother's enemy but you couldn't care less, you could do whatever you want, whenever and with whoever you want.

And every chance they had, they both took a little escape to the bathroom.

N/A: It's not one of my best works but I had to upload something, do I write more about him?

[moeitsu]

The Dark Tide Siren!Arthur Morgan x Reader Modern AU Ch 4 - The Current Knows No Master Summary: Hosea is a steady presence, helping Arthur unravel his past and the dangers that come with it. Tension builds between you and Arthur during a heated moment, where your physical closeness stirs unexpected emotions. You begin to sense that your unspoken connection could change the relationship forever, as feelings of vulnerability and trust deepen. wc: 10k tw: none really, exploring anatomy, slight nsfw Swim Back! ↞ ﹏𓊝﹏ ↠ Sail Ahead!

AN: This might be my new favorite chapter. Got a bit carried away, but I'm pretty proud of it! Serving up some sweet hot angst :)

I've also started a tag list! I'm still blown away that people are reading this let alone enjoying it! If you'd like to be tagged in future chapters please let me know!

tag list: @photo1030 @v3lv3tf0x @ireallyhonestlydontcare

Hosea shifted his weight, flipping through Charles’ medical report with one hand while his sharp eyes flickered between the clipboard, Arthur’s imposing figure, and me. He repeated this process several times, skimming the notes, muttering under his breath, then stealing another glance at Arthur as if to make sure he was real. For a man who had spent over three decades running an aquatic rescue center, he was taking the discovery of a mythical creature with remarkable composure.

The deep lines on his sun-weathered face twitched with contemplation, but there was no fear—just curiosity. Hosea Matthews was a man who had seen it all. As the owner and benefactor of the Heartland Aquatic Rehabilitation Center, he was more than just a businessman—he was a scientist, a teacher, and above all, a protector. He thrived on educating the public about marine conservation, often leading school tours and speaking with journalists to spread awareness of our mission. No creature was too broken or beyond saving in his eyes. If an animal found itself within these walls, Hosea would sooner strike a deal with the devil himself than abandon it to fate. And that devotion extended to the people under his care, too. He treated his employees like family, fiercely loyal and deeply invested in each of us.

The clock on the wall ticked past 7:10 AM. The facility would open to the public in less than an hour, it was typical for Hosea to arrive early and check in on his employees and resident patients. But I had a gut feeling he would be clearing his schedule today. Not when something like this had landed in his lap.

“Two hearts…” he muttered, rubbing his bearded chin thoughtfully. He looked at Arthur again, then back at me, as if I could somehow confirm what he’d read in the report. “Incredible. One to pump blood to the gills, the other to circulate it through the body, if I were to guess.”

His voice carried the same fascination I had felt the first time I pressed my ear to Arthur’s chest and heard that mesmerizing, rhythmic thrum. But unlike me, Hosea’s wonder was tempered with calculation—already, I could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to piece together Arthur’s biology. I had no doubt that by the end of the day, he’d be buried in every marine textbook and research paper he could find, chasing the impossible.

Hosea tossed the medical notes onto the counter with a soft pattering clink, exhaling as he stepped closer to the pool. His boots scuffed against the tile, the sound swallowed by the steady hum of filtration systems and the gentle slosh of water as Arthur shifted ever so slightly. Despite my presence, Arthur’s slitted eyes remained locked onto Hosea, watching his every movement with wary precision. His dark blond hair drifted like kelp caught in a current, fanned out around his partially submerged face. Even now, after everything we’d been through together, his instinct was still caution.

With a groan that betrayed his age, Hosea crouched at the pool’s edge, resting his forearms on his knees. He ran a weathered hand through the white strands of his hair, lips tugging into a wry smile. “I have to be honest—I really thought John and Charles had teamed up to play some kind of sick prank on an old man.” He chuckled warmly, shaking his head. “But I can see now that I was the fool.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “I bet John wishes this was still a prank. He had a hard time with it all last night.”

Hosea’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Sounds like my boy.” He glanced back at Arthur, studying him as though he were trying to commit every impossible detail to memory. “What did you say his name was?”

“Arthur,” I answered softly. “And he can talk. You just need to be patient, he’s—”

I trailed off as Arthur’s eyes found mine, those deep blue depths glistening with something fragile. A silent plea. Fear, uncertainty, trust all woven into one unspoken look. That strange, aching need to protect him surged through me again, something deeper than instinct, something almost primal. I couldn’t explain it, but I felt it down to my bones.

“He’s had a rough night,” I finished, voice quieter now.

Hosea hummed knowingly, his gaze flicking to Arthur once more. “Well, Charles isn't one to spare any gruesome details in his reports. Sounds like he’s been through hell.” He leaned in slightly, offering a warm, reassuring smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Arthur. My name is Hosea Matthews—I run this rehabilitation center. I can see you’ve already met some of my crew. They’re good people. And we’re gonna do everything we can to help you, son.”

Arthur didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The slow, deliberate flare of his gills spoke for him, a flicker of unease passing through his body like a ripple on water. At first, I didn’t understand why—until I caught the briefest twitch in his expression at Hosea’s choice of familiarity. Son. The word struck something in him, something painful.

He told me about his ‘family’ only moments ago.

My stomach twisted at the memory of his broken voice, the raw truth laced beneath the simple words: Don’t have a home. His trust was slow, a fragile thing, and I knew then that Hosea’s kindness—though genuine—was still too much, too soon. But not with me, a small voice in my mind whispered. Arthur trusted me. That realization wrapped around my heart and squeezed, an intoxicating blend of responsibility and something deeper, something I wasn’t ready to name.

“Once that wound starts making some progress, we’ll get you into a bigger tank,” Hosea continued, his voice gentle, coaxing. “You’ll love it here, I promise.” He winked, as if that alone could lighten the weight of everything Arthur had endured.

Arthur remained silent, but his gaze flicked back to me, as if waiting for my confirmation. And for the first time since last night, I wondered if I was becoming more than just his rescuer. If I was becoming his tether. His anchor in a raging sea of uncertainty. 

It almost felt…good to be needed, to be trusted with something so beautiful yet fragile.

I crouched next to Hosea, exhaling a hesitant sigh as I searched for the right words. “About that, Hosea… There’s something rather, uhm—miraculous I discovered about Arthur this morning.”

Before he could ask, I extended my wrist, tilting it so the sunlight filtering through the skylights caught on my skin. The light refracted off four iridescent scars, polished like streaks of opal, running in perfect parallel lines.

Hosea’s sharp eyes narrowed. He reached out, taking my wrist in his weathered hands and pulling it closer. With a quiet hum, he retrieved a pair of glasses from his breast pocket and perched them on his nose.

“Count my lucky stars,” he murmured, smoothing a calloused thumb over the scarred flesh, where the once-torn skin had knitted itself back together seamlessly. “I’ve never seen something like this in all my days.”

“Me neither,” I admitted, still in awe of the truth I had barely begun to comprehend. “He’s got some kind of accelerated regeneration ability—and it’s not just his own body that heals. He can use it on others. I don’t know the extent of it yet, or its limitations, but the wound he suffered last night has nearly vanished.”

Hosea exhaled, thoughtful as he turned my wrist this way and that, watching the scars catch the light like shifting pearls. He was a man who had seen plenty of strange things in his lifetime, but even this seemed beyond his understanding.

“He’s truly something incredible,” I continued, voice dipping lower, heavier. “But I’m afraid there are some bad people who want to take it from him.”

“The harpoon, you mean?” Hosea asked, cocking an eyebrow. Of course, nothing ever got past this man. The moment I mentioned Arthur’s ability, he had already pieced together that there was more to this creature than what was written in the report.

I stole a glance at Arthur, watching the way the water rippled gently around his partially submerged face. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, he was still. Then, the faintest nod—a gesture so small it would’ve been imperceptible if not for the subtle movement of the water.

He was giving me permission. Trusting me to speak on his behalf. Trusting me to share his past with the only people willing to help him.

And I wouldn’t take that lightly.

Without hesitation, I launched into everything I had learned. If anyone could help us—if anyone could save Arthur from the torment and cruelty that had shaped his existence—it was Hosea Matthews.

I told him Arthur was only half siren, that his father had been human and had taken him from his mother at a young age. I explained how this man had sold him off like livestock, trading his own son to a group of scientists who saw him as nothing more than an experiment, a resource to be drained. They had exploited his ability to heal, used his body without regard for his pain or his will.

But I left out the part about his son. That felt like a piece of Arthur’s past that wasn’t mine to share. He had so little as it was—no home, no family, no freedom. His memories, even the painful ones, were all he had left of his identity, the only proof that he had ever been someone instead of something.

Hosea listened in silence, his face unreadable, though I could see the sharpness in his eyes—the way his mind was already moving, fitting the pieces together. But when I spoke the name, the name of the man who had claimed ownership over Arthur, his expression shifted.

“Dutch van der Linde,” Hosea repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze turned distant, clouded by thought—remembering, calculating, connecting dots I hadn’t even drawn yet. He let out a slow, measured breath, and when he spoke again, his tone was grim.

“Oh dear. This isn't good.”

Arthur sensed the shift instantly. His body tensed beneath the water, muscles coiling like a predator readying for a strike. He rose slightly, his gills flaring and on full display, his lip curling back in a silent snarl. The sharp ridges of his shark-like teeth glinted beneath the morning light.

This was not the fear of a man—it was the instinct of a creature who knew he had been backed into a corner. The predator turned prey. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. The water around him rippled with the force of his body preparing for a fight, knowing that if it came to that, he would not go down without one.

For the first time since I had met him, I saw not just the man or the creature—but something caught in between.

Something dangerous.

Something monstrous. 

Arthur’s entire body was wound tight, his muscles flexing beneath the water’s surface. His teeth, sharp and lethal, remained bared just enough to send a warning. A storm brewed behind his ocean-blue eyes, dark and turbulent, and for the first time, I realized just how close he was to snapping. 

I felt the tension rising fast, thickening the air like a pressure drop before a hurricane.

“Hosea,” I said carefully, keeping my voice even. “Do you know of this man?”

Arthur’s fingers twitched at his sides, his claws flexing, his body poised as if he expected to fight his way out of here. He needed answers, but he also needed to be calmed before he did something that betrayed the gentle nature he had shown me.

Hosea stood slowly, exhaling a long sigh as he scratched his chin, pulling his thoughts together. “Dutch is a kingpin in the pharmaceutical industry.”

I blinked, caught off guard. Pharmaceuticals?

“I’ve never heard of him before,” I interrupted, rifling through the list of billionaires who ran the healthcare industry. Names of powerful CEOs and corporate giants ran through my mind, but Dutch van der Linde wasn’t among them. Surely, if someone in the healthcare industry had a creature like Arthur under their study, the world would know about it. His existence wouldn’t be a secret—it would be a scientific revelation.

“That’s because he operates underground,” Hosea explained. “Think of it like the black market. He has unorthodox ways of testing and collecting data. We crossed paths many years ago, before I opened this facility. He offered me a partnership of sorts, wanted to use my knowledge of marine life to push his ideals. His plans.”

I swallowed hard, the tendrils of fear curling tight around my heart.

“Plans for what?” My voice was quieter now, uncertain. “Is he trying to make a drug from Arthur’s mucilage? To cure cancer or something?”

It was a hopeful thought, but the moment the words left my mouth, I already knew the reality was much darker. I had seen it—the proof was written in the scars scattered across Arthur’s body, each one a testament to suffering and cruelty.

Hosea’s expression darkened. His voice, when he spoke again, was void of any warmth.

“No, my dear.” He met my gaze, unblinking. “Men like him don’t have other people’s best interests at heart. Dutch isn’t looking for a cure. He’s looking for immortality.”

The breath hitched in my throat.

“He—he wants to live forever?”

Was that even possible? Arthur’s ability was accelerated healing, but had this man found a way to harness it? To manipulate it, weaponize it—use it to halt aging entirely?

Was that why they had wanted Arthur to give them a son? So they could continue their exploitation for generations, creating a lineage of sirens bred for their abilities?

A knowing smile ghosted across Hosea’s lips, though it held no humor. Perhaps it was my naivety that amused him.

“Not in the way you think,” he said. “Dutch is a businessman, an opportunist. Money and power—those are the only things he believes can make a man eternal. Wealth that never runs dry, influence that never fades.”

I felt my stomach turn.

Arthur hadn’t just been a captive. He had been an investment.

And Dutch wasn’t going to let his most valuable asset slip away so easily.

The familiar clank of metal filled my ears as the door to the examination room creaked open. The sound alone was enough to send ripples of tension through the air, a reminder that we were no longer in the fragile quiet of the morning. Almost simultaneously, I heard Arthur shift in the water—or rather, felt the splash as he disappeared beneath the surface.

He had retreated again, gliding to the farthest edge of the pool. But the space wasn’t large, offering little sanctuary. Beneath the water, I saw the faint outline of his curled tail, drawn tightly to his body in an attempt to make himself smaller. To disappear. Oh, this poor sweet creature… My heart twisted painfully at the sight.

He was so frightened. Using all his energy, which should be focussed on his healing, to appear brave in the face of the unknown. Every new sound, every unfamiliar scent put him on edge. The stress was coiling around him, dragging him deeper into the instinctual fear of an animal who had spent too long being hunted. The primal impulse to retreat, to hide, to disappear. Already, I wished we could go back to how things had been just hours ago, when he had been more at ease, when he had welcomed my touch.

But now, reality was creeping back in. And Arthur was retreating into himself.

The door fully swung open, and John strode in, carrying a tray with three coffees balanced in his grip. The rich, bitter aroma cut through the sterile scent of the examination room, grounding me in something familiar. Without a word, he set the tray down on the counter with a quiet thud.

I slipped off the lip of the pool, sinking into the water’s embrace. It was warm, a soothing contrast to the cold tension in my muscles, heated by the morning sun and the underwater pads Lenny had installed for Arthur’s comfort. The exhaustion of the night before, coupled with my less-than-ideal sleeping arrangements, pressed down on me like a weight.

I needed rest. I needed a clear mind to tackle this. But even as fatigue settled deep in my joints, the water offering momentary relief, I knew my first priority wasn’t myself. It was him.

Arthur needed reassurance. He needed to know that everything was going to be alright—even if I wasn’t entirely sure that was true.

“Morning,” John rasped, his voice rough with sleep. “Thought you guys could use some caffeine. There’s breakfast sandwiches in the breakroom, too.”

“Thanks, son,” Hosea said warmly, reaching for one of the coffees. The steam curled in the air, fogging his glasses as he took a careful sip.

John walked over to the pool and extended an iced coffee toward me. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect—my body desperately needed the energy.

“Thank you, John,” I murmured, wrapping my chilled fingers around the plastic cup before taking a grateful sip.

Iced mocha caramel. He always grumbled that I was drinking more sugar than actual coffee, but he remembered my order nonetheless. It was a small thing. But right now, these small things meant everything.

Behind me, I hadn’t even noticed Arthur had lifted his head out of the water until John made a disgusted noise.

“Yeesh, he’s even uglier in the daylight. Look at those beady eyes, and those freaky little things coming out the side of his head…”

I snapped my head up at him, mouth already open in protest. “John—!”

“Yeah, well, you ain’t the prettiest either, sunshine.”

The deep, gravelly timbre cut through the room, stopping John mid-sentence. His entire body stiffened, face draining of color and mouth gaping as his eyes darted toward Arthur, who was now watching him with an infuriating amount of amusement.

“What the fuck?” John sputtered, pointing an accusing finger. “H-he talks?!”

I couldn’t help but snicker at his reaction, and I wasn’t the only one. I noticed Hosea’s expression shift as well—the weight of our conversation that had hung over him only moments ago giving way to something softer, something like awe and quiet amusement.

Arthur smirked, swimming closer, his chest puffing slightly as he rose higher out of the water. “What, did an alligator eat half your brains?” he taunted. “’Course I talk. You think I’m some kind of inane half-wit like you?”

John’s face turned an impressive shade of red. “Listen, shark boy, we saved your scaly ass. You best remember that.”

Arthur smirked, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Oh, I remember plenty—like you nearly drownin’ in three feet of water.” His voice was smooth, but his wit was sharp as an urchin’s needle. “I’ve seen beached fish put up a better fight. You swim ‘bout as well as a mudskipper in a desert.”

“That’s enough, boys!” Hosea cut in before John could dig himself any deeper, though he couldn’t quite stifle his own laugh. “Lord above, you two bicker like brothers, and you’ve only just met.”

John huffed, crossing his arms, but I caught the flicker of reluctant amusement beneath his irritation. Really, how could anyone stay mad when trading barbs with a creature as sharp-witted, articulate, and downright magnificent as Arthur?

Hosea patted his shoulder, steering the conversation back on track. “I’ve gotta make some calls—see if Sadie’s heard anything about Dutch or his whereabouts. John, go check on the main tank, make sure it’s suitable for our new friend. And see if Kieran’s got some mussels or fresh fish. He looks like he’s about ready to eat you.”

With a playful wink, Hosea turned back toward Arthur and me, leaving John grumbling under his breath.

Sadie Adler was the local fish and game warden, but calling her that didn’t do her justice—she was a force to be reckoned with. Fierce and unyielding, she handled everything from enforcing conservation policies to investigating violations, and if Dutch Van der Linde was operating anywhere nearby, Sadie was the first to turn up with a keen eye for intel. She wasn’t just a woman of authority—she was a dear friend to the facility, having been there from the beginning, offering advice, helping with the heavy lifting, and supporting Hosea, John, and the rest of the team whenever they needed her. Her loyalty ran deep, and while she commanded respect in the wilderness, she was equally dependable when it came to the people she trusted. If Dutch was on the move, Sadie would be there to track him down, and if things escalated, she’d be the one to lead the charge. 

With Sadie involved, the ball was finally beginning to roll, and everyone knew that when she was on their side, they had an unshakable ally.

John let out a long-suffering sigh, the kind that could only come from someone who was used to this kind of banter, but there was no masking the reluctant compliance in his eyes as he nodded. Then, with a skeptical glance at me, he shot a question over his shoulder. “The hell are you grinning for?”

A giggle bubbled up from my chest, and I leaned closer, lowering my voice just enough so Hosea wouldn’t hear me instigating. “You got schooled by a fish.” I couldn't help the amusement that flickered in my eyes. Watching John get taken down a peg by Arthur was too good to pass up.

John’s eyes narrowed, his grin tugging at the scars on his cheek, and for a moment, I could see the challenge in his gaze. “No wonder he’s taken a liking to you,” he said with a sly chuckle. “Weird attracts weird.”

I rolled my eyes, but before I could throw back a sharp retort, John grabbed his coffee, tipping the cup toward me with a mock salute. “Charles should be here soon,” he said, turning toward the door. “He’ll want to examine him again before we move him, so do whatever it is you do and tame the beast before he takes a bite out of one of us.”

The playful edge in his tone was still there, but I could sense the underlying tension. Arthur was no beast, not really. No matter how much he tried to act like one. And despite everything he had endured, there was something in his eyes that made me want to keep protecting him, keep reassuring him that he didn’t have to be that thing. He wasn’t that monster.

As John stepped out, the door clicking softly behind him, I turned back toward him in the pool, where Arthur still lingered, his gaze distant but locked on me. A quiet understanding passed between us. Like we were both waiting for the moment we could be alone. 

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊

Arthur’s gaze was fixed on the door, his sharp eyes flicking back and forth as if he were anticipating the next stranger to walk through or waiting for John to return and pick up where they'd left off—some battle of wits, no doubt. His posture was tense, as though any moment could break the fragile peace that had settled between us. I leaned back against the edge of the pool, letting the water rise slightly as I sank lower, my chest now submerged in the warmth. The water was comforting, but there was a heaviness in the air that I couldn’t shake.

“He’s an ass, don’t let him get under your skin—or, uh, scales,” I said, trying to inject some levity into the conversation. But even I knew how lame it sounded. Still, it felt important to say it, to reassure him. Arthur's silence was almost suffocating, and I wondered if he even understood the weight of the words I spoke. Was it possible to explain something like that to a being whose species was so vastly different from my own?

It was still surreal to be conversing with a creature like Arthur, an entirely new species that I’d only ever heard whispered about in stories. If word got out about his existence, would the world demand to know every detail of our conversations? Would people try to study him, dissect every interaction like some scientific experiment? Would Arthur ever trust anyone enough to open up to them, or was it always going to be just me?

There was something so human about the way he spoke—his cadence, his pauses, even the faint traces of emotion in his voice—but at the same time, it was undeniably alien. His accent, no doubt learned from his captors, added a rough edge to his speech, but it wasn’t just that. His voice held an animalistic undertone, as if the words were trapped behind sharp teeth, struggling to find their way out. Some of his syllables seemed to catch, like they couldn’t make it past the sharp points of his canines. Others came out incomplete, slipping through his gills before they could fully form. And then there were the growls, the hisses, and the purring—subtle sounds that humans certainly didn’t make.

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the edge of the pool, rolling my neck to ease the strain in my muscles. I needed a moment to center myself, to shake off the weight of the day. It felt like the world around me was pressing in, and I just wanted to breathe, to reset. For a while, the only sound was the gentle splash of water as Arthur remained still, his gaze still locked on the door.

After a beat, as if confirming the coast was clear, Arthur spoke again.

“He’s afraid of me,” he said, the words rough but certain.

I mulled this over for a moment, considering the layers beneath his statement. “Well, I wouldn’t say afraid,” I replied, my voice soft but thoughtful. “Definitely a bit anxious, though. He’s... not used to things like you.”

Arthur tilted his head slightly, the faintest flicker of something I couldn’t quite read crossing his expression. It wasn’t a smile, exactly, but it was a subtle shift, a hint of self-awareness.

“Anxious, huh?” he mused, as if testing the word on his tongue. Then he shook his head, as though he was finding some small amusement in it all. “So that’s what I smelled on him.”

Smelled? I jerked my head, gods above. I was so quick to forget I was talking to someone that was more animal than human. I shouldn't be surprised he could smell the chemical changes in emotions. 

Arthur swam toward me, his body gliding through the water with an effortless grace, coming to a stop just inches away. My pulse quickened, the proximity sending a jolt of heat rushing through me. He was so close now that I could feel the warmth radiating from his chest, a slow, steady heat that seemed to pulse in rhythm with the beat of his twin hearts. His skin, still slick with water, shimmered in the soft light, every movement stirring the surface around us. I could almost taste the closeness of him—the way his warmth mingled with the coolness of the water between us.

He was propped up on his tail, using it like a seat, the motion fluid and powerful. The way his tail coiled reminded me of a serpent, sleek and dangerous, its strength hiding in every subtle shift. I could feel the silk like tendrils of his tail fin tickle my feet. It reminded me of just how massive he was, how he towered over me even submerged in the water. I could feel the weight of him without him even needing to touch me, a presence that filled the space and consumed my thoughts.

Hell, if he moved any closer, his hips would be flush against mine. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, my body instinctively responding to the proximity, to the heat of him. The space between us felt charged, thick with something unspoken, and yet, I couldn’t look away. I was caught in the gravity of him, the tension hanging between us like a thread waiting to snap.

I let out a nervous chuckle, trying—and failing—to keep the air light. “John’s been known to skip a wash. You’re probably catching a whiff—”

Whatever composure I had shattered the instant Arthur leaned in, his head dipping into the crook of my neck.

A sharp jolt of electricity shot through me as the tip of his claw ghosted over my skin, pushing my hair aside with agonizing slowness. My breath hitched. The warmth of him was palpable now, his chest so close that I could feel the steady rhythm of his twin hearts. The faint rush of water against my skin wasn’t just from the pool—it was from him, the movement of his gills as he exhaled, hot and damp against my throat.

Was he—was he smelling me?

A familiar heat curled low in my stomach, an unwanted but undeniable thought slithering its way into my mind. What would his tongue feel like there? Would it be rough or impossibly soft? What would the ridges be like? Would he taste me the way predators do, slow and deliberate, savoring the sensation?

“I never smelled fear on you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The words were felt more than heard, vibrating against the sensitive skin of my neck.

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering beneath his breath. I should pull away. I should put space between us. But I didn’t. Instead, I tilted my head slightly, unconsciously giving him more access to the most vital spot on my body. Blood rushed to my head, hot and quick making me feel dizzy. 

“Should I be afraid of you, Arthur?” My voice came out steadier than I expected, but there was no denying the weight behind the question.

Arthur hesitated. He pulled back slightly, and already I mourned the loss of his warmth. But before I could process the absence, he shifted again, bringing his face to mere inches from mine.

His pupils had expanded, swallowing the blue of his irises in deep, endless black. I swore I could see my own reflection in them, distorted like a black mirror, the water between us barely disguising the intensity of his gaze.

“I’ve hurt people,” he admitted, his voice lower now, quiet with something that almost sounded like regret. The confession sat heavy in the space between us, thick and unspoken for a long moment before he added, softer still, “I hurt you. And still, you don’t fear me.”

I took a slow, deliberate breath. That’s what this is about.

I lifted my chin slightly, meeting his gaze with renewed steadiness. “It was an accident,” I countered, my voice stronger now, more assured in our proximity. “You acted on instinct. I don’t hold it against you in the slightest.”

Arthur studied me, his lips parting slightly as if he had more to say, something deeper, something unspoken that lingered between us like the charged air before a lightning strike. But instead, he remained still, watching, waiting—his breath fanning softly against my lips, close enough that if I shifted even an inch, we would…

I forced myself to exhale. I wasn’t afraid of him. But maybe, I should have been.

My hands remained beneath the water, hidden between us as I moved with deliberate slowness. Tentatively, I let my fingertips trail up his side, barely skimming the surface of his skin. The warmth of him was staggering, a stark contrast against the cool air above the water, and as my fingers passed over the ridges of his ribs, I swore I could feel his breath hitch.

Then, I touched his gills.

They were unlike anything I had ever felt—soft, impossibly delicate, like wet velvet beneath my fingertips. The moment I brushed against them, a shudder rippled through Arthur’s body, his muscles tightening beneath my touch as he exhaled a breath that was more of a shiver.

His head dipped toward mine, lips parting ever so slightly, as though he were preparing to steal the very air from my lungs. The space between us grew impossibly small, the tension thrumming so thick it felt like it could snap at any moment. My breath stilled, mirroring his as I tilted my chin up, parting my lips just enough, as if my body already knew what came next.

He was so close I swore he could feel the pounding of my heart against my ribs, rolling in like thunder, wild and unrestrained.

But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t close the distance.

A part of me trembled with nerves, another with anticipation, and gods above—I was aroused. That insatiable warmth coiled low in my belly, twisting into something tight and aching between my legs, something that burned hotter with every second we lingered in this breathless moment.

Before I could stop myself, the words tumbled past my lips, my voice barely louder than a whisper. “What do I smell like?”

Arthur inhaled, and for a moment, I swore he was tasting the question as much as hearing it. His pupils, already large from our proximity, expanded even more, turning his eyes into endless black pools. His gills flared around his neck, and that soft bioluminescent glow flickered to life, melting between us like sunlight dissolving into the ocean depths.

“Sweet,” he murmured, voice deep and thick with something unreadable. “Like those little noises you make when I touch you.”

A sharp inhale caught in my throat, and it was only then that I realized—somewhere in the span of our conversation, he had trapped me against the edge of the pool. His arms caged me in, hands planted on either side of me, his body close enough that the water between us felt inconsequential.

And then, as if to prove his point, he dragged the back of his knuckles slowly up my bare arm, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. A small, breathy sound slipped past my lips before I could stop it, a sound that felt dangerously close to a whimper.

Arthur responded immediately.

That sound—my sound—triggered something deep within him.

A low, rolling purr rumbled from his chest, vibrating through the water between us, and fuck—I felt it between my legs. The sensation was subtle yet devastating, a deep, resonant hum that sent warmth curling through my spine, pooling where I ached for something I couldn't name.

His eyes never left mine as he leaned in just enough to brush his lips against my ear, voice dipping lower, rougher, when he added, “And musky… unlike anything I’ve ever tasted before.”

My breath hitched.

He—he could smell my musk?

No. Scratch that.

He could taste it?

My body tensed, heat flashing beneath my skin as I stared at him, equal parts mortified and breathlessly aroused. But Arthur only smirked, that damned knowing smirk, like he could read exactly what was running through my head.

And gods help me, I wanted him to. 

I suddenly felt like my own body had betrayed me, my hormones conspiring against logic, against reason. Of course I should have known his senses of smell and taste were intertwined, that he could sense me in ways no human ever could. The thought sent another wave of heat rushing through me, pooling low in my belly, coiling tighter between my legs. Hell, I was probably saturating the water with it by now.

Arthur breathed in deeply, his pupils darkened, a limitless sea of midnight, his lips curling into a grin that was nothing short of sinful. He was taunting me, reading my every thought, my every flustered attempt to gain control over my body and the way it ached for something I couldn’t deny with words. His gills flared beneath my fingertips, the movement almost instinctual, a silent plea or perhaps a challenge.

I took it.

Slipping my fingers beneath the delicate slits, I stroked the silky underside of his gills, and oh. They were impossibly soft, like the gentlest brush of a cloud against my skin, warm and slick beneath my touch. The sensation sent a shiver down my spine, but it was nothing compared to his reaction.

Arthur shuddered.

A low, guttural sound tore from his throat, thick with raw need, and his hips rolled forward, pressing flush against mine. The friction sent a bolt of fire through me, my breath catching as every nerve in my body ignited all at once.

The sound that followed was entrancing—his siren song. A deep, desperate groan that rumbled from his chest, vibrating through the water, through me. It was the kind of sound that spoke of hunger, of instinct, of a need so primal it threatened to consume him whole.

And gods help me, I had never wanted something so badly in my life.

I was utterly breathless at the sight of him. This massive, magnificent creature curling into me, arching into my touch as if my fingers on his gills were the only thing that mattered to him. His tail lashed through the water, powerful and restless, the motion sending small ripples over my skin, like even the sea itself responded to him.

My hands trembled slightly, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I caught the edge of one of his frills between my fingers, rolling it gently, reverently, sliding my touch up and down like I would a length of the finest silk.

Arthur groaned again, this time deeper, rougher, pulled from somewhere inside the hollow of his belly. His hand shot down, wrapping around my wrist—not to stop me, but to hold me there, to keep me touching him, to anchor himself in the sensation.

He was unraveling beneath me. And part of me wanted to see how far he could go.

Pressed against his chest, I could feel the steady, powerful rhythm of his twin hearts drumming beneath my fingertips, their pace betraying just how much I was affecting him. His hips rutted into mine again, slow but deliberate, and then—I felt it.

A more…private appendage that had been tucked inside his body. It was new. And strangely different.

A firm hardness pressed against me, emerging from beneath his scales—hidden before, but now unmistakable. Heat coiled low in my stomach as realization dawned, my breath hitching as I instinctively glanced down.

Below his slit, I noticed a subtle shift in his body, the scales parting, revealing something I hadn’t seen before. A new opening, a previously concealed gap where something more was stirring to life.

Arthur let out a sound between a growl and a groan, thick with something raw and unfiltered, and then—he said my name. Low, guttural, almost pained.

“You have no idea what this does to me.” His breath came fast and uneven, each exhale warming my already feverish skin.

His eyes snapped open then, locking onto mine with an expression so intense it stole the air from my lungs. It wasn’t just need, though that was certainly there—dark, all-consuming, a hunger I wasn’t sure he could tame. But beneath the desperation, I caught something else. Fear. Anticipation.

Like he was waiting to see what I would do next.

Like he was afraid of what he might do if I didn’t stop him.

And suddenly, the weight of it all came crashing down on me.

Only hours ago, my curious fingers had been teasing his entrance, innocent in my exploration. And now—oh shit. Did he think I was offering myself to him? That I was trying to mate with him? I had no idea what their rituals even entailed, had I crossed a line? Could we…would our bodies…fit? 

I wasn’t even sure myself why I had done it. I had gotten so wrapped up in him. In the way he looked, the way he sounded, the way his body responded to my touch as if I was the only thing anchoring him to this world.

And yet…

If we were in another time, another place, another body—maybe then, I wouldn’t have stopped myself. Maybe then, I would have indulged in the darker curiosities swirling through my mind.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, though I wasn’t entirely sure why I said it. Was I apologizing for touching him? For stopping? For stirring something between us that neither of us fully understood? 

Was I sorry for being the one to rescue him? That John had called me and not one of the other girls? Would it have been easier if someone else had taken my place—if I had never been the one to pull Arthur from the brink?

Or was I sorry for something else entirely?

Sorry that I couldn’t seem to define the ache growing inside me, the pull that had started as fascination but was quickly morphing into something far, far more dangerous. Sorry that I couldn’t understand why his fixation on me felt almost equal to my own fixation on him.

Two creatures, worlds apart, dipping their fingers into a current so strong it threatened to pull us under the tide.

And I was starting to wonder if I wanted to come up for air.

All I knew was that, in this moment, I had tangled myself—and this poor, beautiful creature—into a storm of confusion and frustration, and heaven help me, I wasn’t sure how to unravel it.

My voice came softer this time, barely more than a breath.

“I’m so sorry.”

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊

Charles pulled off his blue latex gloves with a practiced flick, sending them sailing through the air before they landed neatly in the waste bin. The movement was effortless, second nature, as he busied himself with tidying up his medical tools, the clink of metal against metal filling the otherwise quiet room.

“His wound is healing nicely—much faster than I expected. Though, if I had known he had accelerated healing, I probably wouldn’t have bothered with the stitches,” he chuckled, shaking his head like he still couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“You did the right thing, Charles,” I reassured him, my voice softer than I intended. “He was going to bleed out if you and Lenny hadn’t done something.”

Charles hummed in agreement, but my focus had already drifted back to Arthur.

He lay stretched out on the examination table, his massive form suspended just above the water level of the pool. The setup was temporary—meant for quick assessments, not extended stays—but he looked tense, his muscles rigid beneath his slick, bioluminescent skin.

When Charles had arrived shortly after our… moment… it had taken a considerable amount of coaxing on my part to get Arthur to emerge from the shadows curling along the edges of the pool. The morning sun had shifted, casting longer streaks of light through the skylight, but Arthur had lingered in the dim corners, watching warily as Charles entered.

At first, I thought it was fear that kept him hiding, but then—I caught the subtle cues, the tiny tells I had grown so accustomed to. The way his gills fluttered unevenly, the way his tail curled slightly around himself, not in defense, but in something almost vulnerable. Embarrassment. Shame.

Guilt churned hot and thick in my stomach.

Had I ruined something between us?

He had been so open with me, so trusting, letting me touch him, explore him in a way that was undoubtedly intimate. And I—I had let my own selfish curiosity, my treacherous, hormone-addled body, lead us somewhere neither of us had been prepared for. Had I confused him? Frustrated him?

Stars above, had I hurt him?

The sickening thought settled deep in my gut like a stone. The last thing I ever wanted was to make him feel used. To make him feel exploited—like the men who had stripped him of his autonomy, who had treated him as nothing more than a tool, a resource to be controlled.

I swallowed against the rising nausea and cast a glance at the clock on the wall. Early afternoon. I had spent nearly the entire morning in the water, and my body was starting to feel the effects—my fingers had pruned, my skin tight and dry from the salt. And god, I was hungry.

As if sensing my growing exhaustion, Charles threw me a lifeline.

“I’ve got a few more patients to check on after this, then I’m heading home for the day. You want me to give you a ride to Clemens Cove so you can get your truck?”

And some rest.

He didn’t say those words outright, but they hung unspoken between us. His offer was casual, lighthearted, but I caught the concern beneath it—the way his gaze lingered on the fatigue etched into my features, the way his tone softened just enough to let me know he noticed.

And honestly? I wasn’t about to argue.

I nodded, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “That would be much appreciated. I was worried I’d have to walk back.”

Charles cocked an eyebrow, his lips tugging into a playful smirk. “Now, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady wander halfway across town after the day you’ve had? Besides,” he added, giving me an exaggerated once-over, “you look about two steps away from passing out, and I’d really rather not have to explain to Hosea why I found you face-down in a ditch.”

A tired chuckle escaped me, shaking some of the tension from my shoulders. “Well, when you put it like that…”

His grin widened, warm and genuine. Charles was an undeniably handsome man—everyone could see that. His soft brown eyes held an innate kindness, warm and rich like melted chocolate, but there was strength behind them too. When he gave orders during an emergency rescue or a high-pressure surgery, his voice boomed, steady and commanding, filling the room with an authority no one dared question. But there was another side to him as well—the one that spoke softly to the children who came through on educational tours, explaining things in a way that made their eyes light up with curiosity. The voice that turned gentle when he muttered to himself while solving a problem, focused but never frustrated.

Charles was smart. Resourceful. A quiet force, yet one that commanded respect without ever demanding it.

My friendship with him was different than my friendship with John. John and I pestered each other like siblings, always quick with a sarcastic remark, always toeing the line between playful bickering and actual affection. But at the end of the day, we had each other’s backs like family.

With Charles, it was something else entirely. Easier, in some ways. More complicated in others.

He had been my mentor when I first started working here, the person I turned to when I felt out of my depth. But beyond that, he was a friend in the truest sense—someone who listened without judgment, someone who understood without needing every detail explained.

And right now, as exhaustion pulled heavy at my limbs, that understanding meant everything.

The gentle clinking of medical tools brought me back to the present. Charles was sifting through a tray, his fingers moving methodically over the various packets of needle tips, checking their gauge and length with practiced efficiency. I watched as he selected one, examined it under the light, then clicked his tongue and tossed it back, continuing his search.

“Everything alright over there, Captain?” I teased, the old nickname slipping out with ease. It came from the early days, back when he’d take me out on his boat to assist with rescues and releases, back when everything felt simpler—before this.

A few strands of black hair had slipped free from his bun, framing his sharp features as he glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah. Just looking for a needle that’ll penetrate his skin. I want to collect a few blood samples and run some tests on that mucilage you told me about earlier.”

I barely had time to process his words before Arthur moved.

He bolted upright on the table so suddenly that I jerked back, the water sloshing around me as my footing slipped. My stomach twisted, not just from the shock of his reaction, but from the raw, breathless panic in his voice.

“I ain’t doin’ more tests,” he said, his chest heaving, pupils blown wide.

Shit.

“Easy, Arthur,” I soothed instinctively, lifting a hand as if to calm a wild animal. “They won’t hurt, just a quick pinch.”

But the moment the words left my lips, I regretted them.

I had been so caught up in trying to reassure him, in trying to help, that I had completely forgotten why this would send him into a tailspin.

Arthur’s jaw clenched, his body going rigid. “I been pinched enough,” he snarled, his voice thick with something bitter and laced with old wounds. His gills flared, sharp and aggressive, and when he spoke again, his tone was low, dangerous, vibrating with barely-contained fury. “I’m not givin’ you blood, or anythin’ from me!”

The air in the room thickened, the tension snapping tight like a riptide, pulling everything under in an instant. His body was coiled, wound so tight with fury that it seemed ready to burst. Every muscle in his frame tensed, his gills flaring wide like a warning. The unspoken threat in his posture hung heavy in the air, a low, menacing hum that made my breath catch in my throat.

A dreadful thought clawed at the back of my mind, growing louder with every second.

Could he be pushed past the brink?

Had he felt this kind of rage before? The kind that came when he was captured, when he fought for his freedom? His words echoed in my head, his voice haunted by something darker. 

I’ve hurt people.

My stomach twisted violently as the terrifying question ripped through my thoughts.

Did he kill his captors?

The weight of the possibility hung in the room like a shadow. As if the earth itself could sense his turmoil as a dark cloud rolled over the sun, shrouding the room in a dark gray light. 

Would he do it again? Would he lash out, and if so, at me? I could see the storm in his eyes, and the way his breath came in short, sharp bursts told me he was on the edge of losing control. It was as though I was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for something—anything—to tip him over the edge.

Charles, to his credit, remained calm. He didn’t back away, didn’t flinch, but his expression softened just enough to show he was trying to level with him. “Arthur,” he said evenly, “I have no idea what I’m working with here. I can’t give you the proper care if I don’t know what’s going on inside your body. You need to let me study you first.”

The words struck a nerve.

Arthur’s body tensed, his muscles convulsing like he was preparing to strike. His fins flared—all of them. The ones along his arms and head, the ones that normally lay flat against his body, had risen in a display I had never seen before. And they were pointed. Perilous. 

Then, something new happened.

Arthur opened his mouth, but what came out wasn’t English. Wasn’t human human speech. 

A string of guttural, unfamiliar words spilled into the air, rough and raw like stones grinding against the ocean floor. The sound was deep, layered, yet there was something melodic buried beneath the harshness, something that almost resembled a song.

I froze.

Was this his natural language?

Arthur’s chest rose and fell, his throat working as he spoke in that strange, haunting cadence, his bioluminescent veins pulsing faintly as if responding to the rhythm of his voice. My heart pounded as I watched, transfixed, completely unprepared for the deep ache that curled through my gut at the realization—

This was something ancient. Something that belonged to him. To his kind.

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I was meant to hear it.

Charles shot me a brief glance, his eyes cautious as he registered my intent. I could see the hesitation in his gaze, but I mouthed the words, I’ll be okay, go, and a quiet understanding passed between us. I tilted my head toward the door, an unspoken trust settling over the room like a heavy blanket. He nodded, not questioning me, as he packed his tools and made his way out of the pool, leaving us alone.

Arthur’s eyes followed Charles as he left, but his anger didn’t fade. Instead, it simmered, a storm still roiling beneath the surface. His dark blue eyes locked onto mine, pupils narrowed to razor-thin slits. The intensity in his gaze felt like it could cut through me, a searing heat that left me breathless, almost paralyzed.

I took a tentative step toward him, my hand reaching out slowly, almost instinctively. To my surprise, he spoke again, his voice thick with panic.

“I—I don’t want to be studied,” he stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush, tinged with fear and raw emotion.

I softened my voice, offering him the calm he so desperately needed. “Then we won’t study you, honey.”

But it wasn’t enough. His walls were still up, defenses razor-sharp. “You gonna chain me up?” He shot back, his voice harsh, laced with bitterness. “Poke me and shock me till I can’t fight back? Cage me here ‘till you get your fill of research?”

I was close now, close enough that I could see the tremors in his frame, the way his muscles tightened beneath his scales. My heart ached for him, for the torment he’d endured. But I also knew I had to find a way to reach him, to calm the storm inside him before it tore us both apart.

I let my hand slide gently up the smooth, hard length of his tail, cautious but tender. The warmth of him was intoxicating, a pull that made my chest tighten, but I kept my touch steady, moving with reverence. I avoided the sharp fins that had risen along his hips, the ones I hadn’t noticed before—pointed and rigid, like a warning.

“I would never,” I said the last word with as much severity as I could muster, my voice low and unwavering. “Do you remember what I said to you last night, and again this morning?”

I knew the memory of my words would be enough to give him a moment of pause. I needed him to breathe, to step away from the raw edge of his rage.

I slid my hands further up his body, feeling the heat of his skin under my fingertips. Slowly, I placed my hands beneath his palm. His webbed fingers curled around mine immediately, the gesture instinctual and comforting. He was still trembling, but the tension in his muscles eased just slightly.

“These hands…” I began softly, giving him the space to finish the sentence himself.

A long, shaky breath escaped him, and for a moment, I thought I’d lost him. But then, his gills flared gently, settling back down as he found his ground again. His voice, when it came, was softer, quieter, almost reverent.

“…would never hurt you.”

“That’s right,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, a weary smile tugging at the corner of my lips. His words, though simple, soothed something deep inside me. I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed to hear that, needed to know that this—whatever this was between us—wasn’t one-sided, wasn’t born from a place of control.

But even as I smiled, the exhaustion hit me all at once. A yawn escaped me before I could stifle it, the weariness of the day creeping up on me like a tide pulling me under. His outburst had drained the last of my energy, and I longed for the comfort of dry clothes and the soft embrace of my bed.

Gods, it had been a long day.

Once I was certain that Arthur’s anger had settled, I moved to help him slide off the exam table. As I shifted it out of the way, I couldn’t shake the weight of everything that had transpired. How the hell had we gotten here?

“I’m really sorry about all of this, Arthur,” I murmured softly, my voice tender as I spoke the words. “You’ve been through so much already... I never meant to cause you more stress.” The sincerity in my tone was almost palpable, a quiet ache threading through my chest as I looked at him.

He didn’t answer, but instead ducked beneath the surface of the water, his sleek body gliding effortlessly through the pool. His tail flicked powerfully, sending waves crashing against the sides, as though he was trying to burn off all the remaining energy, the anger still simmering beneath his skin. I could feel the pull of his restlessness, a quiet undercurrent to everything he did. He needs more space. The thought hit me like a sudden revelation, and I knew then that this was only temporary. His body wasn’t built for such small confines. He needed room to move, room to breathe.

He surfaced again, shaking the water from his hair and glancing at me with that familiar, guarded expression. “John should have everything ready for you soon,” I said, my voice warm, reassuring. “You’ll have more room to swim. Places to hide, if you choose. And I’ll talk to Kieran about getting you some food.”

I was about to step out of  the pool, but before I could even walk away, something cool, slick, and strong wrapped around my ankle.

Arthur.

I froze, the contact sparking an electric pulse that made my heart race. I looked down, and for the briefest of moments, I could swear there was a hint of something innocent in the way he held me—something that didn’t belong in the immense creature I had come to know.

“You’re leaving?” His voice, thick and uncertain, carried through the stillness.

My heart squeezed as I looked back at him. There he was, his large frame hovering in the water, but his expression was so vulnerable, so human, for lack of a better word. His gaze softened with a trace of something almost sad, and god, if sirens could pout, this one was certainly pouting.

“I’ll be back in the morning, honey,” I explained, trying to sound as reassuring as I could. I gave him a small smile, hoping it would settle him, but even I wasn’t sure it would. He needed comfort, but I needed to calm my own turbulent thoughts. “I need to get some sleep.”

He nodded ever so slightly, the gesture almost imperceptible, before finally releasing me. The warmth of his grip slipped away, leaving me feeling hollow for a second. I walked toward the wet mat, grabbing the towel that hung on the wall, preparing to leave the pool and head to the locker room when I heard his voice call my name again.

“Hmm?” I called, surprised by the soft note in his voice. I turned back, still rubbing the towel through my wet hair, waiting for him to speak.

“Do you have a mate?”

The question hit me like a splash of cold water. It left me blinking, caught completely off guard. “I—do I have a what?”

His massive figure loomed there, suddenly seeming so small in the vast space of the pool. His head dipped as if to hide the uncertainty on his face. “Are—are you spoken for?” he asked again, his tone now tinged with a kind of nervousness I hadn’t expected from him.

The silence between us deepened, stretching long and heavy, as my mind tried to wrap around the weight of his words. He was asking if I had a partner. If I was dating anyone. My breath caught. Why would he want to know this? I felt the heat of a thousand questions rise to my lips, but none of them felt right.

Before I could speak, Arthur muttered something under his breath, and in that moment, his voice cracked just slightly, like a raw edge exposed. “Forget it.”

With a swift, graceful movement, he slipped back beneath the water, vanishing from sight.

No, I don’t.

The words hovered on the tip of my tongue as I stared at the spot where he had disappeared. The urge to reach out, to tell him that no, I wasn’t spoken for, that there was nothing tying me to anyone else, was almost overpowering. But I stood there, feeling my heart pounding in my chest, watching the water ripple in his wake.

I couldn’t chase him. 

Not yet.

AN: I love this silly little sea boy. Next chapter is gonna include his pov because I feel like everyone deserves to know what's going through his head right now. Poor thing is so horny and scared, and you know what, me too Arthur. Me too.

I'm blown away by the love and feedback I've received for this so far. I genuinely though this would be something that stayed hidden in the deep dark caves of the fandom ocean. But here we are, thank you so so much for reading. It warms my little monsterfucker heart <3

[thatbitchery]

When it comes to society and hierarchy the most important thing to remember is hierarchy is completely dependent on behavior and is reinforced by rejection and seperation.

DO NOT BE FRIENDS WITH LOW LEVEL PEOPLE.

Storytime- to make up for the overabundance of time I suddenly have I decided to join an exclusive gym and do activities and all that plus gym is a great place to network especially with the local Pilates WAGS. I'm new so we do that thing where we sniff each other out to test for hierarchy and obviously I am smiling and acquainted with everyone for the first few days- leaving the door open to be friends and then taking a step back and letting them fall to me if they so wish. So today I decide to go swimming in the indoor pool and this G that I know is dating a pretty high level man and has a thriving business is changing, as we all are in the lockers, and suddenly she tenses up and its like huh. They play petty stupid kindergarten power games in the new rich and I thought by now I'd be used to it and then I turn and this CLEANER is throwing miss thriving dating a millionaire a stink eye and the girl is shivering under it. Not just her- a couple of them. I'm like huh. Drama. GOD I LOVE DRAMA so I lay back watch the scene unfold. It's a work of art this one and I'm fully invested. And it's so obvious what happened. With my eyes closed I could tell you exactly what happened, the girls were too friendly with her at the beginning making all sorts of allowances for her and leaving space for her to exist peacefully while pushing their desires away (Like you know when someone is cleaning the floor and you do that thing where you walk through like you're walking on lava? EW) and now she's being passive aggressive and it's unsafe for them. So you have the one paying top dollar for an exclusive experience shying from a medium wage underpaid overworked nobody from God knows where. & I've seen this dynamic play out for so long where the children of Oligarchs and literal royalty gets harrassed and pushed around by the children of mistresses and middle class people. I've done my fair share of bullying and harassing I know hoe to pick em, and I can tell you from the onset who is the omega and who is the sigma (alspha is always open space) and the desire to be liked by the low levels sits very high in the lists of indicators.

When someone with a safety marker (Power, beauty, money or status) plays nice with or even engages on a same level with the lower classes they become untrustworthy and immediately weak. The safety in these things in the unattainability of them, how removed they are- so when they become accessible they become weak and lose meaning and they punsih you for degrading yourself. Men can get away with it but women could never. The Serena Van Der Woodsen fantasy of a pretty rich girl is a lie. When people lower than you see you being friendly with them and sacrificing etc they try to steal your power by degrading you and sometimes they succeed. Candace Owens X Taylor Swift X Beyonce are a great example of this. Beyonce and Taylor did not establish their boundaries early in their careers and tried to be relatable and not Divas and vampires like Candace saw the opportunity and took it. Women like Rihanna and Nicki Minaj are the exact opposite of what Candace Owens preach but do you see her try her? While Beyonce and Taylor are so close to the christian Southern dystopian reality she wants so bad. Why? they made it very clear from day one they will run you up do not even try. They don't try to be relatable or cute or nice they throw it in your face yes I actually did say I'm better than you what about it? In the same way when pretty girls date broke ugly men they get run over becuase the men are punishing them for being weak and steal their power bc power can not be created, only transferred.

The more you make allowances for people the more they despise you. The Blair Waldorfs and Alison DeLaurentis of the world and mean girls have an easy time despite everyone acting like they can't stand them because they are not weak. I'm not saying go out of your way to be terrible like some insecure little idiot I'm saying do not make allowances if it's not required and let people serve you. Stop smiling too much and stop trying to make space for people. And stoppp trying to be friends with people lower than you, let them know the option is open and show them a glimpse of what it could be, then step back and let them work for it. People lower than you are jealous of you. they want to be you. That cleaning hipoppotamus broke ugly girl wants to be in that sauna, but she cant. So she makes it the problem of the people that are that will let her. And in that way, she feels bigger than them. And they let that happen the second they started randomly smiling and saying hi and calling her 'girl'. If they just walked in, did the gym, networked smart with their own level and went home, they wouldn't freeze over someone they probably could buy.

[vixensdungeon]

Hello, my little woodland critters. Today just for fun I'm going to walk you through the process of generating a character for the original 1974 edition of Dungeons & Dragons. I'm just going to use Men & Magic for this one but might do another one later with the supplements!

First, we get some dice. Three six-sided ones to be exact. I'm actually going to grab some with pips rather than numbers because that feels more authentic. Then, we roll and record their sum, repeating five more times, generating six ability scores. Here we go!

Strength 9 Intelligence 17 Wisdom 12 Constitution 16 Dexterity 13 Charisma 13

Yippee! As a witch these make me very happy indeed.

Next, we'll pick a class to play. Based on the abilities I rolled I'm of course going to pick the magic-user (the witch class didn't exist yet, alas). And as a magic-user, I'm actually allowed to futz with the numbers a bit, removing two points from Wisdom to gain an extra point in Intelligence. This gives us our finalised array, and we can now know the effects of each ability on the character.

Strength 9: no effect Intelligence 18: +10% to earned experience, eight extra languages Wisdom 10: no effect Constitution 16: +1 to each hit die, 100% chance to survive certain spells Dexterity 13: +1 to missile fire Charisma 13: maximum of 5 hirelings with +1 loyalty

Okay, languages. The character speaks the common tongue of the continent she lives in, along with an alignment language. I'm going to pick Neutral as my alignment so that's the language I speak. I also speak eight creature languages, which I'm going to pick later.

For equipment, we're going to grab our trusty 3d6 again, roll them, and mulitply by ten to find out how many gold pieces we have. I rolled 10, so I have 100 GP. I'm going to buy a dagger, the only weapon a magic-user is allowed. In addition I will buy 50' of rope, a large sack (for treasure), a leather back pack, a water skin, six torches, a flask of oil, a small silver mirror, a bunch of wolvesbane (in case of werewolves), a bunch of belladonna, and a bug of garlic (in case of vampires, or pizza). Not sure what the belladonna is useful for but you can never be too sure. This leaves me with 48 gold pieces that I will use to buy rations when I'm heading on an expedition of some sort. To calculate my encumbrance, I add my dagger's weight in gold pieces (20) to that of my miscaellanoues equipment (always 80, though a referee is allowed to make sure this stays within reason), for 100 GP of weight. I'm well within the limit for light foot movement, which will likely mean I'll have the responsibility of hauling loot out of the dungeon. Maybe I should invest in a second sack…

As a magic-user of the 1st level, I am titled a Medium, and will require 2,500 experience points to reach 2nd level (Seer). I roll 1 die (six-sided), adding +1 for my Constitution getting a total of 2… Tha'ts how many hits my magic-user can take before death. Let's hope she rolls better on the next level, assuming she survives. She fights with the strength of one man!

I can memorise one 1st level spell for my journey. Not knowing what I might face in the dungeon, I pick something witchy that I think can really save the group's butts: Sleep. All level 1 spells are in my spellbook so I don't need to worry about which ones I can memorise.

And that's pretty much it! Now we just give the character an imaginative name… How about Naiviv?

Onwards to adventure and glory, Naiviv the Medium!

[threebea]

Tiny Obi-Wan and Yoda just sat down somewhere having extremely Old Man conversations.

Mace: ....

Obi-Wan: you cannot imagine the things I can eat. No problem. No stomach upset. The fact Dex hasn't opened his diner yet is a travisty.

Yoda: Decades in exile subsisting on frogs I have been.

Obi-Wan: Yes, but those are good for you.

Yoda: Desire cake I do. One hundred years too late for it we are. Rubbing it in you are.

Obi-Wan: Well there must be some silver linings. The knees are nice too, but I can't reach anything.

Yoda: hmph, perspective you have gained perhaps?

Obi-Wan: not at this height.

Yoda: (laughs and gives him gentle whack with his cane) lost your cheek you have not, Master Kenobi

⭐

Obi-Wan: (notices Mace) oh, Master, please join us.

Mace: ... (Sits down)

Obi-Wan: (Sighs like an old man) I must say I'm glad not to be on the council at the moment. Have you read my proposal on Hutt investments portfolios? I know you're busy with Xanatos' nonsense, but if we move soon we could prevent Jabba from gaining ground in thirty years.

Mace: you should be learning how to mix colours with paint, not sending me paperwork in the middle of the night, Master Kenobi.

Obi-Wan: (gestures to neat paint pallet with colours mixed) I already know how to do that.

Yoda: doubt that I do. Knowing is not understanding.

Obi-Wan: that doesn't even mean anything. You can't tease me just because I'm small now.

Yoda: size matters not. Tease you I always will.

Obi-Wan: well that's true (eye roll)

Mace: I have enough paperwork Kenobi. Stop sending me paperwork.

Obi-Wan: well I would send it to another Master, but you're the only one that knows of my predicament and you won't let me use your name, and Master Yoda has always been awful with written proposals, no one would believe it.

Yoda (has brought out the paints Obi-Wan had with him and has started mixing colours)

Mace: Master you can't just mix paint on the tile!

Yoda: fear the mess it will make, hmm?

Obi-Wan: you're impossible. (Starts doing it as well) I never enjoyed making a mess, even at this age.

Yoda: fear of the future that is.

Obi-Wan: here he goes.

Yoda: to live in the moment, without fear of the mess of the future, that is the way of a Jedi.

Mace: (watches the two of them paint pictures on the ground. It's a complete mess)

Obi-Wan: I don't fear the future.

Yoda: hah!

Obi-Wan: I'm stressed! Stressed isn't the same thing as fear.

Yoda: come from fear stress does. Anxiety. Make a cloud you should.

Obi-Wan: (examines his tile of art work, adds a cloud)

Yoda: stress Master Mace has trouble with too. (Pointedly looking at Mace who is just watching the mess unfold)

Mace: (sighs, takes the hint, sits on the floor and dips his finger in the purple Obi-Wan mixed) I have many things to do.

Yoda: but right now you are painting.

Mace: I can't tell if you're both being serious or messing with me.

Obi-Wan: it can be both, Master. (Makes a face) I'm going to have blue hands for a week.

Mace: have you always been anxious, Master Kenobi? You always seem very confident and composed. It was eerie when we first met, seeing a child so poised.

Obi-Wan: yes, well I don't want anyone to know I'm anxious. Too many people rely on me.

Yoda: like someone else that is.

Mace: well... Right now you're at an age you don't need to be so independent.

Obi-Wan: I'm older than you are, Master. My crude matter doesn't reflect who I am inside. I can't just turn off my worries. It was easier in the end. In the desert... But it's hard to grasp now. I found my balance and peace, but in the here and now I find myself at odds with my knowledge. Every stray thought and memory of something that could be changed for the better.

Mace: changing the future is dangerous.

Obi-Wan: not changing it is more dangerous.

Mace: if you become obsessed you risk losing yourself. You need an anchor.

Obi-Wan: I know. (Focuses back on his painting) The future is always in motion. I am not changing anything. I am simply existing in the now. The ripples for good or ill can rarely be controlled or focused. However is it not my duty to follow where the Force has led me and do good?

Mace: ... (I feel very young suddenly)

Yoda: talk too much you do, Master Kenobi.

Obi-Wan: well it's been awhile since anyone has been kind enough to listen, Master Yoda. Force knows you don't have the attention for it.

Yoda: accuse me of senility do you? Focused I am on the present (gestures at his paint mess). Rambling on the old days you are.

Obi-Wan: who is the more senile? The old man or the old man that tries to talk to him?

Mace: (looking at the five year old who just said that. He has a splotch of blue paint on his cheek) no more proposals in the middle of the night, Kenobi. You'll get an ulcer at six.

Obi-Wan: (prim and proper) and when exactly did you get your first stress ulcer Master Windu?

Yoda: (laughs) twenty-two he was.

Mace: just paint.

Terrible Fic Ideas #3: Re-Entry, but make it Obi-Wan and Yoda

If you've not noticed by now, I'm the biggest sucker for Time Travel Fix-Its that ever existed, and one of my absolute favorites is the Re-Entry series by the ever-wonderful flamethrower. In that series, post-RotJ Obi-Wan and Anakin are sent back to 4 years before TPM to save the Republic, and it's an absolutely wonderful ride. But one thing I've always wanted is Yoda to be thrown back in time in one of these fix-its.

Imagine it:

Yoda is the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order. He has the ability to make lasting changes to the order in a way that young Padawan or newly knighted Obi-Wan alone couldn't. He's also had ~25 years alone in a swamp without even the passing human contact Obi-Wan got on Tatooine to reflect on all the things that went wrong, and stuck around as a Force Ghost at least until TLJ.

Not that I imagine TLJ happening in this AU - to kick it off I imagine Luke not managing to make it off the second Death Star after Anakin dies, and Anakin and Leia's anguish in the Force managing to hurl the watching Force ghosts into the pasts, where they can keep Luke's death from ever happening.

And so you have Yoda and Obi-Wan being thrown back to, say, 52 BBY. Obi-Wan, now only five years old, wakes his crechemate's up with a "vision", and for decades afterwards the younglings swear that on certain nights you can year an echo of absolute and complete anguish in the Force.

But the end result is the same: 5 year old Obi-Want has his memories of the next 52 years alive and 4 additional years of being a Force ghost. The transition is somewhat less abrupt for Yoda, who is 800+ at this time.

Unlike Re-Entry, the only one Yoda and Obi-Wan tell (at least at first) that they've traveled through time is Mace - and only then because Obi-Wan is very obviously not a normal 5 year old anymore. (And even then it's more of an accident Mace finds out. Instead Yoda just sort of pushes Mace at Obi-Wan "to help him get a handle on his visions and train him in the ways of the Force", and in the end Mace finally puts two and two together after sort of assuming he's just going crazy or being punked.)

Actually, confused!babysitter Mace is half the drive for this plot bunny. He's so confused and Yoda is being even more of a troll than usual, and he's not prepared at all to deal with such a small child, but honestly half the time it feels like Obi-Wan is the one taking care of him, and just so much confusion.

Together, between Yoda being the Grandmaster and Obi-Wan's weaponized cuteness as a youngling, they are able to prevent some things that contribute to the fall of the Republic. (Galidraan et al).

Obi-Wan is taken as Mace's Padawan fairly young, and no one really considers it too be too odd how good he is so young given that Mace was his Master and Yoda's been his mentor since the creche, but he's definitely considered to be an odd child. As one might expect of a ~60 year old being suddenly stuffed into his 5 year old body. When it eventually comes out that he's a time traveler, it answers a lot things people didn't realize they were questioning.

But mostly confused!babysitter Mace, troll!Yoda, and baby!Obi-Wan.

As always, feel free to adopt the bunny. Just link if you end up doing anything with it.

More Terrible Fic Ideas

[aeria-arc]

[LoveAndDeepSpace Translation Review] | Main Story | Homecoming Wings CH 02 Night Unending: 09 "Captive Bird"

Bringing you an unfiltered version of the EN translations for the infamous "Captive Bird" cutscene. This is for the girlies who appreciate Caleb in all ways and form. Caleb is not my man but consider me intrigued. ~♡🍎

Disclaimer: I'm Southeast Asian Chinese (english/chinese speaking). Not from China. Not a language expert. Just a lore and Xavier girlie who's way too invested. My reviews are my interpretation and should not be taken as facts. -More Details: HERE

Key: Orange = official EN version Pink = official CN version « » = my version (based on CN's script) Blue = external links [EDIT] = notes added after initial draft ★ = bullet points

09: Captive Bird

Caleb: Sit first. We need to tend to your wound. Caleb: 坐好，你的伤口要尽快处理 «Sit properly, your wound needs to be treated quickly.»

MC: Is the Colonel ordering me around? Or is Caleb worried about me? MC: 这是长官的命令，还是哥哥的关心？ «Is this an officer's order, or an older brother's concern?»

Caleb: Do you remember that injured cat you brought back home? Back when we were kids. Caleb: 还记得小时候，你抱回来了一只受伤的猫吗 «Do you remember when we were young, you brought back an injured cat?»

Caleb: We kept it in the backyard. But that cat always kept trying to run away before it fully recovered. Caleb: 我们把它养在院子里，它却不领情，伤还没好就总想逃 «We raised it in the courtyard yet it was ungrateful. It kept wanting to escape even though its injuries have not healed.»

MC: I don't want to listen to this. MC: 我不想听你说这些 «I don't want to listen to you talk about this.»

Caleb: Do you want to know what I did in response? Caleb: 后来，你知道我想了一个什么办法么？ «Then, do you know what I came up with?»

Caleb: I got a collar with a bell. I put it on the cat. That way, it couldn't escape without being noisy. Caleb: 我给它系了一个铃铛，走到哪里都叮铃铃的，它就再也逃不掉了 «I attached a bell to it and it made a ringing sound wherever it went. That's how it will never run away again.»

Caleb: If I had that kind of bell right now... Caleb: 你说，这样的铃铛…… «What do you say, a bell like this...»

Caleb: I should make you wear it, right? Caleb: 我是不是也该给你系一个？ «Should I also attach one to you?»

======================================= Choice 1 <Is this your "protection"?> <这就是你的“保护”吗?> «same as EN»

MC: Is this how you'll "protect" me? I just need to be glued to your side? MC: ……把我困在身边，这就是你所谓的“保护”吗？ «...keeping me trapped by your side, is this your so-called "protection"?»

Caleb: I know it's unfair. But... Caleb: 这的确对你不公平，可是…… «This is indeed unfair to you, but...»

======================================= Choice 2 <Fine. I'll let you do what you want.> <好呀，哥哥做什么都可以> «It's all fine, older brother can do anything you want.»

MC: Okay, fine. I guess I'll let you do what you want. MC: 好啊，你是哥哥，自然做什么都可以 «Fine, go ahead, you are the older brother, naturally you can do anything you want and it'll be ok.»

Caleb: Is there anything I can do? Caleb: 身为“哥哥”，我能对你做什么 «As the "older brother", what can I even do to you?*»

[*NOTE: He is responding to mc being sarcastic about how older brothers have the 'authority' to do anything. She probably wants to get a rise out of him out of frustration but caleb doesn't take the bait. He shuts it down by saying as a brother in the proper sense, he can't do anything to her that will cause her harm. By saying this it is implying that in his mind, keeping her by his side is not "harmful" but for "her own good". He goes on to 'justify' this by talking about her wound infection.]

=======================================

Caleb: Because of that monster, your wound is infected. Caleb: 被那种怪物攻击，你的伤口已经轻度感染了 «After being attacked by those kind of monsters, your wound has already been slightly infected.»

Caleb: Is there truly a way for you to run around without getting injured? Caleb: 你说，我要怎么安心放你一个人到处跑？ «Tell me, how can I be at ease and let you run around out there alone?»

MC: Are you still the Caleb who confronted danger with me? MC: 你还是那个和我一起对抗危险的夏以昼吗？ «Are you still the same Caleb who fought against danger together with me?»

Caleb: ……

MC: I've had enough of... your "protection". MC: 你所谓的保护，我也受够了 «Your so-called protection, I've had enough of it.»

Caleb: If being with me only brings you pain, then just put up with this for three more days. Caleb: 如果待在我身边让你这么痛苦，那么，最多再三天 «If being by my side makes you suffer so much, then, three more days, at most.»

MC: What are you going to do? MC: 你要去干什么？ «same as EN»

Caleb: Tie up loose ends. Caleb: 最后的善后 «The final clean-up.»

Caleb: And then... All of this will be over. I just need three more days. Caleb: 三天过后，这一切就都结束了 «After three more days, all of this will come to an end»

[Three days later...]

News Report: Our reporters out in the field confirmed the lockdown will be lifted after being in effect for weeks. The Farspace Fleet assures everyone that the explosion in the Cascade District will not happen again... News Report: 本台前线报导，持续数周的全面戒严已结束。远空舰队称，流云区爆炸案将不会再次发生…… «um whatever EN says lol»

Caleb: After all this is over... The Fleet will return to the Deepspace Tunnel. You'll be safe. For now. Caleb: 这次动荡过后……舰队会回到隧道里，你暂时安全了 «After this recent unrest...the Fleet will return to the Deepspace Tunnel, you will be safe for now.»

MC: In other words, you'll just disappear again? And not even say anything? MC: 所以这一次，你又要什么都不说就离开吗？ «So this time around, you're also going to leave without saying a word?»

Caleb: I'll be gone. Aren't you happy you won't have to see me then? Caleb: 看不见我，你不是应该很开心吗 «Not seeing me, shouldn't you be happy?»

Caleb: I'm about to leave. It'd be nice if we had a meal together. Caleb: 我就要走了，陪我再吃顿晚饭吧 «I'll be leaving soon, come have dinner with me once more.»

MC: So I have to listen to the Colonel even when it comes to eating and drinking now? MC: 不仅是行动，现在连吃什么喝什么，我都要遵从执舰官的命令吗？ «Not just my actions, now it's what I eat and drink too? Do I need to obey the colonel's orders for everything?»

Caleb: You can be mad, but don't let it affect your health. Caleb: 你可以生气，但不要以身体为代价 «You can get angry, but not at the cost of your health.»

MC: I'm not mad. MC: 我没有生气 «I'm not angry.»

Caleb: Growing up, we knew each other well. Better than most, even. Caleb: 从小到大，我是最了解你的人 «Since young, I'm the person who understands you the most.»

Caleb: I could see through your lies when you'd blink. Bite your lip, and I could tell you were upset. Caleb: 你眨一下眼睛我就知道你在说谎，咬下嘴唇就知道是受了委屈…… «You'll blink and I would know you are lying, bite your lip and I would know you must have felt wronged.»

MC: In that case, tell me. What am I thinking about right now? MC: 既然是最了解我的人，那哥哥知道我现在在想什么吗？ «Since you know me the best, then older brother do you know what I'm thinking right now?»

MC: I wonder. How did you turn into someone I hardly recognize? MC: 我在想，你怎么会变成一个让我这么陌生的人 «I'm thinking, how could you have become someone who is like a stranger to me.»

Caleb: Oh I know. You're thinking some chip got put into my brain, right? And now, I'm no longer who I used to be. Caleb: 我知道你想说什么。你想说，我是不是也被什么芯片控制了，变得不像我自己 «I know what you want to say. You're thinking of saying, could it be I'm also being controlled by some chip, and have turned into someone unfamiliar(/not like myself).»

Caleb: What if I told you I was always like this? Caleb: 如果我说，我本来就是这样的人呢？ «What if I said, I have always been this kind of person?»

Caleb: Your life has threats around every corner. Caleb: 是你还活在想象的世界里 «It's you who is still living in an imaginary world»

Caleb: The people who are after your power, who wanna hurt you—they should all just... disappear. Caleb: 那些觊觎你力量、想要伤害你的人，不论是谁……都该消失 «Those who covet your power, those who wish to harm you, no matter who it is....they all need to disappear.»

Caleb: You're only safe when you're by my side. Caleb: 只有我身边才是最安全的 «You are safest only by my side.»

MC: I'd rather face danger head-on than "safely" live like this! I don't need you— MC: 比起这种“安全”，我宁愿去面对危险！不需要你来…… «Compared to having this kind of "safety", I'd rather face the danger head-on! I don't need you to...»

Caleb: You don't need me? Is that what you think? Caleb: 不需要我？ «Don't need me?»

Caleb: All right. What do you need? You can tell me. Caleb: 好啊，那你需要什么？我都可以答应 «Fine, then what do you need? I'll agree to anything»

Caleb: We can return to Linkon if that's what you want. Caleb: 你想要回临空，我们就回临空 «You want to return to Linkon, we can return to Linkon»

Caleb: If you want to return to the past, we'll rebuild our old house and move in together. Caleb: 你想回到从前，我们就把老宅翻修，一起住回去 «If you want to return to the past, we can rebuild the old house and live in it together again.»

Caleb: And if one house isn't enough, I'll build you a whole maze. Caleb: 一座房子不够，那就给你建一座迷宫 «If a house is not enough, then I'll build a maze for you.»

Caleb: I'll decorate it with everything you could ever want. It will be the most beautiful, stunning garden you've ever seen. Caleb: 我会在里面给你准备最好的一切，把它建成世界上最漂亮的花园 «Within it I will prepare the best of everything for you, make it the world's most beautiful garden.»

Caleb: No one will be able to find you ever again. I'll protect you forever. Caleb: 有我陪着，以后，他们就再也找不到你了 «With me keeping you company, in future, they will never ever find you again.»

MC: Caleb... You can't just... MC: 夏以昼……你不该是这样的 «Caleb......you shouldn't be like this.»

MC: You're very important to me. And no one could ever replace you... MC: 你明明是我的哥哥，是我重要的家人…… «You are clearly my older brother, my important family member......»

Caleb: Really? Caleb: 哥哥？ «Older brother?»

Caleb: (MC name), I've always held myself back and endured. Day, after day, after day. It was suffocating. Caleb: (玩家)，你最大的错，就是以为我愿意一直扮演你的好哥哥 «(MC name), your biggest mistake, is thinking I was willing to keep up the act as your good older brother»

Caleb: But now, I'm tired of playing these games. Caleb: 这种过家家的游戏，我早就玩腻了 «This game of house, I've long been tired of playing it.»

Additional Notes

★ Chapter Title Meaning

The chapter title "Night Unending" in CN is "无昼长夜", and it has a double meaning. The phrase has the character "昼" in it, which is also part of Caleb's CN name (夏以昼). A quick breakdown of his name: 夏 (xià) = summer 以 (yǐ) = with/by (preposition) 昼 (zhòu) = daytime

Caleb's name roughly translates to something like "summer by day".

Back to our title, the actual idiom referenced is "无昼无夜", it refers to living as if there's "no day, no night"; i.e. it means being so occupied with something all through the day and night, to the point that there's no distinction between daytime and nighttime. The writers changed it from "无昼无夜" to "无昼长夜", so now it means "no day, long night". In other words, "without caleb, long night". The EN title "Unending Night" is not wrong, it's just missing the wordplay on his name.

My guess: On the surface this is likely referencing Caleb's long disappearances at night during the chapter, but if we think deeper, it might have to do with mc's feelings about Caleb's absence (nights are long without Caleb).

[*fun fact: any tales of themis fan here? In case u didn't know, Luke has the same CN surname as Caleb. Coincidence? ;) ]

[matteglaze]

waitwaitwait relating to the can shigaraki read ask i feel like he would need glasses? but ofc no glasses for the might leader of the LOV (+ dragging this man to the doctor is harder than one may think...) so his vision is just getting worse and so y/n just reads for him. idk i get soft when i think abt reading/cooking/doing chores that kurogiri would do for tomura.

Shigaraki makes you read questionable things

I think because of the lack of sleep Shigaraki gets, his eye sight becomes more and more strained. This is probably exacerbated because of his late night gaming sessions.

It's not a big deal, he reasons. Many people don't get enough sleep, it's not just him.

I actually think Shigaraki could get a doctor to prescribe him glasses or eye contacts with AFO's help (the man's pretty influential let's be real), but I think the reason Shigaraki doesn't is because he won't say anything about it.

He's taken loss, after loss, after loss. Sensei doesn't need to know he's struggling with his eye sight,

Sensei doesn't need to view him as something weak.

It's embarrassing, but Shigaraki is just quiet about it. However, I don't think his eye sight is necessarily bad, I feel like he's still able to read, just not if the text is really small, plus it's better if you do it for him.

"If you tell anyone about this, I swear I'll kill you.." Shigaraki grumbles, scratching at his neck as he glares your way.

You look down at him, pumping up your fist with a small grin "sure thing, boss!"

And that's how you find yourself standing next to his gaming chair, reading the dialogue from a busty girl on Shigaraki's screen. One look at her, and you can tell she's supposed to be some sort of Yakuza love interest. (actually, you know this for a fact, because her nickname is literally Yakuza-chan.)

You clear your throat and read, "Uh... Well, boss, I'm sure you need my protection— so don't worry about a thing, boss!"

This love interest sure does use the word 'boss' a lot, huh?

Shigaraki definitely does this on purpose, choosing characters that either look like you or have your mannerisms. Then he gets you to read their sickenly sweet dialogue, and it's almost like he's getting the real thing.

A cheat code that he managed to find all by himself.

"Now you guys just moved to a beach date." You start to describe the images on screen, but you're cut off once Shigaraki pinches your wrist with his pointer finger and thumb. You let out a pained grumbled, but Shigaraki just clicks his tongue at your antics.

"I can see that, idiot, I'm not blind"

"Okay...whatever you say...wait, hold on, choose this option" you lean over his body and press your finger against the screen, "this will definitely score you some love points"

Shigaraki turns your way, faces inches apart, "huh, you're pretty good at this.."

You turn your attention from the screen to him, a smug look overtaking your features.

"What can I say? The ladies love me"

"I take back what I said." Shigaraki grumbles, turning his head to the side and leaning back into his gaming chair, trying to put a distance between you two; blush on his pale face strikingly prominent. He can only hope that you don't notice.

And you don't— because after awhile you've also found yourself invested in this game, because if you're really going to stand around and read for him you may as well have fun doing it.

"Ok, now choose this option"

Shigaraki hovers his cursor over the option you suggested, 'compliment her swimsuit', but instead he chooses the other one, 'what do you think about my swimsuit'

What do you think about my swimsuit, Yakuza-chan?

"Eugh Boss.. I told you to pick the other one... No girl wants to compliment a guys lame shorts." You grumble, slightly grabbing on Shigaraki's shoulder and shaking him.

"All of our progress! Wasted!"

Even though you complain, you end up reading Yakuza-chan's (stupid name, by the way) dialogue, anyway.

"Ah, boss, I think it's really cute— because you're realize cute, wait I messed that part up, because you're really cute. My little boss, who's a... A what"

You blanch at the next words, 'who's my good little boy', and feel yourself scrunch your nose up. It took such an adrupt turn, you reread it again to yourself.

Well, you weren't aware of the fact that it was this type of game, but that's on you for assuming Shigaraki would waste any storage space downloading a wholesome otome game.

".. What, read it." Shigaraki grumbles.

You awkwardly clear your throat, averting your gaze from the screen and instead looking at the floor.

"Well, you said you aren't blind...can't you see this part.. It's not important to the story or anything"

"It's blurry"

You have a feeling he isn't being too honest, and you think to yourself, perhaps you indulge Shigaraki too much.

i know you meant reading as in like, cute wholesome reading and theyre both sitting together and Shigaraki eventually dozens off or something, but i just can't resist otome nerd tomura

[iwasnotaslasher]

Not my rugby mom ass plotting a SuperBat Rugby Coach AU.

I would stick with some background canon facts, like Bruce as the heir of a rich Gotham family and Clark as a Kansas country boy adopted by farmers, but no alien powers or masked vigilante stuff. The two of them are just former professional players from different rugby teams: Gotham's Knights and Metropolis Meteors (yes, I lazily copy-pasted the canonical football teams' names, sorry not sorry).

As both closeted bi and madly attracted to each other, they developed a secret fling which lasted almost throughout their careers. They used to sneak away from the after-match party to fuck senseless, and of course they were in love but never confessed to each other. The relationship never got past the fling stage, mostly because they thought they could not have a real future, since they were both too scared to be ostracized by their teams if they would come out.

Eventually everything was put to an end when Lois came into the picture. Clark settled with her, they married, and later they had Jon, as well as becoming foster parents for Connor. After a good career, Clark retired from playing in his late thirties to become a match reporter and since then he carried a fairly normal mid-class life in Metropolis.

Meanwhile, Bruce quitted rugby in his early thirties, after a serious injury that almost left him paralyzed, and became fully invested in running the Wayne Enterprises. As for his love life, he kept jumping from one relationship to another, none lasting more than a few weeks. Only notable exceptions were his two and a half divorces: first marriage with Selina, his everlasting on-going-off-going affair, ended just after months; second marriage with Talia, lasted a little more, and from whom he had Damian; and then again he tried with Selina, but only to be left at the altar. Gossip magazine going wild every single time he's spotted with a new flame, also because he was known to have a weird habit of adopting a new kid whenever he divorced (or almost got married).

Alfred still jokes about the fact that they can't afford another marriage, since surely Bruce would end up adopting another kid when he eventually divorce. But he's secretly very pleased to have so many kids around the Manor.

Fast forward to the present day: they are both in their mid forties and single, since Clark is now divorced and Bruce has resolved to never commit again and just have fun.

And they are both involved in rugby again, but as coaches.

Every year Clark holds a rugby summer camp for troubled teens at Kent farm, with Ma's enthusiastical hospitality and the help of his long time friend Diana Prince, also a former rugby player.

As for Bruce, of course he founded a teen league, called it The Robins, and enrolled all his kids into it.

Now picture this: Bruce and Clark casually meeting after all those years and oh boy the mutual attraction is still there as if not even a day had passed. Clark ends up inviting him and his Robins at the summer camp for a weekend of training and matches, and Bruce, as a big city guy, can’t catch how much the offer from a mid-western country man is intended to be real, so he accepts just out of politeness. But after some weeks the league recieve an actual invitation, so now they are forced to go.

You can guess where 20 years of sexual and romantic tension between them can lead them when they find themself again on the field. But oh well, it's just for the sake of honoring the old times, not because they are actually in love. Two divorced dads coming out as bi in their forties and just living their love openly? Come on, it's not viable! Also, what would their kids say?

(spoiler: it's all so obvious that they got it since the beginning and they are already scheming some shenanigans to finally see their dads/coaches happily ever after)

Except after the summer camp they can't stop thinking about each other.

After months of ruminations, Bruce feels compelled to reciprocate the experience by inviting Clark and the kids to an improvised winter camp hosted at the Manor. Closing with a New Year’s Eve costume party à la ‘Romeo + Juliet’ (yes, I want to write about Bruce brooding around with an eye cowl).

The kids are thrilled, Alfred and Martha are already exchanging ideas about the wedding venue, Diana can't wait to be maid of honor, everyone is betting on when the proposal will be done.

The only two completely oblivious are Bruce and Clark, sneaking around the Manor at any given moment to indulge in heated making out sessions, trying their best to not get caught red-handed.

Much for Alfred's amusement but less from anyone else, they will end up not marrying right away and secretly enjoying for a bit the intimacy of not sharing their relationship with the whole world. They will eventually do it, years later, in a small (for Bruce’s standards) ceremony at Kent farm, with all their now grown up kids and grandkids. The rugby match and after-match party will be memorable.

Coincidentally, at some point during the party the happy newlyweds will sneak away for a while…

[true-blue-sonic]

Hey uh, I read your fics a lot and I really enjoy your writing style, I get emotionally invested in characters I usually don't, and our ships align too ^^,

I was wondering for either Sonilver or Espilver (its your choice!), how would they react to one of them getting kidnapped? I feel like you'd be the best to ask on a topic like this, your viewpoints are usually pretty spot on in my opinion!

Its alright to ignore this I'm pretty shy-

Thank you for the compliments, that makes me happy to hear!❤️ And no need to be shy, I love answering questions ^-^

I can do all three characters, that is no problem! For Sonic, we kind of know how he would react, based on Lost World: where he's his quippy self for a large part of the start of the game, the moment Tails is kidnapped, that is gone. Just compare how Sonic talks to Zor compared to, say, Zazz! With Zazz, there's a constant smile on Sonic's face, and he's standing all relaxed and easy-going (e.g. with one hand on his side; it conveys something rather callous to me). But then with Zor, Sonic's obviously pissed off: he's talking loudly, getting right into Zor's face with ticked-off body language, and all jokes and japes have disappeared entirely. Of course, Tails and Sonic are the Unbreakable Bond, so it makes sense Sonic reacts so strongly to his brother getting kidnapped. But should that happen to Silver when he and Sonic are in a relationship, I think Sonic would be equally angry. He strikes me as a character with a "I don't care what you do to me, but don't you dare lay a finger on anybody I cherish" kind of mindset. So if Silver got abducted, all the jokes would be thrown out the window, and leave a rather angry hedgehog who is going to make things right immediately in their wake.

As for Espio, I think he'd also be pissed off, but for him it'd be more of a... quiet shimmering underneath the surface? Like, you can tell that he's mad, but he's also very calmly keeping up his activities while planning to rescue Silver. I figure it's more in his tone of voice and the fact his motions seem just a bit more sharp and locked-up compared to normal. And whoever dared lay a finger on Silver is utterly fucked: Espio won't rest until they've been removed off the face of the earth. But Espio is skilled in keeping his focus, so even if he's raging on the inside at what happened, I don't think he'd let it impact his actions much. If anything, he might become even more careful to ensure a greater chance of success.

Now, as for Silver: I think compared to both Sonic and Espio, his anger would be a lot louder. He's already quite the passionate dude who doesn't tend to make quips and jokes like Sonic and who isn't calm and collected like Espio, so that passion shoots through the roof should either Sonic or Espio be abducted. He's definitely going to be the most reckless of the three, racing in without thinking to get his beloved back (which might be something a villain is counting on, actually). Especially with Espio that forms a problem: in Rivals 2 we see Espio take the role of the more calm and collected right-hand-man who comes up with plans should Silver be unable to. So, if he's not around to aid Silver and keep him calm, Silver is gonna take incredibly reckless actions that he just powers through with the might of his PK alone, I feel like. I have no doubt that he'll succeed in rescuing either Sonic or Espio, but he's definitely the one with the least of a plan and the highest levels of fuming anger between the three of them. To sketch the difference: if we were to put him in the Lost World situation with Zor, I think Silver wouldn't even have angrily demanded the Deadly Six return Sonic/Espio; he'd just have rushed right in and beat the hell out of Zor instead.

So that's how I think the three of them would react! ^-^

[tearfest]

ㅤㅤ" mhm, of course you are. but i will be, too — so you won't be able to use it to impress me. " but he was impressing her in other ways, regardless. he was easy to talk to, as if they'd met before, maybe in another life. it was annoying, how much she liked him already, having already spent the majority of the first day trying to avoid interactions; thought that it was best not to get too invested in anyone there, or the guilt would only eat away at her more if they were eliminated. and, yet, here she was, tucked into trent's side, cuddled up to him like a lover. her index finger was idly tracing a heart when he spoke, cheeks reddened as a smile blossomed at the rumble of his chest beneath her. " no, no fucking and dumping. it'd make the rest of the games real awkward, don't you think? "

ㅤㅤher fingers stopped their tracing to rest flat under his, making her eyes fall atop of their hands to admire the size difference. and, just like that, danbi was officially drenched. cotton panties were thin, and sticky, but luckily her mandated sweats were thick enough to keep her secret. warm hazel hues lift up to his ever so briefly, swallowing thickly as thighs subconsciously squeezed around his as he spoke — words going to one place and one place only. " oh, because he'd loooove to listen to that. '안녕, 자기야. sorry for disappearing, but i met a man — a real man, and he fucked me like one would. shall i tell you how, baby?' mmm, that'd go down a treat. " but she's smiling. " but what would you do to me? if you were to hypothetically wreck my home. " she didn't have a home for him to wreck, but he could ruin something else... her voice had fallen quiet, with a soft and unintentionally sensual tone as he pressed her closer — clothed cunt momentarily grinding against him before she stopped her hips and stayed still, frozen in place. now she was embarrassed. but her gaze lowered then, trailing down and along with their hands as she felt the expanse of his toned torso beneath her warm palm.

ㅤㅤit was already enough to silently drive her crazy, but then her fingertips brushed over the waistband of his sweats, and she could feel how he more than filled her hand. and he wasn't even fully hard yet, just twitching. she just rests her hand there at first, aware that their placement on his top bunk kept them out of view from most, but they weren't hidden. and there were the cameras, keeping them under constant surveillance. she figured it was to break up any violence, or riots, and not to cockblock her. she laughed a small, breathy laugh at the comment about missing her husband, shoulders shaking a little. " your wife will be a very lucky woman. constantly getting roughed up by you... " palm squeezed at his bulge then, gaze still on his crotch as her hand slipped up an inch or two, enough to slide her fingers beneath the waistband of his sweats, but over the fabric of his boxers, with a long, blissful sigh. " but i bet you know how to make love, too. "

ㅤㅤshe was losing her mind. she was never usually this bold, this rash, and she couldn't tell whether she should blame the adrenaline from today, or trent. her hand rests idly against him as she listened to him, cheeks brushing against his chest, just over where his heart beats, so that she could angle her face to finally look up at him. even from this angle, with his head resting back, chin tilted back and his adam's apple accentuated, even then he looked handsome. she imagined it was a similar angle to if she was to crawl down the bunk and give him head. " horses? i can totally imagine you riding a horse, now you've mentioned it. i bet you even have the cowboy hat and a lasso, right? i used to ride, but then i moved to the beach. " her body adjusted slightly whilst she spoke, inching further up so that she could rest her head against his shoulder; levelling their eyes as her leg wrapped around his abdomen and her hand slipped out of his sweats. blinks at his question, head briefly lifting to look over her shoulder — scanning the room to make sure no one on the other bunks was watching before falling back into the crook of his neck. " do you mean the games, or us trying not to fuck? because it's probably both. "

“Chillll, I’m gonna be rollin’ in it in what, a week?” The back and forth was easy, eyes glinting with amusement. Her gaze is unrelenting, steady in comparison to the way his flickers like a loose bulb, a pinball reaching for the high score, unable to stay in one place for very long. Why he’s here is long and convoluted and not particularly interesting, whittled down to debt, just like everyone else. The corners of his mouth twitch at the way she says his name, starker when she says it, his named singled out from the rest of the words in the sentence. Wants to make her say it again, thumb drawing over the nocks of her ribs, a comforting thing if his intent was pure, which it is, because he doesn’t really think wanting to hook up with her is any sort of sin, especially after today. “‘Cos I ain’t. You disappointed? Want me to fuck and dump?” He could, be anything she wants. 

Trent has a considering look on his face even though he’s a little dazed, the way her body moves on it’s own accord, and he feels lit up inside, gaze skimmed over the wetted glint of her lips. He thinks it’s obvious, because he’s never been subtle, with the desperation that is, a different strain of the same feeling that has him in the company of half the people here probably. “Like I said, I ain’t no homewrecker. I respect what you and your very real husband’s got goin’ on.” He starts, and his free hand settles atop of hers that's on his chest, like a comforting gesture during a difficult time. Like the fake husband might actually appreciate the solace Trent was dutifully doling. Not that anyone’s innocent when his leg’s slotted between her thighs with a flitting thought that wanders if she could get off rubbing her pussy against him, humping at it like a dog in heat. “But I am concerned that he ain’t fuckin’ you right. Don’t think that’s fair for you. If I fucked you really good, when you get out you could go back to him and say, ‘I met a man named Trent,’” Lips quirked, pronouncing his name how she had, both T’s sharp, “‘An’ I want you to do what he did to me.’ Him bein’ 5’8” don’t mean he can’t rough you up a little bit, if that’s what you’re into.” 

Trent’s not being rough at all, far from it. His hand slinks down to push at the small of her back, urging her closer. His other hand, flat on hers, slides hers down, over the muscle of his abdomen, over the hem of his tracksuit jacket, over the hem of his sweats, resting on his dick, and she can probably feel it getting harder beneath her palm. Her hand’s tiny, most of the weight coming from his own palm. He’s not really looking to pop a boner, at least not 'til lights out but he’s not thinking at all right now. “My bad, probably makes you miss your husband.” Still, he doesn’t make any effort to move either of their hands away. His head lolls back, flat against the pillow again, eyes closed as he breathes out, “You talkin’ makes me wanna get wife’d up. Just bein’ able to fuck her whenever.” Which is probably why he doesn’t have a wife. 

He’s warm to the touch, pleasant mostly, the same way the first drink after a long day on an empty stomach hits. Feels the effects of her gaze, on his cheeks, in the burn at the back of his throat, a hand clenched around his heart. Among other things, he wants to kiss her. That’s why he’s not looking at her. Weird because he thinks that might feel more wrong than if he were to slip his hand down the front of her sweats, pulling her panties aside and shoving a few fingers in her. “Mm, I’m a cowboy. Rodeos and that kinda shit. Dependin’ on how bad this all fucks me up I might settle though. Big farm. Lots of horses. I really love horses.” He takes a neutralizing breath, remembering when they were corralled outside, still teeming with nervous curiosity, eyes squinted against blue skies. How nice being outside had been. There’s a sigh of relief, one he didn’t know had been pent-up, in that moment settled with the realization that if she keeps playing, so will he. Why not. “D’you think there are people watching us? Getting off on it?” 

[mrsoharaa]

thought of sitting down on your couch and watching a completely unrealistic "reality" love drama show with SatoSugu, both of their arms lounged comfortably behind you along the back of the cushioned furniture. you retort cunning, brash criticism from time to time with each passing scene/episode whenever something goes haywire, about how the men are repulsive and unloyal as fuck, all while Satoru leans in close to you and completely agrees with you, theatrics and all.

"That was so fucking disgraceful, what a asshole! she definitely didn't deserve that"

"Ughhhh, I know right?! he should've just came out and tell her to her face instead of pulling that shady shit! god, men ain't shit!"

and poor Suguru just glances back and forth between the two of you, enjoying the boisterous, distasteful remarks about the cheating partners in the current show you all were watching. he thinks it's silly and ridiculous, but he truly admires the full hearted admiration and passion that dwells in yours and Satoru's tone. the pure thrill and enticement in the both of your eyes filling his heart with so much love and adoration. he absolutely loves his silly, dramatic partners 💗

[uncanny-tranny]

Important tip for trans men/transmascs/whoever needs the reminder: Even if you pass as a man to cis people, you still need to have either some form of self-protection on you (e.g., mace, knives (if you can use them effectively), ect.) or know some form of self-defense. Please take it from me, you don't know what will happen out there at any given time.

You might assume that if you pass as a cis man to cis people, you will be safe from any harm. While I wish that were true, it simply isn't the world most of us live in. Please do whatever you can to protect yourself out there.