#unsure of proper terms

[centibunny]

made a jackbox oc purely for selfshipping/yumeshipping purposes….

this is Babbit (any non-fem pronouns), an intern who totally is Not a demon what are you talking about. they’ve been working as an intern since the first YDKJ sponsorship from The Devil (wonder why) and they have a big fat crush on cookie masterson. except they’re an intern so they get tortured all the time

the pink outfit is for YDKJ: Full Stream. doodle below the cut is a bonus doodle :3

they made him into content so hes just a bunch of computers!! and faust has no design for him yet

[jiraisupportgroup]

[crandairy-juice]

im making ocs for art fight and meet daisy

[foolishlyzephyrus]

the woman who fell to earth is a really solid episode, i don’t know what some of y’all are on about

[seresinhangmanjake]

A Trade

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: When Feyd asked for your hand, your father refused and took you away from him. Now he’ll do anything to get you back, and he’s not above kidnapping your sister to offer a trade.

Notes/Warnings: kidnapping and threats of death. I think that’s it. Feyd’s soft for reader.

Words: 4000

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

He sits quietly, his chair facing another of its matching set, and leans forward with his elbows braced on his knees. His hands clasp, fingers squeezing and releasing and squeezing and releasing in an effort to suppress the rage he hasn’t been able to let go of for weeks.

With eyes scanning over the figure sitting his opposite, Feyd’s teeth grind, wearing down the grit of his molars. It’s hard not to scrutinize. As he takes in every feature of her face, his lips and eyebrows involuntarily quirk in distaste. It’s not that her features aren’t nicely proportionate or well-placed on the structure of her face; they’re just…wrong. Familiar, but incorrect. 

“You don’t look like her,” he says. 

Her stare is just as intense as the one he knows so well. And though she may not look quite right, the aura she exudes does not stray from what he expects of someone with her blood. 

She jerks on the binds that are keeping her wrists locked behind her back and huffs when they don’t give way to her strength. “Well, we aren’t twins,” she states. 

There’s a bite there, but no soft edge to cushion the blow. She doesn’t know the proper way to deal with him. She doesn’t know how to ease the tension in his bones with her words. He supposes that is one of many things that makes the difference. It’s why he loves you and would not love a woman like her. 

Again she tugs on the ropes confining her. 

“Don’t bother,” he says.

She lets out a groan before finally surrendering. “You know, she told me all about you. About what became of the two of you. How it happened,” she says. “And I understand. I do. But do you honestly believe having your men abduct me was the best idea?” 

Feyd leans back in his chair. His arms cross over his chest. You are the only one who questions him, the only one allowed to question him, and his jaw ticks as he pulls back on the desire to slide a blade across your sister’s cheek.

“I do,” he says. 

Your sister shakes her head. “You know they’re giving her to Kenric. Father is with her on their planet in the process of signing a formal agreement.”

Feyd shoots up, hungry acid eating his insides. He’d heard news of the pending engagement, but he does not care to listen to those words strung together for a second time, especially not in a voice that so closely resembles yours. It makes him want to hurt something, damage something, but when the nearest target flinches at the sharpness of his movement, he pauses. You would want him to pause. He takes a breath and runs his hand down his face before circling to the back of the chair and gripping the edge of the seat. His knuckles whiten. 

“She is not marrying Kenric,” Feyd says. “Your House will give her back to me if I offer them you in return.”

She hums, unconvinced, and a crease forms at the center of his brow. He’s far from appreciative of how unsure she seems, considering this plan was the only one well-formed enough for execution. As the second born, she may not be as important as you are, but she’s a daughter of a Great House nonetheless, and no elite would allow the death of one of their own, certainly not their child, without some attempt at preservation first. They'll have to agree to his terms.

But if they don’t…

Feyd stares into the blank space by your sister’s head, his vision hazy, shapes blurring with each image of you that travels around his mind. Things had been so well. Content, yet passionate. Fulfilling. They’d been as close to perfect as Feyd could recognize from others’ descriptions of the feeling. 

You were a gift unto him without anyone realizing it. Your parents sent you for education, for experimentation, for practice in learning how to infiltrate other Houses so when the day comes for you to lead beside another, you would have the knowledge and skillset to manipulate any Great line from the inside out.

It wasn’t presented that way to his uncle, of course. You were introduced with the suggestion that the Baron see a curious girl, an innocent flower wanting to expose herself to foreign practices. But the act did not fool Feyd. He instantly saw the spots where the rose’s thorns had been clipped. What stood before him was a weapon briefly tamed for the sake of disguise who would grow back her barbs once planted within his walls. And he found much amusement in your deception.

It took mere weeks for you to fall with Feyd into deep affection. You were always around, always peering where you should not have been peering, listening to what did not belong to your ears, and when he got fed up with your lack of covertness, he confronted you. Confrontation which led to lessons in stealth that tucked the both of you into dark corners hidden from prying eyes. Dark corners that only shadowed your bodies if you were pressed against one another. Bodies that were so close breaths couldn’t help but intertwine. Breaths that brushed heat over faces and ceased only when lips met.

And then with one mistake, one request, you were gone. Kidnapped by your family’s guards. Taken from behind his turned back. Sand through his fingers.

“I believed her when she told me you loved her,” your sister says, snapping Feyd back to attention. Her mouth is parted, and as her eyes scan his face, they’re alight with something akin to wonder but with a few tainting specks of disgust. A reasonable reaction; one he anticipated. Her sister in bed with a Harkonnen—how horrible. “Nevertheless, it's fascinating to witness for myself.”

Feyd’s eyes narrow. His spine straightens. He squares his shoulders. “I asked for her hand first. She should be mine.”

A scoff bursts from your sister’s throat. “That is not what I have heard,” she tells him. “You did not ask; you demanded. And you were both naive,” she says. “She was not sent here to fall in love. Not to mention, your family has a reputation you should not forget.”

“She does not fear me,” he snaps. 

“She does not have to.”

“I am a Lord, an heir, as much as any other son of the Great Houses. My title makes me worthy. They had no valid reason to reject me and take her.”

“Do you think there isn’t more to it than any title put upon you?” she asks before she says, “It’s the wars your House involves yourselves in. The greed. The possessiveness. The pale hands in everyone else’s pots. The children you would produce.”

His jaw clenches. “And what would be wrong with our children?”

“What would be right with them? Everyone would fear the deplorable monsters they might grow to be with your blood coursing through their veins.”

Feyd’s heart prickles. 

He hadn’t thought much of children; he’d simply thought of you and what it would take to keep you by his side. Anything else he’d deemed the concerns of a much later time, but now, with it forced into his mind, he finds himself unexpectedly devastated. Normally he wouldn’t care about opinions, but to understand what ideas others might conjure up at the possibility of your union sickens him. The children you would create would be nothing less than flawless. Warriors. Survivors. Leaders. A pristine blending of you both. He knows it. 

Your sister’s chest caves with a heavy sigh. “Look, I do not say these things to hurt you in retaliation for dragging me here against my will. They are fact.”

In his silence, Feyd can feel her studying him from the inside out, not wasting a single passing second. Her position—the ties around her wrists that keep her bound to the chair—which would cause great concern to others, seems to fade in importance against her consistent, concentrated observing. It does not last long before he grows tired of it. 

“What?” he spits.

Pity bleeds into her irises. “She did try to convince them,” she says. “She claimed you’re different than you appear. Not as harsh. Not as impulsive as everyone believes.”

His gaze falls to his feet. “She was lying.”

“Clearly,” your sister agrees. Then her voice tips; softens. “But she was desperate. She would’ve said anything, though it wouldn’t have mattered. They refused to listen.”

Feyd’s eyelids pinch. He can picture you as desperate as he is. Begging. Begging as a Lady such as yourself would beg: with wit and strategy, utilizing every trick in the book short of falling on your knees. You’re like him. He begs as you do, but in his own way, with his own tricks.

“What do you believe will come of this? Really.”

Feyd looks up at her. “I told you, she will be mine again,” he doesn’t hesitate to say. “That is what will come of this.” 

“And if it doesn’t?” she asks. “Will you stop?”

“What do you think?”

As if he had cracked open her skull to reveal her brain, Feyd has an unobstructed view of each one of her thoughts nestling deeply into her mind. She said so herself what she and her House—what all Houses—think of him. War, greed, possessiveness. And he is but a fraction of the Harkonnen’s totality of power. What he’s done by taking her brushes the cusp of his capabilities, and his uncle would not restrain him from conquering another planet and snuffing out an elite lineage to obtain what he desires.

As your sister runs through the many repercussions of his plan’s potential failure, he decides he has wasted enough of his time on her. He can no longer stand to look at the face that lacks the features he prefers.

“Where are you going?” she says when he turns on his heel. 

“We’re done for now. You’ll be escorted to the guest quarters.”

“Not a cell?”

Feyd halts. 

“You’re her sister,” he says over his shoulder. And then he leaves her behind. 

—

“They’ll come today.”

Your sister looks up from the plate of food in front of her, her eyes landing on Feyd as he stops just in front of the dining table where she sits.

He’s reminded again how different she is from you. How when you sat in that same seat—a seat he is struggling not to scold your sister for occupying—you were the lone bright object in the room. Nothing about this soul-sucking black hole was capable of dimming you, and yet your contrast fit perfectly. You slotted into his fortress as if you were meant to one day rule over its every occupant, himself included. But Giedi Prime’s design does not blend well with your sister. She’s a royal-purple-velvet, gold-embroidered splotch in a sea of onyx black, and he wants nothing more than to remove her.

Soon. You will be back with him soon. Soon, you will be eating in that seat. You will be wearing his clothes. You will be existing in this space as you should be.

“How do you know?” your sister asks. 

Feyd blinks. “It’s been three days. Enough time to have been informed of your absence and return home to confirm it,” he says. “And she’ll know where you are.”

“You’re so sure?”

He gives a single nod. “She knows me,” he replies. “She knows taking you is not out of the realm of what I would do for her.”

---

Reader POV

You know where she is. From the moment your parents were informed of her disappearance and the three of you rushed to your home planet, not a single of your seconds was wasted on juggling alternative possibilities. How it is not blatantly obvious to everyone else is a shock, but perhaps your sister’s missing presence from the palace has turned frantic minds to mush. You’re the only one who isn’t running about, searching through closets and under beds as if a grown woman is playing a child’s game. 

You have to tell them. Recovering your sister cannot be a solo mission, despite how much easier that would be. Not to mention, to leave for Giedi Prime without notifying your parents would rightfully increase their panic, and no good would come of that.

So you speak his name.

They call him a demon. A monster. They curse and condemn him. How dare he demand one daughter and, after being denied, so quickly move on to stealing another. The implication that he’s taken your sister to replace you makes you ill, but to defend the love you share with him would further stir their tempers. 

“You’re certain?” Your mother asks through the trembling hand covering her horrified mouth. 

You meet your father’s blazing stare and try to ignore the hateful bile gathering at the corners of his lips. You nod. “I should go alone,” you tell them. 

“Absolutely not.”

“He’ll listen to me. He will not be cooperative with you.”

“That creature will listen to no one!”

“I know him. His thoughts, his tactics,” you argue. “I’m the one person who can get through to him.”

To his credit, your father takes a calming breath. It can not be denied that his emotions often guide him over logic, but he’s not a man known for idiocy. He sent you to the Harkonnens, and he’s not forgotten how well you’ve been trained to learn from your environment.

“Fine,” he eventually agrees. But he does not accommodate you beyond that. 

All efforts to ease his disgust for your lover fall on deaf ears. He won’t hear that Feyd hasn’t hurt your sister. He won’t believe that he hasn’t peeled her skin from her bones or starved her out of her perfectly tailored dresses. And though his eyes threaten you to surrender your conviction, to confirm his ideas and stoke the flame of his fury, you don’t give in.

Arriving at the doors of Giedi Prime’s fortress is done without guards flanking your sides. They stay on the ship. “He doesn't respond to intimidation strategies,” you tell your father. “It’s best not to storm his home with forces in tow and demand things of him.” Not lies, but you can’t say you’re honest for the sake of striking a deal without inflicting wounds on each other’s guards. True that it’s best to avoid an all-out battle, but it’s more true that your motivations are guided by seeing him again. 

When you do finally see him, you see no one else. The world falls apart and you cannot tear your eyes from his face. Neither can he keep his off of you. You’re yards apart, a rooms-span away, and yet you can already feel him from the anticipation of being in his arms. You’ve been living off of the memories of his touch, and now here he is, almost within reach.

Your father is shouting, but your heartbeat thumping in your ears shields you from the full power of his voice. “You dare steal my daughter!” you think he says. “Where is she!”

Feyd ignores him. He stares still. His mouth parts. And then, with determination in his steps, he walks to you. 

Before you can bask in the warmth of his looming closeness, his arm is reaching toward you, and in what seems like the blink of an eye, his palm slides across your cheek, his fingers weave with the strands of your hair, and he pulls you into a kiss.

Instantly, the long-awaited sensation threatens to kick your legs out from under you. Your bones warn of their weakening strength. Your heart briefly stops, but then beats return with a ferocity that could shame a beast in battle.

The *shing* of your father’s metal blade unsheathing is met with its sister sound from the multiple swords of Feyd’s guards. It buys you a few more seconds of holding each other, and you use those seconds to give all that you can.

Feyd knows how to kiss you. You know how to kiss each other. Though relatively tame in front of your current audience, he kisses with the promise of what his mouth would do to yours were you alone; echoes of what you shared before you were taken.

When you sense your time is about to run out, you plant your hands on Feyd’s chest, and as he cups your cheeks, you break the kiss. Your eyes find home in his. 

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper. 

He grins ever so slightly. “They can have her,” he says. His thumbs brush over your cheekbones and he rests his forehead against yours. “But I’m keeping you.”

I’m yours is on your lips, but his body is partially jerked out of your arms before you can speak. All gentleness in your lover switches off like a light. 

“Get off of my daugh–” 

Your father chokes, his nails clawing at the hand around his neck. 

“You don’t tell me not to touch her!” Feyd shouts with a squeeze, slowly pulling your father closer. Being inches shorter, your father must stand on his toes to keep Feyd’s grip as loose as possible, and as much as you find yourself enjoying the sight, you cannot allow it to continue.

“Feyd,” you start. As you caress his flexed bicep, you keep your tone velvety. “Feyd, let him go.” But he does not hear you. Or he does not listen. His fingers tighten. Your father’s face swells red. “Listen to me. I love you. No one is going to take me away from you. I won’t let that happen. You won’t let that happen. We will be married. We will be here, together, just you and me as we planned,” you tell him, “but I want you to let him go.”

A beat passes. Two beats. Three. Then Feyd expels the breath he’d been holding. His chest deflates, and one by one, his fingers unpeel from your father’s skin. 

Your father heaves. “Y-You…” he says through his attempts to recover. His hand rubs his rapidly bruising flesh. “You are promised…to Kenric. The agreement was all but–” he coughs “–but signed.”

A growl emerges, and from your left, Feyd lunges. Your father gasps. His eyes widen as he stumbles a step backward. 

“No!” You rush in front of Feyd to grab his face. Shaking your head, your thumbs stroke his cheeks. “No,” you repeat softly. 

The heat in his irises soothes as he keeps his eyes on you. His arm curls around your waist, and his gaze drops to your mouth. You want to kiss him again. You almost do, but then you remember why you’re here.

You look to the nearest Harkonnen guard, one of many you’re familiar with after your time on Giedi Prime. “Bring my sister. Please.”

He glances at his Lord, who nods in response to the silent question. Then Feyd’s attention returns to you, his eyes go to your lips, and he leans in. 

You struggle to care about anything other than his taste. After you were taken, you were lost to the devastation of believing your mouth and tongue and teeth would never have him again. And you’re lost now. Lost in the pleasure of those fears extinguishing. So lost that not even the echo of approaching footsteps is enough to cleave your bodies apart. 

“A relief to see that clothes are still on,” your sister’s voice greets. Reluctantly, you unseal your mouth from Feyd’s to look past his shoulder at your sister. There’s an unreadable expression on her face as she watches him bury his face in your neck. Acceptance, or revulsion.

Thankfully, your father seems to have missed her comment, so focused on seeing her well and unharmed. He takes an unsteady step in her direction. “Daughter–”

The Harkonnen releases your sister from his hold and she meets your father the rest of the way. “I’m fine, father.”

“That monster–”

“Didn’t do a thing.” Her eyes flick to the hand covering his throat. One brow arches as her head turns your way. “To me.”

Your father draws her into a hug, his hand going to the back of her head. “Good. Good,” he says. “Then let us take you both home.”

A chill runs throughout your limbs. Feyd’s arms cinch around your waist. He lifts his head, his vision glazed over as his eyes prod yours. “You’re not leaving,” he mutters.

You shake your head. “I’m not leaving.”

“You are leaving,” your father intrudes, his voice dropping an octave. “You are leaving this place. You are leaving that beast.”

Your sister sighs. “Father…”

“You are returning home, and you will marry Kenric.”

A muffled noise rumbles in Feyd’s throat. Like thunder on the horizon. A threat of a storm. You press your palm against his heart to feel the beats harder, faster. 

“We departed before anything was signed,” you say. 

Your father stomps his foot like a petulant child. “You made a commitment!”

Your head jerks back, and suddenly, red infects your sight. Intent on approaching your father, you untangle yourself from Feyd’s arms, but fingers latch onto your wrist, keeping you from gaining significant distance. You let him hold you back. 

“You made a commitment!” you snap.

“And I will keep it!”

Nails dig into your pulse point, and you know Feyd is straining against his urges as much as you are. “No,” you push. “You will walk free with one of your daughters, and the other will remain where she belongs!”

“You do not belong here!”

“Yes, I–”

“Father,” your sister repeats. 

He whips around. “What!”

“Let them be,” she says. 

Silence falls over the room. Feyd’s grip eases but does not disappear.

“He is selfish and stubborn and feels no guilt in how he loves her,” she continues. “I can’t say I’m interested in seeing what else he’d be willing to do to get her back should she be ripped away from him again, but I have no doubt it would be devastating. And I’m sure you would not survive twice.” 

Your father’s brows dip in the center. His fist clenches. “Do not disrespect me.”

“It's not disrespect,” she says. “I would fear for you, for our people, our home. Leave her, and I will marry Kenric.” 

You suck in a sharp breath.

“I have no attachments to any man. It causes me no harm to step into my sister’s place.”

“No.” Your father shakes his head. “I won’t allow it.”

“You will if you’re smart,” she replies. Tension radiates from your father, his body practically shaking where he stands. “And surely you aim to be a smart man. Surely you don’t intend to take unnecessary risks that could hurt everything our House is meant to protect.”

He opens his mouth, but the threat of humiliation is enough to shut him up. It has always been an area where he falters. Inadequacy and the fear of being looked down upon. It’s why you were marrying the son of Lord Kenric. Your House is not a weak one by many standards, but your father could not let go of the whispers among other Houses that they are stronger. He sought a match effective in showing your equals the value of his House and offspring. And blinded by his decision, there was no room for him to consider the consequences.

You watch in awe as he stands down, shrinking in the shadow of your sister’s wisdom. A smart man indeed. 

When your sister nears you, she reaches out to take your hand in hers. Feyd releases you as, for the moment, his nemesis has been subdued.

“You don’t have to do this,” you tell her. “I’m prepared to fight him tooth and nail.”

She lightly chuckles. “Your brute would burn down the world. This is what’s best. Safest.”

“You’re sure?”

“I'd decided on this path before you arrived,” she says.

You look for hesitation, any regret, but she’s a stone wall—sturdy in her decision—and you recognize that arguing would implant a tone of dismissiveness of her wishes. 

“Thank you,” you mouth.

Your sister squeezes your fingers. She tips her head to you before she glances at Feyd. You peek over your shoulder, but his face is blank. Whatever passes between them is indecipherable—some unspoken understanding. 

“Keep him in line,” she says. Then she steps away from you.

Your father glares the entire way out of the fortress, and you know you’ve severed your ties today. You’ve made a choice, picked a side, and neither he nor your mother will ever understand. Whether or not they’ve become an enemy you will learn in time, but at the very least, it is unlikely you will be welcomed into the home where you grew up. A sacrifice you accept. 

As the doors close, Feyd comes up behind you. His arms circle your waist. Your back meets his chest. His lips plant on your neck. “Come to bed,” he says. 

You grin.

---

A/N: thanks for reading! If you liked it, let me know :)

[ilium-ilia]

Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Nine: ichthys

tw: arguing, religious talk

“I think I’m hungover.” 

Soap’s voice is hoarse and gravelly as he pokes at his can of beans with his spoon. The night did not fare well for him in terms of healing, as his left eye has swollen a considerable amount through his slumber, dotting his skin with a deep purple and hyacinth blue. His grumbling is drowned out by Riley’s crass chuckle. 

“Reckon your headache is more from all the fists you tried kissin’ last night, not the alcohol,” he teases. 

“At least I didn’t get my lip split open.” 

“Still can’t believe you all managed to get into trouble without me,” Kyle huffs, feigning hurt emotions as he sips on his coffee. 

Soap grins. “That’s what you get for leaving early, Garrick.” 

While the men compare the wounds they obtained from the night before, you sit in eerie silence as your fingertips prod at your lower lip. Though the events at the saloon feel as if they happened ages ago, you still feel the sordidity of it all taint you. Teeth in flesh. Hands on your waist. A content hum into your jaw. Not even a good night’s sleep is able to cleanse it all from your mind. It lingers like the sting of a stick on your knuckles—like the acidulous bite of words from your father.

The only thing strong enough to pull your attention from it is John’s unwavering gaze from across the dying morning fire. 

“You’re quiet today, Lamb,” he casually notes. 

Looking up from your hardtack, you muster a small smile. “Just tired,” you dismiss. 

It’s not an entire lie. Your sleep was far from restful as you were intermittently interrupted with strange dreams and an overall anxiety from the man who forced himself on you. Really, you’re not sure you’ve had any proper repose since you left your sleepy little Penmosa. 

John nods, but the lingering incredulity in his gaze screams that he doesn’t fully believe you. “We’ll be at Grand Hollow in a few days. We’ll get you in a proper bed in no time, little lamb.” 

You hum in agreement as your teeth crack into the salty hardtack that dusts your palms—you’re unsure if a soft bed will be enough to quell the aches in both your body and mind, but for now you decide to take his word for it. 

Camp is packed up and stored away within a few minutes, and there is no sign that anyone was here besides the smouldering remnants of the fire at your feet. The men are quiet as you ride along wild, untraveled terrain. Their aches buzz through their bodies loud enough for even you to hear over the soft trampling of the horses’ hooves. As you trot along, you notice that John gives Little Wood a wide berth instead of traveling through the heart of town—you imagine he isn’t too keen on treading through the very place he and the boys caused trouble in only a couple hours before. 

Your new hat offers excellent cover from the sun dancing well above you. Without golden rays blinding you, you find yourself squinting less often, and you’re fully able to enjoy the bosky land in all its verdant glory. Lush trees bloom in the distance by the time the group hits the trail again, and the moisture in the grass is so thick you can feel the water condensing on your skin in thick droplets. Even Jester whines, uncomfortable with the sweat permeating through his thick hide. 

There is little reprieve to be found as the pack travels into the woods, slicing through thick bellied trees as you keep close to the trail. A playful zephyr toys with Jester’s mane, causing him to wiggle his head with a pleased huff. Deciding to join him, you knock your hat back until it’s hanging by the cord around your throat, and you hum as the wind cools your sweat-soaked brow. 

Just as your stomach begins to growl, Soap eagerly points out the sight of a lake. Crystalline azure cuts through the fallen trees and berry bushes, and your ears perk enough to hear the faint sound of water lapping at the edges of a shore. None of the horses enjoy trampling over the bramble—Jester, least of all, who you have to coo to in order to convince him not to buck you off when a branch brushes against his stomach—but they are pleasantly surprised when you drop them off to enjoy the algid water of the lake. 

It’s one of the largest lakes you’ve ever seen, spanning for at least a few miles in diameter. The water is clear enough for you to make out curious fish darting through the water as they nibble at wild undergrowth and algae. Kyle eagerly retrieves a folded up fishing pole from his saddle pack, all while muttering something about trying the far side of the lake before vanishing into the wilderness. John does the same, though he doesn’t wander too far from the group while Riley and Soap prepare a fire for lunch. 

With his pants rolled up well above his knees and his shoes and socks discarded along the shore, John wades out into the water with his fishing pole in hand. You watch his muscles bulge through the cotton of his shirt as he rears his arms back, then flicks the pole forward, casting the line far towards the center of the lake where the fish roam in quieter waters.

Closing your eyes, you bask in the obstructed sunlight as nature crescendos around you. Robins chatter as they hop between branches; geese honk as they soar through the air high above your head; a bumble bee rests in a patch of wildflowers next to a fallen log. It’s a far cry from the wailing of cows and bleating of sheep you’re accustomed to in Penmosa. It reminds you of the picnics your mother used to take you on when you were little—very little. 

Before she got sick. 

Before she was put in the ground. 

“The water is nice, Lamb. You ought to join.” 

John’s invitation catches you by surprise, and your eyes flutter open. Your surroundings feel too bright all of a sudden. Everything fluoresces beneath saffron rays, and a sudden wave of lassitude hits you worse than the back of a hand. Thinking that dousing yourself with a fair amount of water might be a good idea to keep you awake, you find yourself kicking your shoes off, stockings along with them. 

The lake water is brisk against your bare feet, but you grit your teeth and bear the sensation as you roll your pantalets up and hold your skirt above your knees. The sun has warmed the more shallow parts of the water, but you feel the depths grow more algid as you wade out as far as your clothes will allow. 

“Still tired?” John asks. 

He stands a good couple of feet in front of you. You slosh your legs through the water to remind him how close you are. “A little,” you concede. 

“I reckon all the excitement from last night made it hard to get any good sleep,” he muses. “You’re not still thinking too much about what happened at the saloon, are you?” 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You haven’t realized how dry they’ve gotten since you’ve left home. “A little, maybe. I don’t know. It’s all frustrating.” 

John hums, then falls quiet when he feels something pull on the line. He begins to reel, and the ticking sound of the rod drowns out the flies buzzing along the waterline, but then curses when he feels the fish go free. 

“Well, he won’t be bothering you again, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he sighs. It takes him only a short moment to reset his cast, flinging his pole as hard as he can so that the hook goes flying. 

“I’m not really worried about it as much as I’m just… well…” You cut yourself off with a huff. “Well, my life just isn’t really going the way I planned.” 

“Is that so?” John asks with a poorly hidden chuckle. 

“No,” you say tartly. Your eyes pierce daggers through the back of his head, and you pray he can feel the burn. “When I was a kid, I always figured I would have been married by now. I’d be settled down, I’d have a kid or two to tend to. Someone to love. Someone to love me.” 

Looking over his shoulder, John throws you a cheeky smirk. “Someone to go to church with every Sunday?” 

You hold back the urge of rolling your eyes. “I guess.” 

Once again, your tongue wets your lips, and as you wiggle your toes in the muck of the lake bottom, you feel acrid bile bubble in your stomach. Teeth dug into this very same lip last night. You wonder if that bone has the feeling of your mouth memorised just as much as your flesh does. 

“But after last night, I’m starting to think that’s never going to happen,” you admit, and though you are wary of John’s snippy response, you find yourself not caring too much about it. 

“What? That you’d ever find yourself in some godly matrimony?” he goads. 

“That I’d ever find myself in love at all,” you correct with a snap. 

This frustration is new. It feels foreign as it bubbles beneath your skin and lurks in your joints. As your fists tighten around the fabric of your dress, you wonder if this is how your father feels. You wonder if this is the very same emotion that drives him into doing what he does best—hate. 

“Daddy’s always displeased with me. I know you think I’m stupid, but I’m well aware that a good father doesn’t beat his child,” you say, forcing your anger to melt away as your tone takes on something more somber. “I don’t want love because it’s what’s Godly, or what I think Daddy wants, because I know he couldn’t care less, I just… I want it because I always thought it was going to save me.” 

John nods his head as if he understands you. His body twists in the water, keeping his pole straight over the lake, yet his torso turned to you. The brim of his hat shades his eyes from what little sun pokes through the trees, but his irises illuminate through the darkness. Their color is comparable to the lake water kissing your ankles, and you find your tongue aching for the refreshment. 

“Love is powerful, little lamb. It can make smart people do stupid things. It can bring a nation to its knees. But if it’s salvation you want, I’m afraid you only have yourself to count on,” he shares bluntly. “Not even your god is strong enough for that.” 

Eyes narrowing at John, he jerks his head away from your gaze the moment something tugs on his rod, and this time he’s able to keep them on the line. Expert hands reel in the fish with sharp tugs, and it isn’t long before John’s pulling a small, flat sunfish from the water. It wiggles and writhes on the line, but the hook curves through its cheek too violently to free itself. 

“God offers salvation,” you correct. “He sent His son for us.” 

“Oh no, sweetheart, don’t get that twisted in your sweet head. Your god didn’t do shit for you.” 

John’s crass words shock you to your very core, and for a moment you find yourself at a loss of a response. His fingers weave the hook out of the fish’s mouth before he begins to walk past you. Each step he takes sends water splashing around his knees until a few drops manage to soak your skirt. 

“Jesus Christ died on the cross to absolve everyone of their sins!” you say just as he reaches the shore. 

“That boy died on the cross because his daddy told him to,” John chuckles sourly. Holding the fish by its tail, he leans his pole against the fallen log before retrieving a rock from near his feet. “If it weren’t for his all-powerful father telling him to kill himself, he would have much rather lived. He never would have died if that cruel man hadn’t demanded it. That’s not love. That’s dictatorship and self obsession.” 

Your eyes widen so far you fear they might pop free from your skull. “What?” 

After placing the sunfish against the log, John raises the rock over his head, and just like Cain did to his brother Abel, he crushes the fish’s skull in with a single blow. No longer flopping, he’s now free to cut it behind its gills, letting it bleed slowly and without pain. 

“My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me,” John quotes with bile. He stares down at the dead fish before wiping the blade of his knife on his thigh. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” 

Still standing in the shallow water, you stare at John with parted lips. Your eyes flicker to the gore on the log for only a short moment before you’re looking back up at him. “I didn’t realize you knew The Bible.” 

Foggy eyes land on you as John brings his attention away from the fish. “Go dry off by the fire. Take a nap, if you can manage it. Don’t need you falling asleep on the back of your horse while we’re trying to ride.” 

The fire is a pitiful thing. Made of nothing more than mere twigs and tiny sticks, it doesn’t exude much heat, but you suppose it doesn’t have to. Riley and Soap keep tending to it as you nestle yourself against the trunk of a tree, feet faced towards the flames. Sleep takes you for only a little while before you’re roused awake with a display of dead, gutted fish waiting to be cooked and eaten. 

Kyle informs you that most of what they’ve caught are bluegills, and you’re impressed at their flaky texture and tangy flavor. They’re not like the fish you’re used to the local anglers back in Penmosa catching, though you doubt you’ve ever eaten any fish this fresh in your life. You pick at the flesh with your fingers and shove bite after bite onto your tongue. It melts. Rich oils disperse along your tastebuds, and you find yourself humming, content. 

“Can’t wait to get to Grand Hollow,” Soap muses halfway through lunch.

“You’re just thinking about Lottie’s food, aren’t you?” Kyle teases. 

“Might be,” Soap grins. He lets the comment sit for a moment before he’s tilting his head. “I bet I know what you’re thinking about.” 

Unconvinced, he raises a brow. “Oh?” 

“Don’t play dumb, Garrick. It’s written all over your face. You’re excited to get back to Sofia, aren’t you?” 

Kyle attempts to retort, but the moment he opens his mouth it snaps back shut again. Chewing on the inside of his tongue, he shoves a bite of bluegill past his lips before palming at the back of his neck. 

“Aye, look at him, all bashful like a school boy,” Soap says with a roaring laugh. 

Innocently blinking back and forth between the two men, you wiggle your toes as the fire roasts them. “Who’s Sofia?” 

“Oh, just some girl he’s sweet on,” Soap says flippantly. 

“I am not,” Kyle defends. 

“Sure, it’s why you always wander off to the bakery while we’re there—because you’re not sweet on her.” 

The two men bicker back and forth for a short while, leaving you to giggle and titter while you toss aside cleaned bones and stray scales. While they take turns stabbing each other with words, you find your mind wandering as the fire captures your attention. 

Grand Hollow. The Twin Rose. 

It’s on the way to Blackpeak, which is where we’re headed. 

“So, after we’re done in Grand Hollow, what do you guys plan to do in Blackpeak?” 

Your question reverberates like a gunshot. It silences the four men around you, and yet none of their eyes dart to you. Riley pokes at the fire with a twig, Soap and Kyle continue to eat—but John looks at you with a hum as he shoves his thumb in his mouth to suck it clean. 

“There’s nothing for you in Blackpeak. You’re staying in Grand Hollow,” he says nonchalantly. 

“Well, I know that. But when we first met, you said that you all were headed there, and I guess I’m just curious as to why you would want to go to a place where the law wants you,” you explain cautiously. “At least, that’s what Mr. Beckett said… that you’re wanted in Blackpeak.” 

John’s tongue swipes along the front of his teeth; you can see the way it moves his lips as they prod against them. “Well, that’s none of your business, now is it, sweetheart?” 

His blatantly sharp tone kills the curiosity in your heart, and you find yourself huffing. Shame should be poking at your heart, but for once you feel nothing of the sort. “I suppose you’re right. Nothing you do concerns me at all, John Price.” 

After you’re finished with lunch, your small, makeshift camp is quickly swept away so that everyone can hit the road again. Jester still dislikes walking through overgrown bushes (despite the obnoxiously tall legs he has to carry himself with) but you fare better exiting than you did entering. 

The next three days are grueling. It consists of nothing but early mornings, and late evenings, with short breaks to eat in between. Jester’s saddle rubs the insides of your thighs until you’re sore, and you find angry welts building on the tender skin. The thin cotton of your pantalets offers little comfort compared to the men’s jeans and riding gear, and by the second day you find yourself so desperate that you place a blanket over the saddle to try to comfort your angry skin. It does little—if anything at all—but you tell yourself it’s better than nothing. 

Everyone is quiet for the most part as you wander along the trail, except for short conversations every now and then. Sometime’s Soap will hum a song in a language that sounds old and dead, but otherwise everyone leaves the talking to the coyotes. 

Your mind does plenty of talking, though. Ideas and lost conversations weave through your brain as you stare at the dusty road ahead. You think of your father and the last supper you had together; you think of the moon; but mostly, you think of John. 

It’s uncomfortable to admit how often you think of him—how his words echo in your mind as if your skull is a cavern made only to repeat what you hate to hear. You think of his words at the lake, and his vagarious behavior. In one moment, you’ll have the wolf nudging at the palm of your hand to lap at you with wet tongue—the next, he’s nipping at your wrist as if you struck him. 

In the end, you always seem to recall the scars that dance along his spine. The way they sprawl out like limbs on a tree along his back, slicing through his shoulders and along his flank. Every now and then, you’ll catch him pawing at the back of his neck, and you’ll see pink, raised skin peek out from above the collar of his shirt. A part of you expected them to fade since the last time you saw them in that abandoned barn. 

They’ve done no such thing. 

In the early morning on day four, you notice the path you travel grows more firm. Fixed with wooden boards, or even stone in some cases, there are less tree roots for Jester to trample over and no rocks for him to get stuck in his hooves. There are countless small towns that you quickly blow through, but John doesn’t seem to care about stopping at any of them despite your voiced discomfort. 

You quickly learn why that is as lamp posts begin to line your path as your trail slowly morphs into a proper road. It’s wider than any other you’ve ever seen, and your eye catches carriages for both transport and luxury being pulled by large, shire horses. You take note of strangers with well kept suits and women with dresses larger than you’ve ever seen with frilly hats to match. 

Just as you open your mouth to ask where you’re at, you see it. It looms just up the road on a big oak board adorned with paint and the neatest script you’ve ever seen. 

Welcome to Grand Hollow the Golden Heart of the United States

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | early access to chapters here

[hmmarble]

HMMARBLEDESİGN - DRAGON+ (2)

Marble Bathroom Sink

When it comes to home design, few materials evoke a sense of luxury and timeless beauty quite like marble. A marble bathroom sink not only serves as a functional wash basin but also elevates the overall aesthetic of your space. The elegance of marble exudes sophistication, turning an ordinary bathroom into a serene oasis.

Marble Bathroom Sink

A marble bathroom sink is not just a functional component of your bathroom; it is a statement piece that adds elegance and luxury. Marble, known for its unique veining and rich texture, brings a timeless charm to any space. When choosing a marble bathroom sink, there are several factors to consider to ensure it complements your bathroom design.

First, consider the style of your bathroom. Whether you are going for a modern, classic, or rustic look, a marble sink can fit seamlessly into any theme. The color palette of the marble also matters; white and cream marbles can lend a fresh and airy feel, while darker hues can create a dramatic effect.

Maintenance is another important aspect to consider. While marble sinks are stunning, they do require some care to maintain their beauty. Regular sealing and careful cleaning will help prevent stains and etching, keeping your sink looking pristine over the years.

Installation is another key consideration. Marble is heavier than other materials, so ensure that your cabinet and plumbing can support your chosen marble bathroom sink. Consultation with a professional can help you navigate this aspect of your renovation.

Ultimately, a marble bathroom sink is an investment in both aesthetics and functionality. By choosing the right type, color, and maintenance plan, you can enjoy the beauty of marble in your bathroom for years to come.

Wash Basin Sink

A wash basin sink is an essential fixture in any bathroom, offering both functionality and style. When selecting a wash basin sink, it is important to consider various factors such as size, design, and material.

One popular choice among homeowners is the marble bathroom sink. Known for its elegance and durability, marble sinks can elevate the aesthetic of your bathroom. Their unique veining patterns ensure that no two sinks are alike, providing a one-of-a-kind centerpiece for your space.

When choosing a wash basin sink, you will encounter various types including undermount, vessel, and pedestal sinks. Each design has its own benefits and can enhance the overall look of your bathroom. For instance, vessel sinks are often mounted on top of the countertop, making them a stylish option that complements modern decor.

Aside from aesthetics, the wash basin sink should also offer practical features. Consider looking for a model with easy-to-clean surfaces and a design that accommodates your bathing and grooming needs. The right choice will not only enhance your bathroom’s style but also improve daily usage.

In terms of installation, make sure to consult with a professional if you are unsure. Proper installation of your wash basin sink will ensure that it functions efficiently and lasts for many years to come.

Lastly, don't forget to incorporate additional features such as stylish faucets and accessories that complement your wash basin sink and add to the overall design of your bathroom.

Ancient Roman Baths

The Ancient Roman Baths were an essential aspect of Roman culture, reflecting the importance of hygiene, social interaction, and relaxation in ancient society. These baths, also known as thermae, were large public bathing complexes that served as a social hub for citizens of all classes.

Typically, the layout of a Roman bath included a series of rooms with varying temperatures and functions. The caldarium (hot bath) heated the water through a sophisticated system of hypocaust, allowing steam to rise and warm the space. Next to it was the tepidarium (warm bath), which served as a transitional room, and the frigidarium (cold bath), where bathers would plunge into cooler waters to invigorate their bodies.

In addition to hygiene, these baths featured amenities such as libraries, gymnasiums, and gardens, encouraging a sense of community and leisure. Romans often visited to socialize, conduct business, or simply enjoy the art and architecture that adorned these luxurious facilities. The decorative mosaics and grand columns were not only functional but also represented the wealth and sophistication of the society.

The significance of the Ancient Roman Baths can also be seen in their architectural innovation. The Romans mastered the use of concrete and arches, allowing for grand open spaces and intricate designs. These structures have inspired modern spa designs, embodying the idea of relaxation and wellness.

Despite their popularity, the fall of the Roman Empire led to the decline of these spectacular sites. Many were repurposed, and their intricate plumbing systems fell into disrepair. However, remnants of these ancient baths still surface in archaeological sites, offering a glimpse into a fascinating aspect of Roman life.

Today, while we may not indulge in the same communal bathing practices, the legacy of the Ancient Roman Baths endures. Their emphasis on hygiene and social engagement continues to influence how we design our own spaces for relaxation and community interaction.

[leia-writes]

Wild Heart

hwang in-ho | front man x female reader

Chapter 1: Mortal Once Again

summary - The Front Man infiltrates the games to change Gi-hun's mind, but after meeting you, things don't go according to plan.

warnings - violence, angst

THIS SERIES IS 18+ ONLY

chapter list

read on ao3

A gust of harsh, cold wind battered against your face as you exited the subway. The sun had just set, leaving a chill in the air that went straight to your bones, despite the sting of a bruise forming on your cheek and the slight glaze of sweat still on your face. Your brow furrowed as you walked home, clutching to the bundle of money in your pocket for dear life.

No one could’ve guessed what you’d just done, nor would they have believed you if you told them. After receiving life-shattering news at the hospital, you’d encountered a well-dressed man in the subway who offered to pay you just to play ddakji. You would’ve ignored him had he not shown you the briefcase of actual money… or if you hadn’t been so desperate. 

Before meeting the man in the subway, you’d just learned that your sister was struck by a vehicle earlier that day on her way to school. Although she was lucky to be alive, she’d suffered many injuries and you were unsure what the future held for her. She would need multiple, extensive surgeries, and even then it wasn’t a guarantee if she would survive or not. You had left that night to gather some things in your small, shared home to bring back to the hospital.

Your sister was your entire world - losing your parents at a young age made it so that you only had each other. You’d been raised by various family members throughout your childhood but never had a truly stable home. Once you were old enough, you rented out a small apartment for the two of you while she finished school. You did everything you could, often working multiple jobs, to even attempt to provide a life where the two of you could be happy even if you were poor.

But now with her accident, you had to worry not only about your sister’s life but also the cost associated with her care. It broke your heart to even have to think that way, but you couldn’t stop your mind from rushing to the worst possible scenarios. Would you need to take out a loan that you couldn’t even pay back? What if they refused care because you couldn’t afford it in the first place? 

You were used to handling things on your own without the guidance your parents would’ve given you, but this was too overwhelming. You felt stuck and afraid and vulnerable. And when that man offered you money for a simple little game, you couldn’t say no.

~~~

You’d barely slept in the waiting room that night, anxious for any news about your sister after being in surgery. The light brown business card given by the man in the subway seemed to burn a hole in your pocket. You considered his invitation - if slapping you was the worst that could happen, you were pretty certain you’d take him up on his offer.

The doctors finally approached you in the waiting room, interrupting your thoughts. Once they gave you the news, you thought you could physically feel your heart breaking into pieces. It took everything in you not to break down right then.

They’d told you your sister survived, but had suffered severe brain and spinal damage, and would never live the same again. It was hard to determine now whether or not she’d be able to even speak or walk. They reassured you that they would do their best in the coming days, but plans for permanent long-term care needed to be arranged.

The doctors left you to your raging thoughts. How could she live with you when your apartment required walking up 3 flights of stairs and was barely big enough to turn around in? How could she live a normal life like she wanted when she might not even be able to talk to or understand people? You could barely afford to live your normal life now… how could you afford the proper care she needed and deserved to live even somewhat well in her condition?

Your mind was finally set. You called the number on the back of the business card, and got yourself ready for pickup that night.

~~~

Hwang In-ho sat in his comfortable leather chair, leisurely scrolling on his tablet. Tonight would be the beginning of this year’s round of games, and he was watching updates on which players agreed to participate. Of course, he already knew of one: Seong Gi-hun. 

In-ho had to admit he was a bit surprised at just how far Gi-hun was willing to go to find him and end the games. But no matter what Gi-hun did, he was always two steps ahead of him. That’s something he hadn’t fully figured out yet. The tracker, the boat captain, Jun-ho… he had no clue just how far In-ho could take this.

As he studied the new players, he paused at one picture. A younger woman with a strangely familiar face. He scrolled through the corresponding information, seeing your name, address, place of work… and your family. 

His stomach sank. He knew you. 

As a child, you spent a lot of time with your grandparents, who mostly raised you before they got too old. Your family was very close with another neighboring family and everyone quickly became close family friends. Unfortunately, when your grandparents were unable to take care of you any longer, you had moved away and never spoken to them very much again.

You and your sister had become close with two boys around the same age as you two, Jun-ho and In-ho. In-ho was a little older than Jun-ho and didn’t spend a lot of time with the rest of you, but you still had fond memories with him. After moving away and growing up, you didn’t really talk to them anymore, only hearing about major events through other family members. You heard about his wife passing away and how he had basically gone missing but hadn’t thought much of it since.

Since that time, In-ho hadn’t thought much about you either until seeing your face on his screen. What could have possibly happened to you to bring you to a place like this? He curiously browsed your files, puzzling together a picture of the life you had lived since you knew him.

It was strange seeing someone he knew here, which had never happened before. But he knew many players before who had come here to pay for medical care - something he related to all too well. When those situations presented themselves, it evoked a strange feeling from the furthest corner of his heart, something he hadn’t let himself feel for a very long time.

He wasn’t allowed to play favorites, but he decided he would keep a watchful eye on you and silently hope for you to win.

~~~

You woke up to the sound of classical music, opening your eyes to a large room full of beds. Everyone was dressed in green track suits assigned with a number. Yours was 132. As you descended the stairs to the floor, you saw how many people were gathered around, looking just as disoriented as you felt. 

You felt tensions rise among the group once the strangely masked pink guards arrived and explained the premise of the games to you. It frightened you a bit to know they gassed you and changed your clothes, just to play games. But once the prize money was revealed, the mood shifted seriously. And you knew you’d do just about anything to get that money.

In-ho watched you from his leather chair, now on the big screen in front of him, as you went from the player room, to the photo booth, to the large open field to play Red Light, Green Light. He hoped you had enough sense to stay still once bullets started flying.

He was suddenly pulled from his thoughts by Gi-hun running in front of everyone and yelling at them, which initially amused him. He saw the looks on everyone’s faces, thinking he was just some crazy person. Even his own friend was doubtful. No matter how hard Gi-hun tried, the only way they would learn is seeing it happen to someone else.

Once people started getting shot, he kept his screen focused on you. He saw you uncontrollably shaking, hoping it wasn’t enough to set off the motion sensors. When it was clear you were staying still as everyone around you ran to the doors, he couldn’t deny the wave of relief he felt. 

You felt like you were holding your breath for hours before you finally willed yourself to move forward. When the weird man started yelling at everyone about how they were going to die if they lost the game, you wanted badly to not believe him. But with the circumstances you were in, and the suspicious way this was all happening, it felt like nothing was beyond the realm of possibility. As everyone around you scurried to the doors, you couldn’t help but tremble, and it took everything in your power to ignore your instincts and run away.

You made it over the finish line just in time, collapsing to the ground in sick relief as your muscles ached with dread. The roof began to close above you, and the warmth of the sun became a memory. You couldn’t help yourself from silently crying. Your tears mixed with the specks of blood on your face of people who had died right in front of you, staining your hands as you wiped them away.

In-ho felt tremendous relief the moment you crossed the finish line, but something strange tugged at his heart when he saw you cry, something like pity. This wasn’t a place for someone like you. 

He scoffed at himself. It wasn’t the first time someone in your situation had joined the games, so why bother feeling any worse for you? Just because he knew you didn’t mean you deserved to win any more than the others. 

Or so he tried to convince himself. Once he saw Gi-hun gaining the trust of more players, he saw the perfect opportunity to step in. And before he could even realize it was happening, his devotion to fairness and equality was slowly giving way to a quiet, unfamiliar feeling.

~~~

Your mind was racing as the vote began. Everyone had to decide now whether to continue the games or leave with the remaining money, which you knew would barely cover anything close to what you needed for your sister. The implications of everything overwhelmed your mind. You needed to stay alive for your sister, but you also desperately needed that money for her. What good could you be anyways if you didn’t have the means to help her?

Your mind was made once the man yelling at everyone revealed he played the games before. If he made it out, then he could help you win too. You didn’t want to confront what that meant, that other people would die for your money. But in comparison it felt like a small price to pay for your sister’s life.

When you walked to the voting station, you quickly pressed the blue circle, taking your matching patch with you and going to the back of the crowd. As you walked back, you noticed another player waiting to vote, giving you an intense look. It almost made you stop walking. You felt as if you had locked eyes for minutes, but in the next moment he looked away and continued waiting. 

A chill went down your spine as you joined the crowd. He looked so familiar to you, but you just couldn’t place it, and it made you feel unsettled. Clearly you had to have known him for his stare to affect you so much. You slowly turned back around to get another look, and noticed he was staring at you again, but this time immediately looked away as if he was caught.

That was strange. 

Player 001. You decided you’d keep a watchful eye on him going forward.

~~~

In-ho internally chastised himself for getting caught staring at you. He had finally gotten in your view after you voted, but he could immediately tell by your reaction that you had no clue who he was. Although a small part of him wished he was memorable enough, not knowing his name meant he could carry out his plans with Gi-hun.

The voting had come down to the final player. In-ho felt everyone’s eyes on him as he walked forward and pressed the blue circle. When he turned to join the group, he snuck another glance at you. Fear was etched all over your face. You were too lost in worry to notice him.

After waiting in line for your meal, you walked over to Gi-hun, who was sitting next to someone else. You quietly approached them, giving an apprehensive look. He noticed the blue patch on your jacket as you spoke up.

“Can I sit with you?”

They both looked at you with blank faces for a moment. Gi-hun was clearly distraught but attempted to be polite. “Sure.”

Gi-hun stayed silent as you sat down next to him. His friend, who you learned was named Jung-bae, tried convincing him to eat. You sat and ate quietly as they spoke, before being interrupted by Player 001.

“Help us then, sir.”

You looked up to see him standing before the three of you, a group of people forming behind him. 

“You said you’ve played these games. I pressed the O button because of you. Honestly, I was scared. I wanted to quit and leave. But you made me think I could play just one more game.”

The three of you stared in astonishment as the others behind him agreed. As Gi-hun explained what the next round would be, you watched the dynamic between all of the players unfold. People starting to form groups, take sides, operate with their own best interests in mind. You briefly wondered if you were truly cut out for the brutality this game might require of you. The thought of it disturbed you, so you quickly pushed it to the back of your mind.

The rest of the players dispersed, except for Player 001. He sat next to Jung-bae, intensely curious about what Gi-hun was thinking. You let yourself dissociate from the conversation. Although you wanted to know more about Player 001, you weren’t in the mood to strike up a conversation. As you were paying attention to your food, something Gi-hun said brought you back to reality.

“If you had pressed the X, everyone in here would’ve made it out alive.”

You looked up at Gi-hun, immediately taking offense without really understanding why. Player 001 glanced at you for a moment before responding.

“That’s right. I was the last to press the O button. But there were 182 more people who wanted to stay.”

He looked directly at you, and the blue patch on your jacket, as the other two slowly turned to you as well. Suddenly you felt exposed, too timid to say anything to stand up for yourself.

Gi-hun turned back to the other man. “And there were also 182 people who wanted to leave.”

Player 001 scoffed. “Let’s say… I pressed X and we all left. Would everyone have been happy? Do you think if they ran into me later they’d thank me for saving their lives and telling me they’re happy now?”

He looked at you and continued. “You voted to stay here too. If I had pressed the X, what would you have done?”

The three of them looked at you now as you swallowed your food. Frantically looking at each of them, you whispered, “I… I don’t know… my sister, and I, um…”

Jung-bae stepped in to break the tension. “All right, there’s no point in placing blame now.”

You sat quietly with the groups and tensions lessened, and saw your little group form right before you as Dae-ho and Jung-bae immediately bonded. Before you could get too comfortable, a fight broke out in the middle of the room - but Player 001 quickly intervened.

You watched as he effortlessly took down the two younger men going after him, almost choking one to death before letting him go. The entire display frightened you, yet you didn’t feel afraid of him - somewhere deep down you still had that familiar feeling with him. 

You tried your best to ignore it. Trusting anyone was going to be a high risk decision for your survival, so you hoped he would at least just help your group survive the upcoming games. If you could survive just one or two more, you’d be satisfied.

~~~

That night, you tossed and turned in your bed, too anxious to fall asleep. As your thoughts raced, you heard Player 001 approach Gi-hun, who was also awake.

You listened as Player 001 apologized to Gi-hun, and explained his reason for joining the games. His wife was afflicted with cancer, and needed many surgeries and treatments, and in his attempt to accept help he was accused of taking a bribe.

Something in the back of your mind stirred, curiosity building in your mind. His situation sounded so familiar to you, but you couldn’t place it. You wanted to speak up and ask him more but felt it was impolite. 

You sighed, tucking your blanket in your arms, wondering why he felt so familiar to you and why it troubled you so much. He was undoubtedly attractive to you, but you thought you’d be better than getting distracted by a handsome face in this sort of situation. It had been so long since you let yourself feel something good, let yourself focus on something other than the depressing parts of your life. 

You decided to blame your fascination with him on pent up sexual frustration and thought nothing else of it that night.

[keep-me-warm-please]

“Thanks for peeling this,” he commends before taking a bite of his beef jerky

You look over as he takes a bite of his Slim Jim. He takes this opportunity to flash a wide grin. If you didn’t know better you would think it looked like a predator flashing the oppressive white of its teeth at its prey. You tried to keep your composure, but he was on a mission to make you submit; test the waters of your new confession.

When you initially told him about your fart fetish he laughed. It wasn’t until the embarrassment of your seriousness that he knew you weren’t lying.

“Is that why you love eating my ass,” he teased. You were too shy to elaborate in the moment so he left you alone. Walking away with an amused grin. You could tell it humored him. That someone so proper, so clean and hygienic would want to worship his unwashed farting asshole. You figured since he never brought it up again he wasn’t interested.

The lingering scent of his last emission hung thick in the air. Even if you didn’t want to sniff it there was no escaping the eggy, meaty stench. He took another bite of his snack. His smile fading slightly. Now just a casual cocky grin, his eyes on the road,

“Am I living up to your fantasy,” he prods. He relaxes in his seat slightly and you expect another toot to escape.

He side eyes you as he shifts, and chuckles; there was no fart. He’s laughing at your anticipation. He’s testing your desperation. How bad do you want it? Bad enough to look down and observe the way his thighs sink into his seat.

“Umm..” you drone out softly distracted and unsure of what to say. The vulnerability from revealing such a shameful secret leaves you embarrassed. What do you say?

“Does it smell good,” he asks in a joking tone. You can tell there’s a sense of genuine curiosity too.

“Cause fuck I think it reeks in here.” His smile grows wider as he speaks. His words re clearly riling up something inside of you. You’re clenching your thighs together and stifling your breathing.

He takes a small bite of his beef jerky and then sets it down in the cup holder again. For the first time since getting on the highway he looks at you, really looks at you; not a glance or a side eye. You look back at him, and the nervousness in your stomach must’ve translated to your face because you watch his smile soften. His humor shifts to compassion and you watch as he reaches a hand over to your shoulder. He squeezes your shoulder and moves it over to the back of your neck.

“If you want me to stop baby. I won’t tease you.”

“I’m fine, it smells great, you’re exceeding my fantasies,” you blurt out awkwardly hoping to diffuse the tension. His face softens again. You know this look. It’s a look of mock sympathy, a condescending snarl that makes you feel smaller than you are. It’s the look he gives you when he teases you with his fingers, and his tongue and whatever else he can torture you with. It’s the look he gives you after he makes you cum. Your awkwardness turns back to being flustered as you realize now he has no intent of showing you mercy, and then you hear it: another deep rumble from his seat. This one is longer and wetter than the others, but is almost fully muffled by the seat.

“I’m glad you’re doing fine, and I’m glad I could exceed your fantasies,” he teases, squeezing your neck before letting go and picking up his Slim Jim. Oh god, you’ve created a monster, and oh god, does it smell. You feel your face cringe as the smell hits you. It’s thick and meaty, and you can tell by the way his stomach gurgles as he takes a bite of his beef jerky and the sigh he lets out its far from over.

You’re barely two hours into a 12 hour roadtrip and he’s already filled the car with the faintest stench of ass. Even as you try not to pick it up every inhale is traced with him. He’s finished his snack, and his hand has made its home back on your thigh. His silence leaves you on edge. You’re constantly anticipating what he is going to do or say next, it’s killing you. You want to talk about the pretty wildflowers or the shape of the clouds, but you’re shocked into silence, awaiting his next move. He can see the anticipation on your face he’s marveling in the silent submission he’s locked you in with nothing but his gas. You go for the next thirty minutes in silence. Every now and again he’ll squeeze your thigh playfully, but his eyes remain on the highway.

It’s almost a relaxing ride, it could be a comfortable silence if it wasn’t so charged. There is a peace in the air, along with some other things, until his hand squeezes your thigh tight enough you have to stifle a whimper. You quickly look over at him and he spreads his legs and rips a poot. You go to turn away in response, but he grabs your arm and pulls you closer.

“Where are you going baby? Come here, take off your seatbelt.”

“What,” you ask confused and shocked at his rough insistence.

“Take off your seatbelt,” he repeats in a darker tone. Your neck prickles at his assertive tone but you can’t give in that easy.

“No, we’re on the highway, y-“

“Take it off Princess, that’s not a question.” He moves his hand down to unclick your seatbelt, but you quickly maneuver your fingers down before he can get to it.

“What do you want?” You try to muster as much attitude as you can but you sound just as weak as you feel. Then you watch as his hand hovers over your body and moves to the back of your neck. You can feel the warmth of his hand before it even makes contact with you.

“Sniff this for me,” he says pulling your neck over the console. Defying all reason you follow his control without second thought and place your nose at the inseam of his pants, and sniff.

“Good girl,” he says stroking your hair as you inhale deeply. You feel his dick bounce against your cheek as it throbs from your proximity.

“Good girl,” he says again, almost in a moan, “It was starting to stink in here.”

[evielmostdefinitely]

darkened shadows |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: a single earring from the past causes turmoil in coryo's present with you.

contains: dark!coriolanus. manipulative, obsessive coriolanus. past mentions of lucy gray, sejanus. coryo's past. angst.

A single earring, worn- judging by the yellowish tint to the pearls that crested the thin gold hoop; that single earring that sent your world into a spiral. Cleaning your home, a gift from your parents after you announced your engagement to Coriolanus, after six months of courting during his time at University. You just wanted to be good, a prim and proper housewife, devoted just as he was to you, like your mother before you- until a single earring shattered your world. 

“Darling,” Corio’s voice traveled through the grand spiraling stairs, heavy soled shoes clacking against the marble with every climb. “My love, where are you?” His tone held an edge, a jagged sense of urgency that would usually have you stiffening, running to coax him, soothing his worrisome mind. 

Not this time. 

You could hear his heartbeat, heavy in his throat when he spat out your name. No terms of endearment, no breathy gasps between it like this morning, when you were tangled beneath the bedsheets, his hands in your hair, toes curling with pleasure. 

Frantic eyes piercing through the low light of your bedroom, falling onto you. His hair was longer now, coiffed all the same, but the curls you loved returned when Coryowould let them. “Did you not hear me calling for you?” Coryo huffed, a white knuckled grip on his satchel. 

You didn’t answer, lips pursed, legs crossed from your perch on the edge of the bed. Coriolanus frowned, pulling the strap from over his head. “What? What’s wrong? Is it your mother again-” 

“-No.” You snapped, nose scrunching in annoyance. 

Coriolanus paused, unsure. His mind scanned, raced through facts and dates- had he missed a date? An event? Fuck, dinner with your parents? His calendar had been cleared, it was why he stayed late in the lab with Gaul. 

“Why are you upset?” Coryo frowned, tired of the guessing game. He hadn’t meant to bark it out the way he did, but his heart skipped in his chest, squeezing too tight for his own comfort. 

You scoffed, a manicured hand smacking the bed, fist curling around the object. Corio’s eyes followed, the way your white knuckled grip held the object, screwing the sapphire ring off your own ring finger. “Here,” You spat, dropping the engagement ring at his feet, the single earring banging around his shining shoes. “Since you love collecting jewelry so much, you can add that to your lover’s stash.” Your voice drenched in a sarcastic venom that had his stomach twisting. 

Coryo tracked the sapphire, jaw setting. The ring- your engagement ring he’d given to you the night he poured his heart out into yours, in your parent’s garden- had been his mother’s before it found its new home on your finger. One of the few items his Grandma’am had let him have of hers, one of the few she hadn’t sold. There it was, settled next to Lucy Gray’s earring. The cursed object, when she’d betrayed him, tore his heart out in the woods of District Twelve. At the time, keeping it felt right, anchored to him like a cruel reminder. He’d forgotten about the thing, truly, stored away in a drawer far from his mind now that you took up most of the space in his head. 

“You went through my things?” Coryo clipped through gritted teeth, bending to pick up the two pieces, one in each hand. 

You gawked, spinning on your heel furiously to face him. “I was cleaning-” 

“-You were snooping.” Coryo snapped. “We have maids for cleaning-” 

“-And you told them not to come yesterday” You hissed, eyes narrowed to match his. “You wanted to spend the day in bed. Not let them in.” Your finger jabbed in the air towards him accusingly. 

Coriolanus’ mouth tightened into a firm line, frowning towards you. “You still had no right to go through my things.” He huffed. “Cleaning the drawers?” 

“I was putting your father’s compass away.” You sneered. “I didn’t want it out, and I thought you would want the same. You’re always going on and on about how the help will steal it if given the chance.” 

Coryodidn’t respond, eyes piercing through you. “So I take it’s true?” You scoff, hoping your snarl of a tone would disguise the hurt lingering through your chest. “You’ve taken a lover before the wedding?” 

“What? No.” Coryo ran a hand down his face, heart hammering. “How dare you say-” 

“-How dare you.” You snap, taking a step towards him. “Make a mockery of me, of us. Embarrass me this way.” Tears of fury blur your vision, turning before he could see. 

“It’s not- she was from before.” Coriolanus felt his composure withering away with every stomp of your foot. 

He’d rationalize his despond that he was worried about his own title, his own future. Without your family, he might as well be back to living off of scraps in the worn down family home, cracks in the foundation. He’d worked hard but your father’s good graces were securing him his spot as President after the wedding. 

“Before?” You scoffed, throwing your hands up. “Before the engagement?” 

“No,” Coryo shook his head, a strangled huff caught in his throat. “Before-Before I even knew you.” 

“So you kept it around?” You snarled, turning on your foot so quickly it had him flinching backwards. “Pieces of another woman? Another lover lying around in our home?” 

“It’s not like that. I-I didn’t even know I still had it.” Coryo was faltering, stuttering uneasily. He wasn’t used to not being in control, not being able to con himself out of any situation. The truth was, you held the upper hand; he needed you more than you did him. 

“Darling, please, just-just let me explain.” Coriolanus begged, voice lilting higher and higher. “It was before I met you. When-When I was a mentor.” He reached out a hand for you, your dramatic step back making him flinch. 

“Oh? So it’s Clemensia’s? I knew you two were more than you said. And you tried to tell me you-” 

“-It’s not Clemensia’s.” Coryo shook his head gently. “It-It belongs to someone I want to forget about now- I have forgotten about now. At the time, I-I wasn’t in my right mind. I was manipulated and cheated and played to be a fool by this-this girl.” 

That seemed to pique your interest, brows quipping carefully, watching him with caution. Vulnerability, Coryo wasn’t good at that, but he would have to be or try to be. Still, to keep you, keep your family and all his power into place, he’d have to be. 

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” Coriolanus said slowly, eyes taking in every quip, every pull and fall of your emotions. Your breath stilling, hitching in your throat, though you tried to keep yourself steady, calm. 

“In the past.” Coriolanus added quickly, his own voice teetering on a frantic tone that he despised, heart thudding loudly in his chest. “Let me be clear, I-I’ve never betrayed you.” 

Your shoulders seemed to relax though your eyes stayed hard, challenging. “I went to District Twelve because I was sent there as punishment, that was true.” Coriolanus started, hand closing around the pearl earring, the hook piercing into his palm. “But I also went there looking for… someone.”  

“Someone?” You repeated. 

Coriolanus nodded. “You have to understand, I-I was coerced. Tricked by this- this woman, who used me.” His lips pursed, eyes lifting to yours. Your features softened, pulling into a look of sympathy. 

“She used me. Used me and my wealth to escape.” 

“A district girl?” You whispered like you were scared, frightened that someone might hear, even in the room with just the two of you. “Coriolanus-” 

“-I know.” Coryo nodded, turning with the shake of his head. “You-You see why I didn’t tell you? I’m ashamed, my love. This,” He took a shaky breath, turning to look over his shoulder at you. “This is the darkest secret I’ve ever harbored. Not a soul, no one, knows of this.” 

You stood still, unsure, finger twisting around your ring finger, absent of the ring you’d grown so fond of. Coriolanus watched you carefully, over his shoulder, hoping you’d believe him. You’d forgive him. He was so close, so close to his inauguration. Your father had practically promised it when he asked for his permission to marry you. “You take care of her, I’ll take care of you. Make sure you give my darling girl the life she deserves, and I’ll make sure you get the life you deserve.” Coriolanus prayed you hadn’t told your father any of this. 

“But… The earring.” You looked at his closed palm. “Why would you keep it if she was so horrible to you?” 

Coriolanus paused, letting his mind still. He was close, you were close, inching towards forgiveness. Towards forgetting the Baird girl who haunted his dreams. 

“Truthfully, my love, I-I didn’t even-” Coriolanus ran a hand down his face, and out of the coroner of his eyes he saw you take a step towards him. “I didn’t know.” 

“You didn’t know?” Your brows furrowed, halting your quiet crawl towards him. 

“I was in such a state of-of distress.” Coriolanus shook his head, swallowing the hard, burning lump in his throat. “You have to understand, I shamed my family getting kicked out of University, my friend, Sejanus, he-he was hung, found out to be a traitor-” 

“-The Plinth’s son?” Your wide eyed, sympathetic gaze melted Coryo’s heart. Nearly felt it to be too much. Nearly made him feel guilty. 

Nearly. 

“Yes.” Coriolanus nodded slowly, a wave of pain washing over his features, eyes dropping at the name of his fallen friend. “Yes, all of that.” Coriolanus swallowed, eyes gleaming in the low light of the apartment. “And this deceptive, devious girl, she used that. Took advantage of my weakness. Used me.” 

Your small hiccup of a gasp, heart wrenching in an ache that Coriolanus shared with you. Burned in the fact that you felt so strongly for him, chest swarming in an unfamiliar heat. 

“I was so… distraught. Positively sick with grief and-and betrayal.” Coriolanus’ eyes met yours, closer now, with every silent step over the carpet. “I can’t tell you why I kept it. What possessed me, truly, I had forgotten about it entirely, because-” Coriolanus let himself fall silent, eyes cast to his freshly shined shoes on the carpet, so bright he could see his own reflection. 

“Because why, Coryo?” You whispered, stepping so your house slippers were touching the tips of his shoes. Your hand soft, cradling his face sweetly. “Tell me, please.” 

“I met you.” Coriolanus said softly, his hand cradling your own, the engagement ring pressed between your skins. It made your knees weak, swooning at his softness, his kindness. 

“I didn’t lie, petal. From the moment I met you, my life has known nothing but joy.” His eyes held yours, repeating the very same words from his vows weeks before, on bended knee in your parent’s rose garden overlooking the Capitol. 

“She is a sad, dark spot in my past, but you,” Coriolanus’ free hand moved, letting the earring fall to the ground, cupping your face. “You, my love, are my world. My bright, shining future. The sun, the stars, everything to me.” 

Your lip wobbled at his words, eyes shining with tears, moved by his words, the sincerity in his eyes and in his tone. Coryo’s stomach settled, relaxed at your sincere reaction. He let the ring fall in his hand, holding your hand in his, slipping the ring back onto your finger- and you let him. Of course, you let him, how could you not? 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was lying, like I was withholding the truth.” Coryo’s hand wrapped around your fingers, thumb ghosting over your ring, pressing it into your skin. “It pains me to talk about, to even think about.” 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, your hand squeezing his affectionately. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“You didn’t, my darling.” Coriolanus bit back the smile that threatened to grace his face. It was easy, too easy to convince you. You leaned into his hold, eyes lingering over the dazzling sapphire on your finger. 

Coriolanus swallowed. “Thank you.” He muttered, your eyes flashing to him in surprise. 

“For what?” You frowned carefully. 

“For putting my father’s compass away.” Coryo hummed, fingertips trailing down the shell of your ear, over your own earrings- clusters of diamonds and emeralds, not cheap freshwater pearls like the other, a stark difference between the two of you. 

“For being kind to me, always.” His eyes met yours, icy even in the burn of affection. “So forgiving and gentle.” 

You blushed, cheeks burning in his hold, heating the palm of his hands. He grinned, lips brushing over yours, taking you in slowly. A soft kiss that crescendoed into a passionate one, pressed into the wall, hands grabbing, fisting at the others clothes, hair. Shoving and pulling clothing, limbs, breathy whines and whispers into your skin, his skin. Fingers intertwined with every thrust of Coryo between your legs, teeth grazing over your delicate pulse points, primal. 

The earring stayed on the floor, discarded like his feelings for Lucy Gray- for now, anyways. 

Coriolanus stood over the earring the next morning, the light of the day catching the bits of gold in its rays. Coryo’s jaw set, tongue running over his teeth. In the mirror of the hall, he could see you- still in the bed, sprawled onto the pillows after he’d had you that morning, rougher than the night before. 

Memories of Lucy Gray flashed before him, how she’d never let him do the things he wanted to with her, never let him be himself- not like you. You embraced him, every part of him, welcomed it and celebrated it, where she had rejected it. 

A polished shoe hovered above the earring, Coryo’s body weight pressing down fully, satisfied with the crunch he felt under his sole. A snap, a crumbling and shattering of pearls, the thin gold snapping in half, leaving a shattered disaster under his feet. The earring was her mother’s, and her mother’s before her, passed down through her family. Now, destroyed, discarded, and forgotten just like her family. 

Just like Lucy Gray. 

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Fuck pirating, the sea of baby fever is for me

Barbie dolls: Killian Hook Jones x pregnant reader

Word: 3.3K

Summary: you and Killian have a loving night of sex and few months later you find yourself trapped in the echo cave with only one secret: your pregnancy

Warning:aside from the pregnancy thing it's gender neutral, sex mentioned and extremely briefly described, Echo cave, cuz I like that episode, highly unlikely pregnancy but lets pretend it's just ovulation and Killian j has really great swimmers, suspend you disbelief for me 🙏, you're best friends w Emma, I don't think that's a warning but I felt it should be said, yeah and cursing that's it

Storybrooke was a lovely place to live. The townspeople were devoted to the community. Maybe it was because they were all fairytale creatures who couldn’t find full comfort in the modern world.

You came to town with Emma. A strange proposition from your friend and soon enough your bags were packed and you were sharing a new apartment with your closest friend who was in the middle of a custody battle, Adorbs.

 Through all the drama and struggles and threats to your safety, you were struggling to find peace in your daily life. As you met more and more of the characters you read about over a hundred times, you forgot how desensitized you were from crazy.

That was only furthered when you met a man with a hook and a ship. When his name fell from his lips you froze in place. Your brain worked double time to come to terms with that you unfortunately found the real-life Captain Hook. You almost laughed in his face, but you swallowed your thoughts of how absurd your life was and shook his hand. 

Even worse it was evident the attraction was mutual. He made far too many comments at you, though you never disliked it. You feigned annoyance, he even offered to stop. You stayed silent when he asked if you wanted him to stop. Hook chuckled and nodded, muttering about how it was exactly what he expected. You can only wander around town and run into him so many times before your resolve breaks. 

The final straw was so insanely boring and domestic you even disliked that it was your final straw. You and Emma were on your weekly grocery shopping trip. Emma couldn’t give up the reins of the cart, instead slapping your hands away. You took up the job of searching the list and dropping your items into the cart. Emma ranted to you about unsure sheriff problems, going into insane detail. She finished the story as you finished the first half of the list. She sighed and relaxed her face, erasing the almost perpetual wrinkle between her eyebrows. You gave her a comforting smile and patted her shoulder. You started explaining to her your struggles. You headed three feet away from the cart, getting Henry’s favorite cereal from the shelf. 

“Of course, I told Grumpy that. Of course, I was met with grumpiness. I just told him I would like him to stop leaving his coal dust all offer the diner tables. I told him we have a bathroom with a working sink and he told me I should shut up and work in the mines myself. I told him I’m not diminishing your work, I know you work very hard. Your work is the backbone of our town, however, you could wash your hands before-“ As you joined Emma at the cart, dropping the box in the cart, Hook decided your shopping was an open invitation. He stood at the foot of the cart, smiling at the both of you. Emma sighed and dropped her shoulders, leaning closer down to the cart. 

“Can we help you, Hook?” Emma asked. Hook ignored her, moving his eyes to you. He rolled his shoulders, straightening his back. He tucked his hook into his belt. 

“Are you busy this weekend?” Hook asked, still ignoring Emma’s protests of his nearby existence. You held your breath, trying to find the proper reaction in your mind. Your hand traveled under the cart and held onto Emma’s hand on the handle. 

“I just think we could enjoy a meal together.” Hook added, looking away from you as you continued to stare mouth agape at him. Emma’s hold on your hand tightened, trying to gain your attention. It did nothing. 

Your mind reeled trying to calculate what exactly was happening. Captain Hook from the fairy tale Peter Pan was asking you out on a date. Aside from the obvious glaring strangeness staring at you, it was startling anyway. You just assumed he was more of a flirt-and-do-nothing-about-it type and not like a flirt-and-actually-do-something-about-it type. Emma’s elbow quickly jutted out and right into your ribs. You groaned and released her hand. You pressed your palm into the spot where you suspected a bruise to be growing in a few hours. 

“Right, well. If you’re a little busy right now,  I can go. Obviously, you’re going through a little something now.” Hook muttered, taking a step back away from your basket. Your hand shot out towards him. 

“No, I'm free. All weekend actually.” You said, a little too eagerly for your liking. You released your rib, hiding your hands behind your back. Hook froze and stared at you for a moment which made your stomach twist. He nodded like he was finally accepting it. He left soon after giving you the details of when you were going to meet at Granny’s. You turned to Emma, finding her reading the nutrition facts of a jar of alfredo sauce 

“Did you know that alfredo sauce has 4% iron?” Emma muttered. You stared at her, finding your mind empty with responses. 

“Wow.” You whispered, letting her have her moment. Emma nodded and st the sauce back into the cart, pushing it forward again. ”You don’t have a reaction from what just happened?” You asked, glancing down at the list again. Emma snorted. 

“Oh please. He asked me for advice on how to ask you out. Not to mention the tension between you two is so dense, I can barely breathe.” Emma pulled down a bag of pita chips. You hummed, taking the bag out of her hands and throwing it into the cart. 

The date was the start of something fresh and freeing. Killian was charming and your laughs were so loud and constant Granny kept glancing over at your table. You didn’t notice, smiling at Killian so bright he forgot where he was. The food at Granny’s was always good but it was outshined by the warmth spreading between the two of you. His flirting was nothing like having his full attention. An entire evening dedicated to furthering the relationship between you two. 

You both awkwardly stood outside the door to Granny’s after, staring at each other. You thought through the night, choosing your next actions slowly. You smiled at Killian and shoved your hands in your pockets. 

“You don’t have roommates we don’t know about on your ship, do you?” You asked. Killian paused and stared at you with wide eyes. He shook his head. 

“No, why?” Killian asked, raising a brow at you. You pressed your lips together to hide the excitement growing. You held your arm out at him. Killian moved forward and hooked your elbows together. 

“Show me your ship, Killian.” You said, releasing your smile and showing him its full wattage. Killian let a short laugh, leading you towards the docks. 

Killian had an air about him that lured you in from the moment you met him. This was something entirely different. You moved together like you knew each other's next three moves. It was slow and yet not patronizing. He took his sweet time cherishing every inch of your body, pausing to stop and watch your reactions. You laughed through your date and giggled through your night. Killian seemed to quite enjoy kisses that turned into laughs against each other, doing everything in his power to give you your pleasure and humor. By the end of it, you two were so tuckered out you flopped next to each other and didn’t move or recognize each other’s existence until after you caught your breath. 

Killian turned his head to face you, still huffing. His hair was plastered to his forehead. He chuckled and gently patted your cheek. 

“Yeah?” He asked, his words still breathy. You nodded, laughing at his audacity to ask. 

“Yeah.” Killian nodded at your affirmation, sighing and flinging his arm out off the bedside. You sat up and took in your surroundings. You reapplied your mind to the real world, away from the warm and soft words of Killian’s attention. You scooted to the edge of the bed, pulling your underwear from the floor. Killian sat up, his hand brushing against your back. 

“Where are you off to? We haven’t even had the chance to discuss a round three?” Killian muttered, pressing a light kiss to your bare shoulder. You laughed at him, shaking your head in amusement. 

“Oh! You’re funny.” You replied, standing up to pull on your clothes. Killian whined, melting into the sheets where your body was. His hand reached out for you, dragging down your thigh to your knee. 

“Where could you possibly need to be that’s more important than my post-coital care, aye?” Killian asked still trying to grip onto you as you pulled up your pants. You shook your head, following the trail of his discarded black clothes. Killian groaned again as you left his circle of reach. 

“I just need to get home. I have to shower, dress for bed, debrief, drink some tea, brush my teeth, work on some things I didn't finish yesterday, and sleep. Unfortunately, I do believe to share a bed with you is to share a bed with temptation.” You found both your socks thank goodness. You almost lost the right one, finding it under his bed. Killian sat up and smiled proudly. 

“Well, we've already lusted. What's the harm in a little more?” Killian asked, grinning up at you. You leaned forward towards him, cupping his cheeks. You gently pecked his lips, lingering for a brief moment to give him a proper goodbye. You pulled back to find Killian’s eyes still shut and his chin pointed up in expectation for more. 

“Because I need my sleep. Though your offer is tempting. Goodnight, Killian.” You said, picking up your shoes and heading for his door. Killian hummed and returned your good night. 

The night between you two was held close to your heart as you continued to speak to Killian. You hadn't gone alone on another date but every accidental run-in was cheery.

A few weeks passed and you felt off. You had plenty of signs and you felt like you had left your marbles. You confided in Emma what you thought was happening and she was dragging you to the closest bathroom with a pregnancy test in hand. She kept the little pink plus sign under wraps as you pulled from Killian. 

You weren't sure what to do at all. You wanted to think and decide. You weren't sure if you wanted to even tell Killian. You weren't even sure if you were okay with Emma knowing. When she tucked you into her side and gently hummed you to sleep you were proud of your decision to tell her. 

You didn't get the chance to decide if you were going to tell Killian before you and Emma were rushing after Henry into Neverland. You followed her around as you and the rest of the group were dragged around after the red X on the map.

Still, you kept your distance from Killian. He tried to start a conversation with you, shooting a bad flirt at you that you would've groaned at before. You stayed silent, ignoring him entirely. Killian scoffed and left your side. You kept it out of your mind as you focused on Henry. 

Your stomach dropped when Killian explained the requirements of the Echo Cave. You froze in front of the entrance, your hand shooting out for Emma's. Killian noticed and hesitated before entering the cave. Emma stopped and joined you at your side. She held onto your hand, reassuring you as she pulled you into the cave.

First up was Killian. He stood at the ledge and turned around to face you. Mary-Margret sidestepped to stay out of the way. Your grip on Emma's hand tightened and she held you steady. Killian let out a sigh and raised his eyes to you. 

“I didn’t think I was ever going to be able to love after I lost Milah, and then I met you. I know we only went on one date but we both know it was a long time coming. I love you, I do.” Killian said. The cave shook as the stone bridge appeared, jutting out into the gap. You held onto Emma's arm as you both fell into each other.

The floor stabilized and you pulled back, huffing in frustration. Emma straightened up keeping her hand on yours. Killian tried to catch your eyes, staring into the side of your face. You couldn't face him, your mind was still rushing through his words. 

You weren't sure if he was being honest. Though the Cave thought he was so you suppose… 

You didn't want to spill your secret, you could see the outrageous reaction. David would probably chide you over your dangerous actions like you're his kid or something. You can already hear his words, fighting lost boys is no behavior for someone pregnant.

You turned your face away from Killian, leaning against Emma's shoulder. You stayed silent during Mary-Margaret and David's confessions. It wasn't your business truly. You swallowed down a gasp but kept your nose out of it. You thought maybe David would go easy on you for your dangerous activities today. If he didn't you could easily point out that he was walking around diseased during all your time in Neverland. 

You stared at the gap between the bridge and the ledge. There was space between the two large enough for one more secret. Emma needed this. You were doing this for her, and Henry. You hadn't released Emma's hand yet and you doubted you would be anytime soon. Emma nodded and gently rubbed your arm in reassurance. You turned around to face the group, trying to catch Killian's eyes through the unhappy couple. 

“Killian.” You whispered, already hearing the pain in your own voice. You didn't want to tell him like that. Not here in this cave. Not here on this island. Not here in front of this crowd. You wanted to go home.

The couple separated, spreading apart so you could see Killian. His mouth was parted and he froze in his place. You couldn't face or speak to him this entire trip and now that it was time to spill your secret you asked for him specifically. His mind reeled as he pieced together that you might finally tell him what he did wrong that caused your reaction. 

“I didn't want to tell you like this. I'm not even sure if I wanted to tell you, period. I think I wanted you to pack your things, get on your ship, and sail off into the sunset scot-free. I didn't want to face the chance of rejection when it came to your love. I can't stomach that. I just wanted to hide the truth so you could think I was just some strange individual who had no empathy for you. You could grow distaste for me and live freely on the sea, not chained down with me.” The cave stayed silent as you such in a breath to stabilize yourself. Mary Margaret had clutched onto her sleeve, staring at you intensely. David was watching Mary-Margaret, trying to figure out what she caught onto. Killian was starstruck. 

He hated to say it but you looked so gorgeous in this damn cave. He was confused and felt like he might lose his balance. Killian hated this cave. He hated this situation. He hated that you had to spill whatever secret you had in a place like this. He wanted you to tell him organically. He wanted you to explain it all to him on your own terms. Now your hand was forced. 

Emma dropped your hand and held onto your shoulder. She squeezed it and you let out an unsteady breath. You weren't going to cry on this god-forsaken island. You held Killian's eyes, you weren't going to break eye contact when you told him this. 

“I'm pregnant.” The air was sucked out of the cave as Mary-Margaret let out a quiet gasp. She clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes shooting to Killian's quickly. Killian froze, his body turning into a statue. David’s mouth opened, staring at you. Just as you opened your mouth to apologize for never telling Killian until now, the cave shook. You were tousled and fell into Emma. Mary-Margaret held onto the cave wall. David shot for her, trying to find comfort in his wife. Mary-Margret held onto him, her fingers digging into his arm.

 The floor stood solid. You slowly pulled from Emma's arms, looking at the bridge. It was complete, thank the stars. Emma released your shoulders from her hold and cupped your cheeks instead. 

“You'll be okay?” She whispered, her eyes slipping towards Killian for a brief second. You nodded quickly, shooing her down the bridge. She left you standing alone, heading for Neal’s cage. You awkwardly floated next to Killian, waiting for him to regain his bearings. He straightened up and turned to you quickly. Killian held onto your hand, letting your other hand hold on his wrist. Your fingers trailed along the edge of metal and skin, toying with his hook from nervousness. He stared into your eyes. 

“You're pregnant.” Killian’s voice was breathy, still laced with shock. You nodded, not positive your voice could stay steady.

“Why didn't you tell me? Why would you want me to leave you alone like this?” Killian asked. You hated the hurt in his voice, it made you feel nauseous. Your nausea reminded you of the morning sickness in store for you in a few months. You imagined comforting yourself after hunching over the toilet. Emma would help, of course she would but it's not the same as Killian. You thought of waking up in the middle of the night from kicking and having no one’s hand to press against the little foot. You shrugged. 

“I didn't want to hold you back from pirating or whatever it is that you get up to. A baby is a lifetime subscription, I didn't think you would want it like this. It's unexpected. Completely. We haven't even gone on a second date and now we've made an entirely new person.” you glanced away to see Mary-Margaret pretending not to listen by staring at the cave wall. Emma had reached the cage, but Neal was still inside, unfortunately.

“I want it. I want all of it. Forget pirating I have a baby. I wish you told me before but I understand why you didn't. We’ve done plenty more together. We don't need dates, we save each other from Lost Boys and other fairytale shit.” Killian said, dropping your hand to cup the side of your face. You leaned into his palm, smiling at him gently. Killian leaned forward and nudged your nose with his. He waited patiently, giving you plenty of time to refuse his advancement. You lurched forward and pressed your lips against his. Killian released your cheek and slipped his hand behind you to press into your back. You held him closer by the back of his head. The kiss threw you right back into your first date together, wrapping you both up in a swirling warmth. You hummed into his lips, tilting your head to the side to deepen the kiss. 

“Alright, break it up. Break it up.” You pulled away at Emma’s voice. You stepped back from Killian, taking in the group’s eyes. Killian’s hand hesitated on your back, wanting to keep you close.  Emma raised an eyebrow at you. Her smile told you she didn’t mind much at all. You smiled and waved at Neil. He gave you a short wave back. You looked back at Killian, glad you had both fixed your relationship struggles. You knew this pregnancy would be so much easier with Killian by your side. 

[cat-webp]

etiquette for using & crediting art

right, well, I'll get straight to it instead of messing about like in my other tutorials. editblr has a serious problem with people not crediting artists, we all know that, I don't need to talk much about it. but I figured instead of just making one of those posts, I'd make one explaining the etiquette for such things and how you can appropriately use fanart in your edits. oh, and also what could happen if you refuse to offer those credits

contents table:

stop letting them use your shit to train ai models

why credit is important, and what lack of credit could potentially do to your account

how to source your fanart

how to differentiate fanart from official art

how to find credits for art blatantly stolen and reuploaded to pinterest when all the caption says is "credit to the artist!"

knowing and understanding artist boundaries

how to give appropriate credit

alright, cool, let's talk about it

— stop letting them use your shit to train ai models

if you've been on tumblr for a bit, or have just gone through the general settings, you'll probably have noticed that in the visibility tab there's this not-so-fun setting automatically turned off:

yeah. that's fun, isn't it? since you're using fanart, and most artists don't support nor engage with ai, it's basic respect to opt out of such a thing.

settings -> visibility -> bottom option

— why credit is important, and what lack of credit could potentially do to your account

I feel I shouldn't necessarily have to explain why credit is important, but I will anyway. in the plainest terms, they made it, it's theirs, so credit them. it's a simple concept, no? hm, but I know that doesn't sound important to some people, so imagine if someone stole your edits and reuploaded them onto their own blog, but in the caption all it says is "idk who made this originally, sorry" or "credits to artist".. I bet you'd feel pretty pissed off about it, right? your hard work being stolen by someone you've never heard of, who didn't even bother putting in the effort to search for you.

another thing: credit is still important when they're a figurehead in the community you're editing for. yes, their artstyle may be familiar to you and the others in your fandom, but to an outsider it's just another piece of fanart that remains uncredited.

if you use art that doesn't belong to you, and the original artist finds it and doesn't want you using it, you could face a takedown. of course, most artists are kind and would send you a polite notice first, but there's always that chance they could send over a takedown request to your post and therefore your blog with zero warning. three of those, your blog gets deleted. they're incredibly easy to send off, and afaik tumblr gets to them pretty quickly.

oh, and also people typically don't look favourably on those who can't be bothered to credit artists, so you'll end up losing connections with other editors as well, if you care about that.

— how to source your fanart

stay away from pinterest. I cannot stress this enough, I understand that pinterest is by far one of the easiest platforms to find fantastic art on, but having proper credits is more important than the 5 minutes of time shaved off by stealing a reupload.

twitter, instagram, tumblr, pixiv, and deviantart are all good places to search. though, do make sure to check for ai on deviantart especially, it's like a rat infestation over there.

— how to differentiate fanart from official art

fandom wiki. I know, we all hate fandom wiki, but whether your media is popular or unpopular it's likely to have a fandom wiki dedicated to it, and people will archive all official art there. if you're unsure, cross-examine the potential fanart piece with the archive.

if you hate fandom wiki that badly, there's also archival accounts scattered across different platforms, so you can use those.

if the art is official, then for company-ran medias it's normally okay to just add "all art is official" or leave it uncredited; though that's also somewhat of a dick move. but for smaller things like web-comics and games that aren't hosted on any big site, and have no huge monetary support, it's nice to include the name of the artist and/or creator.

— how to find credits for art blatantly stolen and reuploaded to pinterest when all the caption says is "credit to the artist!"

reverse image search, that's my simplest answer. with chrome at least, it comes with a built-in reverse image searcher called google lens. it's normally highly efficient, so for most art pieces it'll pick up on the artist pretty quickly.

but what if it doesn't? what if it just links back to the original pinterest post instead? well, the weird thing about google lens in particular is that it initially retrieves one post it thinks it could originate from—probably the post with the most traffic going to it, but it then also features a "see exact matches" option underneath that first photo.

if you click it, it'll show you a whole lot more examples of the art being used.

normally, you can use that to figure out who made the art, since it'll show you similarly popular recorded instances. however, there are also times when even that fails to grab a source, and you're left only with confusing results. what do you do then?

well, you can either resort to clicking on random sites until you find a username, or you can give up and find a different piece of art to use. it's really just a process of rinse and repeat until you find something usable.

— knowing and understanding artist boundaries

artist boundaries are typically easy to see and simple to understand. they're normally just in the bios of the artists, which is super helpful. however, sometimes they're kept within links placed on the accounts instead. if you can't immediately see a list of boundaries, then instead start looking for (typically) a link to one of these sites:

carrd

rentry

strawpage

lit.link

skeb (though skeb can sometimes block itself if you have parental controls on, so be aware of this)

scour through them, and you should get an understanding.

right, and for artists who have bios in foreign languages; just translate it, it's not as if google translate or deepl are impossible to use. not knowing the language isn't an excuse anymore.

however, if they still don't have one available, you might have to start searching keywords on their accounts. of course, such things aren't really possible on da or instagram, but on tumblr and twitter, search up these keywords before giving up on an art piece:

credit

pfp / icon / profile picture

use

your art

on tumblr especially, most asks are tagged with something or other, so you can scroll through and check to see if there's anything there too.

and if there's still nothing.. well, just ask the artist about it. if you don't want to do that, then it's not a good idea to use it, and it's back to the drawing board for you.

— how to give appropriate credit

by including "art credit - (username)" in the description, ordinarily. however, you should note that most people who use rentry graphics don't care for art credits, and won't include them if they're using said graphics. so, that's why you put a watermark on it, so it's basically like forcing credit to be given. it doesn't have to be anything big or flashy, but it does need to be readable, so simple fonts work well.

oh, and ideally there should be a direct link back to the art piece, so if people want to use it also they don't have to scroll through someone's entire account trying to find it.

anyway, hope that helped somewhat. if it didn't, then pop into my askbox and I'll explain things further.

[skunkox]

Redacted Kisses pt 3

Where the characters and their Listeners prefer to give them.

♡♡♡

Gavin: Lips

As sexualy attuned as Gavin is, he's learning that even kisses on the lips can have different meanings. "I missed you." "Welcome home." "Im happy." "Relax, I've got it." "Thank you." As well spoken he may be, Gavin desires to communicate with his full physical being.

Deviant: Everywhere

What is Freelancer if not an equal opertunist? Not wanting Gavin to ever feel doubt of how they feel about him, they tend to act on compulsion in the terms of loving on him. Kisses big or small are frequent and at random. Gavin was definitely confused as to why these kisses occurred outside of extra curriculars before they officially started dating, but now cherishes each one.

Damien: Back

Damien still struggles to ask for affection or comfort. He knows Huxley would happily stop whatever he was doing to love on him. There are days where Damien just can't find the words to ask. Sometimes, he'll wrap his arms around Huxley from behind and slowly press a kiss on his spine. This always results in Huxley turning around for a proper kiss and hug.

Huxley: Top of Head

It's not a secret that Huxley is a hugger. It's not a secret that Damien is a bit of a busy body either. Huxley knows that there are times that getting Damien to slow down is like grabbing hold the end car of a freight train. Some days, however, Hux is able to latch on at just the right moment. He'd hold Damien close and tightly before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. The first time it happened, Hux could have sworn steam came from his ears.

Lasko: Face

It took some work and encouragement from Dear for Lasko to start initiating kisses. They were a little half hazard , shaky, and unsure. One thing was certain. Lasko couldn't get enough of the goofy ass cheese on Dear's face when he did. Peppered kisses became a tool of comfort when he realized that they weren't as sure of themselves as they liked to pretend.

Dear: Earlobe

Zero shame when it comes to PDA or making Lasko flustered. Often enough, they feel the need to be affectionate in the workplace. Within the confinds of the campus grounds, it's easier to lean into Lasko's side as if telling a secret and give a small kiss to his ear. He still gets red, but it's the most discreet they are willing to be.

I am so sorry this took so long. Finally hit a break early this morning but was just too tired to finish it. It's been sitting in drafts for 3 months 😭

Anyways, if you guys have any other redacted characters you want for part 4, let me know. Pretty sure I promised a Guy x Honey.

[hehearse]

What influenced your art style/what was your journey in developing it? It's so jawdroppingly gorgeous and I would love a peek into your brilliant artistic mind

AW YOUR WORDS ARE SO SWEET

as for what influenced me, unsure if i can give a proper answer since i never did anything... on purpose? with intent of developing artistically? (as opposed to avoiding things i dislike/dealing with restraints etc)

but. i've been told by those who i forced to read Ajin: demi-human that it really shows. what i am. :D so i think it was a big influence in how i draw... these people (my enemies by the looks of it) are correct. ajin is the root of all my evil.

read ajin. it's incredibly fun. i love kei for the way he is <3 i love sato and whatever he did. <3

there is also fraction's hawkeye, if you pardon my short superhero phase.

i think the style oh that hawkeye's issues? whatever is the term, it's just so neat!!! i wanna play with frames and have nice colors like that too!!

what else is there..... dunno!!! i only recently started reading lots of mainly webtoons, and as for other inspirations, i honestly never had art idols or anything. lived in a little bubble of my own if you will. (which is probably not too good, you need to see other people to broaden your visual library and be inspired. maybe if i did get out of it sooner, i'd be better at art!)

as for developing art style... i remember so clearly that at ripe age of 15 i decided that drawing lineart is very tiring. i used a laptop and little tablet, sitting with it was time consuming and my back hurt a lot so everything i did was focused on drawing faster and not get as tired. so. you might say whatever i do now is the result of me having bad posture <3 (then around 2018? i bought myself an ipad, process of drawing got a lot easier and i got to go wilder than i ever could. and here we are now)

anyway. read ajin.

[shortestcake]

SUCCUMB

Pairing: Pirate!Ellie Williams x Mermaid!reader

Pronouns used: none

Gendered terms: mermaid

Genre: (eventual) fluff+angst+smut

Summary: An infamous pirate seems to have finally bitten off more than she can chew.

// blood/wounds/alcohol mentioned, I don't know anything about ships, or sailing, or even pirates really, ellie is a bit dumb sometimes

| Part 1 | Part 2 |

Silver scales glistened from underneath the water, or were they blue? Maybe pink, or green. She couldn't really tell, it was like they'd shift colors at every new angle of reflected light. But that didn't matter all too much. What did matter was that Ellie was about to grasp the biggest catch of her life.

"Fucking Christ— Hey!" Her voice bellowed throughout the ship, yet not loudly enough to garner the attention of her— probably asleep— crewmates. Of course, she could usually manage this on her own; though, in the moment, a helping hand would've been ideal, given the whiskey she enjoyed earlier.

But, not willing to let this gem slip away, she rushes to get the fishing net herself, nearly tumbling due to her drunken state. She practically sprints back once it's in her hold. And, with as much precision as she can muster, Ellie tosses the net. Reeling it back in when it's clear her target was tangled in well enough.

'This was it, this was what you finally got after years of dancing around death', you thought. You were just so curious, the group of young adults, laughing, drinking, dancing, effortlessly caught your eye. They were so muddled after all that liquor, that you assumed surely it'd be harmless to have a closer look. Especially once everyone went inside except for one woman. One mesmerizing woman.

She continues to lug the net upwards, slamming you against the ship's walls occasionally. 'This should last us weeks', she thought to herself, the weight of the fish taking her by surprise. It certainly wasn't the heaviest thing she's carried, but definitely not as light as fish usually are, and also definitely squirmier than fish typically are. Ellie could've sworn she felt a tugging of some sort.

Once over the edge, she choked on her own spit at the sight. Instead of a bug-eyed, all fin and scales— the pirate finds staring back at her a very human-looking pair of eyes. Naturally, her grip falters from the shock, and the net slips back to where she struggled so much to take it from.

Only your yelp snaps her back to reality, just in time to snatch the rope again. She caught it and dragged you back up without thinking, instinctively 'helping' you, now that her brain recognized you as a person and not just a meal.

The two of you just stared at each other, you wanted to curse at her, scream in her face and tackle her— your fucking arms and back hurt so much from how she knocked you into the ship. But you did nothing, after all, you weren't underwater, she clearly had the upper hand. And, as every second passed, you became more unsure of her motives. You initially thought she was one of those people who'd hunt inhuman creatures just for some extra coin. Sell elf teeth by gram, or mermaid scales by the piece. Instead, she looked more lost than you, eyeing you up and down, but not menacingly— it was shocked, curious even.

Finally, she pushed out of her frozen state, rubbing her eyes with her palms. "I'm way too fuckin' drunk for this." She slurred, it would've made you chuckle under other circumstances.

Ellie's mind was running a hundred miles a minute, did she really just accidentally catch a mermaid, how does that even happen?

Maybe this was your chance to slip away, retreat into the ocean, and play it safe. You swore to whatever divinity would listen, you'd never step out of line again if they spared you this once.

A firm grip on your arm stopped you from withdrawing any farther.

Jade eyes bore into yours, fixated on your features as her lips gaped. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, unable to formulate a proper sentence. "You— what—" Asking what you were would've been foolish, so she stopped herself; "What were you doing so close to a ship?".

"Just... curious." You answered carefully, still unable to decipher her character.

The thief hums, not very convinced. Mermaids were supposed to be dangerous to humans. What if you weren't alone? What if she and her friends were in danger? What if—

Before she could think of what to do, a familiar voice rang through the air. "Ellie? Are ya' still out here?" Joel. Suddenly all rational thinking was lost, and Ellie turned back into a teenager trying to avoid a scolding. She pulled you out of the net and hoisted you into her arms, practically throwing you over your shoulder and running to her room.

You instantly started thrashing around, panicked. "Put me down." You hissed, slamming your fists into her back.

"Shut up. Shut up. You'll get us caught!" Now, realistically, she knew she had no reason to be this worried. She was a grown woman, after all, her dad couldn't ground her.

Honestly, it probably would've been easier to let Joel find you, he knew what to do in these situations better anyway. But she was beyond tipsy, and all she could think was 'Potential killing machine on ship, my fault.' over and over.

That's why she locked the door behind her when she reached her cabin, and why she was now pacing.

Ellie finally slowed and glanced back at you. "Doesn't that hurt?" Her finger switched between pointing at your arm and then your tail.

Confused, you follow her index finger, to find two wounds, one worse than the other. It was like the adrenaline numbed you, and now, looking at the damage brought that pain rushing in. "Fuck— must've happened while you dragged me against your ship."

Ellie winced at your comment. She took a deep breath, trying to clear the fog of alcohol from her mind. "Look, I didn't mean to hurt you," she said, a bit more gently. "I just thought you were a really big fish." She admits, quietly and embarrassed. At that, you let yourself giggle. But your amusement didn't last long when your body decided to remind you of the excruciating pain you were in. You flinched and sucked in a sharp breath.

Now it was her turn to chuckle, just barely, though. "Can you go back out like that?" She asks, and it seems genuine— maybe she's sobered up a bit, you think. "I don't know." You answer honestly, fidgeting your fingers.

"I"m not— Hey, listen!" Poor Jesse, desperately defending himself from his own best friend and girlfriend. "I'm not saying we should just invite mermaids onboard. I'm just saying, hypothetically, if we somehow befriended a mermaid, it'd help us a lot."

"Yeah, or get us killed." Ellie scoffed.

"You know what I mean, dick." He rolled his eyes. "Like, with navigating and—" hiccup "shit."

"Okay, you're drunk." Dina put her hand on his shoulder. "But, I guess, hypothetically, you're right."

Jesse made an 'I told you so' motion with his hands while nodding at the other girl.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Ellie recollected the conversation with her crew mates, chewing on her lip in contemplation.

"Then, you can stay here." She blurted out. This made you look at her like she was the mermaid, and you the pirate.

After a moment of silently blinking up at her, you asked "Why?", a reasonable question, who wouldn't be suspicious under these circumstances.

"We could help each other. I let you stay here, give you food, bandages, and you help us navigate." The offer was tempting, aside from the fact that getting back home in your state would've been a pain, you've also always had a curiosity about humans.

"I just tell you where you to go? Is there some catch?" You ask, still slightly skeptical.

"Nope, these waters are dangerous, and you know them better than anyone else on this ship." She remarks, matter-of-factly.

"Makes sense." You mumble.

"So?"

"So, I'll help."

[literary-illuminati]

2025 Book Review #15 – Notes of a Crocodile by Qiu Miaojin (trans. Bonnie Hu)

Many moons ago, I asked for and got a bunch of recommendations for non-English literature with good translations. The only thing I knew about Notes of a Crocodile when I picked it up was that a stranger on the internet thought it fell into that category – and they were entirely correct! This was not exactly an easy read – and I desperately wish I had the proper cultural context (of late ‘80s/early ��90s Taiwan in general and queer and youth culture therein specifically) to get all the things that flew right over my head – but this was an interesting and often beautiful book all the way through.

The story is presented as a series of journals written by a woman who we only ever get the nickname Lazi for across her college education in Taipei during the late ‘80s and early ‘90s. It is, specifically, a chronicle of heartbreak, angst, and the many different ways a life-ruining mental health crisis can express itself over time. The spine of the book is her romance with Shui Ling, a woman a year above her in school who she followed to university. They are both deeply in love with each other, terrified of this, and totally incapable of expressing themselves to each other or making any sort of life together in a way that doesn’t leave one or both of them contemplating suicide. Every time they break up Lazi collapses into an entirely different kind of depressive spiral – and in the mean time, finds friends, connections, and other nearly-as-ill-advised romances.

Intercut between all this are allegorical passages about a frenzy of public fascination around the crocodiles living hidden throughout society as they go about their days in nearly-perfect humans suits, and the different opinions on just what should be done with them. Beyond getting that this is at least broadly a metaphor for the contemporary reaction to queer people I have to admit that what must have been the overwhelming majority of subtext and meaning of these passages flew right over my head.

Which stands out, because those passages are the only part of the book that really rubbed my face in how little grounding I had in its context. It is wrong to say Lazi’s character and struggles are universal – her whole character is deeply informed in trying to come to terms with what being a lesbian means in a culture and at a time where that’s a deeply precarious thing to be, and not one with any legible futures to imagine for yourself – but at the same time ‘depressed queer college student gets into hot mess of a first relationship, does not cope well’ is not exactly a novel or exotic narrative. Even beyond the specifics, Lazi’s melodramatic angst, self-centred self-loathing, tendency to wallow in her own misery, and terrifying lack of a vision about what kind of life she wants to lead are all things that are going to be at least a bit relatable to anyone who has ever been 18. Not to say the reading experience wouldn’t have been enriched by knowing more about the culture and immediate of post-marital law Taiwan – a context that’s obliquely mentioned often enough to loom over things a bit – but I never found lacking it prevented me from enjoying the book. And there’s not really any better way to get that knowledge than throwing myself into things like this and picking it up as I go.

The prose is a bit difficult to talk about, because I’m totally unsure the degree to which, say, the dialogue seemed to jump wildly between registers of formality with little warning is a) an artifact of the translation, b) a deliberate part of the book’s formal experimentation c) exaggeration for the sake of communicating the character’s emotions or d) just how gay 18-year-olds in 1990 Taipei talked. Presumably some combination of all of them? But there was a decent number of little things like that, which combined to make it a bit of a mentally taxing book to parse and guess quite how things are supposed to be read.

Not that either the prose or the translation is bad, to be clear. Translating literary fiction honestly seems almost as horrible as translating poetry – so much of the value is in the specific aesthetic affect and playing with subtleties of meaning, effectively translating it into another language almost seems worse than writing it from scratch. So both author and translator deserve a lot of credit here – there were numerous passages that were beautifully written enough to make me stop and re-read them, or got across Lazi’s emotions vividly enough to be legitimately affecting. There were just also plenty that felt a bit clunky and very clearly written in a language that arranges and phrases things differently than English.

All in all, this is by far the most pretentiously lit-ficcy book I’ve read so far this year, and I couldn’t be happier about it. If it seems at all like your sort of thing, would absolutely recommend giving it a try.