#three have just the little pastel glitter and then two have the pastel glitter and some black sand and some little fake diamonds | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

badaseyebags · 5 months ago

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to all the boys that tried to love me ch 4⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

word count: 2,5k (wew)

warnings: tsurugi being icky (as always), bad writing

author’s note: wow can you believe i actually updated? i was gonna drop this series as a whole since i don’t think anyone’s reading but but oh well, impulsive thinking at its finest😞 feel free to roast me, hope you enjoy! 🍞

life’s been pretty strange lately, i’m out here making random friends, trying to be social and even being protected by them despite them not even knowing me? well let’s be real, even tsurugi’s friends are warning him not to hurt me, and telling me to be careful around him. they seem to like me more than him. i’m also getting one step closer to my crush by knowing her name. everything is going great, right? yeah that’s also what i thought. this was just moments before everything would crumble again.

i’ve spent my days with my besties and with tsurugi texting me non stop about how he’s fallen in love with me, and how he pictures our future together. from our wedding and our daily life together, to the name of our future children.. yikes, i’ve already turned him down at least 10 times this week, letting him know i’m not interested in finding a boyfriend. i thought he seemed a bit too chill with that at first, which was relieving. he suggested we become closer friends to which i could only agree to. i might of been pushed a little outside my comfort zone when he wouldn’t stop begging to call me with me before he goes to bed, i have anxiety every time i call someone but we’re friends now, right..? that’s what friends do.

i have no clue why ryujin is so excited about tsurugi not leaving me alone, but bummed out about me becoming friends with wooyoung. i know she’s into him but it’s not like i hang out with him or something, i have my own crush. we just text from time to time and i watch his streams when i get notified, i always try to mention her too. somehow it feels like he’s more of a friend than she is somedays.. maybe i’m being too sensitive, but she doesn’t seem fond of us getting along, i always thought it’s good when your friends and your love interest have a nice connection. i’d be happy if her and hwa got along well.

she was ready to take things a little bit further and make the next step to finally meet her crush, tell him she’s the girl who’s been sending him those hints, his secret admirer. reveal her identity then and there. she’s so bold for doing that, i’d probably pee my pants if i just approached hwa out of nowhere… maybe she’s so brave because it was me messaging him instead of her this whole time.. ah and my crush.. i don’t even have her social media.. i just know her name.. anyways i think my efforts to get them to talk will hopefully pay off soon. hmm.. maybe i am trying a bit hard to introduce them to each other. oh well, there’s another party today and she wants to go really bad to finally meet her crush face to face. well more like face to mask cuz i doubt he would magically appear without it, it’s like a permanent part of his face at this point. was he born with it?

tonight’s theme is school party, i really like the concept because i have an excuse to dress up all cute and not get judged for once, since everyone will be matching in some way. i curled my pink hair and put it in two little buns, wearing an outfit resembling a school uniform along with some white thigh high socks. i love how opposite me and my besties look, they’re always wearing dark colours and look so cool and i’m just there like their pastel coloured accessory. i wish i could wear this everyday without being looked at weird.. i add some finishing touches by putting little bows on either sides of my hair, spraying my besties and i down with my favorite glitter spray. “you look like a girl that calls her boyfriend senpai” ryujin’s older sister jokes as we finish getting ready in her house, her escorting is out. hopefully she doesn’t mean it in a cringy way.

the three of us walk hand in hand and before we can even reach the club we are met with tsurugi running up to me, pulling me into a hug and pulling the mask off my face. “don’t you dare cover your cute face or i will spank you!” he threw it aside and i put my head down. ew, what an ick. i cringe feeling a little insecure, thinking the thought of covid being a little while ago would save me, but i failed since i have lost my mask somewhere in the wind. i keep my head down for a little before he pulls me into yet another tight hug, my cheeks soon being pinched and my ears ringing from the excessive amounts of compliments he threw at me. he’s really not getting the hint, i don’t like him! how is he not seeing it? “friends” my butt.. i try being nice to him but in the end he never respects my boundaries and ends up making me uncomfortable with his never dying efforts. i beg my friends to distract him for a little to allow me to get some fresh air, i just need to take a little walk without him being all up in my face for a at least a minute. one minute of peace is all i need.

i let out a sigh of relief as i watch him disappear inside the the club along with my besties, closing my eyes, simply enjoying the soft breeze. its a little chilly but not too cold, just the right amount of air hitting my face as i walk, just the refreshment i needed. i continue walking an unknown path all by myself, making sure to not stray too far from my friends, this place can be full of creeps but today for some reason unknown, i’m not afraid. my feet stop me in some random alley nearby, and that’s when i finally decide to properly open my eyes, looking up instead of the floor. at some point i stop walking forward and turn my head to the left. maybe it was the muted chatter coming from that side luring me in, maybe it was the lights that reflected so nicely that drew my attention. my body became stuck as my eyes reached an unknown figure, just a guy resting on the side of the wall, thick black glasses framing his face, his outfit also resembling a uniform occupied by the phone in his hands. he seemed to play some kind of a game on it. as if he felt my eyes unknowingly scanning him, he looked up from his phone and the second our eyes met, everything went into slow motion. for a moment it felt like time had suddenly stopped, almost as if i could feel every second turn into a whole minute, holding my breath unknowingly. i can never hold eye contact, not even with my friends but.. is it supposed so feel this deep? i’ve never seen such sad eyes, but.. why do i feel so much comfort? i swear i’ve seen those eyes before i just can’t figure out where..he feels so safe and peaceful? i feel like.. i’m a little kid again.. feeling a certain way i haven’t felt since i lost my grandpa, he was my favourite person in the world.. what even is this feeling? am i drunk? oh wait, i didn’t even drink yet.. even the wind is moving in slow motion, wtf is happening.

before i get the chance to peel my eyes away, his phone falls to the ground with a thud as it slips from his hands. even though he’s across from me, i could hear the screen shatter and my eyes widen as i turn around and quickly run back to meet up with my friends, letting out a breath i held in the entire moment. i made him break his phone by being creepy oh my god, whoever he is i hope he doesn’t bump into me tonight. i would have to pay for his phone or something, I’ve got about 20 bucks and a strawberry flavoured lollipop. i doubt that’s enough-

great now i’m back being trapped inside a club with a dude who’s desperately trying to make me his girlfriend. speaking of girlfriend… i’ve noticed hwa, but… she went to the mens bathrooms? maybe it wouldn’t hurt to approach her, this is the perfect opportunity! it’s a sign. i think as i walk closer to the door. i should let her know she went to the wrong bathrooms accidentally and get to know her that way. girls bathrooms are such a easy place to start conversations for some reason. oh- she looked into the mirror in front of her, her eyes locking with mine for a split second. i swear i saw her smirk. what the hell is going on! i panic, running back to ningning, surprised when i don’t see ryujin next to her. “i just saw hwa…going into the men’s bathroom??? where the hell is ryujin?” ningning swayed her body to the beat of the music for a little before agreeing to go get some fresh air with me. “i think she went to say hi to wooyoung” she screamed over the loud music as we made our way outside. oh yeah i totally forgot he would be here, i should probably greet him too, i have to witness this iconic moment of them meeting.

i excitedly skip outside the club, arms linked with ningning, trying to find our bestie and the guy she doesn’t even know, but won’t stop drooling over. as soon as the outside air hits me, so does someone’s words. “is miffy here?” huh.. me..? i look around and find the owner of the voice and my smile drops a little. the same man i saw just moments ago, those thick frames resting on his face. he’s now talking to ryujin. “oh, she’s right here.” she exclaims as i blink, confused looking between the two of them. how does he know my name?? and why is he speaking to her, and why does he know of my existence.. where have i heard his voice.. did he possibly approach her to ask her to pay for his phone cuz he saw us together?i’m so screwed. my mind goes 30 thoughts per second as i try to understand the situation.

“hey miffy, and her friend that i don’t know the name of” he says and my mind connects the dots. i know this voice. i know this dude, no wonder his eyes were so familiar.. it’s wooyoung.. oh god. i can’t allow myself to look up anymore as i just nod, closing my mouth that opened in shock, waving my hand as the other one clutches to ningning. “that’s ningning, but we call her ningi” ryujin says and he repeats questionably. “should we exchange instagrams?” he suggests passing his now cracked phone to ryujin, her excitedly typing her username into the search and passing the phone to ningning soon after. he takes the phone out her hands, offering it to me jokingly. “oh yeah, i don’t need yours i already have it” he waves it in my face, seeming too happy for the fact i accidentally broke his phone earlier. seeing my profile already pulled up on his screen my heart drops a little, his phone is done for, and it’s my fault. “is..your phone okay?” my stupid mind blurts out as if i was blind, or stupid, which i am both actually.

he laughed tucking it away into his pocket. out of sight, out of mind. “it’s just a little scratch, don’t worry about it” he says assuringly and my head dips down in embarrassment again, what a great way to interact with friends! god i’m hopeless. i didn’t even recognise him without his mask, it’s my first time seeing his face but still.. ryujin keeps trying to make small talk but i feel his gaze on me and i tug on ningning’s arm. “we should probably get going, let’s give them some privacy, ningi”. she nods in agreement but he cuts me off. “actually i have to get going but, i’ll see you around?” he asks but it feels like he’s not speaking to all of us. ah right, i forgot i’m the only one who he actually interacted with before. i’m like his friend now, of course he’s relying on me, god i suck at communicating. i nod and just as he was about to leave ryujin grabs a hold of his arm, whining slightly. “noo, don’t go yet” he looks back at her almost panicked, trying to pull his arm back. “pleasee” she tugs on his arm not letting go. he wiggles out of her grip, running off with a wave. “sorry!!” he disappears into thin air, leaving her confused and clinging to us. ah… damn this.

she’s basically heart broken right now because he pretty much just rejected her on the spot. as soon as she approached him revealing her identity he told her he’s not looking for any relationship, and right after that asked her about me. and now she’s embarrassed for grabbing onto him like that. well.. i mean since were at a party might as well enjoy it. well not really, we were kind of avoiding tsurugi and his attempts to grope me, followed by him moving onto a totally random girl, giving her almost identical treatment except this one actually seems to enjoy it, i swear this man has no shame. i gotta go fix my eyesight, i suggest a walk to some nearby shop to get some snacks since we all got a bit hungry.

i approached one of the friends i’ve made earlier that night, asking her for directions since we have no clue where the nearest shop is or where the hell we actually are. “we can go with you, imma just get a few more buddies so you can wait for us outside” she says and i excitedly skip outside, happy to take a walk with more new friends despite being shy and not knowing how to. i hear laugher and chatter as i turn around, seeing her along with a bunch of people. some faces i haven’t seen yet, some i have, hwa being one of them. oh crap, there’s no way. she’s coming too, i’m so gonna piss myself. i cling onto my friends once again, trying to look calm even tho i was fangirling inside (and probably on the outside too).

our walk was fun, people joking around and talking about random things, singing and dancing around, showing off the alcohol in their blood stream. everyone, everyone except hwa. she was just smiling and watching everyone interact, kinda like i tend to do in bigger crowds. she remained quiet until someone asked her a question, and that’s when i heard her voice for the first time and realised something is a little bit off. not just a little.. she doesn’t sound like what i expected..but not that it’s an issue just.. hold up.. the voice.. the bathroom..

she’s a he? hwa is a guy??!!! what the-

#ateez fic #ateez fluff #ateez angst #seonghwa x reader #wooyoung x reader #tsurugi x reader #psychic fever x reader #ningning #ryujin

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tqngerine · 2 years ago

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stay in the middle — 16. coolbeans

SYNOPSIS: Huening Kai would do anything for his best friend Taehyun, and this one small favor is no exception. It appears that Kai’s fellow campus journalist Y/N has caught his attention, and Taehyun needs help connecting to them. Befriending someone outside of his small social circle wasn’t something Kai did often, but he comes to find that it’s easy to get close to Y/N—maybe even getting a little too close.

word count: 1.6k

“This place isn’t as suffocating as I remembered.” Y/N couldn’t help but hum, gazing around the small cafe. Now that they weren’t overwhelmed with worries about social interaction anymore, they could properly appreciate the array of wooden decor lined up at the top of the cream walls. Plates, large utensils, framed coffee beans, the items were appropriate but quaint in its display. Y/N was quite charmed.

Sitting opposite to them, Kai made the practical decision of scanning the menu for their dinner selection. “My best friend and I often meet here in the early morning to charge up before our classes.“

“The same best friend that helped you with your report outline for earlier?”

Kai gave a nod.

“With the amount of times you’ve mentioned him, I’m wondering why I haven’t met him yet.” Y/N laughed.

A penguin pout graced his lips. “Ah, he’s especially busy these days because he’s in the volleyball team, training and all. But I promise you I’ll introduce him to you eventually.” He crossed his arms over the table. “Likewise, I want to meet your friends too.”

Y/N scrunched their face. “I fear they’re not as cute and into Sanrio as I am.”

“Not even Soobin?”

“He’s only cute. That’s the only thing he’s got going on for him.”

Kai giggled—or rather cackled with incredibly more power than necessary, earning him a few stares from the neighboring customers. After realizing his volume, he immediately turned to bow in silent apology to each table, looking like a docking ostrich in the process.

“We should probably take our orders now.” Y/N said, trying to hold back a laugh.

“Good idea.”

Y/N requested for a plate of carbonara while Kai went for a traditional caesar salad, along with two glasses of blue lemonade.

Once the waiter had left, the two were met with comfortable silence. They had just finished observing the swim team for almost three hours, it had already been a long day for them.

Although they have definitely grown much closer since the last time they were here (the longest and most awkward 30 minutes of their life, as Y/N remembered it), they found that they didn’t need to be constantly speaking to enjoy each other’s presence. Both naturally leaned more toward being the quiet type anyway.

The same panicky boy that made a mess out of Y/N’s papers almost a month ago wore a much calmer countenance today, his ebony curls more neatly kept and eyes crinkling into creases. He was fiddling with the corners of the paper placemat beneath him, creating a pile of paper crumbs that had been softly ripped apart.

“You’re not gonna have a placemat by the time the food arrives if you keep at it.” Y/N teased, pointing at the pile.

The tips of Kai’s ears colored. “Oops, habit of mine. My hands get restless so I often fidget without thinking.”

“No need to justify yourself, I promise. How about you help me with something instead to keep you busy.” Y/N then turned to their backpack to fish out a pastel pink notebook. They slid it in front of Kai to reveal the numerous Hello Kitty stickers decorating the front cover.

“That’s a lot of glitter on those stickers.” Kai’s own eyes sparkled at the sight.

“I always say it’s never enough.” Y/N smirked before flipping to the last filled page. Scribbled all over it was a mind map of words like moon, aliens, and galaxy, drawn arrows pointing them toward each other. “See, before I got in The Hybe Times, I used to submit self-written stories to the local student magazine. I’ve been thinking of submitting another one for the first time in so long, but I can’t quite stick to one idea.”

Kai took in Y/N’s explanation while examining the seemingly nonsensical writings on the page. “I’m gathering that your story is space themed?”

“Yep. The upcoming issue will commemorate the anniversary of the moon landing, so outer space was given as the prompt.” Y/N leaned backward, heaving a sigh. “But space is such a broad topic—kind of literally, too. So much could be talked about, how do I condense it into one short story?”

Kai’s eyes remained focus on trying to follow the words on the page, eyebrows scrunched thoughtfully. “Hm, do you know what all these arrows remind me of? Constellations. Metaphorical lines that connect different bodies together to form a bigger picture.”

Y/N blinked at his interpretation, caught pleasantly surprised. “That’s… I like that.”

“You do?”

“Constellations as lines that connect and create a bigger picture…” Y/N flipped the notebook back to face them and started furiously inking down the sparks in their mind. From their peripheral, they saw Kai watch in awe, his mouth slightly agape. Y/N only let a select few people witness their “light bulb” moments like these so they were admittedly a bit flustered under his gaze.

They finally looked up, corners of their lips stretched wide. “I don’t know how you did it but you just helped me plot out a full beginning, middle, and end of a short story.”

“That fast?” Kai gawked. “I’m impressed.”

“The mind works in mysterious ways.” Y/N reached forward to tap Kai’s temple with their finger. “Yours so much more so than mine.”

At that moment, Y/N’s eyes caught something from behind Kai’s head. Two figures had entered the packed cafe—two familiar figures.

Y/N quickly docked their head and tucked their notebook beneath the table, startling Kai. “I-is something wrong?”

Y/N’s voice lowered. “Don’t turn around, but Jungwon and Jay just entered the cafe.” They buried their face in their hands. Of course they’d come here; Jungwon was their field partner, and the swimming compound was right beside this cafe. It’d make sense for him to seek dinner here after fieldwork too.

Kai’s mouth rounded into a silent “oh”, nodding slowly and trying his best to remain calm for Y/N’s sake.

Unfortunately for Y/N, they made the mistake of peaking up again, accidentally making eye contact with Jungwon. At the sight of his co-journalists, he gave a big enthusiastic wave before dragging his friend along to their table.

“Kai hyung, Y/N! Thank goodness you’re here.” Jungwon greeted, grin wide. “The waiter just told us there were no more seats available. Do you mind if we sat with you instead?”

Jay stood rigid beside Jungwon, arms linked with each other. He gave the two a polite smile in greeting. Other than that, his face was practically unreadable—Y/N was hoping they’d figure out how he feels about getting a minor role alongside them, but maybe some answers are not this easily attainable. Still, his unreadability didn’t dismiss the way his hair was parted to the side so neatly, nor the way his slick leather jacket hugged his figure handsomely. Wait, how does an article of clothing hug one’s figure handsomely?

Y/N felt Kai’s expectant eyes on them, waiting for their call. (They were hoping his stare was not because they were noticeably blushing furiously at the moment.)

“Uh… sure! Come take a seat.”

Jungwon clapped gratefully. Right before any movements occurred, Kai swiftly switched to take the space beside Y/N, allowing the newly arrived duo to sit opposite them. It was as if he had read their mind begging for him to block any chance of Jay sitting close to Y/N.

“What did you guys order?” Jay asked diplomatically.

“Kai ordered a salad for two. Perhaps you’d like to take his other half?” Y/N promptly replied, to which Kai raised an eyebrow. They weren’t wrong, but Kai had the appetite for two servings; he very well meant to finish the salad on his own.

“I promise I’ll get you a big bowl of ice cream after to compensate. I just don’t want to have to wait for their orders too.” Y/N rapidly said below a whisper, ensuring that the other two didn’t hear them. Kai gave a thumbs up of content.

“Oh, I do love salad. That’d be nice, thank you.”

“Jay can pay for the entire bill, too.” Jungwon smirked, earning him an eye roll from his hyung. “What about me, though?”

“You can share Y/N’s carbonara! Also made for two.” Kai offered quickly. He lowered back down to Y/N to whisper, “I’ll make up for that with another big bowl of ice cream for you too.”

Y/N could feel their heart thumping in their ears out of nervousness.

“I’m more of a spaghetti person myself but I won’t complain since I’m hungry.”

As if on cue, a waiter arrived with their orders. The group then dined without chatter, busy enjoying their meals (and trying to stay calm in front of their crush, in Y/N’s case).

“Did you receive Yunjin’s message in the group chat?” Jay finally spoke up, breaking the silence.

Y/N nearly choked on their bacon. “O-oh. I haven’t been on my phone for the past hour. What did she say?”

“She already wrote specifications about our characters on the script. We’ll be rehearsing alongside the main cast tomorrow.”

“That’s great! I’ll read through the script later.”

“You guys have the same roles?” Jungwon asked.

“Uh, you could say that.” Jay simply replied, taking a sip from the service water. How on earth did he manage to make that something to swoon over.

Y/N had to slap Kai’s lap to bring them out of their trance, much to his poor surprise. “How are you enjoying the salad, Jay?” Kai spoke out of panic.

“It’s all right. My dad knows how to prepare an even better one though.” It should have sounded like a brag, but it came out more lighthearted. “I can pack extra to rehearsals one day for you to try, Y/N.”

“Coolbeans! I’d be honored to try.”

Jay lips pressed into a smile. “Hang on, I need to use the restroom.” He excused himself from the table, and the moment he was completely out of sight, Kai stifled a laugh.

“Coolbeans?”

Y/N plopped their head on Kai’s shoulder, groaning in embarrassment. “Why does time always seem to slow down whenever I’m in this cafe.”

A cough broke, causing Kai to turn to the scrutinizing gaze of Jungwon. “There’s something going on that I don’t know about.”

Y/N continued to grumble incoherently, forehead still stuck to Kai’s shoulder.

“Do you not care to tell me?”

“None of your business, Yang!”

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a/n: kai and y/n can’t just be depicted as chronically online moots-ies forever so i decided to make a written chapter for them 😔🤞 lmk what you think of their dynamic so far 😙

TAGLIST: open!! leave a comment below or send me an ask to be included in this taglist ^^ (if your name is in bold, i can’t tag you)

@kaisdefender @fairysh4mpoo @0rangemilk @beomsbeanie @hanjisungsgirl @luvsoobs @goldennika @spagettae @solarsolarity @hy2ka-i @aestheticsluut @sophie-writingtime @quitbeingawhore @destinylightlove42 @softpia

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knownangels · 10 months ago

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lighthouse

When he tells his mum, her knife clatters against the side of her plate and takes a chunk clear off the ceramic. Even if it weren’t cheap, it’s secondhand. Ugly, she calls those plates. I’ll buy us a nice set when we have the spare to spend.

Guilty eyes track the shard as it spirals a dance across the moth-chewed tablecloth. They follow the floral pattern (not really ugly, just a little) as it spins on its curved edge to become a swirl of color. Green leaves, pastel blue and pink blossoms, blue, pink, blue — purple.

He’s scared to lift them. It’s been just them so long they’ve grown accustomed to even patterns of breathing. Her air is angry.

“Maran.” She clips his name out between clenched teeth. The broken shard stops spinning. He slides it back across the table, finger pressed to the smooth lip and obscuring those daintily painted flowers.

“What?”

“Maran.” She says again, sounding like absolutely not. She won’t let those words slip. She rarely does. She gives and gives and gives.

His turn. Only fair.

“I already signed it.” He forms his words into a laugh, hoping the rest that follow won’t become a fight. “Binding, isn’t it. Take me to court.”

When he glances up at his mum, sat across the kitchen table, her fist is tight around the knife. The grip is so tight he can see flushed blood beneath umber skin that wraps her knuckles.

“That is a long time —”

“It’s a lot of pay.”

“Fuck of a lot for —” He tells her the exact amount, enunciating each zero.

Her mouth snaps shut.

The kitchen falls silent.

Maran watches something play across her face that he doesn’t feel at all equipped to interpret. The pull of her brow looks like it does when he’s caught her sniffling, but her mouth is fixed in that you did what snarl. And something else rests behind her dark eyes; it isn’t Saturday morning mirthful laziness, or the glitter of her grudge-holding snuck in while speaking to their stubbornly rude neighbor.

There are two pairs of guilty eyes at the table.

She sends him off with six jumpers, three pairs of hardy trousers, maybe a dozen pairs of socks, a sock darner that had been his summer whittling project, and a cloth bag of lavender sprigs that are meant for laundry. It clinks suspiciously when she tucks it into a pocket, so Maran sneaks up behind her to snatch it away.

“Little bastard!” She howls, snatching at the back of his shirt — too slow. He slips away and stumbles across the room, peering into the little bag. Tucked amongst the dried stems are a couple of rocks. Shiny as obsidian, silver flecks smooth under his thumb.

“Don’t make fun of me.” She warns, crossing to prod at his stomach until he snaps his elbows tight to ward away the tickling.

“Did I open my mouth!”

“No. Because you’re a smart one.” She teases. Her palm slows into a soft pet over the back of his hand. “And you be smart, okay? Ah, fuck’s sake. This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

He grins at her while she shakes his whole arm, her grip as tight in his sleeve as it was on the knife. He’s gone on jobs before — none so far or for as long away as this, sure. But he’s grown and he’s gone off alone. He’s come back every time.

They both manage to hold it together until the moment he steps across the threshold. She drags him down for one last hug, one more pinch to a cheek she freckled herself. Maran squeezes her back just as tight; her soft, worried heaving make his eyes sting.

Into each of his jumpers, at the nape of the neck, she’s sewn a simplified outline of their little house in thick yarn. Coral pink for him. Navy blue for her. He smoothes his thumb over the raised edge of it through her sweater, tracing the edge of the roof he’d once climbed and the gutter that hangs from a rusted screw that had once torn a red line down his calf and the corner of the eastern wall, which sports a hairline fracture from its settling foundation.

“Where you carry it.” Maran mumbles into her shoulder. Home’s where you carry it. It’s their code. Has been for as long as he remembered — at some point, he’d been little and unwilling to leave her arms to go to a neighbor’s or stay the night at a friend’s or be apart. Clingy, the both of them — I miss you, I’ll miss you was too much. Made them into congested full-on snotty, sniveling tears. And of course when one of them went off, the other was inevitable.

“Shut up.” She groans, shaking him by dancing foot-to-foot. He laughs to be jostled. “Oh my days, Maran, would you shut your mouth? Really? I’d just stopped.”

But she says it back as he loads his meager packing over a shoulder. Really, really leaving. She says it a bunch of times, muddled between words of a prayer meant to shelter and guard and protect. One that, technically, asks him to be guided through a peaceful night into a safe return the next morning. Maran has never heard her pray aloud before.

And Maran won’t return the next morning.

He won’t return for many, many more mornings.

He falls asleep on the bench at the docks, arms locked tight around the packed-full bag in his lap. He falls asleep on the ferry. He is the only passenger this late in the season, but his arms stay locked tight, fingers digging into the over-stuffed bag. He falls asleep, and because he sleeps so soundly to the crash of the waves against the boat, he would have no sense of time passing except for the mark of the sun in the sky. It warms his face. It warms his dreams; in them, he’s still sleeping, except now it’s a gentle summer morning beneath a willow

By its position, he wakes in late afternoon. He stumbles sleepily towards the cabin and knocks on the door. Privately, as it swings open, he imagines a dusty tomb’s crypt slab sliding free: the ferryman is up there in age. He’d been the only one to know the coordinates of their destination and how to navigate the waters — beyond the sound, the water became unpredictably shallow in places. The wrong captain would gut his ship trying to coast without experience.

The old man looks as though he’s fallen asleep on the trip, as well. Maran isn’t sure if that’s a good sign, that he can make such a trip at ease, or a poor one. And, is it worse than the laugh he’d let out when Maran requested the lighthouse? Worse than the humored oh, there? he’d volleyed back?

The boat stops a distance away. Maran stands on the upper deck, fists tight to then rail. Like the boat can hold him there, in place. Like the inlet stretching before them is magnetic, like it wants to pull him, like if he lets go, he might as well be yanked across the remaining distance.

Rest of the way on foot, the ferryman tells him. Maran doesn’t want to fucking move. He doesn’t want to look, either, but he can’t stop.

He wasn’t sure what to expect. He’d gone into this blind, knowing it was good money for a reason. Not knowing — this.

He thinks it looks like the half-finished grave of a monster, too ferocious to be properly buried. The craggy rocks and sea-sodden dirt pile unevenly around each spire where they rise from the earth. Every jutting piece of metal has been spaced evenly from the last; they form a gaping maw of time-tarnished teeth threatening to break through the mantle. At the center is the towering lighthouse, its white gold eye blinking shut, rotating, blinding, repeating.

The pattern is hypnotizing. He’d gotten in trouble for tearing a page from an oceanography picture book: an anglerfish and its beautiful lure, even on paper, had scared him that bad.

As he stares upwards at the light, chin tilted towards the gentle patter of rain, Maran can only think of that crumpled page.

“Cut it too close.”

Maran jumps.

The ferryman extends the meager canvas bag. His frail arm isn’t so frail after all, even frozen there while Maran waits for his brain to catch back up to the moment. They stand at the edge of a rocky piece of land, jutting through the sea and extending towards the lighthouse in a narrow strip.

“Sorry?”

As he slings the bag over his shoulder, Maran follows the old man’s gesture towards the monster — the lighthouse — in the distance.

“Said, nearly cut it too close. Bridge’ll be gone by morning, if not sooner. That big hill it sits on?” He laughs. “Hope you’re ready to do some sland living for the next season.”

Maran’s expression must betray his churning stomach, because the laugh tapers off. It isn’t followed by a noise of pity or comfort, which he sort of expects and would really like to hear. “Um, that — well. That wasn’t really mentioned.”

The ferryman brays another laugh and claps him so hard on the shoulder that the stumbles forward. A wave laps at the toe of his shoe. He dances back from the shoreline, back into the vicinity of the old bloke, whose sea-spied smell Maran can no longer differentiate from the rest of the salt in the air.

“Well of course it fuckin’ weren’t. Dumb enough fuckers, th’lot of the green ones like you. No offense. And even then, y’think they’d be stupid enough to take the job, fixed with all its details?” He snorts. “No chance.”

Maran stares.

“Like I said. No offense, lad. Look, stop givin’ me that. You’ll be right as, nice and cozy and cushy. Waited on hand n’foot, fresh fruit, meals cooked to your specifications…”

“You’re being a prick—”

“I’m providing levity to the situation at hand.” The man lifts his cap with a dramatically flourished bow that is cut short by a wince, hand to the small of his back. Maran fights a smile. “Ooh. Ow. You’ll need it, with the real prick about.”

Maran glances towards the rolling waves for a split second, which is as much as his stomach can bare before he gulps and has to look away. “Did they fail to mention the sea monster too, then?”

Another chortle. “Aye, there y’are. Levity. And naw, no monster — far as we know, right? Just company. ‘Least with that you can give yourself over to somethin’ other than the looming threat of isolation madness.” The ferryman wiggles his fingers.

He wrinkles his nose and slings the bag tighter to his body. If he makes it to the lighthouse quick enough, the whipping ocean air might yet have spared its smell of home. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“Naw.” He agrees, winking and tapping his nose. “More.”

They part with no fanfare. Maran heeds his warning about the upcoming season and its weather and surrenders a fistful of candy in exchange for the promise of a note sent home, which he scrawls quickly against the ferryman’s curved spine.

Mum - Arrived. Incredibly creepy. View’s okay, otherwise. Sweater’s warm, thanks for patching that bit under the arm. Doing well! Will continue to do well! Will see you soon, doing fuckin’ well! -Maran

“Fuck’s sake,” the man crows, flapping a hand behind him. “Y’said one. A note, not a novel.”

It’s a fifteen minute walk towards the far shore. It is the longest fifteen minutes of his life. The lighthouse seems to not move any closer — and yet, at the same time, his eyes tell him it grows on the horizon. Closer and larger and closer and larger, until he walks into the shadow of one of its guarding spires. The one nearest him looks blackened at the top, and he realizes then that they must be lightning rods. The lighthouse itself is metal, or the exterior at least.

Algae slips beneath his shoes. The path is well worn. He keeps his eyes forward as he walks, too scared they’ll wander to the side and into the depths of the sea and he’ll find something looking back. But even still, his gaze is drawn down every few paces. He has to keep an eye on it or else he’ll fall, and being in the water with whatever lurks beneath the waves is worse than simply seeing it, right?

Like the path, the base of each spire —and the lighthouse itself — is dottingly adorned with barnacles, weathered a mottled gray in spots by salt, bleached in others by sun. But whatever metal composes them is dark. It doesn’t turn a pretty teal like aged copper, and yet he has a sense by looking at it the alloy is old. Maybe ancient.

At the thought, Maran shivers. He clutches his coat tighter to his body as he ascends the stairs up the hill, closer and closer to the rising pillar. Childishly, he’s relieved to find the lighthouse doesn’t hide the sun. He hates that in stories — when something blots out the sun. Fucking awful omen, if ever there was one. Instead, as he gazes up, he finds that it sits slightly to the left. He stands there, shielding his eyes and watching the yolk-yellow light drip as the horizon beckons it below, and breathes a sigh.

It’ll be fine. Home for awhile — not forever. Proper fucking scary, sure, but only awhile. Lid on the dramatics’ll make it easier.

Maran shuts his eyes and takes another deep lungful of air; it smells close enough to that his heart quiets a bit. The return of its steady beat gives him enough courage to take the stairs two at a time — stupid, because they’re slippery as the walk down. But it makes the trip more enjoyable. Makes it seem more fun and less like he’s walking himself towards…well. He isn’t sure.

An experience decidedly not fun.

He’s winded by the time he reaches the front door. It’s thick, weathered dark wood with a massive brass knocker. He contemplates it for a moment, finds he hasn’t the energy to lift the contraption, and instead braces himself on the frame. He surveys the rest of the inlet. Although the sky is clear, not yet hazed by the approaching night, he can barely make out the mainland’s sleek mirage. The ferry is also a further distance away than he thought — almost as if the old man had hurried to leave.

He shivers again, sick of omens. Sick of superstition. With a wet dog shake, he catalogues the rest of the tiny grounds. The lighthouse and its maw, which he tries hard not to think about as surrounding him too; a study oak two-story attaché that bulges from the side of the lighthouse obelisk like a tumor, dotted with narrow windows and an old chimney, where he presumes he’ll be boarding; a rainwater cistern and well with pumps that seem, from one glance, to be at least attached. Beyond, towards the far edge of the hill near the shore, is a storage shed and a chicken coop.

Maran brightens a bit at the idea of more company, other than a faceless nameless second keeper. He had no idea if the coop was occupied but his mum had always loved feeding birds. Every haircut, she’d make Maran gather his curls in a towel and toss them out the window.

Good nesting material.

When he goes to knock at the door, Maran’s rubbing a thoughtful hand over the crown of his head. He needs a cut.

The door swings open, and Maran thinks: well, at least I’m not the only one.

They sit at the tiny kitchen table. It’s a smaller room than even the one back home. At the thought of it, Maran shuffles. He fingers thread tighter together, knee bouncing.

He wouldn’t describe his company as unkempt. Haphazard, maybe. He needs a haircut, same as Maran: light strands spread out from his knit hat, stick to his cheeks from the damp sea breeze. He needs a new pair of boots, too. Maran knows how that goes.

Neither of them have taken off their coats yet; the other man sits back in his chair with a lazy recline, one arm tossed behind, his coat open and hanging off his shoulders. Maran looks everywhere but that penetrating, unblinking stare. He feels himself being sized-up, judged, found wanting.

Whatever expectations he’s had, Maran falls short.

“You’ve n-never done this before.”

It’s the first thing either one of them has said since Maran was ushered inside.

“Um.” He glances around the tiny room, making note of everything (stoveiceboxstoragebootscoatrackstairswindow) besides the other man and that stare. He laughs nervously. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.” The chair opposite creaks. Maran still doesn’t look up. “You scared of the ocean, or something?”

Maran thinks about that long, long fifteen minutes. He thinks about the waves lapping at either side of the rocky bridge. Thinks about his worn flat-soled shoes across slippery algae. Thinks about losing his footing. Thinks about falling in. Thinks about —

“Yes.” He laughs again. “Yeah, like. Very. Kinda daft, takin’ a job like this. I mean. Considering?”

“K-Kinda? Very.”

When he looks up, the stare has shifted towards the tight thread of his fingers. Maran feels the weight of it, the judgment, and squeezes tighter.

They don’t get on. Maran tries not to let it bother him. But the first thing he’s asked to do is fix a leak in the cistern collection pipe. He hasn’t a moment to set his things down, or find a good place to tuck the square of fabric he stows beneath his pillow, or clear his head of this new situation and its anxieties.

The order is lobbied, a bit coldly, in his general direction. Maran lets his hand drop to his side, smile faltering.

“I—Well, fuck. Thought we might as well be on a name basis, since we’ll be stuck together a bit.”

“If you last the night, s-sure.” He’s met not with an introduction but a cruel, smarter-than-you sneer. “Last five guys apparently tossed themselves from the top, and those were hardy s-seamen.” The other man snorts. “Seamen.”

He wishes he could speak to Benji. Just for a moment — just that quick burst of frustration to let out. Uncork. The excitement, the homesickness, the frustration, the fear. Instead, he settles for cursing under his breath the entire twenty minutes it takes to make the repair, the entire thirty seconds to round the lighthouse. The barrage of four-letter words only pauses when he finds the front door.

Bolted into the thicker metal is a panel. It’s about five hands tall and three across, with whirls and divots scattered across the surface. In some places, like each of the four corners, the metal has been worn smooth.

He realizes the barely visible markings must be all that remains of engraved letters. It looks as though the plaque is commemorative of the lighthouse’s birthdate, or maybe who its named after, or a historical tidbit. Whatever the details, they’ve been lost to time.

Passing through the entry gives Maran another missed detail. A sudden gust of wind sends him lurching in quite a bit faster than he intended. His shoulder connects painfully with the doorframe, and something digs in to the swell of his bicep.

The other keeper is nowhere to be seen, so he doesn’t feel so bad about the startled yelp he lets out. Pouting, Maran rubs at the sore spot and looks for the culprit — only to discover that it’s a thick chunk bolted to the interior frame. The shape is familiar, a rectangle about as long as his finger and domed slightly. He smiles a little, thumbnail tracing the marking barely visible beneath layers of paint: a mezuzah.

They don’t have any in the entryways of their home, but his mum had told him about her childhood. And this far, it was a good reminder of that connection.

He had been hoping it would curb some of the lingering fear.

It doesn’t. The fear twists in him until he falls asleep, and then without his consciousness to stifle, it springs forth. Maran dreams.

He steps up to the door and presses his hand on the plaque and is snatched into the sky. By the wind, or a hand in the back of his shirt, or the earth falling slipping beneath his feet. He hovers far above the inlet, a proper island now that the sea has eaten the path. No return. No hope going back home.

When Maran reaches up to check that the embroidery still nestles against his neck, the ground rushes to meet him. He falls and falls and falls, plummeting towards the ground. He thinks briefly to look up, at the sky and sun, maybe have his tragic final moment be nice at least. But his skull is locked forward like there are icy fingers holding him still. Forcing him to watch as the grey rock and coarse sand rushes to meet him. He’ll be broken against the rocks, or flatten to the waves, or worse —

He doesn’t feel the landing. But when he tries to sit up and assess the damage, hand behind him to touch the ground, it isn’t there. Looking to either side, he realizes he’s hovering slightly — but not caught by divine machination or mysterious mercy.

Instead, one of the spires has made an impaled home in his gut. There’s no blood, no tear in his jumper, no pain. When Maran reaches up to touch the metal, a soft oh leaves his lips.

It’s a scream when he wakes, though. He has the sensation of falling as he shoots upright, and it takes a moment to gather himself. He’s sweating, a hand clutched to his shirt.

On the other side of the shared living space, Maran’s unnamed companion also sits awake. His legs are pale, dangling over the edge of his cot — well, Maran has the cot. He has the bed. First come, first serve.

“N-nightmare?”

Maran nods. His breathing wavers. He doesn’t want to cry in front of a stranger.

“Yep.” He lies back down abruptly, turning his back too Maran. “Figured. Don’t go s-swimming. There’s an algae bloom. You’ll get fl-flesh eating bacteria and die. Slowly.”

Maran takes as deep a breath as he can manage. His hand, flattening over his stomach, doesn’t find a raised scar or wet wound or evidence at all of his dream. The relief feels childish. “Okay.”

There’s a stretch of silence, where Maran thinks the other man might have fallen asleep, then:

“Benson.”

The first week, Maran chips away at the mezuzah’s paint. He doesn’t recognize the letter carved into the wood, but he knows it’s oak — like the rest of the house. He finds another bolted to the beam that supports the spiral stairs leading up to the top of the lighthouse. There’s no door, no entryway, and he’s baffled as to why it’s there of all places when none sit in the frames of the living space of bathroom or storage shed. He stares up at the dizzying spiral, the flash-blink-flash of the mysterious light above, and decides not to dwell.

Instead, in the first week, he assesses the coop: full of fed and happy hens and one unhappy. He sterilizes and fashions an empty barrel in the shed to hold water in case of emergency, which gets a an approving nod from — Benson is a mouthful, but Maran hasn’t called him Ben anywhere but his own head. As starved as he is for companionship and guidance in this new place, the other keeper seems more interested in keeping to himself than listening to Maran ramble.

The first week, Maran carries home on his back and tries to make the best. He flings himself into chores, preparing with all the (admittedly meager) knowledge he has of surviving a long season. And he avoids the spires. He avoids looking at them. He doesn’t touch them. He gives them, as best as the small expanse of land will allow, as respectful a distance as possible.

For what it’s worth, the dream doesn’t repeat.

The second week, the third, the fourth: they pass. He hasn’t nearly enough to fill the hours, but there’s work enough to be done that he manages. There is a bookshelf full of dusty paperbacks and a few hardcovers that he largely ignores. Nothing calls to him (reading never has), and his fingers would feel gruesome touching page corners previously flipped by the dead.

Bens— Ben has no trouble devouring their contents. He finishes a book a day. Maybe more. Even the thick academic tomes eventually get placed in his finished pile. Over time, Maran urges a summary from each. Mysteries, thrillers (an ear-reddening romance that seems more wank-accessory than literature), and even an ancient almanac.

“The weather patterns and harvests and b-b-biodiver —” Ben pauses, his brow furrowing. “The environment completely changed. It’s fascinating.”

Maran listens to all this with a fist tucked under his chin, attention rapt. Just because he doesn’t want to read doesn’t mean he lacks interest. Ben, as it turns out, is the perfect teacher. And for good reason; Maran finds out, as the time stretches, that he’s a scientist. While the money called, the opportunity for research seemed more attractive to Ben.

“It’s just a little lighthouse.” Maran laughs. “What’s so interesting about ten paces of grass and some chickens?”

“It’s w-weird.” Ben asserts, leaning across the rickety table to make a serious face. Maran laughs. The smile that’s been pulling at the corner of Ben’s mouth comes out full force. For the first time. “Nobody’s studied it. Little isolated place, all this sea around it? S-Something’s here.”

He launches into theories, then. Barometric pressure readings and tidal temperatures and nitrogen levels in stagnant pools and evolutionary patterns of fauna —

Maran is kept by no invisible force; simply sits there, hands around his mug of tea, blinks occasionally. Mostly, listens.

He tries to keep track of the time, after that. Things become…strange. The weather milds, then worsens. It snows early, and then he finds a raspberry bush behind the coop that boasts new buds. Maran finds his hair needs to be cut. Without a mirror, he has no choice but to go to Ben.

“What’s the best way to go about this, you reckon?” Maran laughs haltingly, empty bin for clipping clutched to his chest.

Benny glances around, then back at Maran, the slight difference in their heights with his boots and Maran’s trainers, the kitchen table. Then he drags the chair over (with an awful screech that makes Maran wince) and hops onto the table. It sways but doesn’t break. When he tugs the chair and gestures towards it, Maran hesitates.

“C’mon. You want it b-buzzed. It’s that hard. I’m not gonna d-do you dirty.” Ben laughs. It’s become a more common sound over the past month. Still, he stays where he is. Ben rolls his eyes. “Sit down, Maran.”

He goes. He goes immediately. Maran stumbles on the leg of the chair and is caught at the shoulder by a firm hand, but eventually he plants himself in the wooden seat.

He isn’t sure he breathes the entire length of the haircut. But that can’t be right — it takes too long. Ben is meticulous. Ben is careful. He makes small talk about his latest experiment, something about nematodes and red algae. Maran watches curls float softly to the bottom of the bin and wonders if he’s getting sick. His head’s pounding with his pulse, and his brain’s foggy. He touches a finger under his nose at one point; he’d been prone to nosebleeds as a kid. His fingerprint comes back dry.

Ben lays a hand across his shoulder. “All done.”

Maran doesn’t move for a moment. His eyes lift, and he glances across the room, out the thin window that sits just above the utility sink.

There are storm clouds on the horizon.

He must say as much, because Ben leaps to his feet. “Fuck, those stupid fucking birds are out.”The table rattles. So does the bin, when Maran drops it. He scoops up the hair that flutters out, feeling tears prick at his eyes when a tuft slips out the open door on the wind. The gulls have cleared out already — there’s no birds who will use it for their nest. He watches as the clouds creep closer, and is inexplicably filled with dread.

The next morning, Ben sits at the table with his head folded in his hands.

“We lose something?” Maran asks tiredly, rubbing a fist into his sleep-sore eye. “Cistern looked fine when I checked but if there’s a repair —”

“Supply was supposed to be yesterday.”

Maran blinks a few times. He glances at the door. “Oh. The storm.”

Ben’s eyes are red-ringed when he lifts his head.

Maran does it. He makes the excuse for more firewood from the pile, but Ben’s smart. Ben’s the scientist. He must know. He chooses the oldest girl and kisses an apology to the top of her head before it’s lobbed off, clean and kind. He isn’t sure what he’s meant to say, if he’s meant to say anything, so he just repeats the snippets he heard from his mum. Shelter, guard, peace over night and safety the next morning.

Rationing isn’t hard. They only have to do it for a little, anyway. And Maran is used to lean months — he knows how to make rice last, chicken can keep on ice for six months on a stretch, and there’s plenty of canned things to pick through if it comes to that.

It’s not the chickens that starts to do Ben in. It’s the inconsistent weather, the nights that feel shorter than eight hours, and sometimes, the water near the south edge of the inlet reads boiling.

Maran isn’t sure if that’s algae. He doesn’t think so — but he’s not the scientist.

The scientist insists there’s something there. The scientist starts having nightmares. Maran wants to ask if they’re the same as his, because they touch his mind some nights, too. He’s scared of the answer. He’s scared that it’s only been three months, and the isolation has gotten to them both.

“Is it electric?” Maran asks one evening as he’s bundling up at the base of the stairs, chin tipped up towards the flash-blink-flash. A panel has come loose near the top, and someone needs to fix it. Ben hadn’t needed to ask for Maran to know it would need to be his job.

He looks at Ben when his inquiry his met by silence. They rarely are. Ben looks even paler than usual, washed in the patterned churn of darkness and light, dark and light. His eyes reflect the light; Maran thinks it might be more hypnotic against that blue than the dark blanket of sky. He doesn’t say as much, and when the moment passes, he wishes he had.

“I don’t know.” Ben gestures around them. No wires, he doesn’t say but Maran gathers. No generator. But it goes and goes, a continual spin, continual light. There are no traces of burnt soot or wick or lantern oil to pretend it’s light is sourced by fire. The original analog. It must be electric. *

It hurts to think about, so he doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t make Ben think about it either. That night, they do nothing but swap embarrassing stories like a couple of kids, cross-legged on the floor with a split two-thumbs of the last flask of rum and an unfinished card deck. Ben wins, but only (Maran insists) because most of the hearts are missing.

When Maran lands on his cot, the left leg that creaks and keeps him up when he turns splinters, shatters, drops him to the floor.

Ben laughs, but it’s not the usual pleasantly high lilt. It sounds a little manic. Maran feels manic. He splays arms and legs out, a starfish on dry land, and stares up at the weathered ceiling.

“I don’t want to jinx it—”

“D-Don’t, oh hah — oh, don’t fucking say anything you b-b-b—”

Maran raps his knuckles against the floor. “It cannot get fucking worse than this, mate. Swear!”

Ben tosses himself back against the mattress, and the creak that resounds in the quiet air makes them both pause — anticipating the comedic timing— but remains upright. They catch each others eye, and the laughter doubles. Maran’s stomach hurts with the force of it. When he splays his hand across his tensing gut, he hopes he thinks of this moment instead of his nightmare.

Ben catches his breath. And then he leans across the space, one hand braced on the floor, to tug at Maran’s jumper. There’s another pause, another quiet swell of silence, another extended moment where they lock eyes.

Ben doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t offer. But he shuffles back, shoulders to the wall, and makes room.

Maran fills it.

That night, there’s another storm.

There’s another storm. Or earthquake. Or other tectonic shift. Something that shakes the inlet, shakes the attached house and spills pans and belongings and rations, knocks a shelf from the wall, rattles the furniture, forces the lighthouse to creak and groan like a metallic beast.

Something. Maran isn’t the scientist, but the waves beat as high as the window and the coop is washed away by morning and the cistern is flooded with salt, has to be pumped, and —

And it’s something. And the light is red.

The light has gone red. Flash-red-blink-flash-red. Red.

Ben joins him at the base of the stairs. Neither of them climb up to investigate. Neither of them externally share the internal fear that it might be a one-way trip.

They go about their day without speaking. There’s no acknowledgement of the light, or how it spreads in a sick tinge across the waves, or how it doesn’t breach the surrounding fog nearly as well as the bright golden yellow. Maran doesn’t ask him to read the aviary guide’s entry on canaries, and Ben doesn’t offer — he makes space, and Maran fills it.

Maran has a nightmare. He dreams of climbing the stains and sitting on the floor in front of the light. He dreams of watching it turn (slowslowslowly). He understands, in that distant dreamlike way, that when it touches him that will be It. And when it does, red light spilling over the patch in his jeans at the knee, it burns through denim and skin and bone and all that’s left of him, at the top of that staircase, is the flash of red over dust.

He wakes, but not violently. Arms around his waist keep him in place; he can only jerk forward, as if throwing himself away from the heat, and cry out. There’s a knowing, similar to his dream, that if he opens his eyes all he’ll see is that reflected wash of crimson.

He doesn’t say anything. Ben, face buried in his shoulder, only shushes quietly. He turns until Maran has no choice but to do so as well, until their positions are switched. Maran draws air as they slot together, moves back a bit — he starts to apologize, because it was nightmare but —

Ben pats behind him for Maran’s hip. His hand fits snugly there, grips with a strength and insistent that spills heat into Maran’s face. Then he yanks Maran forward until they press together, chest to back and hip to hip, legs warmly tangled.

“Sorry.”

Ben hums sleepily. “For?”

Maran can’t verbalize it. Too embarrassing, too heavy the shame. His lips part but stutter over the explanation. And he can’t move to explain, because — well —

“Um. You know.” He sighs when there’s silence. “Ben, mate. C’mon.”

The body tucked against him shudders with a laugh, which does absolutely nothing to fix the situation at hand.

“S’fine. I’m fucking with you, Maran. H-Happens.” When Maran takes his turn with silence, he isn’t permitted to get away with it. Ben nudges himself back (purposefully, the bastard, it has to be) and makes Maran gasp. “Regularly, here’s hoping.”

“Fuck you.” Maran grumbles, but the heat is probably lost when he rubs his cheek into a sharp shoulder blade and falls immediately back to sleep.

The next morning, just as Ben leans in with hands cupping Maran’s cheeks, a foghorn sounds.

Ben squeezes his eyes shut and tucks his tongue — which Maran cannot help but stare at — against his canine, head falling with a thump-thump-thump against the pillow they shared.

“If this is a hallucination I’m going to be actually so fuckin’ pissed.”

Maran shifts, untangling their limbs from the almost-kiss embrace. It would have been nice. He wants it. More than he realized, he thinks, until they were exactly here. But —

“That’s the ferry.”

They stare at each other. Then they nearly trip over one another bolting for the stairs.

It is. It’s not a hallucination. It is the fucking ferry.

Both of them, barefoot and in nothing but thermal underclothes, rush out the front door and steps towards the edge of the water. It’s still too shallow for the vessel, so Maran takes the dinghy out to bring the old familiar face to the inlet.

“Light’s gone wonky, then?”

“Have you ever seen it do that?” Maran asks, putting a plate of ration-gruel in front of the man. “Sorry. All we got.”

The old ferryman makes a face. It isn’t a pleasant one at all. “Rough month, lads?”

When he’s gone, and the sack of supplies rests against the front door like a sandbag meant to keep something out, Maran watches Ben pace the floor.

“A month.”

“It can’t have been.” Maran insists quietly, hands tucked between his knees. “It can’t have been just a month. I was counting days. We ate three of supplies — we nearly ran out.” He stares up at Ben, eyes not just wet but brimming, spilling over. “Are we losing it? Are we?”

“No.” Ben’s turn to insist. He takes Maran’s chin in his palm and shakes him gently. The other flattens over the top of his scalp. “Your hair grew, Mar. It grew. That’s n-n-not a month’s fuckin’ worth of hair I cut.”

But they have no explanation, do they? Other than isolation. A mistracking of days, no matter how precise Ben is, how clean and careful his records. How consistent his notes. Wrong? And the sun in the sky, the passage of time; if he counts the minutes of boredom, that can’t wrong. Seconds, minutes, hours: real. Tides: real. Moon phases: real. That can’t be wrong. Ben can’t be. There has to be another explanation. There has to be another way —

Maran’s brow furrows.

“I think.” He glances up at Ben, whose hand falls away to rest over the back of his neck. Maran hasn’t told him about the embroidered house at his nape, but a pale thumb rubs its comforting circle there, anyway. “I think you were right.”

“What? Your hair?”

“No.” Maran glances over his shoulder towards the door that separates them from the interior of the lighthouse. He thinks of the mezuzah on the beam. “No, Ben. That there’s something here. I think it’s underneath.”

Ben’s hands sting when they clap to his cheeks, but the kiss makes the pain worth it. Or, Maran thinks privately, maybe sweeter.

#writing #mgc #mgc x jlb #lighthouse au #i had to start 2024 spooky yall know me uwu

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gust-jar-simulator · 1 year ago

Text

Somebody liked my post on evil Red so here’s a teaser for Penumbra, featuring Legend and Blue.

-🐇❄️🧊❄️🐇-

Legend… really didn’t know what to think of his new captors. He’d been expecting a cell, maybe some shackles. At worst, fucked up dark magic and torture devices. This room was certainly functioning as his cell, but there were rugs and little seating poufs and a slightly-better-than-shitty bed, all in alarming shades of pastel that clashed horribly with the bare stone and rune-enforced door.

If he thought about it too hard he felt like a pet, so he didn’t. No need to tempt the already sadistic gods.

He’d heard the three shadows bickering outside his door maybe an hour ago- the greenish one had been throwing his authoritative weight around, it sounded like, demanding an interrogation, but the other two had headed him off with mentions of “Vio” and the game and something about hospitality that had devolved into a shouting match. At this rate he was just sort of hoping they remembered Hylians needed to eat. Why invent future horrors when he could wait patiently and see them for himself?

He was busy considering the cracks in the walls when the door finally creaked open on heavy hinges, and the blue one hustled into the cell with a platter of something, collapsing back against the door with a harried sigh that echoed strangely.

“Fuck everything,” the ice-encrusted shadow hissed, “but fuck that guy in particular.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

The dark’s head snapped up, frozen eyes gleaming with a sick milky film. “Excuse you?”

“Oh, sorry,” the veteran drawled. “I meant to say the weather’s so nice today.” He leaned back on the bed, eyeing the windowless walls appreciatively. “Kind of monastery chic meets little girls’ tea party. Bold choice for a prison, I like your moxie.”

With an utterly disgusted noise, the dark stepped forward to drop the platter a little too roughly on a tea table- mostly fruits, nuts, and a few mushrooms, with an entire waterskin instead of a cup. He then straightened a chair, a doily, and gave a rug in the corner a particularly severe look like he was resisting the urge to completely pull it up, hands flexing a couple of times.

Legend watched with great interest as he hissed between his teeth again, icy vapor misting in the air. “This is stupid. We both know this game is fucking stupid.”

Well. He wasn’t expecting one of his captors to crack so soon. “I’m the guy in a box.”

“Yeah?” There was a crunching, grinding noise as the shadow turned to glare at him sightlessly, clear water dripping from a crack in his stony neck. “Well our guy in your box is a massive fucking problem, because I give it a week max before Red or Green or both can’t handle the fucking temptation of a good guy on our turf.”

He liked to consider himself a reasonable guy. Villains typically didn’t have much worthwhile to say but gloating or breakdowns of their own weaknesses, and this was decidedly the latter but far too soon. He frowned. “Uh. What about you? Gonna give in and eat me or something?”

“You wish I’d eat you.” Blue- that had to be his name- started pacing, rugs glittering with frost as he started wearing a trench in the floor. “If I had my way I’d drop you right back on the Goddess’s golden tits. Or a ditch. But the game’s been set, and there’s rules to this shit, so here you are and here I am and Vio is pulling a goddamned stunt that will get us all killed.”

Legend dragged over a pillow and propped it behind his back. “Do I get a reward if I pretend to be empathetic or something? Is this group therapy or just a you thing.”

Blue made a noise like a feral boar, and the temperature dropped so fast his ears popped.

Right. Unknown and unpredictable shadow monsters with possible elemental affinities. That. Legend swallowed, and licked his dry lips.

Dragging his compusure together, thread by tenuous thread, Blue took several deep breaths that fogged the air around him like the cloudy crown of a mountain. “I mean this in the most genuine way you’ll ever hear: watch your fucking mouth, you stupid piece of shit.” He marched closer, cold as rain and twice as unpleasant, to stand a respectable foot away from the bed and glare down at him. “I’m a lovely spring flower compared to the rest because I don’t want shit to do with you. Your only fucking use to me is collateral for my teammate’s health. Green thinks you might be useful. You don’t want to be useful.” He leaned down slightly, voice lowering like someone could hear. “Red wants to be friends, but if you get uppity you’ll wish he’d just killed you. And I won’t stop him, because I love him more than I care about your fucking well-being. Get me?”

“Gotten.” He was very, very uncomfortable having a possible ice elemental within spitting distance, but heroes thrive under pressure. He could work with this. He could sit put and be boring, or he could push his shitty luck. The man leaning over him was cracked like oracle bones. “What about Dark? Should I be expecting courting gifts?”

“Dark doesn’t know you’re here.”

What. Did they sneak him into the enemy’s base for fun?

They’d been calling it a game from the start.

Shit.

#my writing #blue link #legend linked universe #palace of the four sword #sort of

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deepautumncolors · 7 months ago

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💅🏻 ~Manicure Monday~ 💅🏻

Hi everyone! In my last post, I mentioned that I was going to wear my green and blue glitter for Easter… but I changed my mind. This year for Easter, I decided to try a skittle manicure which is when each nail is a different color. I’ve never done one before, but I saw a really pretty one with pastel colors on Instagram that I wanted to replicate. And I love how it came out!

Doing a skittle manicure is fun, but it takes longer than regular ones because you have to keep switching bottles as well as putting two coats of polish on each nail. With all the extra movement, there is more potential for mistakes so I discovered that you have to be very careful. I didn’t keep the bottles too close to the space where I was painting so I wouldn’t accidentally smudge any of my nails on them. All the polishes I used are OPI crèmes, and I’ll talk a little bit about each one.

💛 Blinded by the Ring Light: I already reviewed this one last year. You can read about it here! I only used two coats this time, but I can still see some of my nails underneath it, so three would be better.

💚 How Does Your Zen Garden Grow?: I’ve already reviewed this polish before, too. You can read about it here! It wasn’t the same green they used in the example I saw, but it was close. The one they wore is called That’s Hula-rious! which is a bit lighter and more of a mint green.

🩵 Gelato on My Mind: I reviewed this one last year as well. You can read about it here! I would say the formula of this one was the thinnest out of all five, so you don’t need to put a lot on the brush and you don’t want to get too close to your cuticles with it. This one wasn’t the same blue they used in the post either, but it’s very close. The one they wore is called It’s A Boy! which is a sky blue that would also work very well for this.

💜 Polly Want a Lacquer?: I just happened to order this polish the day before I saw the post where they were wearing the exact same one! It’s from the Fiji Collection that came out for Spring/Summer 2017. It’s a beautiful lavender that does not lean towards blue or gray like some purples do. I considered getting Do You Lilac It? when I was looking for a light purple, but the color of that one is a little darker. The first coat was streaky and patchy just like the other three colors, but the second coat evened it out nicely.

🩷 Mod About You: Believe it or not, I didn’t have a pastel pink crème already! I have a pretty pink that’s a shimmer, but I thought it would have looked silly being the only shimmery nail when the rest were crèmes. In my opinion, skittle manis would look best when all five polishes have the same type of finish. People rave about this color, so I decided to try it. When I saw it in person, I thought it looked too pale, but I bought it anyway. I like it better on my nails than I do in the bottle, so I’m glad I did. A lot of pastels have thin formulas that require two coats because the color is so light, but this one was opaque with one coat. In fact, it was the only one that was out of all five polishes. The color is very sweet and feminine. It was originally released with the Brighter by the Dozen collection in Summer 2006, and now it’s one of their core colors. I can see why!

So, there you have it! I would definitely like to wear the purple and pink polishes by themselves sometime, since this was the first time I wore them and they are only on two nails. They are both lovely colors for the springtime, and so are the other three. I can’t even pick a favorite because I love them all!

#nail polish #OPI #nails #manicure #notd

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choccy-zefirka · 1 year ago

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Laulu Casts Disguise Self

Just a small introduction to Laulu and the tiny bit of backstory she shares with Gale (neither of them has put the pieces together, though). Thank you @sky-scribbles for being so receptive to my DM screaming about them!

The crowd has been growing restless. Shuffling in place, shifting and shoving, smooshing their shoulders together, spitting out little barks at this or that hapless soul who happens to be too tall, or sport obstructing Tiefling horns or Dragonborn crest, or just wear an overly large hat.

But at long last, the glittering plumes of alchemical fog roll onto the little outdoor stage, and she steps forward. The petite wood elf, pretty as a painting, with soft, flowing pastel curls and huge eyes of different color, one green as an emerald, one warmly brown. Her curvy form is hugged by a shiny dress that fans out below her hips into a burst of bright yellow feathers. Perfectly fitting for the nickname that was given to her in Baldur's Gate, and then travelled ahead of her here, to Waterdeep, on the wings of awed whispers and shrill newsboy cries.

Oriole.

She carries her lute with her, and when she hoists it up, and prepares to pluck the strings, the crowd's cranky murmurs erupt into screams of excitement. A male half-Orc at the back even begins to sob, in a huge, booming voice that catches Lady Oriole's attention.

She looks up from the lute, and those onlookers who have wrestled their way closest to the stage can almost catch a glimpse of an odd shadow that flits across her face, marring her perfect, perfect features. But that passe, before they can even process what came over her.

She breathes in, and tries to stand taller — ah, so adorable, many in the front row think, for she is so sweet and small and non-threatening — and begins to sing.

She gives her all to the music, melting into it, lost in the enormity of what she has created. Amplified by the shape of the stage and some simple theatrical magic, her voice fills the square and warbles down the starburst of surrounding streets — like a clear, gentle, soothing stream. Here and there above the narrow, cobbled paths, the wooden shutters fly open, and entire families push against the much too small windows, almost falling out, entranced.

And high above their heads, hopping from chimney to chimney, gliding over the tiled roofs on speckled wings, dancing elegantly along the tightrope of clotheslines, a tressym makes her way closer and closer to the square.

In her little number-three-shaped mouth, there is a long shard of polished crystal. Stolen from one of the local wizards maybe? No; there is too much precise determination in her movements to be a fleeing thief. The tressym is not absconding with her burden; she is bringing it to the stage. Straight into the welcoming embrace of the music.

Even when the waves of Lady Oriole's voice wash all over her, she does not let herself get swept off by the rippling currents, not like all those swaying, clapping, ecstatic two-leggers. She is on a mission. And she is not satisfied until she pinpoints the perfect vantage point — on the shoulder of an imp gargoyle that is frozen, forever retching on rainwater, on one of the larger, more imposing buildings in the square.

Once she's found a foothold, the tressym leans forward, angling the crystal in her mouth so that whatever magic swirls inside of it, glowing like a swarm of trapped fireflies, can capture every note of the song. And the next song. And the one after that.

She stays well into the night, a winged silhouette against a skyline that's painted first soft pink, then blazing scarlet, then inky blue.

Only after the last encore fades, and the little bard raises her lute high above her head and cries out "I love you, Waterdeep!", and the crowd thunders something incoherent yet elated in response, and finally begins to disperse, splitting into little pockets of breathless post-concert banter — only then does the tressym spread her wings again.

A tiny shadow melting perfectly into the darkening streets — save for her pair of flashing eyes, and the pulsing glow of the crystal she carries — she zooms above the rooftops. Higher and higher, all the way to the elegant harborside tower that has also turned into a silhouette of pitch black, even though at this time of night, its windows should be brightly lit, and its top-floor balcony should be basking in a cozy amber glow. But instead, all is awash in icy murk, and the cushioned bench in the balcony's best spot stands empty, a long-abandoned book on its edge slowly turning warped and pockmarked with many nights' worth of sudden rain showers.

The door inside is shut tight, but not locked — hardly an obstacle for a cat with an ounce of brain matter. And the tressym do have more of that than most cats (if you ask them, at least).

With a little push, the little crystal-bearer slips into the tower. Here, the air is so heavy, so stale, that the nocturnal cold outside would now seem refreshing. The tressym sets her prize down, carefully tucking it under her soft paws, and wrinkles her nose.

"Once again," she meows into the dark, "I insist that we should keep at least some doors and windows open."

"I... I cannot do that, Tara," another voice responds, somewhere from the depths of the stagnant void. It is hoarse, like the labored scrape of some machine that has been left to gather rust for far too long.

"I would rather not take that risk."

Tara huffs to herself, her white-whiskered brows knotting into a frown and her tail trashing against the dusty floorboards. Then, she picks the crystal up again and flutters off to the source of the voice. The messy vortex of blankets right in the middle of the floor, at the foot of a massive bookcase — one of the many, many bookcases in the tower, which have gradually been turning into a silent, mournful forest of cobwebs.

Beside the blankets, a small bowl of cold soup has been left on the floor. Tara puts the crystal down again and sniffs carefully at the bowl's contents.

"You have barely eaten," she notes, tail trashing stronger now.

A stifled, colorless laugh escapes the blankets; and with it, a hand, just as colorless. It waggles an index finger at her.

"An attempt was made, was it not?"

Tara is not impressed.

"A very poor attempt."

She bats at the crystal with her paw, pushing it closer to the blankets.

"Do you remember how you took your mother to see a bard in Baldur's Gate, and you were both so moved by her songs? She is touring Waterdeep now, and I have collected memories of her performance. Perhaps listening to her again might... enthuse you enough to at least leave your bed and take a stroll across the room?"

The blankets stir, and even more of their occupant emerges. A gaunt face, framed by disheveled hair and a beard that just barely remembers being well-groomed; and a torso, wrapped into a days-old bathrobe that, no matter how tightly the poor human tries to twist it around himself, barely covers the bruised circle on his chest. The mark left by the... entity that slithers, barely contained, underneath his sallow skin; brimming with malignant energy and so much more alive than the rest of him.

"Tara..." he whispers, reaching for the crystal with a stiff, fumbling hand. "This is too much to do for my sake, truly..."

The tressym protests — by half-swatting him across the nose, claws drawn in, pink toe beans barely touching skin.

"Nonsense, Gale. Now, listen to your music while I go and see if the enchantment on the broom still holds. This much dust can only be removed with magic."

She flies off, and Gale slips back into his makeshift nest, cradling the memory shard with a quiet reverence. His touch awakens the memories that Tara so painstakingly trapped within: the gentle cascade of Lady Oriole's songs.

He takes them all in with his eyes closed, his brows arched. Some of them are entirely new, perhaps composed specially for the Waterdeep tour; but some, he recognizes from that evening at the Elfsong with his mother. In a past life, buried deeper than he has burrowed into his blankets.

Barely conscious of what he's doing, he begins to hum along, a smile trying, again and again, and finally managing to perch on his lips. He throws his eyes open; though still tired, still bruised, they are alight with something a little more than just the reflection of the glowing memory shard — the only bright speck in his dark tower.

***

Alfira shifts to the side on her rock ledge, inviting her new adventurer friend to join her.

The young half-Orc's patchwork travel overcoat has been left out to dry among the refugees' modest laundry, still soaked from wading around the harpy nest. And now that she's left in nothing but a plain white undershirt and breeches to cover all the rolls of her large body, she instinctively shrinks into an awkward, tense lump, trying to make herself smaller. A motion that might have been rather adorable if made by someone not quite so... like her.

But Alfira's smile is open and friendly, even if shaky at first, wobbling through the wet pall of recent tears for her lost mentor. And the lute that she has handed over settles into the half-Orc's arms with a familiar ease. So she returns the smile, through fluffy strands of pastel hair, and takes up all of the space offered to her, ready to give her all to the music. To melt into it, leaving her physical form — too big, too much, too conspicuous — far behind.

When her and Alfira's voices take wing together, each stanza resounding stronger than the last, the half-Orc's traveling companions look on with various degrees of surprise, befuddlement, and curiosity.

They never knew she could play. They never knew her as anything but Laulu, a humble farm girl who went to the big, wondrous city of Baldur's Gate to find her fortune, with the blessings and tearful goodbyes of her doting Halfling father and no less doting Orc mother... Only to be plucked off the streets in a wisp of black smoke, and have an Ilithid parasite forced into one of her different-colored eyes.

It has been easy to take her for granted: a soft, unobtrusive presence around the campsite; ready to offer a helping hand yet never asking any questions about the many, many secrets of her fellow infected. Just as they never asked any questions about her, beyond what she’d volunteer about herself, blushing the color of swamp moss. Such a boring young thing, surely.

Yet now, when she sings, when she unleashes the melody like a tidal wave, to sweep down from the cliffside and through the Grove, it is like they are seeing her for the first time. Gale especially seems affected. His hand travels involuntarily to his chest, clawing at the folds of his robe; and his eyes study Laulu with an almost manic intent. It is hard to be certain, because she is singing in a duet with Alfira, but something about her voice is profoundly, poignantly familiar. And when, for a fleeting moment, she looks up from her lute strings and their gazes meet, his eyes are alight with something a little more than just the golden sunbeams that stream through the gaps between the druids' mossy standing stones.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale x tav #bg3 fanfiction #original things #and yeah i know she could have used magic to get rid of her heterochromia too but she couldn't bring herself to #bc she inherited that trait from her papa

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inkandpaintleopard · 8 months ago

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Dude do not get me STARTED on the Soft boys

I get that their purpose is to serve as a little breather (until Monster, anyway), but I feel like there could have been more done with that? Like dude this is one of the few mods that even ALLUDES to Frank, it would have been really unique (especially for the time) if Ben and Pico actually got to meet him; it'd even fit into the story because they're trying to go somewhere and "Frank lets us ride in his van all the time, we will ask him for you!"

Also I have just found out that Father Fairest's first name is actually Frank so uh. That could be fun (/s) for Ben

(also I feel like whatever SM Frank is doing in this universe he'd sympathize with both Ben's and Pico's plights, but that's besides the point)

Also just. I say this with a heavy heart but I do not like their designs. I get what they were going for but it feels... kind of cluttered? I think they would have looked better without their costumes on, give Pump some face stickers too to make up him not having spots

If anything I feel like leaning into that "creative" angle would have made for better designs, show them covered in paint and glitter or something because they're trying to make things, maybe even a little dirt because they love to explore just as much as the OG Spookeez, but their clothes show stains way more because they're not pure black

OH AND ON THAT-

It's just kind of a personal gripe but I wish their colors were closer to the originals too. Ben, Pico, and Grace all have the same color schemes as their original counterparts, just muted/pastel with a few changes, but instead of pastel purples and oranges Skid and Pump have completely different colors. I do like how the color of Skid's clothes mirror Pump and vice versa, but it's just weird looking at those three and then these two

Also again a minor gripe in the grand scheme of things but instead of removing the mic entirely they should have had a toy microphone, it still fits with their theme AND the context that they like Father Fairest's music

Yep, yep, yep, yep, yep, I get all that… before I even played the mod I just thought “Well their designs need work but hopefully their character is good.” Like dude they don’t even get an original song. I like the way they’re introduced but other than that they have nothing going for them.

I hadn’t even considered the whole Frank thing, that would’ve been nice.

I have such weird opinions on their designs; I think my biggest issue with them is that they don’t seem coherent. Why would Pump wear blue? Why do they look like they’re wearing jumpsuits? Are they? Why would they be? And yeah how are they that clean? And where’s the spookyness in it? I think about this for a lot of Skid designs specifically, because I feel like you wouldn’t know he was a skeleton if you didn’t already know what he came from, which is fine for all of us, but I feel like it doesn’t make sense in universe.

I was planning on redesigning them when I finally played the mod, but every time I think about redesigning/stylizing a character, I realize it goes against the way I come up with stories and stuff. For the Soft Spookeez specifically, every bit of dislike I may have for them gets added to whatever story I have in mind. Like oh, one finds their appearance underwhelming and annoying? So does every other Skid and Pump. I can’t get any personality from them? Their character is now that they have no character; everyone else is baffled that they came out of the Soft mod and are completely trauma-free. So on and so forth, help I don’t remember how to stylize.

Wait yeah them having a toy mic would be nice; I find them feeling weirdly detached without it.

#One day while I was archive-digging I found a redesign #Might go looking for it again #friday night funkin #fnf #fnf mods #fnf soft mod #skid and pump #spooky month skid #spooky month pump #sm skid #sm pump #spooky month #crossover-enthusiast

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insurguitor · 1 year ago

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K so ramble time :D Talkin bout my CJRP anon trio btw

Mkay so! Swimmer! P sure yall already know his appearance but just in case here ya go:

Swimmer is an entity of some sort, basically just. Not human and not something that naturally occurs. They do not have bodily needs! They don't need to eat, drink, breathe, sleep, etc., though they can if they want to. Their clothes are part of their body and they're just all water under everything. Except the glitches and the tail. They are also able to just turn into water, which they do to avoid injury and travel through small spaces. Also their teleportation isn't quite teleporting! They're kinda just converting themself into data and using that to travel, it's just so fast it looks like they teleported. Shut down the internet and they won't be able to "teleport" anywhere. They can also theoretically transport themselves into devices via bluetooth or something like that, though they find it really uncomfortable physically, mentally taxing, and that's just a privacy boundary they're not comfy crossing. Their access to the internet in this way allows them to get a lot of information from a lot of places, though they have a little bit of trouble remembering things they get access to this way.

Disc is a robot! It's very humanoid in appearance and is almost completely black. It has white patches across its body, white hair that reaches down to where their shoulderblades would be, and black sclera with glowing white irises. They also lack a mouth. They have a monotone voice and have extreme difficulty expressing emotions, and they're pretty strong too. They have a photographic memory and use that to their advantage when they research! Most of the time they research human things to figure out how to take care of B-Day. They've ended up as the target of the others' antics more often than not, but they don't really mind as they're pretty harmless. Like Swimmer, they do not have bodily needs. But unlike Swimmer, they are not able to experience them if they wanted to! They mostly stick to keeping everyone out of trouble and keeping an eye on B-Day, though they can get aggressive if something or someone hurts or becomes an active threat to the other two.

B-Day is an ordinary human! No powers, no magic, no special abilities, nothing. They're pretty flexible and extremely good at slight of hand stuff though. They're 9 years old and don't remember much about their birth parents, having lived with the others since they were around 3. They're pretty short and have pastel blue hair that barely reaches their shoulders, blue eyes, and pale skin. Their outfit varies from day to day, but it usually includes a pink bow or two somewhere, their pink rollerskates, and a pair of red aviator sunglasses. They also carry a messenger bag with them when they go out, containing various things they consider "useful," including glitter bombs, party poppers, confetti, tubs of icing, birthday candles, a lighter, and a bag of assorted candies. They have a penchant for chaos and enjoy pranking people. They also get into a lot of goofy antics with Swimmer. and they enjoy messing with Disc's hair, usually braiding it, styling it into a bun or a ponytail, or just putting clips in it. They love baking and celebrating, being the one to plan each of the trio's birthday parties and also assigning Swimmer and Disc birthdays when they discovered that they didn't have one.

Now dynamics! All three pretty much live together now that they're in the anon village. Swimmer and Disc have a big sibling/little sibling relationship and like to do mischief together. Disc makes sure they don't get into trouble and is a sort of caretaker to the others, though it can get parental at times, especially with B-Day. It's pretty much the one doing all the cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc. B-Day likes to bake and usually does so under the watchful eye of Disc, but they're pretty good at it and skilled enough to bake on their own if they tried to. Swimmer cannot cook for their life and always somehow manages to catch something on fire. They were banned from the kitchen after they somehow managed to burn ice cubes. The trio tend to stick together, but Swimmer is the most prone to leaving the group, regularly wandering off. B-Day also goes off on their own on occasion, usually to prank people or, sometimes, to celebrate someone's birthday. Disc rarely ever breaks off from the group, usually only doing so to tend to or look for something. The trio also go clothes shopping from time to time! Mostly it's for B-Day, but Swimmer will snatch things that peak his interest and will pick out outfits for Disc with the assistance of B-Day. Disc only gets the pants from said outfits, B-Day get the shirts for whatever they plan on using them for. It's a weird tradition they have that I haven't exactly decided the origin for yet.

#ramble time #insurgui talk #cjrp #cjrp anons #I love them so much can you tell

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cartoonfangirl1218 · 2 years ago

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Exes and Ohs

Hortensia glanced around the glittering chandelier that was suspended over her head as her senses took in the sights and sounds and salivating smells of Satu’s grand ballroom. Tonight, it was filled to the brim with ambassadors, delegates, and royals to celebrate in a Interkingdom Friendship Celebration Festival. It had been Elena and Julio’s idea to upgrade the Feast of Friendship by inviting curious citizens to see what other kingdoms had in store, to promote tourism and curiosity in other lands. Emperor Toshi was generous enough to offer his kingdom to be the first to host.

Cordoban flamenco dancers wowed the crowd with their lightning steps just after the raucous fiddling of Norburg’s best, soon to be followed by a Marswickian opera group. Satuenese tofu smelled delectable alongside Galdonian latkes and Noctem spices and Avaloran and Parasian chocolate vied to make the most mouths water.

Tongues and accents drifted delightfully around the room as the people danced and mingled, spots of righteous laughter breaking the crowd, creating a warm, joyful atmosphere having all these nationalities in one place. And barring her favorite Navidad sales boom, it was one of the most fun parties Hortensia had been to. It was almost overwhelming with so much to do as well as witnessing the best talents and eating some of the best food.

She had just finished a long conversation with King Juan Ramon who was recounting a conversation he had with a centurion from Tir na Nog, woch was basically a retelling of the country’s numerous wars. While she enjoyed hearing the king’s excitement about it, it also felt like she was living through the Hundred Years War he was telling her about. She wanted to head to the food table where some Avaloran peaches were calling her name.

Hortensia casually glanced around at the brightly-dressed guests, some more sparkly than others like Princess Valentina. That was another thing she enjoyed about this party. All the opportunities for people watching. Like the slightly amusing reaction of the sirenea prince and princess who were tasting spicy Napurna peppers for the first time and ran to douse their tongues. Or King Joaquin getting a tag-team greeting with a big squeeze from Princess Chloe and hearty slap on the back by King Hector.

But the one thing distracting her from all the sights was the mouth watering smell of those peaches. She could practically feel the sweet juice dripping off her chin. She had to have it!

“Sorry Your Majesty, but I’m a little famished-” Hortensia interrupted and King Juan smiled understandingly, “Go and try the carizan pralines, they’re delicious!”

Hortensia made her exit and filled her plate with peaches, tamales and the pralines her uncle suggested. As well as a small helping of chocolate. Avaloran and Paraisan. Although Esteban did not have to know that last part. Even though the two kingdoms were in a steadfast alliance, having buried their feud, the Chancellor still maintained Avaloran chocolate was the best.

Hortensia glanced around looking for the chocolate loving Chancellor and felt an unconscious smile curve her lips when she spotted him. His bright gold blazer was unmistakable among the tables of pastel red and blues. Esteban always managed to separate himself from the crowd.

She manuevered her way through the crowds and found an empty seat beside him. Now would be a good time to goad him about who the better Magister was. Julio may have been reigning for three years and had brought new ideas but she should have the credit for building the foundation for him to go wild with festivals and fluff.

But when she came closer she saw that he was next to their least favorite Paraisan ambassador, Lorenzo Veracruz. Their least favorite as he managed to outpace King Hector in not shutting up ever.

Hortensia raise an eyebrow, conveying everything she didn’t need to say out loud, they just got each other that way. “How long has he been at it?” Esteban raised a matching eyebrow with an eye roll, “Too long.”

Hortensia smiled and tried to calm the feeling of her cheeks blushing. Something that had happened far too often lately. It was annoying.

She didn’t know why but everytime she thought about the history she and Estenan shared, the way they got each other without words like at this moment, she felt warm and happy. Like she was on an inside joke. He was also comfortable, a different sort of comfortableness than what she had with her family in the past nor the same as when she’d gossip with Lady Yolanda and Countess Dolares.

It was the coziness that she could spend the whole day with Esteban and never tire of conversation. Or more accurately arguing and bantering. The security of knowing someone that just ‘got her’ that even though they didn’t have the same pasts and regrets, he understood her and that he’d always have her back, and she for him. It was a great relationship they had.

But she hated the obvious blushing feeling. The spark she felt trailing up her spine when Esteban gave her a look. A look yhat felt like she was the only one present in his world and how she wanted him to look at her like that all the time.

It was veering dangerously close to a crush just like when she was young and first met him, before he opened his mouth. It was ridiculous. They were just friends. They would only be friends.

Not that Esteban would be an awful person to date.

On the contrary, despite the bluster and arrogance Esteban possessed, it was a cleara cover up for his insecurities and guilt. Esteban cared for the people. He had high principles and sense of justice. He lved his family. He stood by his friends now. Plus he was witty and some of his more childish antics just amused her.

So she wasn’t particularly opposed to dating Esteban. . .

But they were friends, she reminded herself.

Esteban only saw her as a friend and that was great. Certainly a step up from their first impressions of each other.

“Oh, Klausa’s here!” Esteban interrupted the ambassador mid-rant and Hortensia’s thoughts, by waving over their heads. Hortensia searched the crowd for the returning wave and saw the blonde flash of hair.

She suddenly remembered who Klausa was. She got up immediately, sure she had the face of someone who stepped in shit but she couldn’t hide it. Esteban knew how she felt about Klausa.

She took a step back and stared suspiciously at the man who was sitting placidly at his seat, “Klausa? Are you lying just because I sat down next to you? If you are-”

“Ello!” A litling Marswickian accent joined the conversation.

Hortensia turned and tried to force a polite smile, a good distraction from her thoughts running after each other. But she was pretty certain that Esteban heard her groan, “No!”

Klausa was tall. That was the first thing that one noticed. She was about Esteban’s height even in flats but her red hair swept into a sophisticated updo gave her added height. Her face looked freshly washed with a glow of healthiness and happiness as if she greeted every day with blue birds helping her get dressed. Such an earnest face.

Her dress mimicked her light aura, colored in shimmering pink pastel with floral motifs, reminding Hortensia of the decorations for springtime festivities and Sweetheart’s Day. But she was a performer to the end, and Klausa’s dress was cut to acce her figure with a low V-cit giving a scandalous glimpse at her lack of underclothes. She wasn’t even classy enough to know that you were supposed to leave something to the imagination.

In her unfavorable opinion, Klausa was an opera singing bimbo that Esteban appreciated more for what came out of her blouse than what came out of her mouth. She was also a complete idiot who believed everyone was her friend. It was so innocently naive and it seemed to charm everyone Klausa met. She despised it.

The worst part was that Klausa didn’t understand sarcasm. Do you know how frustrating it was to insult someone without it? She tried to drive Klausa away by telling her she hated her. The imbecile thought she was joking! She wasn’t joking!

“Hello, Klausa,” Esteban warmly welcomed her, kissing the blonde on the cheek. And Dona was sure it wasn’t imagination when she thought his voice sounded warmer when he said Klausa’s name.

Klausa skipped the kiss on the cheek and pulled Esteban into a big bear hug and kiss.

Esteban, blushing, pulledback. “Um, you remember Dona.”

A mischievous smile, “Avalor’s own Miss Congeniality.”

Klausa’s eyes lit up with delight as she shook Hortensia’s hand, “Congratulations! I didn’t know you were into pagents. Well, I’m sure you did well. Obviously you did well. You got Miss Congeniality! That’s wonderful!”

Really and truly sarcasm-impaired that woman was.

Hortensia grimaced, and it took all her self-control not to stalk off at Klausa’s sincere congratulations. She wasn’t going to let Esteban drive her off like this! If he was going to try to annoy her with this migraine inducing woman she could dish it right back!

“And this is Lorenzo Veracruz, Paraiso’s ambassador to Avalor,” he introduced, which Lorenzo frowned in response at Esteban’s brief introduction, skipping over the man’s full title.

“Wow, Estedan, you know such fascinating people! I mean, a Magister, an ambassador. I could never do what you do.” Klausa shook Lorenzo’s hand and bowed which seemed to soothe Lorenzo’s wounded ego already. These men were so simple.

“Oh, opera is quite difficult too,” Esteban turned the conversation over to Klausa, “What shows have you’ve done lately?”

As Klausa sat down and talked about her arias and the travelling companies she had been part of, Hortensia glared at Esteban, willing him to look at her.

Did he not hear that Klausa called him Estedan? When she had accidentally called Esteban “Estefan” he wouldn’t let up for years! Yet when Klausa distorted his name, he didn’t even correct her! He didn’t mind at all.

This is why she hated Klausa’s presence around Esteban. He acted like a different person.

But he was himself Hortensia knew just from the perfectly curled bangs, spit shined boots, and immaculate yellow blazer. He was always so fastidious in making sure he looked his best. He always looked so suave. So handsome. . .

Hortensia shook that thought from her head.

Was he really that into getting the opera-singing bimbo’s dress that he didn’t care what an idiot she was to not even pronounce a simple name correctly?

Sure, if you heard Esteban tell it, Klausa was a musical genius who knew everything about the profession. Then he’d lecture her about how learning Italian and breath control was no joke, and how many languages did she learn hmm?

Hortensia knew better.

The girl in question had other things than opera in her mind. It was so obvious. Klausa was leaning so forward that she looked in danger of popping a breast out of her dress and Esteban was doing his best to pretend not to notice as his eyes darted from there and back up to her face.

Even as Hortensia reminded herself that she couldn’t let herself get too worked up lest Esteban get his satisfaction, Klausa was just too annoying. The breathless way she talked, no way it could be natural. Especially as she cooed over Esteban’s blazer and nodded in awe as he explained the rules of olaball as if it was as complex as the formula for free capitalist systems was irritating her more. It was obvious what Klausa was thinking in regards to Esteban.

And why shouldn’t she? A rational voice argued in Dona’s head. They hooked up several times before. This is what they do. Talking at the party, he admires her solo and they head to the nearest empty room. That’s fine if it’s what they want. It’s their business.

But she expected Esteban to have better taste than that. This woman was. . . she was so simple. Literally simple in the head. All he could have from her was sex and breathless praise in that high soprano voice.

Sex and praise, how shallow. How simple.

Then again . .

What if Esteban wants some simplicity in his life? A doubting voice whispered in her head.

After all that he’s been through, the isolation, the exile, the continued rumors and still deep-seated feelings of guilt. What if he wanted the praise of someone who thought he did no wrong. Someone who did not have such complex feelings to navigate. Regrets that haunted her.

Regrets like her and who she had become. The constant clash between how she grew up and her hatred of the hypocritical elite who never worked or starved a day in their life like she had. And how she was now, that she had all the money in the world but an empty home. She didn’t allow herself to dwell on those thoughts too much but they lingered. Not that she could ever burden others with it. Especially he who she still argued and disagreed and bantered.

Not that it all mattered. Hortensia wasn’t comparing herself to Klausa. It wasn’t like she wanted to vie for Esteban’s affections.

It was fine they had one night stands. Hortensia considered herself very open about those things. People had short term needs. Hell, she indulged in it once or twice with a handsome stud.

But thinking about Esteban's one night stands.

An acidic, chruning feeling grew in her gut and her teeth grinded instinctively. Then she exhaled. This was a stupid and crazy feeling. She needed a distraction to compose herself back to normalcy.

Away from Klausa and Esteban and thoughts of their history together.

Hortensia gave into her normal choice when it came to Klausa. Stalking off to walk around with more intellectual minds. Not that Esteban noticed. Klausa did, she smiled and waved with her inane face.

She exhaled and inhaled, counting them until she felt herself de-tense. It was fine. She had been ridiculous with those thoughts. She and Klausa were nothing alike and meant different things to Esteban. No need for crazy jealous feelings. Not romantic jealousy Dona told herself, platonic jealousy and irritation of Esteban’s hypocrisy treating Klausa like a goddess when she was a true idiot!

Hortensia inhaled again, trying to assure herself. It was platonic jealousy because there was no way Esteban would want someone who was as complicated and. .

A hand tapped her shoulder and she whirled around to connect with Esteban’s concerned, brown eyes.

“Hey, why did you walk off so quickly?” Esteban asked, “Usually you like to get a few insults in there before leaving with a migraine.” “Oh you noticed I left with Klausa around?” Hortensia sniped, surprised by the edge that came out instead of the retort she meant to say.

Hortensia covered her mouth, a blush spreading up her cheek and down her neck for a very obvious reason this time. This was embarrassing. She hadn’t meant to say something so revealing. As if she wanted Esteban’s attention. She never did. But with Klausa, all these feelings and thoughts that she never had before start springing up. It was so. .

But Esteban did not react with confusion or worse, gloating triumph as Dona thought he would at her catty comment toward his lover.

Esteban bit his lip, thinking like he wanted to word everything he said very carefully. Strange since he was never careful what he said to her.

“Klausa is nice. But she’s. . she’s a good person but trust me, in a room with the two of you. You’d steal the attention everytime.” Hortensia hoped he thought her blush was still flaring in embarrassment because she swore it was becoming deeper by the second as she absorbed those words that were meant to be a rare compliment instead of a backhanded insult.

“But you allow her to call you Estedan.”

Esteban sheepishly rubbed his neck, “She’s Marswickian. It’s sometimes difficult for her to say Avaloran names with an accent.”

Hortensia’s embarrassment disappeared as she raised a doubting eyebrow at him that clearly said, “If she can learn Italian opera with her accent, she can pronounce his name.”

Now Esteban blushed, muttering, “Her accent’s cute.” The acidic feeling came up again but Hortensia pushed it down as Esteban continued to speak, “I used to have some. . . fun nights with her,” he phrased carefully though they both fully knew what that implied, “It was a dark time and she sometimes helped me forget all about that. But I’m not in the same place as before. I have my family now. I’m bettering myself. Everyone knows what I’ve done and some people still stand by me anyway. I have you. . you still give me hell about everything. Yet we have a-a something. I don’t know. We get each other.” Hortensia felt her heart flutter as Esteban sort of put into words what she had been thinking earlier. They got each other.

“I didn’t have that before and now that I do, I certainly wouldn’t trade the pleasure of your company for Klausa’s any day.”

Hortensia smiled, tehs subtext behind his words lifting the tension off her shoulders. Even though she didn’t quite have a handle on her complicated feelings for Esteban at the moment, she didn’t care. He’d rather be with her over Klausa!

Her and their arguments and fights and complexities then go for shallow simplicity.

He had her back. That was enough for her.

#ocs #elena of avalor #estoma #esteban flores #exes and ohs #my fanfic #my fanfiction

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connorsui · 6 months ago

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Out of everything you have manifested this mini series has to be one of the few potions I would wish to keep inside of a glass container for me to admire and adore ..to detail all of its little twists and turns with its smut at the end like the final nail on the coffin …you have me in love and enthralled for the way you have us becoming a devoted wife to this man …a man that only wants a faithful marriage out of this binding ..

A man that not only tries to protect us by forming lies in front of his only family ..and a man that completely supports our controlling needs by killing off his concubines ..

My beloved ..you have me on the floor of this house wanting to taste this man in his entirety 💅🏻🩷😩

From part one you had me believing we were some low-end of a woman with anxiety as the main vocal point of our being …from receiving the first kiss to trying to please our husband the only way we knew how ..you had me imagining just how beautifully pastel I was 😭🩷

Thoo my god …the switch up from part two to part three was not only completely deserved from almost getting assassinated by our husband's “toys” but to go from anxious to a controlling woman with a need for sum blood is like watching my glitter go from soft gold to brick silver 💅🏻✨️

And it was utterly delicious to read and witness in delusions ..--- I genuinely wanna keep whatever else you have left of this man inside your head ..because I guarantee you it will be glowing the prettiest color inside of a glass ✨️🩷

Wait

Feyd Rautha x Y/N - drabble part 3 - 3.4K WC NSFW 18+

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3 (you are here!)

Masterlist

Warnings: SMUT, like gah damn, Feyd being sweet and soft but only for you because fuck everyone else, the Baron being a creep, Reverend Mother - ness, using the voice, blood, virginity loss (its a social construct but whatever), consent king, aftercare, scheming, plotting, play fighting to show who's boss, bad ass reader, honest to god - this is a GOOD one

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

You watched as the servants removed the bodies of Feyd’s darlings. They seemed so unbothered, you realized this was probably not the first time they had cleaned up bodies. Your regular maids tried not to watch as they dressed you, keeping their heads low.

“Wait,” you said to the maid removing the blade brought to the ambush from last night.

Feyd leaned against the doorway, watching.

“Wait.” you said a bit louder as she moved to leave your apartments.

“STOP.” you said using the voice.

The woman stopped dead in her tracks, eyes going wide as she stood still.

“BRING ME THE KNIFE.” you commanded. Your maids moved away from you so the woman could bring you the blade. You felt the cold steel in your palm before your spoke again, “LEAVE US, ALL OF YOU.”

The door shut quickly and when your eyes met Feyd’s you couldn’t help but comment on his smug appearance.

“What?” you asked him innocently, tilting your head slightly.

“You’re taking to our ways already. Power suits you, Na-Baroness.” he said as he approached you slowly, picking up your free hand to kiss your knuckles.

He kissed them softly before you saw his eyes flit to the long knife in your opposite hand. You watched him start to shift his stance slightly. Everything slowed down as you gave him a cheeky smile. He yanked you towards him by the hand he was still holding onto. You ducked down, his grip holding your wrist. You elbowed him in the back of the knee, as he fell you ripped your arm from his grasp. He threw his arm out at you again, attempting to get ahold of you. The force from ripping your arm away threw you back, using that to your advantage you threw both your feet into his chest, kicking him back. He fell onto his back. Before he could anticipate another move you climbed on top of him, knees on his biceps.

You flipped the knife around, holding it to his neck, “Yield?” you questioned, breathing heavy with a grin tugging at your lips.

His black teeth were visible between his small panting breaths. You felt his hips shift before you felt one of his legs curl over your shoulder, forcing you to the floor. Now he straddled you, moving to hold one of your arms down you threw the knife, catching it with your opposite. You held the knife to Feyd’s ribs.

“Yield?” you asked again.

“You’re not in a position to be asking me to yield.” he chuckled lowly, “You think I’m afraid of being stabbed?” he chided.

You raised an eyebrow at him, “Don’t test me, husband.”

“Or what, wife?” he responded. You had never seen him so playful. Granted this was a violent situation and most in your position would be absolutely petrified.

Not you though. Fear is the mind killer. “LEAN FORWARD.” you said, the voice making his body lurch. You smacked your head into his, knocking him over. He groaned at the sharp pain before he looked at you. You expected rage to be in his eyes; the formidable Feyd Rautha losing a fight? Never. Yet all you saw was complete adoration, and even a hint of lust. You held the knife under his chin, “Yield?” you asked finally.

His eyes raked over you, you were starting to enjoy seeing him on his knees before you. He nodded before standing. You threw the knife onto the bed before looking at him. You left a small cut on his cheek when you headbutted him, you swiped up the dribble of blood seeping out onto your thumb. Feyd watched your every move. You put your thumb in your mouth, sucking the iron from your digit. His pupils were blown wide, the air in the room felt thick. You felt an unfamiliar warmth ignite in your lower belly, it trickled down to your core. You wanted more of the feeling but weren’t sure how to amplify it, or what even caused it.

Your eyes were lost in each other, locked in, focusing solely on the current moment. Feyd’s hands ghosted over your hips, you moved closer to him. Your breaths mingled, lips a centimeter apart. The door flew open, the Reverend Mother entering with fellow Bene Gesserit sisters following behind her. Feyd’s face instantly grew cold, but you could see it was to save face from the immense annoyance he felt.

“Breed them later,” she said, waving Feyd off. “You have been summoned by The Baron, quickly now.” she said before turning to walk out, expecting you to follow her.

Your eyes shifted to Feyd who was already looking at you with worry etched onto his sharp features. You opened your mouth to speak before he put his finger over his mouth, motioning for you to hush. He walked to you silently, pulling your dress up he attached his Holtzman shield to your upper thigh. You watched as he turned it on, a blue blur shimmering over you slightly before settling. You felt Feyd’s fingertips ghost over your thigh, making your eyes flutter closed and head tilt back. The warmth from earlier back in full force. Oh - he was what made you feel like that. He released your dress, adjusting it back to its rightful place before he squeezed your hand. “Be cautious, trust no one.” he whispered before leaving, glaring at the Reverend Mother as he went.

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

You kneeled before the Baron as you entered the Great Hall. You kept your head down and eyes off him, “Baron.”

“I’ve been told you killed three maids.” he said gruffly, smoking his pipe.

“Three maids who tried to kill me.” you responded, rising.

“And how did you manage this?” he chuckled, “Did Feyd do it? You can tell me, he won’t get in trouble. Maids are so easily replaceable.”

“I assure you, I killed them. I was trained in combat by a former member of the Sardaukar.” you said, hands clenching each other tightly.

“And you said her sister was preferable? She seems more than adequate.” he said to the Reverend Mother, blowing out a puff of smoke. “How is married life?”

You bit your tongue, not wanting to dignify him with an answer. “I am doing my very best to please the Na-Baron.” you said.

“My nephew has never been easy to please. He grows bored quickly; and you killed his darlings. What will become of you when he is bored and has no toys?” the Baron laughed.

“We shall see.” you said, jaw clenched, fighting the urge to snap at him. Harkonnen’s are full of fury, but you had learned that patience and planning was the best way to know your enemy. You were always watching, observing. And what you observed now was the Baron, testing you. Seeing which way you would fall, to him or to Feyd. “I live to serve House Harkonnen.” you said, kneeling and holding your arms out, opening yourself up completely. Your head was bowed but you honed your hearing in, listening to the silent exchange between the Reverend Mother and the Baron. This skill was more difficult for you than the voice but you managed.

You listened to their minds echo.

“Use her to control Feyd.” thought the Reverend Mother.

You could feel the Baron’s agreement, “Control Feyd, control the Emperium entirely.”

You kept your face devoid of emotion, your mind clear so Reverend Mother knew nothing of your eavesdropping.

“Rise.” said the Baron.

You gave him a sweet smile, “Might I walk the halls? I have yet to adjust my eyes to the darkness of Geidi Prime, I would like to heighten my sight.” asimple, silly request but one you hoped he would oblige.

“Of course.” said the Baron.

You bowed to him and the Reverend Mother before walking out of the hall. You walked back towards your apartments, wanting to talk to Feyd about what just transpired. When you arrived Feyd was nowhere to be found.

You walked up to your guards, “Where is the Na-Baron?”

“I am unable to say, Na-Baroness.” he said sternly.

“TELL ME.” you snapped at him in the voice.

“He is in the arena, training.” he said, shaking his head after he told you, unsure why he did so given his orders.

“FETCH HIM.” you commanded before walking back into your apartments, listening to the guards hurried steps.

You kicked off your shoes and held your stomach, trying to pace your breathing while in such a tight dress. You clawed at the laces of your corset, letting out a grumble when you failed to even untie the initial string. Once you heard the door slide open you turned around. Your breathing was still erratic but you quickly made your way to him. You looked both ways for prying ears, your guards given to you by the Baron himself stood watch.

“LEAVE US.” you told them before shutting and locking the chamber door.

Feyd’s face was covered with confusion. You pulled him into a tight hug, burying your face in his neck. “That man is evil…” you said to him.

“What?” he responded, pulling you back by your hips.

“The Baron… the Reverend Mother… they want to use me to control you.” you said, looking into his eyes nervously.

“How do you know this?” he asked, tone still gentle, purely inquisitive.

“How do you think?” your voice echoed in his mind, yet your lips remained unmoving. “Feyd… I’m scared… I don’t want to be some political pawn. I… I just want to be…” you said, biting your lip before you could finish your sentence.

“Want to be what?” he said, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ears before his hands came to cradle your face.

You sucked in a sharp breath, “Yours.” you paused, “I am your wife, my loyalties lie with you. Always with you. You are the only person I have on this god forsaken planet. The only person I trust. The only person I want.” your hands held his face, eyes glossy with tears.

He could see it, the genuine nature of everything you just said. Truth be told, he felt the same way. You were the only person he felt anything for, a fire in him burned for you and you alone. You were the only one who could make him vulnerable and soft. He wanted to be that way with you. To be held, cherished, loved. Love. He knew little of it, sex and violence were what fueled him prior to you. Yet here you stood, holding him. Declaring yourself to him, not House Harkonnen. He loved you the minute he saw you, he thought to himself. As if it were fate.

“Feyd… talk to me.” you said, interrupting his train of thought.

“I want you too.” he whispered before connecting your lips.

You melted into him, arms going around his neck to deepen the kiss. You felt none of the panic you felt on your wedding night. You wanted him to touch you, feel you, love you. Your tongues mingled together, you mimicked Feyd’s movements. You nipped at his bottom lip instinctually; he sucked in a breath, separating from you. He licked at the drop of blood falling from his lip.

“Sorry!” you said hurriedly, “I… I’m not really sure what to do.” you could feel your face heating up, thankfully the black sun was eclipsing so the room was shrouded in darkness. Only the red lights in the room cast an ethereal glow.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your hips.

“I want you… show me how.” you said.

Feyd leaned back in, kissing you fervently. You felt his hands slide up your hips to start untying your corset. He pulled the ribbon through the endless holes before you felt it go limp. Your breasts peeked out as your dress slowly started to slip off. You felt his hands run up your waist before he slid his hands up your arms.

“Have you never been touched?” he asked, noticing how even the slightest of touches made you squirm.

You shook your head, “No, never.”

“May I touch you?” he whispered as his lips hovered over your neck.

“You already are.” you said, trying to sound like you were still in control of yourself when in reality your mind was hazy. Your senses felt dialed to 11 as he barely touched you.

“Everywhere. I want to touch you everywhere.” he said, licking your neck quickly before blowing on it, making goosebumps flood over your skin. You shivered slightly, making him smirk.

“Ok.” you breathed out.

“Ok? Tell me to stop if you want to stop. We don’t have to do this, I want you no matter what.” he said in all seriousness, gaze never leaving yours as he asked for your consent.

“I want to… please Feyd, make me feel good.” you said, almost moaning it out. The anticipation of his touch driving you mad.

Feyd wasted no time tugging the rest of your dress down. He ripped the corset away, watching the way the black and red fabric pooled around your hips. He kissed, sucked, licked over the vast expanse of your chest. You held him close, body tingling with every move he made. You let out a small yelp when he took your nipple in his mouth, head falling back when he played with your other breast. He held your thighs before picking you up and carrying you to the bed. He laid you down, legs hanging off the edge. You felt his hands caress your upper body as he kissed his way down. His hands held the last bit of your dress, the fabric was barely being held up by your hips. His eyes flicked to yours, seeking permission. You nodded at him repeatedly. He pulled the dress off, leaving you bare. You felt overly exposed as his eyes wandered over every dip and curve.

You tried to cover yourself, embarrassed. Feyd’s gentle hands grabbed your wrists, pulling them away from you. “Perfection,” he said, “utter perfection.”

“I want to see you too.” you said, hands tugging on the bottom of his shirt. He removed his upper armor and shoes before stopping.

“Come take what you want.” he said, lust completely consuming him. He wanted to see how desperate you were for him, how much you needed him.

You smirked but he didn’t miss the slight tremble in your hands as you pulled his shirt off. Your eyes drank in his pale torso. Muscles rippled over his entire body, you didn’t even realize you were already moving to touch him. You felt over him before needing more like some insatiable beast. Your hands couldn’t move fast enough as you fiddled with his belt, his pants finally loose enough for you to pull down. All that remained was his underwear, you could see a straining bulge in his pants. Feyd pushed you back gently so you were laying with your legs off the bed once more. You rested on your elbows, watching to see what he was doing. He dropped to his knees before you. His hand pushed your legs apart.

“So good… is this all for me?” he asked, his head inching closer to your dripping core.

Before you could answer he attached his mouth you your clit, “Ah, fuck!” you moaned. He ate you out like a man starved. He had one goal in mind, make you cum on his tongue twice before he even considered fucking you. Your body writhed, the pleasure consuming you completely. His strong arms held your hips down, your thighs encasing his head. You felt the heat in your lower belly start to spill over, it flowed in your veins scorching you. Your back arched as he sucked and licked at you incessantly.

“Feyd!” you shrieked, unable to compose yourself as you were overwhelmed with an indescribable feeling of euphoria.

Feyd didn’t slow his movements, he watched your slick coat his fingers before he teased your entrance. Your body trembled as he slowly pumped his two fingers in and out of you. He kept his pace for a moment before speeding up, resuming his sucking on your clit. Your soft mewls and whines were music to his ears. “Come on love, I know you can be a good girl for me and cum.”

He mumbled as he was more focused on sucking your bundle of nerves than talking. You clamped your thighs around his head as you rode his face, milking your orgasm for all it was worth. When you finally loosened your grip on his head he nipped and sucked love bites into your inner thighs before kissing his way up to you. “You alright?” he asked.

“I never want to leave this bed.” you chuckled, caressing his face. You felt his bulge rubbing against your sensitive core slightly. You decided to test out his reactions. You grinded into him, he was painfully hard. He let out a strangled groan. You slipped your hand between your bodies, your hand dipping into his underwear finally gripping him where he wanted you most. You watched his eyes flutter closed. You paced yourself as you tugged him off, watching his face for reactions while listening to the little noises he made. Your thumb rubbed over his slick tip, making him lurch forwards.

“W - wait…” he huffed out.

You let go of him immediately, “Did I do something wrong?”

“The opposite actually…” he said with a breathy laugh. You watched as he pulled his underwear off, you gasped when his cock slapped against his stomach. You watched the black precum leak from his pale pink tip. You took him all in, he was beautiful.

“Do you want to have sex?” he asked, kissing over your chest and neck lazily.

You bucked your hips up to him. He ran his cock through your folds, hitting your clit while coating you in him. You felt him position himself before he looked at you with a worried gaze. “This might hurt,” he said before pushing in slowly.

You expected pain but this felt like you were being torn in half. You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes, slipping down your face when Feyd finally bottomed out. He held still, eyes finally flitting to your face, he saw your tears. He glanced down, he saw his black seed mixed with your crimson blood. “Do you want to stop?” he asked, feeling guilty for making you hurt even if it’ll bring you pleasure.

“No,” you shook your head, “Keep going.” you said pulling him closer to you so you could hook your legs around his waist.

This position felt much better and as he started moving, you felt the pain ebb into pleasure. Tears kept falling from your eyes but these were tears of joy, of bliss. He couldn’t find where to look, everywhere his eyes landed he saw something more delicious than the last place he looked. He became entranced with your belly, watching the bulge reappear with every thrust. He sped up, his high approaching quickly. You sensed his urgency, rubbing your clit furiously you pushed yourself over the edge. You felt your pussy milking him for everything he was worth, you also felt his hot seed deep inside you. Feyd collapsed on top of you, using the last of his strength to keep himself from crushing you. He shifted to lay next to you. Neither of you said anything for a moment before Feyd stood up and walked into the bathroom. Your heart dropped, was he just using you for sex? He returned before your thoughts could spiral. He wiped your face with the damp cloth before he gently cleaned between your legs, careful not to overstimulate your puffy clit. He wiped his cock before throwing the cloth to the floor. You shimmied backwards, pulling the covers over yourself. Feyd followed suit. You cuddled into him instantly.

“Thank you.” you said sleepily.

“For what?” he asked, massaging your scalp.

“Everything,” you mumbled. He smiled watching you try to fight sleep. “I love you Feyd.”

He halted his movements for a second before curling into you, holding you. “I love you Y/N.” he kissed your head, holding you close. He let the warmth of the moment envelop him. Yep, this was love. Feyd Rautha, the psychotic killer, was deeply in love.

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Naboo's Note:

FUCK THIS IS GOOD - I'm so humble I know lol. Fr tho I spent a hot minute on this and I love it. Thanks for all the love around the Feyd mini series lol, drop some requests for Feyd - I'd love them! Thanks for all the likes, comments, and reblogs! XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX!!!!

Taglist: @landlockedmermaid77 @moonsoulk @aoi-targaryen

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gardeniashellfire · 1 year ago

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Souls & Flowers: Chapter 2 earlier concept.

Just the general jizz on how the story was going to go and how the 3Jinracha would meet.

Chan is well respected Mafia leader, very feard, known everyone and everything thank to been here for so long. He only trust his soulamtes, for the time been, it's just Jisung, who he met long ago as secretary of one of the companies that run under his side of the terf.

They are known as CB97 and J.ONE, an unstable duo in the scene, but one day their world is shaken when they go to a fashion show in the GOT7 territory facing two new players in their arrangement, a bodyguard who was watching over one of the models, the taller having his mark displayed as he walked the run way, BamBam telling them he was also a dancer known by them as Jinnie, and if they stayed a little bit longer they could appreciate him.

They did, in a turn of events, they made eye contact with the dancer, the club was shocked when the golden light shined bright across the room, the bodyguard eyes, who Jisung heard hia code name was Spear B. widen as he looked at the dancer, you could appreciate three flower been covered in the golden rim shining in the fluorescente lights. A magnolia, a daisy with white and orange and spider flower.

The dancer looked pleased in some sort, still maintaining eye contact with them two he whispered something to the body guard, the shorter one signing as the dancer did it's job. It was obvious to everyone what he was doing, their eyes where glued to him as his movement seduced them, worse part it was working.

Once he finished, a fine coat of sweat decorating his body, they bodyguard got on stage and carried him, looking at them two, a silent sigh for them to follow him.

The laughs and giggles of Jinnie where beautiful, as they got closer, they heard the cheers of glee and joy, his seques suite jingles as he hugs Spear B,

"Oh! Finally, finally finally, Binnie!" the shorter one (by a lot) hugging him with a sweet smile, his face was more clear in this light setting, his hair was shoulder length, a beautiful blond with pastel pink highlights, his makeup was slightly ruined, eyeliner and mascara running down his eyes, his eye shadow had smudge glitter all over his face with pink and red accents, Spear B eyes finally landing on them, and it happened again, the glow, the warm, the feeling of completeness.

The black haired man smiled, soft as the one he gave Jinnie.

"Their are here, Hyunjin."

Hyunjin...

I just notice that Hyunjin job was always on my mind, it took quite a turn tbh.

#stray kids #skz #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #fanfic #fanfic draft

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goddess-of-graphite · 2 years ago

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Building off of the cryptid!Batfamily universe… I propose: the Wayne family, acting freely unhinged in public because they are a rich family full of lunatics and let’s be real, this is Gotham: if even their celebrities aren’t weird as fuck can it even be called Gotham?

further, I suggest all their antics should be posted online (carefully curated, even if it doesn’t seem like it to the public). Just the batboys being ridiculous as civilians because the batfamily isn’t even perceived as human so, like, might as well? Hiding in plain sight, because surely a family so open about their lives couldn’t possibly be vigilantes.

SO! I give you: the Wayne Family, Online

The Bat Clan were professional cryptids. They were serious about their duty and intent on performing it as efficiently as possible - no wasted effort, no fighting between them, no reckless charging in alone…

So, as far as vigilantes go, they were somewhere between myth and public servants. Each trained to put aside personal grievances in the face of a greater purpose, mistakes and blunders were rare.

But, see, behind the masks and under the cowls, they were still people - each unique with their own issues, their own disagreements. And with their careful separation of their personal lives from their vigilante work, all that complicated emotional stuff had to be expressed in their civilian lives.

So the Bat’s Clan were shadowy legends spoken of in fear by criminals hiding in dark alleys.

The Wayne Family, on the other hand, were…

Well, Not That.

Twitter user RedRobin(disambiguation) posted at 5:03:

Lmao this is why social services keep getting called

[video is taken from the foot of a grand staircase. at the top, with his foot on a man-sized roll of bubble wrap, is a boy with a strip of hair dyed pastel pink in the front. a voice, originating from behind the camera, yells up, “Ready!” another voice, muffled significantly, shouts the same, and the bubble wrap roll wiggles a little. with a wicked grin and a solid kick, the boy sends the roll flying down the stairs. the muffled voice is screaming delightedly, broken by every step the roll hits on the way down. the camera backs up as the roll reaches the bottom and keeps going, the video going blurry as it turns to follow the roll. the roll hits a wall, hard, with a loud thump, and the muffled screaming cuts off with a groan. the camera shakes as whoever is filming runs over to reveal that, within the bubble wrap, is a human. he is trapped, squirming, his feet just peeking out of one end, and the camera comes around to the other end to show a young man’s face, well and truly snug in his bubbly prison. he is giggling, echoing the laughter of at least two other people, and the sound of feet running up as the boy from the top of the stairs appears and rolls the human sushi over to begin picking at the tape keeping the wrap firmly bound.

“I’m gonna have so many bruises” the bound man wheezes, and the boy trying to free him has to take a break he is laughing so hard. the camera turns rapidly one last time to show another boy’s face, teary-eyes from laughing, and it is clear that he is the one filming. “this is what happens when we’re getting along” he says and the video ends]

RedRidin’intheHood commented:

I got to kick Dick off a staircase without getting yelled at lol today was a good day

DoNotSearch”PurpleWaffles” commented:

I mean what else do you use that much bubble wrap for

TiredHimboDad commented:

You are all menaces.

PappapBabbab commented:

dis u?

[a shitty edit of three people in a “getting along” shirt. the background is a building on fire and exploding. cinnamon toast crunch rains down around them, several pieces trailing flame. there is a trail of glitter behind them, and one of them holds a can that is erupting with colourful, clearly fake, snakes. each of the people have a different and equally ugly pair of sunglasses pasted onto them. one small snake is wielding a knife and wearing a top hat]

#Batman #cryptid batman #cryptid batfamily #Chaotic Wayne family #social media au #sort of #hope this inspires somebody because this has been in my notes for ages #I like the thought that the bats all have actual vigilante names but no one knows them #so they just use those as usernames sometimes #or reference them in stupid ways #social media au brainrot #Wayne family online #graphite writes

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vi-trying-to-survive · 3 years ago

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Complicated Love

Bucky x F! Reader x Loki x Stephen Strange

Soulmate AU

Warnings: None, pretty much just fluff except for some implied steam at the end.

Summary: (Y/N) for some reason has three soulmates when others have one but she’s finding it extremely hard to pick just one.

A/N: i hope you guys like it, even though this was one of the harder ones to write :’) hope you guys have a good day :) 💖💖💖

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She threw her hands into her head in frustration, groaning loudly, as she thought about her current predicament, unable to come up with a solution. A cool autumns breeze blew her way, twirling loose strands of her hair along with the yellow, orange and red leaves. Sighing in defeat, she leaned back onto the thick trunk of the shady tree she sat under, raising her arm to look at the skin, once with timers ticking down to zero in bolded black numbers, now reduced to a faint almost untraceable mark that most people wouldn't be able to spot, yet she was still able to spot each line even in complete darkness.

Finding your soulmate was supposed to be a good thing, in fact it was the thing that people waited entire lifetimes for, anticipating each second until it hit zero. Unfortunately for (Y/N), hers came with a complicated situation, one that she herself couldn't fully comprehend, even now after all these years. She had always been different, seeing as instead of one clock ticking away, she had three, which essentially translated to three soulmates, the biggest problem in her mind, which was pretty bad, considering the fact that she could manipulate fire and water at will. Even before they had finished their cycle, she had always wondered what she would do when the time came, unsure of how it would work, and what that meant for her, but she could've never imagined it would feel like this. It didn't help that all three men were basically pulled out of her wildest dreams, so infinitely prefect and brilliant in their own unique ways, but she had to choose, didn't she, she wondered to herself, and yet that still meant leaving two without someone to share their lives with, which wasn't exactly the best course of action either.

She had spent time with each of them, a date each, all in hope of picking one, yet with each date, she found herself falling harder for each of them, only worsening her hopes of making the decision. The thought of it along made her sick to the stomach, but she didn't seem to have any other options.

She thought about the first one, Bucky. He wasn't one for many words, usually staying calm and collected, except at moments of frustration, which was understandable. He was still a little old-fashioned, but she wouldn't say it was terrible, in fact it was endearing. ---

She slid her hand into his, enjoying the warmth from his skin, as the chilly wind from the sea swirled in the air around them. The bright neon lights from the rides around them reflected on her face, painting her different shades of blue, pink and yellow, her eyes glittering as they watched the different attractions in amazement. Bucky squeeze her palm gently, making her spin her head around to face him, her lips quirking up into a smile, as he tried to talk over the boisterous screams of delight and laughter from the children and adults around them, "Do you want to get some food ?". Leaning in closer to hear him, she nodded immediately, feeling a deep rumbling growing at the pit of her belly, quick to drag the tall man towards a cotton candy stand, as he chuckled fondly at her antics, reaching into his pocket to grab some spare change, in exchange for the sugary, pastel-colored treat, handing it to her. Gratefully taking it from him, she looped her arm through his, snuggling close to his side, allowing him to lead her through the crowds of people, peering at the different booths and games that surrounded them, before settling at one. Handing the booth handler a few tokens, he received a basket full of brightly colored rubber balls, as the man instructed, "You have to knock down all three stacks to win a prize", Bucky responding by giving him a curt nod.

Bouncing the first in his hand, he calculated the distance in his mind, careful not to use too much strength, launching it into the air, hitting the first stack perfectly in the center, the metal tins collapsing to the ground with a loud clang. She laughed, sending him a beaming grin, as she clapped her hands together excitedly. He couldn't help but reflect her smile, feeling the contagiousness, turning his gaze back to the next two groups of rusted, old cans, making quick work to aim and topple them, with no difficulty. The man at the booth stood the side, applauding his success, "Well that means you get to pick one of the prizes", gesturing to the large stuffed animals that hung from the top.

Focusing on the woman next to him, he wrapped an arm around her waist gently, tugging her closer to him as he pointed towards the prizes, "Your pick Doll", chuckling as her eyes went wide at the various possibilities. She studied each one, lost in all the different possibilities, indecisive nature getting the best of her, before settling on the fluffy, life-sized golden retriever with a deep blue bandana tied around its neck, practically bursting with excitement as the man handed it to her.

As the pair continued to make their way across the boardwalk, in search of a good bar to grab some food, Bucky peered down at her, still clutching the stuffed dog, so large in her arms that she could barely see where she was walking, evident by the way her arm was curled around his torso, stumbling next to him. He tightened his grip on her waist, sending people apologetic smiles each time she almost walked into them, laughing as he questioned, "Hey Doll, do you need any help with that", feeling slightly concerned but also amused at her antics, "You can't exactly see through that".

Turning to face him, she gave him a jokingly stern look, chewing the inside of her lip to stop herself from bursting into laughter, "Well, I want to hold it", she protested, squeezing the bright, golden toy tighter, rubbing her face against its soft fur, "My amazing soulmate won it for me". The man, glanced away from her, feeling a strange heat creeping up his neck and cheek, the sounds of waves crashing against the wooden pillars mixed with the chatter of families around them, allowing him to lose himself in his thoughts. Feeling the soft touch of her hand on his face, snapped him back into reality, leaning into it, as she stood on her tip-toes, tilting her head up to meet his lips for a tender kiss, the wind making their coats fan up at their knees. She pressed her frame closer to his, enjoying his warmth, her fingers tangling themselves in his thick locks, causing him to sigh breathily, as his hand moved to the small of her back, steadying her in the strong breeze. Breaking the kiss, they stood enveloped in each others arms, not wanting to move, for fear of ending the moment.

--- She felt her heart pull viciously, remembering the way he looked at her that night, after having known each other for about 3 months, like she was his world. He knew her struggles even then, the other two clocks that still ticked away on her arm, not really understanding, but still sympathetic, only making her feel worse, at not being able to provide an answer, a final decision.

Groaning exasperatedly into the silence, she urged her mind to move to the man that came along with the second timer, Loki. A prince, a god, and yet her soulmate, or at least one of them. He was tricky, sometimes affectionate and open, sometimes, though he was trying to get better, closed off and indifferent, though she couldn't blame him much for it considering his father's morals growing up, yet after getting to know each other better, she found his quirks oddly endearing. --

"Darling would you slow down" he huffed, reaching out with his long arms to steady her waist, chewing on his bottom lip anxiously, letting out a sigh of relief when she stopped swaying dangerously "You're gonna fall over".

"No way hun", she tutted, eyes glued to the flashing colours on the screen, bright shades of blue, green, yellow and red, as the sickeningly happy music blasted and blared through the tiny speaker thrown haphazardly across the couch, threatening to break out of its small prison, "I've only got one chance to take back this game", her hands still twisting and curling, absurdly in the air like the leader in the neon game screen.

"I suppose there's no stopping you, right ?", he whispered quietly to himself, eyes glued to her frame, running a hand in exasperated acceptance, as he reflexively stepped out of the way to accommodate her so-called dancing, an act of self-defence really.

Ears perking up at the sound of his low voice, even through the obnoxiously cheery music of the game, she exclaimed "Positively right", snapping her head back to meet his gaze, give him a teasing look, not missing a beat of the game.

Sensing the end of the song, she anxiously watched the scores at the corner of the screen, somewhat unsure which was hers and which were her unseen online opponent's, choosing to put her remaining energy into the last few dance moves. As she danced she found herself shifting closer and closer to the left, ending the song by aggressively shoving her foot into the hardwood coffee table at her side, causing her to yelp in pain, before she tore her attention back to the television, "Ow-Yes!", she grinned widely, plopping down next to the man on the velvety cushions of the couch, raising her hands in the air at the appearance of her name in large, glittery, bolded letters above the other three unknown ones in the list, "I won".

As thought to himself he couldn't help but wonder why she liked this game, and yet he found himself reflecting her wide smile, choosing not to question her, "I- Nevermind", instead he curled his arms around her waist, nuzzling his face into her neck, placing gentle kisses on the warm skin of her neck, "You mortals always injuring yourselves in the name of fun".

Pressing her lips together, she raised her eyes to the ceiling, wondering out loud, "I don't think everybody does that love", tilting her head back at an angle to peck his cheek sweetly, before letting herself lean deeper into his frame, humming at the comforting warmth.

Chuckling softly, he tightened his grip on her, "Well I guess, my mortal then", letting a free hand tangle itself in her thick locks.

--- Feeling a cool breeze caress her skin, she shivered, feeling a familiar warmth bloom instinctively from her chest, the red orange waves curling through her fingers, wrapping themselves tightly around her, almost in protection. However, they stopped responsibly at the edge of her sleeve, having gained control of their ferocity a long time ago, careful not to burn the fluffy rolled up sleeves of her sweater. She sighed in satisfaction, when the heat brushed the cold away from her, turning her cheeks red in relief, the hot burn stripes slowly growing fainter as they traversed further down her forearm to her fingers, eventually turning into nothing, leaving her hands empty, clutching aimlessly at the traces of fire.

The chills now gone, she groaned angrily, no longer distracted by the winds. Why couldn't she have one soulmate ? Why did the universe decide that she was the one with this problem ? But it wasn't really a problem was it, she had three wonderful people who wanted to spend their lives with her, most people only ever having one, yet those people didn't have to torture themselves in thought of who to pick. As she dived further into the thickets of her mind, she found her concentration wavering from the choice itself but to the last soulmate that was revealed to her, Stephen Strange. ---

Rubbing his fingers across his furrowed brows, Stephen found himself frowning at the multi-coloured board on the table, resting his head on his hands, "I feel like you're swindling me".

"I promise you", she giggled, "I'm not", turning her eye up to meet his clear, crystal blue ones, trying her best not to appear suspicious knowing how seriously he took board game. She always figured it was a part of his extremely competitive behaviour, not to say that she hated it, she seemed to be able to turn all the things about him that others would call imperfections into something to love. In fact she could bravely say she loved a lot of things about the man, from the way his hands intricately moved, creating blazing strings and portals from thin air, down to the way his eyes rolled when he saw a teenager doing something stupid across the street.

"That's not the most convincing statement, darling", he questioned, an eyebrow raised at the woman who was almost laying on the ground in a fit of laughter.

"What do you mean", she wondered, recovering from the aching in her stomach, straightening up to meet his doubtful gaze, “I mean I'm not gonna complain, we've been playing for like an hour and I still haven't gone bankrupt, so I'm just taking it as it comes".

The sorcerer whined in response, “How are you winning and I'm losing", throwing his arms in the air to exaggerate his point, as he watched his piece, the shiny ship, land on another one of her properties, attempting to stall paying her rent, "I'm playing and the banker".

"What can I say the money just likes me right now", the woman grinned smugly up at him, practically basking in his loss.

"You have at least 14 properties and about 10 million dollars", he exclaimed, as he caught a glance at the multi-coloured cards that sat arranged neatly at the side of her knee, by colour and value, "How is this even possible ?!".

Giving him a sympathetic smile, she reached a hand out to pat his shoulder, an attempt at comforting hi disdain, "Love, it's best not to delve to far into the statistics of Monopoly", trying to provide a sense of encouragement, "You could still turn this around"

"Darling please don't patronise me", he grimaced at her, running the dice in between his fingers, before throwing them down on the board , eagerly watching for the number to be shown.

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"That was never going to end well for me", he scowled at the small, crimson squares on the cards that glowered back at him with the same fury.

"You know it wasn't that bad", she began, half-heartedly trying to stifle the grin that was starting to spread across her face.

"I was in a 20 million dollar dept", he groaned, letting himself fall face-flat on the hardwood table dramatically, "I don't even know how that happened", peering through his folded arms to watch her reaction.

She giggled softly, moving over to plop herself down next to him on the fuzzy carpet, "Awww love, don't be a sore loser".

"You know what, I am kind of sore", he spoke, pressing his lips together tightly in frustration, choosing to lean into her warm touch, "I'm a neurologist and a master of the mystic arts, how could I lose at Monopoly .... its just Math".

She couldn't help but grin at his statement, using a hand to tilt his face towards hers, stroking his cheek lovingly, "No darling, its just chance".

"Well I'm still upset", he pouted at her, not to mistake the anticipation in those sea-like eyes of his, occasionally glancing down to her lips, before flickering back up to meet her gaze.

Playing in to his game, she teased, "Anyway I can correct that for you", beginning to lean in, closer to him.

"Maybe", he murmured, following her lead, letting his arms curl around her waist, to tug her closer to him. Their lips connected, moving in sync, the sounds of evening traffic drowned out, as she tangled her fingers in his soft locks, tugging ever so sightly on them, to make him gasp in pleasure.

Breaking the kiss, he snuggled in closer to her neck, which seeing as he was much much taller than her, looked rather uncomfortable, but seeing that he looked quite pleased with himself, she chose not to question it. Instead, she ran a hand through his hair, causing him to look up at her, questioning jokingly, "Was that enough ?".

He raised an eyebrow at her, trying and failing to suppress the smile that spread across his face, burying himself deeper next to her, "You are so lucky I love you", tightening his grip on her waist.

--- Snapping back to reality, she rubbed her palms roughly against her face, cheeks turning a light ruby colour from the chilly winds that surrounded her. The world was so cruel wasn't it making her choose between 3 wonderful, caring soulmates ? Why couldn't the choice be clearer ? Why couldn't it be easy ?

Yet as she thought longer and longer, she found herself not picturing her life with each man, separately, on their own, but as one simultaneously reality. One where she could have everything she wanted without having to lose anything at the same time. Maybe the world didn't want her to make a choice. Maybe that wasn't the point of it all. What if it wasn't a curse, but a gift instead. Where most people got only one soulmate, she had three, and not to choose between them, but to have them all together, and they her.

She chewed her lip anxiously, though she seemed comfortable with the idea of being in a relationship with three people at the same time, she still wasn't sure if that's what they wanted. Fortunately, she found herself sighing in defeat, picking herself off from the ground. Well who would she be to reject the most satisfying idea so far, no matter how crazy they might think it sounded, she might as well give it a try.

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It had been nearly year later, she thought to herself. She really did have a lot to lose, it was a long way to go, seeing as the other options seemed completely unbearable. Fortunately for her, there was a reason the world decided on these three specific men to be her soulmates. That was probably also the reason why she found herself in such a position this particular night.

She gingerly opened her eyes, a sheen of sweat still adorning her skin. She felt warm, realising as she grew more awake that it was due to the three warm bodies that were huddled around her, and found herself unable to stop the smile that began to spread across her face. Recalling the events of the night, she sighed contently, letting her head rest more easily against the fluffy, satin covered pillows, letting the features of the man in front of her come to focus in the darkness that enveloped the room. The familiar dark, thick curls and sharp nose, Loki, she reached out a hand to cup his cheek, gently stroking, causing him to stir a little, eyebrows furrowed. She giggled softly, retracting her palm, not wanting to wake him, instead moving them to interlock with the hand that had wrapped itself around her waist, thumbing lightly, recognising the calloused palms that belonged to Bucky, her smile only growing when he hummed contently unconsciously. Feeling sympathetic towards the last of the three that lay further from her, not that he was too distant, his arm draped loosely across Loki, just barely brushing across her shirt, more the super soldier's but who was counting. She tugged the an arm out from under her, manoeuvring it over the sleeping Asgardian to tangle her fingers through Stephen's lush, velvety hair, more messed up than his usual put together attitude, which was more than fair, considering what had happened before this.

The emotion she felt was unimaginable, so happy to have three wonderful men who loved her as much as she loved them. It was funny now when she thought back to the months that she had spent fumbling about what to do about her three soulmates, thinking that she had to narrow it down to one, when she could've had all of them at the same time. She grinned to herself, as she looked forward to the days to come, and the nights. Snuggling down closer in between them, she allowed exhaustion and fatigue to lull her to sleep, her eyes fluttering close.

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@ravenina14 I really really hope you like it :) And I'm sorry it took so long, I just kept rewriting it cause I wasn't happy with how it sounded, but I finally got to the end :') Also thank for being so patient !!

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sanguinesorcery · 4 months ago

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A finger is pricked on the admiral's pointer finger as he descends from the helm deck, small symbols written within prewritten sigils in strategic places on the main deck. A slow feed of energy into them, the paling of one arm just slightly around his fingertips, activates the circles and with a twitch of the fingers on his casting hand, the gangplanks unlock and slide out to meet waiting hands below. As soon as they are anchored to the pier and deemed stable, only then does he open the gates at the railing to allow his passengers to disembark.

Luggage is already being handled by the rest of the ship's crew, anything stacked and ready for unloading removed with practiced care on the side planks, leaving the center one for their guests. Eyrol himself takes great care to make sure the smaller of the party (and the first off the Seraphim) are sure-footed on the way down. The wake he caused sliding into the harbor has settled enough that experienced sailors won't mind the jolt, but it may prove troublesome to those without sea-legs.

It takes a moment longer before the esteemed guest of the party finally descends, and although Eyrol does offer to help keep the taller man steady on his way down, he is also aware he probably doesn't actually need to. He follows after the delegation, however, to stand next to the gangplank before signaling with a hand to Ildra as her cue.

">>An entourage of only three?<<" Fariah muses, her voice low enough only Ildra can hear her. ">>And no guard, that's interesting.<<"

">>Considering the size of the one, I would say they probably wouldn't need a guard...<<" Ildra whispers back as the dockhands and ship's crew line the sides of the pier, standing shoulder to shoulder, straight and tall to await the next command.

The Regent is on and she strides forward a few steps, tall and proud with her lofted head, a stark contrast to the white and grey marble of the walls behind them in the sharp black lines of the uniform of the High Court, the innermost council. Only the hems glitter, finely-embroidered motifs of silver and platinum to denote her station.

Despite her usually straight-laced demeanour, she does have a certain flare to her greeting. Elegant, if a little over the top. Fariah suspects she may be taking lessons from her nephew and muses to herself that she may have to start pardoning two instances of kitchen-related chaos before too long, if this keeps up. Not that she minds it too much; seeing Ildra loosen up for once makes her happy.

"Welcome to the Three and Ten Archipelago, our capital of the Empire of Sidhe!"

Her voice is musical. It is proud! And why shouldn't it be, with a flourish of one hand from one side to the next in indication of those who surround them now. It's almost unnerving, the way the welcoming party moves together at their reveal. Those on the dock and those lining the pier place hands over their hearts and a bow from head and shoulders. The motion is completely in sync, not a one off-time from the others.

Ildra continues once everyone is standing back upright. "I present to you Her Eminence! The High Empress Fariah Ariad of House Ariad, of the Clouded Isle of Imperial Sidhe!"

Another flourish of a hand as she steps aside to allow her Empress to proceed, her hand immediately on her heart as she bows in cue. And Fariah takes that cue to waft partway down the pier to greet, tall and austere, with small quick steps to flutter the copious skirt layers and give the illusion of floating. A shuffle of silk and the delicate chime of metalwork is heard as she stops, amid the reverent bows of her people in greeting to her.

She comes clad in emerald greens, accented in pastel yellows and oranges to stand out against their saturated background, depicting imagery of their creation stories, a scene for each panel. The Goddess Skin is in place over the back of her head and down her back and across her front from the right shoulder, vivid fire red hemmed in royal blue, eyes embroidered across the hem visible from all angles in such a way, it looks like they watch those in front and around her. She is adorned in fine jewelry, stacked bangles and heavy earrings and the pearl choker accented in peridot slung low at the base of her neck to frame and display the broad scar around its right curve. Her back is straight, her shoulders relaxed, her head lofted with that intense gilded stare, almost as severe as her profile with her ears standing straight to add to her line. Over her left arm, she carries her own proof of station; the Aeroglaive in its diminutive baton form.

She makes a note that on crossing the threshold a little closer to the foreigners, the Aeroglaive begins to vibrate against her anchoring hand and arm. One of the party is dangerous enough, the weapon seeks to warn her. It's a point she should keep in mind, as she raises her hand to touch fingertips to her forehead in her own greeting to them, though the stare never waivers as Ildra seeks to continue her role.

"The High Empress has come to greet the dignified delegation party come from the mainland, from the Kingdom of Hyrule. Let it be known here that all are welcome and protected in the Three and Ten by Imperial decree, so long as our rules and our laws are adhered to."

A resounding cry of agreement is given from the full entourage, a single noise that the declaration is heard, understood, and will be carried out. With her heraldry complete, Ildra resumes her place behind her towering Empress' right side to act instead as advisor.

It is Fariah now who addresses the party directly, lowering her gaze to each of the shorter before resting on the taller again. Her ears shift forward to show she is listening, attentive. "I welcome you personally to my Empire. If it is not of any offense, might I ask what you hope to gain by reaching out so far from your homeland?"

Her voice is smooth, dark and rich. It holds little inflection in its eloquence, but there is a faint music even in her undertones. Her painted lips quirk up in a subdued but sincere little smile in an attempt to ease any fear of offense to either party.

"I ask so that we may be prepared for our future talks."

Arriving on the ship was a stark yet welcome change of pace. Despite the journey, Ganondorf himself fared well enough. He was more worried about his two companions, particularly Deedrik. The poor thing never realized his seasickness would be so severe, but it soothed itself soon enough after the first day. Nolon was held up in his cabin most of the trip and was pretty avoidant of all but Deedrik and Ganondorf. He rather enjoyed himself and couldn't help but ask questions. He waited for a majority to be answered by the current Regent, deciding rather quickly it would be more productive there.

Their arrival is a welcome one, at least concerning his cohorts. Both are ready to get off the ship and avoid sealife for a while, but they both know it won't happen. He, meanwhile, is in his cabin for once, despite knowing they're about to set foot on the islands. He wants time to collect himself, sense what's beyond the ship, and assess the best course of action. For now, the only ones not radiating magical energy are his two Hylian companions. It's fascinating, for sure, but not inherently dangerous. After all, despite a differing eye shape, none of the Sidhe had a true darkness of the whites of their eyes (unlike his own).

Nevertheless, hearing the bit of commotion outside, he deems it's about time to head off, though he plans to let Deedrik and Nolon go ahead of him. They are the ones who'd rather be off the Seraphim as soon as possible.

#RP #askganondorftobadragmire

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