#carrie writes stuff

[bookcub]

Bluebeard's Wives

read on ao3 here!!

There were nights he feared no one would ever love him. He tried, no one could say he didn't. He courted women, showering them in flowers and jewelry, reciting poems, praising their beauty. And it was never enough. Over and over again, each woman would prove she had never loved him.  They never loved him. The loneliness ate inside him, carving him out piece by piece. He might never know true love. But his sixth wife. . . he hoped it was her. He tried to believe her love into existence 

Anne was his sixth wife. And he hoped she was the one. He prayed she would be the one. So many women before had disappointed him, proved they were unworthy of his love but he was certain his sixth wife would be his last. She was older than his other wives, more grounded. 

His first wife, Maelle, had been a curious soul, full of questions, and he greatly enjoyed his conversations with her. She was vibrant and hopeful. He showered her in gifts and said all the pretty words, promised her happiness. He had been a good husband. He courted her for months before he had asked for her hand, when he was certain he had fallen in love with her. 

But Maelle betrayed him. 

She hid a knife under the bed. A knife meant to kill him while he slept, when he was at his most vulnerable and so he killed her first, with the very same knife. He would not be cut down. She screamed and begged. She cried that it was only because she did not know if she could trust him. But wasn’t that marriage? Trust? How could she not trust him when he had been so good? Had he no properly wooed her? 

Maelle taught him he could not blindly trust and so he devised a test. To find a wife worthy of trust and a worthy partner in life. A test to prove obedience. 

The test was this:  He kept Maelle’s body in a small, hidden away room, and he would give his new wife the keys and tell her to never enter. If she should enter, she would find her fate on the other side of the door. 

He hated that he had to go to such drastic measures, but how else could he protect himself? How else could he find a wife to trust? 

Leontine, his second wife, failed on their second night together. He had met her at a party, her parents eager to make an introduction of their daughter and host. She had been bold and made him laugh. Their courtship had been a few weeks before he asked her father’s permission for marriage. He felt much sorrow as he killed her, for he had been drawn to her fiery and proud nature. He naively hoped she would be the one. She fought hard, kicking and hitting him while he held her down. She even scratched him hard enough to scar his face. Women were cruel creatures indeed. 

He started locking the windows after Daphne. His third wife he met when she was a child, and he was a younger man. He thought it was fate that brought her back into his life. She was quiet and shy, demure as a young fawn. She failed the test within a week of their wedding. It was late one night when she almost escaped, she was much faster than he expected. She did not scream when she opened the door in the middle of the night, merely fled into the night, and it was only the creek of the window that gave her away. He had not expected much defiance from a woman who could not even meet his eyes. He caught her in the water, her hands covered in the dead womens’ blood, drowning her before she could plead a defense. 

Her body fit perfectly next to Leontinne’s. 

He craved to have a wife he could trust, to depend on, someone who understood him. After Daphne was Reinne and she passed his test he knew, telling him she had no time to rifle through things, she had a house to maintain. This gave him hope. But oh, how he grew to hate her. 

She made him feel wrong, too angry, too out of control. She always scolded him, complained about how much he traveled. And he prayed she would fail his test. He hated the way she looked at him, despised her condescending tone. He traveled more and more to stay away but she never failed. 

But she could not be trusted, so he killed her too, for she made him feel small and weak and he was not. He proved how strong he was and this time, there was a satisfaction for having his wife out of his life. 

Oriane was his last wife. She was a hopeful and musical soul. When he heard her play the piano, he decided he would marry her next. He enjoyed her constant movement and she was always in awe of his treasurers. He did not get to know her well, as he was forced to kill her on their wedding night. She found the keys before he gave her the test, and he found her fleeing through the house, killing her before she could scream. 

He was with Anne now, for he would not give up no matter how many women failed him. She was Oriane’s elder sister, a proud and solemn woman. She did not laugh or smile, but she was different, for she had asked her father for permission to wed him before he could consider courting her. His heart leapt, for he had never been chased, never outwardly been desired by a woman. They were married one month after the funeral, where he had not faked the tears that fell from his face. He mourned all his wives and the happiness they denied him. 

He had never felt optimistic like this before. He wanted Anne to be the one, needed her to be the one. This was not a first love but a lot that would stand the test of time. 

They were together this night, and she had brought him tea from the kitchen. He gazed lovingly at her as they sat across from each other, on their wedding bed. She held his gaze. He moved to compliment the tea, but found himself unable to move. His eyes widened in shock, trying to warn his wife, but when his eyes focused on her, she stared back, resolute. 

“You are dying,” she said, her voice icy calm. “Would you like to know why?” 

But of course, he couldn’t answer. His body slowly slid out of his chair and she eased his body to the floor, kneeling over him. 

“Did you know Oriane was a witch?” Anne asked. “She wasn’t very powerful, neither am I. We know how to make a few potions, mostly but we had both mastered one spell: telepathy. It only works when both minds are receptive to it. We talked every day. She called to me when she first discovered your closet. I saw everything through her eyes. I saw you kill her. I was helpless to stop you. I vowed I would get her justice and so I have. I wanted to make it last, I wanted to torture you as you destroyed them. But my vengeance was not worth the risk of you harming another. 

“You cried at the funeral and it took all my strength not to murder you in that moment. What right do you have to cry over a woman you killed? She was dead because you chose to kill her. You cannot choose to mourn her. You are a monster.”

Her voice was strained as she continued, tears starting to form in her eyes. “She was my heart, and when you killed her, I died with her. She would have been kinder in her justice, you know. She would only kill in self defense, but I believe in justice. You will never hurt another. You are done.” 

She plunged the knife into his chest and watched him while he drew his last breath. 

[keferon]

Monster hunter au part 9

I wanted to cook a bit more fluff before I get back to drama hehe

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[samijey]

Trick Williams and Ilja Dragunov backstage after their final match at Spring Breakin' 2024

[krazieka2]

Vampire Mercedes lore doodles (and vampire Lorenz bullying)

[bluebeary-jay]

How easy you are to need

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel notices that the peaceful life in Jackson has its consequences. he is not happy about it (based on this wonderful ask!)

Tags: TONS OF ANGST, but also FLUFF, established relationship, ahh intrusive thoughts (how much i hate them), Joel is probably ooc but i don't care anymore, also he's soft and insecure and vulnerable

Warnings: body dismorphia and lots of self-loathing on Joel's side, at one (two?) points borderline on smut ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) hihihi, swearing, drinking (just mentioned), suggestive stuff bc apparently i can't help myself 😌

Word count: 8K ! (8028 specifically woah)

A/N: the next fic will definitely be shorter bc i really need to start caring less about the quality of my work, it takes way too long for my liking. buuut anyway as always 🎶i hope yall will like it🎶 this is my birthday gift for you guys 💕

Joel looked at himself in the mirror with furrowed brows.

He pulled in his stomach and tried to zip his pants. It still fit, but barely. He undid the zip, turned to the side and looked at his reflection again, just to make sure.

Yeah. This pair was definitely loose until a while ago.

He glanced at the door, but didn’t hear you coming, so he sighed and looked in the mirror again. Joel was never particularly muscular, but he could no longer see those thin lines which accentuated his torso before. There was also a bit of fat above the hem of his jeans, and his frame seemed somehow heavier…

Good thing his left ear was directed to the door, because he heard the moment the water in the shower stopped running, which meant you were coming back from the bathroom. Joel spared himself one last wary look and zipped up his pants before turning around to your shared bed where his shirt lay discarded.

He was putting his arms into the sleeves when you entered. A couple of light steps, and then Joel smiled when he felt your arms wrapping around his torso. He glanced over his shoulder at you.

“You took your sweet time in the shower,” he pointed out, and he could feel your smile when you pressed your face to his back.

“We finally have hot water, so I’m gonna use it every chance I get.”

“You left some for me?”

You huffed a laugh and went around him, moving his hands away and starting to button his shirt yourself.

“There would be, if you took a shower with me.”

“Next time, sweetheart,” he chuckled and leaned in to kiss your forehead softly, combing his fingers through your wet hair. He hummed. “Your hair smells nice.”

“It’s that shampoo Ellie didn’t want.” You shook your head with a smile. “I have no idea why, it’s fantastic.”

You buttoned up the last button and smoothed your palms over his chest and down, lastly resting them on his waist. Internally Joel furrowed his eyebrows, wondering if he could always feel this fold when you put your hands in that place.

“You look handsome,” you whispered, looking up at him with twinkling eyes and such a soft, love-struck expression on your face that Joel felt his throat constricting. Everything but the sight of you faded from his mind, and he joined his hands behind your back, pulling you closer into his chest and basking in this precious smile you blessed him with. “Especially with the bed hair.”

“It’s your doin’, you know,” he murmured in response, nudging your nose with his and reminiscing how you tugged and raked your nails through his hair the night before. “You gotta be careful with it, sweet girl. If you continue doin’ it, m’gonna go bald soon.”

You hummed noncommittally and leaned against his chest, standing on your tip-toes. “I’ll take it under consideration. No promises, though.”

Joel lifted his hand to the back of your neck and kissed you slowly, reveling in the soft sigh that left your lips. You rested your palm above his heart, leaning forward to the point that you would fall over if he wasn’t supporting your weight.

But Joel held you tight and close to his body, gladly steadying you as you deepened the kiss, once again tugging on his graying hair in that way he adored. He wanted to tease you about it, but his thoughts strayed to the image of his body again when you lowered your hand from his chest to his side.

“You remember that tonight is this party?” you asked suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts. Joel gave up pondering about his physique and sighed heavily at your question, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Yeah, I remember. Regrettably.”

“I don’t want to go, either,” you whispered with guilt, as if someone would hear you both. “But Tommy really wanted us to come and… Just don’t make me go alone.”

“Hey, darlin’.” Joel took your face in his hands and looked deeply into your eyes. “I promised, didn’t I? M’not gonna leave you there on your own.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, smiling against them. “And mind you, I gotta make sure no one will try to seduce and steal you away from me.”

You giggled, and you were standing so close that Joel could feel your eyelashes tickling his skin. He held you close when you tried to take a step back, and your lips collided again.

“That is the one thing you don’t need to ever worry about,” you murmured quietly into the space between you two. “How could I even look at other people when I have you all to myself?”

Joel’s reflection in the mirror flashed across his mind again and a small wave of uncertainty rippled through him, but it quickly disappeared when you opened your eyes and looked at him with this raw love radiating from them. Your every word, every affectionate gesture only confirmed his conviction that you meant every word you said.

So why did he still feel so uncertain?

*****

Life in Jackson was perfect. Considering the state of the world right now, living here was like winning a lottery.

Joel had a lot to be thankful for, he was well aware of that. No longer had he any fears or sense of guilt about going to sleep and leaving you and Ellie defenseless if something were to happen. He didn’t have to count rations anymore, worrying that the kid would be forced to march all day hungry. There was now no need to keep a watchful eye for new clothes if someone’s worn off, ripped or got soaked from walking in the rain, posing a threat of you or Ellie catching a cold.

Back in Boston it wasn’t much different, though he and you had at least a bed to sleep in, as uncomfortable as it was. But there was never enough food for all those people Fedra kept there, and the winters were cold as hell, leaving at least one of you a bit sick every year.

None of those things were keeping him awake at night anymore. The only people he had to take care of – you and Ellie – were safe and comfortable. None of you had to starve or freeze, and you all didn’t have to continue walking across the country for days and days without end, struggling to survive.

Maybe that was the problem.

Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew that those luxuries he had an access to now were at the root of his problem. Before you all settled in Jackson, you were constantly on the move, fighting for your lives in one way or another, so of course he was… leaner and more fit back then. It was never something he paid attention to, though, never something he concerned himself with.

But now you three were living here, surrounded by more people than Joel could count, and he couldn’t help but… notice things about them.

Especially about all those men and women who looked at you in a different way.

Due to the nature of the party Tommy invited them to – mainly consisting of dancing and talking in the biggest bar in Jackson – Joel had a lot of time to ponder about his situation, all while nursing his drink and looking at you from across the room with his elbows resting on the table.

You were chatting with one of your friends near the counter, laughing and smiling so beautifully. No matter where Joel’s eyes strayed, they always came back to your person, as if you were the moon against the pitch black sky, reflecting some imperceptible light.

Some guy he knew by sight – Chuck? Bart? – walked up and tapped you on the shoulder, and from what Joel could tell, he was offering you a drink. He was standing way too close, though, and you took a step closer to your friend, shaking your head. Chuck – or Bart – persisted for another half a minute, but eventually shrugged and shuffled off, his movements tense.

Joel didn’t move. He knew from experience that you’d let him know if you needed his help.

As if sensing his gaze, you turned your head and sent him a radiant smile. He mirrored it, lifting his glass slightly like he was toasting you, which made you do the same before resuming the conversation with your friend.

His smile disappeared as soon as you stopped looking at him. Joel sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fingers, feeling a headache coming from the dull lights and loud chatter all around.

It were moments like this when it hit him just how old he was compared to you.

You were a sweet, young thing. Funny, sharp, drop-dead gorgeous… No wonder some people were seeking your attention. That guy was just one of the half a dozen he saw or heard about since you moved to Jackson.

Joel knew you were a loyal sort – God, he knew that, he knew you for so long now – but every time he saw you talking to someone else, his treacherous mind started to wonder if he wasn’t somehow keeping you chained to his person.

It was probably alcohol talking, but Lord, if he wasn’t reminded of how old he was compared to you every time he saw you next to your peers. You still had so much life ahead of you, and he was pushing sixty, for fuck’s sake. Before long he’ll be old and decrepit, unable to bring something useful to the table or help you in any way, and you’d still be as pretty as ever, trapped in a relationship with an old man.

For example, that guy – Chuck, or whomever – was way closer to your age, had handsome features, and Joel knew for a fact he was working at tree felling, so he had to be muscular, too.

Joel was once, too. Once.

He subtly ran his hand across his stomach under the jacket, his brows furrowed, and leaned back on the bench to get rid of those damned fat folds.

He sighed and downed the rest of the liquor in his glass, trying very hard not to think about it, not to put himself down like that and let those cruel thoughts fester in his mind, but no matter what, he couldn’t stop comparing himself to this guy, and also… how you looked next to him.

Shit. What if he was doing you more harm than good by continuing to stay with you?

“I could pickpocket you and you wouldn’t notice.”

Joel looked up, abruptly pulled out of his thoughts. You were standing over his table with your head tilted and still that beaming smile on your face.

“What are you thinking about, handsome?”

He opened his mouth, glanced in the direction of the bar, and closed it. There was no sign of any of the people you just talked with.

“Nothin’,” he replied, maybe a little too dryly, so he quickly changed the subject. “You havin’ fun?”

“Yeah, it’s nicer than I thought.” You looked around and then spotted the empty glass on the table in front of him. “Do you want me to bring you another one?”

“No, there’s no need,” he grumbled, but you had already put your drink down and sent him a wink.

“I'll be right back, baby.”

Joel hissed your name but you just looked over your shoulder with a smirk, swinging your hips provocatively to the music and ignoring him completely. He sighed heavily, slumping in his seat.

He needed to get his shit together. Fuck his insecurities, he didn’t want to take his frustration out on you when you were nothing but a ray of sunshine in his life, always so good and affectionate.

Joel’s thoughts came to a sudden stop when he searched for you in the crowd and noticed another man, this time one he didn’t know, swinging his arm over your shoulders while you waited at the bar. He tried to read your body language from here, but you didn’t seem particularly uncomfortable with the man’s actions. Joel furrowed his brows, a pit of uncertainty forming in his stomach again... but then you threw the man’s heavy limb off your shoulders and went back to Joel’s table as soon as you got the drink.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he murmured, taking a large gulp despite telling himself earlier that he was done drinking for today. “Were you okay back there?” He pointed his chin towards the bar.

You sat down next to him and smiled innocently. “Whatever do you mean?”

Joel knew you long enough to recognize when you were teasing him, and he smirked despite the doubts swirling in his mind.

“Was that guy givin’ you any trouble?” he asked lazily, deciding to play along.

“Would you beat the shit out of him if I said yes?” you asked with your eyebrows raised, and Joel shrugged, acting nonchalant.

“Probably.”

You giggled and bumped his shoulder with yours playfully.

“Then no. Peter’s a good guy. Just a little,” you seemed to be looking for the right word, “uhm, persistent.” When Joel sent you a dubious look, you rolled your eyes and made a face. “He’s politely hitting on me, but doesn’t get that I’m not interested. He works at the same place I do.”

“If he keeps makin’ you uncomfortable, that’s not very polite.” You squinted at him and Joel lifted his hands in fake surrender. “M’not sayin’ anythin’. You can take care of yourself, I know that.”

You hummed melodically and glanced at the bar, then back at Joel. Then back at the bar again where that Peter guy stood. Joel noticed you biting the inside of your cheek, so he gently nudged your knee with his.

“What’s on your mind, sweet girl?”

“Maybe you could help me make it clear that I’m taken?” you blurted out quickly, making him crack a smile and chuckle under his breath.

It was so very easy to forget about all the problems in the world when you were there, sitting right next to him and warming his soul and body with your mere presence.

“Come ‘ere,” he breathed and tugged you gently to sit on his lap. You faltered, but he gave your hand another light tug, and finally you let him guide you, putting one arm around his shoulders and making yourself comfortable.

Joel’s hand mindlessly went to rest on your thigh and he rubbed it comfortingly. That Peter guy, as he noted with satisfaction, was staring right back at you, eyeing the way your body was pressed flush against Joel’s with a twisted face.

Once the eyes of the both men met, Joel leaned in and kissed your neck, keeping eye contact the entire time. Peter turned away, taking a large swig from his glass.

Joel felt your muscles relaxing, and you giggled adorably next to his ear at his antics, hiding your neck between your shoulders when he nibbled at your skin lightly. Then your hand covered his, the one lying on your thigh, and stroked his skin lovingly.

Maybe Joel was keeping you chained somehow. Then again, he was but a selfish creature after all. He didn’t know if he could bring himself to ever truly let you go.

*****

The next few days – which then turned into weeks – Joel spent wondering. Mostly about what to do with his predicaments.

He had a couple of them.

The first problem was the nights. They became more difficult since he noticed… details about himself that weren’t there before, and which bothered him more and more with each day.

Joel used to love the nightfall, especially since you all settled in Jackson. In those evening hours no one bothered him, he could finally relax, spend some time alone with you, and later collapse on the bed to get a good-night sleep.

Well, not anymore.

The bedtime unexpectedly became the most stressful one for him. He was so fucking mad at himself, because laying down and having a chance to hold you in his arms was something he treasured for the longest time, but now his own insecurities stood in a way of it.

You loved cuddling and being close to him in your sleep, and Joel was never bothered by it – hell, he initiated those moments more often than not. But now he started noticing more and more how this layer of fat on his stomach moved and looked like when you draped your arm around him or snuggled closer to his chest, and it became all he could think about.

It bothered Joel so much that he started wearing a t-shirt to bed, even though he hated it with all his passion. When you asked about it, he lied that he’s cold, but in reality he was always sweaty by morning. It didn’t seem to make any difference to you, though, and you didn’t shy away from pressing your body close to his, and even slipping your hands under his shirt when you were spooning him. Some days Joel was waking up with you lying on his chest or having your arm slung across his belly, and every time it caused a lump in his throat.

He knew you didn’t mean anything bad by it – for God’s sake, you probably didn’t even have any idea that he had a problem with himself – but what once was a wonderful start of the day, now became a bitter reminder of all those things he was insecure about.

Recently he built a habit of waking up before you – he did it often before, but he always stayed in bed and waited for you to open your eyes, too – and carefully disentangling himself from your embrace. It wasn’t like it didn’t feel wonderful to be enveloped by you in this way, but once he stirred awake, lying still was a herculean task. No matter how much he tried to ignore it, his skin was itching and buzzing, he was sweating from nerves and a lot of horrible, self-depriving thoughts were flooding his mind.

So once he woke up, he’d go take a shower, trying to be a little bit louder than necessary in hopes that you’d already be awake when he gets back – so that he wouldn’t feel so guilty about not laying back down next to you.

The second of his problems was that you began to watch him more closely.

He didn’t know when it started happening, but in hindsight he realized it was just a matter of time – he was acting weird, after all, and you knew him too well not to notice anything.

A couple of times in the last few days only, Joel caught you staring at him in silence. Your eyes were solemn and your forehead sad, though you were quick to smile and act like nothing was amiss as soon as he turned your way.

You must have known something was wrong, but Joel didn’t ask about it. Honestly, with all that was happening in his own head, he didn’t want to know.

But at the same time it was as if nothing odd was happening. You were your usual self, a blessing in Joel’s life, and you still sought to be close to him and spend as much time together as possible. You still told him you loved him, surprised him with unexpected gestures of affection…

Just like today – you hugged him from behind while he was dressing up, started kissing his shoulders so tenderly and murmuring sweet nothings into his skin… In those moments Joel could almost forget about everything that was nagging him. It was easy to believe that you still liked the way he looked, that he was deserving of you, when you treated him with nothing but overwhelming love.

But the itch in the back of his mind never really disappeared. Even though he wanted it to.

Those thoughts filled his mind while you were sitting on his lap, telling him some story from work in a soft voice. You two were at Tommy’s, waiting for him to get back from helping his wife with something, and the day was so beautiful that you all went out onto the patio in front of the house to enjoy the unusually warm weather for this time of the year.

Joel’s hand was on your thigh, stroking it absentmindedly, while he nodded to whatever you were saying, but for the life of him, he could not focus.

Has your physique changed as well? Joel didn’t care about those things, of course, and in his eyes you were as breathtaking as ever – maybe even more, since so many of your worries disappeared and he got to see your smile more often. And you still felt perfect under his hands when he was holding you at night, still looked like a goddess every time he got to admire your naked body.

But even though he wouldn’t have cared either way if you gained some weight or looked any different, his body still bothered him.

You rested your head on his shoulder, and Joel fixed his attention to the wind-blown tree crowns in the distance.

Maybe he should start exercising.

Joel never liked the idea of waking up early and running down the streets in a sweat-soaked t-shirt, or going to the gym where everyone seems to stare and judge you, but it was never necessary.

With how much traveling, heavy-lifting and working he had to do, he never concerned himself with the way he looked. Hell, these things are the last on your mind when you’re fighting for your life in this god-forsaken world. But here, in Jackson, it was different. Life was good, and you were happy. And as stupid as it sounded for him, Joel wanted to look good for you.

Maybe he should ask Maria to assign him to extra patrols. He already volunteered for the morning ones, but perhaps…

“You’re quiet.”

Joel didn’t realize you stopped telling your story. He pressed his lips together and his hand on your thigh stilled.

“Sorry.”

“No need for that,” you reassured him quickly. Then you cupped his cheeks and lifted his head gently. “I don’t mean ‘now’, though, I mean… lately, in general.” Your eyes were flickering across his face, like you were hoping to read the answer from his features. “Is there something you wanna talk about?”

No. Hell no. It was bad enough that Joel himself was aware of his issue, he didn’t want to make it even more noticeable by pointing it out to you.

Which reminded him – he moved his torso away from you only a few millimeters.

“No, babygirl,” he answered. He brushed some hair behind your ear, smiling softly even though inside he despised himself for lying to you. “Everythin’s fine.”

You didn’t seem convinced and still were studying his face with concern. Joel resumed petting your thigh, wanting to put you at ease. He could worry about himself, but he didn’t need to concern you with his problems, too.

“I promise,” he added. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

That look in your eyes didn’t disappear, but you hummed and dropped your hands. It didn’t take a genius to know you didn’t believe him.

“If you say so,” you answered at last, and then covered his hand on your leg with your own. “But remember you can talk to me whenever you want. About anything.”

Jesus, your kindness was only confirming his concerns if he was the right person for you. Joel shook his head with a crooked smile.

“You’re gettin’ sappy.”

“It’s because I’m worried,” you shot back without skipping a beat, swatting at his chest with the back of your hand. “And you’re not making it any easier.”

“There’s nothin’ for you to worry about,” he repeated, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. But he failed.

You pressed your lips together and then made a move to get up from his lap without a word. Joel held onto you delicately, not letting you stand up.

“Wait, darlin’,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “Didn’t mean to say it that way. I just… feel tired. Sorry.”

Your eyes softened when you took in the regret and weariness on his face. Joel felt your fingertips on his jaw, but before you could question him further, Tommy returned from the inside of the house with a grin.

“Age is a heavy burden, eh, ol’ dog?” he teased, apparently having heard the last bit of their conversation. The younger Miller placed three bottles of beer on the table, and winked at you. “That’s just how it is for us now. Enjoy your youth while you still can, punk.”

Joel felt a sharp jab in his ribs, not unlike being stabbed. He couldn’t find it in himself to look at his brother, less alone laugh at his teasing.

Of course Tommy didn’t mean anything bad by it, but his words were just a bitter reminder of the ever-present pit of Joel’s stomach.

The weight of you on his lap suddenly felt a lot lighter, and he himself felt so, so very heavy and tired.

Old.

Joel could feel your eyes boring into his face, but a second later you turned to Tommy, taking the burden of filling the uncomfortable silence.

“It’s already started for me. Sometimes I feel like my bones want to kill me prematurely.”

“M’sure Joel won’t let that happen. He’d fight your skeleton if you said it’s botherin’ you.”

You snorted and shook your head, but your smile faltered when you turned to Joel again. He almost broke down right then and there from the guilt and tightness in his chest.

And the dark feeling inside him just grew when your eyes stayed sad and concerned for the rest of the day.

*****

It had to end.

Joel could no longer pretend everything was alright like he wasn’t dying on the inside every time you did as much as hold his hand. He felt horrible about lying, avoiding spending time together and denying you affection he knew you so loved receiving.

If he was being honest with himself, he wanted this affection, too. Undisturbed with self-doubts and guilt.

He fucking craved it.

Those last few weeks, his evenings were mostly spent away from you and the warmth of your shared home. The nights, on the other hand, when he would sneak in and quietly lay down next to you (but just a little further away), became full of intrusive thoughts and wallowing in self-loathing.

No matter what excuse he came up with, you were persistent in holding and being close to him during the night, and Joel discovered that the only way to prevent you from doing it was to come to bed after you’ve already fallen asleep.

But it was a damn torture.

The worst part was when he was coming home to the sight of you lying amongst the tangled sheets and blankets in his bed. No matter if you were drooling or a pillow has imprinted itself on your cheek, every time this sight made Joel weak in the knees. You looked like a gorgeous, priceless painting, and it pained him to disrupt your rest with his arrival.

He tried to volunteer for evening patrols, because then he’d have a real reason to come home late, but not only Maria didn’t want to pair him with anyone during those hours – she also suspended him from all patrols whatsoever. Joel was understandably furious, but the damn woman threatened to tell Tommy about it if he kept being ‘a stubborn pain in her ass’. She sent him back home, murmuring something about spending more time with you, which he tried to pretend he hadn’t heard.

Joel sighed, sitting up on the edge of the bed and hiding his face in his hand.

If Maria of all people could see that there were some problems in your and Joel’s relationship, then you had to notice, too.

Christ, he was the worst.

Joel didn’t want to push you away, of course not. He wanted to stay with you more than anything, but that desire did nothing to diminish the guilt suffocating him. For some time, he felt like the luckiest man alive, having the privilege to call you his and every day come home to you. But now with all those little things he started to notice, he felt like a fraud.

It wasn’t even about him not deserving you anymore – it was that you didn’t deserve this fucking treatment he was giving you these past few weeks.

Fuck, he had to tell you the truth. About the patrols, sneaking out, distancing himself, all of it. He couldn’t bear lying to you a day longer.

Joel stood up and pulled his sweaty t-shirt over his head. He wrinkled his nose at the smell and patted himself under his armpits and on the back, then reached for a clean one.

He’ll figure it out. He just needed some time to come up with a way to–

“Morning, handsome.”

Joel flinched and turned around quickly, not having realized you were awake, but whatever excuse he had in mind, it fell dead on his lips.

You stretched with a groan, reaching one arm high above your head and rubbing your eyes with the other hand. A sleepy smile danced on your lips when you looked back at him with sparkles in your slightly puffy eyes, and Joel didn’t have any other word to describe you than ‘ethereal’.

“What are you doing?” you asked groggily, relaxing against the pillow and looking him up and down.

“Uhmm…” he hesitated, clutching the t-shirt that was in need of washing close to his chest. His gaze was drawn to the window. “Goin’ out, actually. I’ve got some work…”

“No, you don’t,” you interrupted him and swung off the covers from his side of the bed. “Get back here.”

Joel looked at you with surprise.

“What?”

“You heard me, Miller. Get your ass back on the bed.”

He crumpled the shirt in his hands, hesitating, but his eyes softened as soon as he looked back at you and your raised eyebrows – like you were challenging him to just try and refuse you.

But how could he, when you looked so pretty lying in his bed and demanding to have him close to you? How could he ever deny you anything?

With a defeated sigh, Joel started putting the t-shirt back on, but the sound of you humming in protest stopped him. Your face was grumpy when he glanced up.

“Nah. No shirt.” You extended your hand in his direction, making a grabbing motion. “Come here.”

Joel didn’t move. “Why?”

You rolled your eyes and dramatically flopped down onto the pillows, looking up at him with an adorable pout.

“Because it’s been a long time since I got a chance to admire my handsome, sexy man,” you answered with sincerity, and then grinned. “Now come here. If you ditch your shirt, I’ll consider ditching mine.”

He still didn’t move. You were patient, but when it became clear that he wasn’t going to do anything, you sent him a small, sweet smile. “If you get cold again, I promise to do something about it, love.”

Joel physically felt his heart softening at your words and at the sight of you.

With a silent sigh – and only a split second of hesitation – he took off the t-shirt and quickly laid down on his back next to you. He felt a bile rise in his throat, though he had no idea why, and it became almost choking when you shifted closer to him, putting one hand on his chest.

“You’ve deprived me of this beautiful view for too long,” you whispered, kissing the place below his collarbone, and then going up to the base of his neck. “I missed seeing you like this.”

“There’s nothin’ to miss,” Joel muttered, not moving a single muscle. He had his hands entwined on his stomach and to look in your direction was the biggest effort anyone could demand from him now. “We sleep next to each other every night, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean,” you breathed into his neck, leaving love bites wherever your lips strayed. “You’re going out so early these days. And you work late.”

“Patrols,” Joel grunted with gritted teeth, his muscles tense and breathing ragged as your warm palm caressed his waist. “Sorry.”

“You work too hard, love.” You sat up and swung one of your legs over his lap. Joel actually shivered when you took his hands in your own and placed them on your hips. “Let me help you relax.”

Oh, fuck.

Jesus fucking Christ, Joel was sure he was going to drop dead at any second now.

“Darlin’…” he began, but you made a noise in your throat and leaned in to kiss him deeply, pressing your body to his. Joel loved when you initiated those moments between you two, and you looked so fucking hot sitting on top of him – but for the life of him, he could not relax.

“It hits me every once in a while how lucky I am to have you,” you whispered in such a sweet, adoring voice, like you didn’t hear him. You pressed your lips against his stubble again, igniting every inch of his skin with your touch. “Let me enjoy you. I love you so much, you know that?”

“I…”

I love you, too.

Lord, he loved you so much. Why was it so hard to return your affections, then? Why did he feel like the biggest crook by letting you love him?

Joel let out a shuddering sigh he didn’t know he was holding when you pressed your lips to the edge of his jaw, before capturing his mouth in a kiss. It was sweet, but heated at the same time and, without even thinking about it, he found himself wrapping his strong arms around you, bringing you closer to his chest. You smiled against his lips and murmured something he didn’t quite catch.

A groan escaped him when you bit his lower lip lightly, your soft palm going down, from his chest, to his stomach, down…

He couldn’t do it.

Joel abruptly rose to the sitting position and grabbed your wrist, his eyes sad and painful.

“I’m sorry, baby” he said with furrowed brows, gently setting you aside and off his lap, before standing up quickly. “I’m so sorry, babygirl, I love you, I promise, but I can’t… I don’t feel good today. I’m sorry.”

“Joel…” you started, but he shook his head, putting his t-shirt back on and turning away from you not to let you see the absolute wrecked expression on his face and wetness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he kept saying, feeling like he’s about to throw up from the nerves and the burning shame. He cursed himself internally, wanting to turn around, to take your face in his hands and kiss you deeply, but he… he... “I’m so…”

All strength left him in a blink of an eye and suddenly he slumped on the bed, hiding his face in his hands. Joel desperately tried to get a grip on himself, but his chest felt so tight, and all the worry, all the guilt and fear, and self-loathing came crashing down on him all at once.

“M’sorry, darlin’,” he whispered hoarsely, his lips trembling and that damn muscle in his cheek pulsing when he felt the mattress dipping and your tentative touch on his face.

“No, no, baby, it’s alright,” you started saying quietly, trying to take his cheeks in your hands, but he didn’t let you. “Oh, Joel… Come here.”

You gently pulled him into your arms, guiding his head to rest in the crook of your neck. Joel hid his face in your skin, realizing with dread that his own shoulders were shaking.

For God’s sake, he needed to stop, he needed to put himself together and not show any weakness–

But it was you. It was your warm embrace and your loving hands brushing his hair, and your quiet whispers while you held him. It was your kindness and understanding, and stubbornness coming from love. You weren’t someone he had to hide from.

So he let you in. He let you hold him.

“Joel, please. Talk to me,” you spoke up after some time, and though your tone was soft, it somehow sounded too loud in the silence of the room. “I need to know what’s going on with you, you’re worrying me.”

“Nothin’ is goin’ on,” he answered out of habit, not even moving a muscle. “I just… fuck, sorry.”

“Stop apologizing and talk to me.” Joel pursed his lips, while you massaged his back gently. “Whatever it is, we’re gonna get through it together, okay? It’s gonna be okay, love, I promise.”

He planned on telling you. He wanted to tell you and get it off his chest, but… he wasn’t ready. Not now. Not when he broke down in front of you, for fuck’s sake.

But you deserved to know. If not to help him, then at least to make you aware of what you’ve gotten yourself into. It wasn’t fair to keep you in the dark and at arm’s length because of his absurd fears.

He wetted his lips and inhaled softly, but no words came out.

You gently lifted his head and Joel immediately squeezed his eyes shut, knowing there was no way he’d be able to say anything if he looked at you.

“You can tell me, baby,” you whispered sadly, touching the side of his face. “Anything. I promise everything will be alright.”

Joel was silent for a couple of moments, before he swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to calm down his pounding heart.

“I don’t have any extra work,” he started very quietly, so his voice wouldn’t break. “I was lyin’ to you, and I… I’m so sorry about that. I don’t get sent on any patrols now, actually…”

He shook his head and sighed heavily, faltering. He knew that wasn’t the problem, and although lying to you was one of the things he was guilty of, it wasn’t what started all of it. And you must’ve known it, too, because you kept looking at him, not saying anything.

“The thin’ is, I… God dammit,” he murmured, turning his head away from you and hiding his face in his hands, still keeping his eyes closed. “I can’t… I don’t– I have a problem with myself,” he finally blurted out, not even caring now if you understood his muffled words. “I keep…”

Fuck, man, just say it.

“I’m… I’m not as fit as I used to be,” he murmured, not moving an inch in fear that you’ll spot the wetness on his eyelashes. “I don’t want to do you harm, darlin’, keepin’ you from… Jesus, I don’t know. From livin’ your life, happily and to the fullest.”

“Joel…” You whispered with pain in your voice. “Is this what it is about?”

Joel shook his head, letting out a shuddering breath, still as quietly as he could.

“I’m old,” he said with tiredness he didn’t know he had in himself. “And you… You’re so pretty and young, I…” He lowered his forehead onto his hand, rubbing his temple. “I would like nothin’ more than to spend the rest of my life with you, darlin’. But I’m afraid I’m not… not good for you. You could do so much better–”

“Hey. Hey, none of that.” You forced his hands away from his face by cradling it in your own palms. “There’s no one else I’d rather share my days with.”

Joel just shut his eyes tighter, trying to contain the tears that started to gather in them.

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered. “But in a couple of years I’ll be… God, I’ll be fuckin’ sixty, and you–”

“Do you really think I care about that?” you asked softly, brushing your thumbs under his eyes, but he shook his head, like you didn’t understand. “Joel, I love you more than anything in this world. And I know you love me.” He heard the faintest smile in your voice, and it made him feel so, so terrible with himself – that you were trying to make him feel better when you shouldn’t have, he shouldn’t have been another one of your worries… “So where’s the problem? I want to be with you. Only you.”

Joel pressed his lips together and before he could stop himself, he draped his arms over his lap, like he was trying to hide the evidence of his insecurities from you, even though his torso was already covered by the t-shirt.

“You’re young and beautiful,” he repeated, still unable to find strength in himself to look you in the eye. “And I’m anythin’ but. I just don’t wanna…”

Joel didn’t know what else to say.

He didn’t want you to leave. He didn’t want to spend another night apart from you. He didn’t want to push you away.

“Just don’t want you to be unhappy,” he finally murmured.

You let out something between a short chuckle and a stifled sob, and your fingers found Joel’s, still wrapped around his stomach.

“Do I look unhappy to you?” you asked, almost in disbelief. Joel finally willed himself to glance at you, if only to see for himself – which turned out to be a mistake. Your eyes were sad and teary, but not full of hurt or distaste like he feared, and you still had this faint smile on your face. He quickly turned his head away and you must’ve realized how you looked because your hold on his fingers tightened slightly. “Not right now. In general, did I ever do something to make you think I’m not happy with you?”

“No,” he answered quietly, not even having to think about it. “But it doesn’t…”

“I told you before, how can I even look at anyone else when I have you?” you spoke up when he faltered. “You’re beautiful to me, Joel, even if you don’t believe me right now. You’re amazing and kind, you’re fucking hot, and yeah, maybe you’re stubborn at times, but I love you so much, and every day I find another reason to fall for you all over again.”

Joel met your eyes again, looking for any hesitation or deceit – but he didn’t find any. As always, you were sincere in everything you said.

He realized, with another wave of tears threatening to roll down his cheeks, how much he missed your affection that he alone deprived himself from. How much he longed for this intimacy that once came so easily to him.

“M’sorry,” he muttered at last, lifting his hand to your face and trying to ignore those damn tears spilling from behind his eyelids. “Never doubted you, babygirl, but I just didn’t know how… how to tell you.”

“It’s okay, Joel,” you nuzzled your cheek into his palm, planting a kiss on the inside of his hand. “It’s alright, c’mon here.”

Not letting go of his hand, you tugged him gently and leaned back on the pillows. With great effort he refrained from fighting you, and instead let you pull him down, laying his head on your chest.

And in an instant, everything was alright again. The moment Joel heard your heartbeat under his ear and felt your gentle hands on the nape of his neck and his back… it was like coming home. This feeling of warmth spreading across his limbs made him feel safe for the first time in weeks.

It was so long since he fully let you hold him.

Maybe that’s what he’s been missing.

“I adore you, Joel Miller,” you whispered into the top of his head, holding him close to your heart. “All of you, and just the way you are.”

Joel couldn’t help it – a small smile crept onto his lips.

“Called it,” he murmured. “You’re gettin’ sappy.”

You snorted and kissed his hairline. “I think you need it, handsome.”

“Maybe I do,” he conceded, not moving his head from your chest, and sighed tiredly. “Dammit, missed holdin’ you like this, babygirl. M’so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you countered, but he continued.

“I just didn’t know how to talk about it… How to tell you that I feel bad. About… the way I look.”

Joel felt your hands on his cheeks, and although he really didn’t want to move from the position he was in, he let you lift his head.

“I love the way you look,” you said quietly, in a tone that made Joel’s old heart flutter. “And our bodies change, there’s nothing wrong with that. If anything, I’m really happy that both of us can enjoy this kind of life.” You leaned in and nudged Joel’s nose with yours, closing your eyes. “Every change of our bodies is a sign that we’re finally safe after all we’ve been through. 

“But you look gorgeous as ever, sweet girl.”

“M’glad to hear it, Mr Miller,” you teased, but then your smile turned wistful. “But you know, I was insecure about my looks, too, not sure if you noticed. My stomach and thighs, and,” you rolled your eyes, “well, my butt.”

Normally Joel would throw a playful remark, or try to make you giggle, but this time he stayed silent. He just listened to your soft voice, drinking in your features.

“It worried me for some time. But you still put your hand on my leg when I was sitting with you, and you never shied away from telling and showing me,” you stressed this word, a teasing note in your tone, “how much you like my body.”

“‘Course I do,” he murmured quietly, lifting himself on his elbows and leaning over you despite your huffs and efforts to keep him in place.

“So I thought that maybe you didn’t care about this extra weight, or even didn’t–”

The rest of your words were swallowed by Joel’s lips when he kissed you deeply and hungrily. So many strong emotions were swirling inside his chest, he didn’t know anymore what to do with himself. At first you tried to continue your train of thought, but soon gave up, erupting into giggles when Joel latched his lips onto your neck and wrapped his arms around you in an attempt to bring you in even closer.

“I didn’t care,” he was whispering into your skin, leaving a trail of wet kisses in his wake. “I don’t.”

“Then you see– Joel, stop it!” You squealed when he carried on with his assault, not giving you a second to gather your thoughts.

“M’so lucky to have you,” he whispered while peppering your face in soft kisses. “Thank you, babygirl.”

You finally managed to free your arms, and you cupped his face in your hands with a huge grin that Joel decided he wanted to see every day. Another adorable giggle escaped you when he snuggled his scratchy cheek into your palm.

“I know it will take time,” you said gently, but firmly, looking deep into his eyes. “But no matter how long it’ll take, I will make you understand how incredibly attracted I am to you.” Joel hung his head low to hide a bashful snigger, and your smile grew. “Understand?”

“Yeah, yeah. Understood, ma’am.”

“Good.” You pulled him closer to plant a slow kiss on his lips, and asked seductively: “I can start right now, if you’d want to. I don’t want my handsome man to feel insecure about any part of him.”

God, he loved you so much.

Joel hid his face in the crook of your neck again, his heart squeezing with adoration and disbelief at how it came that he’d been blessed with someone like you.

“Y’know what, sweetheart? I think it’d do me good.”

[sugajimin]

30 REASONS TO LOVE YOONGI

03.03  1993 - 03.03  2023 

(cr: in the soop:jung-koook, season’s greeting/ memories 2020:namuspromised, sowoozoo/yet to come in busan:0613data, mot’s one dvd: joonie)

[theactualsunshinechild]

I think Aventio and Screwtio shippers shouldn't fight. After all, Ratio has two hands!

That's right. Two hands.

One for his chalk.

One for his codex.

Both of which he's holding in an embarrassed death grip as they chat away with each other about him.

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles - part II: reunion

(~3,4 k words) // part I here // au masterpost here --

After being left out in the open, weakened and alone, without supplies or his cloak, wings on full bright display, Grian… isn’t doing so well. 

He barely survived the attack. He scrambled so much to defend himself. He used the arrow (the one that was once buried in his thigh; the one he kept because it was sharp-edged and better than nothing). There was so much blood. It was all so horrible. 

Now he finds himself alone and cold and terrified, bleeding. Everything hurts and he doesn’t know where Scar is—

Where is Scar? 

... Did Scar leave him?

Scar wouldn’t leave him, right? (He doesn’t want to believe it. But the possibility that Scar might be in danger, somewhere far away from Grian, is absolutely dreadful.) 

The camp is empty when Grian stumbles back into it, and the ribbon is gone, and— Maybe Scar did replace him, after all? Got rid of the burden of Grian’s violet wings, chose the path of least resistance, opted for survival instead of trying to constantly fight against Grian’s doomed fate?

Grian is so scared and confused. Worried sick too, but he feels abandoned and doesn’t know where to go. He misses that fabric on his wrist. He feels so so alone. 

He tries waiting, for a while. But it’s dangerous to stay put and, eventually, he’s forced to move. And it almost feels familiar, in some awful way—it’s as if he was plunged back into his first week in this world. Hostile and cruel and nightmarish, with no reprieve, no kindness, no gentleness. No warmth to curl against, no hands to hold him steady, no safety net beneath his wobbly feet. Except he’s worn down by months in this world. And it’s colder now. And on top of that, he’s already wounded horribly.

He scrambles from place to place, leaving a trail of blood that he’s sure someone can trace. He tries so hard to hide himself, to lose any potential pursuers, but—

But a part of him wants to leave a trace. A part of him keeps hopelessly wishing that Scar might be out there, looking for him.

As days pass, that seems less and less likely.

Grian barely sleeps, reverting to old habits of wings pressed tightly against harsh surfaces in an attempt to hide them, surrendering the very much needed warmth they could provide if only he wrapped them around himself instead. He shivers, exhaustedly alert to every little sound. Dizzy and hurting and terrified.

He’s got nothing left now. Being with Scar feels like less of a memory and more of a fever dream. He's so sure it’ll now forever be this: him, lost alone in this vast forest, running until he can’t anymore. It will be the cold, or the hunger, injuries, or the hunters—something will inevitably bring him down, soon.

He misses Scar.

He hopes Scar is okay.

(He tries not to think about how he wishes this would all just end.) (He tries not to sink too much into exhausted, hopeless despair.) (He tries to dredge up his pesky resistance, any sort of spite against fate that could fuel him to just keep going, keep surviving.)

It’s a harsh week. He gets into more fights, each of them bleak and panic-filled and horrible. (A lot of the scars he later has—including the one on his face—come from this week spent alone.) He’s so, so tired. It all hurts. He’s scared.

When it happens, he’s curled up, hurt and bruised, face dirty and bloodied, body shaking from the cold, stomach twisted with hunger. All of a sudden he jolts, thinking he heard something distant that sounded like Scar’s voice. And he doesn’t know if he’s imagining things, because at this point that seems more likely than this being real, but he still can’t help himself as something urgent swells in him, begging him to reply, to call back.

He tries to call for Scar, but his voice falters and fails. His throat is so dry. He hasn’t made a sound in days.

Scar’s voice moves further away and Grian panics. He scrambles, unfurling his sore wings. Everything aches, his balance is off, but he tries to get up anyway. Desperate, he lets out a cry—a loud, sob-like sound, the only one still willing to wrangle itself from his throat. 

And then he does something he hasn’t done in months: he spreads his wings further, and he tries to fly.

The branches are thick, and Grian’s wings don’t really carry him, and in his blind desperation, he quickly crashes against a tree. His wing spikes with pain and he tumbles harshly to the ground, but he doesn’t pay it any attention.

Panicked desperation keeps flooding his veins as he’s sprawled on the forest floor, his own body not listening to him as his lungs edge hyperventillation. Because— Because Scar was there but he was moving away and Grian couldn’t follow and he’s— he’s—

He’s just going to die here, isn’t he?

The trees rustle. There’s a loud noise Grian can’t quite decipher, but it doesn’t matter.

All that registers is danger. 

Danger danger danger danger

It’s only ever been those horrible creatures. Nothing good approaches from the sky here. Grian’s made too much noise, and now they’ve found him, and he can’t fight, not anymore, not again, please—

A series of panicked, frantic chirps spills out of him on nothing but blind instinct as he tries to back away, press against something, flatten against the ground, anything.

His wings are bright. He doesn’t have a cloak. He can’t hide. He can't run.

He doesn't stand a chance.

He can’t do anything as the source of danger swoops down on him.

---

When Scar left Juni, he was a mess of conflicted emotions, the hurt and betrayal fresh and wildly flaring. But as he keeps moving, those emotions get overrun by others that spread through him like a wildfire: the rage, the desperation, the fear.

He doesn’t know where to go. 

He doesn’t know if Grian’e even alive.

With heart torn to pieces in his chest and nothing but feeble, foolish hope—and an insane amount of blind recklessness—he clutches the ribbon, spreads out his tattered wings, and leaps up, scaling the trees to get as high as he can. The morning light is soft, pale and gentle, interspersed with fog that obscures everything further in a cottony haze. 

Scar’s wings struggle to carry him, but he doesn’t care. He needs to go. He needs to go, and this is the fastest way, and—

He’d do anything right now. Anything to find Grian.

Desperately, he tries to feel the tug of their connection; the dark fabric of the ribbon prickles against his grip in silent accusation and Scar begs it to lead him. Yet there’s nothing to help him pick a direction; he simply scrambles in whichever way feels right. 

He hollers. It’s not a word, just a cry. A call. 

He really shouldn’t be loud, shouldn’t heedlessly drag attention to himself, but he doesn’t care what he attracts. The only thing that matters is that he also attracts Grian.

It feels futile. The world is vast and Scar doesn’t even know which direction him and Juni took, because he was continuously dosed with weakness. He doesn’t know how to get back to where he saw Grian last. (Days ago—) 

He flies and glides and leaps, yelling, heart feeling like it’s going to explode in his chest. 

And then he hears it.

A sob. A wretchedly (wonderfully) familiar sob.

His ears twitch rapidly, latching onto that. His whole body whips backwards midair, almost making him tumble completely. Frantically, in a haze of vex magic that edges on feral, he delves in the direction where he heard it.

He knows he’s near when his ears flick, catching another sound. Terrified little chirps.

He makes his way down through the trees. Down the branches. Down towards his avian.

---

Grian’s panic breaks the moment he catches sight of those bright spectral wings. Broken. So broken. Tattered and frantic. 

Scar is made of sharp claws and fangs and wisps of pale blue magic. He looks like a monster ready to pounce. He looks absolutely nightmarish and terrifying.

Grian’s never been more relieved in his life.

He scrambles forwards. He’s on his hands and knees and his wing throbs and his face is wounded and none of it matters. Scar rushes to meet him, his wings fading before he’s even on the ground, and he practically falls into an embrace. (His claws stay pressed to his palms, careful, so careful. His tail wraps around them as he holds on, holds on, never wanting to let go again.)

They both cling tightly and cry. Grian’s making garbled noises, as if he was trying to say things, but he’s crying too hard to be coherent; he just paws at Scar and clings and burrows into the comforting safety of his arms. (He thought Scar left him.) (He thought Scar got captured.) (He thought Scar was dead.)

Feeling the shivers and cold skin, Scar scrambles to wrap the cloak around Grian, noticing the limp wing in the process. (His heart hurts.)

The familiar weight of the cloak provides such a small but important sense of security. Grian tucks his wings underneath it, even though it hurts, one of the wings twitching and moving wrong. He hisses in pain, but it gets swallowed up by his sobs and crying.

Amidst it all, Scar isn’t doing well—he only just got clear headed from that constant dose of weakness and he’s just majorly overused his magic, slamming into trees as he glided recklessly—but he has to keep pushing through, keep using his magic to be able to function right now, because Grian is the priority here and Scar won’t rest until he knows Grian is safe.

Here isn’t safe. They’re out in the open, after making loads of noise. And— Grian’s hurt. He’s bleeding. It’s so clear that something happened and Scar wasn’t there and— He can’t bear it, can't forgive himself. 

Grian looks so cold and small and scared. And even though Scar was dosed with weakness potions, at least he was fed and kept warm. At least he was carefully steered away from danger and into shelters, left to rest. At least he wasn’t alone, terrified out of his mind for his life. 

Grian didn’t have any of those luxuries. And there’s no way Scar can undo any of it. 

Now Grian presses close to him, desperate to have him be here and be real. Through the crying, something desperate comes through—something that sounds like “Please don’t leave me again.” 

With a hitched breath and a heart torn to absolute pieces in his chest, Scar shakes his head. He’s choking on sobs as he babbles, “Never, no no no no, never, never—” Urgently, he tucks the ribbon back into Grian’s hands.

Grian thought he lost it forever. He immediately clings to it, in such a desperate, urgent gesture. Needing to feel it in his grasp, to tell himself that it wasn't lost, that its connection persists. That it still belongs to him. (The ribbon and Scar's heart alike—)

“Yours, yours yours yours.” Scar, too, means more than just the ribbon.

Grian cries so hard he can’t breathe. He’s holding onto the ribbon and pressing himself against Scar and— he’s loud. His sobs carry. He can’t get them under control; it’s just so so raw.

With shaking hands, Scar tries to tie the ribbon around Grian’s wrist, where it belongs. He’s shaking too much, he’s struggling. (Trying to ignore the bruising he sees there. As if someone tried to pin Grian down by his wrist—) He’s babbling incoherently through it all, the words that  tumble out of him both reassurances and apologies, repeating that he’s here, he’s here, he’s so sorry. Once he manages to get the ribbon tied, his words stumble through “This is yours, always yours, I’m yours, I’m sorry—”

Grian  has no words beyond Scar’s name.

In all of this, Scar’s feeling weird. He wants to scoop Grian up and never let go, but he’s a little afraid of his claws— a little afraid of himself, really. This has never happened quite like this, with the surge of vex magic that borders on feral. He is lucid but off. He still feels a bit like he’s spinning. This is real, right? It’s real?

A frightened squeeze to Grian’s hands is reciprocated with a squeeze back and a whimper. Scar makes a quick decision to pull Grian up, to lift him and hold  him tight. (He feels so urgent and needy, desperate and afraid that Grian is going to slip away if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.) He tries not to be rough, but he still feels only barely in control of his own body. And despite the bruises and wounds that litter Grian’s body—despite everything hurting—Grian barely makes a sound of pain, instead tucking himself closely to Scar. Relieved to be held, to feel him so near. Trusting him fully with himself.

Securely holding Grian, Scar breaks into a run. His ears twitch, catching sounds of the forest as he tries to avoid them all. It’s chaotic. It’s all a bit of a blur. He keeps slurring more nonsense to Grian: “Sorry, safe, safe, never again, sorry.” Something broken about “love”. 

Once Scar finds a semi-safe place, he kneels down, but he’s hesitant to let Grian go. Everything feels weird and light and he’s terrified it’s a dream he’s waking up from.

Grian isn’t any better, though; he keeps clinging to him, too. Scar was gone for so long and now he’s randomly back? He can’t quite process it; all that he knows is that he’s terrified to let go. (He remembers feeling woozy on weakness potions, and he remembers the deep pit of the fever from that arrow wound way back, and... This feels similar. Like maybe he’s not quite aware, not quite getting things right. Maybe— Maybe Scar isn’t here?) 

 Grian begs Scar to stay. (He feels like he’s asked that of him before, but it’s hazy in his exhausted mind.)

Scar can feel himself falling from the high of his magic; he feels weak again, confused, distant. But he latches onto that. “I’m not leaving,” he says, suddenly so clear. “He— he tricked me…” his voice wobbles. He feels awful, like a failure. He doesn’t want to think of the mimic ever again. He’s terrified to as well. The fact that he didn’t kill him means he could return—

Grian feels such a tangled mess at that admission. He wonders if Scar felt better with Juni? It took so long for him to realise and go looking for Grian, maybe he was better off with the fake one? It's so... it's so horrible to think that Scar took this long to realise Grian wasn't with him.

Scar still hasn’t let him down, instead falling to his knees entirely and cradling Grian close. He doesn’t want to admit how hard he fell for the trick. He hates himself for it. What if he didn’t find Grian? 

His skin feels prickly and odd like his whole body has fallen asleep. He’s numb and weak and heavy and— Is he drugged again? 

He wants to provide so many answers but— His skin is pulsing an off whitish blue. And he just croaks, “S–something’s wrong. I don’t feel— Grian. I don’t feel good.”

That singular admission throws Grian into sharp focus, panicked. He ignores his bruises and aches and the cold and tiredness, the wooziness from hunger and thirst—all of it. Instead, he whips to attention, looking Scar over. Trying to get him to tell Grian what’s wrong. (Obviously the colour is wrong—Scar’s not meant to pulsate with magic hue like this. But Grian doesn’t understand it. He’s never seen it. He’s— He’s so scared that this is something he won’t be able to help with, won’t be able to fix.)

Instead of a constructive answer, Scar stammers, slurred: “Did you— he— more potions?” He feels like he’s falling past some edge. His body won’t listen to him. His thoughts are turning fuzzy and staticky and he’s sick to his stomach, thinking about weakness potions.

Grian’s holding his cheeks, trying to keep eye contact. He doesn’t think a potion could do this. He pleads with Scar to tell him what does he need. How can he help?

The genuine concern from Grian horribly reminds Scar of the mimic. The nausea churns in his stomach, acidic, and he feels painfully helpless in this moment as everything seems to slip past his fingers. “Please be real?” 

Grian makes a miserable sound, edging a startled sob. Something aborted and strained. His thumbs brush over Scar’s skin and he leans in. “I’m real,” he promises weakly, desperately, sealing it with a soft kiss to Scar’s cheek. And then another one to his temple, and his eyebrow, and his forehead. A swelling build up of helpless heartache translates to hot tears dripping down Grian’s face. “I’m here. You found me. I’m here.” 

The tenderness, as well as the easy forwardness of the affection help reassure Scar. Juni wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. He never did. (Maybe Scar should’ve realised sooner—)

Grian’s fingers brush over Scar’s cheeks. His touch is featherlight, gentle, as if he was worried Scar will break underneath his fingertips. (Scar’s skin still pulsates, a sickly hue that reminds Grian of those awful, rotting vines they found in a cave so many months ago.) (He doesn’t know what’s wrong with Scar and it terrifies him.) His breath hitches, and then he finds himself saying, “Please don’t leave me.” His voice cracks. It’s so awful.

The words snap Scar to attention—as much as he can currently manage. “God— No. No, not leaving.” The flickering hue of magic across Scar's skin speeds up, like a panicky heartbeat stuttering out of rhythm.

The change frightens Grian and he scrambles to make things better, in any way he can. He thinks maybe they need to stop panicking first. Maybe— Maybe they both just need to take a deep breath. Surely they could both benefit from some proper breathing.

He suggests just that, and it does help somewhat. The flickering slows and steadies and almost fades, and Grian moves to pepper Scar’s face with soft kisses, tiny and light and greedy. And wet. Because he can't seem to stop crying.

Grian’s own cheek throbs with his unhealed wound, but he doesn’t pay it any attention. He just needs— He needs Scar to be okay, and he needs him to be right here with him, and he needs both of them to believe that this is real.

With deliberation, he moves his hands to brush them over Scar’s ears, knowing full well how sensitive they are. Remembering Scar’s flush, that very first time, and the way his ears twitched underneath Grian’s touch. A weak, destabilised chuckle precedes his strained words, ready to break. “Remember when I did this before?”

Scar barks out a little laugh at that. And… it helps. It helps to hear Grian bringing up a private, intimate memory they both share. 

And then all of a sudden, he’s begging for forgiveness. “I messed up. I’d… I’d never leave you, Grian.” Even with a leaden, exhausted body, he pulls together enough strength to graze his fingers over the wound on Grian’s face, his touch gentle and sad. 

Grian falls quiet for a moment, breaths still tripping in his throat, coming out shaky. “I thought— I thought you—” He can’t say it.

“Never.”

Exhaling, Grian falls against Scar. He curls up and presses into the crook of his neck.

Scar still feels tingly and strange and light, but it’s almost pleasant now. Like he could pretend it’s from Grian and not overextertion. Like it’s just silly nerves. And even though he wants nothing more but to collapse, to curl up with Grian in his arms and drift off to sleep, he can’t. He can’t have that.

Because Grian’s wounded, and hungry, and so horribly exhausted, and Scar needs to patch him up and grant him some safety. He needs to try to clean Grian’s wounds. (On next to no supplies.) He needs to get him to eat something. (He doesn’t have anything to offer; he fled Juni so fast, unable to think past Grian might be dying right now.) He needs to let Grian rest, after a week of horror; he needs to take watch and let Grian sleep. (He’s so, so tired, the magic overuse weighing him down in a way that makes him almost certain he wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight.)

This feels familiarly miserable.

But Grian isn’t dying.

He isn’t dying, and Scar found him, and they’re together. And he won’t let anything separate them ever again.

(But he might not have a choice.)

[anonymousbeefriendfanfics]

Hello and welcome to another installment of mossy being horny on main. Tonights programme? Gimmeee. The reactions of Zoya,maybe Shalom and your boy Lyney at the sight of their s/o dressed in an oversized band tshirt and an oversized band tshirt

:3

Note: This is supposed to say "an oversized band tshirt and nothing underneath" ;)

Fandoms: Path to Nowhere, Genshin Impact Characters: Zoya (PtN), Shalom (PtN), Lyney (GI) Warnings: NSFW, Minors beware! Slight Spoilers for Shalom's story. Mentions of: pegging, slight choking, Domme Zoya, teasing, oral (gn), penetration (gn), semi-submissive Lyney,

Zoya

Oh boy. Ohhhhh boy.

Instant turn on. She drops whatever she's doing - literally, if necessary, she doesn't care what breaks so long as she gets to break you.

For a long moment, she just stares. Appreciates the way the oversized shirt falls just past the curve of your ass, how something so baggy somehow accentuates the shape of your body so nicely. It's practically lingerie, watching you wear something like that.

And if you just so happen to bend over within her line of sight, or reach for something off a high shelf and cause your shirt to ride up, revealing that there's nothing underneath... good lord, it's almost embarrassing how turned on she is.

She's sweeping you off your feet and carrying you to the nearest flat surface, be it the bed, couch, or even a chair or the dinner table. She is not a patient woman. She will have you, and she will have you now.

She leaves your side only long enough to fetch her strap-on, and then she's bending you over whatever object it is that she's chosen for today's session. Normally, she holds your hips while she does this, but today she grips the sides of your shirt, allowing it to choke you slightly - or more than slightly, if you're into that - as she gives it to you hard and rough, relishing in every little gasp and moan and cry that leaves your pretty mouth.

She's not gonna stop until you come at least three times, and then she's helping move your spent body into a sitting or lying position so you can give her some pleasure, too. If you're too drained to manage that, then she'll just get herself off to the sight of you looking like such a mess while you watch <3

Shalom

Oh my. When you walk in wearing that, she's practically drooling over you just from the first glimpse. Whatever she's busy with is immediately tomorrow's problem. It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters but you.

Shalom still isn't very used to her newfound emotions - much less being able to feel and show them freely - and lust is one of the ones she struggles with the most. The burning-hot desire she feels is all-consuming and difficult to keep contained.

She seems to glitch at first. You turn around after a while of innocently pretending to do something else, only to find her staring at you, her eyes dark with lust. You can't tell from the way she's sitting, but she's got her thighs squeezed together in a subconscious effort to relieve her growing need.

You pretend to knock a pen off a nearby table and bend to retrieve it, flaunting your bare skin, and that snaps her out of it. She's out of the chair in a flash, crossing the room with long strides accentuated by the steady click of her shoes on the tile floor. She's by your side in mere moments, just as you straighten up. The pen falls from your grasp as she pulls you close and kisses you, one of her hands sliding beneath your shirt and caressing your body.

"You don't know what you do to me when you dress like that, my dear," she whispers when you break away for air, her lips brushing yours before she kisses her way down your jaw to your collarbone.

She soon grows bored of just kissing you, however, and leads you back to the desk where she's been working. She shoves her paperwork to the side - incredibly uncharacteristic for Shalom, but it shows just how needy she is. And then she's pushing your shirt up to your hips and instructing you to sit on the desk.

When you obey her, she's pulling up her chair, pushing your legs apart as she begins to taste your thighs, slowly working her way up, closer and closer to where you need her touch the most. She takes her sweet time, but once she gives you what you want, ohh is it worth it. Her mouth is incredible, and she puts that quick tongue of hers to good use, teasing and edging you until you feel like you're going to lose your mind.

When she finally lets you go over the edge and you come on her tongue, it's one of the best orgasms you've ever experienced. Your fingernails dig into the underside of her desk so hard you leave permanent crescent-shaped marks there, and occasionally Shalom will run her fingertip across them and think of this. You really should wear that shirt more often.

Lyney

For Lyney, let's say that it's not an oversized band t-shirt you're wearing... no, you're wearing a long white button-up shirt. Ideally, it's one of his, perhaps even the one he was wearing yesterday. It still smells like him, which is an immediate turn on for you, but as for our dear magician...

He's oblivious at first. You'll walk in the kitchen and greet him, and he'll give you a good morning kiss and say whatever poetic thoughts pop into his mind first, and then he turns to get more coffee.

And then he freezes mid-stride, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head, processing everything. After several long seconds, he spins around, lavender eyes wide as they meet yours and then flick downwards, taking in your attire as his mouth goes dry.

It's incredibly attractive watching him get turned on. His eyes darken with lust, pupils dilating almost like a cat's, his breathing starts to get heavier, and that blush you adore so much begins to appear on his cheeks - soon it will spread to his ears and begin creeping down onto his chest, too.

"Oh-ho, what's this?" He asks, trying to salvage the situation, trying to pretend his brain hasn't been turned to mush with a single glance. You cheerfully reply that it's nothing much - well, that much is true, but only in a literal sense- and you turn to go about your day, intending to grab something off a bottom shelf just to give him a little peek beneath the shirt.

You don't get a chance, however. He's behind you as though by magic, his arms snaking around your waist as he hugs you tightly against his chest, and oh- he's already hard. "Ma cherie, just what do you- ahh-" You cut him off by wiggling your hips, rubbing against the growing bulge in his pants. He nuzzles his face against your neck, pressing feather-light kisses there, and you can feel his hot breath against your skin. "Not fair," he mumbles between kisses. "You know I can't think straight when you do that..."

He spins you around, taking another long look at you. You look incredible in just his shirt, and he can't resist you any longer - he's pushing you against the nearest wall, his mouth on your neck and hands all over your body. He mumbles praises against your skin, trying his best to still be suave and poetic even when all he can think about is you.

The makeout session lasts for as long as both of you can stand it, both of you quickly growing more and more needy. Soon Lyney is grinding against your hip, and you eventually have to push him off - he's so drunk on you that you know he'd keep going until he came in his pants without even realizing it, but you want more.

You lead him over to the nearest couch and he follows close behind you, eager to obey - and also to get another look at the way he can just barely glimpse your upper thighs beneath the shirt. His pants hit the floor almost immediately, and he breathes a sigh of relief at the freedom, then bites his lip to choke back a moan as you run your hand across his length.

He's pushed down into the couch, and he looks up at you with that delightful lustdrunk look you've come to anticipate. His face is flushed and he looks oh so eager as he reaches for you, gripping the front of the shirt and pulling you down to kiss him again.

You waste no time climbing into his lap and sinking down on him. He feels so good inside of you, but what you feel can't compare to what you see and hear - the low whine that escapes his throat, the way his head falls back momentarily as you sink lower until he's fully sheathed within you.

It's hot and passionate as the two of you get tangled up together, bodies pressed so close there's no space left between you. Despite his desperation, Lyney controls himself, doing everything within his power to make you feel good, to make you whine his name. You, on the other hand, want nothing more than to hear his voice hitch as he moans, and you don't stop until he's practically unable to string a sentence together without whimpering or moaning your name.

Once you finally go over the edge, the way you cry out his name, throbbing around him, he can't hold it back a second longer - he bites your shoulder as his orgasm washes over him, muffling the noises he makes as he nearly blacks out from the intense pleasure. When he comes down, he's trembling in your arms while you stroke his hair, telling him how incredible he is, and he's never felt better.

Writing Masterlist 🐝 Requests Open! Tag List 🐝 @mossmosis

[bookcub]

A Rude Rescue

for @logarithmicpanda

a little fic for the kkc fandom

When Fela saw Ambrose had cornered a girl outside the Medica, she knew she had to intervene. She took a deep breath, threw back her shoulders, and channeled all the false bravado she could find.

"There you are," she said breathlessly, running up to the girl. She looked young, with her long brown hair, big brown eyes, and thick brows. She gently placed her hand on the girl's arm, her face turned away from Ambrose, acting as though he had interrupted their conversation instead of her rude rescue. "I have been looking everywhere for you! We need to head down to the Archives."

The girl's face lit up in relief and took Fela's hand in hers. They could hear Ambrose objecting as they raced off.

They stopped to catch their breaths around the Fishery when the girl broke out laughing. "You should have seen the look on his face. He was fuming!!"

Fela couldn't help but laugh along. "I've been cornered by him before, I figured I would assist you in escaping."

The girl smiled widely. "My knight in shining armor. You read the scene well."

Fela blushed, feeling her heart skip. She quickly changed the subject. "Are you new here? I haven't seen you around. I know all the women who study here by name at least."

The girl looked startled. "No, I never learned well in a classroom. I was just a little curious. I wanted to see what the fuss was about. And then Ambrose saw me and wanted to 'catch up.'" She made a face. "I was looking to make an exit when you appeared."

Fela looked down. "I know too many people he has hurt. I was hoping to avoid another."

She felt a hand on hers. "That is quite kind of you. And brave."

Fela felt herself blush again fron all the flattery. "I could show you around, if you'd like. Most of the company is better than Ambrose." She paused to consider. "Actually, all of the company is better than him, come to think of it."

The girl laughed again, loud and clear. "I would like that. I've found being here has only inspired more questions than answers. The first of which is the name of my mysterious rescuer." The flirty tone of her voice was unmistakable and this time, Fela wanted to flirt back, but was much out of practice.

"I'm Fela," she said. "What should I call you?"

The girl held her gaze for a moment. "Dinae. You can call me Dinae."

[mostlymaudlin]

one of my favorite things about carry on fandom (at least as it has existed since i joined in 2021) is that no one gets hung up on like... writing expertise or fics being "out of character." this is especially impressive because there is SO MUCH character analysis that goes on in this fandom, and yet it never translates to dunking on interpretations of characters that ppl disagree with. there's just genuine joy over the face that people are out here writing and sharing and putting their own twists on stories.

in general, everyone is just so encouraging abt art, and that's such a wonderful environment for people who are new to writing/sharing their writing. and for people who are not new but still feel nervous about putting themselves out there. it's really special! i think it's similar for visual art too

[guqin-and-flute]

Mingjue strikes me as the type of guy to not offer up information about his sexuality/sex life in general but also doesn't consider it something to hide (and just doesn't care enough to.) Partly because he thinks it's stupid that people think it's their business at all and partly because he doesn't see it as shameful. He's got so much other shit going on and he's not gonna live forever, he's definitely not wasting time on worrying what Sect Leader Yao thinks of who he invites into his bed.

But people see him speaking out against Jin Guangshan's degeneration and the general Jin Vibe of opulence and indulgence, they assume that means he classes all """deviant""" sexuality in that category, and his reputation as being so rule and honor code abiding they assume he will agree as passionately with all of society's mores (re: homosexual encounters) and just assume he's strictly straight and discount any rumors that he isn't.

'Sleep with a man? Chifeng-zun? You must be joking.'

Meanwhile Mingjue is like, 'What? Yeah, we did. Can we get back to what we were doing, now? I couldn't give less of a shit and you're wasting my time.'

And still people would be like, 'Man, I don't know where these rumors are coming from!! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯'

[twistedroseytoesy]

I really love your mere mc headcanons that got me thinking.

What about the mere mc being a blu whale. the oceans gently giants if I was correct blu whales don't eat octopus or eal but mostly krill.

How tall would they be in human form though that I don't know.

I got inspired by this art.

OOOOO! yea! Gentle giants are my JAM! thank you for this beautiful idea! I'm going to just share how the octavinelle fellas react to you as this mer, but if you wanted other characters please feel free to send in another ask!

Also, a slight warning that you are referenced to have a large and plush body form, in case it makes any of you upset at that.

Description

Honestly, the picture provided is a beautiful and perfect blue whale mer. With the white underbelly and the dark skin contrast. The small barnacles and other tiny creatures happily living on the side or back of the whale. Would be about 70 ft tall from head to tail. The average person is about the size of a small action figure to you. You mostly feed on small schools of fish and krill. You do have to surface for air every 20 minutes or so.

Your human form is very tall and fairly soft. A slightly more rounded body type but still very healthy. about 8ft. (sorry anyone who prefers cm). You have deep blue hair with small white speckles that resemble barnacles. you also have many similar markings along your face and shoulders, like freckles! your teeth are practically the opposite of the eel twins' shark-like teeth. you have very flat and large teeth. Many stay away from you due to your large height and many small incidents when someone tried to fight you and you just batted them 20-40ft away with one backhanded smack. You're incredibly strong but never use your full strength.

Octavinelle

Azul: Oh no not another tall one... When he noticed how often you bump your head on things hell offer a contract to make it so you can walk comfortably around the school. Aka take some of your impressive height away. You are one of his best customers due to just how much you order and eat at the lounge, kinda a nightmare for ordering stuff but your happy face at getting to eat 20 lbs of small fish is worth it. Tried to hire you as a bouncer since you could easily carry and kick people out if they were causing trouble. Finds your fairly relaxed and kind personality nice. He knew right away that you were a mer, the blue hair and the markings and barnical-like spots were a dead giveaway.

When you invited him to swim with you, he was rather shy about being in his mer form, but he knew you would be nice to him, and probably too big to notice his insecurities due to his weight in that form. Was a bit floored at just how BIG you were, he knew blue whales were big but you were huge! Despite your giant size, you were very careful and kind, gently holding his 10ft long frame in your hands like one would with a baby kitten. He practically melted into your warm embrace and shyly asked if you could go swimming again. You do wonders for his self-confidence. Especially knowing you would defend and protect him from others and his own harsh thoughts. His favorite memory is when you needed to go for air one night and you brought him with you to look at the galaxy sparkling above you both.

Jade: Finds Azul's and Floyd's reactions to your height very amusing. Also can't help but chuckle when you knock your head into the ceiling and have to crawl or awkwardly crouch around the school's halls. Helps you find some other ways around the campus that uses fewer overhangs when possible. He was amazed at how strong yet gentle you were. You treated others with so much love and gentleness that it reminded Jade of how he tends to his mushrooms. Also amazed at how much you eat a day. in your human form, it's about 40-60 lbs of fish/shrimp/krill a day! Asks you many questions and why you don't use your intense strength to make others do as you say. He asks a lot of questions because he likes to hear your gentle yet loud voice. He headcanons that your voice is the voice mountains would have.

Another one who was a bit surprised at your invitation to sim in your true forms. You knew when to invite them since all merfolk need to stretch their fins every once in a while. Can easily keep up with you and swims around your arms. Acts and is the size of a small boa to you. he likes wrapping around your right arm as you swim around. Enjoys the speed you travel as he relaxes against your soft blubber. Does tickle you every once in a while by lightly knawing on said blubber. it doesn't hurt you so you're fine with it. Might fling him away if you get too ticklish though. He would just chuckle and tease you about being ticklish. Always follows you to the surface when you need to breath.

Floyd: Dang it! now he's not even the tallest in the Octavinelle dorm anymore! Saw how large you were and the blue of your hair and called you "Bluey" "Whaley" or just "blue whale", depending on his mood. Loves how you allow him to squeeze you, kinda awkward as he squeezes as hard as he can around your middle since his head only reaches your chest level. Loves to bury himself into your plush form. Also sometimes will just latch onto your back like a crazy backpack. You just chuckle and continue until he gets bored. Whenever he's in a bad mood you always find a way to cheer him up. Tried to challenge you to an eating contest when he saw how much you ate each day. He lost and got all grouchy and whiney cause now his tummy hurt.

Was SO excited when you invited him to go swimming in your merforms. Zoomed around your whole form cause he was that excited. Likes to wrap around your left arm and stick his tongue out and say in the current as you swim at high speeds. Asked you to launch him with your tail out of the water and screamed with joy as he went. Demanded to do it again a bunch more times, very much like an excited kid. If he's not around your arm, he's like a little scarf/choker. Bites you so often, mostly to just get your attention since you don't get hurt by his impressive chompers. He says you don't taste very good. But loves the feeling of biting into your blubber, and he likes your loud and gentle laughter as you say that tickles. Also has taken a nap on your back when you were both near the surface.

All three love to be around you and your calming aura. Azul likes to be held by you or nestled in your hair or on your back when you go swimming. Jade and Floyd enjoy being around your arms or swimming beside you. All in all, they love you and how you treat them all so well and bring out a much softer side of themselves they didn't even know was there.

[nostalgia-tblr]

I feel like anyone who's about to embark on attempting to type out a character's accent phoentically (at least as well as one can with English) should probably stop for a moment before they get going and ask themselves, "How would I, myself, feel about a fic where the one character who sounds like me had their speech written out like this and every other character just got their dialogue left in standard spelling?" I feel like a lot of people would tone it down a bit, at least, if they'd done that thought experiment first.

(Anyone who answered "but I don't have an accent!" isn't allowed to write out anyone else's accent, ever. This rule may seem harsh but you need it. Really, you do. Because you've never had anyone treat your accent as abnormal or comical or wrong, so you really don't know what you're inflicting on others here.)

[spookberry]

Okay back in my ff.net days, I read a dp fic where Sam had a cousin named Damien and he was really only introduced as a plot device and the plot of the fic was Sam was convinced that Danny was gay (despite the fact that he was dating her) and decided to use her cousin to prove it. He only shows up in one scene and was generally like a snotty rich guy she didnt get along with much.

What haunts me about this is like, I'd just assumed that was an oc... but what if it was actually a crossover fic and I just didnt realize it at the time? Like dpxdc at that time was very Dick Greyson centered in terms of the dc, and like people barely acknowledged the other robins even existing cuz most people were basing their knowledge off of like Teen Titans.

It was probs just a coincidence. I don't think it was meant to reference Damien Wayne.....however,, because I refuse to go looking to confirm anything, I'll just never know

[finleycannotdraw]

smitten witcher sighting