#the tiger who breaks the dawn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lalunanymph · 5 months ago

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I BET ON LOSING DOGS

୨୧ an unexpected surprise throws a wrench in your relationship with ken

✧.* ken sato x fem!reader, reader is an uriko (beer girl for japanese baseball games), unprotected s/ex, accidental pregnancy trope, angst with comfort, reader gets harassed, mentions of alcohol, mentions of violence, mentions of injuries, slight ooc!kenji but this is MY interpretation of him, emi makes an appearance, talks about fatherhood, relationship context, flashback heavy, 8k+ words i am so sick for this man

✧.* dawn says: i am absolutely in love with this pathetic milf </3

Life as the girlfriend of Japan’s number one baseball player wasn’t as easy as people think it is.

The news portals and papers call you a modern day Cinderella, swept from her life of being a simple beer girl, and right into the arms of Japan’s best player, Ken Sato.

Looking back, you never thought you would catch his eye.

You, a simple Uriko girl trying to get enough commission to pay off your literature degree at a community college, and him, one of the best baseball players to ever grace Japan’s shore. The both of you were a mismatch made on the verdant fields of the biggest game in Ken Sato’s life—and you will never forget the day you first met him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the game will begin shortly! Please get to your seats and hang on tightly for the match of your life.”

The announcer’s voice booms across the stadium, echoing the cries and cheers from over 10,000 baseball fans coming to see this legendary playoff between the Giants and the Tigers.

Working as an Uriko girl—or better known as a baseball girl—came with plenty of challenges.

There were the heavy bags full of beer that you had to carry up and down the stands, sometimes weighing up to 10kg. The smiles you always have on, the makeup you wear to hide your eyebags from working two part time jobs so you can afford to pay off your literature degree; sweltering heat and a loud, rowdy crowd fuelled by beer from the other keg girls working this cutthroat job.

Many of them were wannabe idols who perfected the art of cultivating a following on social media and had regulars in the palm of their hands. Only a few handful shared the same fate as you did.

The truth was, you thought it was just another ordinary day at work when you overhear someone whispering excitedly behind the stands.

“I heard Ken Sato has come out of his break to play this game.”

Your attention slips from adjusting the straps of your beer keg and you try to listen in on their conversation.

“He is so cute,” one girl with braided pigtails swoons.

“Totally,” another agrees, wearing a baseball cap backwards to show off her petite features and pouty lips. “And he’s never dated anyone since coming back to Japan. Maybe one of us could change that for him.”

She giggles, as if it's the funniest joke she’s ever told.

You try hard not to roll your eyes. A man like Ken Sato would never go for one of these girls. He was the type to exclusively date models and actresses, not struggling Urikos selling beer on the stands.

But, you don’t dash their hopes, and you follow the rest of them in a line, plastering on a smile and mustering up the courage to charm potential buyers into being regulars.

“Ladies and gentlemen—let’s put our hands together for the Giants!”

The roar of the crowd behind the doors shakes through your sneakers, in tandem with the tripling speed of your heartbeat. Electricity sparks through the air, and you can feel it in between your teeth when the stadium doors open and everyone rushes forward, pushing you along the stream of girls ready to break their sales target.

“And Sato-san steps foot into the pitch!”

You step out of the shadows, into the piercing bright light of the open air stadium, its magnetic dome rippling above.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Ken Sato is back in his element!”

You take a deep breath and catch a man’s eye. He nods at you and you smile, making your way towards him with a red cup in hand and frozen beer on your back ready to be poured.

Let the game begin.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Ken Sato is back in his element!”

The announcer’s voice booms across the stadium, echoing the cries and cheers from over 10,000 baseball fans coming to see this legendary playoff between the Giants and the Tigers.

It’s the game of his life, and to say that Ken is nervous would be an understatement. He twists the bat in his hands, adjusts his batting helmet and steps onto the pitch.

“Oi, Sato—remember, don’t lose your cool,” Coach Shimura sternly warns him before he enters the game, flinty eyes never once softening even when Ken shoots him a reassuring smile.

“I got this in the bag, coach. Just wait and see.”

Shimura doesn’t scoff, though the corners of his mouth lifts slightly. After months of watching him play in the leagues, the older man can be assured of his star player’s credibility.

Giving him a two finger salute, the young man picks up his favorite bat and high tails it to the edge of the pitch.

The crowds cheer, their cries reverberating right into his bones. He’s focused, eyes on the pitcher who assesses him from head to toe like he’s vermin on the bottom of his shoes. Ken resists the urge to smirk behind his visor, eyes on the ball and head in the game.

“Sato! Sato! Sato!”

He tunes out the cheers, breathing deeply when the pitcher winds his arm back, and the ball goes flying. Narrowing his entire mind on the incoming white blur, he bats and it collides with the hardwood, flying off into the distance.

“And Sato nails it right out of the park!”

“Here we go,” Ken mutters under his breath, lurching across the bases until he finally hits a home run.

The crowd swells like his erratic heartbeat, cheering out his name. Ken gives them a wave, his handsome face plastered all over the big screens, and in the front of the stands, right in the VIP center, his father whoops, raising his cane in exuberance.

Just the sight of the old man fills him with warmth, and Ken doubles back, about to return to his position when a movement on the second bleachers catches his attention.

His sharp, keen eyes catch sight of a man pushing an Uriko girl, goading her on as she backs away, apologizing profusely. He pushes her again, and she stumbles back, dangerously close to the edge of the staircase where she could take a tumble and break her neck.

Ken doesn't know what compels him to lurch right towards her, jumping over the barricade and straight into the stands, much to the crowd’s horror.

“... you rejected me over and over again…”

“I’m sorry but this is just my job!”

The red-faced man puffs his chest, and if looks could kill, the poor beer girl would’ve been dead twice over. He’s twice as big as her, and the other spectators are too afraid to jump right in due to his sheer size. But, that’s never stopped Ken Sato before—in fact, bigger opponents were his speciality.

“Oi! Back away from her,” he growls, and before anyone can blink, he’s grabbing the poor, shaken girl and shielding her behind his body.

The crowds are murmuring, the commentators having a field day announcing every movement of his diversion from the main game. The referee repeatedly blows his whistle, but Ken ignores it, his instinct to protect the weak more important than some league title.

Shimura muscles his way through the crowd, and for a second, Ken thinks he’s gonna blow up on him when the older man glares at the bulky man.

“Get out of here before I call security on you,” he sneers. “Bullying some poor girl because of your delusions. Tch. Away with you!”

The onlookers jeer him, and he has no choice but to scurry away from the game, tail tucked in between his legs unless he wants to face the wrath of every Ken Sato fan.

Later that day when you’re washing your face in a nearby restroom, trying hard not to have a full on breakdown that your reputation and sales were ruined, you stumble into a familiar figure who gives you a once over, his mellow voice resonating through you.

“Hey—you’re the beer girl from before, right?”

Ken takes one look at your red-rimmed eyes and clicks his tongue. “Ah. Crap. Must’ve been a horrible experience for you, huh? You’re making me feel bad, angel. You wanna get some food and then we can talk about it?”

Sliding your eyes over his handsome face, you’re momentarily stunned by those high cheekbones and deeply unnerving violet eyes. His shapely lips and messy dark hair, coupled with his tall, slender build and broad shoulders, makes you suddenly realize that those girls outside the stadium doors were right.

Ken Sato is so cute.

“I-I—” you stammer, and flush, looking away. Did he just call me angel?

He gives you a sheepish smile, devoid of the cockiness and pride you’ve heard most baseball players possess.

“Sorry—too forward? I heard girls in Japan were more shy and reserved so you don’t have to say ‘yes’ if you’re uncomfortable—”

“No!” You exclaim, and then start to panic when the rejection settles in for him. “I mean—yes! Yes. I would like to get some food. With you,” you add lamely. “A-are we going now?”

Catching himself before he bursts into laughter, Ken nods, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sure. I know a great ramen place.”

“Sold,” you say, a smile playing in the corners of your lips.

Maybe you might’ve messed up your commission for the week and would have to defer your dorm payment for another month, but none of it matters to you right now.

All you could think about was how sweet it would be if you could bring back the smile on Ken Sato’s face—perhaps make him laugh for real this time.

“Let’s go for dinner, then,” he gestures for you to follow him, and you swear there are stars in your eyes; you can’t stop staring at him. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Y/N,” you mumble, and blink when he extends his hand, an easygoing grin on those perfect lips.

“I’m Ken. Sato Ken.”

I know, you want to say, but tame down the fangirling, taking his hand. His palm is smooth, but his fingers have calluses on them from one too many rough tumbles on the pitch.

“Y/N,” he turns your name over in his mouth and you think it’s never sounded as beautiful as it does now. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You let go of his hand, feeling his warmth sinking past your skin, making your heartbeat kick up a notch.

“It’s nice to meet you, too… Ken.”

The rest, as they say, is history.

His large palm smoothes down your tummy, drawing you from the brink of sleep and back into a barely illuminated room.

You crack your eyes open, one lid at a time, feeling him pushing your hair aside to kiss down the nape of your neck.

“Mhm,” your boyfriend’s sleep-drenched voice, still husky and rough, makes something deep inside of you throb. “Morning, angel. Did you sleep well last night?”

Stifling a yawn, you nod, much too comfortable in his luxurious king-sized bed. Since coming clean on the dating rumors, Ken had whisked you away from your cramped dorm room to live with him right on the Azabu hills in his expensive, high-tech mansion.

You still went to school and did your assignments, but the biggest difference was you didn't have to worry about food or accommodation like before.

“Like a log.” You lean into his embrace, loving how sturdy and warm his chest is against your back, making you feel protected and safe.

“Good morning, Kenji and Y/N. Shall I prepare breakfast for the both of you? Eggs and toast or some pancakes?”

Mina’s robotic voice chirps from somewhere behind Ken, and you feel him grab a pillow, tossing it over his shoulder. It thuds onto the floor, and you don’t have to look to know that the Sato family’s robot assistant has deftly avoided it.

“Give us some space, Mina,” Ken groans, burying his face into your hair. “It’s cuddle time. We’ll call you when we need you.”

“Alright. But, don’t forget that you have an interview with Tokyo Today at 11AM. Enjoy your morning, Kenji and Y/N.”

You muffle the urge to laugh, turning around and drinking in the sight of his hazy, adoring violet eyes and sleepy face. Booping the tip of his nose with your index finger, you click your tongue. “Don’t be too mean to Mina. She was just doing her job.”

He grabs your hand and presses it to his cheek, breathing in a deep sigh. “Not my fault someone’s being so enticing today.”

“How can I be enticing?” You tease. “I’m just laying right next to you.”

Ken rolls his eyes, drawing the blanket down to expose your naked shoulder. “Um, duh. My super cute girlfriend is naked in bed with me. What else do you think is on my mind?”

He loves how your nose crinkles when you laugh, fighting against the urge to kiss you all over for being so adorable.

You place a palm flat on his chest, exerting the slightest bit of pressure and he yields, shifting onto his back. The look of adoration on his face never wanes when you straddle his lap, your hair falling across his face. He pushes it aside with surprising tenderness, a huge palm cupping your face as he strokes the fullness of your mouth with his thumb.

“I love you, you know that?”

You kiss the pad of his thumb, basking in his adoration and your pure devotion for him.

“I know.”

Ken arches one dark brow. “Not gonna say it back? How rude.”

You giggle at his petulance, gathering his hands into yours and leaving soft kisses on his knuckles. Ken sucks in a sharp breath when you guide his hands to your chest, encouraging him to palm your heaving breasts. Those violet eyes darken with desire, shooting a dirty thrill right up your spine.

“Already so filthy in the early morning.” He doesn’t protest when you lift your hips, finding his stiffening length and giving it a few good pumps before lining it up to your soaked entrance.

“Just for you,” your feathery whisper gets him harder.

Tease. You take him inch by inch, and he has to bite down on his lower lip to keep from springing a high-pitched whine when your velvet walls choke his length.

Your tender nipples turn into hard nubs underneath his palms, the planes of your body a feast for his eyes.

Kenji thinks he’s never seen such perfection up close.

His large palms fold around your hips, and you let him guide you up and down his cock; controlling the speed and depth, completely pliant in his grasp.

Ken makes love to you exactly like how he plays on the field: focused, determined and with a firm grip.

Oh, baby. You mewl, crumpling forward so he can catch you, strong arms vining around your shivering form.

The scent of sex and skin permeates the room, and you’re close enough that you’re starting to see stars behind your closed eyes.

Baby, I can’t hold back, he grunts. Need you to come with me—for me. Let’s do it together, okay?

Your thighs begin to tense, head tipping back.

His violet eyes darken imperceptibly, drinking you in.

Ken Sato is so fucking in love with you he doesn’t know what to do with himself if you ever got hurt.

Your soul reaches out to twine with his, your bodies impossibly close until you’re sure your skin is melting into his.

A burst of white light rocks your entire world, and your universe goes black, filled with only the sensation of his lips on yours and his warmth filling you up.

Ken holds you tightly in the seam of his embrace, kissing your hair and rubbing his cheek all over you like an overgrown cat. You giggle and he joins you, hazily laughing at your hair poking out everywhere.

The moment doesn’t last because Mina pops her head back in, clearing her robotic throat.

“Kenji. 11AM. You have half an hour left to get ready.”

He groans, head thumping back onto the pillows, both your bodies hidden under the blankets so Mina can’t see what he’s been up to, though you’re pretty sure the super smart computer can sense the pheromone shifts in the air.

“Fine. Fine.”

Gently, he nudges you off of him, giving you a kiss on the forehead. Rummaging inside his night stand, he procures a sleek black card and hands it to you without a second thought.

“I’m gonna be busy all day, angel face, so I can’t keep you entertained.” His boyish grin sends flutters in your belly, making you instantly smile. “Go buy something nice and have a good day. I’ll see you tonight.”

You nod and pull him in for another quick kiss; this time, Mina hovers by the doorway, her thin robotic arms arranged like a disappointed mother’s hands on her hips.

“Kenji—”

“Coming, coming,” he groans, and slips on his pajama pants and shirt, giving you a wink.

“Dinner tonight, angel face?”

“Like you need to ask.” You blow him a kiss and he catches it, pressing his palm flat over his heart, simultaneously walking backwards out of the bedroom.

Once he turns the corner, you exhale, unable to scrub off the lovesick look on your face.

Bringing his pillow to your face, you inhale the soft scent of his shampoo, forgetting the card and just wanting to bask in his presence a little while longer.

After a day of interviews, Kenji can’t wait to see you again.

He’s asked the chefs to prepare something special for you, a chirashi bowl and your favorite mochi to welcome you back from a day of shopping and classes.

His front door beeps open and you waltz right in, though he can tell something’s off. Your smile’s a little too tight in the corners, and he isn’t sure if the lighting is playing tricks or if your eyes are red-rimmed.

“Baby—”

“Ken, I need to tell you something.”

The truth was you’ve been feeling off the whole week—sleeping in too much, having rapid mood swings, going light-headed whenever you stood up too fast. But, the final strike was when you walked into a ramen shop this afternoon for a quick bite and literally gagged at the smell of freshly cooked rice—which never happens because you love rice more than life.

“I’m pregnant.”

Fumbling in your backpack, you don’t look up, rummaging for the small test which has changed your life in a matter of minutes. You bring it to him, noticing his wide eyes and bloodless lips; looking like he’s gone into shock.

He plucks the test from your hands, scrutinizing the double pink lines that cut through him with more pain than any Kaiju claw ever could.

Without another word, he sets the test down, storming past you and grabbing his leather jacket.

Your world falls apart at the seams when he can’t even look at you, the tufts of dark hair falling across his face being angrily pushed back. Agony rips through your soul, leaving you shell shocked at his reaction, your hands falling uselessly to your side.

“Ken—”

“We’ll talk about this later,” he cuts you off.

You hear a mechanical whirl behind you, Mina coming to your rescue.

“Ken? Aren’t you going to have dinner with Y/N—?”

“Later,” he snaps at her, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen your tender-hearted boyfriend look this angry; a dark cloud hangs over him, thundering across this room and bringing you right into the eye of his disappointment.

Tears sting behind your lids, and you dash at those pesky droplets before they could fall, running after him.

“Ken, I’m sorry—”

“I need time to think.”

You grab at his sleeve, wishing he would just tell you what was bothering him.

“About what?” you shout in despair.

You’re being unreasonable with his request for space, but you can’t see beyond the fear of losing him after you’ve already lost so much: your parents to a Kaiju attack, your sister to a painful drug addiction.

You can’t lose Kenji, too.

He tugs at his sleeve back, nearly making you stumble and fall flat on your face. You catch yourself in time, staring at him in pure shock.

Ken curses under his breath, and despite his cruelty, he steadies your shoulders, clasping onto you tightly. Those violet eyes are brimming with anguish, a pain he is unwilling to share with you. From being an open book whose pages you love to read and reread again, he’s now a subject you can’t possibly understand.

“I need time to myself to think about what to do.” Glancing at the hovering robot, he sighs. “Mina, make sure she gets to bed on time. I’m going for a drive.”

Though she’s programmed to check her Master on orders that do not make sense, her sensors record the cadence of his tone, registering it as pure frustration.

“Of course, Ken. Y/N—come and have some dinner—”

You storm past him, ignoring his squeak of indignation.

“Where are you going?”

Turning back, your lips pull into a terrifying sneer. “Doing you a favor and leaving first.”

“To where?” His exasperation makes you see red, and you don’t reply, huffing and pushing the door open, speed walking towards your old Camry.

“Come on. You can’t be serious.” Kenji uses his longer legs to effortlessly catch up to you, grabbing your arm.

The drizzle outside turns into a light rush of rain, steadily soaking you from head to toe. Ken can’t help the flash of panic at the thought of you driving in such bad weather conditions. But, you’re understandably upset with him and can’t think straight—it was his fault for hurting you first.

Heartbreak radiates across your face and he flinches at the sight of tears welling in your eyes. His shoulders sag and he wants nothing more than to reach out to you and hold you tightly to his chest, but you pull away with a sniff and a shake of your head.

“I can’t believe I thought you would be there for me when I needed you the most.”

You tug yourself free from his grasp, opening the car door and rushing inside; giving him one last, stinging look.

Droplets of icy cold water trickle down his face, illuminated faintly by the green neon of your car’s dashboard.

“Y/N, I��”

He wants to open his heart to you, tell you everything about the man behind the facade.

The wounded son, the struggling young baseball star, the giant hero fighting monsters and the dangers that haunt his waking moments…

But, he clams up, holding you back from the truth.

You exhale brokenly.

It was just like Ken to always keep you at arm’s length—hovering just out of reach. You’re not sure how long you can stay faithful and patient for him to finally let you into his heart.

“Goodbye, Kenji.”

He watches your car speed down the driveway, round the bend and out of his life. His broad shoulders curl forward, and he wants so badly to kick his bike into gear and chase after you, apologizing for his mistake.

But the part of him that would always remain selfish, the one untouched by your goodness and the harsh lessons he’s learned in this life, nails him to the spot.

If he doesn’t chase after you, maybe you might change your mind and get rid of it yourself.

He shakes his head, a wave of disgust rising in him.

Is this who you really are, Ken Sato? A coward?

“Ken? It’s raining. Don’t you want to come in?”

Mina’s concern breaks through his destructive thoughts and he sighs. “Mina, do you have a view on her? Where is she going?”

The robot pauses, scanning through the city’s data systems. “She’s right on Odori-chome. Rounding the bend to Takayo Dorms. It looks like she’ll be staying with a friend tonight.”

As much as he loathes the idea of you being pregnant and having to sleep on some poor college student’s floor, Ken knows he has to give you space or else you’ll implode.

“Okay. If she calls, let me know immediately. She’s pregnant—” He chokes on that word, and Mina gives a concerned whir. “And I’m worried. I’ll see her tomorrow and…” The young man trails off, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Mina, I’m scared.”

She extends one robotic arm, guiding him inside to warmth and dryness, the doors automatically closing behind him. Ken staggers to the couch, kicking the bottom compartment open and finding a can of his favorite Asahi on hand.

He cracks it open, drinking deeply while Mina floats next to him, vigilant and listening.

“Was dad ever scared when mom broke the news to him?”

To his surprise, Mina chuckles. “Why don’t you call him up and ask him yourself?”

Ken considers it, glancing at his watch. Professor Sato was probably already in bed by now, and he didn’t want the old man grilling him on his poor life choices so late in the night.

“... I’ll do it tomorrow. After the playoffs.”

Mina titters and floats in front of him.

“Whatever mistake you think you’ve made Ken, I know you will have the courage to solve it. You are not like the person you were before—you’ve grown. Changed. And when the time is right, everything will fall back into place.”

Her words marginally comfort him, relieving him of the heaviness in his chest. Ken flashes her a weak smile, drooping his head back against the sofa. He hopes to every god above—both baseball and Kaiju deities—that she’s right.

That no matter how things ended between you two tonight, it will never leave a permanent scar on the future.

“Hey, isn’t that the guy you said you were seeing?”

Chisa, your roommate from months ago when you still lived near campus, points at the shoddy screen of her twice broken down TV. She’s sipping on a beer while spreadsheets and blueprints litter around her—remnants of last night’s cramp study session which was interrupted by your unexpected return.

You lift your head from her couch and true enough, the devil in the form of Ken Sato’s confident smile appears on the screen, making your stomach turn and heart twist.

Flopping back onto the hard couch, you sigh. “Yeah.”

Chisa rakes a hand through her platinum blonde hair, stifling a yawn. “You know what—I get it. I would be absolutely shattered too if a hot, successful and rich man dumped me for getting pregnant. You just can’t win everything in life.”

You want to throw a pillow into her face for such harsh words, but a part of you—that small, terrified part—has to agree.

“So, are you going to keep it?”

Her sudden question makes you wish you never asked her for a favor in the first place. While Chisa was friendly enough, it was her sharp tongue and blunt nature which often led you two into mini arguments back when you were still living with her.

“I don’t know,” you tell her truthfully, sitting up and feeling a pang of hunger course through you. “It’s not like I can afford a baby right now without—” Your throat swells, the words caught behind a lump.

Chisa has enough grace not to comment on the tears glossing in your eyes. She turns her attention back to the screen to let you rub them away, raising the volume to drown out your quiet sniffles.

The both of you watch the sports segment—her, completely engrossed, and you numbly tracking Ken's every movement on the pitch. It’s a livestream from one of his games happening this morning, the very first game you won’t be cheering him on from the stands.

Without much thought, you touch your belly, wondering if the little life in there could see his or her daddy on screen. The reality that this would be the only way they could meet their own father makes you tear up again, and you reach for your dead phone, needing to at least hear his voice again.

It didn’t matter if Ken Sato didn’t want you in his life or if he refused to acknowledge the child you’re carrying as his. You just needed to know he would still be there for you.

Hooking it to a cable, you switch your phone back on, and instantly, a stream of messages swarm in.

I know you never liked it whenever I asked Mina to keep an eye on you, but she told me you’re rooming with a friend. Chisa, right? I hope she doesn’t make you sleep on the floor.

Another text.

Yikes. Reading that again, I sound like an absolute dick. What I meant to say was that I hope you’re comfortable and you can rest well. I know the way we ended things was messy to sum it up, but I really hope this wouldn’t be the last time we see each other.

The last text, sent around one in the morning, three hours after your epic fight, reads:

I miss you. Goodnight, baby. Sleep well.

You lift your gaze to the TV again, and start to notice the dark circles under his eyes. The hard set of his mouth. Ken still loves me—he still wants this. Your heart leaps, and you turn your attention back to the screen, typing out:

I miss you. I’m sorry. I

A sudden tremor rocks the house, and your phone goes clattering to the ground. Chisa’s loud yelp rings through your mind as the shakes get more and more intense, as if it's getting closer.

Outside the dorms, screams erupt and alarms blare. The symphonic pattern of the warning is unmistakable: there is a Kaiju nearby.

You lurch to your feet, dragging Chisa by the arm, jolting her into action.

The sound of hundreds of feet running in one direction burns through your mind; Chisa’s arm is a constant around you as she drags you down the road, trying to find shelter from the impending danger.

It’s a lizard or moth hybrid with a wide wingspan and sharp rows of teeth. You’ve seen news reports of Kaijus before, but you’ve never dared to think you would see one up close. Spikes adorn its tail which goes crashing into buildings and houses, debris raining to the screaming crowd below like a reckoning halestorm.

Car alarms blare, in tandem with the rising panicked screams of hundreds of students and teachers who were caught off guard by this sudden attack.

“Look!” Someone yells, and in the distance, you see a human-like shape approaching fast.

“Ultraman!”

“He’s here!”

“He’s here to save us!”

Chisa, whose lips are bloodless and cheeks pale with fright, leads you up the stairs of the business school building, where you both can find higher ground to avoid the falling debris.

In your panic, you trip on a large rock and tumble to the ground, a loud, ominous crack resounding throughout this concrete cube you’ve both locked yourselves in.

“Shit!” Chisa bends down to inspect your ankle. She tries to lift it, but a searing pain cuts through your entire body, your shriek of agony making her flinch. “Fuck. Oh, fuck. This isn’t good. This isn’t—”

Boom!

The doors of the building fly off, and the monster sticks its muzzle inside, sniffing around for its prey. Having scented you and Chisa, it releases a loud screech, and before both of you could even blink, the roof flies off, its sharp talons reaching inside and grabbing you.

The sudden loss of gravity strains your broken foot and you scream in agony and fear.

“Y/N!”

As the monster lifts you right to its face, you think—this is it.

Every nerve in your body is frozen, your mouth falls open and you might’ve screamed—you can’t hear yourself or feel your body or your hands or even your broken foot anymore.

This is how I will die.

“We interrupt this game to announce that there’s a Kaiju attack nearby. All civilians are requested to proceed to the nearest emergency exit. We interrupt this game to announce—”

As the stadium erupts in chaos, Ken hears the worst news his nightmares could conjure when someone screams: “The Kaiju—it’s attacking Takayo University!”

His mind goes into overdrive, his body catching up as he feels the familiar muscles stretching and pulling, turning him into a 50-foot gargantuan hero. Mina chirps to life, and he’s never heard a robot sound so serious before.

“Ken, Gigan is approaching Takayo University. I can’t seem to get a hold on Y/N’s signal. I think her phone is switched off.”

Damn it—damn it all to hell!

He pushes his body to the max, racing towards your direction, hoping against all hope that you were somewhere safe.

The young hero wouldn’t know what to do if he lost you.

“Her messages were all gray yesterday. Her phone’s out of juice,” he snaps back. “Run a search on Chisa’s signal. They should be together.”

“Alright,” Mina whirs. “Chisa’s signal: located. They’re at the Business Faculty Park. I have sent you the coordinates.”

A flash of numbers and lines appear in front of him. Ken reads them quickly and nods. “Got it. Mina, alert dad and tell him Y/N might be harmed. Prepare the base, if needed. If she’s gone, I’ll lose my fucking mind.”

Mina doesn’t comment on his language—she chirps back, “Noted. Calling Professor Sato now.”

He sees it then—Gigan the monster who’s stomping around and has something in its grubby claws.

“Mina, I see it. I—”

Ken thinks the light is playing tricks on him. There’s a flash of a familiar sheen of hair, a smaller figure held inside Gigan’s monstrous grip.

“Mina, enhance visibility—what is it holding?!”

The sight enlarges, and Ken gasps. His shock turns into anger, and he’s taking off towards the beast, not caring of anything else in his path as he summons all his anger into a fist and knocks the giant lizard’s head backwards. Gigan’s grip loosens and Ken rushes forward to catch you, holding you tightly to his chest with one hand.

With the monster down for a moment, he glances at his palm, unfurling his fingers to find your pale, frightful face staring right at him.

“Ultraman,” you gasp, and his heart breaks when he notices streaks of tears running down your face.

You must’ve been scared shitless for your life.

“Are you alright?” The tenderness seeps through his tone, and he can’t fight back the cresting wave of loathing and self-hatred when you wrap your arms around your midsection, nodding tearfully.

“I-I’m fine—look out!”

He holds you to his chest, careful not to crush you in his grip as he spins around, deftly avoiding Gigan’s tail as it careens right into his face. The Kaiju raises itself on its hind legs, releasing an earth shattering roar.

Ken cringes back. He needs to find you a safe spot; he can’t bring you into battle like this.

Sprinting away from the carnage, all the screams and fear fade into the distance, his mind hellbent on getting you to safety.

Finding a relatively high rise building that’s been torn apart by the Kaiju and left for ruin, he gently unfurls his hand, placing you back on solid ground as if you’re a Lego figure he needs to safekeep.

You drop to your knees, unable to hold yourself up. Ken sweeps his gaze over you, and without thinking, says: “Mina, run a scan on her. Is she safe?”

Loyal to a fault, she follows his orders, coming to a hard pause when your screech reaches both their attention.

“Mina?! Hang on—”

Despite his sheer size and how tinier you are in comparison, Ken flinches when you march up to him, looking right into his glowing eyes.

The masked hero whose identity has been hidden since the day he assumed the role of Tokyo’s protector, freezes like a deer caught in headlights and for a moment, nothing exists in this world besides your eyes on his. You reach out, tips of your fingers caressing his armored cheek.

As if an unspoken truth comes to light, your eyes widen, and you touch both hands onto his cheek, skimming them across his nose. Those wide, luminescent eyes slip close, like he's enjoying your touch.

“It’s you.” Your choked gasp tears at his soul, and Ken opens his eyes to find you crying, a palm pressed right to your mouth. “Oh my God. It really is you. It—”

Your knees buckle, unable to hold yourself upright to such a heavy truth. You slide to the ground and he reaches out a hand, letting you lean against his much bigger palm. His heart is beating so fast, he has to remind himself to breathe so he doesn’t transform in front of you and can’t protect the rest of the civilians from Gigan.

“Ken,” you say his name like a prayer, curling your much smaller fingers around his ring one, feeling the smooth armor of his alien skin under your touch. “Ken. I knew something was off about you but I—”

This pure moment of ecstatic discovery is cut off by a loud screech.

Ken hears Gigan approach and he’s about to urge you to be safe when you lurch to your feet and stumble towards him.

It’s a split second of unadulterated heaven opening its white, pearly gates when your head touches his gargantuan forehead. You breathe and he breathes, the both of you suspended in this time and space where it's just the two of you in this world—human and beast, lover and monster.

“Come back to me.”

That’s all you say, all you have the time to elucidate before he’s ripped away by Gigan’s claws.

Your cry pierces through his soul, and before he falls, he casts a protective shield around you, trapping you in a blue bubble of safety.

But, it’s a miscalculated move.

Gigan’s tail whips around, knocking the base of the building. One second, Ken’s eyes are locked on yours, and in the next moment, the entire roof falls on top of you.

“Nooooo!”

Ken fights out of the monster’s grasp, using his sheer strength to dig his fingers into the creature's mouth and tear its entire head clean off by its jaw.

Ending its life for daring to hurt yours.

This is it.

He doesn’t care that his father would call this cruel—doesn't care for the mess and press comments calling him unhinged or for the KDF commending him on his efficiency in killing off a Kaiju.

This is his entire universe coming to an end.

The tap tap tap of Professor Sato’s cane on the steel floors of the family’s underground base barely rouses Kenji from his vigil by your sickbed.

From his vantage point, Hayao easily notices his son’s sunken eyes, the unshaven chin and exhausted slump in his shoulders. Ken is holding his phone in one hand, occasionally glancing at a message on the smeared screen. His sharp eyes catch an unfinished message, glossing over it as Ken finally hears his footsteps and pockets his phone hastily.

I miss you. I’m sorry. I

A heavy weight settles in his chest like grease, and the older man exhales a sigh.

Without another word, he takes a seat next to his weary son, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Kenji, you’ve been down here for days. You need to see the sun—stretch and eat a proper meal.”

He turns those solemn, violet eyes he passed down to his son onto the faint pallor of a young woman resting in a medically-induced deep sleep inside the emergency pod, her chest rising and falling slowly.

Your vital stats on a holographic board floats in front of him, and Hayao stifles a sigh when he sees a tiny, bean-shaped blob hovering in another panel, its features barely formed but already so dear to him.

Kenji can barely look at the vitals of his unborn child, eyes closed and head hung heavily as if the weight of the world drags his shoulders down. It might as well have, judging from the mess Hayao had to clean up when his son was too emotionally strained to handle the aftermath of Gigan’s attack.

“I can’t leave her side,” he replies monotonously.

Hayao recognizes that despair Kenji exudes, having experienced it many, many times over his twenty plus years of being a father.

Unexpectedly, he chuckles, and Kenji raises his head, finding his father’s expression faraway, nostalgia glistening in his rheumy eyes.

“Oh, I remember the time your mother broke the news that she was expecting you.”

Any mention of Emiko would draw Kenji’s attention like a moth to a flame. His son listens, patiently waiting for him to reveal the next part.

Hayao smiles and shakes his head. “Just like how you reacted, I was stunned. I had to sit down when she passed me the test. It was the first time she’s ever seen me speechless.” Grasping his son’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze, the older Sato sighs.

“Kenji, there comes a time in every man’s life when he has to sit down and evaluate if he’s the right fit for fatherhood. Any man can be a father, but it takes a noble, patient, and kind-hearted man to be a dad.”

He continues. “Children aren’t easy. Human children, that is. Kaiju ones grow too quickly and already have a set path due to their nature,” he chortles at the memory of Emi, and Ken can’t resist smiling at that.

“But, babies… They test us. Show us what we lack and how imperfect we are. They have their own dreams, needs and wants. They’re loud, messy and take up so much of your heart, thoughts and peace. But, despite all of that, they’re our hopes and dreams.” Hayao chuckles. “If anyone were to ask me what my greatest legacy is, I would never say ‘Ultraman’ or the research I’ve done over the years.”

Ken listens to him raptly, violet eyes wide and waiting.

Hayao finally looks at him, and in those similar purple orbs, he finds a kindred spirit—someone who knows his burdens inside and out because he’s lived through them all for half of his life.

“My greatest legacy is you, Kenji. My son.”

A wizened finger taps on the screen, and the room fills up with the echoing pulse of a second heartbeat, fainter like its coming from the bottom of the ocean. But, it’s as strong as his own, and in that, Ken feels the anger, despair and disappointment he holds for himself slowly dissipating like steam on a hot day.

“And after seeing how much you’ve sacrificed and learned from raising Emi, I know this baby would be so lucky to have you as a dad.”

Hayao gets to his feet with slight difficulty, patting Ken’s shoulder.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Kenji. It will all work out just fine. Take it one day at a time, alright?”

Ken wants to ask about the neverending dread, if his father ever feared putting his family in danger—the perils of parenting and how he’s going to juggle baseball, Ultraman and being a dad (a real one, this time) all at once.

Like he’s heard his son’s uncontrollable thoughts, Hayao turns back to give him one last piece of sage advice.

“Everything will be okay. You are Kenji Sato—your mother’s son and my son. You will never be alone.” He glances at your resting form. “And she will never leave you. A woman who readily accepts our family’s duty and burdens is a rare gem indeed, son.”

“But, mom did the same,” he blurts out, brows knitting together. “She accepted you with open arms, too. How can you say it’s rare when it has happened before?”

Hayao’s eyes sparkle as if Ken has finally found the answer to his perpetually troubling question.

“That’s why I married her.”

He leaves Ken alone to ponder his words, the doors closing behind his frail form.

The young man turns back to your pod, placing a hand over the reinforced glass, right over your belly.

Before he can stop himself, he presses his forehead against the cool metal, sighing.

“Well, you heard him,” he mutters. “The second you wake up, baby, I’m locking you down—there’s no shaking me off this time.”

A click. A whir.

The world slowly comes back to focus and you furrow your brow, biting back a groan. Your body faintly pulses with pain, like it’s remembering the trauma you suffered through a five year memory fade.

But, your limbs work, and it doesn't hurt to breathe.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

That voice…

You pry your eyes open and the second you recognize his face, you think you could break down and cry. Soft violet eyes appraise you, slender fingers reaching out to tenderly graze your cheek.

“Ken…”

He catches your embrace, holding you so tightly you think you might suffocate. The feel of his arms around you is like coming home after a long day, and you think he might feel the same way, his heartbeat thudding erratically under your cheek.

“I’m so sorry. So, so sorry,” he apologizes over and over again. It takes all of your willpower not to tear up at the look of defeat on his face. You cup his cheek, bringing him closer so both your foreheads can touch.

“It’s alright, Ken,” you murmur, free hand running through his thick, raven locks. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

He cradles your tummy at the reminder, looking like a puppy that’s been kicked to the curb.

“I was so mean to you. And to Peanut. I’m so sorry—”

“Peanut?” You blink, and he doubles back, scratching the back of his head.

“I, um… may have given the baby a nickname while you were, uh, recovering.”

Your lovely, silly boyfriend thought you would be angry when it is the furthest from the truth. “Peanut, huh?”

You place your hand over his, drinking in this moment of having your entire family right here, safe and sound.

“I like it. Peanut.” Your smile is saint-like, warm like the first sun rays breaking through a long, dark night. “Peanut is perfect for him or her.”

He doesn’t deserve the grace and forgiveness you’ve shown him and Kenji thinks that for the rest of his life he wants to atone for all the wrongs he’s ever committed.

Your health is his priority, and kick-starting this renewed promise to you, he’s there every step of the way during your recovery—feeding you, bathing you, helping you regain your ability to walk without needing a crutch, taking you to physiotherapy classes so you would be mobile again after breaking your leg.

He even shows you Kaiju Island with his dad, Professor Sato and him catching up with a now one year old Emi who’s grown into her wingspan and new abilities. At first, you were terrified to meet the Kaiju baby your boyfriend once raised, but the moment she scented you, she was all over you like an overly-friendly cat.

Her beak presses against the barely-there swell of your belly, and she coos in delight.

Looks like Emi is happy to be a big sister. Professor Sato laughs at that, thumping his son on the back.

Siblings—Kaiju and a human—I’ll have to trash my entire research thesis because nothing can compare to this!

You move back in with Ken, ditching your old dorm and studying from home to accommodate your growing belly and fatigue. Your lecturers were understanding enough, though you suspect the Ken Sato’s reputation was enough for them to give you some leeway.

Ken reduces his time spent on the pitch to be home with you and the baby, catching the press’ attention who start to wonder if the great Ken Sato is cracking yet again. Eventually, it's his old frenemy, Ami, who spots him leaving a prenatal clinic with you one rainy morning after tailing him for days.

Your boyfriend literally has to bribe her with two months worth of free Tonkatsu dinners on his card before she lets the scoop go, giving you a sympathetic look that makes you laugh and Ken indignant.

Life was back to normal—or, as normal as it could be after finding out your boyfriend is literally a 50-foot alien superhero who fights monsters.

One night where you’re both just lazing around on the sofa, Ken decides to show more of his world to you, and tugs your hand, leading you to the underground base which he affectionately dubs his ‘mancave’.

There, he asks Mina to pull up an old recording of Emiko on the stands and officially introduces his girlfriend to his mother.

“She’s beautiful, Ken.” You approach her with a fond smile, and his arms wrap around you; heart filled with pure happiness at the sight of his two favorite women in one room. Ken kisses the top of your head and then sighs.

“I wish you could meet her, baby. She would’ve loved you to the moon and back.”

He tells you of the efforts to retrieve her from a wormhole; how he spends everyday wondering if the next time he sees his mother, he’ll be just as old and gray as her. You’re there for his every rumination, every fear.

“My parents separated when I was really young,” he confesses while you’re both lying in bed in each other’s arms, giving you another piece of his childhood that you welcome with no judgment. “I don’t want to be like my dad—putting Kaijus or my career first that I lose the both of you.”

At those words, you take his face in your hands, looking him in the eye as you shake your head. “You will never lose me, Kenji Sato. I’m yours and you’re mine. We’re in this as a team and we’ll see this through.” Echoing his father’s advice, you grin. “Let’s just take this one day at a time, okay?”

With his past revealed and double identity known, it’s your turn to be there for him in a different way.

When the voices of doubt get too loud for him, you don’t let him wallow in his misery for long, encouraging him to teach you how to bat a ball or letting him press his cheek to your growing tummy so he can feel Peanut moving around.

You meant every word you said to him that night in the tender darkness: you were both a team. No matter how bad the storm hits, you would weather it together.

One day, without you expecting it, Ken proposes to you while you’re both watching a movie.

“I can’t walk down the aisle!” You pout, and he’s taken aback, thinking you’re flat out rejecting him when you point at your nose. “My nose will be all squished and the photos will come out ugly,” you whine. “Pregnancy noses are a thing,” you try to convince him as he bends over in laughter.

“Baby,” he wipes the tears from his eyes, broad shoulders shaking with repressed mirth. “Squished nosh or not, I still love you, squirt.”

He removes a simple, velvet box from his pants pocket and reveals a ring with your birthstone and his on it. You whisper about a hundred ‘yes's’ in response to his “Will you marry me, sweetheart?”; tearing up when he slips the ring onto your left hand and brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles affectionately.

“Have I ever told you I love you so, so much, baby?”

Though you have no idea what’s in store in the future with a man who can turn into a superhero, and a whole new world of monsters, baseball and parenthood to navigate, you thank your lucky stars that he’s right beside you for the journey.

“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to hear it again.”

He chuckles and kisses your cheek, the feel of his smile on your skin like the embrace of home.

“I love you.”

“Hah,” you look up, starry-eyed and in love as you push his bangs out of the way. “I love you, too, Kenji Sato.”

— feedback and reblogs are appreciated <3

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim my plot points, structure and elements of work as your own.

#🦢 writes #kenji sato x reader #ultraman rising x reader #kenji sato #ken sato #kenji sato smut #kenji sato angst #ultraman x reader #tw pregnancy #tw unprotected sex #first ultraman post let's go !!

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st4rgzer · 7 months ago

Text

now playing…MY BOY ONLY BREAKS HIS FAVORITE TOYS (spencer reid)

summary: words get spoken on a night out with a team, things don’t go as planned as a realization dawned upon spencer.

genre: fluff/angst

cw!: alcohol, public humiliation kinda

a/n: i rlly struggled with this one guys, i like how it came out even if it’s not entirely the same as the song.<3 masterlist

anyone that saw spencer right now could tell he was absolutely and irrevocably in love with you.

his puppy dog eyes traced the exposed skin of your collarbones, eyes slyly exploring your silhouette. his gaze landing on your face, your mesmerizing eyes. he glanced at your lips and thought about how sweet the lipgloss you were wearing would taste.

he tried to conceal the smile that was stretching across his face, putting all his efforts in averting his eyes from you. which was probably the most difficult thing he had done ever (…)

you were invited to go out with the team, by penelope. spencer giddily awaited your arrival. glancing over at the bar entrance every time a person came in, his heart racing when he saw someone enter. only to be disappointed when he saw that the person was, in fact, not you.

yet another opening of the door could be heard, and spencer turned his head lazily. slightly dazed from the few drinks he had. his eyes practically doubled in size as he saw you walking in. you looked around a few times before setting your gaze to the group of friends stood by a table. your smile was contagious. by the time you arrived at the table, spencer’s cheeks hurt.

“hey, pretty boy’s been waiting for you all night” derek grinned. spencer shot him a glare.

“no i have not!-“ he stuttered, foolishly struggling to look at you in the eyes, though he really, really wanted to.

you smiled, rolling your eyes at derek’s play fighting with spencer.

“okay okay, who’s getting drinks with me?” you laughed, looking at spencer specifically. he smiled like a kid who just received a new shiny toy, glancing up at you with a bewitched smile.

“i’ll go” spencer spoke, his tone lacking confidence. following you like a lost pup, a soft smile still plastered on his face.

“hey looks like the genius is finally makin’ a move”

“go get her tiger!”

collective catcalls and words of encouragement toward spencer were heard from the table, voices becoming more faint as spencer and you went deeper into the crowd.

“assholes” you laughed, making the air immediately lighter. a trait that spencer admired, amongst many others.

“huh? oh! yeah ignore them, they’re- stupid…” he stumbled over his words, coming out faster than his brain could think. it’s funny how his IQ of 187 could easily be sliced in half when being met with you.

you laughed, nodding in agreement.

“so, what’re you having?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. you noticed how pretty spencer’s featured looked, illuminated by the dim light, accentuating the carvings of his cheekbones.

“i’ve already had something, i don’t drink much” he said quietly, afflicted by the fact that he just turned down your offer.

“but whatever you drink, it’s on me” he looks up, a smile in his voice as he sees a grin form on your face.

“really? you don’t have to do that” you laugh, looking down. you are incredibly thankful for the lights in the bar being to dim, or else you’d have no chance at hiding the tint that was creeping up your cheeks.

“yeah yeah it’s fine, really, it’s on me” he say’s chivalrously. you nod, kissing his cheek lightly and muttering a ‘thank you’ before smiling and leaning on the counter to order.

spencer swore to god his heart stopped. he blinked a few times with wide eyes to make sure it wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. a lingering effect of his intoxication. no, it was real.

you sipped on a martini, nodding to spencer for him to follow you back to the table, where emily and jj were dancing not very far away (and definitely not very far apart) penelope was flirting with derek, and rossi and hotch were doing typical rossi and hotch things.

your face twisted in confusion as the team diverted their attention to reid, looking at him with a mix of pride from morgan, and wonder from the rest of the team.

“you got something there pretty boy” derek pointed to his cheek. spencer rubbed the side of his face, being met with a slightly red stained hand.

you covered your mouth, a laugh threatening to come out.

“sorry spence” was all your could muster without giggling. Spencer looked terrified, a slight pink tint painting his face.

the whole team broke out in laughter, friendly heat of course. but spencer didn’t seem to enjoy the little scene he’d made, he turned and started walking swiftly toward the bar. you tried chasing after him, after realizing he was the only one not laughing. but it was too late as he disappeared into the crowd of drunk dancing people.

you sighed, turning towards the team.

“guys.” you looked at them with a warning expression as their laughter slowly faded. you skipped to were you thought spencer would be. finding him sat at the bar with a glass of water, and his chin resting on his hand

“hey…sorry about that” you said, sitting next to him. closer than usual.

“it’s fine” he gave you a tight lipped smile, clearing his throat and avoiding your eyes. your heart ached, knowing the embarrassment you had probably caused him, and knowing his history with public humiliation. even if they were his friends, it was still wrong.

you reached and placed your hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. you felt him tense underneath your touch.

“i’m sorry, really. i didn’t know you had the lipstick and-“ spencer interrupted you , which took you by surprise.

“it’s not that y/n, do you not understand? you are selfish. do you like making fun of me melting under you? do you actually like me or is it just fun to just watch me.” his words were fast and sharp. your brows furrowed and tears pricked your waterline. spencer’s eyes widened after he realized the full blown confession slash burst he just had.

you were his best friend, he trusted you with his life and viceversa. and he was making you cry, all because of his frustration with himself. his love life was not your problem.

“y/n, i didn’t mean it, i- i’m sorry i-“ he stuttered nervously, desperately wishing to reach for your face and wipe the first tear that fell.

“no its fine” you spoke, quietly, so your voice was less doomed to breaking. not only did his harsh words sting, it was incredibly heartbreaking to realize what you had been doing, and how it affected him.

you decided to walk out of the bar, spencer heading after you. the cold air hit your face, shivering at the sudden contact with your skin.

“please- y/n” spencer pleaded. barging out the bar chasing after you.

“spencer, i get it, i’m sorry” you yelled, a bit more loudly than you’d like. you felt frustrated at the fact that he thought you were simply making fun of him. he was your person, quiet console in the middle of the night, there when you most needed him. of course you inevitably fell stupidly in love with him.

“i don’t do any of those things to hurt you. i would never do anything to hurt you, and spencer, i’m so sorry if i did. i’m in love with you. and not just in a best friend way, in a way in which i want my bed to feel empty when you’re not there, i want to be able to kiss you and say how gorgeous you are in any given moment. and- i’m sorry if you don’t feel the same but i-“ you sighed, exasperated and out of breath from the drunken confession.

a minute passed and it felt more like eternity as you awaited for his response, or at least a sign of rejection or approval, anything.

“well, say something!” you threw your hands up in the air, breathing out.

spencer’s mouth opened to talk but nothing came out. he was still coming to terms with your reciprocated feelings toward him. and then his mind began to spiral, it all went downhill from there.

his palms began to sweat despite the cold breeze that sent shivers down your spine.

“i’m in love with you too. i love you, and i have for quite some time” he spoke too calmly, as if he was warning you about what was to come next.

“but we can’t be together. not right now. not with me.” he spoke crudely, trying to distance himself from you, hesitation coursing through his veins. he couldn’t blame the alcohol this time after the confession sobered him up. he was scared, but the terror that came from the idea of losing you because of him? no. even if you were eternally infuriated with him, at least you weren’t in front of him with a gun to your head.

you swallow a lump in your throat, making it hard to speak, hard to breathe.

“but, why?” you ask, awaiting for a worthy response that justified the worst sentence he could’ve ever uttered: ‘we can’t be together’.

“we can’t. it’s too difficult, my job is too difficult.” he had placed an invisible barrier between the two of you. refusing to look at you, and the damage he’d done.

‘There was danger in the heat of my touch

He saw forever so he smashed it up’

“but-“ you were rudely interrupted by the sound of the bar door opening, presenting a very drunken group of people. who just so happened to be your friends, watching you and spencer have this tense conversation, or at least the aftermath of it.

you closed your eyes for a few seconds, trying to regain your composure. spencer and hotch were the designated drivers. you decided to head home in the car where the driver wasn’t the guy you had just confessed to and had given you a pathetic response. you could see spencer look at you as you got into the car, a puzzling expression hard to decode on his face.

‘my boy only breaks his favorite toys.’

as you headed home, the quiet voice ringed in the back of your head, threatening to call him. for you to insist on a worthy response, an explanation to his unwillingness. instead you just laid in bed, your covers acting as a shield to everything in the exterior that could hurt you. you still wished that your bed felt empty. and that spencer would be the missing piece.

‘and I'll tell you that he runs

because he loves me.

cause you should've seen him, when he first saw me.’

taglist: @ilovesadiesink @sp3ncelle

*comment to be added!*

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

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bloodmoonmuses · 9 months ago

Text

you want me so bad rn... | choi beomgyu

genre: beomgyu x reader, established relationship, fluff, drabble (600ish words)

summary: you and beomgyu go on a date to an aquarium, during which he leaves you more flustered than you anticipated.

warnings: the build up to the kiss gets a bit steamy, some suggestive language by my standards lol (but nothing explicit)

The bluish glow leaves a halo around Beomgyu’s face. It’s a random Thursday and the aquarium the two of you are at is practically empty. You admire him lovingly, warmed by his boyish infatuation with the twinkling fish. They refract like specs of glitter- orangey, yellow and gold in their flickering.

Beomgyu’s a walking a paint palette. You think of the colors you’d use to render his beauty- if you were bestowed with such a skill. A wash of watercolor, bleeding and pooling into the grooves of sturdy paper… the faintest of blues. Warm gray, like the clouds that hung in the sky the day you met him. Chestnut-y browns as a final touch- like his eyes, his hair, his guitar. You wish you had brought a camera, to immortalize the joy radiating off of him, but you’re left to rely on your faulty eyes (and memory).

“You’re staring,” says Beomgyu as he reads the placard next to the fishtank. Golden Dwarf, Tiger and Cherry Barbs. Schooling fish. They’re not to be in groups less than six.

“Can’t help it,” you simply say.

You’re certain the amazement in your eyes as you look at him parallels Beomgyu’s intrigue with the fish. It’s funny really; for a guy in such a glitzy career, he’s easily impressed. Beomgyu is also very contemplative. You liked watching him think, his brows furrowing and relaxing over and over again, or when he scrunches his nose. He does the latter right now, and you’re overcome with the urge to kiss it. Realizing you possess the privilege to do so, you reach over to take Beomgyu’s face in your hands. Instead of moving immediately, you linger there, drinking up his delicate features.

“Like what you see?” Beomgyu quirks an eyebrow, in that goofy way he does. He’s never serious, save for the purpose of expediting your impending demise (also known as making you fall in love with him). You answer him with the kiss you so desperately yearn for, barely touching your lips to the tip of his nose.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says. Then, Beomgyu pulls you into an embrace.

The fish tanks murmur in the background, the running water almost mimicking rainfall. Fluorescent lights sift through the glass creating wavy lines that dance on the wall. You could stay like this forever.

Beomgyu tilts your chin upward, fingertips grazing your skin just slightly. The touch is hypnotizing, clearing your mind of any coherent thoughts. All you can think of is Beomgyu. Beomgyu, who was born in spring. Beomgyu, who writes hushed ballads as dusk burns into dawn. Beomgyu, who loves you in his own way- patiently and attentively. His breath fans over your lips. Your face twitches for his touch, but all you can do is stand there. You’re frozen. It feels as though if you move, you’ll break into a million pieces. You silently beg him to move.

Beomgyu likes to tease you in this way, though he’d never admit it. He likes to see how quickly you get flustered and how intensely you crave his touch. A few times, he pretends to lean in, watching how you crane your neck. When he does this a third time, you sigh exasperatedly.

“Would you like me to kiss you?” he asks with a coy lilt. You nod feverishly. Beomgyu stifles a laugh. “Didn’t catch that.”

“Yes, please,” you manage to whisper. When he finally does kiss you, you’re somehow even more breathless. If only you could be outside of your body- you’d paint this too. Vermillion to render the blush that’s probably dusting Beomgyu’s cheeks, pink to match the tinge on your ears, green to commemorate how evergreen your love will remain. You deepen the kiss, moving impossibly closer to one another. When the two of you come up for air, chests heaving as if you’d ran a marathon, Beomgyu laughs.

“What’s so funny?” you ask.

“Oh… you want me so bad right now!” he teases.

“Whatever!” You hit his forearm, covering your embarrassed face with your other hand.

a/n: feedback is always appreciated! <333

#bloodmoonmuses #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu fic #beomgyu x reader #txt fic

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naffeclipse · 10 months ago

Text

Temperate Tail

Tigertaur!Eclipse x Reader. Sickness. Non-consensual touching. Kidnapping.

You moan quietly at the arms underneath you, lifting you away from the cool cave floor. Blearily, you peek between heavy eyelids to watch the deeper shadow of stone break away to red evening, burning into a black-blue twilight on the horizon. The leafy foliage flutters with a warm breeze. You shudder underneath it as the arms that hold you squeeze you a little too tightly. The motion of being carried away is not as smooth as the nagas ought to be.

Sun and Moon went to hunt for themselves. You thought they had only awakened you a moment ago, gently fed you another sensitive plant, and told you their plans.

They worried, whispered, but you had shooed them away. They can only hunt together in the dusk or dawn, and you’re well aware that they’ve kept from satisfying their stomachs to watch over you in your sickness. You can survive a little while on your own—all you do is sleep.

And the nagas are not the only dangerous creatures in the jungle.

“Back already?” your hoarse voice crackles under the ill strain to speak. You allow your head to loll against the firm arm cradling you.

You desperately long for the flower to kick in soon and spare you the furious whiplash effect of fevers one moment then chills the next. Sun and Moon have been diligent in tending to you; a fact you still have to stomach. Under their constant care, you’re useless, at their ever gentle mercy.

This body pressing you close is not the warmth of a sun-heated patch of grass nor the cool shadows stretching underneath a misty tree. It’s even, neutral, calm. The being is steady in a way that betrays the skilled strength hiding under short fur of orange and deep red. An unagitated killer, carrying away his prize prey.

Your eyelids fly open.

“Eclipse,” you half growl, half groan.

A large hand, tipped in compacted but curved claws, slaps over your mouth. Your weak protest is muffled under his near smothering palm. Deep red eyes flash in warning. His gait is swift and seamless, not the swaying motion you register with Sun or Moon. The beast holding you flies over the forest floor upon four tiger legs, his upper half bearing the resemblance of a man in form. The silent pads of his paws let him ghost through the forest, you caught in his muscular embrace.

His focus remains on the forest as it deepens with shadows and reddens with the last slips of sunrise. You boil internally, not only because of your sickness, but at how long he must have been lying in wait, watching, willing Sun and Moon to leave you for but a moment. The fiend.

Eclipse is the only beast who stands a chance against Sun and Moon, save for one other in this mad jungle.

You try to bite his hand but only succeed in scraping your teeth against his palm and getting hair in your mouth. His round ears flicker. Turning his head, he watches for a moment, still bounding between thick, mossy trees before resume his cunning getaway.

You want to snarl at him, threaten him, demand he puts you down now. His hand gags your every attempt to throw threats. Furious and festering in your feverish state, you struggle to find a way out of his arms. His claws press against your cheek, almost squishing the flesh against your molars. The promise of bruises hangs over his fingertips.

His own threat flares in his round, black pupils—so unlike the slitted gaze of Sun and Moon.

You glare at his orange, light yellow, and dark red mane-like growth of fur around his head, flaring around him like sun rays. He’s always made you think of a dark sunset, eclipsing a land of light. Upon his face, he’s marked by an orange and deep red jagged crescent, and around his deep red eyes are vertical white stripes that cut from the corner of his gaze.

Through the quiet buzz of the jungle, you fight his vice-like hold and your own fading strength while he carries you from the lush and verdant part of the jungle to tall grass, wild and whipping in the summer breeze, to thickets speckled with rocky crevices.

Eclipse’s territory. The pulse in your throat quickens. You try to kick but weakness sets upon your sickly form.

He stops in the center of the verdant field. His large head tilts down to gaze at you. The appetitive glint in his wine dark eyes fills you with acidic apprehension. He nimbly folds upon his tiger legs, sitting not unlike a cat pleased with the mouse he’s brought back. His large palm lifts away from your mouth—there’s no worry that Sun and Moon will hear you now. He lays you down on the thick grass. The emerald green colors darken just as the sun slips away, leaving a purple twilight against the sky. The lush vegetation brushes against you like strands of hair. You shudder.

“Take me back, right now,” you demand is overwhelmed by your croaking. That is not the fierceness with which you want to address Eclipse.

His wide grin upon his large head splits to reveal curved canines. He licks his teeth once. You force yourself to not flinch, though holding your head off of the ground is beginning to take its toll on your limited energy.

“No. You’re staying here, with me, until I say so.” He bows over you. Large tiger paws dig slightly into the moist dirt as his hands arch for you. “As if those two snakes were taking care of you. You still have a fever.”

You glare. He has too many limbs, too many claws to watch for. Though you fade under the aching pulse eradicating your body, you refuse to close your eyes for even a moment.

“I don’t need your help.” Before his hand takes a hold of you, you twist onto your belly. Shoving your knees up and working your elbows, you begin to crawl away—as slow and pitiful as you are, you refuse to stay here a moment more. You push with strength you do not have. Glass blades swipe against your arms. The almost muddy ground soaks into the fabric of your long khakis.

A large hand seizes your ankle. With a rattling breath sucked out of your lungs, you’re dragged back over the grass and flipped upright. Before you can curse him, Eclipse tucks you under his white hirsute belly of his lower tiger half, two massive paws pinning your arms by your sides. His weight holds you down like a striped blanket.

You groan sickly. Throwing him a half-lidded stare of disdain, you can only watch as Eclipse lays down on top of you, his arms crossed over your midsection as you struggle to breathe under his weight. He tilts his head, his mane-like fur too short to take after a lion, but the tufts are spikey and vibrate with orange, light yellow, and deep red hues.

“You won’t get any better crawling around in the mud,” he drips with derision. “Why are you so difficult?”

Clutching your hands into fists, you bare your teeth as if you had as sharp of fangs as him. He laughs. The harsh, sharp sound makes you vibrate within your ridiculously chilled body. If you weren’t sick—if you had your machete—

“Get off me,” you rasp.

“Relax, kitten,” he purrs, lifting a hand to trail a black claw over your arm, tracing from the crease of your elbow to the curve of your shoulder. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

He does not feed you, and you very much want to bite.

You shiver. Goosebumps prickle your skin under the lethal brush of the tiger’s hand. Your breath catches when his touch nears your neck. Your fever spikes. Caressing your throat, Eclipse’s claws linger on your jugular vein. The very beat of your heart pushes back on his presence. You will your frantic pulse to not give away the violent fear flooding your veins, too weak to throw him off you and run.

His deep red eyes flash with a predatory smugness. You squirm. In what you can only understand as delight, he shifts his hand to firmly press on your shoulder, restricting your movement further.

A moan slips past your teeth.

“I will make you feel better,” his throaty growl fills your body. You freeze, eyes wide like a gazelle.

“Eclipse,” you try to argue, but you cough.

Softly, so softly you almost don’t understand what’s happening, Eclipse begins to purr. You feel it within his tiger half as well as his chest. Fully laid out underneath him, deep rumblings fill you like the echoes of thunder. A strangely gentle vibrancy soothes the edge of the fever. You gasp quietly at how sweet the relief is—how swift and consuming it is of the ache that’s been plaguing you for a day and night now.

“What are you doing?” you ask, harsh in your allayed confusion.

“Giving you what you need: me.” His wicked maw splits into a wide smile. “Don’t deny you feel better. I can already see it in your face.”

“No,” you groan, but it’s not your best lie.

He laughs softer this time, condescending but adoring, as if he can’t get enough of your antics.

Internally, you writhe. The aching soreness, the flip-flopping of shuddering from chills and melting from the fever is washed away like mud from a stone, but you wonder if that could be due to the flower you consumed earlier. His purring… it is enticing, seductive in how it urges you to stop resisting. You hate that a sliver of you wants it. You loathe that you want him to keep taking away the sickness.

You’re useless. Eclipse has stalked you time and time ago, and pounced just when you were foolish enough to believe you were safe. Now, you don’t even have a weapon to brandish against him. He’s too swift and cunning—he always has you before you realize what’s happening.

A perfect ambush predator.

He keeps telling you that you need him. You have never revolted against such a bold declaration more than this. His bone-snapping strength and his sound-breaking speed are intimidating, certainly, but you won’t let him play with you.

He acts hungry, he keeps looking at you as if you were a sweet morsel, and you refuse to believe that he is anything but a monster yearning for flesh after he’s finished playing with his food.

Depleted of adrenaline and reserved energy, you can do nothing but soak in his healing rumbles.

Eclipse’s body lays lightly over your own. You carry vague suspicions that he’s not resting his full weight on you—crushing you to death is not his means of slaughter. He has far too many claws and a pair of powerful jaws for that. Instead, stomach to stomach, he longues over you as if soaking in the starry light. This close to your chest, you wonder how well he senses your angry heart.

Insects buzz through the grass. You have an urge to shiver in the lack of safety in the night, but Eclipse’s purring keeps you from feeling too aware of your surroundings. In the darkness, his orange and deep red hues have melted to a muted color. The length of his tail playfully flickers behind him, long and tipped in black. He is too cat-like, too large, to be trustworthy.

“Relax, sweet little kitten,” he croons in a low voice, “I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

You glower in the dark. His predator eyes can see your expression perfectly, but he only sneers in reply.

As if sweeping aside your ungrateful attitude, Eclipse plays with wisps of your hair, twirling the strands around his claws with a casual intrigue. He never tugs on the strands. You do little but breathe. His purrs are alleviating the worst and you need every ounce of strength you can steal to get away from him. The gleam of his deep red eyes become black in the crescent of moonlight.

He leans down. You turn your head away but that does little to stall his nuzzling. He rubs affectionately against your nose, your neck, even your hair, and you protest with loud grumblings. You squeeze your eyes shut at the stroke of his sleek fur—something so dangerous shouldn’t be so soft. A whimper escapes you, and you bite the inside of your cheek to hold back the next one. His purr picks up. He effortlessly ignores your half growled cursing while fussing his fuzzy short mane against your cheek.

When will he have his fill? Is he ever going to be satisfied bating you around like a delicious little mouse? Your heart skips a beat.

“Why are you doing this?” you grunt.

“You smell like those awful snakes,” he growls lightly. He pulls back in the slightest so you can catch the sizzling pleasure in his gaze. “You have no idea how much better you smell with me all over you.”

“I don’t smell like anyone but me,” you hiss. But you’re not sure. Have Sun and Moon left their scent on you? The thought hadn’t crossed your mind seriously until now.

Eclipse tilts his head slightly. The wild fluff of his head speaks to his jungle prowess. Hanging only an itch above your mouth, he muses in tune with his purring.

“You do smell lovely.” He traces a tapered finger from your temple to the edge of your jaw, as if sizing up a morsel. “Like dried petals with a slight spice.”

A shudder takes over your shoulders. He hooks your chin in his grasp then deliberately rubs his fluffy cheek against your mouth. A thick sultry ting of amber and dark earth fills your senses, ending with a lingering, spicy musk.

You sputter, tasting hair. He snickers with a simper when he lifts his head.

The strong scent reminds you of when he first surprised you. He pinned you to the ground before you realized you were being hunted. A mistake you refuse to make again. There was no doubt in your mind that he was going to tear your throat out, but he purred and fawned over you, and dragged you off to a rocky crevice to find out more about you. You were terrified then—but you at least had your machete on you.

The shiver that rolls down your body is not for his pleasure, despite his smirk. You’re going to find a way to wring his neck.

“Stop it,” you snap, your voice thick and labored.

“I am good for you. You can’t deny that,” he leans in closer. He lays his head beside your own, covering your chest. You swallow at the graze of his teeth against your soft neck.

His voice lowers, “You like to think you have claws, but you don’t. You need me. You need to trust me.”

You screw your eyes shut.

No. You can’t. You can only rely on yourself. Sun and Moon are sweet, they practically begged to help you, but you can’t accept that, not truly. You won’t let them have your back just to get a fang or claw in it.

It hurts. You remember.

When push comes to shove, you can only hope you’re out of reach of everything and everyone.

“Kitten,” he purrs, turning your chin with a sharp finger. “You’re safe with me.”

You stare back at him, eyes narrowed with disbelief. The rhythmic swells of his purrings have yet to wane. The delicious relief holds you down still. He envelopes you like a waterfall, crashing down, drowning you where you stand.

A sliver of you wants to trust him, and that part of you is very, very wrong and weak.

His one round ear twitches, and then both lie flat against his skull The summer breeze ceases. Unease pricks your spine. His expression sharpens as he rises, hands pressed into the grass on either side of your head, claws extended.

The deep purr within his body cuts off. For a fraction of the night, he holds your gaze with a promise.

I will steal you away again soon.

His jaw splits open in a snarl that quakes the meadow. Your heart climbs up your throat, rattling under his force. The next second, Eclipse leaps off of you. You gasp at the sudden loss of the tiger’s presence. A flash of midnight blue scales darts through the grass.

Moon.

The naga strikes in the blink of an eye. Moon’s fangs snap inches from Eclipse’s neck, vicious spit dripping from his sharp incisors. The flare of his hood makes him larger, and horrifying, and the glinting red and yellow diamonds flaring underneath his intimidating display promise lethal retribution. The tigertaur dives deeper into the field, effortlessly lunging out of reach from a furious swipe of Moon’s claws. Eclipse grins; there is nothing humorous in his glinting jaws.

The meadow rustles to the side of you. A sweeping mass of golden scales circle you, crushing grass and smothering vegetation. Hands take your shoulders. A low hiss fills the air with a threatening rage but soon softens. You look up, stunned.

Sun, too.

The naga instantly grabs you and holds you against his warm chest. You lock your arms around his spindly neck, minding his sharp head spikes. His blue eyes are dark as if ink were spilled into his irises. His arms tremble for one moment before steadying around you. In the emptiness of Eclipse’s purrs, your entire body shivers and the fever returns in thick, heavy waves.

You twist your head back, fighting the ache dripping back into your limbs. Moon is coiled upon his tail, tall, taller than you’ve ever seen him hold himself up. He watches the meadow with a fervent rage. His red eyes are wide, glinting dark like arterial blood.

Sun says Moon’s name. In a snap, Moon is slithering to your side, his hand brushing the small of your back with a reassuring—or in need of reassuring—touch. You try to say their names. Sun tucks your head against his shoulder.

The moment they turn away, you see Eclipse in the tall grass, not yet gone. He’s crouched, half-hidden. He grins like the Cheshire Cat between wavering blades of green. His fingers dance in a goodbye. Your heart drops into your stomach.

Sun and Moon shoot away—a fight avoided is the only good fight. Cutting through the grass, rustling through it with thunderous hissing, they spirit you out of Eclipse’s territory. You cling tighter to Sun and watch Moon’s and his long tails become whipping blurs, scales glinting with shards of starlight.

“You came?” you gasp. You try to not choke Sun with your crushing grip.

“Are you hurt?” Moon hisses.

“No.” You shake your head. “Eclipse was watching the cave.”

“We put that together,” Sun gives without his usual musical timber. “Did he do anything to you?”

“No.”

He nods, relieved, but it’s short-lived as a dark cloud passes over his usually sunny expression. “You scared us, lily pad. That’s the second time I’ve found you gone.”

“We should have stayed,” Moon says, his snarl lowering into remorse.

You let your head fall against Sun’s shoulder, bouncing along with his swaying. Moon’s concern rings in your head like a bell.

They came for you. They didn’t let you go. You close your eyes even as liquid spills underneath your eyelashes.

They take you far away from the tall grass, and they don’t stop until you’re well into the densest, darkest shadows of the jungle. You cling to the quiet sound of the nagas’ hissing.

You still feel Eclipse’s purr deep within your chest.

#i can finally breathe through my nose again #blorbos saved me #yeah sorry this is technically spoilers for my naga au but here's eclipse #i'll toss this into a properly named au on ao3 tomorrow when my eyes aren't so tired #temperate tail #catch a tiger by a tail or something something #naga au #tigertaur!eclipse #eclipse x reader #naff writing

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chocodile · 4 months ago

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How would Hyden feel/react to being ignored, intentional or otherwise?

Unlike Ambroys, who needs attention like everyone else needs oxygen (and begins to suffocate without it), Hyden doesn't particularly care what other people think about him.

He is confident that he can command attention when he wants it and is used to being treated with respect. In fact, he's so used to being fawned over by sycophants that encountering someone who was openly rude to him would immediately pique his interest. It breaks the pattern he's used to and is a new type of social interaction, and novelty is the one thing Hyden craves more than anything.

What does rudeness imply about the person he's speaking to? Do they hate him for one of his past (mis)deeds? Oooh, which one, which one? He's dying to know! Are they so fed up with court politics that they're looking to self-immolate and torch their reputation? Oh my, imagine how delightfully unhinged someone like that must be! He'd love to probe around in their brain a bit before they burn enough bridges to disappear from court socials entirely. Or do they simply not know who he is? In this case, he can delight in watching their growing horror as he reveals his status to them and they realize who they've slighted.

It's win/win/win for Hyden. He delights in finding someone who violates social norms like a bored zoo animal enjoys a puzzle treat dispenser. He'll shred them with his claws and teeth until the treats fall out, at which point he'll become bored and drop whatever broken pieces remain. Their insults and social snubs can't hurt him any more than a jack-o-lantern full of raw meat can hurt a tiger.

This is the reason he found Alex so fascinating at first and couldn't resist needling and baiting her. She hated him enough to treat him differently than the rest of the Rising Dawn did (I can't imagine why), and he could tell she was obviously cut from a different cloth than the rest of them. But without the leverage of his wealth, social status, and magic power, he found himself on equal footing with his prey for the first time. His antagonism earned him a bloody nose and a black eye. Ever since, he's been more sullen around her and less willing to pick fights. Maybe he's finally learned a lesson? For once?

#anon #ask #furry #anthro #my ocs #hyden #alex #verse: amaranthine

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strwberri-milk · 1 year ago

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Heyyy can I request a diluc x reader fic where diluc's falcon gets injured or sick (like it'll be fine in like, 2 weeks) and so diluc takes it to a veterinary center that specializes in birds of prey or something (idk it's mondstat 😭) and the reader takes care of diluc's falcon and diluc and the reader fall in love ❤️❤️❤️ (sorry if it's too specificcc)

sorry this is shorter/not as devveloped as you might have wanted [sob] my fics are usally just. on the longer side and i'd hate to make you wait like months for me to write it for you ;-;

"I would think the Ragnvindr family would have someone more familiar with their animals look after them, especially with an injury like this," you say to the redhead, almost amused with the grumpy look on his face.

To the untrained eye, it may seem that Diluc is irritated at the injury his bird has sustained but to you it's clear he's very concerned. You've seen many other rich kids coming into your clinic, ones who can afford your services with the level of care you give to exotic pets who are genuinely irritated when their rishboland tiger is depressed that it's no longer in its native habitat.

"Whatever. Just tell me how bad it is and how long it'll take her to feel better," he says curtly, eyes never leaving the bird he's cared for since he was a young child.

"She's just a little ill. I think she sustained an injury that was almost invisible and the signs of infection just haven't manifested until now. I'll run a course of antibiotics and keep her for a couple weeks for a full workup to ensure that it is nothing more serious than that."

He looks skeptical, dark eyes finally lifting from the sleeping bundle of feathers to look at you.

You've never worked with Diluc personally but in this moment you could see why so many people fawned over him. He was handsome in passing sure, but now with his attention solely focused on you you felt that if you weren't working you'd crumple. Thankfully, you're stronger than that.

"You have no reason to doubt me. I know my reputation precedes me. If it didn't you wouldn't have come to me."

He nods begrudgingly, hesitant to actually leave his beloved falcon in what is essentially just a certified stranger. As he remains silent you make one more subtle gesture to soothe him, gently running your hand over the breast of the bird.

"You can come visit whenever you want, provided I'm not performing surgery on her, or any of the other patients. How does that sound?"

You think he almost looks like a pouting child, keeping your laughter to yourself at the sight of his slightly rounded cheeks no longer seeming to suit his overall harder disposition. Looking at him like this you can see the gentle countours that make him look almost pretty, not handsome as you initially thought.

"I'll take you up on that offer. It'll be the only way I'll feel comfortable letting Dawn stay here."

You had no way of knowing just how often he'd actually be coming, thinking he'd just visit once every other day or so. Instead, he comes by a couple times a day when he's free or there's a lull at the bar. He tries to make small talk with you, feeling bad for intruding so often but the way Dawn perks up whenever you walk into the room makes him want to talk to you more about her.

You try not to talk too much, focused on providing him any information that might be new or interesting to him. Subtly, you're also trying to see if he'll try to fill in the gaps with that businessman charisma he's got. You can tell he's got something more on his mind to say, managing to slightly pull it out of him every once in a while.

You two slowly grow a little closer to each other thanks to your efforts, Diluc's heart opening up for what feels like the first time in a long time. He's not sure if it really breaks any rules about doctors not being allowed to date patients considering he wasn't really the patient. He guesses he could consider himself father of the patient, but you seem to beat him to it as he's standing there waiting for you to finish the paperwork to release Dawn.

"Well, I suppose this will be the last time I see you, huh?" you say as you bring Dawn out in her carrier, Diluc listening to her happily coo at the sight of him.

"We both live in Mondstat so I'm sure we'll see each other around," he says almost hopefully, the tint of it not missing your ears.

"I suppose but it'd be easier if I told you to meet me after work in front of Angel's Share, wouldn't it?"

His eyes widen, baffled at your lack of shame. You're confident in asking him and he can't help but find himself drawn to it. Even more so since you're distractedly playing with Dawn as you wait for him to reply.

He clears his throat after a while, averting his gaze after taking the carrier from you.

"Sure. I'll be waiting."

#genshin x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader

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johnwickb1tsch · 3 months ago

Text

Enigmatic Stranger ~ Part 4

a young!John Wick x fem!Reader roundrobin fic… by my awesome babez @sweetwolfcupcake , @treedaddymcpuffpuff , & this weirdo @johnwickb1tsch

part 1 part 2 part 3

Part 4

johnwickb1tsch

You remember the first time you met Donaka Mark, at a party in your father's house.

Your father had urged you to get yourself out of your room and mingle with people, do some networking, live a little. It was ironic, maybe even hilarious in some dark twisted way, that you decided to fulfill that directive by talking to the tall gentleman in the immaculate dark suit who seemed set apart somehow from the other guests. You’d actually felt sorry for him. He’d seemed as incapable of enjoying himself in this frivolous setting as you were.

Looking back now, you assume that innocent bungle had proved the crucial moment of your undoing. You were awkward--Donaka Mark was not. He knew how to lead a conversation, even if he had an intense manner of doing so. There was something hypnotic, but unsettling, about his dark gaze weighing on you. Withstanding that handsome, older man’s attention was up to that point in your life, one of the bravest things you’d ever done.

Little did you know the chain of events you’d set into motion–but that bell could not be unrung.

By the time you’d excused yourself from him you had chills, and an uneasy sense of forboding. You knew your father occasionally associated with some unsavory characters, but no one had ever given you the creeps quite like Donaka Mark had.

The second time you ran into Donaka Mark, he just happened to be in the street near the office building where you work, and invited you to lunch. You'd politely declined, because you were meeting your boyfriend. It had even been true–at the time.

The third time you crossed paths was in your father’s study, Donaka’s knuckles stained with his blood. He’d looked at you with his shirtsleeves rolled up over his powerful forearms, and a primal hunger burning in his dark eyes.

“There’s the dutiful daughter now. Y/n, your father has a bad habit of not paying his debts. What would you be willing to do, to save him?”

You knew your father had a gambling problem in the past…but that was supposed to be under control. Yet when you looked at the man seated in the chair who raised you, and he shook his head, mouthing the words, “I’m sorry,”--you knew your life was changed forever.

Sweetwolfcupcake

"(Y/N)."

You blink, mildly startled as you return to reality. The once-steaming breakfast in front of you does not look very appetising anymore. But you don't want to be ungrateful, so you scoop some vegetables into your spoon.

"Sorry, I zoned out." You manage a small smile, glancing up at him briefly before your gaze drops to your plate.

You used to live in constant fear of Donaka finding you, but now...Now you are almost paranoid about his men breaking into John's house, hurting him and dragging you back to the hell you escaped from. By now, you would have been in some other country. But John has no intention to let you go.

You don't understand. Why is he so hell-bent on helping you out? It's like bathing in blood and waiting for the tiger to find him. And you don't even see a trap laid out. All you can see is this man alone---awfully confident and terribly stubborn.

He even locks the bedroom at night.

He fucking locked you in. You realised it when you woke up today before dawn and tried to slip away.

You realise that there's silence from his side a few moments later, and when you look up, his eyes are already on you--observing, contemplating.

"What was he like?"

You frown at the sudden question in confusion. It takes you a moment to realise that he is referring to Donaka. You gulp and tell yourself that it's the food.

"He..."

You will never forget his eyes.

"He had an intense gaze, and he..."

He always leads the conversation, and leads it to where he wants it to be. People kneel before him, you have been foolish enough to stand there awkwardly and look up to his eyes---no reservation, no knowledge, nothing. And here you are.

"Go on..." You glance up to meet John's unreadable gaze.

"He...He just gets his way, anyhow."

-------

You knew the way to your workplace by heart. Each passing street and building was familiar to you. But you watched them with a keen interest anyway. You would rather watch them than face the man seated beside you.

Two days after his 'visit' to your house, he returned. You were afraid that he was there for you--to take you away, dragging you by the hair. He did not even touch you. Yet. But he managed to send chills cascading down your spine.

"I thought I would drop my fiancee to work this morning."

There wasn't even a hint of a question. It was a demand. There was no choice anyway, so you simply glanced your father's way briefly before letting Donaka lead you into his car. The fact that he drove through the exact road you took every day did not dawn upon you initially, because all your focus was on getting out of the car.

Relief washed over you at the sight of the familiar building---you never loved your workplace more. You were ready to practically sprint out when the car stopped, earning glances from passersby due to its apparent luxurious status.

You were quick to reach for your seatbelt, but unfortunately, it wasn't quick enough. His hand grasped yours midway. That made you look up to him.

"What's the hurry?"

That was the thing about Donaka Mark, he never raised his voice, never showed aggression or desperation. His voice never showed anything at all---it was neutral, low, calm and had a rasp to it. But it had nothing assuring or calming about it. Even if he tried to lull you into any false sense of security, it was too late, you had seen his eyes already---hungry and dark. Donaka Mark was not a good man, and you had only begun to find out about that.

"I--I have to report on---"

"There's still time."

"I still need to go." You insisted.

He stared at you for a long moment, and with each passing second, you felt the thudding of your heart while you waited with a bated breath. Waiting, just waiting. Perhaps he could sense your fear because you saw something akin to a glint in his eyes---they seemed almost amused.

"Of course." He sounded poised as ever, like a lion toying with its prey. He didn't let go of your hand though.

"Uh, my hand---"

"Give me a kiss first."

"Excuse me?" You hissed.

A smirk curved his lips.

"You heard me. Give a morning kiss to your fiance and then you can leave for work." He sounded like it was a simple transaction.

Nothing was simple with him. You froze.

"I--I can't"

"That is all I could think of after we first met, along with your eyes, of course. Not seen much in my world."

You frowned, unable to decipher his words completely but you could smell fascination. You were, after all, his new, shiny toy---one he had decided to keep.

You did not want to kiss him, but you weren't keen on knowing what would happen if you refused to either. One consequence was right in front of you in the form of your hand in his unrelenting grasp.

"What's wrong? You are engaged to me now, if you've forgotten."

This was the most emotion he had shown you. He was getting impatient, and you did not want yourself or your father hurt. So taking a deep breath and trying to think of something else, you leaned towards him, aiming for his cheek.

But he surprised you when he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you to a proper kiss. A deep, searing kiss that erased all your current thoughts. You were stunned, not completely by the suddenness of it but by the way it felt. It was the most intense kiss you had ever experienced with the pure intention of seduction. Even the traces of tenderness to it were calculated.

Whatever it was, it felt electrifying. It was all from lips to your abdomen but missed the heart and the soul. But it was there, with its undeniable seductive presence. Prickling sparks that left a titillating sensation behind.

When he finally pulled away, you were relieved, yet there was a part of you that almost chased his lips. His thumb gently caressed your lips once before he undid the seatbelt himself, followed by the distinct click of the car doors.

"Be good."

You did not respond to that, instead jumped out of the car and rushed inside the safety of your workplace, deluding yourself with a false sense of security.

----

You let out a sigh and sink further into your pillow. Fisting the comforter with the hope of soothing the chill that ran down your spine. It was your first kiss with him, but not the last.

Yet the memory haunts you often. It was so easy for him to extract that kiss from you, to get what he wanted.

Donaka Mark always gets what he wants and he had wanted you. He even got you before your successful escape. And now, you know he spends his days preparing, and his nights plotting. He rules with terror and his fiancee being able to flee right under his nose must have bruised his fragile little ego.

You should be somewhere far, with a new identity, with the hope that he will never find you again. And even if he does... Well, you have nothing for this. You don't know what he'll do if he gets his hands on you. Nothing pleasant, this much you know. But for the first time, you are worried about someone other than your father--John. You are worried about John.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff

Besides the kidnapping, John is obscenely respectful while you’re in his house. He’s a busy man, it seems, and most of the time he leaves you in solitude as you’ve come to prefer. However, lately you find yourself looking longingly after him when he goes, heart aching for some company.

Humans aren’t meant to be cloistered creatures. The earlier that children can socialize and integrate into society, the better off they’ll be. Your upbringing can’t be considered sheltered, despite the ridiculous and expansive time spent alone during it—it wasn’t your father’s fault, that you had trouble with people, relating and understanding and whatnot.

Then, him.

Donaka Mark treated you like a normal person instead of a banshee. Well, no, not normal. Unless picking your outfits and hair and makeup and even hiring people to come and do these things for you was normal. Unless buying you a fancy sports car and only permitting you talk to certain individuals he deemed worthy was normal. Unless specifically requesting that only open toed shoes and feminine garb be worn in his presence as a show of subservience was normal.

But, other than all of that and the numerous other rules about your own body he was so concerned and strict about, he talked to you like you were a human, and even an interesting one. He laughed at your quirky little jokes, he argued with you about politics and social structure and which breads paired better with what wines and who the best author of your century was.

Yes, it usually ended with you stripped and bound, tears sluicing down your face as he kissed them away…

You shake yourself as John enters the kitchen with bags of fresh groceries, debating on whether or not to help him put things away. Even though he looks like he’s more than capable of doing it himself, you feel bad about just sitting here while he does.

“John,” you say, trying to level your voice instead of screaming and crying some more, “I really want to go.”

He gives you an almost amused look, and you imagine the irritation stat bar over your head climbing into yellow.

Hell hath no fury, even Enigmatic Stranger, who can hold you down with one lazy hand, knows that, so he starts in. “Do you have everything you need? Is it too cold in here? Too hot? Do you need me to get anything specific for you? Is the bed comfortable?”

You sigh and put your head down on the cool table, annoyance turning fast into a migraine. “There’s something I need, yeah…”

“Okay?”

“To leave.”

You contemplate the pros and cons of telling him how lonely you are, but keep that to yourself. You learned from Donaka that being free is better than being wanted and included. Freedom. Autonomy. You can taste it, smell it just on the other side of the windows and doors, calling to you like an old, safe, endlessly trusted friend. The only thing that has never let you down, that has never led you astray, despite the loneliness that inevitably comes with it.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick fic #john wick x y/n #yandere john wick #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #enigmatic stranger john wick fic #soft yandere #donaka mark #donaka mark x reader

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kfkr1ze · 16 days ago

Text

Escape from S - Chapter 2

Characters — ✈︎ Renga, Ten, Kafka, Liguang, Yukikaze, Yachiyo

Location: HAMA House Living Room

Ten: (It may have taken until dawn, but that job was pretty good for a one time job. Aah, I’m so sleepy…)

Mm…

………

(Who’s here?)

Renga: W-Welcome back, Ten.

Ten: …Renga-san. Your face looks like you’ve been up all night. What are you doing here?

Renga: I was waiting for you…! I did fall asleep on the sofa at some point though.

……

Y’know, yesterday, your ex-girlfriends chased you out the store after you leftーー

Ten: Ah～ My bad for dragging you into my issues yesterday. Do you know what happened after they left?

Renga: No, that's…

Ten: I actually met up with them again after that〜 The 3 of us hit it off pretty well I’d say? We were up having so much fun that I ended up coming home pretty late.

Renga: ……!

Ten: (If I say that, then he can’t pry anymore, right?)

Theen, night〜. I’m gonna go to sleep since I didn’t get to last night, so don’t wake me up before afternoon hits please.

Renga: Ah…

Renga: ………

Location: HAMA House Tiger Room

Ten: (Sighs. He was waiting there for me like a earnest dog.)

(Well, it was easy for me to get around it, since he believes anything he hears…)

Ten: (My phone…? God, who’s calling at this time…?)

……Chief?

Yeah, I was sleeping just now…

Eh? The Morning Squad has to meet ASAP?

Location: HAMA House Meeting Space

Yachiyo: Hwawawawa… This is the start of a legend!

No, we already have one, but HAMA Tours is gonna make another legend!! I c-can’t help but get excitedddd!!!

Liguang: Hey, stop moving. You’re going to break something.

Kaede: If you headbang that much, you’re going to end up hurting your neck!

Yukikaze: Rather, the fact that he’s been going for 5 minutes… Yachiyo’s bones are actually pretty strong huh. That’s amazing.

Ten: Uh, I came because of the call but…　Everyone seems to be a bit excited? What happened?

Kafka: Ah, it seems everyone arrived. Then, let’s get started with this discussion.

Kaede: Ten-kun, you might not be surprised to hear this, but…

Morning Squad has been invited to appear on live TV!!!!

Ten: …Huh?

Yachiyo: Everyone was invited to appear on that super popular TV program, “Escape from S”ーーOr “Es・S” for short～!!

Ten: “Es・S” …It’s that thing isn’t it? That live program where you try to escape some searchers within the time limit to get some prize money, right?

Kafka: Correct. The main reason it’s so popular is because it has heated escape scenes and the mystery you get to solve is changed with each visit.

Even the “Normal Clear” is hard to achieve on its own, but there’s also a “True Clear” that you can achieve by completing a variety of missions. You already know about that too, right Ten?

Ten: Refresh my memory?

Kafka: The reward for a True Clear is the ability to produce a commercial for free and air it during the golden hour.

For HAMA’s future development, and for the sake of HAMA Tours as well, we have to do it, right? ♪

Yukikaze: Yes. I’ll do my best for both Chief, as well as Kafka and the others.

Liguang: …Sighs. I think it’s obvious that appearing on TV is a hassle, though.

Ten: (Ah, nice Ligaung-san. Keep talking about that please.)

Liguang: However, if the profit is worth that hassle, I can see why Oguro would want to go through with that plan.

Ten: (Oh my. Turns out I couldn’t rely on that. Even just being a Ward Mayor is a lot of exposure as is, so this would definitely be a pain.)

I mean, why were we even invited in the first place?

It’s not a program that’s known for being open to the public for performers, right? The rewards for the True Clear clearly aren't open for just anyone either.

Don’t tell me that the Pres has been pulling the strings for this plan?

Kafka: That’s wrong. This time, Renga was the one who suggested it.

Ten: Renga-san did?

Renga: ………

Ten: (Right right. I could see his depressing face staring at me from the corner of my eye this whole time. What’s up with that?)

Renga: Um, y’know, Ten!

I… s-saw you… last night…!

Ten: ………

(Hah?)

Previous — ✈︎ Masterlist — ✈︎ Next

#kfkr1ze #18trip #18trip translation #Escape from S #renga nishizono #ten murakumo #kafka oguro #lu liguang #kamina yukikaze #yachiyo fuefuki

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petermorwood · 1 year ago

Text

Interesting to see this post cross my dash again.

I was watching a movie late last night and, with that post's criticism of unbroken long speeches and suggestions of how to break them, here's an example of how a very famous one was done.

The movie I was watching was "Jaws", and the long speech is The Indianapolis Monologue. There are several YouTube clips, but a couple of them leap straight in at the start of the speech.

The clip below has the lead up to The Speech which, IMO, matters a lot in preparing for what follows; there's not just a Mood Whiplash - cheery drunk to OMG Whut - to make the viewers pay attention, but also what I mentioned in the other post, an entirely legitimate reason for an "As You Know" speech.

One character, Hooper, knows the significance of "USS Indianapolis" - his shocked-almost-sober reaction makes that very plain - but the other character, Brody (and the audience he represents), doesn't know and needs told.

In addition (also as mentioned in the other post) despite being a single-character monologue, the speech is "broken" by cutting away from the speaker, Quint, to reaction shots from the other characters present. Even when Quint is on-screen he isn't centre-screen, Hooper is visible in the background where his silent, apprehensive attention accompanies the story he's hearing.

*****

This can be done in words, too: inserting other actions or reactions by means of paragraph breaks is the equivalent of visual cut-aways, and serve the same functions - making a lot of words from one character into several smaller groups of words, while showing the cumulative effect of all those words on other listeners.

Even a soliloquy with no-one else listening benefits from occasional breaks describing what the speaker is doing, how their emotions show, where they are etc. It's all far better than A Wall Of Text.

youtube

The entire speech is 438 words, and Robert Shaw delivers them over 3 min 34 sec.

I've got three PDF versions of the "Jaws" screenplay, all different, and this speech varies in every one but are never what's in the movie, so I constructed mine as a transcript from several listenings, and have used paragraph breaks to try matching Shaw's delivery.

Also, as an Exercise For The Scholar (me, anyway) I've inserted and timed the cuts where Quint isn't on screen or speaking to show how short they can be.

CUT TO BRODY (3 sec) then BACK TO QUINT WHO TAKES A DRINK (2 sec)

They didn't even list us overdue for a week. Very first light, Chief, sharks come cruisin'. So we formed ourselves into tight groups. You know it’s ... kinda like old squares in a battle, like you see in a calendar, like the Battle of Waterloo, and the idea was, shark comes to the nearest man, that man he start poundin' and hollerin' and screamin’, an’ sometimes the shark go away. Sometimes he wouldn't go away. Sometimes that shark, he looks right into you. Right into your eyes. You know the thing about a shark, he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes, like a doll's eyes. When he comes at you, doesn't seem to be livin'. Until he bites you, and those black eyes roll over white and then, ah, then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'. The ocean turns red, and despite all the poundin' and the hollerin' they all come in an’ they... Rip you to pieces.

CUT TO BRODY (2 sec) then BACK TO QUINT

Y’know, by the end of that first dawn, lost a hundred men. I dunno how many sharks, maybe a thousand. I dunno how many men, they averaged six an hour.

CUT TO BRODY (3 sec) AS QUINT CONTINUES OFFSCREEN

On Thursday mornin', Chief...

BACK TO QUINT

I bumped into a friend of mine, Herbie Robinson from Cleveland. Baseball player. Bosun's mate. An’ I thought he was asleep; reached over to wake him up. Bobbed up an’ down in the water, was like a kinda top. Upended... Well, he'd been bitten in half below the waist.

CUT TO BRODY (2 sec) then CUT TO HOOPER (2 sec) then BACK TO QUINT

Noon the fifth day, Mister Hooper, a Lockheed Ventura saw us, he swung in low and he saw us - a young pilot, a lot younger than Mister Hooper. Anyway he saw us and he come in low, and three hours later a big fat PBY comes down and start to pick us up. You know that was the time I was most frightened. Waitin' for my turn. I'll never put on a lifejacket again. So, eleven hundred men went into the water, three hundred and sixteen men come out, the sharks took the rest, June the 29th, 1945. Anyway, we delivered the bomb.

*****

For comparison, down below is what it looks like without any paragraph breaks, speech instruction (gravely / incredulous etc.) or screen direction (track right / dolly in / close on / match cut etc.).

(BTW, some of these effects can be used when writing prose, to good effect, but that's for another time.)

This is the Wall of Text effect, and it sometimes turns up on the internet, courtesy of people who don't know how to use Enter except when they're sending a post.

I'm not saying this is how the speech would have looked in the real shooting script, but it might. From my own screenwriting experience, actors don't like being told how to deliver their lines and directors don't like being told how to set up their shots.

There's a bit more flexibility when writing animation, but in both cases crafty writers write so that the way they want a thing done works out as the best way to do it.

Sometimes this trick even works... :->

*****

Here's the Wall Of Text:

Japanese submarine slammed two torpedoes into our side, Chief. We was comin' back from the island of Tinian to Leyte. Just delivered the bomb. The Hiroshima bomb. Eleven hundred men went into the water. Vessel went down in twelve minutes. Didn't see the first shark for about half an hour. Tiger. Thirteen-footer. You know how you know that when you’re in the water, Chief? You tell by lookin' from the dorsal to the tail. What we didn't know was our bomb mission had been so secret, no distress signal had been sent. Huh. They didn't even list us overdue for a week. Very first light, Chief, sharks come cruisin'. So we formed ourselves into tight groups. You know it’s kinda like old squares in a battle, like you see in a calendar, like the Battle of Waterloo, and the idea was, shark comes to the nearest man, that man he start poundin' and hollerin' and screamin’, an’ sometimes the shark go away. Sometimes he wouldn't go away. Sometimes that shark, he looks right into you. Right into your eyes. You know the thing about a shark, he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes, like a doll's eyes. When he comes at you, doesn't seem to be livin'. Until he bites you, and those black eyes roll over white and then, ah, then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'. The ocean turns red, and despite all the poundin' and the hollerin' they all come in an’ they rip you to pieces. Y’know, by the end of that first dawn, lost a hundred men. I dunno how many sharks, maybe a thousand. I dunno how many men, they averaged six an hour. On Thursday mornin', Chief I bumped into a friend of mine, Herbie Robinson from Cleveland. Baseball player. Bosun's mate. An’ I thought he was asleep; reached over to wake him up. Bobbed up an’ down in the water, was like a kinda top. Upended. Well, he'd been bitten in half below the waist. Noon the fifth day, Mister Hooper, a Lockheed Ventura saw us, he swung in low and he saw us - a young pilot, a lot younger than Mister Hooper. Anyway he saw us and he come in low, and three hours later a big fat PBY comes down and start to pick us up. You know that was the time I was most frightened. Waitin' for my turn. I'll never put on a lifejacket again. So, eleven hundred men went into the water, three hundred and sixteen men come out, the sharks took the rest, June the 29th, 1945. Anyway, we delivered the bomb.

#writing #writer advice #wall of text #using paragraphs #Jaws #The Indianapolis Speech #Robert Shaw

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hsubeans · 2 years ago

Text

The Tiger who breaks the Dawn

#002 The Encounter (2)

Jjaeng-geulang!

A sharp sound hit his ears. Cheon Ryubeom remained still, his head bowed, staring down at the shards of pottery rolling by his side. A ferocious roar of rage fell from overhead.

“Worthless! Don’t you have shame, coming back to the family looking like this!”

“Didn’t even catch a single fox, tsk tsk.”

A stream of verbal abuse poured down on him as soon as he stepped foot into the large tiled-roof house. He had entered through the back door and was heading straight to his room when he unfortunately ran into the elders.

The elders of the Tiger Clan were very strict and demanding. And there were also those who didn’t like Ryubeom very much. When they saw Ryubeom’s face, they immediately frowned and clicked their tongues.

Judging from the contents of their scolding, it seemed that they had already heard from Cheon Yeongdo. Ryubeom remained silent, his head bowed. When dawn came, his cousins set off for the mansion first, leaving him behind, so he had to trek back alone. He washed off all the dirt and mud by the creek, but the torn clothes couldn’t be helped.

“I’m sure even the foxes laughed at you. Those sly animals must have watched your unsightly fall from hiding.”

Biting criticism and disapproval came one after another. Accustomed, Ryubeom let them pass through one ear and out the other. If you listened to too many things, it eventually became white noise at some point. Rather than purposely ignoring it, it was close to subconsciously shutting out.

Was it really such a big mistake, or were they just using it as an excuse to berate him? Ryubeom knew the difference well.

The cousins walking down the hall noticed the commotion and threw annoyed looks this way. The stares that said, ‘I knew it’. Irritated looks that clearly said ‘the mansion is noisy again today because of that guy’. Chattering whispers faintly reached his ears.

“What’s all this fuss in the morning?”

The seemingly endless stream of criticism was immediately cut off.

Silence came upon at the words uttered by a soundless presence approaching them. In an instant, the atmosphere changed, and everyone’s attention was turned to him.

A person dressed in a dark red long over-coat, his hair white as snow, and with a face full of wrinkles. His eyes nestled in the deep hollows of his wrinkled sockets were as shapely and sharp as they were, and not a hint of senility to be seen at all.

The existence exuding a sharp and lofty air, like an old pine tree perched atop a sheer cliff, was the patriarch of the Tiger Clan. Cheon Gun. A tiger who had protected the family for centuries and raised its prestige. A being close to god.

“My, my lord.....”

All the people gathered in the hallway greeted and bowed respectfully to the head of the family. Ryubeom also bowed his head deeply in greeting, but he could clearly feel his cold gaze falling on him, prickling even his skin.

Tsk. Soon, he heard a short click of a tongue.

“Pathetic.”

.....It was a remark infinitely shorter than the elders’ who preceded him, and although barely a single word, it cut exceptionally deep on Cheon Ryubeom’s heart. Ryubeom bowed his head a little deeper.

Soon, the patriarch moved on, no longer paying attention to Ryubeom. The tigers in the hallway swarmed after him. It was a very natural progression.

The patriarch rolled up his sleeve and massaged his right arm. A long, jagged, ugly scar stretched across it, as if a severed arm had been forcibly reattached.

“My right arm is sore from all this rain. We have to catch that damn traitor this time.”

“Yes. Everything will be as father wishes.”

“How’s the chase going? Still wandering abroad?”

“For now.....”

Their voices faded as they headed down the hallway on the other side. Ryubeom raised his head only after the surrounding movements completely disappeared. He’d had his head down since the moment he entered the mansion, and his neck was already stiff.

He quickened his steps towards the attic.

The mansion used by the tiger family was a spacious tile-roofed house with a 600-year history. Renovation works were carried out according to the trend of the times, and some of the annexes were extended to two floors. Ryubeom used the attic of the annex farthest from the center, among others.

It was a warehouse-like space, but Ryubeom liked it. It was far from the main building, so if he stayed in the room, it was less likely to run into other family members. He still had to attend family meals regularly, so he had to walk a long way every time he ate, but the space where he could be alone was so precious that it didn’t really feel like a drawback.

Ryubeom immediately washed himself when he arrived at the narrow attic. He bathed thoroughly for a very long time, as if trying to wash away all the words he heard and the glances he received yesterday and today.

Ryubeom came out after a while, and was about to flop down on the bed in a much refreshed state when he found something that had fallen out of his pants he had thrown it over a chair. It was a leaf.

Slowly, Ryubeom’s mouth fell open. He had completely forgotten about this. It was the leaf he had received from the fox last night, and the situation at the time was so urgent that he just shoved it in his pocket and completely forgot about it. He still didn’t know why the fox gave him the leaf in the first place.

He could see a few holes punctured here and there. Did he tear it when it was in his pocket? What is this.....

“.....a phone number?”

Confusion flooded Ryubeom’s eyes. It was clearly a phone number, as it was engraved with a hyphen in between so that it would not be mistaken for a simple series of numbers.

Engraving a phone number on a leaf to give someone. It was a fusion communication, a mix of tradition and modern. Ryubeom couldn’t take his eyes off the leaf even though he wasn’t unfamiliar with them. The moment the water drops from his hair hit the leaf and burst, the memories of last night clearly flashed past his mind like a vision.

It had been a bit of an impulsive decision.

If only he had hunted the foxes he found then, if only he had dragged them here, even if he hadn’t hurt them. He wouldn’t have to listen to the verbal abuse like a moment ago, and he wouldn’t have been scorned and insulted.

He knew it for sure even at that moment. He knew what would happen if he didn’t bring in the foxes.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to reach out to them.

The fox cubs trembling in fear, the fragile appearance of the children. Terrified to the bones that they couldn’t even hide their ears and tails. And the adult fox hugging the children tight, his guard up.

The sight of it triggered a flash of memory.

‘Mom, dad.....’

Ryubeom squeezed his eyes shut, and forcibly cut off his thoughts. A wry smile crept onto his lips. It was kinda funny, he managed to save them, but not himself.

Perhaps it was just mercy in passing. Did he want to be looked at with envy by those weaker than him? They must have seen him being ignored and thought he looked funny..... Ryubeom shook his head again when he ended up continuing his cynical thoughts like a habit and to kill the confused emotions.

He just washed up and came out, he didn’t want to do it again to calm himself down. Even though he failed the regular exam yesterday, and even though he failed to follow the order to hunt foxes, and even though he was called pathetic after rolling down the mountain.

‘.....They won’t kick me out of the family just yet.’

Thinking it would be okay since the Head didn’t say anything, Ryubeom finally flopped down on the bed. The leaf was still clutched in his hand.

To engrave a number like this, you would need to know how to use your spiritual power quite delicately.....

It shouldn’t have been hard to escape from the mountain if he had this kind of control over his spiritual power, but was it difficult since he was injured and had little foxes with him?

The extent of his injuries must have been quite severe. It was dark, so he couldn’t get a good look at his condition.

“Ah, I keep thinking again.”

Ryubeom shook his head. The words of the elders that there was nothing good about being entangled with foxes lingered in his ears. He had to get rid of the leaf quickly before anyone else found out.

However, just as he was about to put it on the bedside table, the leaf tore.

“.....!”

It wasn’t just torn, it completely crumbled into pieces. Instead of trying to piece it back together in panic, Ryubeom reflexively picked up his phone and entered the number engraved on the leaf. He knew he had to write it down before he forgot it. Ryubeom absently stared at the number listed on the screen when he was done.

The Tiger Clan and the Fox Clan didn’t get along very well. Tigers were the apex predators of the ecosystem, reigning over all animals, but most oftentimes, the Fox Clan liked to pick fights with them. The elders despised them intensely, always saying that they dared to attack without knowing their place.

Even the patriarch had warned that no one should get involved with a fox. There was no one in the clan who didn’t know that the wound on his arm was caused by the Head of the Fox Clan.

Even though he knew that the number should be deleted immediately, Ryubeom couldn’t bring himself to move his hand. The little foxes he saw last night flickered before his eyes.

Maybe I should text him.

Their guardian was injured when he found them, so wouldn’t it be okay to check if they had escaped well to the end? He knew none of the cousins who went to Gwanak Mountain together with him succeeded in the fox hunt, but he wondered if they were safe.

Ryubeom moved his hand. His thumb, which was supposed to head to the Message app, impulsively moved towards the Phone. The reasoning behind this was completely absurd.

‘I’ll definitely repay this kindness.’

He thought the voice he heard yesterday was especially nice.

Ryubeom’s tension rose as the sound of the call went on and on. His heart pounded with guilt and a strange sense of anticipation, as if he was doing something wrong. He even had a crazy thought that if he could confirm that they were safe, he might be able to forget the verbal abuse he had to receive today.

The other side finally picked up the phone.

Ryubeom unconsciously sucked in a breath. He could see the call duration displayed on the screen slowly increased, but there was no word from the other end. Not even a simple hello. Ryubeom hesitated and opened his mouth.

But before he could speak, he heard the other person’s voice.

- Uung, who is it?

It was a clear, ringing voice. He could tell by the tone that the other person was a child. Bewildered, Ryubeom narrowed his eyes and asked a question. Normally, in a situation like this, you could ask the other person’s name to confirm the owner of the phone, but unfortunately, he didn’t know his name.

“.....is this phone yours?”

- Ung? Mine is broken.

- What? This voice! It’s the tiger yesterday!

- Oh oh, yes! The good tiger who helped us!

The voices of the three little kids were heard, chattering back and forth. After confirming that they were the little foxes he saved yesterday, Ryubeom let out a sigh of relief. Fortunately, all three of them were fine.

“Yes, the tiger from yesterday. Where did the owner of this phone go?”

- Hiya is sick.

“.....Hiya?”

- Ung, Yeohi.

Was the fox’s name ‘Yeohi’? The child’s pronunciation was a bit slurred, so he wasn’t really sure, but Ryubeom nodded and replied.

“Is he very sick?”

- Ung, so he went to the sky.

“.....what?”

Ryubeom was taken aback for a moment, but since the child’s tone was lighthearted, it was probably not serious. Does that mean he went out for a while? Of course, it would be a big deal if he actually went up to the sky, but Ryubeom decided to ask another question.

episode 1 | episode 3 | episode 4 - | request access here

#the tiger who breaks the dawn #hsubeans translations

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foolsocracy · 1 year ago

Note

Do you have any fic recommendations? I've just read the open road and other anesthetics, which was good, but I'd love more Noir content.

oh boy do i

Here are a few fics i have on hand! If I have time or stumble across more, I can make another post/add to this one. Heads up, the open road and other anesthetics is pretty light hearted and these probably will not be. so say vigilant LMAO (its noir, ya know?). If you wanted more spiderverse centric fics rather than noirverse let me know i'll see what i can pull together.

Burning Matches by HopelesslyLost (complete) 344,746 words

Cant have a Spider Noir fic rec list without the gospel itself. Definitely on the whumpier side, lots of "this guy can never catch a break huh" but very good! Takes the noirverse and makes it so so cool. I pull a lot from this fic. Great stuff Its a post ITSV setting and features a great deal of everyone but Pete is def the focus. The spider gang is trying to get back together, but when they get to Noir's world things don't go as planned. Heavy on the found family. Heavy on the angst. Love Noir's relationship w/ Miles' parents

The Wind Follows by HopelesslyLost (incomplete) 99,501 words

Goes along with Burning Matches as a side story of Pete infiltrating the KKK to get them tf out of NYC. Very heavy handed on the angst. Even whumpier than Burning Matches. Where it stands right now, it ends on an incredibly low note, very much like Eyes Without a Face. Peter's kicked while he's down & physically incapable of getting a win. But Peter does kick Nazi ass which is always nice to see If you like the noirverse HopelesslyLost writes this is very interesting! Gotta be my fave part of this fic. I love seeing Noir Cage, Daredevil, and Tony Stark. Plus the who "cursed" situation.. mwah

i'll go back to december by snapplebee (incomplete, recently updated) 14,503 words

This fic reminds me of the open road and other anesthetics, but if it was a little angstier w/ Noir. The spider gang is hanging out for the holidays, Noir doesn't know how to fuckn relax.

Catch a Tiger by the Tail by Gruoch (completed) 40,049 words

Just finished this one today! Was very fun. It's an MJ spider-man (her POV) and a Black Cat Peter. Gwen Stacy, a dancer at Felica Hardy's place, is found dead. Her fiancé, Peter Parker, is found dead soon after. Its very much a mystery! TBH i think i was out of it reading this because a twist got me that I'm almost positive was obvious from the beginning LMAO. Slight Peter/Johnny Storm as well

Between Midnight and Dawn by Gruoch (incomplete) 14,158 words

Prequel to the previous rec. I love this one and I'd do anything to see it update again. Shows you how Peter got to be the Black Cat, he has cool run ins with the Dare Devil and Stark, all the fun noir folks. Heads up on the dysfunctional found family tag, thats for sure Peter and Felicia. But they're strange in canon anyway so its not really much of a surprise.

He Sleeps in a Town of Darkness by luckystarsandgarters (complete) 21,278 words

This is the fic i mentioned a post or 2 ago about Johnny Storm being a drag performer. I really love the atmosphere of this fic, I thought it was pulling from an offical comic thats how well it got me. This one's Pete/Johnny Storm! They're cute. Lots of focus on the gay subculture of the 30s I think.

Trust by Ackerhardt (complete) 6,989

Peter & Jean De Wolfe vs the world. Quick read in the classic noirverse. Jean is fun we should talk about him more tbh. Peter/Jean actually! Just colleged aged guys taking on crime in the city.

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blueberryspyder · 1 year ago

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Hylas

Been talking a lot about my Tav Hylas and uh. I still haven’t. Shared them on here??

So here’s a post dedicated to my darling Hylas (they/them)!

(Under the cut is their lore/backstory and some doodles of them and Gale, so if you just wanna see the screenshots you don’t gotta go any deeper)

Hylas Lore

Hylas was born in Baldur’s Gate to a Human mother and Wood Elf father (side note: I think more Wood Elves should be green. It’s my reality, so Hylas is tinted green bc of their dad’s genes).

Dad bailed pretty early on, and because mom couldn’t afford to be a single mom, she gave custody of Hylas to a nearby Monastery of Lathander.

Hylas didn’t have to become a member of the clergy/monk, but they liked the teachings of Lathander and decided to dedicate their life to him as a monk. They started studying and archiving at 13, and didn’t start martial arts training until 15.

They trained as an Open Hand monk (I like to think their specific style is a mix of Shanghai- and Southern-Tiger Kung Fu style; I tried to draw them in a Tiger stance above) and they perfected their speed and placement of attacks.

At 25, the monastery was attacked, and Hylas was put in charge of getting the younger students to safety with another monk. They were attacked, and Hylas fought tooth and claw to protect the kids and the fellow monk, who was critically injured. The ordeal nearly killed them, and it left them with long-lasting scars, but if given the chance they’d do it all over again. Defending the people they love is the most important thing to them, and the monastery is their family.

A stereotypical “monk” pose from when I first drew Hylas—way before I actually put thought into their martial stylings. See it as a show of their flexibility, I guess!

At 31, they left the monastery to travel Faêrun on their own for the first time—they’d only ever known brief glimpses of Baldur’s Gate and the monastery. They traveled up and down the Sword Coast, meeting with other temples of Lathander (they even met Gideon Lightward from Elturel; they felt he was a little too ‘fire and brimstone’ to be a true priest of the Dawn Father, but they enjoyed his company and tutelage nonetheless).

After years of studying being an archivist, Hylas has a borderline unhealthy fixation on collecting books/missives/texts. It is, in fact, a problem. They read the Tome of Thay because of it. They don’t know they have a problem, and the fact that they’re romancing Gale doesn’t do them any favors.

And 10 years after they left—Baldur’s Gate 3 happened! So Hylas is 41 during the game; 20-25 in Human years! They got set back to Level 1 like the rest of the gang (and they were VERY mad they had to rely on a staff again. They spent a DECADE breaking their fingers to punch things into dust, dammit!/hjk).

Some fun facts about Hylas:

When their dad was still around, he took them to see a ballet performance (this is my reality, and in my reality Elves invented ballet, huff my jorts) and they wanted to be a ballerina SO BAD

Since they DIDN’T get to be a ballerina, they spent some of their 10 years traveling Faêrun learning some dances! It was fun to do, connected them to their past, and helped them keep in shape when they weren’t training.

They’ve had their vitiligo since childhood, though it’s grown over time.

Hylas’s non-binary/transmasc identity is loosely based on my own experiences as a demiboy! They actually made me feel more comfortable with my own they/them pronouns and I’m toying around with using them over he/him.

They’re very much romancing Gale—they find his intelligence and passion for knowledge and teaching very sexy.

Gale was also their first… well, almost everything relationship wise! First significant other, first hand hold, first time.

The only first Gale didn’t get was kissing, and that’s because when Hylas was young, they and another monk-in-training kissed each other to see what all the fuss was about. They both swore to keep it secret (intimacy was a no-no for monks at the monastery), but they both caved due to guilt and separately fessed up to the same monk. They had a LOT of extra chores that month.

(Hylas never sought out a relationship after the monastery simply because they didn’t really… see the point. The monks had drilled celibacy into their head for so long they just kinda. Didn’t seek it out. And then they pulled the wizard from the rock and everything changed…)

Spoilers for Act 3 for this one: in my play through, Hylas drowned in the Iron Throne along with… a lot of the hostages. They made sure Wyll’s dad got out safe, and kept the Sahuagin from getting to the sub while everyone else escaped, but they went down with the prison and have a phobia of water/drowning now (as well as a LOT of guilt over all the dead Gondians—they probably won’t ever forgive themselves for that).

Post-game, I think Hylas would become a priest of Lathander or a scholar/archivist—they’re done fighting for a nice long while. (They still train regularly though—gotta keep the mind and body sharp!)

Karlach is their bff. The SECOND Karlach could touch others, they JUMPED to hug her.

Hylas’s favorite stuffed animal growing up was a sabertooth tiger—and in my play through, Halsin became a sabertooth tiger a LOT :3

They let Volo take their eye. They. They did that. Volo they trusted you. Do you know what an honor it was for them to meet you, Volo? VOLO—

Between Hylas’s open hand attacks and Gale casting Disintegrate, these two are fucking lethal as hell. Lucky for you they just want to study and talk about books with Tara.

Hope y’all love my baby as much as I do—I have so so SO many thoughts about them. Once I’m able to draw digitally again I’m gonna be doing SO much art of them and Gale 💕

ALSO if you want to ask about them, or talk Tavs/BG3 in general, please feel free to drop me a line! I love talking about this stuff, it’s incredibly fun for me and I love seeing other people’s Tavs 🥰

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aita-blorbos · 11 months ago

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AITA for stalking and breaking into a former comic creator's house?

Okay so for some context I (37M) am a really big fan of (and have a crush on) a fairly famous comic strip creator who we'll call Tiger.

For a couple years now I've been trying to get into contact with Tiger, but every time I do he puts another restraining order on me! I honestly don't know why since all I want is to see what he's become!

Recently after staying awake until dawn searching I was able to find his home address and since then every night I've been standing and crying on his front lawn waiting for him to see me. I know he doesn't want to see anyone right now (he's hiding from publicity) but I'm convinced it's just because he wants privacy when he meets me! Yet even after I confessed my love to him and bought him flowers he still looked at me like I had rabies or something. I mean, all I said after I gave him the flowers was that I'd be happy if he'd let me eat his heart and absorb his powers!

Now this is the part I'm not really proud of, after he told me to go away I got angry and said "But [Tiger] just please- you're the only reason I'm in town! Just let me try your face on!"

I know that that was kind of weird and creepy but in my defense I was angry and hurt that my idol wasn't giving me the time of day, when I had brought him flowers, books to sign, and even sheers!

After that he called the cops and now he's trying to take me to court, I know I might have came off a little strong but I just wanted to have his babies, is that so wrong?

So folks, AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality #stalking #cannibalism

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boundinparchment · 2 years ago

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Endless

The Lord of Amrita remade you in their image. Zandik showed you what it meant to reclaim the world. Title comes from 'Endless' by The Birthday Massacre. Il Dottore/Mermaid Female Reader w/ Established Personality and nickname. Rated Mature for sexual content, Minors DNI. Contains human/mermaid relationship, sexual content, possessive behavior, tragic romance. 8.5k words. Story is also on AO3 here.

In the aftermath, there was silence.

The once lush and verdant land turned to sand and ash. One Kingdom, wiped out of existence in all but name.

An example to never be truly forgotten.

And how could it be, when every step felt like walking on broken glass and your skin began to harden. It wasn’t Eleazar, that much was evident. Up in the far reaches of the desert, there wasn’t much to be done and many did not wish to interfere with the Divine, not after the wrath Khaenri’ah endured. The Hydro Archon, the Lord of Amrita, had protected the people near the rift at Tunigi Hollow, their body preserved by Greater Lord Rukkhadevata, purifying the oasis from beyond the grave.

Purification.

A maiden such as yourself might still yet receive a blessing, some speculated.

You had suffered much already, having watched the Sustainer throw the world into chaos; what was one more trip?

When you arrived, you were out of food and had only a few sips of water left. The Sea of Flowers was the first glimpse of greenery you saw in what felt like eternity, the water vibrant. The Harvisptokm rose far above, the essence of the Archon sprouting into the sky, an ethereal blossom of water.

Pari danced on the wind and you caught a glimpse of a single Lochfolk passing through the water. Despite the fresh scent of flowers and the slight humidity in the air, grief clung to everything like a child on their parents’ leg. It felt wrong to be here. The grave of an Archon who was not even yours to worship was sacred land and the Lochfolk never seemed to be far from view.

You could not blame the creature.

After all, you lost your home, too.

The Lord of Amrita slumbered, dormant, in a lotus you didn’t remember finding. You were certain you had all but collapsed in the water from exhaustion and pain. If this was death, at least you would not be alone.

“Purification has a price, mortal.”

“I will gladly pay,” you replied.

A laugh, undercut with remorse. “Such haste will ruin you. You will never know what it is to love properly.”

“What is there to love about this world when all I know is pain?”

You awoke to water in your trachea, nails as sharp as a Rishboland tiger’s, and a single tail in place of your legs.

Instead of a breath, you felt slits in your neck flare and you reached up to find the skin was split, like that of a fish. Your hands faded from human flesh into scales, a shimmering blue the color of the midnight sky that slowly became warmer, like Zaytun peaches and the Pari flitting about, webs between your fingers and nails sharp enough to tear through flesh.

The tail (your tail), followed a similar color; a deep blue that turned the faintest purple before becoming a pink-orange sunrise. Decorative fins rippled like rich fabric in the wind.

You no longer felt pressure in your ears from the water and discovered that there, too, had been transformed. Fins, their color only obvious to you when you surfaced and stared down at yourself in the water; as orange and pink as the faintest touches of sunlight on the clouds at the break of dawn.

When you smiled, you found your once flat teeth had become razors; you pricked your tongue on them in testing their sharpened points.

“You wished to be purified,” the Lord of Amrita sang in your head. “What is more pure than the image of a god?”

How capricious of them to assume.

You cried tears that turned to opal when they hit the water, shimmering. You would never know land again, never know the feeling of sand in your shoes, never know the home cooked meals of your village.

Such was the price, you reminded yourself.

Perhaps death would have been preferable.

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You adjusted.

Oceanids came and went upon the discovery that their Master was no more, vowing to continue the idea of connecting everything through water. Some left the water sweeter than before only for another to take their place and leave the water bitter and difficult to filter. Eventually, they stopped together and you were left with the Pari as companions.

They, too, came and went.

Without much else to do, you explored. Your claws were surprisingly handy for digging at the soft earth and you discovered underwater tunnels connecting the Oasis to the Swamp below, to the tributaries from Fontaine, and to the Coast far beyond, where a vast sea stared at you.

You could leave, you reasoned. The Hydro Archon never said you had to stay .

But as far as you knew, you were the only one of your kind.

You had never been outside of Sumeru before and who knew what lay in the depths to the north-west.

And so you stayed.

You watched humans come and go, watched the Pari, used your human experiences to provide insight into others' motivations and desires. Dawn came and went, replaced with sunset; cycles upon cycles that you stopped counting when you discovered that you didn’t age, not as you were meant to.

The Samudra Coast was, despite its proximity to the human settlement you began to know as the Order of Skeptics and the Temir Mountains, quiet and peaceful. Every now and again, you saw creatures who wore masks dance along the beach; they played and they hunted and ate but they never bothered you, nor you them. When all was still, you dove through the veins of water you knew by heart and settled on the shore to watch the burning fires high above. Your respiratory system seemed to adapt for instances you were above water but not for long periods of time; a few minutes at most was all your body managed.

The sky had changed since Khaenri’ah’s fall, you mused, and yet it never seemed to change from one night to the next.

You ventured out one night, as you always did, eyes scanning the water and finding its other occupants fast asleep. With a flick of your fins, you were out of your nestled grotto and heading towards your usual route when you felt something in the water. It reminded you of when you went swimming as a child and another jumped in while you were under the surface, the sound muted but the water displaced.

Through a haze of bubbles, you caught the shape of a human, dressed in what you understood to be Akademiya robes. Silently, you broke the surface of the water, finding two Skeptics quietly discussing as they left the Oasis. Your hearing was far better than it used to be, as you sensed the vibrations themselves as much as you heard the sound they made, and you caught something about a trespasser and a nosy academic who played at being god.

That he would die here and no one would miss him.

The words stung. Such a sentiment was why, in hindsight, some had suggested you head to the Oasis. If you died at home, people would have watched you suffer. You would have been a burden, an annoyance, a problem.

As if the Archons didn’t do a poor job at divinity? Why not let a human try?

You dove back under and wrapped an arm around the dead weight, pulling the figure up to the surface. His head kept lolling back under the water and you shifted him, trying to keep him above. Once at an accessible edge, you dragged the figure up as far as you could. Light blue hair, almost teal, skin paler than those you knew. You poked a nail between his lips and saw his teeth were pointed, sharp.

Like yours.

The man stirred, coughing violently and spitting up water, breaths ragged. Coughing was a good sign, you recalled, since it meant air was still traveling.

Eyes popped open, as red as a blood moon.

Beautiful.

“Bastards,” the stranger wheezed.

Although hoarse, his voice had a deep timber to it that hadn’t graced your ears in decades. The vibrations shook you to your core and you tilted your head, watching.

He didn’t even startle when he finally saw you. Every human jumped at the sight of you at first glance; they never expected anyone but the small Pari and the other desert lifeforms. Instead, he caught his breath, crimson eyes examining every inch of you that was visible, drinking you in. Something in your chest constricted and you flicked your tail fin to keep from focusing on it.

“Those men wanted to drown you,” you said, the words foreign in your mouth.

It had been so long since you spoke in a human language, the words round, air rushing out of your gills.

“They’re hardly the first. I’ll take drowning over torches and pitchforks from crowds.”

You blinked, watching him, fins twitching at every sound, every whistle of the wind. There was something different about the way he held himself, even when he was stuck in sodden clothing and his hair was plastered to his forehead, as if he would endure anything the world threw at him and it didn’t matter. Such self-assuredness and pride was not the way of your people; you had seen such men die a quick death, especially as they ran headfirst into the darkness swallowing the world.

Yet you found yourself captivated, for he couldn’t have been so foolish if he had traveled from the Akademiya all the way here.

You reached out a hand, mindful of your nails, and tucked a longer lock of wet hair behind his ear. He didn’t pull away nor break eye contact. Your finger burned as it grazed his skin.

“Why did they want to kill you?” you asked.

“I trespassed. Foolish of me to think that the Order would accept a scholar when the schism with the Akademiya is so fresh. I’ll find another way.”

He leaned back, arms behind him to support his torso, and looked up at the Harvisptokhm and the sky beyond. The stranger seemed completely unbothered by the attempt on his life, red eyes glittering, lips pulled into a smirk.

“You are quite the fascinating sight. What does one call you? Your kind?”

The phrase stung just as much the Eremites’ words did. Reinforced that you were not human any longer.

That you were alone.

You frowned, ear fins flaring out a little in indignation. And to think you entertained the idea of burning your skin again at the prospect of touching him.

“I do not owe you anything, human.” You huffed a rush of air out of your gills. “I am the only one of my kind; if you are looking for a name for those like me, it does not exist.”

“It is still polite to tell one your name so they can thank their savior properly. Not that I’m one for convention but I do not like the idea of dying under the eyes of a pitiful Archon.”

He tore his gaze from the stars to look back at you and for the first time in decades, since before your trek up the mountains, you felt visible.

You gave your name, the syllables strange to you now. “Before, I was also called Fajr.”

“Before?”

You flicked your tail fins for emphasis and his brow creased, lips pursed in the desire to ask another question. He thought better of it, though and instead repeated the name just once.

“Fitting,” he remarked. “You look like the sunrise just as the morning breaks.”

“And what do I call you, stranger?”

“Zandik. Although most just call me a monster.”

He laid back entirely, hands behind his head and feet still in the water. Your skin felt dry, your gills tight, and you excused yourself for a moment to regain equilibrium before surfacing again. You carefully pulled yourself onto the edge and looked up with him.

“There’s a better view down at the coast,” you said. “The Harvisoptokhm’s light ruins them.”

“If I am seen, the Order will know I am alive. Best to let them think I didn’t survive the night, at least for now. But I will keep that in mind.”

You turned to look at him, drawing yourself closer to marvel at his visage. His hair was beginning to dry in waves and color was coming back to his skin, although not much. Zandik’s eyes flicked to you out of the corner of his eye and you could not tell if he was wary or curious as to what you were doing. You couldn’t blame him for the former.

“You are not a monster, Zandik. How could you be? You are by far the most pleasing human I’ve laid eyes on. I include my previous life in that; I have not known men like you.”

You had never known a man at all, you wanted to admit, but that was, perhaps, too forward. The words hung in the air and you let him think as he wished, interpret your words however it was human men tended to.

“Then what would you call me?”

You brought a hand to his cheek again, ignoring the sting and burn of your palm as you cupped his cheek and traced his bottom lip with your thumb. Your eyes glistened as your heart raced, your skin already itchy and in need of water. This wouldn’t last much longer.

“Mine,” you whispered. “One day, I will call you mine.”

His words were lost in the depths of the water as you slid back into your domain, biting back a scream as you cradled your hand, palm blistered.

That night, you dreamt of red eyes and clear skies and fire in your veins.

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Zandik was gone in the morning.

And every morning after that.

Your palm healed, the wound forgotten. But your heart still yearned and you could not so easily forget the way he looked at you.

Was this what the Lord of Amrita had meant?

To feel this was better than to feel as if you were walking on broken glass and pottery with every step, than to feel the effects of the Cataclysm on your skin. Anything was better than that; at least you were alive.

It did not stop you from searching, though. Where your eyes used to only be on the lookout for threats, they now looked for a crop of teal hair, for burning eyes that would make the sun look dim in comparison. You ventured up into the tributaries, ignoring the chittering of the small Lochfolk as they marveled at your beauty and your strangeness. Eventually, the water grew darker and was full of particles that got caught in your gills and made it hard to breathe, and you turned back out of disgust.

You surfaced at a deserted curve in the canyon, carefully assessing your gills and checking for blockages when you caught the whistle of a blade on the wind. Before you could dive, a sharp, searing pain ripped through your tail, pinning you in place.

“Knew the rumors were true,” a voice said, the words distorted through the pain. “She’ll fetch a good price, won’t she? Good fish is rare in these parts.”

You snarled, gnashed your teeth as they grew closer; three surface-dwellers, eager for a prize. With a strike of your hand, you caught one of the hunters in the leg, slashing through his flesh easily. The briefest of relief came when you felt the bolt holding you in place pulled from your tail until you realized they only had one of those and it was poised over your chest for another blow. Blood gushed from the wound and you whipped your tail around poorly just enough to knock one of them back and give yourself the room to dive. Unceremoniously, you splashed back into the water, gills burning.

The weapon grazed one of your fins, tearing it but missing its intended target.

You kept going, never even looking back to see if you were still being followed. You tasted copper and other minerals as you kept going, the water around you tainted with your blood. It would be unwise to go right back to the Oasis, where you would be nothing more than an easy kill, even if you did have tunnels to hide in.

Samudra Coast was free and clear when you arrived and dragged yourself into the shoals, leaving your wounded tail in the water. The sand would only irritate it more.

You ignored the tiny opals that graced the sand as you examined the damage. You still swam without issue but perhaps that had been pure instinct rather than a bad shot. You couldn’t have been lucky enough for that, you mused.

It would heal, especially if you stayed in the Oasis for a bit.

All because you’d wanted…

Your eyes caught movement out of your peripheral and you spotted a wooden vessel on the beach. Strange. What was it? More importantly, what was it doing here? Wriggling back into the water, you glided through the shallows before surfacing closer to it. This was…you wracked your brain for the word…what had these been called? Ah, a boat.

But it was small, too small to truly cover distance.

You turned and gazed out on the horizon to find a larger vessel out in deeper water, just past the bend of the coast.

Above the sound of the tide, you caught voices speaking in hushed tones. It was difficult to tell one vibration from the other. More strangers. Would you never know peace?

Wait…one of them…felt familiar.

You eased yourself onto the beach, using the boat as cover, and stifled your excitement as your eyes confirmed what your heart already knew. He was in different clothes, standing tall, but in the brilliant afternoon sun, you would know such a figure anywhere.

“Zandik,” you whispered.

The stranger he stood with was equally tall but held himself the way you imagined a king would, from the stories you remembered as a child. Half of his face was covered by a mask and he looked as though he was dressed for the coldest nights. Yet he seemed wholly unaffected by the heat. His white hair shifted as he turned his head, locking a single eye on you.

Pupils like stars.

You hadn’t seen those in so long.

“Let us continue this another time. We are not alone, Doctor.”

Zandik’s head turned towards you and he cocked his head before he approached you. He said nothing, his crimson eyes cold as they assessed you, his gaze lingering on your bleeding tail and torn fins. You caught the way his jaw clenched and his hand balled into a fist.

“I have a stipulation, Jester, before we depart from this wasteland,” Zandik said, turning back to his companion. “I cannot leave without a gift for Her Majesty.”

The other man’s eye flicked back to you before resting on Zandik again.

“It’s injured.”

“She is the only one of her kind. In all of my wanderings, I have not found another. I do not wish to meet the Tsaritsa without a proper way to thank Her for her hospitality.”

Before you could reach for him, Zandik stepped away; with a nod of permission from the other man, you watched as he instructed the two stragglers (guards, perhaps?) with how to prepare the ship for your arrival. Zandik returned to you, finally meeting your gaze, before he removed the outer layer he wore and shoved it into the water. He wrapped your tail without a word, before scooping you up. You wriggled, hissing his name, but he held tight. As long as he touched your scales, you noticed, you felt no pain; it was only where his bare skin touched yours that the familiar searing agony returned on your upper arm where he held you directly.

You didn’t want to be anyone else’s. After all, you were not a prize to be owned, least of all by this Tsaritsa.

You were his and his alone.

“I’ll jump,” you threatened, enduring the burning agony in your arm. “I’m not a pet.”

Zandik smirked as he settled into the boat, cradling you in his lap. He rearranged his hold when he spotted the blistering skin on your arm but not before he traced a finger across your cheek and the soft flesh of your lower lip.

“No, you aren’t. You’re mine,” he whispered. “And I’m not leaving such magnificence behind.”

Your shoulders loosened and felt yourself lean into him, the tightness in your stomach easing slightly at his words.

His touch scarred your cheek and your lips, you came to find, when you examined your visage in the water of the makeshift home you were kept in below deck. Your arm bore a mark from where he held you, the skin still mending.

You traced the marks carefully before casting a smile towards the figure nearby, slumped over in exhaustion. Whatever he had been through had him sleeping peacefully. You pressed a hand to the material separating you before you settled in, the boat’s rocking and the dull ache in your tail’s wound lulling you to sleep in no time.

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The land you were brought to was full of ice and snow, frigid and inhospitable. The winds howled and water turned to crystals as soon as you were transported off of the ship. You had dealt with desert nights before but this was different.

Zandik was nowhere to be seen when you were dropped into what you heard was called a ‘tank’, the clear sides covered with a curtain. You supposed that you were not meant for anyone else’s eyes other than this Tsaritsa’s. The fabric did nothing to stop prying eyes from peeking at you, from tapping on the glass, whistling as if you were a dog. You couldn’t understand a word but knew leering when you saw it.

Why were you here? Why was Zandik here?

You longed for the warm sun, the whisper of sand in the wind, the vegetation and the colors of the Oasis. This wasn’t home. Even the Oasis wasn’t your home but it was the closest thing you had to it anymore.

A painful twinge ran up your tail from the now-healed wound, as if your very being remembered the last time you’d encountered other humans who weren’t Zandik.

Even Zandik seemed a stranger to you ever since the ship docked. Others called him ‘Doctor’ or ‘Dottore’, and seemed to look to him as a leader. The only one who did not was the Khaenri’ahn, the one called the ‘Jester’.

You did not pretend to understand what was happening and Zandik had been too absorbed in other things for you to ask.

He appeared between the seam of two curtains and pressed a hand against the glass of the tank, silently beckoning you over. Zandik wore a mask now, too, his beautiful garnet eyes hidden from view. They were the only thing that comforted you and those were now taken away.

“I’ll explain later,” he pursed his lips for a moment, “Did you hurt yourself?”

He pointed to his lips and then your arm, where his touches had scarred your skin. You shook your head. Hadn’t he noticed in the last week of travel? Or had he been too occupied elsewhere?

“There is more to discuss, then,” he said. “The Tsaritsa has been kind enough to provide me what I seek. I’ll never be far from you.”

It sounded like a promise, although he never provided the outright comfort of such confirmation. He barked an order in another language, one that the others understood and soon enough, you found yourself face to face with a pair of eyes as blue as an afternoon sky and just as cold as the ice outside.

The Tsaritsa was stunning and you were awed and jealous all at once. The Archon, for you at least knew of the title belonging only to the Cryo Archon, held herself tall and straight, spoke softly, and regarded you and Zandik with a gaze you considered to be tender for a God. She addressed you specifically, with a word you had never heard before, and you cocked your head, fins rippling.

“She is beautiful, Doctor. But I dislike being gifted living creatures,” the Tsaritsa said, her words soft but eyebrows high in what you took to be disapproval. “She is alive, full of possibility. Far different than those used for meat and fur, whose body serves a purpose beyond their death.”

More than once, you glanced at Zandik, who was off to the side but never out of sight, as he said. You caught a glimpse of something in the Tsaritsa’s face that you couldn’t make sense of, or considered to be a trick of the light, before she spoke again.

“I ask that you take excellent care of her, Doctor. If she is as unique as you claim she is, I will leave it to you to preserve her presence in this world before Irminsul can be rewritten again.”

The Archon held your gaze and gave you a kind smile.

“I hope you are less lonely here, sweet creature,” she whispered, the words spoken haltingly but well-intended, in a tongue you could understand.

Without the means to be heard properly, you pressed your palm against the tank, the Tsaritsa’s hand meeting yours on the other side.

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In time, as you and Zandik designed your tanks and your tunnels, you learned, and so did he.

“Touching me hurts you but doesn’t scar you,” he noted over blueprints one afternoon. “But if I touch you, it hurts and leaves a mark. Hardly ideal but I suppose we’ll manage.”

He came from a village in the jungle, the son of an academic and an Eremite, and attended the Akademiya in hopes of finding a suitable place to sate his curiosity about the world. Had segmented himself multiple times over at different ages. Knew how to disassemble and reassemble almost anything in the span of a few minutes and was fascinated with the large machines you recalled being used by the civilization that was wiped out of existence.

To say he was accomplished felt like such a generalization. You had never heard of someone doing as much as he had, setting as many precedents as he had.

You shared a notion that the gods did not know best, that humanity was capable of far more, if only divinity would step out of the way. Blasphemy of any kind would have had you executed; yet the Tsaritsa let him speak as freely as he wished.

The same Tsaritsa who, despite her well-wishes, took him away from you for weeks at a time. He only recently returned, determined to have a new section of tunnels built for you to navigate the other portion of the laboratory, and you already caught him mumbling about a new plan and more travel. You lamented that you wished you could go with him and, with a smile, he remarked that your presence might terrify the researchers he was given even more than he already did.

“They could use the reminder to be useful,” he muttered. “I do enjoy the looks of terror when they remember what company I keep.”

He fed you untainted test subjects who were no longer useful and you toyed with trespassers who dared cross the threshold unpermitted. Along with whatever fish happened to be in season at the market, of course, and you were never without aquatic greens. A much more varied diet compared to life in Sumeru, to be certain.

“The stars are more brilliant this far north. There’s even a phenomenon that lights up the entire Palace at night; it makes the Harvisoptokhm look like a candle in comparison.”

Your entire body shimmered and glowed with excitement. It was easy to know when you were pleased, happy, be it because of treasures Zandik brought back to you or anything else; he teased you about it often, how your happiness was a beacon all on its own.

You had never seen the outside world, not since you arrived, and you were eager for more.

“Show me,” you pleaded, your tail flicking through the water. “You made my world so much bigger and yet it’s never any larger than you see fit.”

He chuckled, his eyes narrowed in amusement as the sight of your eagerness.

“It’s all permafrost out that way. You may not even be able to survive the freezing water; there may not even be any water to find.”

“But you would find a way, wouldn’t you, my Zandik?”

He did. As he always would. It took months, of course, but he came up with a pathway to lead you out towards the frozen lake, a crude hole carved into the ice. Your hair froze almost instantly as you surfaced and your gills screamed at you with every exhale. Far above, ribbons of greens and blues danced across the night sky. Stars filled the vast space as far as you could see and for the first time in almost a century, you knew peace.

Routine settled in again.

Until one afternoon, an assistant saw fit to enter the lower parts of the laboratory when Zandik (you could never call him ‘Dottore’, for the word felt strange on your tongue) was out. You watched in the dim light as the nosy little thing turned this way and that, looking for something, touching things they had no business touching. They didn’t spot you right away. Few did. But when they wove their way through the chambers and stopped at the room where Zandik usually sat with you, one where the platform was level with the surface of the water, you could sense they weren’t just here to snoop.

The water felt too warm. Less like a pool of water under the sun and more like what you recalled hot baths felt like, when you soaked aching muscles after a long day on your feet.

Zandik had put time and effort into your tanks; it took him months just to figure out the filtration, let alone temperature regulation to keep you from being too warm. It was easy to overestimate when it was below freezing everywhere else. And this interloper…

Fury blurred your vision and the next thing you knew, you had grabbed the stranger’s ankle and pulled, your claws digging into the meat of their leg. They slipped, their head making a sickening crack on the metal pathway, before you were able to drag them into the water to finish the job. Their blood tasted awful, contaminated the water, but you made sure to make it as slow and painful as possible; after all, that was what they wished for you. The water became unbearable, though, and you surfaced, resting your body on the central gangway, flesh beneath your nails and between your teeth.

It wasn’t long before Zandik returned, abandoning his mask in favor of assessing the scene. The body in your tank. The humidity of the room.

He tasked a Segment with the clean-up and repairs to the temperature controls. Despite his calm exterior, his tone was murderous, eyes full of bloodlust as he wrapped you in his coat, not bothered that the pristine material absorbed the blood you wore. You hadn’t been this close to him since the boat ride long ago, when you were cradled against him, and you buried your face into him. Your sense of smell changed, of course, but his scent was always the most pleasing.

That tight sensation in your chest made a vicious return and you weren’t sure if it was the lack of water or something else making your gills flare and your breathing harder than it should have been.

He brought you to the smaller tank, closer to his own quarters, where the water was clean and cool. Zandik settled you on the edge, his eyes transfixed on you, face close to yours. Without the fabric covering you, it was impossible to miss how your skin glowed, scales shimmering like an ocean under the morning sun; this was different than happiness, richer, deeper. You’d felt something close to this, back when you walked and you had the attention of another, but it was never so intense before.

You had never needed another and now you felt as though you might simply combust from being too close. Zandik’s hands were careful not to touch your bare skin but you wanted nothing more than to be set alight. Despite his incredible control over his breathing, you knew better than most that his composure was hair-thin, and something prodded your hip. His lips were close; would he let you, if you just turned your head and…

“You’re beautiful, Fajr. I would ruin the world for you if it meant seeing you like this forever.”

Sweet words, you mused. Words you knew he would fulfill if you asked him to.

And then he said your name, your true name, and your breath hitched.

Your fear of your own needs won out and you dove silently into the pool but not before you stole a press of your lips to his cheek. It was worth every second of searing agony and did nothing to ease the strong-rooted desire that settled in every bone of your body.

You caught a glimpse of him before you darted off, his pants looking uncomfortably tight. Although untouched, you knew the ways of the world, how desire worked. He didn’t bother hiding his own hunger for you. After all, why should he? He hadn’t once hidden the notion that he wanted your company; it shouldn’t have been so surprising that there was more to it.

The glowing didn’t fade, your own arousal a dead giveaway wherever you went in the various tunnels and tanks that made up your domain. That night, you heard every moan from his bedroom, and you watched from your hiding spot as Zandik thrust into his hand, your name on his lips.

In the dim light from yourself and the small lights in the tank, your eyes locked with his as he exploded, spilling onto his hand. You pulsed, the shimmering throwing shadows through the water as you wondered what he tasted like, how he might feel against your tongue.

You spent several more nights wondering how consummation might even work. It was possible, certainly (anything was possible, you were coming to discover) but it was something that had never been discussed or even touched on before.

He left by the time your desire finally died down, called away on a matter in a land you had never even heard the name of. The Segment’s eyes lingered on you in the closest thing to sympathy you ever saw cross Zandik’s facade before providing your breakfast and walking away.

Such an expression didn’t suit him.

And you hated that you knew what did.

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Centuries passed, various faces showing themselves only when Zandik deemed it suitable. Your tanks and tunnel network grew as his rank increased, and soon enough, you had access to all of Haeresys and the lake outside the Palace. As his world grew, so did yours.

The Balladeer, as you knew him, came and went freely upon Zandik’s return from Inazuma. Despite his stature, and the hat that no doubt compensated for his lack of affection in his early formative years, he openly returned your glares.

“We’re the same, creature. Just toys for another to play with.”

Of course, he couldn’t understand. He would never understand that his presence distracted Zandik, gave him reason to continue segmenting himself and making bodies more suitable to housing their consciousness. The more time he spent on other projects was less time he had for you . That time was yours.

After you had pulled the Balladeer into your tank to have a little fun, Zandik locked himself in his office, the one room you didn’t have access to, effectively cutting you off until he deemed it acceptable. You felt small, chastised like a child for wanting more when his time was so limited to begin with as of late.

In his absence, you were occupied instead by the other Harbingers, as they were called.

Columbina sang to you with her bare feet in the water, unafraid. Although she never spoke of life before she came here, there was an odd air about her that resonated with you and a certainty with which she spoke that eased the loneliness that crept up every so often. As if she knew what it meant to be alone.

She was occasionally accompanied by the Captain, who spoke seldom unless he had orders to give.

“You remind me of why we do what we do, water maiden,” he said to you as he waited for Zandik’s return.

You thanked him for the compliment before you sank back down below the surface, careful not to splash him.

Pantalone reminded you of the ambitious men you grew up seeing, willing to step on anyone who stood in their way and twisting already-corrupted systems to get what they wanted. He eyed you the way one examined a fine desert horse, coveting what was not his. Zandik’s words were biting when he spoke to his business partner, reminding him to leave you alone when he caught Pantalone staring too long.

When you were finally alone, Zandik said, “You have full permission to maim him if he ever so much as lays a hand in your tank, my dear.”

You considered it every time Pantalone made you cry so he could sell the opals of your tears.

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He made you a Segment, you discovered; he spent the better part of a year manufacturing and fine-tuning it, just for you.

You examined the figure in his arms. He looked like your Zandik from the waist up but the rest of him was remade in your image. Magnificent blue scales that shimmered like the world’s most precious stones, fins as thin as paper but no less structurally sound, hands that looked as though they were dipped in the night sky and caught the stars themselves. Complete with his garnet eyes and current hairstyle, a long lock of hair twirling around a crystal earring.

The Segment was beautiful, clearly made with every need anticipated.

Yet your hand shot out before he could awaken the Segment, stopping him. It hurt, as it so often did, palm burning as you touched his bare forearm.

“Do not do this, Zandik. You will condemn me to a lifetime of suffering. For he is not you. And even he will not be able to love me. Not like you do.”

“He is me,” he snapped.

“No, he is not. He never will be.”

“What if he could be?”

“You humans say such funny things. Consciousness cannot hop bodies. You have done marvels but even you know the limitations of mortality. Of Teyvat.”

“As if you are not a testament to the changes that are possible? Were you not once human, too?”

You hand loosened its hold.

“You are lonely and there are needs I cannot always fill. This way, you can still be mine and still have companionship when I am not around. I know you have never enjoyed the company of the others but this one…he is me, as close as I can replicate myself.”

Why did he sound so sad when he said it?

Your skin crackled and burned as you took his face in his hands, mindful of your claws.

“If you put him in this tank, I will die and we both know it. I will die after I have sunken my teeth into him for touching me. Because he is not you . He is beautiful, my Zandik, but I do not wish to ruin your handiwork.”

You would have him as a human or you would never have him at all. How you wished to never have seen the hurt that crossed his face, the indignation at your lack of appreciation.

The Segment was taken away but when you traveled out towards the lake, you caught glimpses of another. He never ventured close enough for you to see him in detail and he never entered your tunnels. A ghostly presence, always hovering.

And so it went on for centuries.

The Doctor and his mermaid.

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He collapsed one day out of nowhere, falling into your tank face-first, eyes glazed over. You managed to bring him back to the surface, all the while shoving away memories that had no place, pushing hair out of his face, and trying to figure out if he was breathing.

He wasn’t.

You arranged your hands on his chest and began compressions, just as he had shown you. The scars on your hands tingled as you recalled that day, when he’d covered your hands in his and demonstrated how to revive him in the event this happened.

Zandik sat up and coughed harshly, spitting up water, his gaze distant. His breathing never evened out and it took him a second to absorb his surroundings. He turned his head towards you, red eyes haunted by whatever had happened.

“I must go take care of something I should have done a long time ago,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”

Before you could ask, he captured your lips in his, kissing you deeply. You did not know it was possible for a single person to fill so much longing in a single gesture. It was over before you knew it. Your lips were on fire, raw from his touch, and you tasted blood.

You pulsed for days with him gone, your light the only solace in the depths of the lab. Melancholy gripped you and sat in your bones, heavier than it had been upon the discovery of what the Lord of Amirta had turned you into. Your lips would scar, in time, but it was worth it.

Zandik returned, and when he did, he spoke of Starlight. A Traveler from beyond the firmament.

And he did not stop.

At every bend and every juncture, you hear the curiosity in his voice. How could someone so easily break through without awakening Celestia, he wondered. Or, better yet, perhaps they had. They were one of a pair and Abyss records often spoke of a golden haired leader who came when summoned…Pierro might know, Zandik mused. He even went so far as to ask you for your thoughts when you had surfaced and you wished your glare struck him down where he stood.

“Do not ask me again,” you warned. “I care not for others, Zandik.”

You did not speak to him again. Every time you heard Starlight’s name in your presence, you slammed your tail against the nearest wall. If he ever mentioned her as he brought you food, you snapped your teeth dangerously close to his hand. You never said a word to him unless necessary and you tried to ignore how he withdrew from you in return.

Anyone else would have earned his ire for such behavior long ago.

But not you.

Never you.

Instead, he disappeared again. Longer, this time. If not for your feeding schedule and a dutiful assistant who respected your Zandik’s space, you would not know time at all. You kept track of your meals and the way the water changed in the lake: thin ice meant spring; thinner ice meant summer. Every night, you rested your arms on the broken ice and wondered what Zandik was seeing. What else did he possibly have to do that he would be away from you for so long?

Perhaps you deserved such solitude. After all, not everyone could deal with a capricious creature when they, themselves, were prideful to the point of arrogance.

He bruised his own ego easily enough with the Segments, let alone without them; he didn’t need your help in that, you realized.

The depths called you. You considered leaving.

But after several hundred years, routine could not easily be broken. You couldn’t live with yourself if you never saw him return.

And so, you stayed.

You hoped.

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Zandik returned with no fanfare, no bluster, and only after the island in the sky had shattered and crumbled to the surface. The stars changed again, brighter than before, shifting as easily as the tide. He was dressed in simple clothes, a blue shirt and black pants, all of his adornments gone. For once, he appeared to be comfortable in his own skin; no mask, no mantle.

He was the man you met in the desert all those years ago.

“You could have left,” he said when you surfaced.

He always waited until you were out of the water to speak so you could process properly and respond. It was a small thing but it meant more than you cared to admit when everyone else spoke through the glass as if you were an animal.

“What do I have if I do not have you, Zandik?” you replied.

“Your world has always been small of your own free will, my darling. Not just here, but in Sumeru too. The sea was right before you and yet you chose to stay. Why would you wait for a wretch like me?”

Zandik had changed. You can see it all over his face, in the set of his shoulders, the way he shifted his weight.

This hurt more than his absence. For he returned to you a stranger.

He sat down and removed his boots before placing his legs over the edge of the walkway. You slipped between his legs, his thighs on either side of your waist as you reached up to cup his face. Pain was nothing but a tickle now.

“What did the Star do to you?” you whispered.

“Lumine? Nothing I did not already want.”

He might as well have frozen you solid and shattered you with his claymore. You let go of him and tried to sink back below the surface but his legs held you just tight enough to keep you from slipping away. Tail fins splashed at the unexpected resistance.

Your name fell from his lips, the name you gave him found hundred years ago. The one that time forgot.

You tried to ignore the distinct sound of your tears solidifying as they met the surface, tiny opals refracting light.

“You fell in love with starlight, Zandik. Even I cannot compete with that.”

Stunned, or perhaps resigned, he let go and you slipped down without another word. He would find you if he wished to; after all, he built the walls that housed you. He hardly ever bothered you when you went out to the far reaches of your labyrinth to hide away, as all creatures deserved to do. Your hideaway was small but filled to the brim with every trinket gifted to you, every treasure you found on your trips to the lake; sheltered by the objects that Zandik either made or gave to you, you felt safe.

You did not see him uncap the test tube, swallow its contents without a care. You did not sense his presence in the water until he was on the threshold, red eyes glowing in the dark. His neck seemed to have slits, although you weren’t certain if it was a trick of the water. His gaze scanned the room before settling back on you. You couldn’t bring yourself to close the distance and instead, he came to you. Zandik’s fingers played with your hair as it floated in the water.

“I fell in love with the depths of the water. I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”

Somehow, his words weren’t lost in the water, perfectly clear to you as if you were on the surface. He spoke of a substance that might modify his respiratory systems temporarily, allow him gills so that he might finally know what it meant to be around you without a barrier of any kind. But as far as you knew, he’d never properly finished it.

“You would condemn us both,” you replied, the words heavy. “You never tested this before.”

“The rest of my work is done. I do not want a world where I cannot have you. I never want to see the light of the stars again without you.”

You kissed him ardently, returning every ounce of longing and desire that he had driven home so long ago. It hurt. Brushing your tongue over his felt like sand in your shoes, irritating but not enough to stop you. Everywhere he touched your skin burned and your veins sang with arousal and the burden you carried for merely existing. Your light caught on every shining surface and threw you both into a cascade of shimmers. It didn’t take long to figure out the mechanics, you realized; your anatomy only really changed enough to accommodate your tail, a genital slit so subtle you often overlooked it.

Zandik wrapped one leg around your tail, entering you slowly in a single, steady stroke. The pleasure was enough to take the edge off of the agony and he continued, as methodical and attentive as only he could be. Eventually, it became too much and in the throes of absolute bliss, you held him tight as you became a beacon unto yourself, shining as bright as the sun. Warmth filled you as he twitched, the shuddering groan that escaped him the most beautiful sound you ever heard.

Zandik’s breathing, however, was beginning to concern you. It wasn’t erratic as much as it was labored. His eyes bore into you with an intensity you never saw before. He buried himself deeper into you, throwing you over the edge again, as if that would keep you from worrying.

“I’m fine, Fajr.”

No, he wasn’t.

Still coupled, you swam out to the lake, the closest surface point your pleasure-addled brain could think of. Air. Humans needed air. You traced a finger across his neck, the silts now partially closed, retracting.

You couldn’t last much longer, either. The pain was too intense, your skin on fire as layers burned away with every lingering brush of skin. Cold water did nothing to alleviate the agony and you almost didn’t surface, your vision fading.

Zandik coughed as you broke the surface but his breathing sounded wrong, wheezing and weak. It was as if his body did not know how to breathe air at all, confused between two ecosystems and rejecting both. Under the ribbons of light, he gave you a teasing smile full of teeth like yours and the gaze of a man who lived as he intended, who got everything he wanted.

You wished you went first. So you didn’t have to see the light leave his eyes, feel his muscles slack in your arms. But it was easier to give in to the pain with him gone, to let the darkness take you as it was meant to.

And so you sank beneath the ice, still entwined, together for eternity.

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