#Drunken fish ramblings

[meowmeowuchiha]

Man....I should get back into fish keeping...

I still have a (sorta) pair of Betta persephone...but I need more....motivation? Enthusiasm? Both? To do much more.

[munsonify]

blurb idea !! johnny storm and the song bed chem 🙂‍↕️ also congrats on turning 21 soon ! xx

heard loud and clear 🙂‍↕️ and thank you!! xx

bed chem - johnny storm x fem!reader

summary. who knew you’d run into the johnny storm and manage to get him into bed within the week?

content warnings. 18+ smut mdni, hookups, doggy, pet names (baby), praise, johnny calling r gorgeous. not proofread

word count. 854

———

you remember the night you met johnny well. he was unmistakable, even in the dark of night. you were stumbling back home after a night out, the tiniest dress on your figure. the conversation your friends had going on was pushed to the side the moment he caught your eyes. you seemed to catch his, too, big blue eyes flickering down your body, eyeing you up much like you were him. while you were debating saying something, he did instead, silencing your friends almost immediately.

johnny called you beautiful in a soft, smooth voice that had your heartbeat quicken. his eyes didn’t leave yours, though when they did, it only briefly gazed down to your chest. he seemed in a hurry, like he had things to tend to, so you wouldn’t dare keep him any longer than you had to. that’s why you grabbed ahold of one of his large hands after fishing out a black sharpie from your bag, writing your number on the back of it, before sending him on his way.

long after your friends teasing and shocked rambles, and your slightly drunken walk home, you found yourself laying in bed in your own amazement. you’d just given johnny storm, one of new yorks finest, your phone number. you let your mind swirl with thoughts about the man, thoughts that didn’t take long to drift towards sexual. there was no denying you were far more curious about how he is in bed, and you wanted nothing more than to figure it out.

johnny called you that next morning. he didn’t ask you for a date, or to hang out, or to even meet up late one night. he simply spoke to you. you didn’t mind it, not entirely. that didn’t mean you couldn’t be a little disappointed. what made up for it was the phone call you received the next morning, the same time as before. that entire week, he called you at 7 AM on the dot, asking you about your life, your hobbies, your aspirations. he sounded genuinely interested.

by the end of the week, the early saturday morning call gave you two bits of information about the man. the first thing you learned was that johnny had been out of town for the past few days with reed. he’d been working with other astronauts across the country on something you didn’t quite understand. the second thing you learned was that he was leaving this morning, and he was desperate to see you. all of your late night pillow thoughts and your after-call daydreams were now, hopefully, becoming a reality.

after giving johnny your address and your apartment number, you spent the rest of the day pacing. you had the day off like always, your 9-5 gave you your precious weekend off. you’d kindly declined your friends invitation to hang out that night, and spent the rest of your morning cleaning. then, again, you paced.

that’s how, later that night, you found yourself bent over on your bed, undressed and a moaning mess beneath johnny. he was everything you’d hoped for, and you wondered if you somehow manifested this in a way. it’s not like you could wonder for long, though, not with the way he held onto your hips like a lifeline. your hands clung to the sheets beneath you, fingers digging into it like it was going to disappear under your grasp.

“just as beautiful as the night i met you,” johnny whispered into your ear, body leaning over yours, hips snapping at the most perfect pace. “couldn’t stop thinking about you, about this- shit!”

the way he stretched you out was delicious. a hand of his reached up to yours, tugging it down to feel the bulge he left in your lower stomach as he thrusts into you. his moans echoed in skull, name falling from his lips like a prayer. your mind was rather torn. on one hand, johnny had you writhing against the bed, fucking you against the mattress. your inner thighs were slick with arousal, lips kissed swollen and spit coated, neck littered with lies. on the other, he was whispering the sweetest things to you. things that were contradicting every dirty thing you two were doing tonight.

“sound so pretty when you moan,” johnny croaks, hips snapping a little more irregular now.

you could tell he was close, and so were you. you gathered enough willpower to keep yourself from your orgasm, just until you knew he was ready. your orgasms washed over each other in unison. so much for you sounding pretty when you moan, his were just as gorgeous. his hand stayed on yours as you two cum together, your eyes squeezing shut as you savor it, back arching uncontrollably.

this was too good to be just a one night thing. there was no way you’d let him slip away from you this easily, not when you two fell into such a good rhythm. and with the way johnny was panting behind you, lips pressing against your shoulder blade sweetly, you had a feeling he’d be back over again soon.

[reveryfics]

Under The Influence

Tony Stark x Male Reader

Summary: Tony sends you a drunken text, asking you to pick him up from one of the high end bars.

A/N: Kind of surprised I haven't done anything with Tony among others yet. Requests open.

The fluorescent lights hum above you, a relentless buzz that mirrors the frantic rhythm in your temples. You're hunched over Tony's paperwork, a mountain of neglected forms and reports that seem to multiply with every passing minute. It's late, far too late for a workday, but here you are, shouldering the burden of his procrastination, again. Your eyes strain, the words blurring, when your phone vibrates against the polished surface of the desk.

It's a text from Tony. A single, curt message: "Pick me up. The usual." You recognize the name of the bar instantly, one of those high-end establishments where the drinks are as extravagant as the clientele, and Tony's presence is a regular fixture. A wave of frustration washes over you, a familiar tide of resentment mixed with a weary acceptance. You know what this means. You know the drill.

You fish for a set of keys, the weight of them heavy in your hand. It's one of Tony's cars, a sleek, expensive machine that feels out of place in your grasp. The drive to the bar is a blur, a series of streetlights and passing cars that barely register in your consciousness. Your mind is already occupied with the task ahead, the inevitable cleanup that awaits.

The bar is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of expensive liquor and perfume. You spot Tony immediately, slumped at the bar, his speech slurred and his eyes glazed. The bartender, a woman with tired eyes and a practiced smile, seems genuinely relieved to see you. She nods, a silent acknowledgment of the routine, as you approach Tony.

"Tony," you say, your voice firm but low. He barely registers your presence, muttering incoherently. You wrap an arm around him, supporting his weight as you guide him out of the bar, his protests a muffled whine against your ear. He's plastered, completely and utterly gone. You manage to steer him into the car, his limbs heavy and uncooperative.

The drive back to his apartment is silent, save for Tony's occasional drunken ramblings. You park the car, help him out, and guide him to his room. The familiar ritual begins. You help him shed his expensive clothes, the stench of alcohol clinging to him like a second skin. It's a routine you've become intimately acquainted with since becoming his assistant. Each time, a new layer of frustration builds, a silent scream trapped within you.

You usher him into the shower, the warm water a temporary reprieve from the haze of intoxication. He protests, his voice a low grumble, but you persist. You wash his hair, his skin, the alcohol-soaked grime of the night. You dress him in clean pajamas, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the disheveled state he was in moments before.

Finally, you guide him to his bed, tucking him in like a child. Just as you turn to leave, his hand shoots out, gripping your wrist with surprising strength. He pulls you down, onto the edge of the bed, his grip tightening.

"You," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep and alcohol. "You're… good." He starts rambling, a disjointed monologue filled with half-formed thoughts and slurred words. He refers to you as "his assistant," the title a constant reminder of the professional boundary that separates you.

He confesses, in his drunken state, how he feels about you. He speaks of your patience, your efficiency, your unwavering support. He acknowledges your frustration, the silent sighs and exasperated glances you try so hard to conceal. He talks about his drinking, the self-destructive spiral he can't seem to escape. He apologizes, his voice laced with a genuine remorse that catches you off guard. He says he needs you, just to be near him, in any capacity.

You sit there, listening, your heart pounding in your chest. The words are a jumbled mess, but the sentiment is clear. You reach out, your fingers tracing the lines of his face, gently pushing his hair back from his forehead. You play with his hair, the soft strands sliding through your fingers. You sigh, a mixture of relief and trepidation. "Tony," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "I feel the same way."

[cybersvoid]

❥ A Pirates Treasure ii

──⇌••⇋──

♡ Pairings: Dabi x Reader

Summary: Captain Dabi’s crew accidentally caught a creature they never thought existed outside of drunk rumors pirates would spread amongst each other, yet here you are, a mermaid. So cute and frightened. Such a rare find, he can’t let you slip away.

Parts : i

ღ Warnings | AU, Nudity, Scars, Sexual Tension, Almost Kiss, Drunken Shenanigans, Implied Growing Obsession, etc.

Do not repost my work anywhere. If you see anyone reposting or copying my work please let me know. Thank you!

──⇌••⇋──

Captain stood there in shock at the sight before him. When he left he was absolutely positive you had a tail, yet here you were, sitting right where he left you, only now you had legs. He had always heard the stories. The topic would come up at least once no matter the country, no matter the port or the pub. Women, who were half fish, with the ability to look like humans. With enough beauty to strike a man down with a single glance. He always just assumed they were nothing more than stories—the drunk ramblings of desperate and lonely sailors.

However, years at sea had only fed his intrigue. On sleepless nights, he would stare out over the waves, hoping to catch a fleeting glimpse of the creatures described in books from ships he had raided, and murmured legends. Still, he never truly believed. Not until now.

Yet, here you sat. You were no myth. You were real. You were absolutely stunning. The pictures and stories truly did not do your beauty justice. He just couldn’t believe that after all these years of hearing about your kind, he finally had one of his own in his grasp.

“Did you know you could do this?” He questioned staring at your new legs among… other parts, to which you shook your head.

“They told us stories, but I didn’t think it was possible anymore.”

“Well, I think this calls for a celebration, don’t you?” he grinned, pulling out a dark bottle from behind his back, “I take it you’ve probably never had rum before?”

“Rum?”

“Yeah, but put this on first. I won’t be able to focus for shit” He mumbled, removing his overcoat and then taking off his shirt, leaving him half bare revealing a lean frame etched with scars. You didn’t think much of it. It was perfectly common in your kind to not cover your top halves, but you’ve never seen anyone with so many markings before. They covered his skin in an intricate pattern. Your eyes were locked on them before he spoke up. “Arms up.”

You obeyed, lifting your arms as he slipped his shirt over your body. Fingers accidentally grazing your sides on the way down, causing you to jolt, and him to mutter a barely audible apology. It was long on you, easily falling down to your mid-thigh.

When the shirt was on, he stepped back, taking in your form before walking over to his desk by the window and pulling two glasses out of a drawer. “This is a delicacy so don’t spill any.”

You were confused, as he handed you a glass filled with barely enough liquid to cover the bottom of the cup. “Drink it. Quick and easy—it burns less that way.” 

With a wary glance, you tipped the glass back, the fiery liquid searing your throat. You erupted into a coughing fit as captain chuckled, pouring another splash into your glass, despite how frantically you shook your head. “It gets easier. Trust me.”  He insisted.

“My… my body feels warm.”

“That means it’s working. Take some more.”

“What is this?”

“It’s like medicine. Help’s clear your head a bit. Now, will you stop asking questions and just drink it?”

Reluctantly, you drank again, and again, the warmth spreading through your limbs, as captain kept refilling your glass. Taking swigs of his own, to match your pace, but he didn’t seem as nearly affected by the drink as you were. It wasn’t long before the room began to tilt slightly, your head was spinning just a bit, and you couldn’t help but feel less nervous around the once very intimidating man.

“Captain, are you the leader of your kind?” You questioned as you continued to drink together emboldened by the haze in your mind.

“You can say that. They do fear me, and not just the men on my ship,” he pondered, “And it’s Dabi. Captain, is just what my men call me. What do they call you?”

“Y/N. My name is Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N... to new friends.” He stated, clinking his glass against yours, and taking a swig. 

‘New friends.’ With those two simple words, your barely competent mind was able to remind you of why you were in this mess in the first place. Humans probably killed your friend Izuku, and here you were in close proximity to one, acting as if everything was normal.

“Now, c’mon princess, why do you have such a glum look on your face? We're supposed to be celebrating.”

You took a small sip out of your glass, before speaking., You didn’t want to pour out all your feelings to the man you just met, but you also weren’t able to hold yourself back due to the rum loosening your tongue. “My friend, he went missing a while ago, and I guess I’m just worried. He said… he said he would be right back, but he wasn't. What if bad humans got him? Wha-What if…?” You couldn’t even finish your sentence as tears began streaming down your face, the thought of your closest friend being murdered making you unable to continue.

Dabi was quiet, seeming to pick up what you meant regardless of the unfinished sentence. So you were worried about your little friend? That made sense. It wasn’t hard for him to notice that you associated his kind with death. The questions you asked him when you first met made that fact obvious. Not to mention the caution laced across your frame with every movement he made. He thought that the liquor would help ease some of that tension, but apparently, it’ll take more than that to help calm you.

“Why are you assuming he’s gone? One of your kind is much more valuable alive than dead. I’d say he’d probably be auctioned off to the highest bidder for someone to cash in on.” He seemed to think long and hard about this fact before continuing, “You know there’s a town with an auction held once a month not too far from here. If he was captured he was probably taken there. How about we dock for a bit, and take a look around?”

He saw your expression brighten ever so slightly “Really? Y-you mean it?”

“Sure, but you’ll have to do me a favor in return.” You felt your unease grow as you awaited his proposal “My men are suffering, we’re all running on fumes, and in order to make the journey to this town, and to afford lodging and food when we get there, we’ll need supplies.”

“B-but I don’t have anything to give you.” 

“On the contrary princess, you’ll play the most important role of all in this plan. You’re going to be our scout.”

“Scout?” You questioned curiously.

“Yep, you’re going to go swim out ahead, and find more humans like us. You don’t have to interact with them. You just gotta come back and tell us where they are. Then, we’ll handle the rest. Do you think you can do that?”

You pondered over his proposal. Even if you wanted to go to this place all on your own, you doubt you would make it far without giving yourself away. It was too dangerous, so going with another human was definitely the safest option. All you had to do was help him find other humans and he would help you find Izuku. It seemed like an easy enough trade. However, you still had a bit of unease about one detail in particular.

“Will you sell me?”

The question seemed to catch the man completely off guard looking at you with pure confusion. “Sell you?”

“You said we’re going to this place, and that my kind is worth a lot of money. How do I know you won’t turn around and sell me?”

A small smirk made its way across his face at your newfound confidence. Maybe the liquor was helping afterall, because he couldn’t imagine the timid little mermaid from earlier being so straightforward. “I suppose you don’t. But can’t I say the same thing? How do I know that the second I release you into the ocean you won’t take off? How do I know you even have a missing friend?” He didn’t even give you a chance to answer before continuing, “I don’t. I’m going to have to trust you. The same way you are going to have to trust me.”

Truth be told Dabi knew your friend wasn’t made up. Being a pirate isn’t easy work, and he’s developed a few crucial skills while climbing his way to the top. One of those skills was being able to detect when people were lying. Small tells that would normally go unnoticed, and he could say with certainty that you exhibited none of them when telling your story. However, he had a point to prove.

Not to mention he would be a fool if he ever sold off something as valuable as you to some lowlifes in that crappy town. And you’re not just valuable gold-wise. You possessed capabilities that would be incredibly beneficial to him. Plus, you were easy on the eyes. It did get awfully lonely being out at sea for long periods of time. The two of you could end up having a lot of fun together.

“...okay, I’ll trust you,” you whispered hesitantly.

Dabi grinned extending his hand towards you. “Now we just made a deal, so we gotta shake on it, so put your hand in mine.”

Slowly, you obeyed, grabbing ahold of his hand as he shook them up and down. It was a silly gesture causing you to laugh a bit.

“How are you liking the new legs?”

“They’re a bit weird,” you answered, wiggling your toes a little. 

Dabi brought his hand over, trailing his fingers on your skin, causing you to flinch at the sudden touch. But he didn’t waver, continuing to trail even higher, stopping mid-thigh, just before the hem of his shirt. The motion caused a strange tickling sensation causing you to rub your legs together. “Need a lesson on how everything works?”

“No, it’s okay.” You appreciated that he wanted to help, but you weren’t sure how well you’d be able to walk in your current state considering how much the room continued to sway.

He took a long sip from his glass, the slightest grin gracing his face before it quickly vanished. "My loss,” he shrugged. He closed his eyes, leaning back slightly and stretching his neck in a circular motion. The movement had emphasized the muscles in his upper arms and chest causing your eyes to lock back in on his scars. You didn’t realize he had caught you staring until he spoke up.

“Ya wanna touch ‘em?”

Embarrassed at having been caught, you quickly looked down at your glass and shook your head. “N-no it’s okay.”

“C’mon, I won’t bite ya.”

He moved closer to you, his hand intertwining with the hand you held the glass in before pulling it away, and setting it down next to you. He placed a hand on your outer thigh, and another on your lower back before pulling you into him causing you to end up face to face right in his lap. Even with the fabric in the way, you could still feel his touch on your skin.

“Do they hurt?”

“Not so much anymore. Most of ‘em are old,” he explained, reaching for your arm when you didn’t make any indications of moving, trailing his hand down your arm before grabbing your hand, and placing your palm on his chest. “Don’t you guys get scars?”

Your fingers began tracing over the markings on his chest. Your movements were light and gentle even though he told you they didn’t hurt. “We do. I just… I’ve never seen so many on one person before. How did you get them?”

“Ahhh, that’s a story for another day.” The movement of your arm caused the shirt you were wearing to jumble a bit at the sleeve, revealing the new marking you had gotten earlier which he took notice of. The more time he spent with you, the more interesting you became to him. 

You were a bit disappointed he wouldn’t tell you where the scars came from, but you also couldn’t seem to stay focused on it too long, your mind already moving on to the next question. “Do all humans scar this much?”

His hand went up cupping your face and forcing you to look into his eyes before he spoke. “I’m not like other humans.”

He was close now, and he was only getting closer. His nose was brushing against yours. Your lips were now centimeters apart. You could feel his opposite hand on your lower back pulling you in further.

“D-dabi?”

“Mmm?”

“The room… it’s spinning really fast now.”

“What?” He questioned backing up a bit to look at you. The small dizzy feeling you had felt earlier was now unbearable. Your head had suddenly become too heavy for you to hold up on your own as you fell right into his chest. Your body slumped a bit as his hands now focused on holding you steady.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He let out a frustrated sigh as he felt your breathing begin to steady on his chest. Dabi hoisted you into his arms, in one motion. He just wanted to help you loosen up a bit, but it seems like he went a little overboard with the liquor. He set you into his bed and began pulling his blanket over you.

“I don’t want you to get it confused princess, I have every intention of sleeping with you.” He explained, knowing that what he said really didn’t matter considering you were unconscious. “I will sleep with you, but now doesn’t seem like the right time for that.”

Truly he wasn’t the type of guy who concerned himself with the ‘right time’ when it came to sleeping with women. He was a pirate, a damn famous one at that. There are women who would throw themselves at him any chance they got. But you’re not them.

There isn't a doubt in his mind that if he messes things up you’re just gonna attempt to run right back into the ocean you came from, and he can’t have that. He can’t risk you going somewhere he can’t follow when he has so much planned for the two of you. So he’ll continue to try to build your trust, and get you to rely on him. He’ll continue to play nice… for now.

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

Once upon a time, there lived a tale among men, witnessed by anonymous witnesses, whispered to each other, heard from ear to ear, and passed down from generation to generation. Every land has a story—a history. Who were the people who walked these lands long, long ago, before our fathers or those who came before them? No one could be certain of the truth behind this particular tale, and yet the myth persisted and continued to be spread all the same.

Every land has a story, and for the now-modern Blue Lagoon, its own lies dormant within every roll of the waves.

The first to witness it was a fisherman. Initially, his friends believed that he had gone mad, thinking that perhaps the salt water had come to him and affected his brain function, causing him to see things that weren't there. Nevertheless, one fisherman soon grew into two, then three, and eventually enough to share their testimonies. Sightings of "fish" the size and length of humans in open waters.

"Cease this foolish babble! This is the boundless sea before us; what do you expect? Instead of speaking folly, you ought to catch the fish! If it be of such size as it proclaims, surely it will yield great profit," the wives exclaim whenever their husbands begin to speak.

“But, it is not a fish, my heart!” they would always reply, sweat dripping from their faces.

A new argument began, even before dinner. The man vehemently insisted that was not a fish; it couldn't possibly be a fish. Whatever it was… its upper body looked incredibly human, with ten fingers and an unparalleled beauty bestowed upon them by the gods. With their powerful fins, the creature was effortlessly gliding through the dark ocean. The woman, however, refused to believe him, dismissing it as nothing more than the ramblings of drunken men and their wild imaginations. She told him to stop drinking and come straight home after sunset.

And they obeyed. Their wives' words were taken as literal gospel, and whenever their shadows lengthened toward the east, the fishermen hurriedly packed their nets and hooks. The boats were securely bound before they ran and did not look back.

But what good are fathers without their sons? For without children, who is more determined and courageous than they are? People say that a man needs his friends if they are to survive in this world, and that is exactly what the sons did. They learned from the wisdom of their forefathers, who knew better, before carefully slipping away to avoid the worried chatter of their mothers. Then, they ventured far from the "safe" waters.

On their first night of sailing, there was nothing but the ocean's icy night breeze—the threat of hypothermia proving even greater than the mythical tales of the "fish creature." They grumbled as the boat bobbed on the rising tide; the orange of the lanterns illuminated their disappointed faces. The tales of the fish men were absent on the first night.

When the second night came, however, one of the four boys saw it. Shouting loudly, he pointed his index finger at the silver moon on the horizon. “I see it!” he shouted in panic, arousing the curiosity of his peers.

"What?! What did you see?!"

“The creature, the one of which the elders have whispered! It is real, I tell you!”

Unconvinced, one lifted the lantern by the handle, leaned over the edge, and shone the light across the dark blue. Another held him, making sure his grip was tight to ensure that his friend wouldn't accidentally fall overboard. They were about to call out the first shouter’s wild “imagination” until they caught sight of it: the creature itself.

Fins. Long and large, each scale glistening in the pale glow of the moon. The young men backed away as the mysterious creature flicked the tip of its tail, the drops of cold seawater touching their faces bringing a sense of realization.

That they are dealing with the unknown.

As the boat rocked once more, a sudden, ominous sound echoed from beneath the waves—the distinct thud of something striking the wooden hull. They fell silent, holding on to the edge of the boat to maintain their footing. Frightened glances were exchanged as they asked telepathically, What now?

“I wish to return home,” one of the boys said, trembling. “This is madness! We should not have ventured out here!”

"And miss the chance to lay eyes upon this creature? Nay, we've come too far to turn back now, so I say we stay and witness this with our own eyes!" The blonde-haired one turned to another of their group. “Do you still have the spear I asked you to bring?”

The boy in question nodded. Without a moment of hesitation, he reached down and grabbed the sharp weapon, tossing it to his friend to hold.

“Excellent!” the brave one exclaimed as he successfully caught the spear. “Then you, Ademar, turn the boat around, and I shall throw this at the creature once it shows itself again.”

“But what if it does not show itself? What if it flips the boat and drowns us as it has done to the other sailors?!”

The brave youth scoffed, "We are all the sons of fishermen! We know how to swim, do we not? Don't tell me you'll cower in fear over some giant fish?"

“Nay, ‘tis no mere fish, but a witch! A sea witch! We should return to the shore at once!”

Gritting his teeth, the boy turned to his friends, who had lost both their earlier vigor and courage. "Then swim away, you cowards! If you lack the courage to face this creature, then you should not have joined us in the first place!"

The rest of the group had been reluctant, but there was little else to do in the middle of the open ocean—as the sons of fishermen, they knew this. The sea was revered for its vastness and depth. With few options available, they resignedly started rowing the boat, their oars cutting through the water with a steady rhythm. The brave boy stood tall in the center like a triumphant hero, spear in hand, sharp gaze scanning the pitch-black ocean for any sign of the creature.

“Keep your eyes peeled, my friends.”

The boat fell silent, the only sound the harsh lapping of the waves against the wooden hull. Almost everyone held their breath.

Suddenly, a movement caught the attention of the brave boy, and without hesitation, he hurled the spear with all his might—the creature plunged back into the water. Full of confidence, the boy announced that he had it—he had the sea legend right where he wanted it.

“Did it hit?!” one of them asked, voice shaking with adrenaline.

In response, he reached out his hand. “The lantern, quickly!” He accepted it and carried the flickering light over the surface of the waves. The water was cloudy with the unmistakable hue of blood. A victorious smile stretched across the young boy's face. "We have struck it! Quickly, fetch the net! We must retrieve our prize!"

However, the second the net touched the water, human negligence and arrogance were exposed.

The feeling of victory was short-lived and vanished in an instant as he locked eyes with the emerging head of the creature. Under the indifferent moonlight, there is no mistaking the fury on its physiognomy. Gasping in horror, the boy stumbled backwards, his feet slipping as he tried to retreat further into the boat. But he realized fact by fact that their tiny little boat was now surrounded.

By not one, but four of the creatures.

Such an encounter, this is. Two different beings, crossing paths because of the same curiosity. Ending in the same bloodshed. This is, the tale of “mere maids,” “sirens,” or “merfolk.” And also their “victims”—

“You actually believe that crap?”

In an amused tone, Ajax asked his manager, who was driving them through the winding roads of Blue Lagoon – the place he was learning to call home after moving out of Beverly Hills. The midday sun shone high above their heads, but the cold sea wind blew their sweat away.

"About how a whole bunch of kids got drowned by some mermaids? Actually, yeah! The old lady at the bakery won't stop going on about it. Says it's the honest-to-god truth." Cleo said, turning the steering wheel as they reached another turn and headed towards a tunnel.

“You have to stop talking to strangers.”

“Oh, come on. You can’t just move here and not know the local legends. That’s like, the lamest way to live.”

Ajax chuckled. “Well, I’m not here for those. I just wanted some peace and quiet.”

The brown-haired young man rolled his eyes dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, ‘peace and quiet’ after a nasty breakup from your girlfriend of eight years. Come on, Jax, you can’t act like you’re not a little hurt by all that.”

Combing through his ginger-colored hair, Ajax shrugged. “Not really.”

“Seriously?”

“It was just bound to happen.”

“That’s what you always say. Damn, now I’m starting to think maybe you’re the problem after all,” Cleo scoffed, glancing at Ajax for a split second before returning to the road. “It felt like you were always just waiting for things to fall apart. Like you’ve got zero faith in the whole thing working out from the start. When Meredith came along, I really thought she was different—that this time, you'd finally pop the question to her. But then she went and cheated, and instead of hurting you, it seemed like it gave you a way out."

Ajax turned away, staring out at the distant seascape, pretending to admire the view. He wondered if it were that obvious to other people or if it was simply Cleo's sharp observation and their fifteen-year history as artist and assistant. It wasn't like he was interested in feeling this peculiar sense of detachment—to have one foot in and one foot out, expecting the fallout even when he was just starting. Exactly what Cleon had said.

It was as if…

It was as if he was cursed.

"What’re you laughing at?" Cleo asked after hearing his chuckle.

“Nothing.”

The vestiges of his laughter lingered on his handsome face. Cursed. He refused to believe in God, astrology, or karma, but he believed that he was cursed. Ajax revelled in the idea that his failed relationships were the result of a higher power having such a strong disdain for him that he lacked the other half of his heart to genuinely commit and feel a connection with another. His 190 SL made another turn as he thought about this.

After a further ten minutes of driving, he entered the exclusive Coral Bay—the gated community's name engraved onto a large stone, welcoming the jaw-droppingly wealthy residents who could afford to stake their claim on the most prime real estate in all of Blue Lagoon. There were many exclusive enclaves dotting the city and coastline, but Coral Bay was in a tier of its own. Mansions lined the winding, palm-tree-flanked streets, each with its own unique architectural design.

In addition to the renowned country club and the boasted ocean views, Coral Bay offered the most tantalizing of all: an unmistakable class divide between the elite celebrities and old money, and the merely "rich" and the common folk alike.

Cleo pulled up the car in the expansive driveway of Ajax's new house. “Here we are, boss,” he said, killing the engine.

Ajax stepped out of his car, taking in the sight of the big, all-white modern mansion before him. The structure bore a resemblance to his home in Beverly Hills, yet he still hoped that it would bring some change. After all, it was the precise reason why he had moved here—because he wanted something different. A clean slate, away from Meredith Clark and their dramatic separation. Of her begging for him to stay before she started screaming that this was all his fault. Because he’d taken too long to propose—“Eight fucking years, Ajax!”—she was looking for it in another man.

Now, thinking about it, he did consider Cleo's words. But then again, Ajax had zero desire to revive the relationship, so why even bother considering it?

If Meredith expects her dream 16-carat diamond engagement ring from an up-and-coming actor who lives off of supporting roles in movies, then so be it. That's not his problem anymore. He needs to stop taking everything Cleo said as literal gospel.

From behind he heard the trunk closing, then Cleo joined him, shouldering his duffel bag. “So, you thinking of throwing a housewarming party or what?” he asked, eyeing the property with a grin.

Ajax scrunched up his face, waving his hand dismissively. “Don't even think about it,” he said, turning and making his way towards the grand front door.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Ajax dove into the infinity pool that overlooked the private beach and sparkling azure waters of the Blue Lagoon. The cool caress of the water washed away the remnants of the hot summer air, lowering his body temperature to just right. He swam for a few laps as the orange sky was swallowed up and eventually replaced by the star-studded obsidian expanse.

Ajax finished another lap just when Cleo strolled along the poolside, a can of soda in one hand and a towel draped over his arm. The actor surfaced, looking at the younger man.

Cleo crouch down at the edge of the pool. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“One more lap.”

True to his promise, Ajax then emerged from the pool after finishing his swim. Slicking his darkened, ginger-colored hair back, he padded over to where Cleo had settled on one of the plush loungers, towel at the ready.

“So, I heard Itto’s having a party on Friday,” Cleo said casually, taking a sip of his soda.

A heavy sigh escaped Ajax's lips, already knowing where this was going. “And?”

Cleo grinned. “Well, he heard you moved here and wants you to come. It’s gonna be a big one.”

Ajax shook his head. Three words he preferred not in one sentence: Itto, big, party.

“Pass.” He said, watching Cleo’s expression turn.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“But, why? Itto’s a great guy! Funny as hell—"

“He is.” Ajax interrupted.

“—and he has killer music taste!”

“No, he does not. That’s exactly why I don’t want to go. His taste in music is… atrocious.” Ajax did a quick sweep of Cleo from head to toe, then nodded as he came to a conclusion. “But I can understand why you’d say that.”

“Hey!”

That drew an amused chuckle from the actor. Grabbing the towel, Ajax began to dry his hair. “The point is, I’m not going.” He said, curtly, cutting off any further argument before entering the house and enjoying dinner.

Hoping for a good night's rest seemed futile, for Ajax went to bed at 11 p.m. and awoke at 2 a.m. The recurring nightmares now scheduled like routine; painting the deep, lightless blue of the sea behind his closed eyelids, clogging his airways with water he couldn't stop choking on, fattening his lungs with everything but air. By the time he finally woke up, his breathing was erratic and his whole body was drenched in sweat.

Reaching out for a glass of water on the nightstand, Ajax took a long, desperation-filled sip, the water dripping down his bobbing Adam’s apple as he finished it. Setting it down with a small thud!, Ajax hung his head low and took a moment for his dizziness to subside. Once the worst of it had passed, he kicked off his blanket and made his way out of the bedroom.

The floor-to-ceiling windows of the living room let the moonlight shine through, bathing the area in a pale silver glow. At the end of the L-shaped sofa, Cleo reclines, laptop on his lap, but his attention is fixed on the 115-inch television. Ajax approached; the sound of his sandaled feet echoed throughout the room, announcing his presence to the younger man.

Cleo turned to him. “Nightmares again?” He guessed.

Wordlessly, Ajax shrugged, grabbing a slice of pizza that sat on the coffee table before sinking down onto the couch next to Cleo and joining in watching the film. Something of Captain America.

"What did your therapist say? Do they symbolize anything?" Cleo asked.

Ajax takes another bite of the pizza, his expression tired yet relaxed, as if he has become accustomed to his constant sleep disturbance. “She thinks it’s just me feeling overwhelmed or… I don’t know, like I’m not being seen or something.”

Cleo chuckled, shaking his head. "Feeling unseen, huh? I doubt that's the case with you. Your face is all over the world!" He said, then leaned in conspiratorially. "You should totally go see an oneirocritic, Dude! You know, a dream interpreter. My friend used to go, and she'd come back with all these wild insights about her subconscious."

Hearing that, Ajax scoffed. “A what now? Dream interpreter?”

“Yeah! She’d go in, talk to this lady about her dreams, and the lady would be like, ‘Ooh, the ocean symbolizes your fear of intimacy’ or some deep shit like that. It was wild.”

The amused smile on Ajax's face deepened his dimples. “Didn't know you were into all this mystical, new-age stuff, C. First, it's mermaids, now it's dream interpreters?”

“What? I’m just trying to help! You’ve never actually drowned, so it’s probably not PTSD. You don’t have any fear of water or even anything, so it’s gotta be something else, right?”

Without acknowledgement nor denial, Ajax merely laughed and gave Cleo's shoulder a light squeeze. He stood up from the couch's plush cushions, taking one last mouthful before tossing the remainder of the pizza into the box.

“I think I’ll just go for a jog instead. Clear my head,” Ajax said. “Catch you later.”

Ajax made sure to avoid banging his shin into the coffee table and then continued on his way out of the living room. He heard Cleo calling out to him, warning him not to drown. Ajax went back into his room, heading straight to his walk-in closet, and grabbed his tracksuit. Standing in front of the mirror, he pulled down his jacket over his sculpted abs. Then, he stepped into a pair of running shoes.

Strapping his smart watch to his wrist, Ajax glanced absently at his reflection in the mirror—at the dull cerulean that peered back at him.

“Dream interpreter.” Ajax said to no one. Scoffed after.

Turning his shoes, he picked up his phone and his airpods case, and went jogging.

The soothing sound of seagull cries harmonizing with the crashing waves is just part of what makes the Blue Lagoon such a treasure. Back in L.A., the best view is rows of palm trees with burning daylight as a backdrop; the rest is pollution, traffic, people, overpriced drinks, more people, entitled careless drivers, and more entitled careless drivers. For these reasons, Ajax rarely leaves the comfort of his luxurious Beverly Hills home and only goes out when necessary, either to go to the film set, enjoy a rare evening out, or catch a flight out of the country.

But here? Blue Lagoon offered so much. After finishing his morning run, Ajax had returned home, taken a refreshing shower, and managed to get a couple more hours of rest. Now, as his eyes slowly opened and he fully awoke, the view outside his window was a tempting, bright, sunny day.

A grunt escaped his lips as he hoisted his surfboard onto the roof of his G-Class, securing it in place with a reassuring click. Watching the scene, Cleo approached, eyeing the setup with eyebrows furrowed in a curious way.

“Where you go off to?” he asked.

“The beach.” Ajax gives the board one last tug to ensure it is stable.

Cleo’s brows shot up to the sky. “You’re actually gonna surf?”

“Yeah, got a problem with that?”

“Nah, just… kinda reminds me of this one anime where the guy surfs and ends up drowning.”

Behind the disguise of his sunglasses, Ajax rolled his eyes, the edge of his mouth twitching in annoyance. “I'm not gonna fucking drown, alright?” He hit Cleo's chest with the side of his fist, knocking the breath out of him.

Cleo clutched at his chest, coughing slightly. “Okay, okay, island boy. Jeez…”

Ajax chuckled, shaking his head. “You coming or what?”

“Nah, I’ll just watch over the house. You have fun out there, surf god.”

Muttering a "whatever you say" under his breath, Ajax then hopped into the driver's seat of the wagon. With a rev of the engine, he pulled out of the driveway, leaving Cleo babysitting the house. The sound of local radio filled his journey to the nearest public beach.

“And that was ‘Style’ by the one and only Taylor Swift, folks! Hope you’re all enjoying this beautiful day out there in the Lagoon. Remember, the annual surfing competition is coming up next weekend, so make sure to get your tickets if you haven’t already!”

His pearly white teeth peeking out when he grinned. “Fun.” he commented to no one.

Upon arriving at the beach parking lot, Ajax spotted an old sedan reversing out of the parking lot. After waiting about three minutes, it drove away, and he maneuvered his wagon into the vacant spot. He slammed the door, grabbed his surfboard, and passed a series of fans asking for photos, getting him to sign their surfboards, and others trying to pry out information about his upcoming movies. His NDA was a hefty fine, so he compensated with a faint smile before heading for the beach.

It is really a public beach. Families with sun-kissed children squealed as they played in the shallow waters, couples strolled hand-in-hand along the sand, a group of very loud teenagers, Insta babes, and Insta avoiders. In a way, this was a welcome sight. The more people there were, the less likely he would draw unwanted attention. Another face in the crowd.

Hoisting his board and bag in his other hand, he searched around and finally claimed a spot on the sand. He unpacked his gear, laying it down to mark his territory. After drinking a large liter of water, he set it down before sprinting towards the open water.

Ajax wouldn't call himself a professional surfer, because he is not. If he were, he might have pursued it as a career path rather than becoming an actor. Though he's always had a deep appreciation for the sport, and anytime he is close to the ocean, it is the first thing that comes to mind. He can do a few decent tricks here and there. Nothing too fancy, but enough to impress someone. When an Olympic surfing athlete acquaintance suggested this top-of-the-line board, he didn't hesitate to invest in it.

Anemo-carried cool water droplets touched his face as he waded into the salty embrace of the ocean. The long, smooth swells of the waves caressed his skin, lifting the weight from his shoulders and buoying his board. Cerulean hues surrounded him as the thump of hip-hop music playing on the shore started to fade. He felt the scorching heat of the loyal sun on his back as he positioned himself for the incoming wave.

With a powerful stroke of his arms, he pushed himself to his feet, balancing his body and footing while controlling the direction of his board. The spray of water left ghosts of kisses on his freckled skin, and for the first time in a long time, Ajax laughed with joy.

He repeated the paddling phase – riding the wave – and fell into the water until his throat was dry from the saltwater. Digging his board into the sand, he trotted to his spot and grabbed his water bottle. He let out a satisfied sigh, looking at the blue sky. What a perfect day.

Until his moment of peace was interrupted by a firm slap on the back. Instinctively, his mind was ready to retaliate, but he stopped when his eyes landed on the recognizable face of Itto Arataki. Just great. He could already guess what kind of conversation they were about to have.

“Hey, man!” Itto exclaimed in his booming voice.

Ajax hid the sting of Itto's “bro” slap behind a half-smile. “Oh, it’s you. Hey, man.”

The bigger man responded with his wider one, his canines peeking behind his lips. "Never thought I'd see you here. What's up?"

“Just here to surf, actually.”

Itto's eyes widened. "Aw man, didn't know you surf too! That's awesome!" He took a deep breath, his chest puffing out from the new oxygen in his lungs. And, as he has done so many times before, the rapper spread his legs and took a stance before hitting his own chest with pride. "I'm a pro, you know. Maybe I can teach you a thing or two! And hey, I'm having this killer party at my place this Friday. You should totally come!"

The exact party Ajax loved to avoid. He cringed inwardly, but he nodded and made an expression that he tried, with little effort, to pass for gratitude. Declining Cleo's offer was one thing, but when the host himself had invited him? Although Ajax wouldn't admit it, perhaps he was a bit of a people-pleaser after all.

“Yeah, sure, I'll be there,” he said, an empty promise.

Ajax ended up surfing with Itto. As much as he dreaded the prospect at first, he couldn't deny that the guy truly had considerable skills. He wasn't just boasting—he really was a pro, and Ajax actually learned a thing or two from him. Turns out, Itto Arataki was a pretty decent surfing partner after all; perhaps his awful taste in music was proof that all humans have their own flaws.

Well, he could forgive that, he supposes.

The rapper excused himself early, though, saying something about having a recording schedule for his upcoming “killer” album. Ajax continued his solitary surf session as the sky continued to shift from vibrant blue to a warm, burnished orange to star-dotted black.

As the latest wave he had ridden subsided, he sat on his floating board, feeling the water ripples beneath him. In the quiet pause, he became aware of a presence—someone on the beach, someone with a lantern, frantically waving and yelling.

“Hey!” They shouted. “Get out of there!”

Ajax shot a quick look around, wondering if they were calling out to someone else. It was then that he noticed that the other surfers and bathers had long since departed, leaving him the only person still in the water. Surprised, he turned to the beach and found it, too, empty of beachgoers. He was more immersed in surfing than he realized.

“Hey, boy!” the person shouted to Ajax. “Get out of the water, it’s dangerous!”

“What do you mean?” He called back.

“Just get out of the water, now!”

Though confused, he paddled toward the shore as the stranger instructed. The sand clung to his wet feet when he finally reached the beach, still holding his board. He watched the person—a woman, now that he could see her well enough from the light of her lantern—approach him hurriedly, as though she was the one who needed an explanation from him and not the other way around.

With a disappointed face and a hand on her hip, the woman asked, “Are you new around here, boy?”

“Yeah, I am,” He answered casually.

The woman let out a heavy sigh and shook her head. “Well, that explains it then. Did no one tell you about the dangers of being out in the open sea after dawn?”

A frown formed between his brows, and now it was his turn to shake his head. “No, what do you mean? What’s going on?” He glanced back at the dark water as if expecting the “dangers” she’d mentioned to appear.

“Did you even read the sign at the entrance of the beach?”

“Uh, no?”

“Alright, let me be the one to tell you then – no surfing, no bathing, no swimming in the ocean after dark.”

With growing confusion, Ajax asked, “Why? What’s the big deal?”

“‘Why’?” The woman's tone betrays the annoyance within. "Do you want to drown, boy?"

Ajax couldn't help but let out a harsh scoff. "What's with people thinking I'll drown…" He murmured to himself before increasing his voice and saying, "Look, lady, I can swim just fine. I even have a certificate to prove it, if you want to see it."

The woman shook her head, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “It’s always the arrogant newcomers like you who can’t respect the ancient ways of this place.”

“What, mermaids?” he expected her to frown at his snarky remark.

But instead, the woman shushed him, her eyes darting nervously towards the ocean as if to ensure that no creature other than the two of them heard. The sound of the breaking waves grew louder behind him, the salty smell stronger, and the orange light emanating from her lantern had only rendered the darkness more pronounced. A chill ran down his spine, and Ajax wasn't sure it had anything to do with the cold night air—he found himself questioning the wisdom of surfing late at night. But he remembered doing it countless times in Bali. So why was this quaint little seaside town any different?

Fixing a steely gaze at Ajax, she made sure he got the memo when she warned, "Don't you dare go near the water at night if you want to keep being alive, boy."

Without another word, she turned and began to walk away, the glow of her lantern slowly receding into the darkness. He was left alone on the beach—confused, skeptical. The persistence of this local tale seemed to compel him to believe it, whether proven or not.

Ajax walked to where his beach towel lay nearly abandoned. He gathered his things, considering going home, not because he feared any mystical sea creatures or any of the folklore the woman seemed to have terrible faith in, but out of respect. Doing his own version of the adage "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." At least, it was what Ajax attempted to insist upon himself.

Regardless of how hard he tried to convince himself, his actions resembled those of someone who had been warned and believed the warning.

When he arrived home, Cleo was lounging in the living room, the TV playing a reality show. The sound of the heavy door closing must have grabbed his attention, as the young man turned toward him.

“Glad you’re back alive, and didn’t drown.”

Ajax let out a weary sigh, tossing his duffel bag to the floor with a thud. “Yeah, wish I did.”

Cleo’s brows knitted together in concern. “You okay?”

“Just met this woman down at the beach,” he started, plopping down on the plush couch beside Cleo with little regard for smelling like saltwater. “Told me to get the hell out of the water.”

“The water? Why would she tell you that?”

“Beats me. Apparently, no one’s supposed to be in the ocean after dark around here. Said it was dangerous. Some ancient local beliefs, I guess.”

Cleo’s eyes suddenly light up with recognition. “Mermaids?”

Ajax paused, inwardly scolding himself for forgetting that Cleo, his assistant, was also a firm believer in the local mermaid lore. With a sigh, he confirmed, “Exactly, mermaids,” thereby sealing the fate of his next two minutes, which Cleo would spend attempting to convince him again.

“I knew it! I knew that local legend wasn’t just some urban myth! It’s real!”

Rolling his eyes, the redhead let out an exasperated huff. "Come on, anyone can make up stories like that."

“But think about it, Boss! Why would someone go out of their way to warn you if it wasn’t legit? There’s definitely something out there those people are scared shitless about!”

“The only logical reason to stay out of the water after dark is the damn tide.”

Before Cleo could launch into another round of mermaid conspiracy theories, Ajax waved his hand dismissively and turned down whatever argument he had. “I’m going to shower,” he said, getting up from the couch and starting to walk toward the bathroom.

On Friday, Ajax kept his promise to come to Itto’s killer party.

The rapper's home is a modern, all-black building that appears to float above the ground, with white illuminated stairs leading visitors to a heavy, tall door, which, unfortunately, isn't enough to muffle the blaring music from inside. It makes Ajax question his decision to come, making him wonder why he even bothered. Cleo, on the other hand, is eager to enjoy his Friday night, and what better way to do it than showing up at Itto's party?

When Ajax stepped inside, he concluded that this was the concept Itto preferred for his home—matte black walls, even for the interior. The room was adorned with various art pieces, the most striking of which were abstract red and gold paintings and a towering 8-foot statue of a rabbit-headed creature standing guard in the corner. In addition to having poor taste in music, Itto was apparently a renowned art collector who had more money than sense. How much is there to learn about a person?

The U-shaped area in the middle of the main living area was filled with Itto's social circle; some faces Ajax recognized, and, unfortunately, recognized him back. This meant that the actor had to approach and give his hello.

“Hello, ladies,” Ajax greeted them with a charming smile.

The women giggled and cooed in response, their perfumes mingling with the scent of alcohol and sweat. But amidst the fluttering lashes and flirtatious smiles, the real menace was the man sitting in the middle of them, like the sultan of a harem or even the center of the solar system.

Kaeya Alberich, the golden boy of the industry. Former co-star. Self-proclaimed best actor. Although it wasn't always as awful, their relationship kept becoming worse, particularly after the "Reckoning" trilogy ended, which also marked the end of their collaboration. Thank God. Skill-wise, he's a great actor—Ajax always gives credit where it's due. The problem was he had a knack for being late. A charming man, at least to everyone save Ajax—and here too, one could conclude that they have requited hatred for each other.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our new neighbor.” The dark-haired man purred, the corners of his lips pulling into an annoying smirk.

Ajax faked his smile and made sure Kaeya knew. “Hoping I won't be seeing much of you, though.”

Kaeya let out a laugh. "Don't worry, my friend," he leaned back comfortably in the plush cushions, his arms casually draped behind the women sitting beside him. "As soon as I heard you were moving in, I wasted no time and immediately secured myself a property outside the state. Fastest purchase I've ever made. But, hey, it was a minor price to pay to avoid the headache of meeting you often. This is such a small town, after all."

Ajax didn't rise to his bait, and instead gave him the most boring “How… thoughtful of you.”

And, as the larger-than-life protagonist of the story (or party, rather), Itto—despite being completely unaware of the brewing enmity between the two—interrupts before they can elbow each other in the face.

“Ayeee, Ajax, you made it!” Itto exclaimed, pulling him into a bro-hug. “I’m so glad you could join us, man!”

Ajax forced a polite smile. “Yeah, nice party. Great music choice.”

Hearing that, Kaeya raised an eyebrow, as though it were something bizarre to say. Ajax couldn't help but think that perhaps they had one thing in common—their disdain for Itto's musical preferences, despite being here.

“Hey, dude, mind if I steal him for a bit? I gotta show this guy around the house, let him know where all the fun is happening, y’know?”

Kaeya gave him a faux smile. “Sure, go ahead.”

Another thing to learn about Itto is that he's also a remarkably attentive host, guiding Ajax through his mansion and showing off all the "fun" areas, like he promised. From the beer pong table to the fully stocked bar with bartenders on hand for refills, the swimming pool filled with more familiar faces of acquaintances and some of Ajax's friends and random models, and even a bowling alley in the basement. Itto also made sure to display his collection of surfboards.

As they made their way along the side of the pool, Itto cleared his throat. “Hey, man, I'm real sorry about the other day, for leaving early and all.”

Ajax waved a dismissive hand. “Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s all good.”

"But that wave the other day, though? Whoo, that was a good one! But I know when the real big ones are gonna hit.” Itto said. "Believe it or not, I've been observing the tides and the moon! I even asked some of the local surfers. And let me tell ya, the big waves are always there in the week leading up to the full moon. And when does it happen? That's when the real fun begins!"

“Really?”

The big guy nodded enthusiastically. "Really! And you know what? It's even better on the day of the full moon!" He paused abruptly, as if recalling something disappointing. "But," he continued, "the locals have this thing where they isolate the beach during the actual day of the full moon. So, I guess we'll have to stick to the week leading up to it, huh?"

Hearing this, Ajax’s brows knitted both in confusion and intrigue. “Isolate the beach? Why is that?”

Itto shrugged nonchalantly. “Beats me. When I first moved here, I didn’t know about that whole full moon thing, so I just went out surfing like normal. Got swarmed by the locals telling me to get out of the water. Said I should never do it again, not even at dawn—which, by the way, is apparently a no-go every day.”

“Yeah, I actually got told the same thing.”

 “Eh, can’t really do anything about it. Seems to be some kind of local practice or tradition or whatever. Not like we can just barge in and ruin it, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve been hearing stories about mermaids too. Doesn’t really seem believable to me.”

Itto stopped walking, turning his head completely towards Ajax. “Mermaids.. you say?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a dumb rumor, if you ask me.”

But Ajax could see Itto's expression shift. His complexion turned pale, and his eyes filled with uncertainty, oscillating between skepticism and belief. It was the same look that Ajax had on his face that night.

“Wait, you don’t actually believe in that, do you?”

A nervous chuckle escaped Itto's lips. "I-I mean, the whole moon and dawn thing… yeah, I'm starting to think there might be something to it." He rubbed his arms, trying to soothe the goosebumps that had risen on his skin.

“Come on, it’s just a fairy tale,” Ajax stated logically.

Itto shook his head, approaching Ajax, lowering his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. "Look, if those mermaids are real, I'm staying the hell out of the water, forever, no questions asked. No way am I risking it, man."

Ajax wanted to reason with him, as he considered this trivial. However, he found himself unable to fully dismiss it or pretend it wasn’t lodged in his head and planting doubt and uncertainty, like a fragile human being exposed to deception. He was really tired of people seeming to believe these tales so readily. It didn't help that the locals seemed to effortlessly propagate it, expecting unquestioning belief from newcomers—with no explanation for their customs.

What secrets did the sea hold during the night?

And why was everyone so afraid of the full moon?

Before Ajax had the chance to voice his thoughts, Itto waved at someone behind him, speaking out a name Ajax recognized from television, social media, and, most likely, fashion magazines. Intrigued, he turned to get a better look at the person and-

Was absolutely certain that, from the way he lost his breath, he had fallen in love at first sight.

Catching glimpses of her on glossy magazine covers and news outlets writing about her is a far cry from the visceral experience of being in her presence. As she passes by, coming close enough to join their conversation, Ajax catches a whiff of her perfume, and he swears nothing has ever felt more enticing to his senses. Itto engaged her in conversation, but Ajax paid it little attention, his focus solely on her voice. The way she spoke her words was like a heavenly melody to his ears. A rush of oxytocin spreads from his hypothalamus, permeating the intricacies of his bloodstream and making him forget who he is.

A heavy pat on his shoulder snapped him out of his reverie. Itto's voice cut through the foggy remnants of his mind, introducing the woman beside him with that famous name.

“I’m sure you already know her!” he said, a wide grin pada his face.

Ajax's mouth gaped, then closed in a loss for words. Get a grip. He wouldn't be a famous actor without his skills. With a snap of his invisible fingers, he put on a good show of a man full of charisma, as if he hadn't just lost himself.

"Of course, her face is everywhere," Ajax said to Itto. Then, he completely turned to her, holding out one hand for hers. "The highest paid model. It's an honor to finally meet you in person. I’m Ajax." He offered her a charming smile.

The thumps of the distant party music faded the second she laid her eyes on him; her gaze filled with… recognition. As if he were someone she had known for a long time, someone she could see past his fame and work in major films and the name and new identity he had made for himself. But, then again, they were two A-list celebrities, exchanging names as a mere formality. A facade of humbleness.

“Yes,” she replied. When she placed her hand on Ajax’s, the man hesitated for the briefest of moments before bringing it to his lips—

“I know who you are.”

—and pressed a gentle kiss upon your knuckles. A gesture of the old world.

@ae-mius

SUPPORT ME THROUGH KO-FI! CHECK MY WRITING COMMISSION. GENSHIN IMPACT MASTERLIST.

[ggjunkie]

dogtooth

ADAM X AFAB! READER

contains: smut, angst, fluff, possessiveness, oral, and penetration

9,000+ words

--

You’re standing at the edge of the house’s designated dancefloor, idly swaying side to side to the music. The song’s bass is boosted so high that you can’t discern any of the lyrics. It doesn’t stop the drunken sea of people from yelling out their own guess of words. You leisurely sip on your drink, a flat soda, as your date rambles on and on about some random topic. He’s cute enough, you suppose. Dark hair and light brown eyes. You gulp down another mouthful of your beverage, ignoring the resemblance he bears. You let the guy– Brad? Braydon? You don’t quite remember– lean in close to whisper something in your ear. The pumping of the music engulfs whatever he’s said, so you just pretend to laugh. This seems to be the correct response as he leans back, a smug smile splitting his face.

Across the room, on the other side of the swarm of people, you’re being watched. In between bodies, you’re able to catch glances. Golden brown eyes. Messy tufts of curls. Stubbled chin. Everything you want your date to be, and everything he’s not. Adam stands with his arms crossed against his chest, forearms flexing deliciously. He looks pissed. But it’s not like he has a claim over you. Not anymore. 

You pretend to not see him, focusing your attention on batting your eyes up at your date. You place a flirtatious hand on his bicep, ignoring the disgust jolting through your body when he reciprocates, placing his own hand over yours. This doesn’t feel right. His palm should be larger, his scent should be muskier, his touch should be rougher. You push it down and purr at him. Hopefully Adam is still watching– you’re giving him a real show right now. The guy smiles before removing himself from you. You tell yourself that you’re disappointed.

He says something, and points down the hall, towards the restroom. You nod in understanding, giving him a thumbs up. He waves you off, and wanders away. You’re left alone, drink in hand, as couples pair up in front of you. You look across the room to drink in the sight of Adam, but he’s gone. Left without saying a word. Humiliation creeps in. You swallow it down and head into the kitchen, to get away from all the noise.

You don’t get far. A large hand wraps around the width of your elbow, tugging you, encouraging you to spin around. You pull against them, trying to dislodge your arm from their grasp, but their hold is firm. They yank again, this time with more force. You do not appreciate being manhandled by some random person. Before you can think better of it, you find yourself allowing them to turn you. As you whirl around, you rear back your drink and throw it onto the person’s shirt. Someone in the crowd gasps. You don’t understand why at first– shit like this happens at house parties all the time– until recognition clicks.

Adam.

Your soda soaks his upper torso, spilling from the collar down. He drops his hand from where he’s grabbed you. Instead, his arms raise away from his sides, elbows in the same straight line as his shoulders. He’s looking down, taking in the quickly forming stain. Steam practically billows from his ears, fury wafting off of him in strong waves. Your own jaw drops, regret flushing the slant of your cheeks. You gape, mouth snapping open and close like a fish out of water. Adam’s head jerks up to look straight at you, eyes swirling with wrath.

“Are you serious, bitch?” he hisses, a cat threatening its claws. Your hands fly to cover your mouth as you wince.

“Oh my god. I am so sorry.” 

“Yeah, you better fucking be!” Adam tugs at his collar, pulling the damp fabric away from his neck. “Now I need a new fucking shirt!”

Around you, people are beginning to stare, watching the exchange with a complete lack of subtlety. The crowd’s eyes prickle your skin, makes the air on the back of your neck stand. You know this is hot gossip– two exes duking it out in the middle of a party. The attention has your shoulders raising to meet your ears, head ducking down to hide your embarrassment. Adam either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, too enthralled with yelling over how you ruined his clothes. Your hand automatically comes forward to placate, to comfort, but you close your fist and drop it back to your side. In a different attempt to de-escalate the situation, you lower your voice.

“Seriously, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.”

Adam, seemingly for once in his dense life, actually gets the hint. He glances around the room, taking in the watchful crowd, and huffs through his nose. This time, when he speaks, it’s softer. Just for your ears. “Yeah, fucking obviously . God, girls and their need to ‘protect themselves from big, scary men.’ Pathetic.”

You pointedly ignore that. “Really, I didn’t know it was you.”

“Yeah, well.” he sniffs. “You owe me.”

“What the hell?!” you grit out between your teeth, incredulous. You remember yourself and, with a quick sweep around the room, note that people have returned back to their own conversations. Your chest loosens, relieved to no longer be in the spotlight. You look around to see if what’s-his-name has returned from the bathroom, come to be your knight in shining armor and rescue you from this awkward situation. No dice. You turn back to Adam. He’s waiting with a raised brow. You frown. “What do I even owe you?” 

“You can start by showing me to the main bedroom. Hopefully they have some spare fucking shirts. Or else I’m going to be real pissed.”

You exaggeratedly roll your eyes. “Whatever, you big baby. It’s probably upstairs. Go find it yourself.”

“Like hell I am!” Adam barks. He points a thick finger in your face, and you go cross-eyed to see it. “You threw the drink, you’re helping me search!”

“I’m not–” you use the back of your hand to slap away his finger, and pinch the bridge of your nose. There’s no use in arguing with Adam, not when he’s made up his mind. Once upon a time, his stubbornness and willingness to fight over his beliefs was an attractive quality. Except when it came to the two of you butting heads. He wasn’t ever trying to fix the problem in an argument, instead too focused on just trying to win. You sigh. “Fine. Whatever gets you off my ass faster.”

He visibly perks up at the mention of your ass, bending his neck at an awkward angle to try and get a good peek. Your hands meet your hips. You shoot him a scathing, pointed look until he relents with an annoyed grumble. You aren’t sure of what he said, but it was definitely something offensive. His lip twitches before breaking out in a plastic smile. He raises his elbow in offering, waggling his eyebrows, enticing you to take his arm. Now he’s really starting to get on your nerves. You shove his arm down and, without giving him a second look, begin walking. 

You weave through the horde of people on the dancefloor, trusting Adam to be hot on your heels. A part of you wants him to lose you in the crowd. You’re tempted to do just that– duck behind the tallest people you can find and see if it works. But it’s Adam you’re talking about. He has a weird talent of being able to sniff you out like a bloodhound. Besides, he’d probably enjoy the chase, convincing himself that you’re playing hard to get for a reason. 

Are you?

The ask has you halting in your tracks, heels digging into the floor. Are you? You frown, unsure of how to navigate the question. You broke up with him, why would you have any reason to get his attention? You’re jostled from your confusing thoughts at the feeling of someone ramming into you from behind. Grousing, you don’t even have to spin around to know it’s Adam. You’d recognize the stocky build of his frame anywhere. You hear him flounder, cursing under his breath, until his hands grab your hips in an effort to balance himself. Otherwise, he’d send you both toppling over. You would land with him on top of you. Although it’d definitely hurt, the idea of Adam’s body pinning you to the ground has your mind reeling. 

You make no effort to move away. He notices. Because of course he does. He pauses. Waits for you to protest. His hands linger, thumbs rubbing over your hip bones, gentle as if soothing a spooked animal. The loud music of the dancefloor pumps adrenaline through your veins, and gives you the courage to stay still, like moving would make him back off. You should want him to back off. You don’t. The realization has you swallowing hard, mouth suddenly as dry as the state of the Sahara. You feel him slowly press himself against you, chest flush against your back. Careful, testing the waters, he guides your hips to roll into his. You have the urge to throw your head back, let him grind himself into you, but you stop yourself. 

Now you have an answer to your question. Your heart feels like it’s pounding out of your chest, threatening to break free from your ribcage and place itself into Adam’s waiting palms. You know he’d just crush it in his fist. You purse your lips and remove yourself off of him before he gyrates his hips against yours again. He lets you go too easily, like shrugging off a coat. You train your eyes forwards and keep walking.

When you eventually pop out the other side, pushing through the wall of sweaty college students, you find yourself at the bottom of the stairs. Adam isn’t far behind, his shoulder brushing yours as he stops beside you. You feel him turn his head and look at you. You don’t look back. He hums before pushing forwards, treading onto the first few steps. You watch him go, feet frozen to the floor, unsure of what to do. On one hand, you should probably get back to your date. You feel like a dick ditching him to go with your ex. Even if it’s just to find him a new shirt. But on the other hand…

Adam gets halfway up the stairs before turning to you expectantly. His eyes pierce straight into you. “Got cold feet?”

God, he’s so infuriating. You want to shut him up. Punch him until his lip is split open, kiss him until he’s dazed and speechless. You feel stuck in a game of tug-o-war, continuously torn between hating and loving him. You wish you were over him. Something burns in you when you admit it, doused in gasoline and flames. It’s a terrifying realization. Regret and relief over breaking up with him.  He wasn’t good for you. You desperately wanted him to be. 

“You wish.” you scoff, and march up the stairs. Adam dodges out of the way before you could purposefully ram your shoulder into him, elbows leaning casually on the rail. You step past him, ignoring how he checks out your ass as you walk. You also very much ignore how you arch your back just the tiniest amount to allow him a better view. You’re just a person, after all. 

You both trek to the top. Waiting right in front of you is a door. You look to Adam, who’s still scanning your behind. You clear your throat, serving to both get his attention, and to dislodge the nervous lump blocking your airway. You hate that he has this effect on you– able to condense you down to some desperate schoolgirl. You broke up with him, for Heaven’s sake. He was a dick. Is a dick. You shouldn’t be preening under his attention. And you certainly shouldn’t be reevaluating if the break up was worth it.

You miss him. 

Adam’s eyes trek up your body until he meets your eyes. He smiles shamelessly, not a lick of embarrassment at being caught. You tamp down a blush, refusing to let him know what he does to you, and force a flattened, unimpressed look. It’s not very hard to muster– you are unimpressed with him. Feelings be damned, he’s still a tier one douchebag. Adam scoffs, and without waiting for you, moves towards the door. He turns the handle, swinging open the door to reveal a bathroom. And– of course– in the bathtub, a couple is having sex, too enthralled to even realize they’ve been caught. Adam leans against the doorframe, watching them rut against each other. You squawk, averting your eyes, and grab the handle and swiftly shut the door. 

Adam groans. “Oh, c’mon. Don’t be such a prude.” 

You wrinkle your nose in distaste and instead of offering him a response, you move down the hall, onto the next door. When you open this one, it’s to a decently sized bedroom. You spot a closet, filled with an array of shirts. Thank God. You hold the door open for Adam to pass through. He struts in, not saying thank you, and barrels straight for the closet. You follow him in, closing the door behind you. You lock it, just for safe measure. When you turn around, your breath catches in your throat.

Back displayed to you, Adam’s fingers run along the hem of his wet shirt, lingering there. He grasps the sides, right under his ribcage, and tugs. The cotton peels away, inch by inch, the wetness making every movement deliberate. The first flash of his back, tan and taut, is enough to make your lungs stutter. Brown locks poke through the top hole as he drags the shirt higher, messy and untamed, clinging to his forehead. His shoulder blades are sharp, a contrast to the soft shape of his hips. The shirt finally gives, tugging off, baring him to you. A pang of desire strikes you like lightning. You have half a mind to strut over and run your hands down the length of his spine.

You wonder if he’d still be as reactive as he used to be– shuddering under your touch, red painting his cheeks, lust clouding his eyes. You wonder if he’d whine as you explored the expanse of his back, if he’d swiftly spin around to pin you against the closed door and envelope your lips in a kiss. You wonder if he’d want you too.

But you don’t. You keep your feet planted and your hands pinned to your side. That doesn’t stop your eyes from wandering, sliding from his messy curls, to his bare back, all the way to his ass. You did always like those jeans– it did wonders for him. Of course, you’d honestly prefer if he were out of those pants, stripped down to nothing, body on full display. You chew on your bottom lip, uncomfortably squirming as heat shoots to your groin. When you shift your eyes back up, you catch Adam’s eyes.

Busted. 

He’s looking over his shoulder, face split with a grin. You’re a gazelle at a standstill, pinned under the weight of a lion’s hungry glare, waiting to see who will move first. You both stare at each other, until you finally relent, looking away to the floor. He softly chuckles, a warning, before you hear heavy padding against the carpeted floor. The toes of his shoes appear in your vision and, when you look up, Adam is standing right in front of you. He balls up his wet shirt and tosses it to the ground, watching it pool on the floor. You furrow your brows, but he’s not done.

He slowly moves his hands to his belt, carefully unbuckling it. With a dramatic click, it’s undone, leather straps loosely falling to the sides. Adam’s canine bites into his lip as he pulls the belt through the loops, until it’s free. He lifts his hand, elbow straightened, and opens his fist. You swallow hard and watch as the belt falls to the ground. It lands on his shirt. You blink, the fog of want lifting from your dazed mind. Your mouth snaps open in accusation.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Adam brings one shoulder to his ear in a careless shrug. You’d almost believe he was innocent, if it weren’t for the dangerous glint in his eyes. His eyes rake your body, just like yours had done to him moments before. “What? I’m just giving you a show. You should be grateful, slut.”

He hits the ‘t’ hard, spitting it out like venom; a reminder that no matter how you may be feeling right now, you are still both just exes. Indignation rumbles in your chest, humiliation burning behind your eyes. How could you forget? He doesn’t care about you, not anymore. You rise to the bait, grab it between your teeth and chew. 

“Don’t call me that.” you grit out.

His smile widens, leaning in close, just as your date had done earlier that night. “Why not? You used to enjoy it, especially when I’d bend you over–”

You push him. You bring a hand to his chest and push him. Hard. Your palm burns, set alight by the contact. Adam goes stumbling backwards, clearly taken off guard by your reaction. He catches his footing and snarls, lip curling and nostrils flaring. He huffs, a bull about to charge. You’re the bullfighter, snapping the red fabric in his face, enticing him to attack. You know it’s happening, but you feel intense and out of control, just like you always do around him.

“Shut the fuck up, you prick!” You march towards him, herding him towards the bed until the back of his knees touch the mattress. He’s furious, face pinched tight, but you aren’t scared. Despite everything, you trust him not to lay a hand on you. And he doesn’t, even when you jab a finger into his bare chest, right over his heart. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

“I can talk to you however I’d like.” he growls. “We’re broken up , remember?”

“And whose fault is that?”

He pushes your finger off of his pec, teeth clacking together as if he’s holding back from biting your head clean off. “ Yours, you stupid bitch! You’re the one who said it! Or can your tiny bimbo brain not recall?”

You gape in disbelief, before laughing– a nasty, bitter sound. “My fault?! If you weren’t such a raging dickhole, then I wouldn’t have had to break up with you! Ever thought about that?”

“Trust me, it’s all I ever think about!”

His mouth quickly snaps shut, lips thinning into a tight line. A piece of your heart crumbles, the part of you that will always have a soft spot for Adam, breaking in two. But you’re too wrapped up in the heat of the moment, drowning in an ocean of pain and heartbreak. You’re clawing your way out, paddling and pushing for any sort of reprieve, and all you can do is keep pressing. You hate how big of an effect he still has on you.

“Go fuck yourself, Adam! You don’t get to pull the victim card when you hurt me !” 

He doesn’t respond, just frowns in response, jaw strained shut. You bulldoze past, continuing screaming at him. “I loved you! I loved you and you didn’t love me back! So fuck you! I hate you!” You sniffle, and repeat, softer. “I hate you.”

Your lip wobbles, and the corners of your eyes prick with tears, but you refuse to let them fall. Like hell that Adam is going to see you cry. You glare at him, mustering as much hate as you can, even when it feels hollow and misplaced. Behind his eyes, you see something snap in him. His brows soften and his mouth opens, though, the only sound that comes out is a sharp intake of air. His face twists from despair into something hardened. 

And then he surges forwards.

Lips messily crash against yours. His hands are rough as they grab your cheeks, pulling you in. Noses awkwardly bump. Teeth clash. Drool dribbles. Something sharp pierces through the overwhelming hurt and rage lodged in your chest. Your nerves feel alight, burning with an intensity as he presses into your mouth. It feels right. It feels wrong. All too soon, it ends as quickly as it began, Adam pulling away and releasing your face from his hold. His expression is of complete shock– he looks as surprised as you feel. You wonder if he feels as out of control as you do, relying on your instincts.

“Adam.” you say.

He swallows. He has the decency to look ashamed, but his eyes stay glued on your lips. “I know.”

You’re at a crossroad. You should tell him off, scream at him for playing with you. Insist that you feel nothing for him except disdain. Admit that it hurts to even think about him. Confess that you miss him, but you can’t do this. Leave. Everything you should do, but nothing you do do. It’s like you're being pulled by a string, some apparition guiding your hands to lay on his pecs. His eyes slowly rise to meet yours, something guarded sparking in the iris. A beat. He shakily cups one of your hands in his palm, enclosing completely around the appendage, and moves it to rest over his heart. It pounds beneath your touch, stuttering as your expression softens. You open your mouth to say something, but he shakes his head. 

You frown, reminded of a time when he was gentle, vulnerable in a way no one else has seen. Your hand applies pressure and pushes him, guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed. Adam lets you, sinking into the mattress. You stay standing, nestled between his legs, and tentatively reach a hand. You cup his face, delicate. He pushes his cheek further into your palm, practically nuzzling it, and looks up at you. He looks pathetic and exhausted. Your fingers travel up his jaw, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. A pained sound falls from his lips.

Sympathy unfurls like a flower taking bloom. Letting it lead you, you paw at his chest, lightly scraping your fingernails up and down his torso. You stalk forwards, close enough that he has to strain his neck to look up at you. Adam closes his eyes, eyebrows pinch together in a conflicted expression. You take pity on him, and maneuver to place your knees on the outside of his thighs, effectively straddling him. You lean down and capture his lips in a kiss, soft and fragile. The delicate peck doesn’t last long, quickly transforming into something more heated when Adam tilts his head. You part your lips and he darts his tongue inside. Adam simply tastes of spit, underwhelming. 

You suck on his intruding tongue, hard, just like he always used to like. His reaction is instantaneous, groaning into your mouth. He moves to lay on his spine, pressing against the flat of your back to encourage you to follow. You duck down, laying your weight on top of him without breaking the kiss. This is the most alive you’ve felt in months. For the first time in a while, it’s like the world slows down. You’re able to finally breathe, and you do. You pull back, just barely, enough distance to pant into Adam’s mouth. He’s not off much better, seemingly completely undone, unraveled below you, a single strand of spit connecting you two. 

Something shifts in Adam, a predatory gleam, a sharp intake of breath, and manifests in him spinning to pin you against the bed. You yelp as you twirl, landing on your back with a huff of air, stolen straight from your lungs. Above you, Adam settles on his elbows, placed on either side of your head. He stoops down, nosing at your neck, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses in his wake. Your back arches off the mattress, thrusting into his chest. He wraps a hand around the dip of your back, holding you flush to his torso. You can’t help but ask.

“Adam,” you start, though it comes out as a moan, winded and dizzy. You swallow and try again. “Adam.”

“That’s right, baby.” he coos, nibbling right beneath your jaw. “Let ‘em know who’s about to make you feel real good.”

Your body betrays you, head tilting to the side to allow him more access. He takes territory of the slope of your neck, teeth scraping, but not quite biting. He leaves no marks. Leaves no claim. 

“Wait, Adam, stop. For just one second.”

He curses a quiet ‘fuck,’ and lowers his face, resting his forehead on your collarbone. Adam breathes puffs of hot air. You can feel it through the thin fabric of your shirt. It makes you squirm, but he’s stopped kissing you. You can think, even if the heavy fog of lust hangs low in your brain.

“What are we doing here?” you ask, looking up at the ceiling. You feel Adam tense up, the arm around your waist freezing. He doesn’t have an answer for a second. What are y’all doing? You broke up with him for a reason. You can’t just throw all caution to the wind and sleep with him. You’ll never get rid of him. You tamp down the part of you that’s loud, screaming at you to take him back. Adam lifts his head, his typical plastic smirk etched on his face, a mask falling back into place.

“It’s just sex, babe. No need to get all clingy.”

“Just sex?” you echo.

“Yep.”

“Okay.” A pause. Then, quieter. “Cool.”

“Cool.” he repeats. His voice is tight, his eyes search yours.“...Now, can I keep kissing you?”

You grab his face and drag him up for a chaste kiss. When you try to pull away, he follows, keeping contact with your lips. He kisses your mouth, then the corner of your lips, your chin, the bob of your throat, your collarbone. He trails down until he meets the collar of your shirt, Adam peeks up at you through long lashes, and tugs on the bottom hem. You understand what he’s asking, and lift your arms. He swiftly strips you of it, tossing the article of clothing to pile next to his own shirt. You’re left in your bra, breathing shallowly. He takes you in, eyes sweeping over your form in deliberate strokes. In between looking from curve to curve, he always looks up to glance at your face. 

“Pretty.” he mumbles. Despite the fact you were just obscenely sucking on his tongue, that’s what makes you blush, all the way to the tips of your ears. His hand, the one wrapped around your waist, rubs circles into your muscle, before snaking up to unhook your bra. He fumbles for a second, but eventually gets it. He unloops it from your arms and throws it over his shoulder. Adam ghosts his finger over your bare stomach. His feather light touches tickle, a prickly sensation, and you writhe under him. He chuckles, low and heated, before trailing his fingers up, up to your sternum. He rubs the flesh there, trying to get you to relax into him. You do, letting out a pleased sigh. His hands begin to wander, travelling to the peaks of your tits. He squeezes, molding your chest like putty beneath his hands. He’s a bit too rough. Too heavy handed. 

 “Ow.” you murmur. He looks up to you, pupils blown out so wide, you can barely see the ring of his iris. He looks positively wrecked. Heat floods your groin, slick soaking your panties. At your sound, his harsh touch transforms into gentle kneading, expert hands showing off. He circles the areola of your nipples, like the rim of a glass, until your buds begin to harden. He uses his thumb and index to roll your nipple between his fingers in small, rounded motions. Stars burn, a galaxy behind your eyes. Adam ducks down to your right breast, enveloping your nipple in his warm, wet mouth. Lapping at the bud with his tongue, a hint of teeth tease to bite. With his other hand, he continues toying, pinching and pulling. He eventually removes himself from your tit with a sultry pop.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks. Yes. Before you can admit as much, he tightly pinches your nipple, eliciting a sharp gasp. Adam snickers, before placing a hot kiss between your breasts. The contrast makes your poor head spin, trying to catch up. You feel strung on the edge, unsure what his next move will be. It’s frustrating. It’s exciting. 

Sweetly, he kisses down your navel, pulling the hem of your leggings down until he’s able to reach your pubic bone. A flash of teeth is your own warning before he nips at the sensitive skin. You release a moan, and he smiles against your flesh. Adam slithers downwards, bringing your leggings and underwear down with him. He reaches your feet, lets your pants pool at your ankles as he works on untying your shoes. He sticks out his tongue as he focuses, and a pang of desire shoots through your heart like an arrow. It shakes you to your core. Adam finally peels off your sneakers, your leggings and panties following close behind. You’re left laying bare naked, feeling underdressed as Adam’s still wearing his own pair of jeans.

Sensing your discomfort, he works on removing his pants. You furrow your brows, surprised at the notion that he’s still able to read you so easily. Surprised he even cares to. But tonight, he’s been proving you wrong on many fronts. Sitting up on his knees, Adam pops open the top button of his jeans, unfastening the zipper and tugging them off. He toes off his own shoes and tosses everything to the side. You note, with a stutter of your heartbeat, that his boxers have cute music notes all over them. It’s weirdly charming.

“There.” he says. “Better?”

You nod your head, not trusting yourself to speak. This seems to delight him, the power of having an impact on you. You give him this. He lowers himself to lay on his stomach, head right between your thighs. You bend your knees and slide them to split open as far as you can go. Adam shuffles forwards, and, without warning, licks a line up your pussy. You keen into him, a soft whine sounding from the back of your throat. You feel like you’ve just been struck, unable to grasp a full breath. 

Adam laps at your clit like a deserted man offered water, fueled by desperation and thirst. He flattens his tongue and licks a wide strip up your pussy, one that has you biting back from moaning out his name. You know he catches on when his lips, wet with spit and juices, split into a pleased smirk. He continues, ignoring any of the techniques he’s droned on and on about to you in the past. Adam swirls his tongue and licks, sloppily so. When he pleasantly groans into you, you realize, with a jolt straight to your core, that he isn’t doing this for you. He’s doing this for him. 

Your legs, from where they were cautiously thrown over his shoulders in haste, come to wrap tight against his head. Thighs muffle the wet squelches you’re trying to ignore, humiliation threatening to flood your already flushed cheeks. Your hips lift up off the mattress, desperate for more– and Adam answers, sliding his hands from your hips to your ass, pressing you further into him

You stay there, lower body suspended in the air, as you grind into his mouth. Eventually, he hums a deep, appreciative note, the vibration going straight to your nerves. A delicious static buzzes in your ass, slowly spreading to your front, right in your core. You’re riding on the edge of the cliff, about to take the final leap into the pleasurable abyss below–

–Only to feel a sharp throb blooming in your left calf, agonizing and twisting. The silent moan hanging from your lips quickly transforms into a hurt hiss, pleasure turns into pain. Adam, too absorbed in reverently worshipping your pussy, doesn’t even bat an eye. His head stays ducked, firmly planted between your legs. He doesn’t seem like he’s moving anytime soon. 

The cramping in your calf screams at you, drowning out the blissed part of your brain begging to keep going. Eventually, the pain wins out. You snake your leg from where it’s swaddled around Adam’s neck, straightening it out before bending your knee to awkwardly touch your chest. You press the ball of your foot against his shoulder, toes curling against him in a weak, pleading nudge. 

Adam glares up at you through his thick brows, clearly unhappy at the interruption of his meal. Your foot pushes against him once more with enough force to dislodge him from your aching pussy. You know better though, know he’s letting you push him around. He may not be going down on you anymore, but he still stays between your legs, looking up at you. He’s the definition of a hot mess– eyes blown out wide, cheeks a muddy red, chin dripping with slick. 

He’s never looked better. 

You nudge his shoulder again, and he catches your ankle, grasp loose yet sturdy. You note, hazy with desire, that his hand is large enough to completely encompass the joint, fingertips touching the pad of his thumb. Despite the terrible charley horse throbbing sharply in your leg, you gnaw at your bottom lip. The picture of those thick fingers sliding inside of you makes your mouth water.

You swallow down your excess saliva, Adam’s eyes tracing your throat as it bobs. He bares his teeth, as if toying with the idea to lunge forward and litter your neck in marks. The thought is appealing, adorning his bruises and bites as he uses his skilled tongue to circle his branding. But unfortunately, the pain in your calf makes itself known. Your eyes squeeze together tightly as you grimace, mouth dropping in a piercing curse. 

When you muster up the strength to open your eyelids, Adam’s eyes have softened. Surprisingly, he even looks concerned. He rises to his knees, letting your right foot fall to the mattress, knee bent up towards the sky. Your other leg, crying out, is straightened, and moved to rest right where his neck meets his shoulder.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Adam asks. There’s no mistaking the worry in his voice, even as he hides behind his typical bravado. Your heart thuds, the reminder that yes, he still cares about you, fresh in your chest. His tongue pokes out to lick up the remaining juices on his lips, and suddenly your heart is pounding for a different reason. “Can’t handle the heat?”

“My– leg.” You spit out in between fitiful gasps. He raises an eyebrow. “--cramping.”

“Oh shit.” He sputters out. He rests a hand on the meat of your right thigh, gentle in a way you’re not used to, not with him. “This leg?”

You shake your head, and knock your left foot against the back of his head. He points an index finger towards that leg. You nod. 

“Where?”

“My calf.”

Hands, calloused from his time spent strumming his guitar, dig into your leg. You instantly writhe, trying to shimmy away from the uncomfortable pressure. Adam persists, kneading into the muscle. He holds steady eye contact with you as he does so, manipulating the knot in your leg until it’s melting under his touch, soothing under his fingers. His eyes, boring into you, are burning with an intensity. You feel weirdly vulnerable under his gaze, the intimacy of the moment creeping up on you. It feels more personal than just sex. It makes you want to hide away, cover yourself with the duvet and run to the hills. But you don’t. Instead you sigh and relax into the bed.

Adam continues massaging you for a few moments longer, even though the throb in your calf has long since disappeared. You smile at him in silent gratitude, the corners soft and shaky. He looks down at you, and you imagine how you must look– disheveled hair splain against the pillow, hands tightly gripping the sheets, legs spread, with one hooked over his shoulder. You definitely look as wrecked as you feel.

Something unreadable passes over his face, eclipsing his expression. He used to be easy to read, something you both laughed and fought over. You wonder if you’ve lost your touch, if the months spent away have made you rusty in deciphering his large emotions. You don’t have much time to spend pondering, not when that odd look is replaced with a much more familiar impish grin. You pretend not to notice how it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Instead, you let hot flames lick at your stomach as Adam’s hands sneak forwards, moving to knead into your thigh. He runs his palms up and down the flesh, leaving behind a warm trail. You break the intimate eye contact, letting your head loll backwards on the pillow. He wraps his hands around the width of your thigh, lifting it off his shoulder and bending it around his waist. Your other leg automatically joins, together wrapping around his soft curves. You tighten your grasp around him, Rendering him trapped. As if he’d rather be anywhere else. 

His fingers graze the plush of your quads before moving his hands in, onto your inner thighs. Adam only lets his finger tips brush against your skin, the touch tantalizing. Those flames transform into a burning bonfire as he comes dangerously close to your center, but never quite touching. A whimper falls off your lips on one particular teasing run of his fingers. Adam lets out a low whistle and grips his hand, grabbing the meat of your thigh.

“Damn, baby. Your muscles are pretty tight.” You raise your head off the cushion and trace the slope of that damned smirk. “You know what else is tight?”

Without warning, a finger pushes into your slit. Your breath catches in your throat, shallow enough that your shoulders shake. He presses the pad of his finger in and gathers your wetness. You keen into him, pressing your hips up for more, more, more, but he doesn’t give. Instead, all too quickly, he pulls out. Adam’s golden brown eyes squeeze shut as he pops his finger into his mouth, groaning appreciatively at the taste. You clench around nothing, head tipping back against the pillow.

Two fingers prod at your mouth. You part your lips and Adam pushes them in, resting them on your tongue. You begin licking and sucking them, as you would his dick. When your tongue makes an especially sensual pass against the underside of his digits, you hear his breath stutter. His eyes are half-lidded transfixed on the way you take him, no doubt imagining something else in your mouth. Because it’s Adam, he shoves his fingers further in, until you gag around them. His other hand comes to rest on your inner thigh, thumb tracing shapes in your skin. You doubt he even realizes he’s doing it. All the same, it makes your heart squeeze. When he’s gathered enough spit, he reluctantly removes his fingers. 

“That’a girl.” Adam praises. His hand moves to your center, lazily circling your clit with his lubricated digit. Not quite touching, but pleasure shivers up your spine all the same. He drags his finger down, passing over your folds, before pressing into you, all the way to the first knuckle. A sharp inhale. He slowly pushes further in until you’re taking the second knuckle. Then he begins to pump his finger, in and out. When you begin to relax, he adds a second finger, curling it against your walls. You writhe beneath him, grinding into his palm until he’s forced to place a hand on your lower stomach, coercing you to stay still. You oblige, the pressure only adding to the euphoria.

You trail your hand, reaching down to toy with your clit, desperate and needy. You roll it between your index and middle fingers, letting out a soft mewl. This seems to spur Adam on. His breathing goes ragged, and the fingers inside you curl deeper, until he’s hitting a soft, spongy spot. You see stars, burning bright and loud, static enveloping your ears, molten lava running through your veins. It’s overwhelming. It’s not enough. Something builds within you, deep, rich. You pant, tongue sticking out in an obscene display, before biting your lip, stifling the noises threatening to bubble up. Adam watches, tutting, voice surprisingly steady.

“C’mon, pretty thing. Don’t hide from me. I want to hear you.” He coos.

Adam presses the tips of his fingers against that sweet spot, enticing you to let loose and give in. You fight against him, defiant, even in bed. It riles him even more than if you were obedient and listening to his every word. He always craved a fight, always picking one with you. It was tiring. It was exhilarating. It wasn’t good for you. You find yourself not caring. You bite down hard enough to make your lip bleed, but that coil in your gut is promising to snap. Your legs begin to shake. Your heart pounds. Your mouth drops open. You’re on the edge, about to absolutely explode.

Adam stingingly slaps your hand away from your clit, causing you to jolt in shock. His fingers freeze inside of you. Your orgasm, just about to crest, recedes like a tide sinking back to the ocean. You try to chase it, thrashing and bucking your hips against him, desperate for him to keep going. You were right there . Frustration wells in the corners of your eyes, blinking back bitter tears. You have half a mind to push him off and get the job done yourself. But Adam’s hand on your stomach keeps you pinned, at the mercy of him. You loathe to admit that it makes you pulse around him. You’d think the feeling would allure him to continue pleasuring you, maybe even pull his digits out and replace them with something else, but he’s a man on a mission.

“Who have you slept with since me?” he demands.

Your brain short-circuits, the words don’t compute. It sounds like you’re underwater, obscured, distorted, taking too long to reach you. You feel out of your body, on another plane of existence. You’re still left crawling towards the orgasm he snatched away. If you close your eyes and focus, you can still feel it, just barely there, evaporating. You chase it. Distantly, you hear Adam snarl at your silence. He must be unhappy at the implications. The thought makes you smile, loopy. You aren’t too sure why. Your neurons are misfiring. The hand on your stomach moves up to pinch your nipple, hard. You suddenly shriek, wound too tight, like a rubber band about to snap.

“No one!” you squeak out, honest and raw. “I haven’t slept with anyone else!” 

“Not even that guy you were with tonight?” Adam spits out. You shake your head against the pillow.

“Just—” Another pinch. You gasp, blinking through sensitive tears. “Just wanted to make you jealous.”

He lets out a ragged groan. “Fuck. You got what you wanted.”

Almost as if it’s your reward for being honest, he begins moving his hand again. He slowly pulls his two fingers back, almost completely outside of you, only the fingertips remaining inside. Face pinching tight, you whimper, a meek, pained sound. Every inch of you is burning with need, all encompassing. It’s the only thing you can process. You feel swaddled in it, only able to think about Adam. To breathe him. To feel him. It feels like heaven. It feels like hell. He left no physical mark, but he’s still branded on your brain. You cling onto it, hissing when his digits thrust back in and curl against your g-spot.

“I was real pissed,” he growls. It’s like he’s unable to stop talking. Another thrust. “Thought you already replaced me.” Another.

The words tumble out before you can think. “Could never replace you. No one makes me feel this good.”

He freezes.“...You mean that?”

You whimper in pathetic agreement. At this point, you’re willing to say anything, to do anything, just to get him to keep going. Even if that means being embarrassingly sincere, baring your heart for him just to rip it with his teeth. You can be humiliated about it later, but not now, not when he seems crazed over your words, practically foaming at the mouth. It makes you wonder who’s really topping who. Two more thrusts. You feel yourself barreling towards your release. You’re tied to the tracks, the freight train about to hit.

“Fuck yes.” His voice breaks. “Oh, baby. There’s no getting rid of me now.”

He continues moving, building to an intense rhythm. His other hand, still resting at your breast, begins to gently tweak your bud. Pleasure erupts, buzzing beneath your skin. All too quick, you’re back to dangling off the edge, as if he had never stopped. A thin layer of sweat sheens on your body, your hair is all tangled up, and you keep suppressing mortifying sounds. By all means, you should feel gross. But Adam doesn’t leave much room for you to think that way, not when he stares up at you like he’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. You can’t remember the last time he’s looked at you like that. Before you had broken up, it was all annoyance and anger. It seems time has treated him well, made him oddly soft around the edges.

Then, quiet. “Say you’ll take me back.”

“What?” you pant, brain still sliding through pleasure.

“Say it.” He’s pleading now. “Say you’re gonna take me back.”

“Adam—”

He stops again. You groan, guttural and extended, body trembling. Frustration peaks, sick of all this pushing and pulling. You expect Adam to seem smug, delighted how he’s been edging you for the past however-long. But instead, he looks pitiful, begging and whining like a wet dog. He rises, hand still burrowed in you, and leans in close. He presses his cheek against yours, nipping your earlobe, before whispering. “I’ll let you come, I swear. As many times as you want. On my fingers. My tongue. My cock. I’ll ruin you for anyone else. Just say you still want me.”

You nod frantically. Whatever will get him to continue. “Okay!”

He moves, placing his face in your view until he’s all you can see, all you can smell, can feel, can hear, can taste. It’s overpowering. He’s smiling, seemingly thrilled.“Okay, what?”

“I’ll take you back!”

His whole body racks with a shudder, as if those words are the deepest form of erotica he’s ever heard. It makes you sober up, even if just for a moment. What did you just agree to? You heard his words, understood his meaning, and said yes . Are you insane? Adam wasn’t good to you, isn’t good for you. You know this. Fear slices through as you eye his crazed smile. He looks like an absolute madman, a wild glint in his eyes, seemingly seconds away from absolutely devouring you. He laughs hysterically. You seriously can’t imagine taking him back. But then his eyes crinkle, and his smile tilts into a lop-sided grin. He looks excited. Looks relieved. Looks happy. Suddenly, it’s all you can think about, even through the lust. A giggle bubbles through, and you’re laughing with him. It’s the kind of laugh that comes when your choices don’t make sense, but they feel good anyway. The kind of laugh that borders on tears.

When the sound eventually tapers out, he leans forward and places a light kiss on your forehead, lips barely brushing your skin. He lingers there, and you can feel him still smiling. You smile back, but something twists in your stomach. Your eyebrows furrow at the sensation, but your mind is quickly dragged to the empty feeling as Adam pulls his fingers out. You shiver. He makes a show of licking a stripe up the length of his digits, slick with your juices. Under the spotlight of your attention, he sends you a sultry wink. That same empty feeling blooms across your skin when he pulls away completely, stumbling off the bed. Did you do something wrong? You flush when you think back to agreeing– he was probably just being a typical dickhole, trying to feed his ego and get you to admit you miss him.

But then he reaches for the waistband of his boxers, and you understand. 

Adam slides his underwear down past his knees, letting it pool at his ankles, and steps through. His dick, now on delicious full display, bobs. It looks painfully hard, flushed with such an intense red, it almost seems purple. Pre-cum beads at the slit of his tip, dripping down his shaft. He lays his palm in front of his face and spits, collecting right in the middle of his hand, and begins pumping his cock, trying his best to lubricate it with his saliva. If you were patient enough to wait to be filled, you’d drop to your knees and beg him to let you do it yourself. Plead for him to fuck your face, to let you choke around his dick. Ask nicely if he could tug you by your hair, and force you to take the whole length of him. Instead, you prop yourself up, shakily leaning back on your elbows.

“How do you want me?” you ask, tongue darting out.

“On your back.” 

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. Usually, he’d prefer you on all fours, back curved to the shape of his body, yanking you by your hair. He’d slam into you, and you’d meet him halfway, pressing your ass into him. Sometimes, even when he was feeling too prideful to give you complete control, he’d let you ride him, his cock splitting you in two as you bounce up and down. He’d eventually lose patience and grab your hips, moving you at his own pace. Missionary was saved for softer moments, when he’d muster up enough courage to look you in the eyes as he displayed his heart for you. At your expression, he continues.

“I want to see your face–” He swallows. “when I push into you.”

It’s a weak excuse. You know it. Since when has his intentions been as simple as that? But you find yourself not caring as he kneels on the bed and crawls towards you, like a predator stalking its prey. You curl your finger, teasingly beckoning him to come closer, spreading your legs far apart to give him a full view. He greedily drinks it in, settling right between your thighs. He runs the head of his cock up and down your slit, teasing like he’ll give in, but he displays an out-of-character strength of discipline. You groan, out of annoyance and lust. You try to grind against him, to get some sort of friction, but he places his hand on your stomach to hold you down. In a different attempt to entice him, you jut your lip out in a pout.

“Please, Adam, I need you.” you whine. He eats it up, practically lapping it out of a golden spoon.

“Yeah?”

You nod frantically. “I want to feel you inside me.’

“Fuck. Who am I to deny my girl what she wants?” Adam inserts his head, slowly sinking into you. The stretch of your pussy, molding around the length of him, sucking him in, feels overwhelming. You crave more. And you’re fed it, though, at a steadier pace than you desire. You know he’s trying to be gentle, to not hurt you, but you can’t help but be tetchy. You need him, and you need him now. Eventually, he bottoms out into you, pelvis flush against your center. He lets out a tight groan like he’s been struck, head falling forwards, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. You aren’t much better off, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Shit– baby. I missed you.”

His hips rock into you, fucking you with an intensity so strong, it shakes you from bottom to top. You throb around him, walls clenching his cock as you gladly take it. His balls slap against your ass as he pulls out and pistons forwards. On one particularly harsh pass of his hips, his dick rubs against that sweet spot. Suddenly, you’re out of your body, swimming in an endless galaxy, where the only thing you’re aware of is pure pleasure. Your hands find his back, clawing and scratching hard enough to barely break the skin. The first mark of the night. Adam pathetically keens into it before pouncing forward. He curls his lip, showing off his sharp canines, and bites down on your neck. Your mouth drops in a loud, broken sob.

“Adam!”

“Yeah.”

“Adam–” 

“Yeah–” 

You’re coming. You’re coming and it’s never felt so good, nothing has ever felt so good, and all you can feel and think is pleasure, pleasure, pleasure until your brain melts into a puddle of goop and distantly you’re aware that Adam is still pounding into you and licking at the bruising skin and you can sense it but you can’t feel it and, and, and–

When you finally come down, Adam’s pace has slowed into a lazy roll of his hips. He’s saying something, but you can’t hear anything, your heartbeat thick in your ears. Your throat feels hoarse as if you’ve been screaming. Embarrassment floods through you– everyone in the party has definitely heard you. But then his cock brushes against your g-spot, and you’re jolting with oversensitivity. Adam smirks, crooked and smug, before leaning forward and catching your lips. He kisses you sweetly while he burrows into you harshly. The contradiction has you moaning all the same.

He rips himself out of you, your walls squeezing around him as he exits as if trying to keep him in. He takes his cock in hand, aiming it over your abs, and begins feverishly pumping it. It doesn’t take long before he’s whining your name, jaw dropping and eyes squeezing tight. Thick ropes of come land on your stomach, warm and sticky. His breathing evens out, slowing down enough to expand his diaphragm. Adam, still lazily thrusting into his fist, drags a finger through the pool of his release and, just like before, pressing it to your lips. You part your mouth and he slips it inside. Your tongue swirls around it, lapping up his seed. When his finger is clean, he removes it from your mouth, and lets it drop to his side. With a loud ‘oomf,’ Adam flops himself onto the mattress next to you. Wrapping a protective arm around you, he drags you close.

“Adam.”

He gently shushes you, causing your eyes to narrow. You thrash against him, twisting and pushing to escape him. To insist he cleans you up from his quickly-drying come. To at least let you use his wet shirt to wipe it up. But Adam’s grip around you tightens, almost painful. It makes you wince, makes you take in a sharp inhale of air. In contrast to his rough handling, his chin gently comes to rest on the top of your head. He nuzzles into your hair, humming happily.

“You’re never leaving me again.”

[inoluvrr]

⟶ let you break my heart again

cw:: i have never written angst like this before. gn!reader, reader is MEAN in this one, reader implied to be an english speaker, reader gets drunk? satoru + reader met at jujutsu high

Satoru Gojo is not a coffee drinker.

It’s bitter, it's either scalding hot or biting cold, and in your words, “it tastes like dirt.”

He remembers the way he laughed in agreement last year when you muttered that under your breath, consequence of sneaking a sip of Nanami’s coffee. He remembers looking at you, his cheeks flushed and his words all airy. And he can't scrub from his mind the way you didn't spare him a glance.

Satoru Gojo hates coffee. But after a long night of entertaining a drunken you, he needs something to propel him through the day. And cocaine is illegal.

His eyes follow you around the staff room. Rubbing your temples and groaning, snapping at anyone who dares to speak.

“Someone’s hungover,” he smirks.

“Shut up,” you hiss. “Your voice is so grating.”

He shuts up, and pretends you didn't say that. He shuts up and pretends you don't always say that. He shuts up and pretends he doesn't spend night after night picking you up from a bar, completely wasted, or dropping you off to a date, or picking you up from some fling’s apartment at 7am.

On days when the staff room is silent, he allows himself a fleeting moment to close his eyes and picture you. He dreams of the thirteen-year long softness with which he can't help but afford you, and he lets himself fantasise that once, just once, you'll turn around and return his lovesick smile.

But on days like this, he presses his lips together in a fine line and ignores the sympathetic glance Shoko spares him.

He wonders what it is about him that is so unappealing. Nursing a whiskey at some dive bar, he slurs out his troubles to a sympathetic barkeep.

“Girls like me. I get asked out all the time. But she doesn't want me, and I don’t know why!” He wants to scream, or cry, or laugh, but he's not sure which and he slumps over the bar and barely catches his glass before it goes tumbling over. “I don't want the other fish in the fucking sea. I want her. She’s the prettiest fish.”

No one comes to pick him up.

Some days you're sweet on him. You throw him a bone. You send him songs in English that he doesn't understand, but he listens to the melody and the gibberish lyrics and he finds pieces of you in the songs.

[satoru gojo]: good song

[satoru gojo]: i like your taste in music ;)

Read, 11:06PM.

On other days you pick him up as the unforgiving sun is setting. You drive, asking him about his day, letting him ramble about his students, or vent about the higher ups, or tell you about this super funny thing Nanami did as though you weren't there.

He turns his head away from you as he finishes speaking, and he's glad he wears a blindfold as it catches his tears.

He downs the rest of his coffee, shuffling over on the couch to give you room to sit next to him.

“Thanks for picking me up last night,” you mumble, picking at your nails. You refuse to make eye contact, which is just as well because he'd hate for you to see the wide-eyed stare he's subjecting you to.

“... No problem.”

[q1mblrrd]

In The Eyes of God

Castiel x Dean (Destiel) 💙💚

Word count: 1,988 (low count I’m sorry)

Cas and Dean are forbidden lovers, prince x peasant. PART FIVE (I KNOW ITS LATE IM SORRY)

Part 4 :

Part six:

Warnings: none for this chapter!

Three weeks had passed since their excursion to the city, and nearly every day since that time Castiel had been busy with some kind of royal work that prevented the two from seeing each other. The only thing Dean had to work with was the searing memory of finding the chance to shove the other in a towel closet just a few days ago, but those embers seemed to burn strong in the back of his mind. It kept his mind away from the stinging pain in his hands from working at repairs on the barn roof all day. He had a bad habit of letting his thoughts wander, only to be brought sharply back to the present when the hammer missed the nail in favor of his fingertips, or when his foot slipped on the moisture gathered on the rungs of the ladder and for a moment his heart sank to his stomach. 

He really should be more careful.

This spring had been a particularly humid one, and Dean didn’t mind the humidity so much as he minded the heat. Humidity, he could handle, but the mixture of stifling heat and a sticky fog that seemed to linger everywhere over the kingdom made him more depressed than he would’ve liked to admit. The water in the air reminded him of home back on the coast. On days when there was a breeze he could almost fool himself into thinking maybe it was a salty mist hitting his cheeks. 

As much as he hated his life before this, he found himself missing it more and more each day. He missed the quiet days when he could wander along the coastline, wading ankle-deep in ocean water, catching the occasional fish. His younger brother Sam would be there too, trodding along beside him, carrying a basket far too big for his little hands, rambling about one thing or another he read in a book off Dad’s shelf. He wasn’t supposed to touch them, but Dean never told their Father and their Father was so drunk he usually never knew the difference. It had been a struggle between their Father and Mother, and the constant need for just a bit more money, but Dean always tried his hardest to make Sam’s life a little more enjoyable. He took the swings from a drunken fist when they came, shoving Sam away into a cupboard and telling him not to come out until Dean came and got him.

When Dean was thirteen their Mother fell ill and died soon after, not a week after that and their Father packed a bag and left without ever looking back, leaving Dean to care for his younger brother Sam without a penny in his pocket. Dean had carried what he could on his back, took Sam, and walked them into the nearest city to find a job. Dean worked what he could, gathering his savings, spending only what was necessary, and eventually paying for the fare to send Sam to school. 

The ship went down two days into the voyage, leaving no survivors. Pirates had attacked, and poor Sam had drowned somewhere off the eastern border of the neighboring country, Caspan. Dean had been left with nothing once again, this time true alone. Now sixteen, orphaned, and with no known relatives to take him in, Dean packed his small life up once more and hid in the next carriage heading through town. He didn’t much care where he went, as long as he was away from everything that had hurt him. 

That’s how Dean had ended up in Narran, working as a smuggler for a friend or two until he grew to be too large to get the job done without being seen. Once his body had been built into a statue of muscle and tanned skin he moved to the forest, cutting down trees, lugging them into town, and selling the firewood to businesses all around. Eventually, an opening for a farmhand opened at the castle, and Dean was interested purely by the fact that it meant meals and a roof over his head for two cents higher pay. 

Now twenty-three, stronger, and more determined than ever to leave, he found himself more tied down than ever. He couldn’t leave without Castiel, not now, not after everything they’d built together, but by god he couldn’t stand to stay anymore. Every evening when he made his way back to the small corner of the barn he called his bed he pulled out the tin of savings he kept hidden behind a loose board and counted his change. It was enough for himself, sure, but not nearly enough for two. For safe passage, with someone so valuable as Castiel, he would need to work for another year, maybe two. Even then, no amount of money would guarantee their safety.

Dean was stuck, but still, his heart was determined to make it out. He planned in his free time, inconspicuously walking along the castle walls, seeing which guards looked where finding the weak points and gaps in their shifts where he might sneak out unnoticed. He couldn’t do much surveillance within the castle walls, but whatever he could find, he noted. After these past few weeks, he had managed to hash together a plan that might work, but that might have been the smallest chance he’d ever had for anything in his life. He needed to see Castiel. 

Castiel had been so deep in papers and legal work that he could hardly focus on anything but the lengthy documents that only seemed to pile up on his desk with each passing hour. He barely found the time to eat, much less see Dean aside from their moments in passing when he and his Father walked through the garden. His Father must’ve noticed the amount of time Castiel spent outside, away from his studies, and now he’d decided to redirect the boy to the more “important matters” of his life. Learning to become a diplomat, the proper way of speaking, of walking, the correct way to hold his cup when he drank from it, all the things that Castiel had begun to despise. It was tedious, frustrating work that often left him with red welts across the back of his hands and arms for any wrong answer he gave to his tutors.

He was making plans of his own, gazing out the window and wondering what he would do with his life if he wasn’t cooped up here in his room. He wanted to go into the city again, he wanted to stay there amongst the people. 

Without a knock, his chamber door opened, startling him and making him turn away from the window to see who’d just burst in. It was his Father, standing with his Mother just behind him. 

“Yes, Father?”

Castiel spoke up almost hesitantly, standing from his position perched on the window ledge, straightening out the front of his shirt. He hadn’t done anything wrong, or so he remembered, and he doubted his Father had an assignment for him so late in the evening. It was confusing, and a bit worrying. His Father took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he took another step into the room and shut the door. Mother stepped to the small bench at the foot of Castiel’s bed, took a seat, and placed her hands politely in her lap.

”You’re going off for a bit.” The King said in a quiet but commanding tone, leaving no room for confusion or argument. “You’ve been distracted, and I can’t have your mind anywhere else. Not now. We’re on the cusp of your crowning Castiel.”

Castiel felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“What do you mean? Father I’ve kept up with all my studies, I’ve—“

”That’s enough.” His father cut him off, raising a hand to signal for the other to be quiet. “The decision has already been made. You’ll be going in a week. Pack your things.” 

With that, his Father turned to leave, but Castiel, still shocked to his core, almost jumped forward as he spoke again.

”But Father, where am I even going? I’ll study more, I’ll— I’ll pay more attention in the meetings, I swear to it. Please, I want to stay.”

His Father didn’t listen, ignoring his pleas and walking swiftly out the door almost as quickly as he’d entered. Castiel’s Mother still sat on the bench, watching him with a saddened look. She’d miss him dearly, she was sure, but her husband had decided this was best for their boy. Castiel turned to her, giving her a look of confusion and hurt.

”You’re just going to let him send me away?”

She sighed, tearing her gaze away and slowly standing.

”It’s for the best dear, besides, your Father’s right. Your mind isn’t here with us anymore. You just need some readjustments, that’s all. You’ll be back to normal and you can come home before you even know you left!”

Castiel scoffed, pulling his shoulder away when she tried to place a hand on it. He was angry, rightfully so, fleeing his room before she could say another word to him. He ran through the halls, bumping into the occasional servant carrying armfuls of supplies, mumbling quick apologies to them and shoving his tears back down. He needed to tell Dean. He needed to see Dean.

Castiel burst through the barn doors, startling Dean, who quickly perked his head up at the new introduction. “What’s happened?” Dean asked after a moment, pushing himself up and growing concerned as Castiel began to breathe shakily before a soft sob left his lips and a tear or two streaked down his cheek. 

“He’s sending me off,” Castiel choked out, putting his hands on his knees and nearly collapsing over. “My Father, he’s sending me off, he hasn’t told me where.” 

Dean stood now, carefully stepping over to Castiel and setting a hand on his shoulder, letting the other stand just enough to fall into his arms and cry into his shoulder. Dean held him fast, turning a nose into his hair, trying to memorize the sickeningly sweet scent Castiel seemed to have. 

“No,” Dean said quietly, but there was a certain form of determination in his voice that made Castiel believe he wouldn't let it happen. Dean held him a bit tighter, placing his hand on the back of Castiel’s head. “We’re going to get out. You and I, together. I won’t let them take someone else away from me.”

”But…” Castiel sniffed and pulled back just slightly, meeting the other’s eye. “How? I’ve been thinking about it too, but we just couldn’t… sneak away. We’d be caught. They’d hurt you.”

”No, we won’t be caught. I’ve made a plan, I can be ready in two days.” 

Dean responded quickly, maybe overestimating just how well he thought he could execute this plan, but Castiel was going away in a week and there wasn’t any guarantee when he would be back. It had been nearly two years since they’d first met, plenty of small scares had come and gone, but now was their chance. They’d finally get to live the life they wanted. 

“Are you sure?” 

Dean hesitated. Was he sure? Truthfully, no, he wasn’t sure he was sure something would go wrong. There was a pit of anxiety forming in his stomach, but seeing tears in the corners of Castiel’s eyes tore away any semblance of giving up. He had to get out, and he had to take Castiel with him. He brought his hand to Castiel’s cheek, rubbing his thumb below his eye and wiping away the wet tears. 

“I’m sure.”

Dean sealed his promise with a soft kiss before pulling Castiel into a strong hug again. He’d lost his father, his mother, and his younger brother, but he refused to lose his lover.

[murfeelee]

Black Myth: Wukong INSP - The Yellow Loong

"For what deed, must his head be hung for all to see? For what deed, must the waters they governed roam free? For what deed, must all matters not know how to be? For what deed, must mercy’s hand sow woe upon thee?"

The plan [Yellow Loong] had was simple: since the old man [Yuan Shoucheng] could foresee destiny, he would surely sidestep misfortune. By staying with [Yuan], [Yellow Loong] believed he could elude all danger. After his brothers each fled to distant realms, he transformed into a loong pattern on Yuan Shoucheng's robe. For the next 100 years, he followed the old man across the vast lands, watching him decipher omens and foretell futures. But what good did his words change? Most, in their hubris, fell into the same snares. Whenever this occurred, the old man would seek refuge in drink. By fortune's grace, he possessed a gourd that brewed its own wine, and thus, he often drowned his sorrows in a self-spun stupor. In his drunken haze, the old man would often converse with the shadows.... Sometimes, [Yuan] would sigh and question, "If you could predict where you would die and deliberately avoid it, could you really escape?" The loong often wondered if these words were meant for him. But since the old man never exposed or drove him away, he assumed the old man was just rambling in his drunkenness. As time went on, these words gnawed at his heart, leaving him torn and unable to decide whether to leave. -- Black Myth: Wukong, Chapter 4

MY THOUGHTS (spoilers under the cut):

In my gameplay, I wanted Maitreya to purify Kang-Jin Star, and then she would go forth and find her dragon brethren and help save them, too.

The in-game lore is very vague and the fans pieced it all together (x x), but basically it follows part of Journey to the West canon, where Yuan Shoucheng had told a bunch of fortunes to fishermen about the best fishing spots & upcoming rainfall. The Dragon King worried that his rivers would be depleted of fish and all his subjects would go extinct if Yuan kept at it. So he tried to trick Yuan into giving the wrong fortune. But the Jade Emperor found out and sentenced the Dragon King to death for going against the will of heaven (esp. since Yuan was divinely favored by the Celestial Court, and the gods made sure Yuan's predictions were right). So the Dragon King was executed--a moral conundrum, since on one hand he was tryna save his people, but otoh he defied the Celestial Court (that set him up).

In Black Myth: Wukong, 4 of the Dragon King's 9 sons (the Yellow, Black, Cyan, and Red Loongs) had run to Yuan for help, afraid that all their fates were doomed, too. Yuan advised them to go into hiding until he gave the signal to come back out. Unfortunately for them, that signal was the arrival of the Destined One (Sun Wukong's reincarnation), who eventually kills them all to create an epic weapon. The Yellow Loong is the last one found, cuz he was hiding in Yuan's yellow robes, and takes over Yuan's body during the boss fight in Chapter 4. After the fight, Yuan convinces Yellow to die & rejoin his brothers' spirits and create the epic weapon the Destined One is then able to use.

What happened to the dragons is supremely effed up, and from the yaoguai's perspective, BMW paints the Celestial Court, Yuan, and the Destined One in a really bad light. So as I explained here, in my TS3 gameplay, there is no Destined One taking Wukong's place; Maitreya does his effing job and takes care of business; and the dragons & other innocent yoaguai get some effing HELP for once. 😩

[madisonmccoy]

Teo Tomczuk tells us about the next season of Rykter!

https://730.no/forteller-om-neste-sesong-teo-tomczuk/%5C~%5D

SOMMERFJAS with Teo Tomczuk

By Tayiba Haji

3 July 2024 at 15:47

Teo Tomczuk sits down with SOMMERFJAS 😎 🎵 ☀️

-

(y’all this one needed a lot of cultural context to understand properly so you can see my personal explanations/rambling below in red lol)

“Fellesferien” has officially started (this is also known as general staff vacation in English, a practice where all employees at a workplace have time off at the same time, and in Nordic countries this typically takes place during warmer months like August). And while some people turn their sights towards the South (warmer/more southern countries in Europe), others are settling in well at their Norwegian cabins.

The next man out for our Summer column is Teo Tomczuk (born in 2006).

You may know him as Mathias from the NRK series “Rykter”, but in his spare time Teo is also very involved in music.

[730.no](http://730.no) had a chat with the Bergen native about his summer favorites. As well as what we can expect from the highly anticipated third season of “Rykter”.

Hi Teo! Do you have any exciting plans for the summer?

“I am going to play some concerts in Poland, and travel around Poland a bit. And I am going on vacation to Croatia with my best friend! It's a bit funny because all the “russegruppene” in all of Norway are going there exactly when we are going there." 

(Russegruppene, or Russ groups, describe groups of students in their final semester of high school that celebrate the tradition of Russefeiring, or russ for short. This happens over a period of several weeks leading up to summer, and it is basically a continuous party commonly linked to drunkenness & public disturbances. It's also a tradition for the students to wear special overalls for the event, usually red or blue. Many groups choose to rent or buy party buses to drive around during this time. This tradition is unique to Norway and is an interesting read for those unfamiliar with it!)

Lovely! What kind of style do you go for in the summer then?

“I wear a lot of black clothes even though it's summer.”

What does the perfect summer day look like for you?

“A cabin trip combined with a fishing trip! And making music in the evening.

What movie/series did you last watch? And what roll of the dice do you give it?

“I saw The Fall Guy in the movie theater, it was very well made. The entire production. Dice roll 6!” (The roll of the dice is a Norwegian rating system for media, with 1 being the worst and 6 being the best)

Speaking of cool productions: Has the third season of “Rykter” been recorded?

“The third and fourth seasons have actually been recorded!”

Wow, so cool! What can we expect from the new season?

“You can expect a lot of love, broken hearts. Many try lots of new things and find out who they are. Mostly they get to know themselves. There will be a lot of identity stuff!”

Do you have any tips on what someone could do on a rainy day?

“I live in Bergen, so I'm used to that. The fish bite more when it rains. And make music of course.”

Do you have a favorite restaurant that you just have to visit in the summer?

“Mammas Kjøkken!” (Mom’s Kitchen)

How are you at parties?

“I'm the one who tries to put on 70s rock, haha! I’m really not the biggest party type then.”

What can we expect from you on the music front?

“I try to find my own sound. I developed a new style of pop rock that I think people can vibe with. There will be more international music, a bit of everything.”

What is this summer's vorspiel (pre-game) anthem?

"Immigrant Song - Led Zeppelin”

What is this summer's nachspiel (afterparty) anthem?

"The End - The Doors”

(Vorspiel and nachspiel are German words that are used in Scandinavian countries to mean pre and after party)

What song is best to dance to?

“Lonely Boy by The Black Keys.”

What is your darkest party memory?

“I broke a tooth once haha!”

Huh?

“Yeah, it was crazy. I was going to open a bottle. Fortunately, it went fine in the end.”

Luckily! Do you have any good tips for the day after a party?

“In Poland we have a soup that grandmas and moms have often made over the years. It's damn good the next day. And just drink lots of water before and after.”

What do you spend the most money on in the summer?

“Probably beer!”

Who would you most like to meet this summer, and why?

“The best thing would be to meet my role models.”

And who are they?

“Many of them have died, but of the ones who are alive: Alex Turner and Ozzy Osbourne.”

(ALEX TURNER MENTION !!!)

Have you ever had a summer fling? Or is there anyone who counts as one this year?

“Not this year, but I've had ones in the past. It's best during the summer, that’s really when it’s the nicest.”

Can you send us some random photos from your camera roll this summer?

Thank you so much and have a happy summer, Teo!

“Likewise!”

[tgmsunmontue]

What to write weekend?

I have no social events this weekend, so it's going to be life admin, household chores, writing and drawing. (And unfucking some of my habitat because there are spaces in my house which desperately need it. Again.)

HOWEVER - so I spend time actually writing rather than just day-dreaming about writing, please reply to this post, send me an ask (anon is on), or a DM. You can choose up to three letters/numbers from the PINNED POST which I just updated (I've copy/pasted below the ones I'm most interested in working on). I will write 150-200 words per letter/number (yep, down a little from the 250 just because I don't want to stress myself out and disappoint people when I can't do it - this is meant to motivate me, not make me anxious).

Tracking is here for those of you that like spreadsheets.

(Hopefully removed the tags from the people so they don't get MORE notifications!)

1) Sagas of Solitude 16/21 - IceMav with side Hangster AU - angsty Nepo!Baby Bradley Bradshaw who has to keep his relationship with Mav and Ice a secret when he starts at the USNA. Featuring married Ice and Mav (but not to each other). Prologue He Remembers and Lonely Nights are both set in this verse. (Last updated 2nd Jan)

2) Season to Taste 34/42 Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world. (Last updated 9th January)

WIP STATUS (+ FIC IDEAS CURRENTLY GERMINATING)

FYI - everyone is welcome to take any of the ideas and do their own spin. Don't plagiarise obviously, but definitely feel free to take it and add your own twist.

A) Upon which our souls touch - 8/? - Hangster Fantasy AU (Last updated 1st January 2025)

B) Never knew I was missing you - 7/9 - Hangster AU with Jake a naval aviator and Bradley and A-list Hollywood star. They meet on a dating app. Famous and cat fishing that isn't cat fishing because online relationships are rife but...? (Tumblr idea) (Last updated 9th January 2025)

C) The terrible drunken sex which turns into Hangman wanting to prove he is GOOD at sex and then Bradley catching feelings. (Tumblr post)

D) IceMav with unknown about children because the US Navy is evil and produced offspring because of genetics being a THING. (Tumblr ramblings)

E) Cyclone/Maverick - Cyclone is struggling to deal with being attracted to the most annoying person he's ever met. Why does he like him so much?

H) From the top 4/? - an Ice/Mav epistolary fic where Jake and Bradley matchmake them, not realising exactly who it is they've matched together. AU divergent ish. (Last updated 4th January 2025)

K) Caring, Keeping and Collecting Transformers - A Guide - 12/?Transformers cross-over for help me yeagrave is 110% to blame for me adding this... (related to this post) (Last updated 1st January 2025)

L) Hangster Sports Team AU with Hangster being ex-es (like stood up at the alter type exes) and the trade deadline coming in hot and Bradley being traded in and all hell is about to break loose... Ramblings and more here.

S) Jake is a blacksmith and artist and Bradley is a high school history teacher.

T) Jake and Bradley becoming friends on Instagram through competitive thirst traps. (Tumblr post)

U) Jake vs Bradley kissing competition with no touching (tumblr post from iprefervillains)

V) Actual fleshed out "wrong number" AU from caystar13star

W) The amnesia fic if the-ace-with-spades doesn't mind me absconding with another of their ideas.

[rosethornewrites]

T & G reading since 12/25

Finished

Teen:

We'll Build A Dynasty (one the heavens can't shake), by One_eyed_God (2 chapters)

Wei Wuxian is well-known as a trouble-maker, someone who likes jokes and chaos. He promptly proves this by disappearing without a trace from the Cloud Recesses, in the middle of the Lectures. But when war is on the horizon and tensions boil over, can his actions really be summarized as a simple prank?

Or, the unbelievable story of Wei Wuxian, time traveller, told from everyone's point of view but his.

uh-oh, you’re in trouble, by tiraminsu

“So, um – if it’s not too much to ask, could you pretend you didn’t see me and just… let me go? I’ll find an inn or something, and you can track my every move if that helps! I just need to wait until I can get back, and I promise I won’t do anything reckless. Not that I could, anyway – no golden core here. The last world I was in didn’t even have cultivation. Seriously, you can check if you want. And – and I swear, I’ll keep quiet and steer clear of you – “

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji cut into his rambling, “You may stay.”

Wei Wuxian gawked at him. “...Huh?”

Lan Wangji was already heading for the door. “It is late. I will prepare a warm bath for you.”

or, Wei Wuxian dies and becomes a transmigrator, only to find himself back in his original world thirteen years later – right in Lan Wangji’s bedroom.

The eternal love story of Wei Ying & Lan Zhan (which Xichen will definitely make happen yet again), by Siera_Knightwalker

... this time with less heartbreak

you lit the world he saw so bright and joyful, by sami (10th in a series)

All she can do is keep working and keep trying to keep her family from shattering.

General:

this version of our story, by glitteringmoonlight

The first time Lan Yuan hears a story about the Wen remnants, he is seven years old.

The second time Lan Sizhui hears a story about his family, he is seventeen years old.

Or, the things the cultivation world says about the Wens in the Burial Mounds and the things Lan Sizhui learns much later

Just Call it a Cat's Game, by LikeLuppy

The Yiling Patriarch, scourge of the cultivation world and architect of evil, was laying on the ground and waving a dried fish at the narrow gap between two storefronts.

"What are you doing?" Jin Ling asked, then regretted it immediately.

Jin Ling goes for a night hunt but gets an invitation and a conversation instead.

Path Out of China, by TriviasFolly

A little drabble revolving around the idea of what might happen if instead of the Siege on the Burial Mounds, the Cultivation Sects arrived to find the Burial Mounds empty. No trace of Wei Wuxian or the Wens.

five months, by Rosylla

Lan Wangji does not enjoy his Head Cultivator duties.

to give way to the moon, by sami (11th in a series)

Pregnancy is tiring.

Unfinished

Teen:

Don’t We All Fall?, by Adey

The Wen remnants—those survivors whom Wei Wuxian had pulled from certain death, defying the righteous sects in the process—were still a contentious topic. The fact that they had not attempted any retaliation, that they lived in this forsaken place away from the prying eyes of the world, did not erase the fear their name invoked. The sects had their grudges, deep-rooted and bitter.

Or, Lan Qiren goes to Yiling to determine whether the information he’s been fed adds up to the reality of it.

A drop in the ocean, by ibuttermybagel

“How can you still stand on your legs after all you’ve done?” the voice had his head whip up. Eyes interlocking with those of the man he called his younger brother not too long ago. Angry eyes meeting those filled with nothing but sorry. “How can you still ask to be excused after bringing pain to so many?”

(Or: The ambush on Wei Wuxian is stopped by Jin Zixuan and instead he takes all Wens and WWX back home. Wen Ning has enough and lets everyone know what he learned in drunken talks with Wei Wuxian.)

so i cut the shackles and changed my name, by MichelleFeather

“A-Ying, should anything happen, should you be separated from us or find yourself in need of help, find Lan Qiren in Cloud Recesses. No matter what’s happened, he will keep you safe. He has sworn to me his home will always be open to you, no matter what.”

Following the advice of his late mother, Wei Ying runs away from Lotus Pier, knowing that if he were to stay, he would likely die at the hands of Madam Yu.

And, he finds, the Lan Clan is the place where he was always supposed to be.

General:

The Light in Their Eyes, by Quixotikan

Mian Mian had never seen Wen Qing smile. By the time they met, their lives had been too tangled in tyrants’ wars and cowards’ lies for that. But Mian Mian had glimpsed Wen Qing’s love for her brother during their abbreviated stay at the Cloud Recesses, and she distinctly remembered the spark in her eyes when Wei Wuxian had stood up to that bully Wen Chao in the cave of the Tortoise of Slaughter — a gleam of defiance, a flicker of satisfaction, a glimmer of mirth.

OR: an alternate universe where Wen Qing is rescued by Mian Mian from Carp Tower and they begin to come to terms with the grief the world has thrown at them, only to find that cheating death is a surprisingly commonplace occurrence for the Yiling Quartet.

An Unforeseen Shift, by Remma3760

Wei Wuxian found a resentful sword deep in the bowels of a famed beast. He took it. That turned out to be fortunate since, it would seem, the sword had more than one purpose. That sword was the key to their escape from certain death trapped in the cave of the Slaughter Xuanwu.

Another chance, by lightsfillthesky

The Yiling Patriarch was despised by many but fiercely loved by others.

Others willing to do anything for him, willing to change the world for him

and they did.

[ineffable-endearments]

Animals in Good Omens (for potential symbolism reasons)

Direct, plot-relevant appearances:

Nightingales (Obvious)

Snakes (Crowley!)

Geckos (Children in disguise)

Lions (Adam and Eve’s first threat and first kill; also seems to appear on Aziraphale's ring)

Oxen (Devoured by Aziraphale; strong of constitution)

Goats (Blameless)

Crows (Disguised goats)

Hounds (Hellhound; transformed by loyalty)

Unicorns (the Great Flood; a precious thing lost to God's wrath)

Flies (Beelzebub's animal and the shape of the vessel that Gabriel puts his memory in)

Mentions that feel like they may or may not be plot-relevant:

Dinosaurs (Mentioned at the beginning of the series as fossils that God planted as a "joke")

Horses (Mentioned in the book and at the Globe; multiple statues in the shop, including the one where Crowley puts his glasses)

Ducks (Crowley and Aziraphale feed them, and Crowley in particular shows concern for their well-being; they're what water slides off)

Whales (God mentions them specifically and they also appear in Crowley's drunken ramble)

Gorillas (Mentioned in Crowley's drunken ramble and mentioned again with Banana Fish Gorilla Shoelace With A Dash of Nutmeg)

Fish (Banana Fish Gorilla Shoelace With A Dash of Nutmeg, plus the raining fish during Armageddon and Greasy Johnson's tropical fish in the book)

Rats (Crowley's little minions in the S1 outtakes; creatures Crowley is masquerading as an exterminator of, but with whom he is actually collaborating; this is a cool parallel to humanity even though the final footage wasn't in the main show)

Storks (Shax's animal, as seen on her armor)

Stag (Furfur's animal, as seen on his armor)

Frogs (Hastur's animal)

Lizards (Ligur's animal)

Owls (Referenced in the title of the minisode "A Companion to Owls")

Thanks to @kayleefansposts for adding the storks, stags, frogs, lizards, owls, and flies!

Animals that don't appear plot-relevant on the surface but I may be wrong:

Swans (Seen in the 1862 scene, but not referred to by the characters. Thanks @ao3cassandraic!)

Dolphins (Also mentioned in Crowley's ramble, but don't reappear anywhere, I don't think)

Rabbits (Aziraphale's magic show; also referred to obscurely in the beginning of S2 by Aziraphale saying the humans will "breed like...well, like humans")

Doves (Accidentally killed by Aziraphale, then resurrected in the show by Aziraphale and in the book by Crowley)

Ginger Cat (Dog likes to antagonize in a gentle way)

Ostriches ("Did you teach the ostrich to run, Job?")

The bird that sharpens its beak on the mountain (Crowley's drunken ramble)

Hedgehogs (The one Crowley doesn't manage to hit in the book)

Geese ("Big cross ducks")

Donkeys (The Dirty Donkey, right across from Aziraphale's bookshop)

Aardvarks ("What else would I be, an aardvark?!" Thanks @carbonarak!)

[handhelld]

Some stardew oc shenanigans some ramblings below vv

Farmer Oc is Maverick! He isn't actually the farmer, but more of a farmhand/freeloader on the farm.

Maverick was found by Willy on the shoreline with a ton of ship debris. Maverick had been a ship captain on a crabbing boat, but got caught in a sudden mysterious storm that led to communications failure and then the wreck of his ship and loss of his entire crew. (The green rain)

Maverick was extremely lucky to survive, but lost part of his leg and most of the feeling in his arm as a result of it being wrapped in rope from the mast. (This is what ends up saving him, since it got wrapped so tightly that even when he got knocked out, he stayed floating with the debris instead of sinking.)

Maverick doesn't have anywhere to return to or a place to stay, so the local farmer offers him a room in exchange for helpin' them with the animals.

He drinks a ton though and spends a lot of his nights at the Saloon. He and Shane have a VERY rough start and they end up getting into drunken fights more often than not. Gus has had to kick them out a few times.

Very much enemies to lovers, they skip over the friends part and its very much unhealthy at first but gets better later on as these idiots work out their issues.

Maverick is good friends with Willy, and fishes with him very often. It helps having someone with two working arms to help Mav reel in those fuckin summer Tuna.

Maverick is incredibly gentlemanly to all the ladies in town, Pierre hates his ass because he thought he was flirting with Caroline once. Marnie thinks he's a real charmer and definately smacks shane over the head for saying rude shit about him. Sam had to pull him aside once and be like "My dad is still very much alive, so you better quit it." after seeing him helping Jodi with her groceries. Maverick thinks its fuckin' hilarious because he is very much gay.

The ACTUAL farmer is this weird guy who goes by "Radish" . They rarely speak, have local crypid energy. Sebastian is kinda into them but is also very intimidated by them. Radish is just a weird lil fella. Not even Mav really understands them but they are #1 wingman.

[dbhstruggleposting]

Detroit: Become Human OC posting!🧡

I will try and fit everything into one decently sized post, but I'm MEGA AUTISTIC about my own OC, so lol! Some context: Finn was made before I even owned DBH, and before I saw anything related to DBH. He's actually originally a TF2/COD OC, but he's become just a DBH OC. He's a RP OC, specifically for a plot post in-game events (Failed Revolution, Deviant Connor).

!!!ACTUAL STUFF BELOW CUT!!!

Name: Finnigan 'Finn' Ryan

Age: 25 (12/24/2013)

Gender/Sexuality: Cis Male, Bisexual

Physical Appearance: 5'10", pale white with freckles across his entire body, green eyes, curly/fluffy ginger hair, Sleeper Build (strong twink)

Fun Facts: Has a very expansive CD collection! Owns a male betta fish named Sail! Him and his brothers all have names with double letters! He's a retro game/music nerd! Allergic to Pineapple but eats it anyways!

-

Lore!🧡

Born and raised in Ancorage, Alaska, Finn used to be a quiet shy kid who spent a lot of time taking care of his twin younger brothers Matthew (Matt) and Maxxwell (Maxx), before moving to Detroit, Michigan and getting into street racing and drugs during college (weed, he's clean now, but still likes to drive real fast). He graduated with a Masters in Criminal Justice and joined the Dertroit Police Force as a cop/detective, specifically working on civil and family cases Pre Android Revolution. In all that time, he avoided androids due to his mild phobia of them, a result of strong Uncanny Valley feelings, and preferred to work without any Android interference. Despite his fear, he ended up purchasing a cheap domestic Android, which he named Micha. He treated Micha like a science project, keeping him deactivated at all times to allow Finn to literally fiddle with the Androids insides, trying to understand the mechanics and code. It was a bad attempt to combat his fear and only made it worse. Post Failed Revolution, in which Hank dies, he's offered the opportunity to work with Connor in Hanks place. He takes the job, convincing himself it'll pay better, and he can work on his phobia if he's directly partnered with an Android. During the first mission, he feels out of place and anxious, having to shoot a deviant to save Connor. He's borderline terrified of Deviants, of how *human* they are, and almost immediately regret taking the job. The regret gets worse and worse as each case seems to result in nothing but him and Connor in danger. He yells at Connor, gets frustrated at himself, ect. Even so, he and Connor get closer and closer. No longer does Finn feel gross looking Connor in the eyes. Hell, he starts to *like* being around Connor. Only after a bunch more cases, some drunken/sleepy rambling, and a run-in with Gavin and Kamski does he realize he is, in fact, in love with Connor.

-

ANNNND I DONT WANNA RE WRITE THE WHOLE ROLEPLAY PLOT HAHA I MIGHT POST ABOUT IT OCCASIONALLY THO CUZ MAG IS SO GOOD AT WRITING AND I LOVE THE PLOT SO FAR!!!💙

-

A silly character sheet made by https://x.com/cparrisart/status/1475535559984656392?t=C0mS8IXcyrh4209yGACaWg&s=19

-

I WILL be self-indulgent. I literally made Finn and started the role play BEFORE I even knew the actual plot of DBH!🧡💙

[kerubimcrepin]

Liveblog 8: Episode 5, AKA the one where we discuss Kerubim's dead family again

Since I made pointing out the food they eat A Thing we do here, let's start out with that for this episode.

First of all, their household is so fish-centric. An octopus? A lobster?? A different lobster and a fish?? Plus, multiple bags, one under the lobster, and one under the giant veggie on top of Joris's other veggies. Probably some grain, I guess. Simone is also carrying some greens in a bag.

Basically... Man, they love fish and veggies, I guess?

Yet again, we see Kerubim's low self esteem and need for validation in action.

Yes, he thinks he's amazing. Yes, he uses magic to force people to laugh at his jokes. And yes, it makes him very happy and proud.

Don't worry about it. :)

I find it kind of interesting that Joris is resistant to the magic, but the simplest explanation is that his soul is intermixed with a dragon. I won't think too much about this.

Joris should have a salary for the way Kerubim's reputation hinges on him not talking about the shit that goes on in their house.

Like the deadly swords and cursed items everywhere. Or having mold and rotting meat at every corner for his whole life.

Considering that bamboo milk is alcoholic, I am fascinated by the in-universe implications of this line.

I wish boil-able, alcoholic oat milk was real.

The best way to get Kerubim to do something stupid is to make fun of him. Again, his low, low self-esteem making an appearance.

Genuinely, instead of being at the bar, he should have been in therapy.

Very small note, but we can see an amputee among the many patrons who listen to Kerubim's scary drunken rambling. I wish more cartoons included this sort of thing.

Though, this might be a bit of a brick-joke, considering what we learn about YeCh'Ti and his arm collection.

COUGH COUGH COUGH. ANALYSIS EVENT LEVEL 10 ALARM WEE WOO WEE WOO.

Firstly, god. The sheer insanity of going from his child self's grief and pain over losing both of his parents, all of his sisters and brothers, to making jokes about this, jokes about having no family and being lonely.

Is it really funny to you, Keke? Or are you just pretending again?

Second of all... I could talk for hours about how much I love/despise this man, but fuck, the sheer level of cruelty in this line knows no bounds.

Are you really The Last Crepin in your family, Keke?

Or are you just being cruel and facetious again?

Cruel, and towards the only other person in the whole world who would understand what you went through, because he also went through it?

(This is, yet again, your signal to go read The Wheel of Destiny #8: Kerub Crepin and Dessous De Dofus)

No wonder Atcham wants to turn him into a coat. I would fucking hate him too.

Though, with Atcham kind of using his hate for him as a coping mechanism for not having control in his life, and canonically not thinking that Kerubim really... mistreated him, when they were young, it's far more complex than that.

Especially with the way Kerubim's own conflicted feelings on their relationship are portrayed in-canon.

I'm so normal about them. Haha.

...Aaaanyway, onto the rest of the ep, while trying to pretend this doesn't make me feel all sorts of emotions:

This moment is a continuity error, because Ogrest hasn't started his quest for Dofus yet. Also, he may not even be alive yet. Yes, Kerubim and Joris are that old.

It's too cute of an easter egg for me to mind, though.

God. Joris needs better loved ones. His standards are so low he's looking at Kerubim like 🥺

Something-something Kerubim would genuinely kill himself if it meant people thought he was funny and cool.

I don't think he learned anything from this, actually.

I think we have to kill this guy with hammers.