#this is what liking marine life will do to you

[eeboyysworld]

Hello! Hope you're having a nice day. If you're taking requests, could i ask for Dae-Ho x male reader? Thank you! :)

“ I know you wanna kiss me-“

—⋆. 𐙚⋆.˚

Genre: Smut

Kang Dae-ho X Male!Reader

Cautions/Warnings: Praise kink, Enemies to (not) lovers, Teasing, Hair pulling, hand job, Dae-ho pops a boner and you’re the most decent person to help.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Pain swirled inside your ankle, a purple mark forming there. You just had to twist it , didn’t you.

the previous game left a huge mark on you, a large turning compartment in the middle of the room.

Mingle, that’s what it was called.

People fighting for their life’s, shoving and pushing innocent (or not) people into the ground, that includes you. Getting slammed to the hard ground froze you on the spot, the pain coming in waves.

You would had died. If it wasn’t for the man , whom you had bothered the past days of being in this hell hole, saved you.

Getting out of his own way to drag your limp body into the blood covered room.

Dae-ho, Cheery despite the situation, cracking jokes but remains serious when needed. You didn’t know him outside these games, but being divided into two groups, ‘x and o’ , you had no choice but to dislike them.

You voted to stay inside the games, the debt and reality of the outside world crashing down on you. It was stupid , voting for your own death.

You had every reason to thank him endlessly for giving you another chance at life, bowing towards him.

Despite the brawls the two of you got in, he shook the past aside , reassuring that ‘you would do the same for him.’

———

The bed you resided on was comfortable enough to rest on, the metal underneath the thin material digging into you.

The state your foot was left in wasn’t half bad , considering it had been a couple hours since then.

The bruise still contrast to your skin.

Rice mushing around your mouth, the flavour dull as you could taste the fork more than the food.

Swashing it down with a bottle of milk.

Your bottom became sore after sitting on it for the past hours , during the time passing you had been accept into this little group.

Diverse people combined into one alliance, to stop the games. The new faces marking a memory in your head.

A few of them offering their bread and milk towards you and another young girl.

Flustered under their gazes, smiling accepting the offer with a thanks.

Sluggishly nibbling the crust, zoning in and out of conversations. You tried your best to not get attached to them, dreadfully knowing sooner or later you’ll all die.

Despite the Traumatic scenes that unfolded Infront of all of you, one person lifted the mood.

The smiling marine kept making advances towards you, keeping you company.It was sweet, the two of you talking about the past and hopes for whatever future you could get.

Guilt crept at you, apologizing for the harm you caused.

“This place can make a person crazy.” Patting your upper thigh as he spoke,” I don’t blame you, we were on different sides only trying to survive.” His gaze felt heavy, lowering your own head, attention drifting to the ,used to be, white shoes.

“If I could..” stammering the words out,” In any way- I would repay you.” Your leg involuntary bouncing.

He paid no response, staring off into the distance, eyes glinting with uncertainty.

The silence between you guys hadn’t flatter, even with the voices and shouts in the background.

You guys sat like that until an announcement rang, lights dimming as the hallway lights shined through, casting a glow just enough to navigate.

Having the need to stay up, you accepted the challenge of fighting sleep to keep watch. Nestling yourself in between two bunk beds.

The night rolling on , countless snores and conversations could be heard.

An hour in of keeping guard, flinching when a hand slapped your shoulder, suddenly becoming aware of your surroundings.

Dramatically exhaling as the familiar face appeared before you. “Ah..you scared me.”

A nervous chuckle left him, slotting himself beside you. He felt off, energy leeching off of him.

You had notice the way he slumped, eyes twitching to get a glimpse of you, fingers digging into his pants.

Neither of you spoke, stealing ‘risky’ glances towards each other. It went on like that , before he finally got the courage to voice his thoughts.

“I .. have a problem..” concern adorned you, had he been hurt last game? , whispering your question.

Getting a shake of a head left you wondering what happened. “I was just thinking..you were the only one who could help.”

Biting his lip, gulping as he muttered.

Barely hearing it, kindly asking him to speak up a bit.

Locking his eyes onto you, “ It’s.. uhm-“ cutting himself off, licking his lips as a habit.

Letting the quietness settle before speaking, “ D-down..theree.” Dragging the ‘e’ to a halt.

Huh.. taking a peak downwards, curiosity getting the better of you. Eyes slightly widening, catching the bulge between his legs. Wow.

Now..what would a rational person do in this situation. Kindly turn down the offer. But you were not rational.

Turning your body to the side, bringing your gaze to his face, making eye contact.

It had suddenly become too hot in this place. Feeling your face tingling from his attention.

“Oh..” there was practically butterflies swooning inside you, he wants you to help him.

He was quick to apologize for making you uncomfortable, steadily getting up, bowing towards you. He knew he shouldn’t have asked..

But before he could get away , a hand grabbed onto his loose shirt, pulling the other closer to you.

The feeling of arousal pooling inside you, whispering so that no one but you two could hear.

“I would love to help you.” Was it the fact you pitted him for popping a boner out of all places, maybe , he was rather cute, a perfect face to be ruined by you.

He was shocked to say the least, trying to regain composure only to be pushed to the bed farthest away.

You kept on your feet , despite just recovering from the injury you endured,while he was seated.

Greedy hands exploring his body, flushed face inches away from you. He was so close to your lips he can feel your breath.

It was awkward in the moment, as he never was this close to you, he shyly thanked you for doing this for him.

You could only smile, the soft lights shining both of you, silhouettes dancing on the walls.

muttering , “I told you I would repay you..” eyes wandering across his face, noticing every detail you could drink up.

Becoming shy under such gaze, the other melted into the comfort of the bed.

Trailing your hands downwards, ruffling the stained tracksuit. Your body moving with your hands, dropping to your knees.

The soft thud bouncing off the arena, the rough floor digging into the your flesh.

He was like jelly under your touch, folding as skilled hands gripped his waist, every touch riling him up more.

Breathe fawning his clothed bulge, it was like you were examining him. He peered at you, mouth agape.

He nearly yelped as you lunged frontwards, throwing his palm to silence the sounds.

You sat there knees spread slightly aprat, mouthing the fabric, saliva seeping through the material, the warm wetness lubricating himself.

His other hand shakily made its way to your head, softly resting on the head of hair. You didn’t want it just sitting there.

Roughly grabbing his fingers to thread the locks, swapping your tongue out to cause a reaction out of him, the sensation made his fingers grip.

Muffled apologies hidden behind his palm, neck tense from how he contained himself.

You continued to torment the poor guy, keeping his junk in his pants. He was frustrated and sensitive to the touch.

Mouth kept working towards him, pants dark from the amount of spit on it, outlining his length.

He couldn’t even do anything about it, he couldn’t scream and beg you to touch him, that would end bad.

Left to squirm and whine in his seat.

After you felt decent about your work, pulling yourself away, admiring him.

“Try to be quiet, ay?” It was a statement, you couldn’t have him moaning into the air, not when you knew the other people now.

Shoving your hand into the tracksuit, slipping through the others boxers,

Feeling the pre-cum drip down along with your spit, creating the perfect natural lube.

Steadily dragging downwards and up, purring sweet nothings, “ Aw, hold on a little longer..” slipping up and down, fastening the pace. “You’re doing so good for me.”

Your words went straight to his head, not the one on-top his shoulders.

The hand he chose to mouth on had a red mark, the other settled into your locks of hair, tightening and letting loose.

Sounds of desperation could be heard if someone listened too intently.

It was too much , the soft padding of your hand left him a mess. You kept reducing the speed before fastening it up, the stimulation was overbearing.

Finger playing with his angry tip, the touch as light as a feather, yet it had him stuttering. “Mm- m-more..”

He was heavy in your hand, was practically throbbing.

“ You deserve it ..don’t you?” You were playing with him, watching the desperate head nods.

Continuing to stoke him, leading him to Chase his high , thrusting into your hand.

Bed ever so slightly squeaking with the weight of his body moving up and down.

You let him rut into you like a dog, his hair tie loosening up, hair pieces flowing out.

You let him rock his hips in your hold, only choosing to add pressure back and forth.

Dick twitching, incoherent words stammering into the air. “Please.. I’m so c-close..”

Taking pity, you began to move with him, lining the timing perfectly.

He basically humped your hand, gripping your hair , moving you along with him. Letting him to use your body.

His stomach held a pit that kept growing, throwing his head backwards, biting his hand to keep silent.

The body movement he made told you he was close, moving your hand the fastest you can, the sounds encouraging you onward.

He spoke your name like a prayer, face flushed with the amount of heat he felt, the urge to just say fuck it and throw you onto the bed.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t wanna do that, despite all the people. Images flashed through him, he didn’t think he could imagine such things.

Your mouth on him as he fucked your face, he would be the one setting the pace, not you.

He could feel himself twitch.

Breathe ragged as he let himself spill into you, pulsing in your hand, body becoming limp in the hold.

Sitting there before slowly moving, long breaths leaving him.

The feeling of your hand leaving, taking the warmth with you. He whimpered from lost of contact like a kicked puppy.

Instead of wiping the evidence away, you decided to lick at it, swirling the liquid away into your warm mouth.

He was left agape , eyes focused on the way your tongue came out to lap it up, head tilted towards him, fluttering your eyes at him.

That’s one way to get rid of it.

The saltiness was bittersweet.

Latching off with a pop, moving to your feet, legs sore from sitting down. Guiding the other into you, lips finding his.

Nipping at him, slotting your tongue inside , letting the taste of bitterness sweep all over.

Moans vibrated through the both of you, hands finding what it can to ground into.

A shout had you yanking away, fearing you had hurt the other man.

“I didn’t see anything.” Slowly turning to the side, making eye contact you didn’t want to make with the most nonchalant man you ever met.

Greeting him with a ,”Good morning Young-il..”

You didn’t expect that scream to lead to that face.

———

I did not finish this when i said i would ❤️

[bippot]

Sick Little Baby

Story Summary -> Poor Eddie didn't show up to school because he has a bit of a cough and Wayne needs his rest, so his best friend and her puppy are willing to come to his aid.

Tags -> Domestic Fluff, Sick Character, Cutesy, Friends to Lovers, Caretaking, Tooth-Rotting Fluff

Would you prefer to read this on AO3? Click here!

Skipping school was practically Eddie's signature move - his go-to, if you will. He’d done it so often that the members of Hellfire Club barely batted an eyelid when he mysteriously vanished during lunch. Perhaps he was off sealing some shady deal, or maybe he was just blissfully snuggled in his bed back at his trailer, or, let’s be real, maybe he simply didn’t feel like showing up. But there was one day they could always count on him to be there - Thursdays, the sacred day of their campaign. It was a non-negotiable rule: no Dungeon Master meant no game at all as that was just downright impossible. 

Dustin, ever the charming little shit, decided it was high time to check in on their favourite troublemaker. "I’ll call," he proclaimed, but as the idea marinated, he quickly reconsidered. “Actually, you do it,” he whined and thrust a slip of paper with Eddie's number into Y/N's hands like it was a ticking bomb.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. “Oh, what’s the matter, Henderson? Are you scared Wayne will answer?”

“Yes. He’s terrifying, and he knows you.” Dustin exclaimed, his eyes wide as saucers.

“Terrifying? Come on, Wayne is not scary.” She chuckled, thoroughly entertained by the dramatic antics of the younger boy.

“He is too,” he shot back as if that would somehow bolster his argument.

Dustin huffed, his arms crossed, throwing a challenge her way with his pout. If she continued her teasing, he had the perfect ammunition to retaliate - after all, he had witnessed that embarrassing moment when he caught her doodling Eddie's name in her notebook while Mike took what felt like an eternity to figure out his next move during one of their sessions. Dustin had leverage, and he was not shy about wielding it when the moment called for it.

With a teasing grin, Y/N sidestepped him and snatched up the phone, her voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Henderson, you are a complete pussy.”

"Yeah, yeah. Just call the damn number."

Y/N took a deep breath and dialled the number, her fingers dancing over the keys like they were playing a lively tune. "Munson residence," came a gruff voice, thick with sleep. It had to be Wayne. Had they disturbed his slumber? Poor guy probably worked the night shift and was running on fumes. The thought made her stomach twist with a pang of guilt.

"Hey, Wayne. It's Y/N," she chirped, trying to keep the mood light.

"Oh hey, youngster." Wayne's voice brightened, and she could practically picture the warm smile that surely graced his face. Honestly, she had no idea why Dustin was so scared of him. The man radiated a laid-back charm that could put anyone at ease, a stark contrast to Eddie's frosty family atmosphere. Sure, Wayne was a bit rough around the edges, but it only added to his character - a man forged by countless night shifts and the pressures of life. He had always treated her with kindness. 

She sheepishly twirled the phone cord around her finger, feeling a hint of embarrassment. "Did I wake you? I'm so sorry - "

Wayne's chuckle interrupted her, “I was already awake, kiddo. Eddie’s been coughing all morning long.”

In the background, the unmistakable sounds of Eddie's smoker's cough echoed through the receiver, the harsh notes of it painting a vivid picture of the scene - Eddie huddled under a mountain of blankets, the world outside a distant memory. "Yeah, that idiot boy has come down with a cold or some shit." She could almost hear the eye roll in Wayne's voice as he continued, "He ain't sick enough to quit smoking, though."

Despite the concern that washed over her, Y/N couldn’t help but tease, "Yeah, Ed smokes like a chimney." She tried to ignore Dustin, who was prodding her ribs insistently, a mischievous glint in his eye as he urged her to spill the tea. "Do you need anything? I can always swing by the pharmacy on my way home and grab some stuff."

A hearty laugh erupted from Wayne. "Be my alibi when I strangle him? He’s been keeping me from my beauty sleep," he quipped, a playful bitterness colouring his words, which made Y/N chuckle softly.

"I could always look after him if you want to catch some Z's before your shift tonight. I don't mind, really." The prospect of taking care of Eddie sparked a glimmer of excitement in her. With Hellfire cancelled for the evening, she had to find something to fill her time, and homework? No, thank you. "My parents are on holiday, and my house is eerily quiet. A coughing idiot could liven the place up a bit."

Wayne paused; the line filled with the distant sounds of Eddie's coughs and the rustling of bedsheets, and then after a moment, he finally replied, "I knew you were my favourite of Eddie’s friends for a reason." A smirk came upon his face as he added, "Just don’t kill him."

A grin broke across her face, lighting it up like the summer sun. “I’ll do my best. I’ll swing by and pick him up after school.” 

“Okay. Thanks a tonne, kid. I owe you big time.” He replied, his voice bubbling with gratitude. “Talk to ya later, alright?”

“Later, Wayne.” 

Once the call ended, she turned her attention to her friend, and what a sight he was. Dustin wore a smirk so smug it could rival the Cheshire Cat, that knowing glimmer in his eye making her roll her own in playful defeat. “Shut up,” she sighed, but there was no real annoyance behind her words; they both erupted into laughter.

“Oh, Eddie. Let me take care of you, my sick little baby,” he teased, his impression of Y/N so awful it was almost a performance art. She playfully thumped his arm and shook her head, a blend of exasperation and delight making her cheeks bloom a rosy pink.

“Shut it,” she chided, but the warmth in her voice said otherwise.

In a comically exaggerated fashion, Dustin turned his back to her, wrapping his arms around himself as he began to mimic smooching sounds, his voice soaring higher. “Mwah, mwah. One day, I’m going to be Mrs. Munson, just you wait. Eddie. Yes, I will marry you. I will bear your fuzzy-headed offspring. Mwah. I just love making out with you so much -” 

He was on a roll, completely unaware of her absence until he spun around to find she had already scampered off. The phone line had captured his ridiculous declarations, leaving whoever had walked by to possibly think he was just a boy doing something incredibly peculiar. One girl shot him a look, silent but clear, her expression tinged with a certain judgement.

With Hellfire postponed, Y/N dashed off for Eddie's place the moment the bell rang - well, she made a quick stop at the drugstore first, but Eddie was on her mind - and when she arrived, the older Munson looked every bit as worn out as she anticipated. What was left of his hair was in a wild disarray, sticking up like he had just wrestled a tornado, and dark circles hung beneath his bloodshot eyes like heavy shadows. He sported rumpled clothes that had seen better days, clearly a sign he hadn’t showered yet. And as soon as Wayne spotted her car pulling up, he playfully nudged Eddie out the door with a grin, “There she is, your knight in shining... dungarees.”

Eddie looked just as bad, if not worse. He was bundled in a thick hoodie and sweatpants, with a blanket haphazardly tied around his shoulders like a makeshift cape. Yet, even this cosy ensemble couldn’t stop him from shivering. In a valiant but ultimately futile effort, he had tied his hair into a messy bun that was mostly falling apart, and his nose was a bright shade of red, his expression screaming, ‘Yeah, not my best moment.’

Rolling down her window, she couldn’t help but tease, “Wow, you look like hell.”

“Thanks,” he muttered sarcastically as he climbed into her car, a small smile teasing the corners of his lips as he closed the door. “How would you like it if I said you looked like shit?”

“I said you looked like hell, not shit,” she shot back, her tone light.

“Oh, so I don’t look like shit?” he questioned, a playful glint in his eye.

“Nope. You do.” 

Wayne waved a grateful goodbye and retreated back inside the trailer, likely seeking the sweet embrace of sleep he desperately needed.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, glancing at Eddie, who was still cocooned in his blanket, looking every bit the part of a cosy burrito.

He shrugged, leaning forward with a playful tilt, elbows perched on his knees, as he gazed out the window like a weary traveller searching for a glimpse of adventure. “Like crap, actually,” he admitted, his voice still heavy with sleep, before turning back to her with an exaggerated pout that could’ve melted glaciers. 

Oh, that pout wasn’t exactly doing him any favours. It made her giggle - a little snicker that was probably a bad idea considering the fierce glare he shot in her direction - but honestly, it didn’t bother her nearly as much as it should have. It was downright adorable, especially when they finally reached her house, and Eddie shuffled toward her front porch like a toddler, clutching his blanket as if it were a trusty sidekick against the Arctic chill. In that moment, his grumpiness was more endearing than serious, and she couldn’t help but smile.

As soon as she flung open the door, a whirlwind of fur came barreling down the stairs, a puppy racing toward them in a blur of excitement. She crouched down, letting the little furball sniff her hand before scooping him up into her arms. “I missed you too, Chewie,” she declared with a laugh as the mini Briard showered her cheek with enthusiastic licks. Y/N chuckled, scratching behind his floppy ears, and cradled him close as they ventured into her cosy haven.

Eddie, however, made a dramatic beeline for the couch, flopping down with a theatrical sigh, wrapping his blanket tightly around himself like a cocoon. He buried his face into the throw pillow, surrendering to silence, except for the occasional cough that escaped him. “You okay?” she asked, gently placing Chewie on the couch beside him. Eddie merely nodded, pulling his blanket even tighter, like a protective shield. “You hungry? Thirsty? Got a headache?” 

“Yep, yes...and yes.” He rubbed at his temples, glancing her way with those big brown puppy-dog eyes that made her heart do cartwheels. Even without the actual words spilling from his lips, she could feel his silent plea of ‘Please?’

Without a second thought, she sprang into action to gather what he needed. “Go cuddle up to Eds. He needs it, bud,” she urged Chewie, who seemed to understand her perfectly, and the dog was instantly bounding over to Eddie as if he were a little guardian of comfort. 

A few moments later, Y/N returned, triumphantly carrying painkillers and a water bottle, only to find Eddie deep in conversation with the puppy about absolutely nothing in particular.

Eddie eyed them with faux suspicion. “Cyanide?”

“Belladonna,” she quipped, grinning.

With an exaggerated groan, he extended his hands to accept the items from her and downed them like a champion, returning the empty bottle with a satisfied huff. She held up her hand triumphantly—two out of the three checks complete. But one crucial task remained. 

“Food, please,” he whined, pouting just like he had in the car. 

She dashed off to the kitchen as she went to warm up some soup. It might not have been a culinary masterpiece fit for a five-star restaurant, but it was quick and simple—a cosy hug in a bowl. The aromatic waft that filled the air was enough to elicit an adorably goofy grin from Eddie when she brought it to him, as if she had just served him the finest feast in the universe. In that blissful moment, all the worries of the world faded away, leaving just the two of them basking in the comforting warmth of home.

Once the bowl was safely in his grasp, she settled in beside him, propping her feet up on the coffee table with a satisfied sigh. At first, he gave her a strange look, as if she had just sprouted a second head, but once she asked, "What? Do you want me to feed you too?" 

With a cheeky grin, she snatched the spoon from his hand and teased, "Here comes the aeroplane for the little baby boy," her voice taking on an exaggerated tone that could make anyone chuckle. Now, she never would have expected him to actually open his mouth and let her feed him, but there it was. The joyful face he made while she did it made her realise, "You love being coddled, don't you?" 

His small nod confirmed it, though he looked about as sheepish as a child caught with its hands in the cookie jar. He glanced at her with a mix of curiosity and mischief, and she merely shrugged, continuing to spoon-feed him. The silence that enveloped them was blissfully comfortable, broken only by the occasional slurp or a light-hearted cough that made them chuckle together.

As she placed the spoon back in the now-empty bowl, she suddenly felt a gentle tug at the side of her shirt. Looking down, she spotted Chewie, who had snuck in and was now cosily sprawled out beside them, resting his chin on Eddie's knee. A warm smile crept across her face as she lovingly scratched behind his ears, eliciting a happy wag of his tail.

"Thank you," Eddie eventually said, joining in on the ear-scratching. She nodded absentmindedly in acknowledgement, setting the bowl down on the coffee table before stretching out on the couch next to him. Just as she was about to close her eyes, he broke the serenity with his heartfelt words. "For taking care of me. And Wayne, I guess."

"It's nothing. You're my best friend, Eddie, and you know I'd do anything for you," she replied, her voice low and sincere, yet buoyant with warmth. There was something about hearing those words that made Eddie feel lighter, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. She didn’t say it often, but when she did, it rang with more meaning than a thousand other affirmations ever could.

To her, Eddie was family. A fierce loyalty and protective love wrapped around her heart for him. He was a wild mix of annoyance, stubbornness, and a bit of childlike wonder, but that was what made him so endearing. She loved him dearly, and caring for him felt as natural as breathing.

Speaking of her loveable crew, it was time for Chewie's dinner. "I know you're comfy, but do you want your food? Dinner time?" She called to the eager pup, her voice slightly higher, infused with excitement. Watching as his tail wagged in a frenzy, ready for his meal, she couldn’t help but giggle. "Let's go then. Lead the way."

Chewie bounded off to the kitchen with uncontainable energy, his tiny legs a blur. He was such a little guy, but his enthusiasm was boundless. He darted across the kitchen floor, barking joyously as he made a beeline for his food bowl, practically vibrating with impatience as he waited for her to prepare his meal. Her heart swelled with affection as she realised that her dog and her best friend shared so many similarities.

"Hey, hey buddy, slow down," she teased lightly, watching as Chewie practically inhaled his dinner. "Jesus fucking Christ. Breathe a little, babe." 

Returning to the sofa, Y/N felt Eddie lean against her shoulder the moment she settled in, his contented sigh enveloping her in a warm cocoon of familiarity and affection. Time seemed to pause as they lingered in that embrace, Eddie snuggling closer, melting into the comfort of her presence as if she were a soft, reassuring blanket that shielded him from the chaos of the world. Y/N's fingers instinctively found their way to his wild mane of hair, a playful smile dancing on her lips as she gently tugged at the scraggly elastic band he had used as a makeshift hair tie. With tender care, she began to untangle the messy strands, laughter bubbling between them like a sweet melody. 

It was a simple moment, but it felt as if the world had faded away, leaving just the two of them wrapped in their own little universe. She could hear his quiet intake of breath as he closed his eyes, surrendering to the soothing sensation of her fingers weaving through his hair, combing out the tangles and transforming his chaotic locks into something almost presentable. The gentle rhythm of her touch was hypnotic, and he found himself wishing it would last forever. 

Soon, his hair was tangle-free, and with a playful grin, she decided to plait it for him, her movements fluid and graceful. Chewie returned and contentedly settled himself on Y/N's lap as she worked. With each passing moment, the bond between them deepened. She finished the braid and took one of her hairbands from her wrist, twirling the hair into a bun and securing it with a tie, her fingers brushing against his skin in a way that sent delightful shivers down his spine.

"There we go. You’re so pretty," she cooed in his direction, her voice dripping with affection. The satisfied hum that escaped his lips was music to her ears, and the smile that lit up his face made her heart flutter. Now that his hair was styled, she suggested, "How about we watch a video?" 

Y/N already had a movie in mind—one she knew would perfectly align with Eddie's quirky tastes. Repo Man, a beautifully weird film about cars and extraterrestrials, was just the ticket, especially since her dad had rented it right before her parents went on holiday and it had to be returned soon.

As she sprawled out on the couch, lying back against the cushions, Chewie decided to awkwardly slot himself in the gap between her shoulder and the back cushion, falling asleep almost instantly. However, Y/N was taken aback when Eddie crawled on top of her, resting his head against her chest, a blissful expression plastered on his face. "Your boobs are comfy," he whispered playfully, a teasing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

She rolled her eyes, a laugh escaping her as she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him closely, feeling the warmth radiating from his body. He sighed contentedly, resting his cheek against her upper chest, watching the film in peace. Minutes passed, and he couldn't help but revel in the feeling of being with her - how safe, how cherished, and how utterly happy he felt. 

Slowly, he lifted his head and turned towards her with a questioning gaze, his heart racing in anticipation. Y/N smiled warmly, raising an eyebrow and waiting for whatever stupid comment he might share. Then he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm sorry if you get sick too now."

Her hand came up, brushing away a stray strand of hair from his eye, and she murmured softly, "It's okay, big guy. If I get sick, you'll have to take care of me." His heart swelled at her words, and a soft chuckle slipped past his lips. "I promise I'll be half as whiny as you." 

The moment felt charged, and he found himself unable to hold back. "That's okay. You could be twice as whiny, and I would still love you."

The blush that crept onto Y/N's cheeks illuminated the space between them, and when she pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, murmuring, "I love you too," he knew he hadn't imagined the butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

At first, he had mistaken that feeling for the side effects of being under the weather, but no, this was different; this was pure bliss. Pure joy. This was love, unfurling gently like petals in spring.

Settling back down, he gave her collarbone a light peck, lost in the comfort of her warmth. Soon, he drifted off into a serene slumber, completely oblivious to the world around him. He didn't notice the way the corners of her lips curled upwards as she glanced down at him, her heart swelling with affection at the sight of his peaceful expression, knowing that these moments were precious.

Chewie was the first to wake, his tiny paws padding across the soft fabric of the couch as he stood and wandered over Eddie's back. Despite the fact that the puppy barely weighed anything, Eddie stirred at the gentle pressure, groaning as he opened his eyes to find Chewie standing over him with an expectant look. Eddie tried to stay nestled against Y/N, but he knew he had to shift so she could get out from under him. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he shifted awkwardly, failing to see how entertained she was as she watched him struggle to lift himself out of grogginess.

With a gentle kiss to his temple, a silent apology lingering in the air, Y/N slid out of the cosy groove they’d created on the couch. She scooped up her feisty little pup just before he could unleash a series of enthusiastic yaps that would shatter the peace. Chewie was set down, and off he dashed, zooming around the room in wild pursuit of his favourite chew toy, a little bundle of energy that could brighten anyone’s day.

Y/N glanced back at Eddie, and she couldn’t help but melt. There he was, adorably tousled with bleary eyes struggling to stay open, looking like he’d just rolled out of a dream. The sleepy blush dusting his cheeks added to his charm as he yawned and stretched, the blanket slipping off his shoulders like a forgotten shawl. 

His shirt had hiked up a bit, revealing a tantalising sliver of bare stomach, and for just a moment, she found herself completely mesmerised. Eddie caught her admiration and arched a brow playfully, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “What’s up?” he asked, his tone light and playful. 

Y/N shook herself from her daze, cheeks warming as she tried to divert her gaze. “Oh, nothing. Just, um... nothing,” she stammered, the words tumbling out in a fluster.

“You don’t sound very convincing,” he quipped, his fingers lacing around her hand, sending sparks of warmth racing up her arm.

Despite her best efforts to fight it, a blush crept onto Y/N's cheeks, and she quickly realised she was battling a losing game. Maybe it was time to surrender and let her cheeks flush naturally. "You look really cute right now," she admitted shyly, her heart fluttering as the heat radiated from her face like the first rays of morning sunshine.

Eddie's grin widened, revealing his adorable dimples, his eyes sparkling with mischief and delight that felt like the sweetest kind of magic. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” he remarked casually, his gaze appreciatively tracing over her as she bent down to toss Chewie’s toy across the room. The sight of her, all playful and carefree, sent warmth blossoming in his chest, chasing away the remnants of sleep that still clung to him like a stubborn shadow. Even though he felt a bit under the weather, watching her was like a dose of sunshine that brightened his spirit.

“So,” Y/N began softly, her voice tender like a soft lullaby after launching the toy into the next room, giving them a moment of peace, “How are you feeling now? Do you want anything?”

Chewie strutted back, triumphantly dropping his toy at Eddie's feet, his tail wagging like a tiny flag of victory, all too proud of his fetch prowess.

“Well...” Eddie mused, scratching the back of his neck in that adorably awkward way that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “My head is still pounding a bit, and my throat feels like sandpaper, but hey, I’m not dizzy anymore.” 

Moments later, she returned with a tall glass of cold water, sunlight glistening on the droplets as if it were a little sparkling treasure. She felt her breath catch at the grateful smile that spread across his face - infectious and warm - and it lit up his features like the brightest star in the night sky. 

“How did the Hellfire boys take it?”

“Like champs,” she replied, brushing a stray hair from his cheek and tucking it gently behind his ear, her fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. “Mike was a bit grumpy, but when is that boy ever in a good mood? Gareth, Jeff, and Nate were their usual gracious selves. Lucas had basketball practice anyway.”

“And Henderson?” Eddie enquired, a smirk spreading across his face, the corner of his mouth lifting mischievously.

“Dustin was too busy having a blast making fun of us. Well, mostly me, but you were the reason.”

“Me?” Eddie feigned disbelief, laughter bubbling up in his chest, his voice rich and melodic. “I wasn’t even there.”

“Nope, but it was still your fault,” she teased, giving his arm a light smack, her expression animated as if to say that he was the entire reason for her playful antics. “If you weren’t so... you, I wouldn’t be the target of all this.”

Earlier, they had exchanged those sweet, vulnerable ‘I love you’s’. They are words that could be perceived as platonic in some lights, but the way they felt in this moment was undeniably more intimate, like a secret meant just for them. This wasn’t platonic. He knew that now.

“You like me,” Eddie stated matter-of-factly, his big brown eyes locking onto hers, full of sincerity and playful challenge, as if he was just waiting for her confirmation.

For a heartbeat, she simply stared, her heart racing like a wild drum. Then, leaning forward, she pressed a soft kiss to his lips, her hand cradling his face tenderly, warmth flooding between them in a wave that swept all thoughts away. It was just a fleeting, sweet kiss, yet it conveyed everything they needed to say - an unspoken promise of affection and connection.

“I’m definitely going to catch your cold now,” she teased, pulling back with a playful pout, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“Swapping saliva? Yeah, you're skipping school tomorrow,” he joked, his voice muffled as he nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck, a warm sensation enveloping them both.

A shiver of delight ran through her at the tickling sensation, a giggle escaping her lips as he playfully nipped at her skin. “Shut up,” she laughed, attempting to push him away, but he just chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. 

Together they snuggled into the couch, enveloped in a blissful cocoon of warmth and comfort that seemed to stretch on forever, like a moment frozen in time. "Can we just stay here and never move?" he murmured, his voice soft and dreamy.

"Yeah, for as long as you want," she replied, knowing in her heart that what she said wasn't exactly true. Chewie would need to go up the garden soon, but the sentiment was there, wrapping around them like a warm blanket.

Eddie squeezed her slightly, enjoying the closeness, as they lay there basking in each other's presence. Eventually, he felt himself begin to nod off once more, and it didn't take much persuading before he surrendered to sleep, cuddled tightly against Y/N, her sweet scent enveloping him in an ethereal warmth that allowed him to drift off quickly.

"Achoo!" He woke up with a start, bursting into laughter at the sound of her sneeze. She glared at him playfully, and it only made him laugh even more. "I hate you," she muttered, burying his face back in her chest, wrapping her arms around him protectively.

"Nah, you love me," he countered, his words muffled by her shirt but dripping with playful confidence.

Rolling her eyes, she replied teasingly, "Whatever helps you sleep at night." His response was still muffled, but she could catch something along the lines of 'You know you love it' with a dopey grin plastered on his face. In that moment, there was no denying it. She couldn't even try, because deep down, every teasing word felt like a soft confession—one that was only meant for them to share in this cosy little world they had built together.

*Click here for my masterlist*

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Taglist: @emxxblog

[ilylillies]

I LOVE pound CAKE so MUCH!!! It tastes SO good with the ICING too!! It brings back a LOT of memories when my MOM first MADE it!! It tasted WONDERFUL, SWEET, VANILLA-Y if you want to call it. Its REALLY good I LOVE POUND CAKE.

Oh yeah, what’s your FAVORITE CAKE?

Cant call myself devoted if I always make the mistake of holding your hand in my claws.

What are YOUR FAVORITE COLORS? My FAVORITE colors are, BLUE, PINK, YELLOW, and BLACK!!! I LOVE PINK, BLUE, and YELLOW because they make the most PRETTIEST, MOST BEAUTIFUL SUNSETS!!

My FAVORITE LANDSCAPE ( I don’t know if it counts, but I’ll just say it anyway for the internet gods to notice, ) is a CORAL REEF!! I actually like any marine landscape because the LUMINESCENTE and MAGIC of the UNDERWATER is a FANTASMICAL sight to SEE!! What are YOUR FAVORITE LANDSCAPES??

My FAVORITE MUSICAL GENRES are ELECTRONIC, FUNK, HIP-HOP, INDIE, I THINK ACOUSTIC, SOMETIMES ROCK, I really just like about ANYTHING at this point cause WHAT ELSE AM I DOING IN MY LIFE??? What are YOUR FAVORITE MUSICAL GENRES?

My FAVORITE GAMES are THE SPLATOON FRANCHISE, GREAT GOD GROVE, MOUTHWASHING, ANIMAL CROSSING:NEW HORIZONS, and ROBLOX as of what I can remember right now. What are YOUR FAVORITE GAMES??

My TOP SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORMS are TUMBLR, REDNOTE, and FACEBOOK because Im like I guess a weirdo, JUST KIDDING I DONT USE FACEBOOK, I cant check TUMBLR until the end of the week and I don’t even have TT cause TT is kinda in deep with politics and stuff so yeeaahh.

My FAVORITE franchises as of RIGHT NOW are GREAT GOD GROVE, MOUTHWASHING, REGRETEVATOR, SPLATOON, I think I’m still in WELCOME HOME a bit here and there, I.O.N OBJECT SHOW, OBJECT SHOW COMMUNITY (OSC), and thats all I got for now. What are YOUR FAVORITE FRANCHISES??

SONGS I LIKE are NEW DROP by DON TOLIVER, HEART BEAT by CHILDISH GAMBINO, (This IS WHERE I GET WEIRD) ANTHEMS FOR A 17 YEAR OLD by BROKEN SOCIAL SCENE, SOUK EYE, BROKEN, SHE’S MY COLLAR, and the one and only TOMORROW COMES TODAY by GORILLAZ (I told you its getting weird) HEADLOCK by IMOGEN, AH AH by SYLENDENNA, RAINCOAT & DIRTY CAR by STUDIO KILLERS, SARAH, TREEHOUSE, HARVEY, SANDY, 16 MIRRORS, and MIS by ALEX G, CORBON AMODIO’S LUCY (Bingo bango bayber) I THINK I LIKE WHEN IT RAINS by WILLIS (Now were really falling, WHY DOES MY PHONE SMELL LIKE METAL) (sorry im adding so much words for algoridunm to word count) uhh uh um LAGTRAIN INFECTED MIX by JORJ1357 I think you know enough, what are SONG YOU LIKE?

My FAVORITE HOBBIES are DRAWING, ANIMATING, USING PINTEREST, WATCHING HOOPS AND YOYO, and other FRANCHISES, EATING, PLAYING ROBLOX OR SOME OF MY OTHER FAVORITE GAMES like SPLATOON, READING WEBCOMICS, USING INSTAGRAM, LITERALLY MY PHONE, LOOKING AT PEOPLE ENJOYING THEIR LIVES SKATEBOARDING AND URBEX EXPLORING WHILE WEARING COOL CLOTHES AND LIVING COOL LIVES AND IM OVER HERE NOT KNOWING BASIC HYGIENE Help me

My FAVORITE FRUITS are WATERMELON, APPLES, BANANAS, and ORANGES because their all SWEET, APPLES, ORANGES, and WATERMELONS are HONEY CRISP and JUICY, BANANAS are SOFT yet PUNGENT in such a WAY I don’t know how to DESCRIBE.

My FAVORITE SEASONS are ALL the seasons. FALL gives a homey vibe where you listen to acoustics and wear cute layered clothes. WINTER is a time where I watch people slip on the ground early in the morning, get to wear warm clothes and snuggle inside my blanket while scrolling on my phone. SPRING, a time of rebirth, anew, a time where flowers, lakes, nature, get to glisten from the death of winter, a time for new days. SUMMER is my utmost FAVORITE time of the year, as it brings out old nostalgia of memories with my cousins, the beautiful weather, the MUSIC is amazing, Its a beautiful time to enjoy. What are YOUR FAVORITE SEASONS?? Cant wait to find out!!

My FAVORITE songs are 16 MIRRORS by ALEX G, AH? AH! By SYLENDANNA, WAIT A MINUETE by WILLOW, SHES MY COLLAR by GORILLAZ, also my FAVORITE BAND so far, GOD IS CALLING ME BACK HOME by KING GIZZARD AND THE LIZARD WIZARD, I havent listened to many of their songs but this one I heard from YUGO LIMBO, creator of Smile for me Dr Habit and Great God Grove, when they made a trailer for their psychedelic horror comic, and I though it was pretty nice, I REALLY like Lost so—

—ul down x Floki, and uhh looks like Pinterest’s word limit is here, I gotta go byeee.

My FAVORITE type of IMAGINARY WEATHER is when it’s RAINING on a SUNSETTING afternoon. Although Ive never SEEN it, a SUNSET RAINBOW out on a CLIFF, or off in the DISTANCE of a CITY would be a PLEASANT sight to see. Whats YOUR FAVORITE imaginary WEATHER??

WHAT are YOUR FAVORITE FLAVORS?? My FAVORITE FLAVORS are VANILLA, HAZELNUT, CHOCOLATE, WATERMELON, and BUBBLEGUM!!

My FAVORITE DRINKS are SLUSHIES, ORANGE FANTA and ROOT BEER SODA, HOT CHOCOLATE, or, COCOA, BATTERY ACID DRINK from tiktok with the SMOKY ICE, OREO MILKSHAKES, and WATERMELON SODA.

My FAVORITE BUBBLE GUM FLAVORS are the ORIGINAL, JUICY FRUIT, CINNAMON, WATERMELON, BUBBLE YUM is my FAVORITE BRAND of BUBBLE GUM other than HUBBA BUBBA and DUBBLE BUBBLE. I also like POP ROCKS.

What are YOUR FAVORITE BUBBLEGUM FLAVOR or FLAVORS?

A Palestinian prisoner from Zionist occupation prisons... Zionism is terrorism.

Zionists are truly disgusting oppressors. They kill, torture and imprison Palestinians just because they are Palestinians and do not want to leave their homeland. They torture them beyond your imagination. They don't care whether the other person is a woman, child or baby. They have no conscience or common sense. If there is an zionist near you, protect yourself from him/her/ something

Free, free Palestine! 🇵🇸

[strawbearyxx]

unexpected comfort— kang dae-ho x reader . ۫ ꣑ৎ .

word count: 2.4k (at first i was planning for 500… yeah no)

warnings: mentions of death + anxiety

pairing: gender neutral!reader x kang dae-ho (if there’s any hint of fem!reader i’m sorry)

no nsfw!

this is my first time writing a fic like this !! any feedback is accepted and lmk if you want a part 2! i hope y’all like it ! dae-ho is such a sweetie :3

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for the first time since you arrived, you regretted joining the games. you really needed that prize money, but after seeing player 196 and many others being shot during red light green light, all you wanted to do was go home. player 456, seong gi-hun, kept shouting at the players to stop moving and calm down, but you were too overwhelmed. how could you calm down when people were dying right by your side? suddenly you were grabbed by a pair of strong hands— “get behind me, we need to stay in lines, you heard him,” the man said. you nodded and clung onto his shoulders, desperately wanting to survive. you moved in the line, shaking violently in fear. the man in front of you— player 388, his jacket read— touched your arm in comfort. although he was only slightly trembling compared to your shaking, you could sense a mutual understanding between yourselves. as the line moved forward closer to the finish line, your worry dissipated. you were able to drown out the loudspeaker and gunshots by focusing on the shoulders of the man in front of you and the second pair of hands that clung to your waist from behind. after what seemed like an eternity, you reached the finish and immediately collapsed to your knees in relief.

as you were led back into the main room, you immediately laid down on the bed you’d claimed. you wanted, no, needed, to be home. you could’ve died back there, and there were only more games to come. the eerie voice read off the numbers of players who were killed… player 419, player 048, player 196… you shook your head, trying to escape from the visual of their deaths. the bed beside you suddenly creaked— startling you a little at first. eager for some company, you lifted your head and sat up to see who it was. your eyes widened— not only was he the the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, his jacket read “player 388,” meaning he was the one who had saved your life in the first game. you opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off immediately— “player 127, huh. you were behind me in the first game, weren’t you!!” he smiled. you nodded slowly, “yeah, that was me. thank you for saving my life, i was really panicking back there.” you smile and laugh nervously, while he brushes your words off. “it’s nothing!! i was a marine, i’m a little used to it,” he says with a wide grin. he looked unusually happy for someone stuck in this death trap of a game. “i’m dae-ho, kang dae-ho, what’s your name?” you tell him your name, starting to feel comforted once again by his presence. however, he was so cute that he made you anxious at the same time. you learned that he had four older sisters (and was a god at gonggi) and that he was in the marines. you sensed that he was proud of it, he’d already mentioned it more times than you could count— but you found it endearing nonetheless. he was so vulnerable with you and you’d only just met! you opened up to him about the reason why you were here— you took out more loans than you could handle and couldn’t afford your home anymore. this was your last resort, hoping to win your life and your family’s respect back. dae-ho seemed touched by your story, immediately laying a hand on your back. “when did he get so close?” you thought to yourself, while dae-ho continued to rub circles on your back with his thumb. you turned slightly red, ever so conscious of his touch, but still relaxed slightly. “don’t worry,” he whispered. “we’ll make it, we’ll win this and get out, okay?” you smiled back at him, looking into his eyes. “we’re going to make it, i trust you to protect me and i’ll do the same for you. it’s nice to have someone to rely on in a place like this.” dae-ho opened his mouth to respond to you, but your moment was cut short from the familiar monotonous voice coming from the overhead speakers. “attention players, please make your way towards the center of the room for voting.”

you and dae-ho stood up, curious about the voting. “what could we be voting on? is this the second game? i thought it wasn’t supposed to happen until tomorrow,” dae-ho questioned. “maybe they’re splitting us into teams or something. at least that’s what gi-hun is telling us,” you gestured to gi-hun once again screaming to the players in the middle of the room. “i trust him. he seems a little crazy, but he was right about the first game, you know?” dae-ho nodded in agreement. “let’s get on his side, he knows what he’s doing. we’ll be safer there.” the voice on the loudspeaker started calling out the player’s numbers from 456 down. “look, he voted x,” dae-ho whispered as gi-hun pressed the red button. “let’s go with that one,” you said as dae-ho nodded enthusiastically. “the red x means we get to leave. i want to get out of here, even if it means going back to the life i had before. i’d rather do that than die.” more players voted, their numbers being called out one by one. “player 388,” called the voice, and a loud buzz rang out as dae-ho pressed the red button labeled “x.” soon after, it was your turn, pressing x to join dae-ho. you don’t want to admit it, but you’ve taken quite a liking to dae-ho— and not just because he offered to protect you. you needed to get your feelings under control before he or anyone else noticed. you didn’t want to him to change his mind about protecting you and sticking together or even worse, take advantage of it and betray you. despite gi-hun’s words, the “o” side won, meaning they would have to stay the night and participate in a second game. you looked to the other side, seeing the voters cheer. “greedy bastards,” dae-ho whispers in your ear. “they could care less if people die, they just want the money for themselves. they’ll turn on each other eventually.“ you nod in agreement, wishing you were able to leave this hellhole. at least you have dae-ho by your side.

the players were then served dinner— if you could call it that. you pushed around the soggy rice, trying to coerce yourself into eating. dae-ho sits beside you finishing off his tray. he encourages you to eat, telling you “you need energy for the next game tomorrow. finish it, please.” you oblige, spooning the rice into your mouth despite your lack of hunger. the players wander aimlessly around the room, some already forming groups. “x” and “o” voters stay separate, not wanting to mingle with anyone who voted against them. gi-hun and some other players, player 390, player 001, and player 222, were gathered around a nearby bed. setting his tray down, dae-ho asks, “do you want to go over and join them? a group of two will never last against these big groups of five or six.” you agree, and dae-ho pulls you up from the bed and walks with you over to gi-hun’s group. you blush, not expecting him to grab your hand like that. “why is he affecting me this way?” you wonder, “it’s only casual touches. anyone would do this, and here i am turning red over him touching my hand. i have to get it together, i’m in a literal death game.” unknowingly, you appear visibly frustrated at your emotions which only causes dae-ho to ask you what’s wrong. and dae-ho, as you’ve now realized, is a very touchy person— he comforts with his hands and his words. so naturally, he starts rubbing your shoulder, assuming you’re frustrated at the voting results. “it’s nothing, dae-ho, i’m… i’m just thinking that’s all.” “alright,” he responds, “but just know i’m here if you ever need anything. and really, i do mean it.” he smiles again, the image already cemented in the back of your mind, and you can’t help but turn even more red at his words. you really hope he doesn’t notice. “thank you dae-ho, i really appreciate it,” you try to sound as relieved as possible to conceal your flustered state. gi-hun and player 001, who you learned was named young-il, suddenly started talking to dae-ho, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. you internally scold yourself, knowing relying too much on someone else could hurt you— or in this game, even kill you. but dae-ho was too tempting; you already missed his touch and his soothing words. you both joined gi-hun’s group, which hopefully would distract you.

until a few hours later, when dae-ho suggested you sleep in the same bed. “gi-hun said people fought at night in the previous games. they’d be less likely to attack us if we slept in pairs, right? look at gi-hun and young-il. they’re sleeping in the same bed to protect each other!!” dae-ho says excitedly. “dae-ho i don’t think that’s the reason why they’re—“ he cuts you off, saying how he “wants you to be safe” and “needs to make it through the night in one piece.” he seems really excited to protect you and you find it extremely cute. your face gets hot at even the thought of sleeping next to dae-ho, images of his arms wrapped around you already flooding into your mind. “hey, you listening?” dae-ho questions. “we have to pick a bed soon, 10 minutes until lights out!” you catch the tail end of the announcement over the loudspeaker and realize he’s right. “okay, let’s go to this one!” you say as you point to a bed on the second level. “it’s high up, so we can see if anyone’s coming. plus, gi-hun is keeping watch close by, so he’ll be able to warn us!!” dae-ho nods and starts climbing into the bed. you follow, swallowing your anxiousness as you imagine sleeping next to dae-ho. you make it up the ladder and lie down next to him, your heart rate quickening ever so slightly.

you’re hyper aware of his presence— you’re able to feel his heart beating and his chest rising and falling with every breath. you tense up as you feel his face brush against your neck. he seems to sense this tension, soothing you by saying “we’ll be alright, we’re gonna make it out, yeah? we can protect each other.” you nod, telling him “yeah, we’re gonna be alright.” your voice shakes slightly, you’re struggling to hide the fact that dae-ho’s closeness is making you more flustered than you’ve ever been. by now, dae-ho notices the effect he has on you and wants to fluster you even more. he’s smiling to himself— he thinks you’re so cute and loves that he can get you this worked up just by being next to you. he wraps his arms around you slowly, asking “is this okay? you seem stressed and i thought you might need some comfort.” you squeak out “yes dae-ho” and lean into his touch, grasping at his hands with your own. you give into your inner desires, saying “this is more than okay, i really like this dae-ho,” while he holds you even tighter against him. you have a sudden urge to turn around and kiss him, but you hold back purely because he feels so nice wrapped around you like this— you don’t want to ruin it. dae-ho runs his fingers through your hair enjoying how it’s silky and smooth to the touch. he plants quick kisses on your head, speaking softly to you in between them— “we’ll be okay, you know that? i’ll always be here for you, i’ll always protect you.” you are a blushing mess at this point. yes, the comfort’s nice, but he’s gotta know what he’s doing by now. dae-ho keeps mumbling sweet things into your ear, and all you can do is nod and continue to melt into his touch.

the lights go out, yet dae-ho shows no signs of wanting to sleep. he continues cuddling you, arms never leaving your waist unless running a hand through your hair. you’ve become relaxed, already used to his soft touch. you eventually turn around to face him, looking into his wide eyes in the dim light. you can’t help but notice how pretty he looks like this— his lips are slightly parted and his hair is free from his usual half-up half-down style, a few strands hanging into his face. you gently brush them away, giving yourself a clear view of his handsome features. you make eye contact for a short moment in a comfortable silence, the only sounds to be heard were your soft breaths. dae-ho leans closer, your nose brushing against his own. you feel his breath against your skin and shudder slightly at the warmth of it. “can i try something?” he whispers, looking into your eyes again. “please dae-ho,” you whisper back almost immediately. you need dae-ho’s lips on yours, you need to feel his hands in your hair again— you just need him. dae-ho leans in, and your lips connect in a gentle but passionate kiss. you savor the moment, not wanting to ever let go. your hands find his hair and you press yourself closer to him, needing to be enveloped by his warmth. dae-ho continues the kiss, deepening it ever so slightly. you drag your hands out of his hair and caress his waist, rubbing it as dae-ho continues to kiss you. after a moment he pulls away panting slightly, the biggest smile on his face. you can’t help but grin back, not expecting dae-ho to want you that badly. “dae-ho…” you whisper, needing more of him. he notices your desperation, and kisses you again, but only for a split second. “shh, we have another game tomorrow. we need rest,” he says as he smirks at you. “see, everyone’s asleep.” “not gi-hun and young-il!” you counter, giggling slightly. dae-ho looks over and sees that gi-hun wasn’t the only one who was keeping watch— he actually had young-il by his side. “okay well besides them,” dae-ho laughs, “but we still need rest!! we can fall asleep in each other’s arms. you know, i’ve been thinking about that since the moment i saw you.” you blush, not expecting dae-ho to share your fantasies. “dae-ho i’ve been thinking about that too,” you say as you bury yourself into his chest. dae-ho wraps his arms around you once again, holding you tight while stroking your back. you fall asleep almost immediately, and dae-ho kisses your forehead before falling asleep himself. you sleep soundly in his embrace, almost forgetting about the games completely.

the end~

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[toto-the-cactus]

Thoughts about Guilimans daughter (who I have named Olyssia Guiliman) being the little baby sister to the ultramarine. Adorable. Now picture adult Olyssia, the Lady of Macragge being the elder sister. Olyssia seeing Ultramarines, so long lives to the baselines, but still so quickly gone to she who has lived millenia.

I'll be frank here, I pulled this short thing out of my ass at 3am so hope this actually gives you some fun when comparing old astartes regarding Roboute's daughter vs 40k astartes regarding Roboute's daughter. Not a lot, but I had fun writing it.

-°-

Titus had heard about the Lady of Macragge during his years as a Neophyte.

Most astartes do after undergoing the gene-seed implantation, but it was usually mentioned in reverence the same way one did with a Primarch’s name during the preachings. Before any of that, the primaris had never even seen a sculpture or portrait of the Lady.

To see her in person alongside her father, their Father, was quite an experience he had yet to express properly; mind still unable to believe that he is in their presence while inside the one place in the Macragge’s Honour that just a handful of firstborn astartes were allowed into: The Resting Home of the Legion Mother.

The fact that he had been brought here by Calgar himself was the one thing that kept Titus in check to not kneel rushedly in front of his Primarch and trueborn like just some initiated marine; this was a place of peace and quiet that needed to be respected and more specially when both husband and daughter mourned the prone body of the woman inside the stasis field that kept her life in a limbo.

“My Lord” saluted Calgar but once his eye strayed to the Lady, his expression softened in a way that caught Demetrius by surprise. “Hello, little one” he said this time with a tender influx. Nothing like the hardened Chapter Master that the primaris had come to know.

“Hi, Calgar” answered the young woman with obvious strain in her tone and a few traces of tears on her face.

It had been said in the past that when the Lady of Macragge always visited her mother’s sleeping form, crying could be heard from the outside. One thing was hearing the serfs mentioning such a fact but another abysmal thing to see it become true. He had heard the fates this woman, the granddaughter of the Emperor, had achieved during her years leading the Ultramarines after the Heresy.

To see her reduced like this by the grief was… humbling and strange.

“To what I own this interruption, Calgar?” asked the Primarch impatiently. Eyes never leaving the face of his wife as if he hoped to see a change in her peaceful expression.

With that question, both Guilliman and Marneus went a bit far to speak privately from them. Leaving Titus and the Lady alone.

This couldn’t be more awkward.

Demetrian still had to wrap his head around how the Chapter Master simply greeted the young woman with a familiarity that floored him. As if her status as trueborn was merely a decoration extending from her.

“You’re Demetrian Titus, right?”

At her soft voice, the primaris finally dared to look at the Lady to her eyes. She was practically a carbon copy of the Primarch, but her baseline genetics did a good job to smooth the rough edges.

“That is correct, my Lady” he answered the same he would when regarded by a superior. “It’s an honor to even be let inside this sacred room, my Lady. I feel humbled that you know my name too”

“It’s the minimum I can do as my father’s daughter… I always try to remember the names of the astartes that Big Brother Calgar always mentions more than once”

Titus, again, has to do a double take at the familiarity the Lady refers to someone like the Chapter Master.

Where he looks up at her in both reverence and curiosity, those that have lived before the Heresy had known the Lady of Macragge when still a child of bright eyes.

-°-

Titus when Olyssia knew his name the very first time they met:

[rincewitch]

god i thought i was doing bad after the election but since inauguration day my mental health has just completely collapsed

i feel like the current situation calls for a level of resilience that i’m just not really capable of. but like. i wish i was stronger and braver and tougher, i wish crisis and catastrophe would galvanize me or be a call to action or even just spite or whatever instead of constantly feeling like i’m made of glass and about to shatter

am i doomscrolling? i’m probably doomscrolling. i know i shouldn’t be doomscrolling. but there’s so much going on and it’s all so bad so that like literally the most basic awareness of current events (including the ones that are like immediately relevant to my life as a trans woman) is— psychologically speaking anyway— basically indistinguishable from just drinking from the firehose of perpetual misery

maybe what i really want is for someone to just pat me on the head and tell me that everything is going to be okay. but that’s a childish thing to want. but also i’m exhausted by spending so much time marinating in anxiety and dread and it’s only been like. a couple weeks

i don’t want to spend four years like this. i guess i will if i have to, because of the linear nature of time— there’s nowhere to go but further into the future, even if i’m just constantly afraid and on edge and on the cusp of panic. i felt like that during the height of the pandemic, and eventually i did stop feeling like that. but, you know, i would prefer not to have to do that again. but the scale and scope and pace of events, the way they span both high politics (are we on the verge of societal collapse? is the world economy about to explode because of tariffs or whatever?) and the business of everyday life (like trying to figure out getting my name and gender marker change sorted out) kind of short circuits whatever coping tools i have that might address one sort of anxiety or another. is there like one weird trick for not losing my mind during the second trump administration?

uhhh anyway in summary:

[ldydeath]

Let's Make This Count | Kang Dae-ho

Summary: You've entered into Squid Game to help pay off some debts, not expecting your best friend, Daeho to be there. You both will do anything to proect each other, no matter the cost.

Warnings: Typical squid game stuff.

Author's Note: This is my first time writing Dae-ho. If you'd like to be tagged in future fics of his, please let me know.

Life has been hard lately, which is why when you’d been presented a chance at fixing at least one of those things, you’d jumped at the chance. You however, hadn’t been expecting this to be a game of death. You’d heard player 456’s cries to listen to him at the start of the game, but like everyone else you had ignored him. That was until that girl moved during red light, the chaos that had ensued after that had you praying to gods you didn’t believe in to keep yourself safe. You’d been in Squid Game for a few hours now and already had the blood of your competition splattered over you. You were definitely in over your head and needed to get out. 

Thankfully, the pink suits had announced a vote and you prayed everyone would agree to send you home. You’d been standing for what felt like hours waiting for your number to be called, listening to play 456 plead with everyone to leave the games. He’d been here before so you were definitely going to take his advice. Once your number was called you made your way quickly to the front, voting to go home. You may have needed money, but you’d find another way. You weren’t going to die over some debt.

As you were putting your x badge on your jacket your eyes caught sight of a familiar, gorgeous face and your breath caught in your throat. No. He couldn’t be here. Why was he here? Daeho’s eyes met yours and his brows crinkled in confusion. You shook your head and made your way to your spot. There were too many people around to talk comfortably yet and you weren’t exactly sure it was safe to announce that you knew someone else in the games. That mother and son duo seemed to be the only exception to that rule, and you weren’t about to chance it. After play 001 voted, the pink soldiers announced that there would be another game in the morning, panic rising in your body.

Trying to act normal, you turned to head towards your bunk when you felt a hand on your arm “don’t touch-“ you let out a breath, thankful you didn’t have to fight for your life when you came face to face with your best friend. “What are you doing here?” He hissed, panic in his eyes. You shrugged out of his grip, crossing your arms defensively. “I needed money. What are you doing here?” 

His hand went to his hair, fixing the bun that sat on top of his head and nodded in the direction of some empty bunks.  “I also needed money, why else would I be here?” You raised a brow as you followed him towards the private spot. You wanted to know what he could possibly need money for, but Daeho was so private you knew you’d never get that answer. Even if you were his best friend. “You shouldn’t be here, Dae.” You sighed as you leaned against the wall. 

You couldn’t protect your best friend, not from this.  After Daeho enlisted in the Marines you had a never ending supply of worry in your body for him. Constantly fearing the worst, him being here was going to distract you from staying alive. Your heart raced at the thought of either of not making it out and your eyes found his. “I can’t lose you.” It came out as a whisper but you knew he’d heard you as he moved closer to you.

His hand moved to cup your cheek, “Come on, I’m a Marine, I’ve got this. And I’ve got you. We’re going to get out  of here. I promise.” You nodded, moving to lean your head on his chest. You knew it would be bad if anyone caught you panicking but as Daeho's hands wound around your body you allowed yourself to take a few minutes to collect yourself. Perhaps it wasn’t normal to feel so much comfort from a friend, but you weren’t ready to dive into those feelings, not yet. “We don’t die.” He murmured against your hair. “We don’t die.” You repeated. He grinned at you before walking you over to your bunk, making sure nobody messed with you as you got sleep. 

The next game was a team game, Daeho took the lead in finding you a group, being the friendlier person in your duo. You’d somehow managed to end up with player 456 and player 001. You said a nervous hello and stuck close to your best friend. After you completed your task perfectly, the team cheated, Daeho pulling you in for a quick side hug as you marched forward. For a second, with his arm wrapped protectively around you, you almost forgot that you were fighting for your life inside these games. 

After the game had ended you stood with your newly found team, waiting for the next vote. You had all agreed to vote to go home again so when it was your turn to vote, you proudly hit that x and put the badge on your jacket. Almost as if on instinct, Daeho moved to stand next to you as you awaited the rest of the votes. As the final four players made their way to the front, your hand reached out, grabbing his, he gave you a squeeze in response. Your heart raced at the touch and you looked down at your entwined hands before meeting your best friends’ eye.

So, maybe you had a crush on your best friend, maybe that was why you were so afraid to lose him. Either way, this wasn’t the time to start admitting your feelings, so when he smiled at you you smiled back and pushed those thoughts down, hoping that these votes would go in your favor and you’d be able to go home. A groan rang out amongst your peers and you looked up to see that there was only one vote left and you’d lost. Your mouth hanging open in shock as you turned back to Dae.

Another game? Why would anyone want to stay here? “Let’s Go!” someone shouted from across the room and you looked around spotting the purple haired man high fiving his friend. Of course he’d be excited to stay. “Hey, look at me.” Daeho’s hand was under your chin moving your gaze back to him, your heart racing as you locked eyes. Daeho had always been in tune with your mood, and would do anything in his power to keep you calm and safe. You were the most important person in his life and even in a game of literal life and death he was going to do whatever it took to make sure you weren’t living in constant fear. “We’ll get through this one together too, okay?” You swallowed the lump in your throat refusing to let the rest of your team see you so defeated and nodded. “Yeah.” You agreed. 

“Let’s go get some food and talk strategy for the next time.” He held his hand out for you, a reassuring grin on his face and you eagerly took his hand following him to your new found team. You weren’t sure you wanted to be close to anyone else in the game, but you also knew you couldn’t keep Dae alive without some help so you were going to do whatever it took to keep him alive, even if that meant making nice with people who all had one goal in mind. You scooted closer to Daeho, your hand resting on his leg and he grinned at you as he started eating his food. You didn't care if you made it out of here or not, so long as he did.

[moeitsu]

The Dark Tide Siren!Arthur Morgan x Reader Modern AU Ch 2 - The Pearl Does Not Mourn The Shell Summary: Charles performs a delicate surgery on Arthur, carefully removing embedded fragments and stabilizing his condition while revealing startling details about his unique anatomy. As the procedure unfolds, you grapple with the profound connection you've formed with Arthur, confronting both the cruelty he's endured and the overwhelming pull between you. wc: 8k tw: blood, gore, descriptions of monster anatomy Swim Back! ↞ ﹏𓊝﹏ ↠ Sail Ahead!

In the several months I'd been working for Heartland's Aquatic Rehabilitation and Restoration Program, I had never seen Charles Smith—our unshakable, seen-it-all marine vet—look so utterly dumbfounded.

"Christ, John, you seriously weren't kidding." He muttered into his fist, resting his elbow on one knee as he crouched to Arthur's level, eyes scanning every inch of the impossible sight before him.

The minutes leading up to Charles' arrival had been tense, filled with John's grumbling about how much convincing it had taken to get him out here. Apparently, Charles thought the whole thing was a joke—until John's persistence, and maybe the sheer desperation in his voice, finally wore him down.

Now, watching his gaze trace Arthur's long, scaled form with barely concealed awe, I felt only slightly vindicated.

"He's some kind of merman, isn't he?" I asked before I could stop myself. The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. It sounded ridiculous. Childish, even. Magical sea creatures belonged in bedtime stories, not in the real world—not bleeding out on the beach beneath my hands.

And yet... what else could I call this beautiful beast dying before us?

Charles clicked his tongue, standing up to stretch his back as he slowly walked around Arthur's long torso and tail, taking in every detail. "I'm inclined to say yes." He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "Or more specifically, a Siren. Though I'm nowhere near qualified to make that call."

Arthur's reaction was immediate. His slitted blue eyes narrowed further, dark and untrusting, watching Charles like a cornered animal sizing up a new predator. He tried to turn his torso to follow Charles' movements, but the motion sent a fresh jolt of pain through his body. He winced, his muscles seizing.

Instinctively I knelt closer, pressing a warm reassuring hand to his shoulder. I could feel John's eyes burning a hole in the back of my head as he took in the familial gesture. But I ignored it, Arthur seemed to welcome my touch, and right now he desperately needed a friend.

"We need to get him back into the water," I said, glancing at Charles. "His gills are drying up, and the salt will help clean the wound."

Charles gave a sharp nod. "Agreed. We can figure out what he is later. Right now, we need to move him." He turned toward the shoreline, motioning to the little pilot boat rocking against the current as it was brought up to the beach. "I've got the medical supplies on the Atlantis. Lenny's waiting for me onboard. If we can get him into the boat I'll take care of the rest."

Lenny Summers was Charles' veterinary technician assistant—a college intern earning credits over the summer. Bright, eager, and probably not even remotely prepared for whatever the hell this was. The more people we brought into this, the more the reality of what we were doing finally settled in. And that frightened me.

Or rather, it frightened Arthur.

The thought of putting him through more discomfort, of forcing him into the unknown with strangers, made my chest ache. But he was in pain, bleeding out and losing strength with every passing minute. I trusted these people with my life. When it came to aquatic rescues, we pulled together like a well-oiled machine. We had to. It was our purpose and our pride.

John, however, was the most apprehensive. And he wasn't sold on the idea of helping him yet.

"We're really doing this?" He shot me a look, exasperation written all over his face as he watched Charles jog toward the boat to push it back into the water in preparation for the move. "We're really bringing this thing back to central? Do we even know if this is .... safe?"

A huff of irritation slipped past my lips before I could stop it.

Thing.

The word felt wrong. Cruel, even. It reduced him to something lesser—something disposable. And yet, how could I call him anything else when I still didn't fully understand what he was? But I did know one thing: Arthur wasn't just some mindless creature washed up on the sand, some anomaly to be studied and cataloged like a rare fish. He was someone.

He had a name.

He had feelings.

He had pain. I could see it in the way his body tensed, the way his gills flared with each labored breath. In the way he reacted to my touch, that brief shimmer of light that sent my heart leaping. I could see it in the haunted depths of his eyes, dark and sharp, filled with something distinctly aware. He wasn't just reacting to the world around him—he was understanding it. He was understanding me.

Not only did he recognize my words, but he had trusted me enough to answer them. To give me his name. That alone meant something. It meant everything.

Because a thing wouldn't have done that. A thing wouldn't have looked at me the way he did, with wariness and fear, but also something softer, something vulnerable. A thing wouldn't have been able to trust. And if he could trust me, then I owed him more than being dismissed as some nameless thing.

"John," I sighed, shaking my head. "Come on. There's a risk that comes with every job, you know this."

He wasn't heartless. Just blunt, practical, and—if I had to guess—mildly horrified by the entire situation. And truthfully I couldn't blame him. John wasn't a marine biologist or a vet. He was a maintenance technician for the rehab center, responsible for keeping the lights, pumps, and filters running. Hell, the guy couldn't even swim! But more than that, he was Hosea's son, and his father had instilled in him the same core values that ran through the foundation of this program. And I'll be damned if that man didn't put his heart into every creature we rescued, no matter their size, their condition, or the risk.

So, I gave him a pointed look and asked, "What would Hosea say about this?"

John opened his mouth to argue, but I beat him to it.

"We save those who need saving. Protect those who need protecting."

John exhaled hard through his nose. I could see the moment he caved, his shoulders slumping in reluctant resignation.

"And give all creatures a fighting chance," he grumbled, finishing the mantra we all knew by heart.

Exactly. And Arthur? He deserved that chance.

I couldn't help but smile. Things were finally coming together—we were going to get Arthur some help, whether John liked it or not.

I glanced down at him. His body was trembling from pain and blood loss, but his focus wasn't on his wounds. He was watching the men's movements like a hawk, his sharp eyes darting between them, tracking every step, every shift in posture. It seemed like the male of my species was only good at setting him on edge.

"It'll be okay, Arthur," I murmured softly.

At the sound of his name, he twitched, his gills flaring slightly.

"We're going to get you the help you need. Just try to relax."

It felt strange, comforting something that wasn't quite human, yet it came as naturally as breathing. I didn't know why his well-being had become so important to me, why the thought of his suffering made my chest ache. He looked utterly beautiful and broken. How could someone do something like this to him? It made my heart fill with anger and a burning need for justice. All I knew was that I wanted to ease his pain. That I needed to.

When Charles returned, we quickly revised a plan to get him to the boat. With his sheer size and the wound sapping his strength, it was going to be nearly impossible to move him without causing more pain.

"Let's try dragging him into the shallows first," Charles instructed. "Once he's in the water, we can maneuver him onto the mat and move it back to the boat." He glanced between John and me, rubbing his chin in thought. "John, you take the tail. I'll grab his, uh... shoulders."

The moment the men stepped forward and took hold, Arthur reacted.

A sharp, fearful cry tore from his throat, the kind of sound that came from deep within the chest—primal, instinctive, desperate. His entire body locked up, muscles rigid as if bracing for a blow. His fingers twitched, then dug into the damp sand, claws sinking deep, scraping against the shifting grains as if trying to anchor himself, to stop whatever was coming.

Panic rolled off of him in waves, his chest rising and falling in erratic, shallow gasps. His gills flared wildly, his breath hitching like a drowning man just barely keeping his head above the waves. His tail trembled, not in pain, but in fear. I felt his mood shift like the wind. A fear so intense it crackled in the air between us like a coming storm.

I could see it in his eyes—wide, dark, filled with something close to terror. It wasn't just the pain making him react this way. It was them. It clicked in the back of my mind, a realization as cold as the seawater lapping at our feet.

He does not trust men. A man must have been the one to do this to him.

Oh, I should have known. Men have always had a way of ruining what they cannot control, of breaking what they cannot possess. I will never understand why—why something as breathtaking as Arthur, something so otherworldly and rare, could be seen as nothing more than something to take. To own. To conquer.

Power and greed have driven men to do unspeakable things—to the land, to the sea, to each other. History is littered with the bones of what was once beautiful, turned to dust in the hands of those who saw value only in domination. Arthur was no different, he was not safe from their cruel hands.

Someone had looked upon him, upon the sheer wonder of his existence, and instead of reverence, they saw opportunity. They saw something to be used, or worse—defiled. And like so many things before him, he had suffered for it.

"Wait! Stop!" I shouted, throwing my arms out in front of them. "He's afraid of you, afraid of your touch."

The urgency in my voice made them freeze, but John let out an annoyed groan. "Are you serious?"

"Talk to him," I insisted, glancing down at Arthur's rigid form. His tail twitched, the thick muscle spasming as if preparing to flee—but there was nowhere for him to go. "Explain what you're doing before you just grab him like that."

John scoffed. "You really think he understands a damn word we're saying?"

"Yes," I said firmly, eyes locked onto Arthur's terrified expression. "He does. He's just scared. I'm afraid whatever he's been through is far worse than we can imagine. Just talk to him, please. I promise he understands. He told me his name is Arthur."

Silence stretched between us. John looked skeptical, but Charles gave me a considerate look before nodding.

"Alright. But we need to move quickly—he's losing too much blood."

I moved into position near Arthur's torso, carefully placing my hands just above where his human skin gave way to shimmering scales. His breathing was uneven, and when I pressed lightly, I could feel the tension running through every fiber of him, muscles wound so tight they trembled. Trying not to stare at his gaping wound, I met his eyes and gave him a soft, reassuring smile.

Charles cleared his throat and crouched beside us. "Uh... Arthur. My name's Charles. I'm a vet. Well, a doctor I s'pose. I–um–I help sea creatures when they're hurt." He spoke slowly, making sure Arthur was watching his mouth, and his hands. "We need to get you into the water. It'll help you breathe better." Charles gestured to the water than to his own neck, inhaling and exhaling exaggeratedly.

Arthur's eyes flicked to him, his expression wary. I could feel his hesitation, his body still rigid beneath my hands.

"Once we get you there, we'll move you onto a rubber mat and tow you to my boat," Charles continued, motioning toward the water where the pilot boat bobbed in the waves. "From there, we'll take you back to the center where I can examine you—make sure you'll be okay."

Arthur didn't move. His shoulders remained tight, his jaw clenched, but something in his gaze flickered—uncertainty, trust warring against fear.

I leaned in closer, lowering my voice. "Charles wouldn't hurt a shark even if it bit his finger off. You can trust him. You can trust us."

To my surprise, John chimed in, albeit gruffly. "Charles is good people," he said. "You'll be safe with him. I can promise that."

Arthur's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his body still coiled with tension—but slowly, ever so slightly, he allowed it.

"Alright," Charles exhaled. "Let's move."

On the count of three, we lifted him.

A sickening suction sound came from the sand as his body peeled away, his thick, sluggish blood turning it into something almost cement-like, making every movement more difficult. Arthur hissed sharply, his claws scraping uselessly at the shifting grains beneath him before taking purchase against my shoulder. His movements were heavy, and I could feel the tips of his claws, but my body was the least of my concerns.

We didn't hesitate. The moment we had him up, we moved as quickly as possible toward the water, uncaring as the waves crashed against our thighs. My legs ached with the weight, but I focused only on Arthur, on his face, the way his dark blond hair fanned out in the wind, strands clinging to his damp skin.

But as soon as the seawater lapped against his wound, everything went to hell.

Arthur sucked in a sharp, wheezing breath, his entire body jolting with pain. His clawed hand squeezed my arm, his fingers trembling violently. I braced for the sting of his claws, expecting him to dig into my flesh again, but instead—

A guttural, pained noise tore from his throat.

"H-hurts..."

The rasping, barely formed word made my stomach plummet.

John recoiled, nearly dropping his lower half. "Holy shit!"

I barely had time to process the horror in John's voice before Arthur convulsed violently.

"Hold on—" I started, but before we could react, his entire body seized, muscles spasming.

And then—he retched. We lost our grip as he lurched forward, vomiting into the water, his entire frame wracked with violent tremors. The sudden movement sent us stumbling, struggling to steady him, to help him, but every jolt of his body sent another agonized groan from his lips. The waves crawled higher, their force threatened to pull us down. John couldn't go out much further or he risked drowning.

This was too much. Too fast. He was already so weak, and this was making him sick.

"We need to move now!" I shouted, my voice laced with panic.

Charles was already running toward the boat, grabbing the rope and pulling it toward us. The rubber mat was secured in a net, the same one we used to transport large animals from the shore to the rescue center. It had carried dolphins and sea turtles home before, but looking at it now, I wasn't sure it would be enough to hold Arthur.

Still, it was our only option.

John and I maneuvered Arthur toward the net as gently as possible, but every shift, every touch made him shudder in pain. He let out low, agonized whines, his hands twitching like he was fighting the instinct to struggle, to flee.

I wanted to tell him it was okay. That we were almost there. That this nightmare would be over soon. But the moment his exhausted body slumped into the net, I wasn't sure if he even had the strength left to believe me.

Now came phase two: getting him somewhere safe.

"I'll take him from here. Lenny's starting the engines now—meet back at central, yeah?" Charles called as he hauled himself into the boat, already jerking the rope-start until the motor roared to life, shattering the stillness of the night with its low, guttural rumble.

The moment the engine flared, Arthur flinched. His entire body tensed, his fins bristling, and before I could react, his hand shot out—grasping for something, for me.

My breath hitched.

His fingers, cold and slick from the seawater, wrapped around my arm—not forceful, not clawing, just holding. Seeking.

My heart thundered in my ears.

He was scared, and he turned to me. He was hurting, and he wanted me. The thought made my pulse race. What the hell am I even thinking?

His grip was firm but careful, as if afraid of causing me more harm. His deep blue eyes, dark as the depths he came from, locked onto mine, wide and pleading. The unspoken desperation in them clenched something deep in my chest. He didn't want me to leave.

"It's alright, honey," I whispered, curling my fingers over his. "I'll be right behind you. It's a short ride—we'll see each other again soon."

But my reassurance wasn't enough. His hand tightened ever so slightly, his silent plea pressing into my skin. I looked up at Charles, who was watching the exchange carefully from his seat in the boat. He saw the look in Arthur's eyes. The same look that was making it impossible for me to let go.

Charles exhaled sharply, then nodded.

"Get in."

I didn't need to be told twice.

I barely registered the way the boat dipped under my weight as I climbed in, my attention still locked on Arthur. Even as Charles revved the engine again, sending a new vibration through the small vessel, Arthur didn't let go until I was fully seated beside him. Only then did his fingers finally loosen, his body slumping slightly, as if the last of his fight had drained from him now that I was here.

John, still knee-deep in the water, didn't question my choice to go with them. He was already wading back to shore, calling out over his shoulder. "I'll head over and get a tank set up—meet you guys out back by the docking station."

Charles lifted a hand in acknowledgment, adjusting the throttle as we started to pull away from the shore.

I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted over the growing distance, "Thanks, Marston—guess I owe you one for not getting eaten!" I teased.

John scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah—just don't make a habit of rescuing sea monsters with bigger teeth than me!"

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't fight the small smile tugging at my lips.

As we rolled steadily through the waves, the boat cutting a quiet path through the dark water, I found myself unable to look away from Arthur.

The sea cradled him, the gentle rise and fall of the waves lapping at his body as if beckoning him home. His hair, damp and tangled, fanned out around his face, strands clinging to his forehead and cheekbones, catching the moonlight in silvered streaks. He looked otherworldly like this—half-draped in shadow, half-illuminated by the cold glow of the night, a creature caught between two worlds.

I leaned over the side, the salty wind curling around me, and with the back of my finger, I carefully brushed a strand of hair from his face. His skin was damp beneath my touch, cooler than I expected, but solid, real. He didn't flinch, didn't pull away. Only watched me with tired blue eyes.

His tail, impossibly long and heavy, hung over the edge of the net, draped at an awkward angle. Even now, with the weight of exhaustion pressing into him, the powerful muscle beneath the iridescent scales seemed restless, twitching faintly with every shift of the boat. The moonlight danced across its surface, catching on deep purples and midnight blues, reflecting colors I had never seen in any ocean-dwelling creature before. I couldn't help but wonder what it would look like in motion—how it might cut through the water with effortless grace, how the strength of it could propel him through the depths like a phantom of the sea.

He exhaled slowly, a shuddering breath that told me how much pain he was still in, how much energy it was taking just to be here. But even as his body trembled with exhaustion, his eyes never left mine.

Dark, slitted, full of something that felt like a deepening connection. I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

I had no idea what I'd just signed myself up for. But I knew, without a doubt, that I wasn't letting him go.

⋅─⊱༺ 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 ༻⊰─⋅

By the time we arrived, John already had one of the portable rehabilitation pools set up. It was a simple structure—three feet deep, circular, not nearly big enough for Arthur to swim freely. But at this point, rest and medical attention were far more important than movement.

Moving him from the dock to the tank was an ordeal. Excruciating, even. Arthur was heavy, his body limp from exhaustion, and every shift elicited a barely audible groan of pain. It took all four of us—John, Charles, Lenny, and myself—to maneuver him from one place to another. John secured the ropes around the mat, bracing himself as Charles, Lenny, and I heaved with everything we had. Muscles burned. Breath came short. But after several agonizing moments, Arthur finally slipped into the water with a dull splash.

Charles immediately left for the lab to grab his tools, while Lenny darted to his office in search of anything—a textbook, an encyclopedia, a scrap of knowledge that might tell us how the hell to care for this creature. Essentially, we were all grasping in the dark. But we had to try.

Because Arthur's life was slipping away with the tide.

His body barely reacted to the movement anymore, his exhaustion so deep it was as if his mind had already begun retreating. That was not a good sign.

Once we managed to maneuver him onto a small raised platform within the pool—a stable place where we could examine him without fully submerging him—I finally got my first good look at him under the bright lights.

I barely noticed that my clothes were soaked, clinging to my skin in the humid warmth of the facility. All I could focus on was him.

Under the harsh glow of the overhead fluorescents, his iridescent beauty dimmed. His slitted pupils narrowed further, not from fear this time, but as a biological response—filtering the light. My first thought was that his natural habitat must be dark, perhaps underwater caves or deep ocean trenches. Somewhere far from the reach of men.

Then my gaze shifted downward.

Scars.

Not just the fresh wound bleeding sluggishly from his abdomen, but old ones. Evidence of past suffering etched into his skin like an unspoken history. Some were thin, mere whispers of pain long healed, while others were brutal—deep, jagged reminders of wounds that had once bled as freely as the one we fought to mend now.

They shimmered beneath the water, their silvery-blue hue catching the light like polished opal beneath the skin. The edges of some were raised, the texture of thickened scar tissue standing out against the otherwise smooth expanse of his scales. Others had left behind gaps, places where iridescence had been stripped away, leaving dull, uneven patches behind.

Near the base of his tail, where it flared outward in elegant, fin-like extensions, a particularly thick scar curled around the muscle—its shape unmistakable. It wrapped around like a noose, the flesh there rawer-looking than the rest, as if something had bitten deep, tightened, and held. A rope burn. A restraint. Proof that he had been bound.

A sick feeling coiled in my gut. Someone had tried to claim him. To own him.

John cleared his throat, standing on the platform next to the pool. For once, there was no sarcasm, no skepticism in his expression—just grim understanding. For the first time, he was really seeing the extent of the damage Arthur had endured.

"He's in bad shape," John muttered. His voice was quieter than usual, like speaking too loudly might shatter something fragile. "You sure someone did this to him? Could've been an animal—fighting over food, territory, or..." He hesitated, then sighed. "A mate?"

It was a logical assumption. John always saw things through the lens of nature—where creatures acted on instinct, not cruelty. He understood that better than anyone. The scars that marred his chin, cheek, and nose were proof of that.

I knew the story well. A year before I'd come along, John had nearly died rescuing an ancient alligator, an old beast with jaws powerful enough to crush bone. He'd been alone, and in the chaos of the rescue, the gator had turned on him, snapping its massive jaws around his face. Somehow, miraculously, he survived. And yet, not once had he blamed the creature.

Because animals didn't hate. They didn't torture.

Men, on the other hand...

I flexed my fingers, and pain flared up my wrist. The wound Arthur had given me throbbed, likely reopening from the exertion. I made a mental note to change the bandages when this was all over.

I guess now I'd have my own scars to match John's.

I shook my head. "These aren't natural wounds," I said firmly. "They were deliberate. The flesh around his wrists is torn—like he was bound." My voice wavered, anger and grief mixing into something heavy in my chest. "And his tail... there are marks where scales should be, like he was tied to something."

John exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening. He didn't argue. Didn't try to offer another explanation. Because deep down, we both knew.

I swallowed hard and let my gaze drift lower, where skin met scales. My stomach clenched as my eyes landed on the gaping slit, the deep, angry wound that should not have been there.

Arthur's mating slit had been mutilated. There was no question about it now. This wasn't an accident. This wasn't nature.

This was human cruelty.

John leaned forward for a closer look—and audibly winced.

"Well..." he muttered after a beat, rubbing a hand down his face. "He's in good hands now."

As if on cue, Charles stormed back into the room, dressed in a wetsuit and carrying a bucket full of medical tools.

"I've gotta get home to Abi and Jack," John said, shaking his head with a humorless chuckle. "They're not gonna believe a damn word of this."

As he turned toward the exit, Charles laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's keep this quiet until Hosea gets a look in the morning," he said. "Warden Adler's gonna have a field day with all the paperwork."

John gave a short nod, then disappeared through the door.

As soon as it clicked shut, Charles dropped down into the water, setting the bucket on the platform. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and reached for a bottle of orange iodine. I followed his lead, tugging on my own gloves before laying out his tools. Right now, this was just an examination. Once we understood what we were dealing with, then we could prepare for surgery.

"Lenny's getting the heating pads ready," Charles murmured as he worked, his focus already locked on Arthur's still form. "He's also mixing a small dose of morphine and amoxicillin into the water—should help him relax."

"How's he doing?"

I exhaled. "Bout as good as he looks."

Arthur lay motionless on the platform, his eyes lidded, his breathing shallow. The rhythmic flare of his gills was soft—too soft. His body was struggling to regulate oxygen, the sluggish movement of his operculum suggesting respiratory distress. Shudders wracked his frame at irregular intervals, a clear sign of metabolic exhaustion, likely from prolonged stress and blood loss. His dermal layer, normally slick and hydrated, appeared pallid in some areas, the delicate membrane at the edges of his fins already beginning to dry.

I quickly grabbed a small electric siphon, submerging one end into the water while using the other to gently trickle cool, saline-rich seawater over his gills and along his body. The moisture would help maintain an osmotic balance, preventing dehydration and further physiological strain while we worked to stabilize him.

Charles frowned but said nothing, reaching for the stethoscope around his neck. He pressed the cold diaphragm to Arthur's chest, his brows furrowing almost immediately. He moved it to another spot. Then another.

"That's..." He trailed off, eyes widening slightly. "That's incredible."

I stiffened. "What?"

Charles pulled the scope away, draping it around his neck again as he lifted Arthur's wrist to check a pulse. When he looked at me, there was a strange mix of awe and urgency in his expression.

"He has two hearts. Two separate pulses."

My mouth parted, the weight of the revelation settling over me. Two hearts.

Without thinking, I leaned in, pressing my cheek against Arthur's chest. He was warm, alive. And then—

There it was.

A second beat, a second rhythm—steady yet fragile, like the ebb and flow of the tide. Two hearts pulsing in tandem beneath my skin, their cadence slightly off-sync, creating a melody that was both foreign and mesmerizing. It was deeper than a human heartbeat, stronger. A low, thrumming vibration that resonated through my fingertips, like the distant rumble of waves crashing against the ocean floor. I could feel him everywhere—not just beneath my hand, but in the space between breaths, in the weight of the water around us, in the quiet, unspoken connection passing between us.

Before I could process it, a new sound reached my ears—deep within his chest, muffled. Like listening through water. A rumble of sorts. Soft, rhythmic, soothing even. A sound that felt content, almost like...

Purring.

But before I could make sense of it, Charles cleared his throat. His expression had darkened, his attention locked on the wound below Arthur's abdomen.

His jaw tightened, and when he finally spoke, his voice was grim. "It looks like a deep puncture from a serrated object. The surrounding tissue shows signs of severe trauma, with multiple lacerations radiating outward, suggesting the weapon was forcibly removed. The uneven tearing indicates that barbs or jagged edges caught on the muscle, intensifying the damage. There's significant swelling and inflammation, and given the sluggish bleeding, he's already lost a dangerous amount of blood. We need to clean and close this quickly before sepsis sets in."

I watched as Charles' gentle hands pressed lightly around the torn flesh, his fingers careful but firm as he assessed the extent of the damage. Arthur twitched beneath his touch, a faint tremor rolling through his abdomen, but he didn't fight. The tissue was inflamed, the edges of the wound swollen and raw, the deep gash weeping sluggish, dark blood. When Charles carefully prodded the area just beneath the torn skin, Arthur's muscles tensed, a low, pained whimper vibrating from his chest.

It felt wrong to witness this. Wrong to see him like this, laid out and vulnerable, his body carved open like something to be studied rather than saved. My throat tightened with something dangerously close to guilt, as if my presence alone was an intrusion, as if I had no right to be here. The wound was so personal, a violence inflicted not just on his body but on him. Whoever had done this hadn't just tried to kill him—they had tried to take something from him, to take away some part of what he was.

I had to remind myself that we were here to help. That this wasn't an autopsy or an examination—it was a fight to keep him alive.

As Charles was about to speak again, a deep rumbling voice filled the silence. It was strained, and almost incomprehensible.

"Har—poon." Arthur breathed.

The word sent a chill through me.

Harpoon.

A weapon made for hunting. For killing.

I felt my stomach lurch as the implications settled in. Someone had done this to him on purpose. Someone had looked at Arthur—not as a living being, not as something intelligent or sentient—but as prey. As a trophy.

Charles' jaw flexed, his hands stilling over the wound. His usual clinical detachment wavered, giving way to something darker—something close to anger.

"A harpoon," he echoed, voice low. "Son of a bitch."

I tried to imagine it-the pain and the fear.

The sheer agony he must have endured as cold metal tore through flesh not meant to be pierced. How long had he suffered with it lodged inside him, the jagged edges digging deeper with every movement? How desperate must he have been to rip it out of his own body, his instincts driving him to escape, no matter the cost? Had he been hunted? Dragged from the water, struggling against the ropes that bound him? Had he looked into the eyes of his captors and seen nothing but greed, nothing but ownership?

No one deserved that. No creature, no person.

I glanced at Arthur, watching the slow, pained rise and fall of his chest. He had survived something unthinkable. Something that should have killed him. And yet, here he was-clinging to life, trusting us, trusting me.

Arthur flinched slightly at the curse, his gills fluttering as his breathing hitched. I reached out instinctively, placing a hand on his arm. He was cold to the touch, his body trembling despite the warmth of the water.

"You're safe now," I murmured, my fingers brushing over his damp skin. "No one's going to hurt you again."

His gaze flickered to mine, pupils dilated from pain, exhaustion heavy in his expression. But beneath it all, I could still see the trust lingering there—the fragile, unspoken understanding between us.

Then, a tear slipped down his cheek.

It caught the dim light, iridescent and heavy, like a fragment of the ocean itself. Not the clear, fleeting tears of a human, but something denser, more substantial. It clung to his skin for a moment before falling, landing on the platform with a barely audible plink. When I glanced down, I saw it resting there, round and smooth, like a tiny, imperfect pearl.

My breath caught. Monsters can cry.

The realization sank into me, heavy and inescapable. Arthur wasn't just some enigmatic creature from the depths—he felt. He suffered. He mourned. And there was something hauntingly, devastatingly beautiful about that.

Charles exhaled sharply through his nose and pushed back from the wound. "We need to get this cleaned and stitched now. I don't like how much blood he's lost."

I nodded, steeling myself. "What do you need me to do?"

He gestured toward the bucket of supplies. "Start by flushing the wound. We need to clear out any debris before we even think about sutures."

I reached for a saline bottle and some gauze, carefully pouring the solution over the torn flesh. Arthur sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body jerking at the sensation. His hand shot up, gripping my wrist—not as tight as before, but enough to make me pause.

I met his eyes again.

"It's alright," I soothed, rubbing my thumb over the back of his knuckles. "I know it hurts, but this will help. Just breathe, Arthur."

His fingers twitched, then slowly, reluctantly, he let me go.

Charles worked quickly, his hands steady as he examined the deeper damage. His brows were furrowed in concentration, lips pressed into a firm line as he carefully maneuvered around the torn flesh.

"The good news is that the wound is mostly superficial—no major organs were damaged," Charles said, his voice steady but grim. He paused, lifting a bloodied fragment of jagged metal between his fingers. Small but wickedly sharp, it gleamed under the sterile light, slick with Arthur's blood.

"The bad news," he continued, shifting his attention back to the wound, "is that there's still a significant fragment embedded deeper in the tissue. It's lodged between the muscle layers, likely near the ventral nerve pathways. If we don't remove it, there's a high risk of infection, necrosis, or even nerve damage."

I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening. "We have to get it out."

Charles nodded grimly, wiping his gloved hands on a sterile cloth. "Yeah. But it's deep, and judging by his pain response, it's close to something sensitive." His gaze flickered to Arthur's face, his expression unreadable. "This isn't going to be easy on him."

Arthur let out a low, uneasy sound—almost a growl. He might not have understood every word, but he knew what was coming. His claws flexed slightly, his tail twitching in agitation despite his exhaustion.

I took a breath, pressing my palm lightly against his chest, just above one of his two hearts. His skin was warmer there, the faint rhythmic pulsing steady beneath my fingers.

"We're going to fix this," I promised. "But it's going to hurt. You need to trust us."

For a long moment, he didn't move.

Then, slowly, his gills flared in what might have been a sigh, his body relaxing deeper. A silent surrender. Hopefully it was a sign that the morphine in the water was easing his pain. What he was about to endure would be excruciating.

Charles gave me a quick look. "Hold him steady."

And with that, the real work began.

I focused on keeping Arthur calm as Charles plunged the forceps deep into the wound, his movements precise yet cautious. The slick muscle twitches under the intrusion, his body instinctively trying to recoil, but he held still, his trust in us outweighing his pain. I watched as Charles maneuvered carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration, the metal tool vanishing into the torn tissue in search of the embedded fragment. Arthur's fingers curled against the wet platform, his claws scraping against the slick surface, but he never lashed out, never tried to stop us. His breathing grew more labored, his gills flaring and closing in uneven bursts, as if his body couldn't quite decide whether to fight or surrender. His tail tensed, the powerful muscle twitching involuntarily, and a faint, guttural sound escaped his throat—a noise that sent a pang of guilt straight through me. He was trying to be strong. Trying to endure.

I moved my palm gently down his chest in a soothing gesture, feeling the rapid, unsteady rhythm of his twin heartbeats beneath my fingers. "Almost there honey," I murmured, unsure if I was reassuring him or myself.

Charles exhaled sharply as he dropped the last fragment into a metal dish. "That's the worst of it, but..." His voice trailed off as he turned his attention to the wound itself, examining the torn flesh with something close to fascination.

I watched as his fingers pressed lightly around the top and the edges, his expression shifting from concern to something more analytical.

"What?" I asked, my nerves on edge.

Charles hesitated for a moment, then sighed, his gaze fixed on the wound as if trying to piece together a puzzle. "I've been trying to make sense of his anatomy all night, but I think I understand it better now." He met my eyes with a seriousness that sent a shiver down my spine. "Arthur has both male and female reproductive anatomy."

I blinked, not fully grasping what he meant. "What?"

Charles gestured to the gaping tear in Arthur's abdomen, where the harpoon had torn through flesh that, by human standards, shouldn't have been there. The area was swollen and raw, but the shape of it was undeniable. "When we first examined him, I suspected something was different. Now I'm sure—Arthur is intersex. Specifically, his anatomy mirrors some species of deep-sea creatures, like certain fish, that possess both male and female reproductive organs." He motioned to the area near Arthur's pelvis, where I could now see the distinctive characteristics more clearly. "The slit opening here," he said, "is where you'd expect female reproductive organs to be. But as you move further down, past the injury, there's a separate opening—closer to what we'd see in a male of most marine species."

I stared down at Arthur, my mind racing to keep up with the new reality unfolding before me. "What does that mean, exactly?"

Charles leaned in, his voice low but matter-of-fact. "It means he's capable of both carrying and producing offspring. In the wild, this adaptation allows some species to reproduce even when mates are scarce—survival in extreme environments." He looked at me, gauging my reaction before continuing, "Arthur could potentially mate on his own or with another of his kind—if there are others. But until we study him more, it's hard to know for sure."

I glanced at Arthur's face, searching for any sign that he understood what we were saying, but his eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion. He was barely holding on, too drained to react.

Charles exhaled slowly, looking down at Arthur with a mixture of awe and respect, "But this is the first time I've seen anything like it in a creature so... human in form."

My heart thundered in my chest, beating against my ribs like a caged bird. There was so much more to him than I realized. Oh how I was hurting for him. Was this why he had been mutilated? Did someone try to strip him of his autonomy, of his natural instinct to reproduce and start a family? Someone hadn't just simply wanted to hunt him. They had wanted to take something away from him. Erase something vital. Something sacred.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and reached for Arthur's hand again, gripping it gently.

"You're safe now," I whispered, more to myself than him.

Charles sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Lenny should be back any minute. He and I will finish suturing the wound tonight if you want to go home and get some rest. It's gonna be some time before he's gained his strength back."

I shook my head before Charles even finished speaking.

"I'm not leaving him."

Charles gave me a knowing look, but he didn't argue. Instead, he exhaled through his nose and rubbed his temple as he spoke with a light chuckle. "Didn't think you would. Looks to me like he's bonded with you." He glanced down to where I held Arthur's hand in my own, and I felt my cheeks grow warm. Then he gestured toward the door with a tilt of his head. "I've got some spare clothes in my office. They'll be a little big on you, but they're dry."

It wasn't much of an offer, but it was better than sitting here in wet, bloodstained clothes. My body ached from the strain of the night, and my wrist still throbbed in dull protest beneath the gauze.

"Thank you Charles," I murmured, glancing back at Arthur one last time. He hadn't moved, his body limp in the water, his breathing shallow but steady. He was still with us. That was enough—for now.

⋅─⊱༺ 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 ༻⊰─⋅

I made my way down the dim hallway, my soaked shoes squelching against the tile as exhaustion began to weigh down on me. Charles' office was small but cluttered with medical textbooks, old research notes, and a whiteboard full of scrawled reminders and sketches. A pile of folded clothes sat on a chair, and I grabbed the first set that looked comfortable—a soft, oversized sweatshirt and a pair of worn sweatpants.

I peeled off my damp clothes, wincing at the way they clung to my skin, and slipped into the dry fabric. It smelled like antiseptic and faint traces of cologne.

For the first time since the night began, I let myself breathe.

I sank onto the worn leather couch in the corner of the office, curling my knees to my chest. The room was silent, save for the distant hum of the filtration system and the occasional muffled voices from the lab where Lenny and Charles worked.

The weight of everything pressed down on me at once.

Arthur.

His pain. The way his deep blue eyes had locked onto mine, pleading and vulnerable. His gaze had pulled at something deep within me, a tether that I couldn't quite name but couldn't ignore either. The faint shimmer of light dancing across his wet skin, the soft, rhythmic purring that had vibrated through me, a soothing but bittersweet sound. His presence had settled in me like a force I hadn't anticipated, an undercurrent that kept drawing me closer, leaving me more entangled with each passing moment. I could feel something—something—between us, growing, almost tangible in its intensity, and it both terrified and fascinated me.

The harpoon.

The thought of it sent a tremor through my chest. The sickening knowledge that someone had driven that metal into his body on purpose. They had wanted to hurt him. And the more I thought about it, the more I felt the jagged edges of that cruelty cut into my own soul.

I shuddered, hugging my arms around myself as if that could hold together the pieces of me that were beginning to fracture. No matter how hard I tried to shake it, the image of his torn flesh wouldn't leave me. The helpless sound of his groan, raw with agony, echoed in my mind. His fingers had clung to me, not with force, but with a desperate, trembling need I couldn't ignore. It wasn't just fear I had sensed in him—it was trust. He had turned to me in his darkest moment, and somehow, somehow, I had become the one thing that could make him feel safe.

It was all burned into my memory. A delicate, painful imprint. One I couldn't erase, no matter how hard I tried.

I didn't remember closing my eyes. Didn't remember the moment exhaustion finally won. But at some point, sleep pulled me under.

A hand on my shoulder jolted me awake.

"Hey," Charles' voice was softer than usual. "It's done."

I blinked against the dim light, disoriented. My body felt heavy, my mind sluggish, like I had been underwater myself.

"What time is it?" My voice was thick with sleep.

"Almost dawn," Charles said. "Lenny and I finished the sutures. He's stable, but it's gonna take time."

I pushed myself upright, my heart already pulling me toward the lab. "Is he—?"

"He's still asleep," Charles assured me. "But he's breathing easier now. The pain is more manageable."

That was all I needed to hear.

I stood, giving Charles a nod of thanks before heading back down the hall. The scent of salt and antiseptic filled my nose as I stepped back into the lab.

Arthur lay at the bottom of the pool, his massive tail curled slightly, his body finally still in the way a resting creature should be. The water was dark and calm, gently cradling him in its weightless embrace. I exhaled softly, relief washing over me.

Moving without thought, I stepped onto the platform beside the pool and lowered myself down. The cold tile pressed against my back as I curled up close to the edge, my fingers just inches from the water's surface.

I should have gone home. Should have left him in Charles' capable hands. But I couldn't.

Not yet. Not when he had spent who-knows-how-long suffering alone.

"I won't let them hurt you," I whispered again, more for myself than for him.

And with the gentle sound of the water lapping against the pool's edge, I let sleep take me once more—this time, beside him.

AN: I know we're all wondering what happened with the harpoon, our beloved reader will be getting some answers in the next chapter. As well as some sweet/hot moments that will send her spiraling as she begins to have deeper feelings for our seaboy :)

[iliiuan]

Some thoughts about Egwene

First, she is not the one who chose Rand. In the Ravens prologue, she is purposely trying to find out who this boy is that she's supposed to marry. Since Rand is unaware of the arrangement at that point, I'm guessing this was manipulated by Marin, though to what end, I'm uncertain.

The misandry flowing off of Marin is a big problem. What man wants to be around that? What family wants to throw their son into that? The rest of the village, having extended families to protect them, won't touch the al'Vere girls. Rand lives with Tam alone, and has no female relatives to protect him, making him an easy target.

I think that Egwene is copying and echoing her mother. Whether she would have grown out of it is up for debate. I think that being on the al'Thor farm with the healthy influence of Tam would have potentially cracked that particular aspect of her personality. She very well could have come to see how awful her mother is. As Wisdom, I don't think she ever would. In the wide world, she doesn't really get a chance, and the broader social forces don't really give her a reason to.

Similarly, I think her view of Rand as a stubborn foolish woolhead stems from how her mother talks about him. She very probably lumps the three ta'veren boys together. You throw in a dash of her misandry, and you end up with an insultingly negative view of all three.

No 9-year-old wants to be treated like a baby. That's just normal. Her sister was highly inappropriate to take out her grief on Egwene.

Her jealousy streak is all her.

The relationship to authority thing is too relatable to me to judge her for it. I hate when motherfuckers tell me what to do. Piss off and die, assholes.

I do think, even so, that her early resistance to authority is within normal range. She's power-seeking, but not psychotic about it. Then she gets collard by the Seanchan. The level of trauma she experienced in what? a month? was so profound, and no one wants to acknowledge it, because she berated Rand before it happened. But what trauma like that does to a person is to give them a deep-seated fear of not being in control, and pulls forward all of their personality flaws. At that point, there was no path away from her misandry, no way that she was ever going to secede power if she could find a way not to, no possible solution to her arrogance and self-righteousness. She does treat her friends like shit. After her trauma.

So, I don't buy the whole "Egwene was already awful at 9 years old." She was a normal child, with a particular home life that inculcated some bad habits, and with a large dose of ambition. The trauma of being collared, with no way to save herself, being required to perform at the whim of other people, being treated like a dog, having no autonomy, and being viciously punished for any transgression...well, that is what created the power-hungry, abusive character that everyone loves to hate.

Elayne latched herself onto a group of people leaving for an adventure as surely as Egwene did, yet I don't see people berating her for it like they do Egwene. Almost like following someone else's call to adventure is perfectly reasonable, after all?

[cloudcountry]

I brought eel pics!!!

Zebra Moray and A Viper(? I think?) Moray

Also eels having bad eyesight leads to the conspiracy of "Do The Tweels Secretly Wear Contacts And Why Don't They Wear Glasses Even Though They'd Look Hella Cool In Them?"

the viper moray is so squishy. it also has a bad rep like the fangtooth moray because they look kinda scary but theyre no different than any other moray C:

as for moray eel eyesight, their pupils are circular and don’t respond much to lighting changes. they do, however, do remarkably well when it comes to gauging distance. they sense their prey by sniffing them out and using vibrations in the water though, plus they hunt at night so excellent vision isn’t exactly necessary.

i honestly don’t know why they don’t wear glasses, it’s a question i’ve thought about a lot too. since azul wears glasses and octopi have really good vision (told my friend about it and she brought up colorblind glasses but thats not the case. trey's halloween sr vignette says straight up that azul wears them for vision correction + implies that he also has blurry vision when he takes them off. he also wears them because they make him appear more "intellectual." love that guy.)

anyways azul isnt the point even though i adore him. the leech brothers could very well wear contacts but i’d imagine they’d react to glasses the same way they react to shoes. azul mentioned once (in the trey halloween vignette again) that people in the coral sea do wear glasses, they just aren’t that common.

maybe floyd just didn’t want to go through the hassle of getting a vision test done? maybe he’ll get glasses once he gets bored!! i don’t know about jade though since he does a lot of mountain explorations and you kind of have to see.

it’s most likely just a design choice though...ultimately my scientific research doesn’t mean much in the face of character design LMAO but its still fun to think about!!

[hinamie]

siren!megumi concept sheet i whipped up in a single-minded fever state fr @uriekukistan

[feather-bone]

Have you made any art of orcas? I can't seem to find any with Tumblr's broken tag search, so I figured I'd ask in case you haven't. Thank you, and I love all your art! It always puts a smile on my face when I see it. c: ❤️

I have! I was a couple years ago, I also can't find the original post. Broken website lol ;w; So here's a re-upload of The Whale because I am quite fond of this guy !!

[ID: a digital illustration of an orca facing to the right on a simple ocean background. Sunlight is filtering in from above, and there are small fish surrounding it. End.]

[hayaku14]

m23 was really just a whole kaishin date

[disarminglybright]

Funny thing about letterkenny is like- you don't really know anything about the characters. It really does feel like you're just catching glimpses of their lives during their off hours

[herenvibing]

cr3 is gonna end and the pc’s still feel like the same people to me :|

(crcritical content in the tags feel free to skip)

[perhaps-mr-collins-has-a-cousin]

Hello praying people, I'm not doing well and would really appreciate your prayers right now <3