#you'll never unsee it

[feltpool]

He’ll be back!!

First they dress him to resemble Grievous, BD-1, etc

Then they give him Ash’s dialogue from Alien

Now they’ve made him look like the Terminator

(I’m dying here 😂 )

[kazamajun]

[glass-needles-and-futurisms]

OF COURSE HE WOULD JUMP AT THE CHANCE TO TALK TO A ROBOT

[countlessrealities]

HATER & ANGST ANTHEMS — 3 songs that portray your muse’s negative side of life! Bitter, negative, sad, bad vibes. What songs portray the darker sides of your muse?

"Breakdown" - Icon For Hire

I'm always one step away from the railing I try to hold myself back I'm always one step away from the feeling I could snap just like that Self-destruction, don't you love it? How you never rise above it? Get so high off the lows til I let go I'm always up for a breakdown The pressure's building now That beat in my brain, it's keeping me sane Make it loud

"World war me" - Theory of a Deadman

I'm the king of doubt, I fight out all on the inside I'm the poster child of denial, there is nothing I can't hide I'm punching holes in walls because, I let them build up way too long, sabotage everything I ever had, And now I'm seeing red There is no one else to blame but the voices in my head This is world war me I will never find peace I look into the mirror and I hate what I've become 'Cause I'm the only casualty from damage that I've done I'm the only enemy in world war me How do you run away when you're the enemy?

"Headache" - Motionless in White

Some days I'm narcissistic, some days I'm in my way Some days I try to sleep with pins and needles in my brain Some days I feel sadistic, a portrait of my pain Some days I live in fear that I am every fucking thing I hate Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up Shut up, shut up, shut up Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up Shut up, shut up, shut up Follow me down, under the skin, I am doubt Feeding the flies in my mouth through my eyes I know that I’m gonna be fine Swallow the pain, selling my sorrow for shame Sanity circles the drain with a smile I swear that I'm gonna be fine

"If these scars could speak" - Citizen Soldier

Can you medicate me? Can you feel my pulse? I'm too far to find me, I'm too numb to feel these broken bones Staring from the outside All your ignorance Makes it hard to see Beneath my skin, I fight a war within If these scars could speak You would hear my hell And all the lies I use to save myself If these scars could speak You would know my pain And all the demons hiding in my rage

"Landmine" - Three Days Grace

Under the pressure I'm not okay I live in denial I've bottled the rage And I can't hold much longer It keeps getting stronger It's only a matter of time I'm living like a landmine Waiting to explode I'm ticking like a time-bomb Ready to go I'm a danger to myself And everybody else I'm living like a landmine Waiting to explode

"Point of no return" - Starset

It's uncontrollable, such a beautiful desire There's something sinister about the way it hurts When I watch it burn (Higher and higher) Because I can't go back The ashes call my name Pouring the fuel, fanning the flames Breaking the habit and melting the chains Embracing the fear, chasing the fight The glow of the fire will light up the night The bridges are burning, the heat's on my face Making the past an unreachable place Pouring the fuel, fanning the flames I know this is the point of no return

-----

tagged by: @moonspower [for Rick] & @advnterccs [for Morty] tagging: @imprvdente @omniishambles [Mobius maybe?] @technodromes [Bishop] @modestmuses [Lain or Silco] @misstantabismuses [Jinx] @villains4hire [Ash] @vortship & whoever wants to steal it !

[twirling-twisting]

You've always loved how peaceful the mornings of a session are.

You walk into the office building as if it's a regular work day, eyes a little tired and mind racing with thoughts of what you'll need to do later after your session is done.

You walk to the receptionist (you've become acquainted with them since you've been coming around so often) and they wave at you and give you a pleasant 'hello'. They know what you're here for—there's only one reason people would continually enter this building.

They give you a keycard, smiling as they wave you goodbye, your shoes leaving little clinks as you walk away and towards an elevator.

You press the up arrow button and wait a moment for the elevator to head down. You look around at the decor, noticing a new painting above that old sage green chair you love to sit and wait on when you're extra early.

The ding of the elevator and the swoosh of the door opening takes your attention away, whisking you into its warm walls. You step in and turn around, that card in your hand meeting with a black scanner next to a large amount of buttons. Once you hear a small beep, you push the button you always press.

42.

The doors shut quietly as you move to stand in the middle of the room. You hum a little to yourself, waiting to feel the elevator start to move as a little tune plays on the radio above the buttons.

Then, the intercom turns on. This has always been your favorite part.

A gentle, soft voice greets you kindly.

"Welcome back, dear. It's always lovely to see you."

You hum back gently, already feeling your shoulder relax at the welcome. You belong here.

"How have you been feeling? Have you been drinking enough water and eating properly?"

You nod your head at seemingly no one, staring forward at silver doors that look just a tad too fake to be made of metal. (You can hear a few quiet dings every time you go up a floor).

"I'm so glad to see that, dear."

You can feel a wave of happiness rush over you, a smile adorning your face at the heartfelt pride from the disembodied voice. You've done good.

"Such a cute smile you have. Now, you know the drill, dear."

You do. You've done it so often within the last few months that it's almost second nature.

You continue to stare forward, the doors of the elevator changing color and shape, their once mock metal turning into a sage green with a spiral.

It moves slowly, from the outside inward, drawing you forward into its comforting twirl. You stare directly into the middle of it, eyes unseeing as a few flashes start to appear. (You learned to ignore them — You were never fast enough to read them well any way).

The rest of the walls around you turn into the same spiral, the sage green light making you relax even further into yourself. Your neck slacks a bit, your back hunching forwards as you stare further into the spiral, your jaw unclenches. You feel yourself breathe deeper, each inhale deeper than the last and each exhale making your eyelids heavy.

"That's a good toy."

You hear distantly as your eyes remain locked on the doors infront of you. You stare and stare, those little glimpses of text entering your helpless and open mind. Before you even realize it, there are images that appear with the text.

Obscene imagery flashes on the green, photographs of women getting their brains fucked out, shots of men on their knees with their mouths gagged, and a few images of yourself in positions you love flooding your vision.

You can't seem to get enough.

You feel so aroused and needy, all of the photos willing you to want so badly. You can feel a wetness between your legs and that makes you even hornier.

"Patience."

You hear it just barely, muffled. You whine slightly, making sure you're not moving your hips or biting your lip. "Good toys are patient." You've heard before.

"Only five more floors."

The voice almost whispers, luring your ears to focus more on it.

The spirals continue as you hear those last few dings, and then they fade out, leaving you and your weak body standing alone in the middle of the elevator. A few dim lights that light the bottom trim of the elevator turn on, as the final ding rings and the door mechanisms start to open.

The room it opens to is so warm and cozy, nice and sweet smelling. The aroma hits you instantly.

"There's my toy." Says a familiar voice from behind a computer screen. You can hear a smile in their tone, making your brain fill with happiness and joy.

"Hello, Master," You say joyfully, a new sense of eagerness entering you.

You straighten your back, adjust yourself, and walk out of the elevator and into the big room. You can see it fully now, with the large dark wooden bookcases filled to the brim, you've look at those books and never read one, you're too dumb to— and the gorgeous green couch that sits to one side you've been fucked on that couch so many times, the sight of it makes you want to moan.

And then your eyes meet another's, lit up nicely by a computer screen. They look at you, so loving and kind, and then chuckle as they stand from their comfy office chair you've sucked them off from under that desk more times than you can count.

"Hello, darling. How's my cute little toy?" Master asks, an attractive slyness in their tone.

You look at the ground for a second before looking back up and answering with, "I've been good, Master."

Master looks pleased with that answer, moving to go around the desk and to walk towards you. Once they reach you, their hand reaches up to stroke your cheek, and you can feel yourself melt into the touch. Your eyes roll back slightly, nudging into the hands movement as Master chuckles.

"Very eager today, I see." They say as you continue to nuzzle into their hand. "We'll make sure you don't think for a good while. "

And you don't remember much after that.

When you leave the building, after giving your card back in and walking out the front door, you feel a new sense of purpose while you walk down the street.

Your head offers you, "Good toy," "Fuck, just like that", and "Just a bit more."

You can't wait for your next session.

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Context

@silken-moons

Yes!! Okay so short discussion post.

like I always felt like yan! Dick is like completely scared or rather doesn't know to be authentic. It's no lie that he takes the place of dad for practically every kid over Bruce since Jason came along. He feels the pressure of being this super smiley guy all of the time. It's exhausting. He cannot have a bad day.

Most of his temperament comes from the stress of taking on the family. He's constantly expected to neglect his personal relationships, careers and hobbies all for the sake of his siblings. He doesn't mind because he loves them to the bone but he has so much resentment about his entire life and unresolved traumas that it's just sitting there.…

No one else sees this. Or maybe they do but they choose to ignore it. But you immediately noticed there was something disingenuous about him...it really irked him. He tried so hard to keep things like that hidden and he hates that was the first impression his new sis got of him. He knows that you cannot unsee it and everything might crumble because of it.

He doesn't want you telling the others about what you see in him and they then don't depend on him anymore out of worry. His entire existence revolves around them and he's just as yandere over them as he is with you.

Also yeah I do agree with the Jason thing. I think most people would gravitate to him because Jason knows what it’s like to be an outsider coming into this family.

Dick is so jealous over you and Jason's relationship tho. He cannot understand how you could feel safer with Jay over him when his younger brother has arguably more seething rage than he does.

Jason isn't always the nicest to you, and even has said hurtful things yet you still cling to him? Why is even being in the same room with Dick so nerve-wrecking for you?

Jason is also just as confused about this and asks you one day. To him, Dick is a good boy that would never harm you. If you think his big brother is bad, then he’s worse.

But what Jason failed to realize is that he’s extremely honest…even to a fault. Which is good. You know when to stay away from from him and when you’re in danger. Dick hides it so well that if you blink you might miss the crack.

"I dunno, Jay. You're just easier to read. If you're angry with me, you'll just flat out tell me. It's more terrifying to interact with someone that you have no idea what is going through their head. He rubs me the wrong way."

Jason accepts your answer and the conversation is done. Maybe Dick overheard it or maybe Jason relays it back to his brother in hopes to be helpful but it really gets to Dick.

You're not entirely wrong but he also doesn't really know how to go forward? If he suddenly stops being the happy-lucky Richard that everyone loves, his other siblings won't like him anymore...but if he acts more authentic...you might even hate that version even more. Damned if he does. Damned if he doesn't.

The best option is to just continue forcing you into submission like he did in the other post. You'll get worn down and eventually accept him as the rest do. He just knows it.

[daphwritesworld]

Helloooooo girll could you maybe write like an NSFW ABC of top!Alessia

I would really appreciate it

and i wanted to say that your writing is sooo good and you're definitely one of the best woso writers out there just do your thing because I think you'll always have someone to appreciate your work at least be sure that I do appreciate it

And BMB or how the title is is really good and the cliffhanger is a 10/10

a/n: omg i wrote most of this when i was half asleep so sorry for any mistakes. i’ve also never done one of these so sorry if it sucks lol. but thank you so much for your kind words 🥺 and im so glad your liking my stories so far! hopefully this is to your liking haha :)

NSFW ALPHABET ft. Alessia Russo

!! 18+ MINORS DNI !!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Alessia is the sweetest of sweet when it comes to aftercare. she always gets a warm washcloth to clean between your thighs and anywhere else you might be messy. Less also loves taking a bath together after a rough session— letting you rest your back to her front as she massages away all the tension in your shoulders from the many different positions she had you in. and she always makes sure to bring you a glass of water and a snack, kissing your forehead as she watches you to make sure you “replenish” as she says.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

on herself: her fingers/hands. she takes the best care of her hands…well as best as you can when you’re a professional footballer lol. but nothing will ever captivate her make than watching her fingers slide inside of your pussy. while she does enjoy using the strap— she can’t feel you like she can when she had her fingers buried to the hilt inside you. it gives her a a different kind of high to feel you cumming around her digits.

on you: definitely your tits. Alessia is a boob girl in my head i can’t unsee it!! she loves everything about your titties no matter if they’re small, big, uneven, perky, saggy— it doesn’t matter. if they’re attached or you? yeah they’re always gonna be getting fondled, groped, sucked on, slapped, or squeezed. it’s a requirement for being her girlfriend honestly.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Alessia is a MESSY eater. she is gonna have your cum smeared not only all over your thighs and stomach, but across her face as well. once time Alessia overstimulated you to the point you were squirming to get away and she just pinned you down as she buried her face further into your cunt…when she finally pulled back? she had a string of your cun connecting from your clit to the very tip of her nose. along with a few others coming off and attacking to her mouth. that imagine is forever burned into your fucking memory and visits you on days you are ovulating from hell.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Alessia once fucked you on the bed of your ex. she had thrown a party and invited you both— knowing full well that Alessia is your new girlfriend…only to flirt with you right in front of her. well that night ended with you squirting all over your ex’s sheets, Alessia leaving a little party gift for the host as she quickly escorted you home after that. not before she found your ex in the crowd of people dancing. and while you couldn’t hear what was said, you said the way your ex’s face went pale as Alessia only grew to have a smirk. leaving your dumbfounded ex girlfriend with her jaw on floor as she watched Alessia drag you out of her house…and let’s just saw Lessi was still mad when you got back to her place. so what better way to release that anger than by fucking you with her biggest strap? making you put on her jersey as she takes you from the back, your phone lighting up as it vibrates on the bedside table. Alessia was gonna ignore it, until she sees its facetime from your ex. she definitely answered it and flipped the camera to show off how pretty you look taking her dick with her last name on your back.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

i feel like Less definitely knows what she’s doing, but she hasn’t been fucking bitches left and right if that makes sense. i feel like sex is more of thing reserved for intimate moments with people she cares for. which of course a few one night stands here and there after a win— but never with a compete stranger. that’d of been too weird for her lol.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Definitely cowgirl or missionary. Alessia LOVES to see your face while she fucks you. now that doesn’t mean she doesn’t even switch it up. because she’ll easily bend you over and fuck you like a slut when she wants to. but most of the time she prefers being able to watch your features scrunch up and get all dazed after she fucks you so good your brain starts melting.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

i think it really depends on the mood. if shes ticked off or you’re in for a punishment? fun Lessi is nowhere to be seen..oh no. that’s all serious Alessia from that point on. but normally Alessia is easily passing light hearted jokes and making you laugh during sex. she’s even broke out into karoke once when she was 3 fingers deep inside you at a bar.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

i think she keeps it shaven with a little patch left on top. idk i just get those vibes from her. no rhyme or reason just what i picture in my head🤣

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Alessia is always praising you and whispering sweet nothings into your ear— even when she’s punishing you. she can’t help but remind you that you are her pretty baby. she also always makes you confers your love for each other before you’re allowed to cum. if you don’t say “I love you” back? okay fine. you don’t get to cum, and you won’t until those words leave your lips. no matter how mad either of you are, you always say it before cumming..and she won’t let you ruin that streak. so be as stubborn as you want, she’ll just keep fucking you and keeping you on the edge till you admit your love for her.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Alessia was always getting herself off before she got with you, but she only masturbates when you two are separated now. Alessia will drive, walk, or bike to your house at any time of night just to fuck you. ain’t no way she’s gonna touch herself unless she absolutely HAS to lol.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

i think Less has a breeding kink 🫣 she loves her strap that squirts fake cum inside of you. her favorite part is watching it ooze out of you and then using her fingers to fuck it back inside. “i can’t claim you if you leak out all my cum baby. if you can’t keep this load in, i’ll just have to fuck you full of another one. oh god or the pictures she takes of your face covered in the droplets of the realistic looking white substance. your tongue hanging out as you look at her with a hunger in your eyes. yeah Alessia loves getting you all messy with her dick.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

anywhere with a bed or a couch. she like being able to spread you out and down for her own benefit…but she also loves bending you over the counters of bathrooms so she can force you to watch yourself come undone. (and the car but we will talk about that later)

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

when you compliment her skills/playing. it makes a blush settle into her cheeks, but it also makes a desire to eat your pussy till your crying settle in, too.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

absolutely NO fucking on nights before games. its a weird ritual she has, but she takes it very seriously. no matter how much you beg…it’s not happening. Alessia will not give in to any of your advances no matter how enticing they are. she has her rules and she will follow them. plus that just means she has sll the more energy to fuck you after the game. win or lose you know you and your poor pussy are in for a hell of a night.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

as much as Less is a munch she also loves your mouth. its her favorite way of getting off. looking down and seeing her pretty girl between her thighs? oh the visual alone has her cumming sometimes. i think Less is verrry skilled with her tongue. she takes your breath way just from making out, let alone when she’s eating it 🫣 plus when you two first started getting sexual— she would spend hours between your legs just learning what all makes you tick, wetter, and all the things you like. Less’s favorite thing to do after she’s made you cum on her tongue is to kiss your puffy sensitive clit. it always makes you gasp out and buck your hips a little, and it’s like an addiction for Alessia after she does it the first time.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

it definitely depends on both of your moods. Alessia can make love to you all soft and sensual with nose kisses and whispered words only meant for the two of you….but she can also call you a whore and fuck you till your legs give out. so it’s really just a 50/50 depending on how the day goes 🤣

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

oh she is the QUEEN of quickies. she starts off not really liking them, but when she starts saying your little tease of an ass?? (it’s not even intentional teasing either! Alessia just gets turned on by any and everything you do). so yeah Alessia is dragging you off (to the car teehee) to get a good 10 minute fuck in at least twice a week.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

i’d say the risky thing Alessia does is the car sex. that’s as far as she’d public wise. but she is so down to experiment. she’s always down to try something with you once, and if one of you doesn’t like it? never again. but she’s very good with communicating things she likes/wants to try.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

normally Less goes a good 3/4 rounds with you….but if she’s pent up on anger, after a game, or you’ve been teasing her? she can easily go for HOURS. she’s a pro athlete and a very competitive one at that. she can forget bite the burn in her thighs when she had a mission in mind…and that mission being to break your record for most orgasms in one night.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

i think before you Less owns a few different vibrators she uses on herself. but after you two get together? that’s when the beast really comes out. the multiple straps, wand vibrators, lush vibrators, and of course her lucky ball gag. that only gets brought out when you can’t stop back talking.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Less does a lot of small things to work you up, especially if she’s been drinking. like running her hands along your lower back, and then bringing one of them up to squeeze on your waist every time she wants a kiss, using her other hand to cup the back of your neck so you can’t get away. oh god and the way she rubs little shapes into your inner thighs always makes you dizzy— especially if she’s wearing some rings and the coldness of them contests from her burning touch. it always sends goosebumps shivering down your spine.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Alessia can be quiet as a mouse when she wants to be, but when she had the freedom to be vocal? oh she’s moaning, groaning, and howling out into the night. i feel bad for all the arsenal & english teammates who have to room near them at on away games. because not only can they hear you screaming till the sun comes up, they can hear all the nasty and defiling shit spewing out of Alessia’s mouth too. dear god they had no idea she had that dirty of a mouth on her, and she gets a few comments at breakfast about needing some soap to chew on lol

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Alessia LOVES car sex. it’s like her little secret only the two of you know about. outside of practice, outside of bars/restaurants, the beach, her parents her, your parents house, outside Ella’s house, outside Leah’s house, and you get the point…Less is gonna have you whenever she want, she just can’t help herself. especially when you wear something you know is gonna drive her mad and then spend half the night teasing her? where else did you expect to end up other than face down in the backseat of her car. all the while your teammates are taking shots and dancing the night away— and you’re getting your guts pummeled by the blonde striker in some poorly lit car park.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

this one feels weird bc i usually see it used right describe a wee wee🤣 so i’ll just say Alessia’s fave strap is a 7 inch sparkly pink one. she might be a dom but she’s also a pretty fem. FEMME DOMMES RISE !!

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

it’s not as bad as some of the other players— but it’s still pretty high. Alessia could be bone tired not even able to open her eyes and she’d STILL try and sneak a hand down your pants. during those times she usually lets you use her hand for your own pleasure because she whines about how she’s “been wanting to make you feel good all day!” so you kiss the pout off her lips and climb onto her lap to ride her fingers, and let your own hand slip under her sleep shorts. your poor grumpy tired baby just needs a little loving.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

i think Alessia will still stay up a little bit, rubbing your back and just breathing in your scent as she listens to your heart beat against her chest. and that’s why finally lulls her to sleep— the peace and tranquility of your body on top of hers.

[yandere-daydreams]

Felt nostalgic and rewatches HxH after hearing that new manga chapters were coming up and I couldn't not think about Illumi... again. On a scale of 1-10, 10 being the highest, where is he, horny speaking?

He's in there, somewhere, as you mention that his darling does have to deal with 'intimate' affections, but how often does that tend to happen? How many times can they pull the crying card before it won't work and what would usually prompt him to want intimacy? It must feel kinda surreal when he initiates, because Illumi just doesn't look like a guy with base human desires.

You can only imagine the rest of the household (his siblings and the staff) bluescreening when they realize he does, in fact, Fuck. And has *preferences* when it comes to fucking, I bet they all schedule assasinations, gtfo, when he comes back and beelines for his room just to avoid eye contact when he emerges. Milluki finally going out instead of killing people at home remotely with mosquitoes, he caught one (1) glimpse of Illumi's darling and the collar in a camera and had to put away multiple of his precious figures that had chokers/neckwear because he Could Not Unsee It.

tw - implied non/con and very mild gore.

very intellectual question anon,,,, hmmm,,, allow me to extrapolate a bit,,,

honestly i do not think illumi's horniness is quantifiable just because he is getting off on shit too niche in ways too weird to ever be described by a number on a scale. he absolutely did not receive formal sex education and probably failed to ever consider so much as touching his dick prior to meeting you, when he spiraled head-first into sappy romcoms and weird fetish porn with absolutely no ability to differentiate between the two. it's not that he doesn't have those sorts of desires, it's that he has absolutely no ability or motivation to separate which of those desires you might enjoy hearing about and which ones you'd rather not - meaning, in short, that you're going to have to hear about the idyllic, fairytale-esque countryside honeymoon he has planned for when you finally break-down and agree to marry him just as often as he'll remind you of the fact that, if you die before him, he is going to remove one of his lungs and heave it replaced with yours, so you'll never be able to truly get away from him.

i also think that he would, contrary to popular belief, be self-aware not to make fetish gear one of your daily accessories, but that doesn't mean anyone within his estate is escaping psychological damage. there's a very thin line between his possessive instincts and sexual interests, and that line might waver just long enough for him to off-handedly mention that you're going to be in your Cage until you've learned not to be a Bad Puppy to a servant who,,, simply didn't need or want to know that. the flesh may be willing, but his situational willingness is still lacking severely and thus, it might be for the best to have him castrated until those stats start to look a little more even.

[firthbetterorfirthworse]

Colin Firth's Wet Influence

I've said this before, but this bears repeating because holy shit y'all

(Intro here, data and graphs here)

When I first started noticing how often Colin Firth got wet I questioned, was it because of Pride and Prejudice? Did the decision to put him in a wet shirt in 1995 alter the course of his career?

Well, NO. My hypothesis was wrong. He had five projects in the ten years before 1995, including Valmont which also put him in a wet white shirt. He already had an established career in wetness. Pride and Prejudice didn't influence him.

Instead,

Colin Firth influenced Pride & Prejudice

Before 1995? ZERO wet Darcys.

After 1995? MOST Darcys get wet! I watched 19 post 1995 adaptations with a Darcy character, and 13 of them got that Darcy wet. That's 68%! In at least two where they didn't get wet, they alluded to it!

I don't have stats either, but I've read >650 P&P adaptations and even in a non-visual medium, it's a trope to get Darcy wet.

Colin Firth’s trend of getting wet is so powerful it permanently altered the public perception of a 200 year old character

And! Now there are homages!

So. You know. You'll never be able to unsee when a character gets wet now. You're welcome!

[supermarioterrarium]

it's him

yeah i like this boss a normal amount

-

shader: neneko journey 2

[arcane-vagabond]

Amhrán na Farraige

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Selkie!Reader

Summary: For centuries there have been legends of beautiful women who disguise themselves as creatures from the sea, only coming to land to sate their curiosity about the world above. Bradley was a simple man who had a taste for simple pleasures. A whole life spent at sea meant he was accustomed to these tales, but nothing prepares him for the reality of them.

Content Warning: ANGST, smut (brief, p in v), Pregnancy, References to the supernatural, Third person narrative, Some fluff, Dub-con, Kidnapping, Forced marriage (kind of, you'll see), Stockholm Syndrome, Some domestic violence (against spouse and towards children. Nothing heinous, just some grabbing and shaking), Anger, Celtic myths/legends, Celtic songs, Depression, Lies, Men driven mad, Descriptions of blood. I think I got everything, but PLEASE let me know if I missed anything.

Word Count: 13.2k

Helpful pronunciations (not exact, but close):

Amhrán na Farraige - [oh-ron nuh far-ig-uh] "Song of the Sea"

Sidhe - [She] "Fairy" (Also there's a whole etymology thing with this but yeah)

Mo Chroi - [moh khree] "My heart"

Mo Ghrá - [moh graw] "My love"

Mo Mhuirnín - [moh wor-neen] "My beloved"

Mo Stóirín - [mo store-een] "My Little Treasure"

Song One (The cliffs) || Song Two (The end)

God was not real, of this Bradley Bradshaw was sure and certain. At the very least, if he had existed at all, he was surely dead now. Or perhaps he was a neglectful deity. Bradley had seen too much death and hardship in his life to think otherwise.

He had seen men gasp for an unhearing god as they lay on battlefields, blood coursing out the holes in their bodies as tears streamed down their unseeing eyes. He had seen children starve, begging their still mothers for food that would never come, not while hardship endured in the land. He had heard the wails of women as their sons, brothers, fathers, and husbands never returned home, hand reaching out for an embrace that would never be returned.

All eyes looked to God, but God did not look back.

The only thing Bradley was sure of, was the existence of the fair folk, the Sidhe his mother had always called them. The beings who walked the between, never staying long in this world or the next.

“That shadow that lingers in the corner of your eye?” She had smiled, stroking the hair out of his face. “That’s the fair folk, honey. Always watching, but never seen. If they do let you see them, Bradley, then it’s already over. They’ve gotten you.”

His mother had done her best to keep him sheltered from the horrors of the world, but death and famine followed the people along the coast. His father had died in a shipwreck off the coast when he was young, and while his mother had done her best to keep her sorrow hidden, Bradley often caught her eye turned towards the sea. She disappeared when he was only sixteen.

Bradley had heard stories of people being taken by the fair folk, lured to the hills beyond the town, some never to be seen again, while others came back different. He wondered if the men who had gone off to war had been taken, replaced with something hollow, something not quite all there. Had his mother been taken by the Sidhe? Taken to the land beyond to be with his father? Or had her sorrow and longing for her long-dead husband become too much all at once, the grips of the icy waters too tempting an offer to resist?

It didn’t matter anymore, though. Bradley was alone and took work where he could, soft hands of youth turning to calloused hands of adulthood. His once bright eyes grew dull from the monotony of the jobs at sea, life becoming routine as day after day he boarded a ship to earn his livelihood.

As he grew older, the wages from the odd jobs allowed him to purchase his own vessel, a small boat that rocked in the choppy waves as he hunted the seals that littered the coasts.

He remembered watching from the small house he and his mother lived in as the creatures hopped out of the water to lay on the rocks. He would inch towards the door until she caught him, a stern look on her face as she scowled at him.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times,” she scolded him, hands on her hips. “You leave those creatures alone. They’re not doing anything to bother you.”

“Elijah’s da’ hunts them,” he remarked once, only serving to deepen her scowl.

“He does,” she muttered. “And he’s a lucky man that the selkies are a forgiving lot.”

“What’s a selkie?” Bradley had asked, eyes lighting up in intrigue. His mother regarded him for a moment before gesturing for him to sit in one of the chairs by the fireplace. Bradley settled in, eyes eager as he waited for his mother to explain.

“The selkies are fair folk of the sea,” she began, eyes serious as they darted above his head to look out the window towards the beach. “They may look like seals, but underneath their blubber and fur, they look like people just like you and me. They’re beautiful, Bradley, but curious to a fault. They walk on land in human form, shedding their seal skin once every seven years.”

“Why seven?” He had asked, voice small with wonder.

“Just the way the magic works,” she had replied with a shrug. “You can always tell when a seal is a selkie based on the size. The bigger the seal, the more likely it is to be a selkie, Bradley. Killing it and taking the skin will earn you pay, but you’ll have blood of the fair folk on your hand. Remember that.”

And he had remembered, for a while at least. He would watch the seals as they basked on the rocks, always wondering if the ones that met his curious gaze were one of the fair folk - a selkie.

Now the years had passed, grown from a small boy into a man of large stature. He commanded respect from those in the small, seaside village. Long had the days passed when his mother had warned him of hunting the seals and long had passed the days when he took those warnings seriously. He had joined the few who hunted the creatures around the rocky shores, braving the misty seas to earn himself a living.

He sat in his boat, the waves rocking him side to side in the way they often do during misty weather. Bitter cold clawed at his skin, numbing his fingers as he waited. Waited for something to come out of the water. Waited for any sign that he would earn a meal.

He fiddled with the ropes that lie around the floor of the boat, tying knots that he would need later. Undoing them, tying them, undoing them again. Anything to keep himself occupied while he lay in wait.

His breaths came out as white puffs of clouds, matching the ones surrounding him. Ice water clung to the whiskers on his upper lip, dripping down to run along his jaw and throat. He shifted, burying himself further into the warmth his coat provided. It was worn. He would need a new one soon. All the more reason to keep hoping for a prize catch.

The sound of disturbed water drew his attention towards the shore, and he slowly crept forward to peer over the side of the boat. A large seal bobbed at the surface, taking slow, deep breaths of the cold air that surrounded them. Slowly, Bradley reached for his harpoon, watching as the seal floated closer and closer. He raised his arm slowly, taking aim. He took a breath. Then another.

He released the harpoon just as a wave crashed into the side of his boat, sending the weapon veering off course. The harpoon struck the seal’s side, creating a gash that seeped blood into the water. The seal gave a pained cry, diving down into the murky depths of the sea, and Bradley cursed.

He stared at the spot where the seal had disappeared, already feeling the pangs of hunger stab at him. His nostrils flared as the desperate sense of anger welled up within him. How could he have been so careless? The size of that pelt would have brought in enough money to last him months. He heaved a sigh, pulling the rope to bring the harpoon back towards him. His fingers dipped into the icy water, the pain of it distracting him momentarily from his despair.

Bradley tossed the harpoon to the floor, the item landing with a thud as he slumped onto the bench. He buried his face in his hands, mind moving with blinding speed. He could still earn enough money to survive, he thought to himself. He could still do this. He just had to be more careful next time, should wait until he’s closer so he doesn’t miss. Still, his mind wandered back to the seal. The sheer size of it had his mind drifting back to the stories his mother had always told him. Of course, Bradley was older now, and he wouldn’t be scared by tall tales. However, the foolishness of youth still clung to him, for though he was now considered a man, he was barely twenty-two summers old.

Bradley heaved a sigh, sitting up and rubbing his hands together to create some warmth that would awaken his freezing fingers. He gripped the oars in his hands and began to row back to shore, the sun already dipping towards the horizon. He was always tempted to stay out past dark, but the older fishermen and hunters warned him of the dangers that came about at night. While Bradley was a fool, he wasn’t stupid.

He neared the dock that stood on the beach outside his home, moving to secure the boat to one of the posts when something caught his eye.

It floated in the water, a silvery grey blob that moved with the tide. Bradley’s eyes narrowed as he tried to place what it was in his mind. The blob slapped up against the side of the boat, and it was then that he realized what he was looking at. It was a perfectly preserved seal pelt, much like the one he had just seen. He supposed that it had fallen off a cart on the way to market, the winding roads by the cliffs being one of the few ways to make it into town. It wasn’t unusual for things to be knocked off of carts, finding their way onto the beaches and eventually into the sea.

Bradley wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, not after his blunder. He scooped the pelt into the boat, laying it out to dry before lifting himself onto the dock. It would be days before he could take it to the market to sell, and he hoped no one recognized it when he did make his way into town.

An odd feeling overcame him in that moment, a feeling of unease and tension winding up his spine and gripping his throat. The feeling told him he was being watched, but by what, he did not know. His eyes darted around, expecting to see one of his neighbors by the house, but no one stood atop the cliff. The wind picked up around him, the cold of it stealing the breath from his lungs, and he curled in within himself to try and preserve some of the warmth he had left. The feeling told him he was making a mistake, but he ignored it, surmising that what he felt was guilt at having come into fortune from another’s strife.

Bradley shook his head to rid himself of the feeling, taking one last look around before trudging across the beach and up the path to his home.

The house was cold, but not for lack of warmth. Bradley kept the rooms heated well. No, the house lacked the happiness that made it a home, and this was something he was keenly aware of. It had been a home once, way back before his mother had disappeared.

Now, Bradley existed within its walls, hoping one day that he would find himself ready to settle for one of the pretty girls in town, the ones that smiled at him sweetly whenever he deemed it necessary to venture in. Perhaps he would finally give in to Orla’s flirting. She was a sweet thing, always filling his cup more than she ought to, setting it down in front of him with a bat of her eyes. She wasn’t a bad choice.

Bradley shook the thoughts from his head. He couldn’t entertain the idea of taking a wife, not when his circumstances were so uncertain.

He settled further down into his chair, feet propped up by the fire, the glowing embers serving to help warm him from his time out in the cold air during the day. The wood cracked and popped as the fire consumed it, and Bradley soon found himself dozing off. Exhaustion seeped down to the very marrow of his bones, his muscles stiff from the hours spent hunched over on the boat. His eyes began to flutter shut, urging him to embrace the sweet oblivion that came with sleep.

His body jerked, eyes snapping open. He wasn’t sure what had startled him at first, his heart hammering away in his chest as he let out a shaky breath. His ears perked, eyes darting as he waited for whatever it was that had roused him. He didn’t have to wait long, a second cry sounding from outside.

It was one of pure, unadulterated sorrow. The cry of someone so grief stricken, they sounded almost like an animal. A chill ran down Bradley’s spine at the sound, and cautiously he moved to stand, heading towards the front door. Every fiber in his body screamed at him to leave well enough alone, but he worried that someone might be heart or in trouble. Grabbing his coat, he slipped back into his boots and walked out the door.

The cold was something he thought he should be used to at this point, but it still shocked his system every time he stepped foot out into it. The moon was the only source of light save for the faint, orange glow that filtered out of the windows of his house. The air stung his lungs, and he suppressed a shiver that threatened to run up his spine. The cry had sounded far, coming from towards the beach if he had to guess. He began to walk, boots crunching against the dirt path as it gave way to sand. The waves crashed against the shore like thunder, so loud that he almost didn’t hear the faint cries coming from further down the strip of sand.

He almost missed her huddled in the sand, back pressed up against one of the large rocks at the edge of the shoreline where sand met grass. Her head was buried in the crook of her arms, shoulders shaking as she cried, quiet whimpers wracking her body.

“Miss?” He called out once he was a few feet away. “Are you okay?”

Her head snapped up, hair falling in her face as sorrow filled eyes peered up at him. The look of her knocked all air out of his lungs, and for a moment he couldn’t focus on anything but how beautiful the woman in front of him was.

“Can’t find it,” she croaked. Her voice was still sweet sounding despite the hoarseness of it, and Bradley found himself captivated even further by her. His eyes left her face then, realizing for the first time that she was naked.

“Oh my god,” he murmured, rushing forward as he shrugged off his coat. “Here, take this.”

He wrapped the coat around her smaller frame, the material dwarfing her. Her lips trembled, though Bradley suspected it wasn’t from the cold. She didn’t seem to see him as she continued muttering to herself, eyes darting wildly between her hands and the sea.

“Can’t find it,” she said again, her voice growing in pitch as the desperation took hold.

“Can’t find what?” Bradley asked, brow furrowing in confusion as he glanced around the beach. “Did someone hurt you? Where are your clothes?”

A choked cry spilled past her lips as a fresh wave of tears began to stream down her face. She shook her head wildly, hands darting out to grasp at his shirt. Her fingers seemed to push him away and pull him closer at the same time as another wail climbed up her throat.

“Can’t find it!” She shrieked, eyes growing wider as she stared at the water. “Wanna go home.”

“Where is home?” Bradley asked, his own anxiety beginning to peak as he gripped onto the woman’s shoulders. Her eyes glanced to his, but they did not see him.

“Between the light, between the dark,” she whispered, eyes boring into him. “Between the cold, between the warmth. Between the moon, between the sun. Between the north, between the south.”

The between was something Bradley’s mother had always cautioned him about.

“It’s where the fair folk live, Bradley,” she had told him. “They don’t live here, but they don’t live fully in the other. They’re from somewhere in between.”

He shook the thought from his head. He knew he was being superstitious, ridiculous even. The fair folk were prideful beings, surely one wouldn’t be sitting here talking with him like this.

And yet, as Bradley looked upon this woman, heard how she spoke, a voice in the back of his mind whispered to him that there was something strange about her. Something…otherworldly.

“Are you alone?” He settled on, trepidation clear in his tone. “Is there someone I can go get for you?”

“Can’t go home,” she muttered, eyes turned longingly to the sea as tears streamed down her face. “It’s too late.”

Bradley heaved out a sigh. He would have to take her home, let her rest and try again in the morning.

“Can you stand?” He asked her. She said nothing, nails biting into the skin of her arms as she continued to stare out at the water. Bradley reached out to her, Taking her arms gently to help her stand. Her lips curled in a wince, hand flying to her side. His eyes flickered down, and for the first time noticed the dried blood on her side.

“You’re hurt,” he frowned, moving closer to inspect the wound, but she shied away from him, her own frown tugging on her lips. His tongue darted out to wet his own nervously, as he glanced from her to the house.

“My house is a bit of a ways up the hill,” he started, nodding towards it. Her gaze was more focused now, eyes flickering towards where he gestured. “Do you think you can make it?”

She didn’t respond, instead tilting her head to the side as she regarded the distance. Finally, she nodded, and Bradley felt his shoulders sag in relief. The wind whipped around them, and he was reminded of how cold it was. It would be best to get her inside as soon as possible, though he couldn’t help but notice that she seemed holy unaffected by the freezing temperatures even though she stood in nothing but his coat.

He waited for her to move towards the house, but she remained still, watching him watch her. Finally, he pressed his lips together and began to walk towards the house, boots crunching against the ground once more. The woman made no sound as she moved behind him, her gaze fixated on him the entire time.

He paused outside the front door, hand hesitating above the knob. Slowly, he turned to look at her once more. Her eyes stared back at him, eyes that reflected the orange glow cast into the night, eyes that swirled with knowledge that Bradley could only dream of. She said nothing as they watched each other, those sorrowful eyes watching him with curiosity, so much like seals that littered the shores. Bradley sucked in a quick breath before turning around to push the door open.

The warmth was welcome, and he felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders as he stepped into the main room, turning to watch as the woman stepped across the threshold. Her eyes darted around, taking in the various pieces of furniture and decorations that were scattered about as Bradley closed the door softly behind her. She took a few more tentative steps into the house, head cocking to the side in such an unusual way as to further confirm what Bradley was slowly accepting.

She walked past him, eyes glittering with intrigue as she came up to the fire. She crouched down, head still tilting to one side, and Bradley was captivated by the sight of this beautiful woman bathed in the light of the fire in his home. Before he could react, she reached a hand out into the flame, letting out a startled, pained yelp as she retracted it. A whimper left her lips as Bradley rushed forward, kneeling in front of her and taking her hand in his.

“Why would you do that?” He asked, no real heat behind his tone as he inspected her fingertips. “Don’t you know it’s hot?”

Her fingertips were a little pink, but otherwise no real damage had been done. She stared at him with an unreadable expression, eyes still studying him. He hesitated for a moment before moving to stand, keeping her hand in his.

“I can show you to your room,” he told her, tugging on her hand lightly. Her eyes scanned him from head to foot and then back again before allowing him to pull her to her feet. The two padded down a small hallway before he pushed the door open to a bedroom that had long stood unoccupied. He tugged her inside, motioning for her to sit on the bed. She sat obediently, watching and waiting for him to make his next move.

“I’ll be right back,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he exited the room. He made his way to the washroom, grabbing bandages, a cloth, a bowl, and a pitcher of water. He returned to the room quickly, finding that the woman had not moved an inch in the time he was gone. He sucked in a breath as their eyes once again met, wary meeting curious. He set the items on the bedside table as he gestured at her.

“You’ll need to take that off so I can see the wound,” he murmured, heat rising to his cheeks as he glanced at her uneasily. She paid no mind to his discomfort, easily shedding the coat and exposing her naked body to him as simply as if he had asked her to close the door. He cleared his throat, eyes darting down to look at the angry-looking gash on her side. The wound appeared to be superficial, but he couldn’t be sure until he cleaned it.

He turned to ready the cloth, keeping the bowl of water close so he could rinse if he needed to. Tentatively, he reached a hand up, running his fingers over the dried blood upon her skin, eyes darting up to search for any sign of distress. Her face remained impassive as she watched him, and Bradley’s jaw clenched as he began to wipe gently at the wound.

He had been correct in his initial assessment, the gash was more of a flesh wound and thankfully wouldn’t require stitching. He grabbed some of the salve he had brought in, applying a decent layer before wrapping a bandage around her midsection. Bradley tried not to think of how close he was to the woman, of how beautiful she was, especially when she seemed wholly unbothered by his presence.

“I, um,” he stuttered, cursing his nervousness, “I can bring you something to wear. I still have some of my ma’s things.”

He didn’t wait for her to answer, not that she would give him one if the last half hour had been any indication. He made his way down the hall to the door he had not opened in years, taking a deep breath to steady himself before pushing inside.

The room was just as his mother had left it all those years ago, the only thing having changed was the layer of dust that coated everything. Bradley moved quickly to the wardrobe on the far side of the room, opening it to reveal several different clothing options. He grabbed what he could carry, making sure to grab some of the sleeping garments before heading back down the hall. The woman sat unmoved once more as he appeared, draping the options on the chair to his left by the vanity.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he said lamely, gesturing towards the clothing, “so I grabbed what I thought might look nice.”

The woman’s gaze moved slowly to the clothing before she rose to her feet. She padded across the room, not a sound from her as she walked over towards where he stood. Her eyes darted up to his for a moment before back down to the clothes. Small hands reached out to pick up one of the nightgowns he had grabbed, eyes studying it with a frown. Her hands tightened on the fabric, a look of despair washing over her face and disappearing just as quickly before she slowly eased it over her head, letting it drape down her form. She reached her hands up to pull her long hair out of the confines, letting it run down her back as she stared up at him.

There was something inherently wild about her, something that sent Bradley’s heart racing as he looked at her standing there in the room. She looked so out of place but so at ease with her surroundings, and he could hardly stand it.

“My room is just down the hall,” he told her, shoulders pulling back a fraction as he regarded her. “If you need me, I’ll be there.”

He gathered the things he had brought in, moving to leave when she grabbed his shirt, stopping him. He glanced at her from over his shoulder, brow furrowed in confusion as he waited for her to speak.

“Do you hear them?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper. “They’re calling for me.”

Bradley listened in the silence that followed, and it was a second before he heard the quiet, distant barks of seals mixed with the keen of something he could not place - something not quite human, not quite animal. He looked at the woman, her eyes having grown distant once more as a tear slid down her face. Bradley sucked in a quick breath as a shudder ran up his spine.

“You should get some sleep,” he whispered, breaking the silence. “You seem like you’ve had a long day.”

The woman looked at him once more, sadness swelling within her eyes before she slowly nodded, letting him go. She turned towards the bed, padding silently across the room once more.

Bradley closed the door behind him as he left, hands shaking as he listened for the click of the latch before putting away the items in hand. He put out the fire, washing the room in darkness as he dragged a hand over his face. With a glance towards the hall, he crept towards the front door, opening it and shutting it behind him carefully as to not make a sound. The cries from before could be heard louder now, and Bradley thought his heart would burst from his chest from the unease that enveloped him.

The moon still shone bright, lighting his path down towards the dock and his boat. The waves lapped against the shore, the cries louder the closer he came. His boat knocked against the wooden stands of the dock with every crash of the waves, and sitting there, on top of the bench, lay the pelt.

Bradley’s heart quickened at the sight, a sense of dread filling him at what he might find once he inspected it. His boots clicked against the wood as he made his way down to the edge. He kneeled down, snatching the pelt from its perch and into his hands. It was soft, nearly dry. He ran his hands over it, inspecting it closely as he squinted in the dark.

He was lost in the sensation of the pelt, how smooth and soft it felt in his hands, and for a moment he allowed himself to close his eyes and compare it to how soft the woman’s skin had felt under his fingertips earlier. He was pulled from his thoughts as the soft fur transformed into a matted and cracked mess. His eyes flew open, breath catching in his throat as he took in the bloodied tear down the side of the pelt.

Right where the gash on the woman was.

There was no denying it in his mind now. The woman in his home was one of the Sidhe - a selkie.

The cries grew louder, and Bradley’s head whipped up to stare out into the water. He couldn’t see them, but knew they were out there, searching for a sister that was lost to them. His grip on the pelt tightened, and his heartbeat thundered in his ears. He scrambled back to his feet, boots stomping against the wood and then the ground as he ran back to the house. His mind raced with thought after thought as his lungs burned from lack of oxygen. His hand reached out to open the door, but he stopped short, fingers hovering over the knob.

The cries off in the distance sounded as he stared at his front door before looking down at the pelt in hand. He could return it to the woman, let her return back to the sea she called home. But a more sinister thought crossed his mind. Why should he give it back? The woman was safe with him, after all. He could protect her from those that wished to hunt her, keep her warm and fed like a man should. He could love her, give her a life beyond what the sea had to offer. The memory of her skin under his fingertips once again rushed to the forefront of his mind, and he allowed his hand to drop back to his side. Yes, he would keep the pelt. Keep it hidden away where she nor anyone else would ever find it.

He turned on his heel, running towards the small shack just a few yards away from the house, ripping the door open and stepping inside. The structure held mostly items necessary for fishing and repairing his boat, but an old trunk sat in the back, practically hidden by various tarps and other objects. The cries of the other selkies grew louder, almost like they could sense the pelt in his hands and were coming to find it.

Bradley pulled the trunk out into the open, moving to the workbench and grabbing one of the keys that sat in the top drawer. He kneeled down in front of the trunk, unlocking it and opening the lid with a quiet creak. Inside lay old photos and trinkets that his father and mother had collected over their years together. He pulled a few items out before placing the pelt gently into the trunk, covering it back up with the aforementioned items.

He closed the lid, locking it. The wailing cries coming to an abrupt and sudden stop as he did so. He stayed there for a moment, the only sound to be heard being his heavy breathing and the waves crashing against the shore below. Slowly, he moved to stand, shoving the trunk back where he found it and hiding it away once more. No one would think to look in there. No one would know what he kept hidden. He tossed the key back into the top drawer, stepping out of the shack and back into the night.

The air was still around him, eerily so, and Bradley made his way quickly back to the house. His fingers were numb, whether it be from cold or nerves he wasn’t sure, but the tension didn’t ease as he closed the front door quietly behind him, his back pressed against it for a moment as he listened for any sound that the woman might have heard him. Hearing nothing, he toed his boots off, setting them by the door before making his way quietly towards his room, noting that no light shone under the woman’s door. He changed quickly for bed, crawling under the blankets as if they might shield him from the consequences of his actions that evening. He took a few calm, steadying breaths before closing his eyes.

Sleep did not come easy to him that night.

The first morning had been awkward, Bradley rising with the dawn to find the woman already sitting at the dining table, fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of the nightgown. Her eyes darted up to meet his as he entered the room, stopping short at the sight of her.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, shock clear in his voice as they stared at one another. She blinked at him, saying nothing. She seemed perkier this morning, albeit still cautious as she watched him walk further into the room. Bradley grabbed the box of matches from the shelf, taking one out and striking it with a pop. The woman jumped at the sound, eyes flickering to the watch as he leaned down to light the stove, shaking the match out once he was done.

“What is that?” She asked, and Bradley turned to look at her in surprise.

“What is what?”

“The colors,” she supplied, nodding at the burnt match in his hand. She pointed towards the fireplace. “They were in the cave over there last night as well.”

Bradley’s gaze flickered over to where she pointed before landing back on her.

“It’s called fire,” he started slowly, a frown tugging on his lips. “I use it to cook things and keep the house warm.”

“Fire,” she repeated, testing the word out on her lips. “It hurts.”

“It can,” Bradley agreed, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You shouldn’t touch it.”

She nodded solemnly, clasping her hands out in front of her. She watched as he began to prepare breakfast, turning on the toaster and slicing up the fish to cook in the pan.

“I like those.”

Bradley turned back around to find the woman sitting with most of her torso on top of the table, her legs stretched to accommodate her. Eyes shone with delight at the sight of the fish, and Bradley arched a brow at her.

“Yeah?” He hummed. She nodded enthusiastically, tongue darting out to lick at her lips.

“There’s lots of them,” she told him. “They swim in groups and they’re easy to catch. The fishermen catch them using nets.”

“They do,” Bradley nodded, laying a strip of the mackerel down in the pan. It began to sizzle, and he was struck with how hungry he truly was.

“What are you doing?”

He jumped, turning to look where the woman now stood, eyes wide as she watched the fish cook down. He stared at her for a moment before turning his attention back to the fish, flipping it over before it burned.

“I’m cooking,” he told her. The woman leaned forward, sniffing at the food before wrinkling her nose.

“It smells weird,” she muttered, and Bradley laughed.

“It smells fine,” he smiled, sliding the fish onto one of the plates on the counter. “You’ve just never had it cooked, I’ll bet.”

He ushered her back towards the table, setting the plate down at the spot she just occupied and handing her a fork. He turned back towards the stove, laying another slice of the fish down as the woman took a tentative bite. Chewing slowly, she perked up as the taste rushed over her, shoveling more into her mouth with a satisfied purr. Bradley soon joined her, chuckling as he watched her. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so light, the last time he laughed so freely.

“You should slow down,” he smirked, taking a bite from his own plate. “You don’t want to choke.”

She peered up at him, pausing in her feast as she considered his words. She cocked her head to the side in that curious way before taking a slower bite, looking up at him for approval. The two ate in silence for a few moments before Bradley cleared his throat, drawing her attention.

“My name is Bradley,” he said, glancing up at her as he swallowed a mouthful of fish.

“Bradley.”

“What should I call you?” He asked, and she frowned in confusion.

“What do you want to call me?” She asked him.

“Don’t you have a name?” He chuckled, disbelief coloring his voice. Surely even the fair folk had names to give. Her face drew tight in sorrow once more, and Bradley felt a twinge of pain in his chest at the sight. Her gaze slowly turned towards the window where the sea lay just out of sight.

“Only the water knows my name,” she told him, grip loosening on her fork as it clattered against the plate. “Only it can say it.”

Bradley watched her. Watched how her breathing grew ragged. Watched how her eyes glistened with unshed tears for a home she would not return to. Her lips trembled, and Bradley cleared his throat.

“I need to head into town,” he said. “Need to see a man about a job. Do you want to come with me?”

She turned to look at him, eyes still hazy from wherever she had let herself wander. She blinked once, twice.

“I suppose,” she whispered finally. Bradley nodded, clearing the plates from the table.

“You’ll need to change,” he told her. “You can’t go out wearing that.”

She looked down at her nightgown with a frown before looking back up at him.

“It’s, uh,” he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not appropriate for others to see you dressed like that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just,” he blew out a breath, “please pick a different dress?”

She gave him a sour look before standing and disappearing down the hall. Bradley blew out a breath before moving to clean the kitchen area. The woman reappeared, wearing a simple, blue dress. Bradley nodded in approval before his eyes landed on her bare feet.

“Stay here,” he told her, walking down the hall to the far bedroom. He walked in, straight up to the wardrobe and began rummaging through until he found a pair of his mother’s old shoes. He reappeared in the kitchen, handing the woman the shoes with a shy smile.

“I don’t know how well they’ll fit,” he started, “but they should work until we get you some new ones.”

She eyed them distastefully, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“I don’t want them,” she said finally, moving to hand them back to Bradley. He shook his head.

“You need them. They’ll protect your feet, and people will expect you to wear them.”

She scowled, pushing them forward once more, but Bradley stopped her.

“Please, mo chroi,” he pleaded. “Just while we’re in town. You can take them off as soon as we’re home.”

Her gaze softened at the endearment, and reluctantly, she shoved her feet into them. He helped her lace them, calloused fingers making nimble work of them, and soon they were ready to go. He grabbed a thin jacket for himself while he made sure to hand her the heavy coat to combat the frigid air outside. The walk to town took about an hour, and the weather was sure to still be cold and damp as it often was during the time between spring and winter.

Bradley turned to her, a thin-lipped smile on his face as his hand rested on the door. He gave her a once over.

She looked like any other person upon first glance, but if you stared too long, something wild shone on her person that drew you in. Like it would suffocate you if you stared too long. He sucked in a breath, torn between keeping her in his sight and making her stay. If she came, the townsfolk would surely be able to guess that she was not a mere human girl, but if she stayed? If she stayed, she might find the one thing he hoped she never would.

“Alright,” he breathed. “Let’s go.”

Weeks had passed, and the two had developed a routine of sorts. Bradley had started work as the lighthouse keeper, walking every day down the path along the cliffs to clean and polish the light that guided ships to shore. When he finished, he began work on the nets for when he ventured out into the sea to catch fish. It was a steady source of food, and food was not something Bradley took lightly. Memories of what it felt like to go hungry when there was so little to go around, fueled his drive to ensure there was enough, always enough and plenty to spare. He showed mo chroi how to prepare and salt the fish they couldn’t eat, showing her how to store it for future meals.

She was a quick learner, performing the tasks diligently as the days passed, and soon she took over most of the household chores. The widow Callahan checked in on them from time to time, her wise eyes studying the new woman of the house every time she came by.

“Be careful, young man,” she’d always say, dark eyes narrowed up at him. “You may have tamed her now, but the fair folk were not meant for gilded cages. Don’t give her what you cannot spare.”

Bradley would assure her that he wouldn’t, but in truth, he had no idea what she was telling him. He was content with how things were, content to have a partner by his side to help with the work he had done by himself for years. He still caught her staring longingly out at the waters she once called home, but the longing looks grew farther and farther apart the longer she stayed with him, resigning herself to her new life on land.

He was mending a tear in one of the nets when she appeared beside him, silent as always. He was used to it now, no longer startling every time she appeared around him without a sound. He became attuned to her presence, sensing when she came and when she left.

She said nothing to him at first, content to watch him as he worked, and he was content to keep working. It wasn’t until she kneeled beside him, gentle hand placed on top of his arm that he stopped.

“What is it, mo chroi?” He asked, gazing up at her. The sun was sinking towards the horizon, casting a faint golden glow onto the summer evening. Bradley couldn’t help but to admire her beauty in the dimming light, eyes glittering and skin smooth as porcelain as they looked at him. She wore only a white chemise, something she was prone to do when it was just the two of them. She didn’t like the heavy, scratchy feel of the dresses, only wearing them when there was company or when the two ventured into town. Bradley complied with her whims, finding it hard to say no to her.

“Why do you not have a woman?”

The question caught him off guard, eyes widening as his jaw went slack.

“What?” He blinked, scrambling to make sense of her question. She hummed, pressing closer to him. Bradley found it hard to think with the feel of her soft, warm body so close to his, one hand tracing over the planes of his chest as she continued.

“The men in the village,” she pressed, eyes never wavering as they bore into his own, almost hypnotic in the way they captured him, “they all have a woman to keep them company, to hold them, to love them. But you do not.”

Bradley’s eyes darted back and forth between her own, words failing him. She lifted a leg, resting it in between his own as she straddled his thigh. The hand that rested on his arm trailed up to play with the curls at the base of his skull, her body flush with his now as his hands came up to rest on her thighs. The hem of her chemise rode up to reveal smooth thighs that had Bradley reeling with lust. She leaned forward, a purr on her lips as she trailed her nose along his jaw and up to his ear.

“Is it me?” She asked softly, hand splayed on his chest as her lips brushed along the shell of his ear. A shudder ran up along Bradley’s spine at the sensation, mind growing hazy and clouded with lust for the creature before him.

“Am I yours?” She breathed, meeting his eyes once more. The air between them was charged, and for a moment Bradley could think of nothing but the way she felt against him. The way her lips hovered over his.

He lunged forward, pulling her impossibly closer as their lips melded against one another. He was spellbound, captivated, obsessed. His hands tightened on her thighs, and she sighed against his mouth, spurring him on to nip at her bottom lip. She granted him entrance, gasping as he licked hungrily into her mouth, the sweet taste of her driving him mad as a hand slid up to press against her lower back.

She wasted no time lifting herself off of him long enough to free him from the confines of his trousers, small hands gripping his hardening length. He let out a pleasured groan, head tilting back as she stroked him slowly before positioning herself atop him. There was no buildup between them, Bradley gripping at her as she slowly eased herself down onto him. A keen left her lips as he stretched her, mind numbing pleasure coursing through his veins as her velvety walls fluttered around him.

Her eyes were closed tight as she rested on top of him, her hips flush against his as her hands rested on his chest for balance. Bradley had never seen a more beautiful sight. Slowly, she rolled her hips against his, breathing ragged as she built a rhythm. Bradley laid against the wood of the dock as he watched her take her pleasure from him, a hand running up her stomach to rest between her breasts. He could die a happy man right then and there.

Her pace grew faster as she approached her climax, whimpers and cries spilling past her lips as she rode him, and Bradley pushed himself into a sitting position, careful to not disturb her. A hand rested on her back as he nuzzled into the space between her breasts where his other hand had just been. The sleeve of her chemise fell off her shoulder, and Bradley lifted his face to nip and lick at the skin there. He could feel his own high approaching as she ground down on him, and his free hand rose up to wrap around her throat, squeezing gently. She froze, hips stopping as they locked eyes. The only sound to be heard between the two of them was their ragged breathing.

For a second, Bradley thought he had crossed the line, but she made no move to remove his hand. The two stared at one another for a long moment before one of her hands came up to rest atop his own, squeezing them lightly as she began to move her hips once more, slower this time, drawing out the inevitable. He groaned at the sensation, feeling his stomach tense as her eyes never left his, her gaze intense as she chased release. Her walls fluttered and tightened around him, and with a final cry, she came, her head thrown back and her hot, wet cunt milking his own orgasm out of him with a shout. His spend coated her walls, leaking out around him as he shuddered and fell back against the dock with eyes pinched closed. Her hips still moved against his, drawing out every ounce of pleasure she could, giving herself to him with every movement.

She was his now, he had marked her.

Her hips finally stilled against his, and he could feel her staring at him. Her fingers trailed up his chest, along his jaw, before finally stilling on his lips. Bradley peeled his eyes open slowly, and he would have sworn he had died and gone to heaven for if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought he was looking at an angel. The setting sun cast a halo around her head as her hair blew in the wind, hypnotic eyes boring into him as the golden glow of the evening enveloped her. His lover smiled down at him softly, fingertips stroking his lips before leaning down to press her own against them.

She didn’t look to the sea much anymore, her longing gazes turned to brief flickers as she went about her days. Still, there were nights when her eyes would glaze over as the sound of seals calling out in the night made their way up to the confines of the house. Bradley would watch as her lips trembled briefly, the look in her eyes growing farther away until suddenly she would snap back to the moment, offering him a loving smile as she continued her mending.

Her stomach began to swell in the autumn months, and Bradley often found himself reluctant to leave her side. He would place a hand on her stomach, eyes lighting up in delight every time he felt a kick to it. He’d rest his head on top of her, muttering sweet words and promises to the babe that grew within. She would rest her hand on his head, stroking his hair soothingly as the fire crackled in front of them.

They were happy.

There was one night, however, when Bradley came back from the village to find his wife no longer at home, and panic overtook him. He tore through the house, ripping open every door he could find until he was faced with a horrifying possibility. He ran outside to the old shack, nearly ripping the door off of its hinges in his haste to open it. His eyes scanned the dark interior, his lantern casting shadows across the walls as he sighed in relief at the realization that his secret was still hidden underneath tarps and old traps.

His brow furrowed as he stepped back out onto the open cliffs, the wind whipping around him as he scanned the dancing grass. His eyes stopped at the edge of the cliff, terror gripping him once more at the thought that his lover might have done the unthinkable. Had she tried to return to the depths from where she came? Her body would not survive the plunge, not without the skin that lay hidden in shadows. He trudged towards the edge of the cliffs, the wind biting his skin and seeping to his bones as his heart thundered in his ears. He peered down at the rocks below, stopping only when a song sounded on the wind.

Little sister, sister hu ru

My love, my sister hu ru

Can you not pity o hol ill eo

My grief tonight hu ru

The voice was beautiful and full of sorrow, cries carried on the wind and out to the sea. Bradley swung the lantern towards the rocky path that led up to the lighthouse, the moon casting ribbons of silver that silhouetted the tall structure.

I am a poor woman hu ru

Sad and miserable hu ru

I climbed up o hol ill eo

Ben Sgrìobain hu ru

Bradley moved quickly through the grass and up the path, the sound of the song growing louder with each step he took. The stone structure stood proud against the backdrop of the sea, the waves crashing against the rocks below, almost drowning out the song as he rounded the walkway, finding his wife standing on the edge of the cliff.

I didn’t find there hu ru

What I wanted hu ru

A girl o hol ill eo

With hair like a daisy hu ru

Tears streamed down her face as he watched her, her hair whipping in the wind as her hands cradled her heavily swollen belly. Her feet were bare, and she wore a thin chemise that did little to protect her from the gusts that enveloped her body. No sobs left her as she finished her song, only the look of someone who had been lost, lost and never found in a world that was not her own. Bradley sucked in a breath, lips pressing firmly together before he stomped towards her. He dropped the lantern at his feet, the flame within dying at the impact as he gripped her shoulders and whirled her around to face him. Her eyes grew wide as his rage flooded to the surface, nostrils flaring and fingers digging into her skin hard enough to leave bruises.

“What were you thinking?” He hissed, shaking her with every accusation. “You scared me half to death! What are you doing out here dressed like this? It’s too cold for you to be out here with nothing to protect you. I thought you had-”

He gestured towards the cliffs, the words dying on his lips as he choked on a sob. The tears sprang to his eyes unexpectedly, rolling down his cheeks as his hands gripped onto her even tighter. If he held on tighter, she would never leave, would never return to the sea, would never leave him. He couldn’t bear the thought of being alone again, not when he had tasted a life that was shared.

She stared at him, eyes wide and searching as the wind danced around them. Her hand slowly reached up to cup his jaw, thumb smoothing over the stubble that grew there.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, voice almost lost on the wind. She leaned forward, and Bradley lurched back, eyes wide and scared as they watched her. The two stayed like that for a moment before she moved once more, hand holding his face in place as she brushed his nose with hers before pressing her lips to his in a gentle kiss. Tears continued to stream down Bradley’s face as his eyes flickered closed, embracing her as different emotions swirled inside him.

“Never leave me,” he begged in a whisper against her, one hand dropping down to cup her stomach as he rested his forehead against hers. He opened his eyes to find her already looking at him, black water dancing in her gaze.

“Never, mo ghrá.”

Their son was born a month later, loud cries spilling into the night as Bradley waited outside with some of the older men from the village. His head perked up at the first wail, eyes shining with excitement as her screams were replaced by those of the infant. The widow Callahan opened the front door moments later, apron covered in blood as she wiped her hands on a rag.

“You have a son,” she announced with a small smile, and Bradley grinned so hard, he swore his face would split in two. The men around him clasped him on the back, cheers ringing out in the night as they opened up spirits brought with them for the occasion. Bradley was keen to see his wife and son, but one of the men shoved a mug into his hands.

“Have a drink first, lad,” he hollered with a laugh. “The misses and the wean will still be there after.”

Bradley downed the drink as quickly as he could, much to the amusement of the others. He shoved the cup into the hands of the man nearest to him, not waiting for it to be refilled as he made his way into the house. The widow Callahan was cleaning up her supplies along with her apprentice when Bradley entered the room. His wife lay propped up in the bed, a small smile on her face as she cooed at the small bundle in her arms. Her eyes flickered up to his for a moment before back down. He crossed the room, easing down gently beside her on the bed. The babe gurgled, eyes closed as he yawned, and Bradley felt his heart swell.

He reached a hand over to run a finger over his son’s hands, heart dancing in his chest when the babe gripped it, small hand so strong for someone who was only moments old.

“What should we call him?” Bradley asked, cuddling into her side, exhaustion seeping through her.

“I thought we might call him Ronan.”

Bradley paused. The meaning of the name was not lost on him, and his gaze flickered to her profile for a moment before nodding.

“Ronan,” he murmured, eyes turning back to his son, nodding. “Aye. I like it. Ronan it is then.”

The babe gurgled once more, and Bradley reached over to take him in his arms, cooing softly as the bundle fussed.

“We should let your mother rest,” He whispered to the baby, a small smile on his wife’s lips as she nestled into the inviting warmth of the bed, her eyes drooping as she fought to remain awake. “She’s had a long day, don’t you think? It’s not easy bringing someone into the world.”

He tore his eyes away from his son to gaze at her, adoration shining bright as he reached a hand to smooth the hair out of her face.

“We’ll be here when you wake up,” he promised, bouncing the baby lightly as he moved to stand, his eyes already fixated back on the bundle in his arms. Her eyes followed him as he walked towards the door, lips curled into a smile as she slipped further and further into oblivion.

Bradley offered her one last smile as she fell asleep, walking towards the main room and sitting down by the fireplace, the orange glow of the fire bathing the two in the warm light. The men outside still celebrated, and Bradley rolled his eyes, smiling down at his son.

“I wanted to talk to you, man to man,” he started, rocking the baby in his arms. “I can’t guarantee you an easy life, Ronan. In fact, it might be a hard one. What I can promise is that I’ll be by your side as only a father can be for his son.”

Ronan cooed, opening his eyes for the first time to look up at his father, and Bradley’s heart soared.

“You’re born from two worlds, you know,” Bradley continued, a small frown tugging on his lips as he considered what this would mean. “A living bridge between the seen and unseen, but what does that mean for you, I wonder.”

The fire popped as it consumed the wood, the crackling the only thing heard besides the faint sound of Ronan breathing. The men had left to continue their drinking in the village, and soon even the widow Callahan and her apprentice left, bidding him a good night as they did. Bradley said nothing to them in response, eyes trained on the baby in his arms even as the sun rose above the horizon.

Ronan grew quickly, much to Bradley’s surprise, and soon he was toddling around and talking, a smart lad whom Bradley found he never had to instruct more than once, eager to take on the responsibility of being the eldest. Two years after he was born, another bundle joined their home, a boy they named Rían who grew to fill the house with peels of laughter everywhere he went. His wife showed no more signs of longing for the sea, too enamored with her children to pay much mind to the sea which she once called home.

Three years after Rían was born, they welcomed Cillian into their fold, a quiet babe who grew into a curious and bright little boy. Bradley was happy with his life and even prouder of his family. He soon began teaching Ronan how to weave nets for fish and how to fix the traps they used to catch the migrating salmon, and it wasn’t long until Rían joined them. Cillian was too young, staying behind with his mother as the other three made their way out to sea to bring home food for the next day.

Their evenings were spent sitting by the fire, the boys playing with their toy soldiers as their mother worked on her mending, Bradley resting from a hard day’s work as he smoked a pipe, a habit he had picked up to help ease the tension he often felt these days as he grew older. It was on one such evening that Cillian pulled on the skirt of his mother’s dress, eyes so much like hers as they gazed up in curiosity.

“Ma,” he chirped, earning her attention. She smiled down at him, setting down her latest project to give him her full attention.

“What is it, mo mhuirnín?” She asked.

“The people in town say you’re not from here,” he continued, earning the attention of the two other boys and Bradley as well. “If you aren’t from here, then where do you come from?”

The silence was heavy in the room, not a soul moving as the words hung in the air. His mother’s eyes glazed over slowly as she thought about the home she left behind so many years ago. A look Bradley had not seen since before their first son was born made its way onto her face, and his heart began to thunder in his chest. Time seemed to stand still as she considered her words.

“Between the here, between the now. Between the day, between the night. Between the land, between the sea. Between the awake, between the asleep. Between the real, between the myths. That is where I am from,” she told him, a hand coming up to cup his chin gently. In that moment, Bradley remembered the wild that dwelled within his wife, the constant call from within to return back to the sea. He remembered that while he grew older, she remained forever the same, never changing. He remembered the fear that gripped him each night at the thought that she might leave, and rage filled him.

“Enough,” he snapped, drawing all four pairs of eyes to him. Bradley was a kind, easygoing man, not prone to anger, and the sight of him now shocked his children, fear flashing in their eyes at the look of anger that clung to his face.

“I won’t hear another word,” he hissed, grip tight on the pipe in hand. He gestured wildly at his children as they sat, paralyzed with fear. “To bed, all of you!”

They did not need to be told twice, scrambling to their feet as they hurried down the hall, the sounds of doors shutting behind them. Regret filled Bradley almost instantly, but it was not enough to quell the fear that still raged on inside of him. His eyes watched the hall before sliding over to look at his wife. Her head was bowed submissively, an impassive look on her face as she continued her mending, and Bradley settled back into his chair, an air of unease settling in around him.

It was a few weeks later when Bradley had taken the two older boys off that his world turned upside down.

Cillian was a curious boy, too curious for his own good, one might say. He loved to experience the world around him and oftentimes found himself in more trouble than he could handle. His father had warned him to stay away from the old shack that stood by the cliff, telling him that there were things in there that could hurt him if he wasn’t careful. Cillian heeded the warning, but grew more and more curious the longer it remained unexplored. It was for that reason he found himself opening the door, the creeks of the old hinges causing him to turn around to make sure he wasn’t heard. Confident that his actions still remained a secret, he crept into the dark shack, eyes wide as he took in the different trinkets strewn about.

It was nothing of import, mostly old tarps and broken traps his father had not seen fit to fix yet. An old desk sat against the far wall, and as Cillian crept farther and farther into the room, he noticed how more and more things lay stacked atop one another, as if trying to convince him to turn back. There was something that called out to him though, and the need to find what it was became stronger with each passing second. The pull pulsed around him, almost like a heartbeat as he inched closer and closer to the far side of the shack. It wasn’t until he came upon an old chest that the energy suddenly calmed, almost like it disappeared and Cillian reached out his little hands to try and pry the lid open. It did not budge, locked so that prying eyes would not find what was not theirs to seek.

Surely there must be a key? His eyes scanned the area around him, frowning when one couldn’t be found. His gaze landed upon the desk, and he stumbled over the items strewn about as he made a beeline for the lone piece of furniture. His hand reached up to drag the top drawer open, little legs stretching as far as they could to allow him to look inside. There were several keys that lay on the bottom of the drawer, but only one was carved ornately enough to match the old chest. Grinning at his prize, he seized it in his little fist, scrambling back over to the chest.

He let out a giggle as the key slipped easily into the lock, twisting it until a click could be heard. Looking behind him to make sure he was still alone, he lifted the lid of the trunk slowly. He vibrated with excitement at the thought of the treasures he might find, only to be met with the sight of trinkets tossed haphazardly inside. He reached a hand in to rummage through the piles of junk, frowning at the piles of nothing. He was about to close the lid once more when his fingers brushed against something soft, and his breath caught in his throat. He gave it a tug, but the object did not move. Huffing, he wrapped both hands around the object, grunting as he tugged it free from the confines of the trunk. He fell back with the force, landing against an old crate with a thud and a shout. He scowled at the crate, rubbing his backside before turning his attention to the prize at hand.

It was a seal pelt, the silver reminding him of the moonlight that danced through his window at night, the same beams that glittered atop the water of the sea. His hands ran over it, delighting in how soft it felt against his skin, and with a grin, he wrapped it up in his arms and ran out of the shack into the late afternoon sun.

His mother was hanging laundry out to dry, the sheets billowing in the wind as she pushed hair out of her face. Her stomach was swelling once more, just enough to be noticeable through her dress.

“Ma!” He cried out, running to her quick as his little feet could carry him. “Look what I found!”

She smiled down at him, gaze adoring before landing on the item in his hands. Her smile faded, the faraway look from that terrible night when his father had lost his temper returning to her face as she beheld the pelt in his hands.

Bradley and his sons walked up the path, smiling amongst each other as they hurried home, eager to be reunited with their mother and brother. Bradley’s eyes darted up the path, itching for a glimpse of his wife when his eyes landed on the scene unfurling before them. Her hands reached out to the pelt his youngest son held up to her, and his stomach dropped as he blanched.

“No!” He shouted, breaking out into a sprint up the path, but it was too late. Her fingers wrapped around the pelt, and something awakened inside of her, something long thought dead. A grin stretched across her face as she snatched the skin into her arms, letting out a delighted cry as she ran down the path, narrowly avoiding her husband’s arms and past her children. Bradley stopped short, turning on his heels to chase after her, legs pushing as hard as they could in a desperate attempt to catch her, hand reaching out to grab her. He was so close, fingers brushing the ends of her hair, but the call of her nature was stronger than any love he carried for her. She threw the pelt around her shoulders, a laugh leaving her as her feet touched the water, and with a leap into the air, the woman was once more a seal, landing in the water with a quiet plop. Bradley continued after her, feet pushing through the resistance of the sea as he clawed his way forward.

“Come back,” he cried, water up to his waist now. “Come back!”

It was no use, his wife was gone, stolen back by the sea, and tears streamed down his face as he scanned the surface for any sign of her. The water was oddly calm given how frantic he had become, and the despair inside him rose to a fever pitch, released in a guttural cry as he unleashed his anguish for the sea to hear.

“You promised!” He screamed, throat strained with the force of it. He let his face drop into his hands, clawing at the skin of his face as his eyes darted wildly all around like he was a man possessed. Sobs wracked through his body as the reality of what happened settled over him.

“Come back.”

Bradley was not the man he once was, and he would never be again. The house felt cold and empty with his wife gone, and he could not find it in him to do much of anything. Numbness filled his bones, the sorrow of losing that which he loved too much for his mind to bear. Most days were spent along the shore, desperate eyes searching for any sign of his wife before one of his children was able to coax him back to the house, usually well after the sun had disappeared below the horizon.

He didn’t eat much, sullen gaze turned down towards his plate, but never eating more than a mouthful or two of whatever was placed in front of him. His face grew gaunt as the weeks turned to months, dark circles growing under his eyes.

A house that was once filled with laughter now served as a tomb, the once happy memories enshrined within its four walls. The children no longer laughed, no longer played. The love of their mother was no longer there to keep them warm. Few words were uttered amongst each other, and no one was quite able to meet the eyes of another.

Utensils scraped against each other, not a word spoken as all eyes remained cast downward.

“I saw a seal today,” Rían whispered, jumping as the sound of metal dropped against a plate. Bradley’s eyes bored into his son, a haunted look on his face as he turned to him.

“What did you say?” He asked, leaning forward, tears gathering in his eyes. Rían stared at his father before casting a nervous glance to Ronan. Bradley pushed out of his chair, kneeling in front of his son as his hand gripped his shoulders painfully. Rían whimpered, trying to get out of his father’s grasp.

“Where did you see it?” Bradley rasped, voice croaking from under use. His nails dug into the boy’s skin, a pained cry spilling out of Rían’s lips. Ronan scrambled up out of his seat, hand wrapping around his father’s arms to try and pull him away from his brother.

“Tell me where you saw it!” Bradley shouted, shaking the boy roughly, eyes wild and unseeing.

“Da please!” Ronan hollered, pulling with all his might, and Bradley’s grip loosened, sending Rían flying back into his chair with a cry. Tears streamed down his face as he stared at his father, limbs trembling from fear. Bradley’s eyes focused, seeing his son for the first time in that moment.

“Rían,” he whispered, eyes darting around to look at the other two. Cillian sat on the opposite side of Rían, tears streaming down his own face as his bottom lip trembled in terror. Ronan stood behind him, face unreadable as stone as he watched his father.

“I’m,” Bradley breathed, stumbling to his feet as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t wait for a response, exiting the room in a hurry.

The next day had them returning to their new normal. Ronan took charge of the fishing, bringing home what he could, which was just enough to keep everyone fed. Rían had taken up the housework in the absence of their mother, Cillian helping where he could at his young age.

Bradley’s days were spent at the shore, watching and waiting for a love that would never return to him. His thoughts often turned to the happier memories, of days spent in her embrace, the feel of her lips against his, the way she smiled at him. He longed for it. Longed for the time when he didn’t feel so alone, so listless.

The children had changed in the months since their mother left as well.

Ronan had taken up the mantle of provider, taking what he could to the village to barter and trade, but few would do dealings with someone who was not wholly human, mistrustful eyes that had once been focused on his mother now turned to him with disdain.

Rían’s once bright laughter was now nothing but a memory, something thought about only in passing now as he worked his way through the chores that needed doing. He slowly forgot how it felt to smile.

Cillian, who had once been the most inquisitive of the bunch, now never strayed far from his brothers, never moving far from sight. He did only as he was told, and his brothers started to wonder if he ever used to talk at all.

Much like every other night, it was Ronan who bade his father to return to the house once the sun set, frost hanging in the air now that winter was upon them. Bradley allowed himself to be pulled back to their home, head hung low as he trudged up the path behind his son. He sat in his chair by the fire, hand stretched out to hold someone who was not there as he stared into the flames, eyes unseeing, and his children wondered if they would forever see the unseen.

One by one, the boys left for bed, Ronan being the last to bid his father a goodnight, a frown tugging on his lips before shaking his head and disappearing around the corner.

Bradley sat motionless as the minutes turned to hours, still as a statue as he continued to mourn.

A knock sounded at the door, and he shifted in his seat. Another knock had his head turning in that direction. Who would be calling at that time of night? Slowly, he rose from his chair, walking towards the front door. He grasped the handle, twisting it and pulling it open.

The night was dark, the moon, which normally cast light onto the path that led down to the beach, was hidden behind the clouds. Bradley stared into the night, unfeeling and unmoving. He moved to close the door when a song rang out, the voice so alarmingly familiar.

Hò i hò i hì o hò i Hò i hò i hì o hì Hò i hò i hì o hò i Cha robh mi m' ònar a-raoir

'S mairg san tìr seo, 's mairg san tìr 'G ithe dhaoine 'n riochd a bhìdh Nach fhaic sibh ceannard an t-sluaigh Goil air teine gu cruaidh cruinn

His eyes alighted in recognition, tearing out of the house and onto the path as fast as his feet could carry him. The voice grew no closer as he ran, breaths coming out ragged as he gulped for air. The waves crashed against the shoreline as loud as thunder but never drowning out the voice he had longed to hear.

Hò i hò i hì o hò i Hò i hò i hì o hì Hò i hò i hì o hò i Cha robh mi m' ònar a-raoir

'S mise nighean Aoidh mhic Eòghainn Gum b' eòlach mi mu na sgeirean Gur mairg a dhèanadh mo bhualadh Bean uasal mi o thìr eile

He stopped, spinning wildly in search of her, crying out in frustration when he saw no one. A scream ripped its way through him, desperate and haggard as he continued to spin, only stopping when he caught sight of something on the dock. The same dock he and his lover had spent countless afternoons on, basking in the glow of each other and sharing stolen touches. He walked slowly towards it, boots crunching in the sand and then knocking against the wood as he came to the end of the dock. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he kneeled down beside the small bundle.

Hò i hò i hì o hò i Hò i hò i hì o hì Hò i hò i hì o hò i Cha robh mi m' ònar a-raoir

Thig an smeòrach, thig an druid Thig gach eun a dh'ionnsaigh nid Thig am bradan thar a' chuain Gu Là Luain cha ghluaisear mis'

His hands reached out, stopping when the bundle moved, a gurgle sounding. His heart skipped a beat, the cold seeping through him in the winter’s night. It was then that the clouds moved, allowing the moon to shed light down on where Bradley crouched.

It was often said that Cillian was the son that bore the largest resemblance to his mother, but gazing at the babe in front of him, Bradley knew that this was the child his wife carried before she left. His hands crossed the distance to pick her up, hands gentle as he cooed down at her. He was struck then by the discovery that she was wrapped in silvery grey fur, the same size as a seal pup.

The baby let out a tiny cry, and Bradley shushed her softly, rocking her gently. He and his wife had discussed different names before that fateful day, but only one stuck out to him as he gazed at the babe in his arms.

“Aisling,” he whispered reverently, holding her tighter to his chest as tears streamed down his face. Aisling let out another cry as Bradley moved to stand, never taking his eyes off of her.

“‘s alright now,” he cooed, turning back towards the house. “Your da is here now, mo stóirín.”

His fingers wrapped around the fur with a frown. The small bundle in his arms would never leave him, not like her mother had. He would see to it this time.

Hò i hò i hì o hò i Hò i hò i hì o hì Hò i hò i hì o hò i Cha robh mi m' ònar a-raoir

A/N: I kid y'all not, this fic has been on my mind for MONTHS ever since someone suggested it. Selkies have always been one of my favorite stories from Celtic legends, and I really hope I did this justice because it was such a pleasure to write and pour my heart and soul into. I highly recommend you check out the stories if you have time because a lot of the inspiration for this fic came from them!

Another quick note as I wrap up here, I wanted to touch on the meaning of the names I chose. Ronan actually translates to "seal" or "oath, promise." Rían (pronounced Ree-on) means "king" or "ocean" depending on the etymology. Cillian (pronounced kill-ian) means "war, strife." Finally, Aisling (pronounced Ash-ling) means "dream, vision."

The first song I actually looked up the English translation, but it's a song sung by a woman who was stolen by the fae, calling out for her sister to come and help her. I thought it would be interesting to see it used in the reverse. The second song is actually one said to be sung by the selkies themselves, very fitting for this fic, I think.

Thank you all so much for reading this one! As always, reblogs and comments are appreciated. You can also find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator. Until next time!

[buckyownsmylife]

let the games begin - sebastian stan smut

The one where you ask him to explain the pepsi cup scene to you

Warnings: best friends to lovers, best friend!reader, hopelessly in love!Seb, reader has hair long enough for Seb to “play with” but do with that as you wish, innocent!reader, smut.

WC: 1.8k

A/N: this is just a sweet little smutty one-shot of best friend!Seb realizing you feel the same for him. I didn't delve deep into the smut because to be honest, this has been in my WIP list since the movie came out and I just couldn't be bothered to write more than what's here, yet I hope you'll enjoy it anyway!

Seb’s P.O.V.

“You ready for this? You know we don’t have to watch it, right?” I tried to convince her one more time, and still, she just rolled her eyes and pulled me to the sofa next to her. Oh, how I loved to feel her smaller frame tightly pressed against mine.

“Don’t be silly, of course I want to watch it. I’ve seen everything you’ve ever done, I can’t let one slightly scarring movie keep me away from this long standing tradition.” It warmed my heart to think that she’d been doing this way before we even met.

I kissed her temple before adjusting so her body would rest against my chest, and settled in for the film. I knew it would be an experience, to say the least, watching this with her, so I tried to prepare myself for anything that could happen.

She could end up traumatized and unable to look me in the eye. At the very least, it would certainly serve as ammunition for her to tease me for years to come, and that was one turn of events I could deal with. The first one was my real concern.

So I settled in to watch the movie, because I figured it would be best to be around than to wait for her reactions afterwards. What if she never wanted to see me again? I knew it was just my anxiety coming up with the worst possibilities, but it still scared the crap out of me.

I couldn’t imagine my life without her anymore. And maybe one day I’d grow the courage to tell her about it, but for now, I was perfectly happy just sitting here with her and offering some support when my character started to freak her out.

“Hey, there you are!” She giggled in excitement, pointing at the TV like I wasn’t watching it with her. It made me chuckle, seeing her act like a little kid when it came to me doing my job. God, she was precious.

“Yeah, there I am,” I agreed, leaning over her to deposit a quick kiss against her temple, but much to my surprise all I got was a nudge and a hush. “Are you shushing me?” She finally unglued her eyes from the television to look at me with disappointment all over her features.

“Seb, I love you, but if you keep interrupting the movie, I’m gonna kick you out and there’s nothing you can do about that.” I wanted to point out that if she did, she’d have to watch it by herself and there was no way she’d be able to sleep, but I didn’t want to risk her fury. So I just sat back and pulled her with me, playing with her hair as I watched the story unfold before my eyes.

For whatever reason, I seemed to forget that I looked a bit… different in my role at some point, and as I gained weight before our eyes, she turned around to look at me with a look I couldn’t figure out. It made me nervous.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I had to ask, but she didn’t immediately answer me. I felt embarrassed, it was almost like she was comparing me to the man on the screen, and I didn’t know which one she preferred. 

Could it be that now that she’d seen me like that, she couldn’t unsee it?

“I’ve always thought you looked better when Don wasn’t trying to make you look like some sort of bodybuilder, but this role just confirmed it to me. You’re even sexier with some weight on your body.” 

My cheeks burned, and I didn’t know what to say. So I just cuddled her to me once more, focusing on the screen as I tried to work through my emotions - and there were many. Desire, barely concealed lust, something the hardening member inside my jeans wouldn’t let me forget - but also something warm and comfortable, settling deep inside my chest.

I didn’t want to give it a name. So I just pulled her to me yet again, kissed her temple and pretended to go back to watching the movie, while I waited for her attention to be redirected to it once more. When I was sure she wasn’t noticing me anymore, I got back to analyzing her reactions, chuckling under my breath at the way hers hitched at every little thing, and how she squeezed my thigh when she thought something scary would happen.

And then the car scene started. My muscles immediately froze underneath her, having completely forgotten about this particular part of the movie.

“What’s going on?” She asked, first surprised and then confused. “Is everything okay?” I couldn’t answer her. I couldn’t even look away from the screen, flinching as it developed right before my eyes. It was like my own self-made train wreck: unavoidable and paralyzing.

“Seb…” She reached out for my hand, asking for my attention, and I licked my lips and took a deep breath before turning to give it to her.

“I don’t get it, what’s going on?” I was about to tell her that I was just embarrassed, but the confusion in her eyes as they darted from the TV to my embarrassed self suddenly made sense to me.

“Wait,” I started, holding her jaw so she’d fix her eyes on mine and forget about the movie for a second. “You don’t understand the scene?” She hesitated for a second before nodding, biting her lower lip in that way she did when she was nervous.

It made the warmth inside my chest expand and take over my entire body, shooting straight to my lower belly, where it began to burn. 

Fuck. Who would have thought that she was so innocent?

“Do you want me to tell you?” The question left my lips before I could ponder if my concern came from a valid place - my desire to help her, always. 

But maybe things happened for a reason - maybe it was some sort of ungodly gift the idea of watching this movie together, because as I watched her glance over at the screen again and then lay her eyes on me, I saw it with perfect clarity:

She was aroused by it.

“Or would you like me to show you?” Another question that slipped from my lips unintentionally, another sentence I didn’t regret speaking. This… tension, it had always been here, between the both of us. I’d been too much of a coward to act on it before so if the ball was on my court now, it was time to let it roll.

“’Cause I’d be more than happy to.” With my last reassurance, the thread between us broke, and in a second, we were kissing. Who made the first move, I’d never know. All I cared about was her taste, how sweet she was, and the tiny little whimpers I could hear escaping her when I had to pull back to take a breath.

My body still acting of its own accord, I got up from the couch to take my pants off, hand immediately going to my hardness to release some of the frustration she was causing me. Thankfully, she didn’t seem scared - just hungry, looking at me with doe eyes and biting down on her lower lip before I pulled her closer so that her hand rested over mine.

“Fuck…” I whispered against her neck at the first contact of her hand on my naked dick, but for some reason that was all it took for the spell to break.

“Seb, I can’t…” She pulled away from me, chest still heaving from desire, but I felt so damn guilty I couldn’t even feel good about it. “I can’t do this and then pretend that it didn’t happen.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

His face softened up instead of becoming angry, like I expected it would. “Come.” He got up from the couch, offering me his hand, which I took without second-guessing myself.

His eyes told me everything I needed to know.

He took me to his bed, where he kissed me deeply once again. “Don’t worry, I’ll be patient.” How could I say that I’d let him do anything to me?

Within seconds, I was naked. It was unlike any other similar experience I’d ever lived, and the way he stared at me only had me falling deeper into the cloud of comfort that only Seb could provide me.

“Spread your legs for me, honey.” I did so instinctively, also closing my eyes in nervousness at what was happening.

“Keep looking at me,” he asked, and so I reopened my eyes, finding him staring at my most private spot with hunger in his. “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

Before I could comprehend what was happening, he’d yanked me to the edge of the bed and proceeded to kneel down before me, lips kissing my inner thighs and navel while I panted softly.

“Fuck, I can’t believe that I get to taste you,” he uttered before his tongue stuck out and he did just that… He tasted me, and nothing had ever felt quite as great as that simple gesture.

“How does it feel, sweetheart?” He asked in the midst of attacking my clit with his tongue and lips, the hot muscle swirling over it and making my head spin. “Do you like this?”

“Yes, yes!” I nodded, hand flying down to hold him by the hair and keep him attached to me. “More, I want more.”

“What?” He teased me, the devious thing. “You want what?”

“More,” I insisted, pushing him down so his face would connect with my pussy once more. He didn’t keep up with his pretense and kept on licking me until I saw stars behind my closed eyelids, screaming his name for dear life.

“Kiss me,” I begged breathlessly once I was able to speak again, and he leaned over me to grant me my wish, allowing me to taste myself for the first time in my life.

“You know…” I struggled to find the courage to say what I wanted, but I knew I could trust Sebastian. “When we actually do it, you don’t need to be so gentle…”

He bit my shoulder in response, shaking his head at my antics. I thought I was dreaming, being naked in his bed, having just had the best orgasm of my life.

I wanted to do this for the rest of my life.

“I don’t want to go to sleep tonight,” I confessed, watching as the most beautiful smile opened up in my best friend’s face.

“Lucky for you, there are a ton of things we can do to pass the time.”

[celestialprincesse]

𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧 𝐆𝐨 - 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞

Baths have to be one of your favourite things. There's something about lounging in the epsom salts filled bath, candles flickering about the edge, lights dimmed low and your favourite playlist thrumming quietly through your speaker that puts you on cloud nine.

Ever since your date - since Nikto vowed to fuck you properly - you've been a bubbly, gushy mess of feelings and fluttering in your tummy. To be honest, you're not so sure of the protocol now, of when it's appropriate to try and arrange a second date, or dig through your nightstand for the box of condoms which have probably long since expired. You've always been the one being chased, never the one doing the chasing. It's equal parts frustrating and so utterly thrilling.

What you're not aware of is how much your neighbour is struggling too. He's not sure how much longer he'll last with masturbating to the thought of you, imagining what silly little lingerie you'll wear when he finally takes to to bed, daydreaming of how you'd look under him, those mink lashes fluttering and rolling as he thrusts into you, how you'd whine and mewl at his every word of praise. He's getting desperate. A desperation which he's forcing himself to ignore so as not to frighten you like a stray gunshot with a wild rabbit.

Nikto, eventually gathers his strength, steels himself and forces away the unfamiliar stress he hold up tight in his shoulder blades, his balled fists at his side. The sound of your footsteps pounding down the stairs after only the first firm knock he raps on your door eases his anxiety, the look on your beaming face only serving to dissipate it completely.

"Hi!" You chirp breathlessly, still a little warm from having been mid way through blowdrying your hair.

"Princess." He acknowledges, giving a silent nod to your open door as if to ask whether or not you'll let him in. Not obliging would be foolish.

Your home is still uncharted waters to him, as is the way you take his hand so easily to guide him into the kitchen. So bold, so wonderfully eager to play house. "I bought Russian grey tea." A box is waved before his eyes, although he's far more interested in the lovely bashful smile you wear as you prance about the kitchen to flick on the kettle. "You're very thoughtful. Thank you." The thickly accented rumble of his voice sends shivers rocketing up your spine - shivers which he fails to miss.

Before you can even register, he's at your back, a massive hand coming to brush through the still silky blowout you'd managed to perfect on your hair. From the absolute reverence in his eyes, you're pretty sure the imposing Russian in your kitchen likes it too. "Pretty." He admires, breaking the comfortable silence descended upon the two of you. "You did this yourself? The hair?" The clinking of a teaspoon against the side of the pink porcelain mug accompanies the sound of the little hum you give, not registering the way you lean into his hand.

There's a vague feeling in the back of your head that tells you to create some distance, to pull away from the unbearably gentle fingers tracing patterns into the nape of your neck. You don't want to. You don't think you possibly could.

"With the blowdryer." You nod, turning in place to face him, the countertop digging into the small of your back. Nikto's arm doesn't leave its spot on your neck. He only brings his thumb up to trace that spot where your jaw and ear meet which has you weak in the knees, blinking up at him with hazy, unseeing eyes.

He gives a little grunt of acknowledgement at your answer, leaving you blushing as he doesn't even try to hide his crystalline stare, eyes blue as the deepest, coldest of lakes. Drowning in him would be such a lovely way to go.

You don't even recognise the way you lean forward until you're practically nose to nose, fingers twitching at the bottom hem of his mask. Begging silently for access. The desperation you're feeling is nothing short of all encompassing. Tunnel vision. You haven't even realised the way your chest is tight with a held breath, your dignity barely hanging on by a thread.

When your hand is so gently pushed away, you feel that thread snap.

Or at least you think you do, until Nikto has you by the hips, hoisting you up onto the counter before rolling the worn cotton of his mask to the bridge of his cooked nose.

The moment his lips find yours, you drown. You let yourself sink into the comfort of his presence, the warmth of his hands, the tide that refuses to stop from pulling you to him. The eagerness with which you kiss him back fills Nikto with an odd sense of pride, and the little mewl he manages to pull from your throat when his fingers curl coaxingly around the back of your neck turns him on. A lot.

You melt under his attention like butter in a pan, purring with his every touch like a kitten in a sunny spot. You're filled with nothing short of pure bliss, and you're convinced that Nikto is the only man to have ever provided you with such a feeling. Your every emotion has spilled out onto the floor, and Nikto laps it up like a man starved.

You're a mess of lips and tongues, cherry lipgloss smeared down his chin, legs hooking around his waist as your hands grip the back of his mask. Vaguely, you can feel one of his hands just above the hem of your skirt, fingers digging in to the meat of your thigh. You'd be thankful for any souvenir of this moment, bruise or not.

The sound of your ragged pants fill your tiny kitchen, his nose brushing against your earlobe as he crouches slightly to turn his attention onto your neck. The way you tip back your head against the cupboards to give him more space doesn't go unpunished as he nips and licks and sucks exploratively, his hand still firm around your thigh.

Eventually, painfully, the lusty haze settled over your kitchen is broken as he pulls back for air, and you sit in a wordless daze on the counter.

It's impossible for your mind to wrap around what the fuck just happened, but it's trying, running at a mile a minute to catch up with your body and the situation at hand.

"Anyways," He shrugs, as though he hasn't just had you like putty in his palms. "I will pick you up tomorrow afternoon. We will go out. Do not wear stupid shoes, okay princess?"

You gawk silently at him, choking on your words like a fish out of water.

"Also, your fence is broken. I'll fix it."

The minute he's gone from your kitchen, having taken a bit of your heart with him like a thief in the night, you're slumping back against the counter with a sigh of sheer girlish infatuation. "Wait - my shoes aren't stupid!" You yell uselessly into your already empty house.

PicNik unlocked 🤭 Sorry for the wait! I'm back now! I think! Maybe!

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

S/O and skeleton are secretly dating but haven't told Skeleton's brother yet. Until one day, S/O comes to Skeleton's house and says that they forgot their underwear and give them to him, right in front of his brother. Reaction of their brother?

Undertale Sans - He does the dramatic slow turn towards Papyrus, completely in shock. You're dating someone and you don't even tell your big brother? Oh shame on you. Shame on your cow. You're getting a hundred years of teasing as a punishment. Papyrus refuses to meet his eyes. He KNOWS what will happen the second he will.

Undertale Papyrus - Today is Papyrus' day. Well, every day is Papyrus day but this particular day is the day of his absolute triumph over the tyranny of Sans' terrible jokes and puns as the universe had finally given him the power to retaliate by making Sans blush to hell with a single stare. He is going to abuse that power and flush Sans for weeks, not leaving him one second of peace anymore. Papyrus knows and he wants Sans to know he knows by any means possible.

Underswap Sans - He's in shock, he thinks. He suspected his brother was in love because Honey was not exactly hiding it, but this? This is a thing no big brother wants to know. Honey is devastated and won't stop apologizing but Blue is frozen. He thinks he hasn't blinked in the last hour, just staring at his brother in disbelief. What.

Underswap Papyrus - He's not that shocked actually. Blue is a charmer and he had a few partners already, some weirder than others. He just assumes it's another weird one lol. No big deal. He still tells his brother he will make sure he doesn't lose his underwear again by writing his name on them just to see Blue brutally flush. Little revenge, you know.

Underfell Sans - Red stares in disbelief, as his brother smooches his human. That's absolutely disgusting. He can't stop staring at the bag with the underwear. Disgusting, really. He has to snap his attention back at his brother as he starts to chuckle. Red gives him a dark stare. "WHAT IS IT BROTHER? JEALOUS MY BIG BONE IS MORE EFFICIENT THAN YOURS? DON'T BE, YOU'LL BE AS TALENTED AS I AM. ... EVENTUALLY." Red gasps, offended. Now he's not disgusted, he's mad!

Underfell Papyrus - He opens the door and screams "FINALLY MY BROTHER IS NOT A VIRGIN ANYMORE" before Red jumps on his back and starts to beat him up to make him shut up. Edge can't stop laughing hysterically at his misery, not feeling remorse for even one second. That's revenge for his endless teasing the first time he dated someone.

Horrortale Sans - .... He closes his eyes and begs his brain to forget what he just witnessed. Ironically, that's one of the few things he can't unsee. Like, never. Every time he sees his brother, he sees his underwear. This is a nightmare. Why does the universe hate him so much? Willow is wondering why his brother is looking at him in complete silence like a rabbit stuck in the lights of a car. It's going to happen a lot in the next few days.

Horrortale Papyrus - He says nothing when it happens, but is quick to escape the house. He runs to Toriel's house and tells her everything lol. He needs someone to fangirl with and Toriel has always been good for that. When Oak and his human get out of the house, he can only stare, confused, as Willow and Toriel are more or less hiding behind the bushes despite being ridiculously tall, spying on him.

Swapfell Sans - He rolls his eyes at Rus, annoyed. It's not the first time it has happened and it certainly won't be the last. He has pity for this new human who will have their heart broken eventually like the twenty or so before.

Swapfell Papyrus - Rus chokes on what he was drinking, then slowly turns to his brother, who is bright purple. Nox is very secretive about his relationships and he for sure didn't expect that to occur. Rus is never letting him hear the end of this after that accident. Nox knows his peace is over forever.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He lost his inferior jaw, quite literally. Coffee is embarrassed, but actually not that shy anymore. WHAT?! What the hell happened? He has the best spying tools on the continent and he didn't see his brother was in a relationship. How blind he is? He's questioning all his skills right now. Also what the hell, his brother is in a relationship! That's terrible!

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Coffee says nothing, trying to not let the thoughts win. But they won anyway and he suddenly screams "wait, does that mean you didn't wear underwear when you got home? how did you not notice????" before blushing furiously when Wine looks his way and teleporting out of panic into his room to hide in his wardrobe in shame lol.

[raayllum]

It took me a little while, but I finally had time to review seasons 2-3 of The Dragon Prince on IMDB (under chaoticgoodthiefling) so I'm here to say that I would love to see your take on on Rayllum breaking both their promises in S7 in fic form! (or one of them keeping their promise, the other breaking it, whatever you wanna do) - if you're still doing the review fic-athon, that is. If not, nw!

I would be more than happy to do a fic-athon for each season if you'd like, so for whichever one I didn't do (aka Callum's) I might keep it for Snake Boi Callum Week on the 17th and shore it up then <3 learn more about review fic-athon here

Somehow, they manage to make it back to camp.

Soren helps her walk, and Ezran bandages the cut on her cheek, her eyes as red as the blood on his too-tiny fingers. She explains what happened in a hoarse whisper as near as she knows it—her silk-wings vanishing while in pursuit of Claudia, sending her tumbling, her head smashing open on the rock, Callum crying as the shadows began to cloak them, asking her to stay, asking her to forgive him—Rayla blinking blearily as Soren and Ezran had crashed through the bramble just in time to see Callum, eyes all black and mouth unsmiling, place the cube in Aaravos' outstretched palm, because she was too weak to stop him, only bruises and blood to show for her troubles, her blades unable to follow through.

You promised, Callum had rasped before he'd said the spell.

But even then, that hadn't been his last words. One last kiss to her forehead. I love you. I'm sorry.

And they won't be his last words, Rayla thinks stubbornly as they regroup at the Silvergrove. The tea Ethari prepared for her is going cold, him and Ez and Soren discussing things—Callum—in the other room. Giving her time to recuperate. Like she needs it. What she needs is her—

"Rayla."

Runaan sits down in the chair across from her, his lips pursed, eyes guarded.

She sighs and gives up on ever drinking the tea, nudging the ceramic mug towards her father instead. Runaan gives it a dubious sniff and then takes a sip.

"What?" she asks tiredly when he makes a face and sets it down; he's always liked weaker rather than stronger tea.

"Your... human. Is what the others say true? He's—not himself?"

She snorts even as her eyes sting, Runaan's uncharacteristic gentleness crushing her heart into even more pieces. Oh, you have a nicer word for it, for being possessed? Corrupted. Soren and Ezran hadn't even known Callum had cured himself—that he'd chosen to throw it all away, and for what? For her? "For now," she says. "We're..."

She curls in on herself.

If Aaravos ever controls me again, if he uses me, promise me you'll kill me.

I promise.

Her fist in Runaan's face, closer than they sat together now, reminding him that You taught me to never break my promises!

"I'm scared, Runaan," she admits, the words feeling unholy—blasphemous—this deep in the heart of the Silvergrove, even with her trial behind her. "What if he—" she chokes back a sob. "What if he's gone?"

Runaan stares at the tea and then at her, cerulean blue eyes more than contemplative. Maybe sad? "Do you truly believe that? I thought I was gone, in the Moon Nexus. You convinced me otherwise."

"But you were just trapped with dark magic. He's..." Become it, all ashy and smoky, the stark white in his hair. The unseeing red in his eyes. Like the corrupted banthers that had almost eaten them on more than one occasion. She tugs on her hair. "At the Starscraper, they told us that if he ever did it again, he'd be corrupted—overwhelmed, completely. That there'd be nothing left. And now..."

She wipes stubbornly at her eyes. "He made me promise, Runaan. That I'd kill him if it ever happened. Now it has, and I..."

"Do you want to kill him?" Runaan asks plainly.

Rayla recoils. "What? Of course not. I love him."

"Then perhaps that is your answer."

Rayla stares at him this time. "It is not that simple. Aaravos—"

"Rayla."

Her father reaches across the table for her hand, his thumb stroking over the inside of the wrist, where he'd bound her long ago. Sometimes the joint still aches; if Callum hadn't hatched Zym, and Zym hadn't removed it when they did, the binding probably would've claimed her hand anyway.

Runaan gives her wrist a gentle squeeze. "When you were growing up, I fashioned you into my little blade. You were eager for it, and I was a suitable whetstone—I thought it was the best way to protect ourselves. To protect you. But you were not made to be an assassin, and I am sorry if I have ever made you feel like it is your greatest weakness instead of your greatest strength. At the time, I did not know better; I do now. That boy loves you, and you love him. Yes, you may kill him, and save the world—but will it be a world you want to live in, afterwards? What do you want when this is all over?"

"I..."

She knows, of course. Walks in the garden. Moonberry surprise by the square. His hand, warm and wrapped around her fingers. It's all she's ever wanted: a life with the boy in peacetimes that she could've had all along, if she'd just...

"I kept my promise to kill a king, and I have regretted it each day since," Runaan says. "If I had broken it, and listened to you, we would've been better for it. I would have, too. Trust yourself, and trust him. If your situations were reversed—when they were—what would he do? What do you want to do?" He levels her with an even, steady stare. "What feels right?"

Rayla blinks back a fresh wave of tears. "Saving him," she says, "of course, but—"

"Then Ethari and myself will stand by you," he says, "as you do just that."

Her chair scrapes against the floor as she rises, throwing her arms around her father; Runaan hugs her back tightly. "Thank you," she mumbles into his chest, her heart feeling lighter than it had in years.

He takes her by the shoulders when they pull away, a small smile playing over his lips. "Now, what do you say we join the crownguard and the young king, and decide on what to do next to save your mage, hm?"

[bicycleboyblog]

super curious about the inspirations behind the Senator and Mary, if you'd like to share

Dang I love this question. Well, once you see it, you'll never unsee. :)

The Senator was inspired by The Batter (OFF), Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing (Hellsing) and Mathis Quigley (Unsounded).

The inspiration from Hellsing is hard to ignore, but I was in love with Integra immediately. She was the first lady character I ever saw wearing men's clothes, with a macho, boxy silhouette, who was in charge of everything. Growing up I hardly made female characters because all the bullshit in life and in stories made me think they couldn't do anything. It's stupid lies and horseshit, but hell. People still think that way, hey? Where do you think they learn it from.

But yeah, a masculine, powerful woman who goes by "Sir"?

Sign me the fuck up.

Then there's The Batter (left); an unstoppable, stone-faced, murderous freak obsessed with purifying the world. His manifesto and off-putting personality directly inspired the Senator. Indeed, there's a line in Chapter 8 that references this. Quigs was mostly visual inspo. I love his platinum hair, razor sharp jaw, and fashionable glasses. :]

There's also probably a little something in there from Alucard (Hellsing, again), and the general horrors of living in a world controlled by detached wealthy assholes who will stop at nothing to destroy all meaningful human connection and control our lives.

Mary, on the other hand, was inspired by the art of my dear friend Dreorcaul. She has a plethora of powerful masculine lady OCs, but one in particular, the gargantuan General Zafim (below, center) of The Sunless Children, set my heart on fire. I thought, well. I want one, too!

Later down the line, I read Satoru Noda's insane 1800s war manga Golden Kamuy, and though I hate the guy, the sniper Ogata (right) made for a bone-chillingly creepy antagonist.

Lieutenant Tsurumi (left) was the biggest influence on Mary's character otherwise. His fiery passion, competence, brutality, and inappropriate closeness to his soldiers were all traits I gave her. I know you might think his scar is, too, but that has another story.

At work I met a middle aged woman with a delicate scar on her face. It was a faint, pale splash radiating out from her nose. I just, I thought she was so beautiful, and Mary was always meant to be hauntingly gorgeous. I guess she came to mind.