#linked rails chosen

[linked-rails]

Pride Month Day 6 - Xenogender

The xenogender flag is so cute, I love it so much,,, Anyways! Have Chosen :33333

[itsgivingmami]

A Long Search Ended

Part One- Real And Dangerous

Rhea Ripley x Reader

You almost didn’t go.

Not because you were nervous—but because you’ve learned to trust your instincts, and this had every opportunity to go wrong.

Anonymous messages. Confident, clipped texts signed “Mami.” Lavish coffee tips sent to your link every morning—5x the price of what you actually ordered. Then, the invite: an upscale rooftop bar downtown, no profile picture, no name, just “Wear black. I’ll know you.”

You’d Googled the bar three times. Glass railings. Skyline views. Cocktails named after ancient gods. You weren’t scared. You were just strategic.

You wore your sharpest heels. Vintage. Black satin. They hurt a little, but that was part of the look. You didn’t come here to play small.

You told yourself you’d leave after one drink. Just long enough to prove you weren’t afraid of your own power, your own choices.

And then you saw her.

Rhea Ripley.

Nothing like you imagined—and somehow exactly what you’d hoped for.

She’s already at the corner table, silhouette haloed in citylight, like the universe remembered how to draw desire in human form. Tall, inked, dressed in black. Button-down half open, chains catching the glow, jawline so clean it could cut glass. One arm slung over the chair. The other holding a drink like it owes her something.

She isn’t scrolling. Isn’t looking around.

She’s already watching you.

And she smiles.

You walk toward her like you own the place.

“You came,” she says, voice smooth and grounded in velvet. “Good girl.”

Your spine straightens, but you don’t flinch. If anything, your smirk answers hers.

“I almost didn’t,” you admit, sliding into the chair she just pulled out for you with one hand. “You know how this can be,” Rhea hums in agreement, “But something told me you’d be real. That or dangerous.”

She shrugs, amused. “Can’t promise I’m not both.”

She gestures toward the bar without breaking eye contact. “What’ll you have, pretty girl?”

You give your order with a nod—unapologetic but polite. She watches you like she’s impressed already.

You know how to hold her attention. And you like the weight of it and have no intention of handing it over to someone else.

The drinks come fast. She tips without looking. The man behind the bar practically trips over himself to say thank you.

Rhea doesn't blink. Her attention is on you.

“So,” she says, swirling the rim of her glass with one ringed finger, “let’s get the formalities out of the way.”

You cross your legs slowly– controlled. “Sure.”

“What are you looking for?” she asks, tone low. Curious, not calculating.

You don’t blink. “Someone who gets it. Who spoils because they want to, not because it’s earned by fake sweetness. I’m not an actress. If I flirt, it’s because I feel like it. If I don’t, I won’t fake it for a handbag.”

Her expression doesn’t change, but something behind her eyes sharpens. Like she’s just made a decision.

“I don’t like girls who fake it either,” she says. “Good. Keep going.”

You take a slow sip. “I’m not naive. I know what this is. But I don’t want to be bought. I want to be chosen. And I want the same right in return.”

Rhea nods, thoughtful. “So you want power. Just not a leash.”

“I want someone who sees me as a luxury. Not a receipt.”

That earns you a grin. “Fuck. You’re better than I thought.”

You lift a brow. “What did you think I’d be?”

She leans in, resting her forearms on the table. “ Too timid. Or greedy. Either way, forgettable.”

You let the compliment sit. You don’t need to downplay it. You don’t blush. You just smile and take another sip.

“And you?” you ask. “What are you looking for?”

Rhea’s gaze doesn’t waver.

“Someone who lets me take care of them,” she says simply. “Without guilt. Without games. I want to come home from a week of throwing chairs and fists and find a reason to breathe out. I want soft moments. Eye contact. Quiet trust. And I want to give you everything that makes your life easier.”

She tilts her glass. “That’s the deal.”

You study her. “That sounds dangerously good.”

She smirks. “Baby, most people agree I am.”

There’s a silence that crackles between you. Not awkward. Heavy. Bright. Something dangerous and golden and electric.

“So,” she adds, voice silkier now, “what’s your allowance minimum?”

You don’t squirm. You don’t hedge.

“A thousand a week,” you say easily. “At baseline.”

She tilts her head like she’s watching a spark she’d only hoped to see.

“Add a zero,” she replies, lifting her drink. “And don’t insult yourself like that again.”

You blink, momentarily stunned but you don’t flinch. “You don’t know if I’m worth that.” and factually, you’re right. But the two of you are old hands at this game and from what she's seen so far, she wants you as her playmate.

She grins, slow and devilish. “I’ll enjoy finding out.”

You sip your drink like it doesn’t matter. Like the idea of her isn't causing you excitement. Like the ice doesn’t burn down your throat and the way she’s looking at you doesn’t stir heat low in your stomach.Like she hasn’t even paid for anything yet and you feel spoiled. You hum thoughtfully, setting the glass down.

“I’m not cheap,” you murmur. “In case that’s unclear.”

Rhea’s gaze narrows—pleased. “Good.”

She leans forward, resting her forearms on the table, her rings catching the glow from the candle between you. “Cheap doesn’t suit you. You wear value too well.”

You let your lip curve up slightly, just enough to show her you heard the compliment. Just enough to let her know she’s earned another.

“You always this smooth?” you ask, tilting your head.

“No,” she says simply. “Only when I want something.”

That makes your brow lift—just a little. “And what exactly do you want, Mami?”

The nickname rolls off your tongue like you’ve always said it. Like it belongs there. And Rhea, for a fraction of a second, loses her rhythm. Her brain forgets that she’s heard a thousand people call her that, but she's never heard you do it and she's not sure she cares to hear it from anyone else again. Her jaw flexes. Her thumb taps once against her glass.

Then she recovers.

“I want late-night drives with someone who knows how to sit in silence and still be heard,” she replies. “I want to spoil a woman who doesn’t apologize when she asks for more. I want to be the one she texts when she’s bored, or hungry, or just needs to feel expensive for no reason. I don't want someone who thinks they're bothering me for something when i've told them a thousand times I want to give it”

She leans in just enough for the scent of her cologne to wrap around you—clean and rich and a little dangerous.

“I want to give you the world,” she says. “If you’re smart enough to let me.”

The words settle between you like silk sheets—cool at first, but warming fast.

Your fingers trace the rim of your glass pink lip pulled between your teeth and you listen. “And what do you get?”

Her smile doesn’t falter. “The pleasure of watching you take it.”

It’s almost too much. Her confidence, the way she seems to genuinely crave this, the way no woman you could’ve met on the site compares to this. Almost.

But you’re better at holding your own than most and she's clearly looking for experience, or at least the illusion of it. You sit back, letting the silence drag for a beat—let her feel you assess the offer like it’s one of many. Even though you already know no one else could hold a candle to her.

“I don’t fake things,” you reiterate one last time, the honesty she brings to the table prompts your own, “Not pleasure. Not conversation. Not interest.”

“I don’t want to pretend I do enough of it at work, paid for too many fake girls to last me lifetimes,” she replies instantly. “I want you.”

The way she says it—low and unapologetic—catches something behind your ribs.

Your voice softens, but it doesn’t tremble. “You’re sure?”

Rhea tilts her head. “I’m never not.”

Another beat. The tension shifts, subtle but seismic.

You feel it in your spine.

In the air between your knees under the table.

In the way she watches you like she’s ready to spend ten grand and not even ask for your name in return—just to see you smile like this again.

“So,” she murmurs, her voice a velvet blade, “are you ready to let me take care of you?”

Your heart doesn’t race.

It prowls.

You lean forward slightly, letting your knee brush hers beneath the table.

“Yes,”

—

The night ends before you’re ready.

Not because you’ve run out of things to say—if anything, your words are starting to blur, pulled close by candlelight and that low drawl of hers that always lands somewhere just behind your navel. You’ve kept her entertained—despite the fact she’d be happy staring at you in that dress.. You’ve kept control.

But she’s still holding the power.

And you like it that way.

You’ve spent the past two hours with her —drink in hand, gaze heavy on your lips, never once pretending to look away. She asked questions with the kind of focus that made your pulse jump, voice low and unhurried. She never pushed. Never pressed. Just… let the silence stretch where it needed to, like she trusted you’d fill it with something worth hearing.

And you did.

The bartender dims the lights slightly. The crowd thins. Rhea finishes her drink, slow, and stands.

Her hand extends toward you—rings catching light, wrist inked, knuckles slightly bruised. You take her hand, gentle around the wounds, your fingers sliding against hers in a soft grip that still makes your stomach twist. She helps you from the booth like it's a habit. Like it’s instinct. Like you already belong where her hand goes first.

You don’t speak.

Not yet.

The walk out is quiet. Her body close to yours, not crowding but anchoring. Every few steps, her hand grazes your back—just enough to remind you she’s there. That she’s watching. That this isn’t some exit on autopilot. She’s walking you out. You get the attention. Not the others still sipping expensive cocktails or leaning too hard at the bar.

Outside, the air is cooler. Wind brushes your legs. You don’t shiver, but she notices.

Without a word, she shrugs off her jacket and drapes it around your shoulders. It’s warm. Smells like leather and cologne and her skin. You close your fingers over the lapel on instinct, holding it there.

Then she holds out a small, folded square of paper. The kind you only get when someone wants to make sure you don’t forget the moment.

Your name is written on it in her handwriting. Strong. Slanted. Clean.

You glance from the paper to her face. She’s unreadable beneath the soft glow of the streetlamp.

“I want to know when you’re home safe,” she says simply. “That’s my real number.”

You blink.

because you’re surprised— “You don’t want to use the app messenger?” —because she’s cutting straight through the act. No games. No waiting.

“You’re giving this to me after one night?” you ask, brows lifting.

“Sweetheart,” Rhea murmurs, stepping closer, “I was going to give it to you before you even sat down.”

The words make something inside you pull tight.

She lifts a hand and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear where the wind’s loosened it. Her knuckles drag down the edge of your cheek—slow, reverent, like she’s memorizing the curve of your skin with her hands instead of her eyes.

It’s not a move. It’s a choice.

A final act of care before you part.

“Im done with maybes,” she says. “You’ve said yes, I don’t keep my options open”

You stare up at her, heart steady now but beating hard. There’s no hesitation in her gaze. No uncertainty in her voice. Just the weight of a choice already made.

“…Thank you,” you say quietly. Not shy. Just honest.

She leans in—not for a kiss, not yet. Just close enough that you feel her breath against your lips when she speaks.

“Text me when you get home,” she says. “Or I won’t sleep.”

You nod.

She opens the door for you, waiting until you slide inside before shutting it gently behind you. She doesn’t wave. Doesn’t smile again. She just stands there—tall, steady, unmoving—watching you like a promise.

And when you finally unfold the note in your lap, the number is written in thick black ink. At the bottom, in the corner, there’s a small sketch—

A heart. Simple. Inked in the same bold hand.

Claiming you without asking permission. For the first time since the sun began to set, you allow yourself to feel excited.

And all the way home, the paper sits in your lap like it’s worth more than every hundred-dollar bill you’ve ever touched.

—

The city hums around her, alive, neon and windy—but Rhea walks like she’s underwater. She barely takes in the scenery as she reflects on the past 3 hours, the front of her brain still flashing with memories she’d like to keep for later. She could’ve called for another car but there's something about you that brings a nostalgia she doesn't recognize, but drags her along the busy street anyway.

Boots heavy. Hands in her pockets. Shoulders tight beneath the weight of her own thoughts. She cuts down a quieter street off the main drag, where the headlights can’t reach and the echo of your heels still rings in her ears.

She’s never liked goodbyes.

Even temporary ones.

And this one—it felt like more than a goodbye.

But tonight feels different.

Because you were different.

And Rhea is trying—failing—not to admit how much she noticed that.

You left with her jacket, her number, the scent of her skin on your shoulders. But what you left behind was the feeling of something new.

Rhea’s always been good at this.

She’s done this.

Sugar dynamics. Affection as an offering. Spoiling as a skill.

Something quieter than loneliness but sharper than peace. A need to give. To own. To make someone’s life prettier by touching it. And maybe, selfishly, to be seen as more than fists and titles and bruised knuckles in gold rings.

She’s had her share of maybe-babies. Girls who called her Mommy before they even asked her real name. Girls who wanted bags, not boundaries. Girls who loved the idea of her—until they met the steel beneath the silk.

It used to be a way to feel in control.

A way to give without the mess of commitment because she didn’t have time for it.

To feel wanted. Powerful.

To watch someone light up when she gave them something—jewelry, rent, plane tickets—without the tangle of actual feelings in return.

It was easier that way.

Until it wasn’t.

Until she started noticing how many of them flinched when she got quiet.

How many pulled out the baby voice when asking for money.

How many called her “Mommy” after half a drink—without meaning it.

Just because they thought it would work.

It did, for a while.

But it always left her colder.

And worse than the sugar babies?

The friends.

The ones who only called when they wanted to borrow something.

The ones who used her name for clout and ghosted when she got injured.

The ones who swore they saw her but never looked close enough to notice when she was drowning.

She started building walls before she even realized she was doing it.

Started answering less texts.

Stopped letting anyone follow her to work.

Stopped giving her real number.

And tonight?

Tonight she’d expected to feel nothing.

Maybe you’d be hot.

Maybe you’d be funny.

Maybe it would be another quiet, forgettable evening that left her wallet lighter and no more fulfilled.

But then you showed up—heels clicking, chin lifted, eyes sharp.

You sat across from her tonight like you already understood what you were walking into. Like you knew she’d be different from women you’ve met.

You flirted when you wanted to. Didn’t when you didn’t. You talked like you’d never been anyones before—not because no one had tried, but because no one had made it feel safe. You said Mami like you were testing the weight of it in your mouth and then smiling at the taste.

She ponders if that's the reason, or if it's something else that makes you so dangerous. The type that causes manic decisions and desire filled ideas. The type of danger that makes her delete her sugar profile despite waiting weeks for verification the first time.

You make her feel like the first time she bought herself something expensive, the first time she splurged on a fancy car, the first time she ever flew first class.

Rhea exhales hard through her nose. Her breath fogs under the glow of a flickering streetlamp. She pauses beneath it, the kind of place where deals are made and confessions slip out when the night’s too quiet.

She pulls her phone from her pocket.

You haven’t texted yet.

She looks up. The sky’s the color of velvet dipped in ash. Her reflection swims faintly in the shop window beside her—black shirt rumpled at the collar, neck flushed, jaw tight.

She still smells like you.

The thought alone makes her shift her stance, fists clenching once, jaw flexing again.

And then—

A vibration.

She closes her eyes and smiles, she barely needs to look to know who it is but she does anyway.

home safe.

Thank you again for tonight.

She stares at it for a beat.

Not because she doesn’t know what to say.

But because suddenly, everything she could say feels too small for the moment. Too small to signal the beginning of something new. Too simple, too practiced, too many times she’s played this game.

You don't need a reassuring nudge,

You're not of the maybe babies, trusted that she didn’t need you crawling and falling over her for her to spoil you,

You dont need to be persuaded into feeling comfortable with her.

You already did and that was worth more than anything she could’ve paid for tonight.

So she types one word.

Good.

Then she adds another, something out of her normal wheel house— like you.

Sweet dreams, baby.

She pockets her phone and starts walking again, slower now.

The street curves ahead. The night still stretches wide.

And for the first time in months—maybe years—Rhea doesn’t feel like she needs to guard what she gives.

She wants to give it.

Wants to watch you take it.

Wants to see if you’ll surprise her again.

She’s still not sure what this is.

But she knows it’s not fake.

And for her?

That’s enough to make her want the next night before this one’s even over.

—

It’s been just over an hour since you got home.

Your dress is folded across the back of your chair. Your heels are off. Your skin still smells faintly like her cologne—rich, smooth, and unsettling in the best way. A three wick candle burns on your desk, the scent of clean laundry floating around.

The note she gave you sits on your nightstand, unfolded, the logo of the bar sitting in the corner.

You haven’t texted again.

You don’t need to. She said text when you’re home. And you did.

But still, you keep hearing her words:

Text me when you’re home. Or I won’t sleep.

There’s something about it—soft but possessive, quiet but firm. Like she didn’t just say it. She meant it.

You want to tell her that despite having your comfy clothes on, the feeling of riding her high makes you feel wrapped in luxury. Like adding her into your phone adds thousands to your networth. Like being hers suddenly feels like being a necklace in a glass case that everyone else wants.

You lean back against your bed, breathing steady. Still processing the way she looked at you—like you were something precious she deserved, planned to claim. Like she knew the gifts did partly for you, and partly for her getting to see you in them. It was rare to meet a sugar parent concerned more with spoiling than the affection that came with it. It's a nice change of pace you finally feel like you can keep up with. And then—your doorbell rings.

You pause.

It’s nearly 11PM.

You’re not expecting anyone.

Cautious, you approach the door and peek through the window. Sitting neatly on your doorstep is a tall white box. Elegant. Weighted. Tied with a wide black satin ribbon. There’s a card tucked into the bow. Handwritten.

For you.

No logo. No return address.

But you already know who it’s from.

You bring it inside, heart pounding with something warmer than surprise. You place it on your bed, fingers slow and deliberate as you untie the ribbon—like the act deserves patience.

The scent hits you first.

Vanilla. Lavender. Rose. Something headier and darker underneath. It smells like a boutique where everything costs too much and nothing feels cheap. It smells like her.

Inside is a bouquet—lush and decadent. Pale petals layered with deep, moody blooms. You can see the thought behind it. A study in contrast. Soft meeting sharp.

And nestled beneath the flowers—an envelope.

Your name. Her handwriting.

You open it.

Inside, a small black card. Thick paper. Gold print. Simple.

You read.

You were even better than I imagined.

I said I don’t have a spending limit.

That wasn’t just about clothes.

I meant time.

Attention.

Energy.

www.elysianthread.com — it’s one of my favorites.

I want to see you in every damn thing they make.

Pick out whatever you want.

Make a cart.

Send it to me.

There’s nothing I wouldn’t want to see you in.

— R

Your breath catches.

Not from shock.

But you weren't expecting it within an hour of leaving her.

You set the card down next to her Humber on your nightstand, bite your bottom lip, and open your laptop. The website pulls up in seconds. It’s stunning—sleek black background, gold lettering, photography shot like fashion editorials and forbidden dreams.

Silk slips. Structured corsets. Soft lounge sets. Delicate chokers.

Luxury lingerie that feels like armor and worship in the same breath.

And you’re not blushing— well maybe a little.

You’re smiling.

You lean into the screen, scrolling slowly. Imagining the weight of the gaze you'd spent hours across for earlier and what would change it, make it lighter, heavier, needier. You find yourself more excited adding pieces in dark tones than your usual pastel palette, pieces feeling closer to the woman buying them for you. You select pieces like statements. Like spells.

Slips in oxblood silk.

Loungewear that looks soft enough to drown in.

A gold anklet with a black charm you swear could pass for her energy in accessory form.

When the cart’s sizable, you copy the link. Open her message thread.

included a lot to pick from

you don’t have to—

You pause. Delete the second line.

You don’t need to soften it.

You don’t need to ask for less.

She invited this.

She wanted you.

You send the link.

Two minutes later, her reply hits.

Rhea:

Sweetheart.

You really think I’m picking one?

—

To be continued— likes, comments and reblogs always appreciated💜

—

Taglist- let me know if you’d like to be added

@starrycherie

@oldmanluvr13

[weemssapphic]

Lipstick Stains - Pt. 24

previous chapter | next chapter | series page

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

warning: this chapter contains smut (g!p)

words: ~ 4.2k | ao3 link in title

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“My mom wanted me to thank you for all the restaurant recs you gave them. By the sound of it I’m pretty sure my parents were in a food coma all weekend.”

Larissa let out a sound between a chuckle and a snort, her gaze briefly flicking up from her laptop. You were sitting cross legged on the chair across from her, a textbook flipped open in your lap and your phone in your hand, the soft, cool glow illuminating your face as you glanced up at Larissa with a grin.

“I’m glad your parents don’t seem to hate me entirely,” Larissa quipped with a small but genuine smile.

“They could never hate you, Larissa… I think my mom was just being weirdly protective,” you said with a shrug. “Wouldn’t your mom be the same?”

You could see Larissa’s shoulders tense, her smile faltering, and you frowned. Larissa didn’t speak of her parents much, or at all, really - all you knew was that they were still alive, and that they lived somewhere near London. 

“Sorry, you don’t have to-” you started quickly, worried you’d struck a nerve, but Larissa interrupted you before you had the chance to finish speaking.

“My mother has never cared for anyone I’ve chosen to be with, I doubt this would be any different.” Her voice was cool and weirdly distant, and her gaze flickered back to her laptop under the pretense of reading her emails - you could tell, though, that she was just scrolling idly, without really absorbing anything on the screen.

“Oh, so she’s, like, super critical of your partners…?”

“Of everyone. Not to mention homophobic.”

Your stomach dropped at that, your heart breaking into a billion pieces for Larissa. “What about your dad?” you mumbled, your mouth feeling a bit dry as you feared the answer.

Larissa shrugged, snapping her laptop shut and interlocking her hands in her lap as she leaned back in her chair and fixed the smooth, rounded edge of the desk with a distant, pensive stare. “I don’t think he minds, but he wouldn’t dare speak out against my mother, so it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters a lot, Riss, that’s really shit, I th-”

You were interrupted by a pounding on the door to Larissa’s office - it opened behind you with a bang, an alarmingly loud flurry of footsteps spilling into the room. Larissa’s brow furrowed as her gaze snapped to the source of the interruption, and she immediately straightened up in her seat. 

A small group of students you hadn’t yet met all flocked around her desk, their anxiety clearly palpable - until they noticed you, fixing you with curious stares as the girl at the front of the group opened her mouth to speak, glanced over at you, then shut her mouth again.

“Should I…?” you asked Larissa quietly, your voice faltering a bit as you struggled to come to terms with the sudden interruption, subtly shifting in your seat so that you were sitting properly on the chair. 

Larissa shook her head gently. “It’s alright,” she said firmly, turning her attention to the girl and raising an eyebrow. “Ms. Barclay, I hope you have a good reason for barging into my office so late in the evening.”

Larissa was in principal mode, and you sat as still as you could to not draw further attention to yourself as the students, mercifully, turned their heads to look at their principal, and the girl started speaking.

“Principal Weems, Wednesday’s gone off the rails.”

Larissa’s face fell at the mention of Wednesday, and she instantly rolled her shoulders back and placed her interlocked hands atop her desk. “Would you care to elaborate?” she hummed coolly, irritation clear in her voice.

“She’s literally torturing Tyler out in Xavier’s art studio, she thinks he’s the hyde and that tasing him is going to unlock it or something.”

Your jaw dropped at the girl’s words, your stomach churning - a glance at Larissa told you she was having a similar emotional reaction, though she was infinitely better at hiding it, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly and her knuckles turning white.

“We tried to stop her, but she was weirdly into it, she said she had a vision,” offered one of the boys.

“I’m not going to ask how you know this - quite frankly, I don’t believe I want to know. I am, however, going to have to alert the sheriff…” Larissa picked up the phone on her desk, her nostrils flaring as she dialed the sheriff’s phone number. She leaned back as she lifted the receiver to her ear, waiting for him to pick up. “Sheriff Galpin, we have a problem. And her name is Wednesday Addams.”

Larissa quickly relayed the most important details to the sheriff, giving him permission to come to Nevermore to pick Wednesday up and agreeing to meet him at the station afterwards. As she hung up, she let out a frustrated sigh before turning back to her students. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will be dealing with Ms. Addams accordingly and I would be very grateful if you could return to your dorms for the evening.”

The students shuffled back out of the office with mumbled ‘goodbye’s and ‘thank you’s (and a couple curious glances in your direction), and Larissa closed her eyes, a frown on her face as her lip twitched. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave for a little while,” she said slowly, her tone laced with annoyance and regret in equal measure. “I would be very happy if you would stay and wait for me, though I understand if you’d rather go home.”

“Of course I’m staying,” you replied firmly, placing your textbook on the edge of Larissa’s desk as you leaned over and took her hand in yours. Larissa’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze instantly softening as it landed on your hand gently but insistently intertwining itself with hers - she gave it a squeeze, before pulling her hand away and standing to fetch her coat.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said, pressing a light kiss to the crown of your head as she passed you to leave her office in a hurry.

~~~

The tell-tale click of heels just outside the door and the turning of the lock alerted you to Larissa’s return, and you closed the textbook you’d been studying and turned on the little sofa in front of the fire, craning your neck to watch the door as it opened. 

Wednesday stepped into the room first, her gaze instantly meeting yours but giving away nothing of what had transpired - aside from looking a tad spooked.

Larissa stepped through the door next, closing it gently behind herself. Her hard gaze seemed to soften just a fraction when she realized you were up and waiting for her. “Darling, could you please wait in my quarters for me? I’d like to speak with Ms. Addams alone. I won’t be long.”

You nodded in understanding, standing and making your way across the room, feeling Wednesday’s eyes on you the entire time as a soft clicking told you that Larissa was making her way over to her desk. You slipped into her quarters and closed the door behind yourself - the urge to eavesdrop was overwhelming, but you were certain Larissa would tell you what had happened later, so you took to rummaging around her kitchen for a snack and playing a game on your phone as you waited.

And tell you what happened, she did. It took a while but eventually Larissa returned to her quarters for the night, immediately finding you and pulling you in for a hug - one, it seemed, that she sorely needed. She told you she’d had to expel Wednesday, that she didn’t put much stock into the girl’s visions as Morticia’s had been just as unreliable, that she hoped, with Wednesday gone and Xavier locked up, the attacks would cease and the students could sit their end of semester exams in peace, life at Nevermore returning back to normal. 

You hoped she was right.

Then Larissa caught you yawning and glanced at the time - it was well past midnight, and she had a guilty look on her face for keeping you up as she insisted it was time to get some sleep. As you crawled into her bed and tugged at the sheets, a new addition to Larissa’s bedroom caught your eye - the painting, your painting, hung on the wall opposite the bed.

Larissa’s gaze followed your own, a blush rising on her cheeks as she realized what you were looking at. “I wanted to be able to see it every day. I think of you every time I look at it,” she murmured, almost too softly for you to hear - but you did, and it made you grin as you nuzzled into her side.

“Are you tired?” you asked Larissa softly. On the one hand, she looked absolutely exhausted - on the other, you could somehow tell she wasn’t going to fall asleep easily.

“No,” she confessed sheepishly, confirming your suspicions. 

You hummed thoughtfully, tracing your fingertips languidly over her collarbone. Larissa’s arms wound tightly around your waist, her lips pressed to the crown of your head in a firm, never-ending kiss. “I’m not tired either,” you said finally, your mind beginning to wander to all the ways you could potentially tire yourselves out, and Larissa chuckled in response. 

“You could hardly keep your eyes open a few minutes ago…”

“Well I’m wide awake now…” You slid your fingertips down Larissa’s sternum, towards the top of her silky camisole, and Larissa watched you with an amused smirk on her face.

“You’re not trying to seduce me, are you?” she teased, playfully narrowing her eyes - it made you blush as you realized you were doing a poor job of both hiding your building arousal and being seductive, and you averted your gaze.

“No?”

Larissa laughed. “Come here,” she murmured, adjusting herself into a seated position against the headboard and gently tugging at your waist. She placed a firm hand on your shoulder and turned you so that you sat between her legs with your back to her. You could feel her pillowy breasts against your back as you melted into her, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, her breath caressing the side of your face. She paid no mind to the ever-present blush on your cheeks as her left hand began to play with your breast through your t-shirt, her thumb flicking over your slowly hardening nipple. She lifted her right hand to her mouth, sucking her middle and ring finger between her lips for a moment, then released them with a pop - they glistened with her saliva as she brought the hand down to the waistband of your shorts.

“May I?” she husked and, when you breathed out a ‘yes’, slipped her hand beneath the waistband of both your shorts and your underwear - you immediately spread your legs to allow her better access. “Good girl…” 

Larissa’s wet fingers began to rub your clit, slowly and firmly, drawing a throaty sigh of pleasure from your lips as your head lolled to the side, your cheek resting against her shoulder. Her fingers dipped lower, gliding through your folds as her lips found your neck, pressing a series of soft kisses to your skin. You gasped when she bit into the junction between your neck and your shoulder, then moaned as her tongue soothed over the little dents her teeth had left in your skin.

“F-ffuck… Riss…” You bucked your hips against Larissa’s hand, wordlessly urging her towards your entrance - your silent request worked, two of Larissa’s fingers slipping inside you with ease and slowly sinking deeper. Your walls clenched around them, your eyes fluttering shut as you started to roll your hips, eager to have Larissa fill you.

Larissa’s fingers felt so damn good, the way they curled into your sweet spot, stroked your walls, made you mewl and whimper and moan - each ministration showed you how intimately Larissa knew your body, how dedicated she was to bringing you over the edge.

Your mind quickly filled with dirty thoughts and your arousal skyrocketed as you pictured Larissa above you, filling you to the hilt, pounding into you, and, suddenly, you ached for a stretch her fingers couldn’t quite provide.

“R-riss…?” you murmured between gasps of pleasure. Larissa let out a questioning hum that vibrated against your neck, causing you to mewl softly and briefly lose your train of thought. “C-can you… I m-mean would y-you want to - mmmh, fuck…” 

You’d never asked Larissa to shift for you before - during each of the few times she’d done it in the past, she’d always been the one to suggest it, and you suddenly found yourself unsure if she would take it the wrong way, as if you didn’t think she was enough for you just the way she was.

“What do you need, darling?” Larissa prompted directly into your ear, her voice so raspy with desire that it nearly made your eyes roll back in your head.

“C-could you shift and - mmh - f-fuck me?” you finally stuttered out, holding your breath as you waited for an answer - your nerves rising when Larissa’s fingers briefly stilled inside of you. “It’s okay if you d-don’t want to, I shouldn’t h-have as-”

The breath was knocked from your lungs by the sudden feeling of Larissa’s bulge pressing against your tailbone, the rest of your sentence dying in your throat as your mouth went dry.

“Shh…” Larissa murmured in reassurance. “I’m glad that you asked… I want to.” You could tell from the way that the words dripped from her lips like honey, her voice low and velvety, that she did want to - the second your mind was free of doubts, you pressed yourself back against her, the breathy sigh tumbling from your lips mixing with the deep moan that emanated from Larissa’s chest.

Larissa pulled her fingers out of you, her hands trailing up your body, slipping underneath your t-shirt and tugging it up, up, up, until she’d freed your upper body entirely. The t-shirt was tossed haphazardly aside, and Larissa’s hands immediately found your breasts, groping and squeezing, toying with your nipples, pulling moans and whimpers from your lips as she subtly rocked her hips against you from behind, grinding against your tailbone, teasing both herself and you.

“R-riss…” you warned breathily, your arousal so intense, so burning, so all-consuming that you could hardly stand it. 

“Sorry,” Larissa let out with a chuckle that was just as breathy, just as laced with desire, and she gripped your hips, urging you from between her legs and encouraging you to lie back against the pillows, so that she could get on her knees between your legs to make quick work of your shorts and underwear and toss them onto the floor beside the bed. She slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of her own trousers and gave them a tug, revealing black, lacy underwear that clearly wasn’t made to contain the bulge straining inside of it. Your legs spread a little wider without you realizing it, revealing your dripping cunt to Larissa, who quickly removed her remaining clothing to reveal her hard cock. 

She leaned over you, placing one hand beside your head to prop herself up as her other hand began to caress the outside of your thigh, sliding down to the back of your knee and urging you to bend it and spread yourself open as far as you could. She took hold of her cock and ran the tip up your slit, her cheeks flushing and her eyelashes fluttering as she felt how wet you were. “Fuck…” she mumbled, finding your entrance and slowly pushing in.

The stretch felt incredible, and Larissa was careful to go slowly, taking her time as she sheathed herself inside of you. It was hard to keep your eyes open but you wanted to watch Larissa, wanted to see every micro-expression crossing her face as she fucked you, so you fought against your fluttering eyelids, one of your hands reaching to grab Larissa’s forearm next to your head, needing the physical contact.

Larissa gave you a moment to adjust to the feeling of being full once she’d bottomed out inside of you, her now free hand reaching up to cup your cheek and draw you in for a kiss that was so tender it made your heart clench. 

Your cunt followed suit, your walls fluttering around Larissa’s cock as you started to subtly rock your hips against hers. “Mmmh… p-please…”

Every single nerve-ending in your body seemed to light up as Larissa began to thrust, the drag of her cock in and out of you feeling heavenly against your tight, slick walls. Larissa’s hand slid from your cheek to your throat, closing gently around it as her tongue pushed your lips apart and flicked eagerly against your own, her hair falling in waves around your face, acting as curtains and shutting out everything that wasn’t her.

There was something about her moans when she was fucking you with her own cock that drove you mad - they were deep, guttural, loud, a tangible representation of how good you made her feel as she started to pound into you. The air filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, your moans mixing with Larissa’s grunts, the occasional bump of the bed frame against the wall. It was obscene and it made your head spin - judging by the arousal written plain as day across Larissa’s face, she was feeling exactly the same way, her eyes scrunched shut in absolute bliss.

You managed to pull a vulgar groan from Larissa’s chest when you sucked her tongue between your lips, humming against it, and her hips picked up their pace, your body jolting with every thrust. You reached a shaky hand between your legs, rubbing your clit with desperation, your breath hitching audibly in your chest.

Feeling the coil behind your navel tighten rapidly, you released Larissa’s tongue from between her lips to mumble out “f-fuck, g-gonna cum…”, your head tipping back against the pillows and your back arching as you tried your best to keep it together so that you and Larissa could cum together.

“It’s okay, d-darling,” Lariss murmured hoarsely against your lips. “‘m - ahh - c-close… let go…”

With Larissa’s permission, you came undone - unraveling completely beneath her. No longer able to keep your eyes open, you rode out your high with your eyes slammed shut, stars exploding against the backs of your eyelids, your orgasm prolonged by the feeling of Larissa trembling above you as she came as well, emptying her load into your cunt.

“Mmmm…” Larissa let out a breathy hum as her muscles began to relax and her cock went soft inside of you, and you could tell that her orgasm had tired her out - which had been your goal in the first place. She slumped against you, her hand releasing your throat and fisting at the sheets next to your head instead, her breath hot and heavy against your collarbone.

Your arms wrapped around her automatically, pulling her tightly against you, her skin warm and sweaty against your own. Her head rested in the crook of your neck, and she brushed her lips against your pulse point with a soft sigh and a sleepy smile.

~~~

The following morning was a slow one for you, with Larissa rising early to take care of some things before she had to drive Wednesday to the train station. 

You curled up on what had unofficially become your side of the bed, your eyes heavy-lidded with sleep as you watched Larissa get ready at her vanity, prying each and every bobby pin open with straight, white teeth, holding them between long, nimble fingers and sliding them into her hair, her usual updo slowly taking shape. It reminded you so much of the first time you woke up in this bed, a little confused and a little embarrassed and just a tad nervous - only this time, you were none of those things. 

Nestled beneath the covers and looking up at Larissa, who twirled her silvery locks between her fingers, whose bright blue eyes danced over her reflection in the mirror as she made herself presentable, you felt a sense of safety, content, of love so overwhelming that it stole the air from your lungs. And this time, instead of frantically trying to cover your bare torso with the sheets, you simply nuzzled against your pillow and allowed sleep to pull your eyes shut again, drifting back to sleep as Larissa took care not to wake you.

You woke a few hours later and took your time getting dressed and making coffee before heading for the door to Larissa’s office with two mugs in hand. You listened first for any signs that Larissa could be on the phone or in a meeting, before using your elbow to gently ease the door open just a crack and peeking into the office.

Larissa’s head turned automatically at the sound, her frantic typing ceasing almost instantly and her lips curling into a soft smile. “Good morning, darling,” she hummed, beckoning you into her office.

“Coffee?” you asked as you strode over to her desk, placing one of the mugs in front of Larissa and the other at the edge of her desk as you leaned down for a kiss, which the principal eagerly returned.

“Thank you,” she murmured against your lips, cupping your cheek as she pulled away. She brushed her thumb across your lower lip for a moment, her eyes tracking the movement, watching your lip snap back into place as she retracted her hand. Her attention fell to her coffee and she closed her eyes as she took a sip. “This is so much better than the coffee in the teacher’s lounge.” 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep in so late…” Your brow furrowed as you saw the empty mug on Larissa’s desk, not one of her own. “Why did you go all the way there instead of just coming into the kitchen?”

“I didn’t want to wake you,” she replied simply. “You deserve the sleep.”

Your heart swelled at that, so much so that it was hard to keep the smile off your face. “And you deserve good coffee,” you countered with a raised eyebrow.

“I mean it, sleep in while you can.” Larissa smirked. “When you get to my age, your body will start to wake you up early against your will.”

You started to giggle, which turned into a full belly laugh, drawing a chuckle out of Larissa as well. Larissa returned to her work shortly thereafter and left you to prepare some food, as it was almost lunchtime. A meeting would cut Larissa’s lunch break short, but you joined her at her desk to soak in her company while you ate.

At a quarter to four, Larissa snapped her laptop shut and stood from her desk with a heavy sigh. “I want to take you to dinner tonight,” she declared as she slipped her phone into her handbag and rummaged around the top drawer of her desk for her car keys. 

“Yes, ma’am.” You grinned up at her, rising to your feet as well to meet Larissa halfway for a quick kiss.

“Wednesday’s train leaves in an hour, I should be back around 5 at the latest,” Larissa added as she headed for the door, and you called out a goodbye before she shut the door to her office behind herself. You figured that, if Larissa would be back at 5, and would probably want to check her emails again and get changed, you’d be heading out for dinner around 6:30 at the earliest - plenty of time to just chill. 

You ended up getting more time than you’d bargained for - when Larissa still wasn’t back by 5:15, you shot her a quick text, asking if everything was alright. Perhaps Wednesday’s train was delayed, you figured, that wouldn’t surprise you considering how public transportation could be around these parts.

Still, it wasn’t like Larissa to not answer at all, to not even read your text, and you found yourself growing increasingly worried when the clock hit 5:45 and you still hadn’t heard a peep from your partner, your stomach churning uncomfortably.

You stood from where you’d been seated in front of the fire, pacing about as you wondered how much she would have to be delayed to warrant calling the police. As you stood by the window, watching the sky slowly darken as the sun disappeared on the horizon, two figures came into view, crossing the courtyard and heading straight for what appeared to be a large conservatory at the edge of the school’s property.

The back of the young boy’s head looked vaguely familiar, though you couldn’t be quite sure. What you were sure of, however, was that you recognized the girl at his side - and that she was not supposed to be here.

x

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[pursuitseternal]

🧜‍♀️𝔹𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕪 𝕒 ℂ𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖:

🧜‍♀️ℙ𝕚𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝔸𝕌 𝔾𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝔽𝕚𝕔

Gale x Merelind (f!OC) | M | 6.7 K

Summary: Disgraced, rejected by his Queen and his former lover, Gale Dekarios hunts the seas as a pirate. But the greater shame is the Orb in his chest that rots him from the inside out. A year of searching, and his ship nears the rumored site of the Netherstones, the key to the Crown of Karsus. The object that will break his Netherese Curse. All that lies between him and the treasures of his redemption are waters infested by monsters… Those murderous, urgeful, beguiling creatures. Sirens. When one spares his life, they make an arrangement that might see them both freed. Or dead.

CW: slow burn (by P’s standards), Pirate AU, POTC influences, Gale fall first, but he also falls hard, Siren OC, DnD/POTC magic rules, flustered Gale, romantic Gale, forbidden love, Gale’s curse is rotting his body, Siren OC is Durge inspired.

Ao3 Link | Bg3 Masterlist

Nothing but jolly bright blue waters extended in every direction, the sun beating and the winds stiff from the north. His ship bobbed over the waves as if they were nothing, the worn canvas of her sails luffing only when his ship, the Tara, out ran the waves with her speed.

And her Captain stood at the rail, watching life on desk unfold under his keen, dark eyes.

How many months had it been, Captain Gale Dekarios knew not. Too many. Too long to stay festering at sea, his once noble crew turned motley.

His once noble profession of privateering, now branded as … ugh… piracy.

He hated the word. Left a sour taste in his mouth, almost more than the way his infection brought the taste of his own blood to his tongue.

This… curse… slowly eating at him from the inside out.

His fingers pressed to his chest, rubbing the site of his growing mark, the tendrils of its influence extending tirelessly over the months. He couldn’t hide it anymore with tattoos on his shoulder and neck. The lines of his infection's power reached his eye, making it milky, making him hide it under an eyepatch even as it worked just fine.

Such was his vanity. A sin almost as great as his ambition.

Gale folded his arms over his chest, the crushed purple wool of his long coat damp with spray. At least the Tara was making good time to Bhaal’s Cove. At least he might be within reach of a cure to his disease.

His folly. Gale’s folly, one might call it. For that’s what it was to love a queen, to serve her at sea and in her bed, and then to lose that love over something so stupid. He sighed to think of that time, treasured in court as her Fleet Captain, her chosen, most adored Privateer. But his romantic heart had wanted more.

And so, he had plundered the seas for the most forbidden of treasures. Damn it if they had been rumored to be cursed. Karsus’ treasure was supposedly worth it.

Supposedly. If only as he had settled for diadems or roses… but no. Gale Dekarios was a man of grand gestures. In this regard as well.

His mind grew foggy. His hand rubbed at the Orb in his chest, the pain flaring at the memory. He recalled how he had taken that locked chest with the Orb inside, only to have its claws and magic gnaw its way into his chest, making this mark and—

“Captain Dekarios! Land Ho, Captain Dekarios!” twittered an excited if maternal voice. The woosh of the Tressym’s wings blew the long dark hair off his shoulder before four paws landed smartly on its spans. Tara, the namesake of his vessel, self-appointed First and Second Mate, purred softly in excitement for her master before cleaning her patchwork of brown fur, her little pink tongue lapping the way the salt air made her fur stick. Then her paw worked to fix his tendrils of little braids and beads that held his hair back, batting the little top knot to get his attention. “Captain. You are unusually silent.”

“Perhaps this ballet of waves and wind has inspired… introspection,” he muttered, turning to squint up at her with his one good eye, fingers returning to the center of his chest to rub out the pain.

The Tressym knew better. “It’s the Orb again, isn’t it? It needs tending?” Tara sighed. Her feline head nuzzled against Gale’s temple, even as shouts of excitement passed around the crew as land, indeed, came slowly into sight. “Perhaps what lies ahead for us in the Cove will stop its pain, its hunger. Tsk.” She sucked her little feline teeth. “About time that blasted Orb found something other than your precious heart to sink its fangs into. Especially after Mystra…”

“Enough, Tara,” Gale chided. A bit peevish but none too harshly. “I deserve this fate for what I’ve done. But it won’t stop me from seeking this curse’s cure. Even if it’s just my own dea—”

“Pish posh, Captain,” now it was Tara’s turn to chide, digging her claws into the fading purple wool over his shoulder. “Not on my watch, Gale.”

Gale rolled his eyes, grateful for the excited shouts on the deck below as an excuse to reach for his spyglass and examine the virgin shore before them. Bhaal’s Cove. The shoreline was black with rock and white with sand. Scanning the geography, he spied the outcropping of legend. A strange circle of tear drop rocks on the cliff face. “There!” He called back to the helm behind him. “Bosun Ancunìn, make for that point, three points to larbord!”

The silver haired elf gave some half sarcastic means of acknowledgment, and with a roll of his crimson eyes, he adjusted course.

“Take caution, Astarion. The legends say all sorts of murderous creatures lurk in these waters. We shall be extra vigilante,” Gale turned, locking eyes with his current helmsman, a smile on his face.

A smile returned with yet another roll of those eyes. “Here’s hoping your blathering on about the mating rituals of Gnolls might bore them all away…”

“Ah, good one Fangs!” Karlach chimed back, clapping the elf on the shoulder hard before setting her cherry red hands to the mainbrace to ease the rope. As usual, a smile was permanently fixed on the Tiefling, a flicker of mirthful fire in her face and demeanor. “Maybe we will get to see something amazing! Like a selkie or a kraken!”

Gale only chuckled, knowing that her enthusiasm was only out of zest for life and an ignorance for just how fearsome said creatures were. “Not on my life, Cliffgate. Best we keep far away from mon… sters…”

For once, Captain Dekarios fell silent, head snapping back to the shoreline.

“Fucking finally,” Astarion snipped, “you know Gale, your rather pleasant when you’re…”

And the Pale Elf fell silent too, handsome face blank of its usual mischief as he also looked to the isle.

A thin melody floated on the wind. A voice.

“Oh, oh no.” Tara murmured, trying her best to flap in Gale’s face. But the lad was enamored.

Her wings beat harder, flying towards the elf at the helm, but those dexterous pale hands already had changed course. Far more dramatically than the captain’s orders, the ship was headed right for the sand. “Snap out of it!” She shouted at that angular face, hoping to knock some sense into any of them.

But the music only grew louder and louder. That female voice wrapped around them, the air itself vibrating with her haunting tune. Sad. Longing. And composed to never quite end.

Tara knew it for what it was. A monster to be sure.

A Siren.

She flew back to Gale’s shoulder, bapping her paw in his face even as he reached for the rail and leaned out over it. “Wake up, Gale! Snap out of this, I order you!”

Nothing.

Not even a blink from his one, undefiled brown eye.

To her immense dismay, all his companions and crew lined the rails, the ship's wheel left to spin and spin with loud wooden clicks. Sails flapped loudly as, but all of it was nothing to the way the music only crescendoed. A swell of this Siren song, and suddenly the whole vessel lurched.

Run aground, the whole crew spilled into the sea, knocked head over heels into the drink. Tara flapped wildly, shouting for Gale above the wooden groans of the ship. “Captain! Captain!”

She whizzed over the shallow waters, watching as the crew sputtered to the beach, some swimming, some dragging others. But there was no dark haired, eye-patched privateer to speak of.

Gale barely noticed falling overboard, nor the slap of chilling waters, nor the way his lungs burned as he swam.

There was only that song. And only silence and the echoing gasp of his own breath as he broke above the water. A sea cave, wet and swirling as the tide was coming in. The rocks were jagged and wet, and the spray and rush of incoming tide pounded the cave walls. Gale swam to a ledge, drawn by a sliver of light.

He needed to get his bearings. His eye patch was gone to the tides, as was his jacket. Only his thin cream linen shirt and breeches now covered his tanned and tattooed body.

A matter to fix once he escaped this death trap. His eyes scanned the cave as he treaded water in the rushing waves.

An opening, thank the gods. He swam for it only to find it was too small for his whole body..

Stay too long here and die, he thought. At least he’d be rid of this blasted curse. Gale almost resigned himself to his fate, to just let go and let the curse win.

But then he heard it again, that voice. She was close, just on the other side of the opening.

That lyrical flutter of her music drew him toward the opening, a crack in the wall large enough for him to reach an arm. “Um, hello? A hand? Anyone?” He knew it was silly, maybe futile, even as the wet rocks at his feet barely held him up, even as the water kept rushing in.

He waved his hand, reaching as he tried to slide further to freedom. Then he felt something wet. Something, someone, slapped his hand, followed by a cool breath… sniffing it? Gale cringed, praying whatever it was didn’t bite it off or something strange.

A little trill of music, and Gale knew who his potential savior was.

“Please, please powerful Siren,” he begged, just knowing he wanted to get free. Damn it to the depths if he would die disgraced. “I need help, and I’ll… give you anything you want. Just get me out of this blasted hole.”

First there was silence, then a purr… and then a wet hand gripped his. Gale fought the instinct to pull away, an instinct that was soon abated as she started singing again. Haunting and sad, that’s what it sounded like, this… Siren. Her song made the rocks crumble around him, widening the crack as she pulled.

But the longer she sang, the more Gale felt on fire. Enthralled. Like he could listen to this voice, this melody until his dying day.

A romantic notion, to be sure. One that was suddenly and swiftly ended as the opening split wide and Captain Dekarios went sailing through the air to land back in the open sea. The splash of his body back in the water almost rendered him senseless, but he was aware enough to feel two hands grip under his arms and drag him to the surface.

Barely conscious, lungs burning from seawater, Gale felt his vision darken. All that just to die on the beach, he grieved.

A final slight to his pride. Fitting.

He gave one last ragged breath he was sure was his last before something pressed against his mouth.

Cold and wet. Her again. Forcing his eyes open, her face consumed his whole vision.

Kissing him. She was… kissing him. Gale blushed, suddenly feeling the rush of Healing Magics filling his body, lungs clearing and pulse steadying. His eyes slid shut, mouth trembling to feel the way she pressed her lips firmly. To taste the sea salt on her kiss as even her cold lips set something burning inside him.

Magic. Had to be. Surely. But even still, he wondered how his hand found its way to the back of her head, fingers nestled in the wet strands of her sandy blonde hair. But as he felt her part her lips the smallest crack, he pulled back.

An awkward grunt as he cleared his throat, he let go of her completely. “Apologies, I’m usually better at this… introductions and that sort of…”

His voice trailed off as he looked at her. Really looked at her. The long tail of her hair hung over her shoulder, pulled haphazardly by the sea and his fingers. Pretty, to be sure. But it was her face that held his attention. That left him speechless.

Two-toned eyes stared at him. Wet and inquisitive and intense. One red like blood, the blood she should have spilt as a Siren. One clear and shining and blue as the sea itself. Rimmed in dark lids, they didn’t blink but once as he gaped at her.

Her tanned, sun-kissed skin was dotted every which way in freckles.

But the longer he gawked at her, the wider her berry lips turned in a smile.

And she started to trill and purr as his eyes drifted down to her bared breasts and her curled pale blue tail, its scales shimmering an incandescent rosy hue in the sun. Gale couldn’t help the blush on his cheeks as he took her in, ignoring the fact it was the first body he’d seen naked since his beloved Queen back home.

“I’m… I’m Gale of Waterdeep,” he murmured, soft and steady, hoping not to spook her away.

The Siren only fanned her wide finned tail on the surface of the waves that swept over the beach. A little hum of a small musical scale and she gave him a sharp-toothed smile. A bit predacious, perhaps, Gale thought, but thrilling and beguiling none the less.

Gale was undeterred, he needed to know more about this creature. His curiosity far outweighed self-preservation. “Can you understand me? Can you speak?”

The Siren nodded once, Gale thought, before tilting her head.

“Will you allow me the pleasure of knowing what you are called? After all, you saved my life and… I did promise you something in return.”

The Siren’s lips pressed tightly, she sang her wordless song once more. Gods, his eyes pricked with tears now to hear it, so very haunting and mystical. A single palm lifted, she unfurled her glass hand, revealing a single red rose bud. Her song continued, the rose opening its petals slowly, sea spray clinging to the velvety bloom.

A rose and her song. Those were her answer.

“Rose? Is that your name?” Gale chimed excited, a bit shocked as the Siren extended her hand for him, flower in her fingers for him to pluck.

She shook her head, however.

“Not Rose then… can’t you just tell me?” He furrowed his brow, desperate to learn more.

But she only wiggled her pointed ears a little, laughing loudly, clearly enjoying their little guessing game.

Her lithe body leaned back in her mirth, and his eyes drifted down to her breasts again, now noticing a shining stone pendant between them. Three points of red and pink and purple, three stones held into one triangular gem.

And the moment his eyes fell on it, Gale’s chest throbbed. “Hells,” he groaned, the lines of the Orb lighting up people under his damp white linen shirt and flaring up the side of his neck. “Where, Rose… err not Rose… where did you find this?” He snapped, voice strained in pain and hunger. “The Netherstones are just what I seek.”

He bent forward, crying out in agony, lifting his head to keep his eyes trained on her and that treasure. “Please…” Arm shaking, he reached for the stones.

But the Siren darted out of reach, afraid perhaps. Or sadistic. Even as the pain of his Orb flared, as his vision darkened, and as his body laid out on the sand now… he heard her splashing back into the sea.

The pain too great, his eyes closed as he passed out on the shore.

And he could swear he heard her laughing his name from her lips, trilled and sing-song as she bid him, “Farewell, Gale…”

Something wet and… furry smacked him in the face, and Captain Gale shot upright. “Bloody hells… Tara!” He groaned, covering his disfigured eye with his hand, even as bodies knelt in the sand beside him. Two pale hands grabbed under his waterlogged arms and dragged him further from the waveline. Astarion, Gale looked up to see that smug smirk in the dying light.

“Where is she?” he managed to say, turning to scan the waters for anything breaking the surface. “The Siren, where is she? She has the Netherstones, the treasure we came to this wretched isle to find.”

A pale face screwed in a taunting smirk of ire leaned into his vision. “Oh… oh good. And here I was worried when we found you unconscious on the beach, we should be worried you lost your mind.” Astarion scoffed, feigning to wipe his brow. “Shows me.”

“Mr. Ancunín. Lay off it and help me get him up.” Tara flapped to rest on her favorite perch of Gale’s shoulder once he was sitting up. “The Siren? You saw her then and she let you live?”

“She saved me, actually.” The Captain replied, looking at them all with his own mismatched eyes. One dark, one white. Not unlike the pair that had greeted him when he had awoken the first time on the beach.

He pressed his lips together, as if he could still taste her lips, sweet and salty. Her kiss. Well… no. Her transfer of some sort of bardic healing magic, he suspected. Not that specifics mattered when she tasted so… good. Gale shook his head to return his thoughts to the present.

“She’s remarkable. I’m almost convinced she can not only understand Common but… I think I heard her speak it.”

His name.

“C-Common, I mean…” his tanned cheeks grew hot, and dammit all to the hells, his Orb faintly flashed.

“Tsk. Gale. I saw that purple glow. Was your mermaid pretty?” The pale elf teased again, giving his captain his dry jacket, helping him to dry off in the setting sun.

Gale held up a single finger, pedantic and authoritative. “Actually, she’s a Siren. Not a mermaid. I’m sure Rose… err, not-Rose wouldn’t appreciate being confused for a lowly mermaid.”

Astarion arched a brow. “Rose?” he gave a biting giggle. “You asked her for a name? My my, so chivalrous.” His face screwed into a devilish look, red eyes glinting with humor. “Bet you got a good look at her. Your Rose. What’s she like?”

Gale fought the urge to tense up, to give a sigh and look wistfully at the sea whence she disappeared. “One eye blue like the sea, the other red like precious rubies… her skin perfectly freckled all over,” he cleared his throat as if he wasn’t also imagining the way even her breasts were bespotted. “A-and her ears were pointed not unlike yours, Astarion. And she must have powerful magic.”

He looked to the high cliff face, the opening still visible from whence he had burst forth. “I washed up in that sea cave, and she pulled me out by opening it wider with her song. And then, she conjured a perfect red rose when I asked her for a name…”

Sighing, he could almost ignore the incredulous looks he was getting from his Tressym and the elf.

It was finally the pragmatic feline that thrust her face in Gale's line of sight. “Pardon me as I interrupt your interspecie reverie, Captain, but did you say she had the… Netherstones? As in the ones we need to unlock the greatest treasure of Karsus’ treasure?”

Her voice was a bit on the shrill side, but chipper from encouragement. So close, or at least one step closer to their cure.

“Indeed,” Gale groaned, bringing himself to his feet with just a little help from his Bosun. “So I have to find her again, the Siren.”

A firm pat on the back, dexterous hands brushing the sand and seaweed off Gale’s shoulders, and Astarion led him back down the beach. “Well, all things considered, you’re lucky you survived one encounter with the monster. Can’t say as much for the ship. She’s run aground something fierce.” A sarcastic giggle punctuated Astarion’s snide if true comments. “Gives you plenty of time to seek your siren out for another near-death experience and to get your Netherstones.

He’d never admit it, but his red eyes scanned his friend, his captain’s face nervously. The lines of the Orb had extended so quickly lately, his companion stood on a precipice over imminent death… blasted curse. His concern for the better of him as he put a hand on Gale’s back between his shoulders. “We will find it, if it’s what can break your curse and bring the Orb under control once and for all…”

Gale’s milky eye opened wide at him, turning to give the elf a look of appreciation and a little bit of shock. “That is surprisingly kind of you, Mr. Ancunín.”

“Yeah well… don’t get used to it. We thought you dead,” his tone returned to sharp and snide, his hand pulling away as if he was disgusted by the intimate moment. “It was your cat that insisted we search the beach this way… current and rip tides something, something.”

They trudged in the gathering dark towards a distant light. The signs of a makeshift camp around a roaring massive bonfire on the beach was a sight for sore eyes, and Gale smiled.

Until his gaze settled on the Tara, his ship not too far off the beach, her hull snug in the sand, unmoving and trapped.

Just like they were.

Trapped, but safe. As if willed to be here, guided by a providential hand, perhaps.

His crew were half-tucked into bedrolls, the other half were three sheets to the wind to toast their survival. Not one soul lost.

All present and accounted for… save now being short what was probably several bottles of Ashkaban Rum.

Ever the dutiful captain, Gale made his rounds, making sure everyone saw him home and hale from his near-drowning.

It wasn’t the fear that kept plaguing his mind. No, no it was his saviour. Those mismatched eyes, he could swear he caught them from the corner of his eyes from the shoreline, from behind the crates of Plum Fizz… even from the clusters of palm trees on the beach.

Little glowing flashes of red or blue.

And then the night settled. Everyone laid wrapped snug in their bedrolls.

But not Gale.

Even if it wasn’t for the way the Siren had already beguiled him, the Orb in his chest ached too much to let him sleep. So close to the Netherstones, the ball of Arcane Hunger in his chest burned too great to grant him any reprieve.

Not to mention the low hum of laughter he could swear carried from the sea the moment he tried to close his eyes. He would really have to do some research on Siren biology: how far away could they see? How far could their magical voice extend? Could their eyes glow? Was their kiss potent enough to bewitch a man?

He turned face down in the leather of his bedroll, if only to muffled the groan… part from the ache in his chest and part from this equally cursed ache in… other places. He knew legends of Sirens walking among men, shedding their tails for a tenday to live as the mortals do.

To love as the mortals do…

He gripped into the leather, hips rolling a little against the warm sand beneath the bedding. Gale sat up, ignoring the burning in his chest and loins. He had to cool this pain, had to sate the hunger before the curse advanced further. He blinked, spying the jolly boat beached in the surf. Just a little jaunt over the very chilling sea water. Yes. That should set him aright for tonight.

Trudging through sand, he swore he could hear a voice on the breeze. But every time he lifted his head and looked, it would fade.

Beguiling Siren.

Hands on the hull, Gale shoved the boat into the sea, the waters unnaturally calm. The winds long abated. As if they had been stilled.

More magic? Gale knew not, only that burning that drove him to get on the water.

Oars in hand, he rowed, a patch of moonlight on the dark waters was his destination.

Sirens love moonlight…

Inwardly, he told himself to stuff it, that this was to cool the hunger his Orb had flaring…

But his heart still skipped a beat when some dark shape swam his way in the very moonlit waters he traversed.

“Gale of Waterdeep…” that voice he knew so well after a day bubbled from the surface just off his port side. “I was wondering when you’d answer your Siren’s call.”

His lips opened to reply before his mind could advise against it. “‘Tis I, precious rose,” he bowed his head, always a gentleman, even to this creature of the sea.

Her red and blue eyes caught the moonlight, giving that otherworldly glow. Her pointy teeth were almost equally bright, which made Gale nervous. But at least she was smiling. “I am not quite called Rose, even if you are close… RoseSong… or in my tongue, I am called Merelind.”

“Merelind…” Gale repeated, the music of her own name sweet like a melody and heady like the fragrance of her namesake. He gaped down in the water, that pretty face emerging from the surface, her hair pulled back to reveal patches of pink scales on her skin that simmered in the moonlight. Still water, clear water, he could see her tail in the moonlight, a pale blue that disappeared into the sundering dark. It undulated in the depths, and Gale couldn’t help but lean over the rail to catch a full glimpse of her beauty… further, and further…

Until a wet, cold hand stayed his descent and pressed on his chest.

The Siren’s hand shoved him back hand right on his Orb, a gasp from her pretty pink lips as a jolt passed between them. Purple light flared from his chest, and the triangular pendant at her neck hummed and glowed in a simultaneous flash. Air warmed and reverberated between them, a rhythmic pulse, almost like a heartbeat pounded against both their chests.

She frowned. “Ah, I was right. You are not like the others,” she murmured as she swam back the distances they had been repelled. “You come for my treasure with part of its magic already in you…” her mismatched eyes scanned the glow of purple under his shirt.

Gale also frowned. “You can sense my curse, can you?

Merelind nodded. “It is why I spared your life… You and your crew that now camps on my beach.” An eerie smile crawled over her berry-pink lips as she bobbed in the waters at his side. “By rights, according to my own curse, your life is mine, forfeit the moment you entered my waters.”

Even as he stared down at her, her skin covered in patches of light pink scales, even as he realized she could pull him body and soul into the depths to drown, Gale could only stare at her pretty, bewitching face. “F-Forfeit?” he finally stammered as her meaning reached past the veil of pining that had fallen on the poor pirate.

“Aye,” she gave a musical laugh, reaching a hand to rest beside him on the wooden rail. “But the magic in your body is like mine. This artifact that holds me cursed and bound to this servitude.” Her mismatched eyes searched his shocked expression. “What lies within you, Gale of Deep Water?”

“Ahem, it’s Waterdee—, nevermind,” he swallowed down his pedantic nature for once to answer her. “The Orb of Netheril. This blight that has infected me with its curse…” The lines of his Orb pulsed a bright purple among the other dark tattooed lines on his neck. “I’ve tried all sorts of magic to be broken from my curse, but the only thing that might free me is…”

“The Crown.” Merelind interjected, even as the same words fell silent on Gale’s tongue. “The very treasure whose keys rest about my neck. The very treasure whose existence binds me body and soul to this wretched island, that keeps these Netherstones, heavy on my neck, as my burden to bear.”

She rose from the water, her breasts bare and glistening in the moonlight, and between them shone that tricolored pendant again. Scowling, she pulled up from the water, crossing both arms on the rail and resting her chin on them. “I spared your life out of instinct, and every thought I have even now is screaming at me to save you from this cursed urge inside me to pull you under and wrap myself around your body until you grow stiff.”

Gale swallowed, the image making him grow stiff alright. He sputtered a moment as he pulled back in the dinghy to give her room. “Umm forgive me, but why resist the urge so much for me?” He couldn’t fight the smile on his bearded face. “Do you find me incomparable? …unparalleled? Inimitable?” His smile turned just a little more haughty and arrogant. “Am I special?

Merelind nodded slowly, even as her eyes locked on his own two-toned eyes. “I suppose one could say so, yes,” she gave a low-toned giggle. “I’ve never managed to resist killing my quarries before, but with you, it’s different.” Tilting her head, she reached for the faintly glowing purple lines at his neck. “Does it hurt you, your cursed Orb of Karsus?”

As her fingers met his skin, she could feel his shudder, could see his pulse jump in that same artery under his pretty tanned skin.

Gale nodded. Somehow, the usual shame that accompanied discussing his affliction didn’t rear its ugly head, not with her. “It needs to be sated. Fed. From time to time, I must consume strands of Weave or else the pain grows to be unbearable.”

His dark eyes flicked to her beside him, the way he skin glistened in the moonlight, the way it bathed each pretty freckle on her skin…. He shook his head, returning to his senses at last. “What will happen if you do not abide by your curse’s rules?” He asked softly, reaching to rest his hand on the wood rail of the vessel. So close to her elbow.

Merelind shrugged, the briefest forlorn flash on her face. “I know not. You are the first I’ve ever spared from my urge.”

“Then let me help you, Merelind,” he replied so quickly, almost speaking over her. “We can break our curses together. Once I have the Crown of Karsus, I’ll set you free from your obligation to guard it. I’ll use the stones to unlock its power, and you will be a free woman… er… free siren.” He spoke so rapidly, thinking out loud as he reached to rest his touch on that arm so close to him. Her skin so soft, if cool and damp, he noticed.

Blue and red eyes flashed up at him, wide and shocked. “You would? You would see me cured and not cursed?” Her voice trembled as she spoke. “You’d see me no longer a monster, a terror of the sea?”

“You aren’t one now, Merelind,” he spoke softly, her name sweet on his tongue, looking down at her as she seemed to creep closer into his vessel. To approach him or to drown him, he wasn’t sure. And he wasn’t sure he cared. “You are no more a monster than I.” Gale gestured to the lines of purple that marred his cheek and led to his white, milky eye. “If left uncured, who knows how disfigured I could grow, how rotten and veined my body might become…”

Merelind pulled herself to sit on the rail of the boat now, her powdered blue tail dangling into the water. Her simmering fin still caught the moonlight just below the surface. It mesmerized him, making him lean over the water a little…

…a little too far. The skiff rocked and bobbed off balance, and two wet hands gripped into the arms of his jacket to tackle him into the bottom of his vessel. To save him from tumbling into the drink… from drowning. Again.

“Oof!” Gale muttered, inhaling a sweet floral scent so close to his nose as he got his bearings. Opening his eyes, his vision was filled with blonde wet hair and freckled cheeks and mismatched eyes…

And Gale froze, surely blushing. “S-See, you saved me! You’re not a murderer!” He exclaimed a little too loudly as he sat up and shifted to give the Siren some room. “You have no reason to avoid my help and, heh, cast me off…”

The Siren looked at him for his humor, pink lips turning regardless of the pun’s quality into a smile. Another mark in her favor. “Alright. I accept. I free you, you free me or die by my hand.” She nodded perfunctorily as if it was the most logical agreement ever.

Gale’s mouth hung slack, and then shut. “Very well, my word as a gentleman. We will help each other, Merelind, cursed Siren of the sea.”

A smile on her face, and she sat herself up from being sprawled on the deck of his skiff. A burst of rosy pink light, and suddenly… that captivating tail was gone, replaced by a long and freckled pair of legs.

Bare ones. Naked ones.

Gale blushed harder, thanking the night for being dark as he took off his purple wool coat and looked away. “Ahem, for you my lady.” He extended the garment for her, praying to all the gods who would listen that it was hopefully long enough to cover to her thighs.

She took it, shrugging it on and closing it to hang loosely over her lithe frame. “You mortals and your senses of decency are fascinating,” she laughed a little. “But I suppose if I’m to join your crew, I cannot walk on bare legs any more than I can wear my tail aboard your ship.” She snapped her fingers for his attention. And those eyes, one dark and one white, they gazed at her with the briefest flash of intensity, of ardor she had only heard tales of…

The ballads and drinking songs she would listen to for a moment or two on other ships before luring them to their demise.

“Join my crew?” Gale hummed, considering as if he hadn’t been concocting ways to accomplish that very same end. “Well,” he stroked the beard on his chin, a cheeky grin on his lips, “the idea has many merits…”

“Is this is an attempt at mortal humor…” she trailed off, until she gave a wide smile that was all pointy teeth with her musical laugh. “Or are you reneging on your offer to help? Is this the part where I hold my need about dying by my hand?”

“Humor! Humor!” He gave a nervous laugh, grabbing the oars and starting to row them back towards the beach and camp. A little hard and vigorous, as if that slight threat she made against him didn’t only reignite the hunger in his lower reshoots again. “One must always be a gentleman. I would not go back on my word to you. You and I, my siren, we will both be broken of our curses.”

The sloshing of the oars was the only sound for a time as he rowed back to shore. Gale kept his eyes up, watching the shore get closer, except when they would dart over her pretty freckled face every now and then. She looked away from him, those Netherstones resting on her chest just where the lapels of his coat closed around her.

Finally it was her musical voice that broke the silence. “How long have you had your…?” Merelind turned sharply, gesturing to the left side of her face.

“My curse? This blasted Orb? This macabre blight that is determined to make me suffer?” He suddenly pulled harder at the oars, out of irritation. Anger. “It’s been a year I’ve had it in my chest, slowly driving my body into ruin.”

She looked at him, those eyes blinking slowly. “It is curious. I only know of the Crown, and these, of course,” she lifted the pendant from her neck briefly. “How did you come by it? Your cursed Orb, I mean.”

Gale paused his rowing, watching her in the middle of the sea, their boat drifting towards the shore. His tanned face looked stricken, his eyes half-lidded and distraught. “I found an ancient tome, the magic inside it lost, and angry… and hungry. I had only wanted to read to find the location of the Crown to give to my lover… to my Queen.”

He sighed, swearing he caught a flicker of silver eyes and black hair beside him.

No. He chastised himself for imagining Mystra here. Now. No. She’d not be thinking of him, so why should he, her?

“Is that why you seek the Crown now? To give to some mortal Queen?” Merelind stiffened, slightly but perceptibly. Her nostrils flared, and Gale could swear her hand clenched on the fabric of his coat on her pretty body.

“No.” That was his reply. “No, I only wish to be cured now.”

Liar… his mind hissed at him. Had he not been contemplating offering it for his forgiveness and privateering contract back intact just today? Before he had met this beguiling siren. He caught himself staring at her face, just a little too long.

How his life had changed so much in a day. Again.

This time for the better, he hoped. This time, he hoped it was a chance to break his curse, not succumbing to it like last time. His heart was pounding, watching as she leaned in, that scent of a floral perfume in his nose again. Her cool breath, he swore he could feel it on his face as she huffed a laugh and smiled.

“Then I’ll be cured too,” she crossed her legs at the knees, bouncing the top most slowly, bumping his calf. “I’ll be free. I can leave this isle, my soul and sanity intact.”

Regal. Magical. The way she was bathed in the moonlight, how he wanted to stay awhile, to drink her in.

Gods… her lips turned in a hopeful smile, a real one. “Breathtaking,” he barely whispered. “Like a queen.”

“I am no queen, just a sea monster,” she tipped her head to the side, those eyes inexplicably lowering to his mouth.

Gale almost interrupted her self-deprecation. Yes, you are. And trust me, I should know…”

Her pointed ear lowered, her legs stilling, bare foot pressing against the side of his leg. That little bit of innocent contact suddenly feeling oh so less than innocent.

Gale couldn’t bring himself to turn away, even as his Orb burned more as he leaned in closer. A little purple light flickered and glowed from it as he drew barely a breath away from her own lips. Then those Netherstones began to glow too, a wash of rosy colors shining against her own chest. He swallowed, their faces bathed in pink and purples as he… as he leaned…

“Captain,” she whispered. Turning her head away abruptly. The glow of her pendant vanished as quickly as it had illuminated. “Your crew is waiting, and dawn will not be long.” Merelind cleared her throat, pulling back and shifting on the seat.

A disappointed grunt at the back of his throat, and he grabbed the oars once more. “Ah, forgive me. It is not every day one can thank the beautiful Siren that saved their life twice over, arguably thrice now.” He gave an easy laugh, one well practiced from his days in court as the queen’s chosen lover.

“Indeed,” she replied coolly, tucking the hem of his jacket under her ass.

So regal, risen from the beautiful sea itself, he watched the Siren as the boat drew up on the beach. The moment they were shallow, she jumped over the side, strolling with such grace up the beach towards the bonfire. Her figure wrapped in the purples lines of his coat. Her hair bright in the wavering light….

He had only seen two sorts of being with such grace… princesses and predators.

Gale wondered which one she was.

Or if she was both.

🎨 by @deannamb

Thank you for Gale to @redisbetterr

Thank you to @nyx-knox for bouncing the plot and beta’ing

[davinashifts333]

PICTURE NOT SO PERFECT Part Seis.

(Rafe Cameron SMAU)

2 months prior- I wake up to the sound of machines beeping and clattering of metal tools, to my right I feel a hand tugging at mine and voices coming from all around. Eyes fluttering open when someone speaks up and the other voices silence. "Yo, yo yo yo, she's wakin' up." JJ, I knew that damn voice anywhere. I chuckle at his panic and feel the burn, my entire right leg beginning to throb, a groan escapes me without trying and I hear the one voice I needed, Rafe.

"Hey baby, hey.. Don't try to move okay? You have a broken leg, we were in a car crash.. I'm so sorry baby.." I see his right arm completely covered in a cast, the Pogues all around, Sarah's eyes puffy as they could ever be, she must've been crying a lot. I wondered if anything else happened.

"We didn't think you were gonna make it. Rafe took your seat belt off to pull you to his side but, it ended up being a bit worst, truck flipped and left you with some internal injuries. Broken leg too." Kie says as she caressed my left hand. For the next 2 hours I was signing papers to be released to the care of the Pogues and an at home nurse who would come around throughout the day to give me meds. By the end of the day I was however, on a boat with my chosen family and the love of my life. The only thing eating at me? Who's fucking truck hit us? I remembered how familiar it looked before speeding into the back of Rafe's and right when I lean toward the railing, I almost slip, Rafe and JJ grabbing me before I could fall. "Okay, Squirt. We gotta get you home now, seriously. Nap time. YO! GUYS, LET'S HEAD BACK!" JJ doesn't even let me complain as he hands me off to Rafe who's one arm down, helping me walk back to the cabin to sit down. Back at the cottage, we all divide and conquer, the girls and Rafe tending to my every need, as if he isn’t injured himself, the boys grabbing blankets and pillows to help me set up on the couch since I didn’t want to be alone in my room.

“She doesn’t wanna be in her room Pope, cmon man, she wants company, grab all the damn plushies if you have to dammit.” John B shouted from down the downstairs hall. JJ running upstairs to get me my favorite sweatshirt, he always knew what I really needed. Rafe sits down next to me, eyes a bit dazed.

“What’s on your mind, handsome?” I whisper, laying my head onto his shoulder. His hand finding its way to mine, fingers linking together in the most perfect way. He sighs before taking a deep breath.

“If I hadn’t taken off your seat belt to pull you toward me you wouldn’t have a broken leg. It would just be me all fucked up. But, I also denied all meds except Tylenol so, this is kinda hurtin’.” I place a kiss to his right shoulder right above the bandage that led to his cast.

“I don’t care about the broken leg, I care more about us being alive and that now you’re stuck with me for 6-8 weeks.” A smile creeps it’s way onto his face as he rolled his eyes playfully.

“Oh no! 6-8 weeks? Of you, me and the Pogues? How horrible!” Sarcasm dripping from his lips as the gang all found their way into the living room. Sarah, Cleo and Kie finding a corner of the couch to sit on (it’s a big couch okay?) and the guys each finding a seat on the ottoman or floor. Pizza, beer and juice for us who are on meds with a horror movie playing in the background of Rafe and I explaining how we got back together as well as everything leading up to the accident. As everyone congratulated us and the air settled, John B shot a look at Sarah who then turned to me.

“Since we missed out a few days ago on family dinner night. I guess we should drop the bomb now. After you had texted us that you and Rafe were back together, I was even more excited to share that, two days before the accident, John B and I found out we’re pregnant!” Gasps and cheers erupted in the cottage as we all ran around hugging each other and as I settled back down it hit me. Life was getting to be beautiful again. Without noticing I feel the hot tears flooding my face. Everyone snapping back to me in shock.

“What, what happened baby? You hurting? You need your meds? Talk to me, Squirt. Rafe rambled in panic. I looked around them and shook my head catching Sarah’s gaze, her eyes tearing up now too.

“I think it’s just happy tears. I felt the same way when they said you were stable. But I feel it now too. Life is finally getting to be beautiful again.” I choke out a giggle through sobs as I violently nod my head and she plops down next to me, pulling me into a hug.

“My baby is having a baby! OH MY GOD!” I cried and everyone laughs, jumping into the hug lightly as to not hurt Sarah and I. For 7 1/2 weeks, I was their biggest menace, bored all the time, forcing them to take me places instead of leaving me at home and Sarah’s hormones added to the mix as we both became their own little hot messes. Rafe and I reveling in our reconciled relationship, everyone getting a form of good news, it almost felt too good to be true.

PRESENT DAY, August 5th, 2022.

[mikazuki1709]

All the Sad Tales | Ratiorine Fic

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Ship: Dr. Ratio/Aventurine, Ratiorine

Rating: G

Words: 7.759

Tags: Sigonia-IV, Travel, Complicated Relationships, Established Relationship, There was only one bed, Sharing a bed, Camping, Soft Dr. Ratio, Protective Dr. Ratio, Aventurine Needs a Hug, POV Dr. Ratio, Trauma, Racism, Genocide, Memories, Healing, Panic Attacks, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aventurine Backstory

Summary: When Aventurine decides that he wants to visit Sigonia-IV, Ratio insists on accompanying him. It does not prove to be an easy journey for either of them, but one that brings them closer together.

Preview:

“Have you heard the news?” the IPC-employee asks in a voice that is obviously supposed to sound like a whisper but completely fails to serve the purpose of keeping the conversation a secret since Ratio can perfectly overhear it from his spot on the table next to him. “Director Aventurine is taking two weeks off - because of ‘personal matters’, it is said.”

For some reason, the voice of the man bringing those ‘news’ sounds full of mockery, as if the idea of one of the highest-ranking members of his company having to deal with personal affairs is nothing but a joke. Ratio, still unwillingly eavesdropping because of the place he has chosen for his lunch in the IPC’s cafeteria, does not like the implications this statement holds. He is much too aware that the man in question here is always having a hard time proving his worth - never because of a lack of expertise or hard work, always because of the most stupid prejudices linked to his origin. That even his private life is in question like this now somehow offends the doctor more than it probably should given how the gambler himself always just ignores gossip like this. 

If Ratio was asked to define the kind of relationship he and Aventurine share, he would find himself a little lost. Is it his upbringing providing him with a much too conservative definition of the term ‘lovers’? Or is it rather something about their respective personalities making their relationship a little… special? It is hard to tell. Whatever it is, the current state of said relationship makes Ratio hesitate to talk about romance in the classical sense of the term. Are they sleeping with each other? Oh yes, they absolutely are. Is there love behind all of this? Difficult to answer. More often than not he feels that he knows just too little about Aventurine to really get a good hold of his personality. It is not like he does not want to know, but for some reason, despite all of his default chattiness, the gambler seems unwilling to share too much about himself - and Ratio has never been one to pry. 

Still, when he now continues to listen to the conversation at the table nearby, he gets a little irritated by the emotions he suddenly feels. 

“I heard that he was heading home . Got me really confused. Isn't everybody there dead or something like this?” a woman responds to the news she has just heard, adding new rumors to the conversation. 

Home? Ratio thinks. Does that mean Sigonia-IV? This kind of news comes as a surprise to him, too - and although, obviously, Aventurine does not owe him any explanations about his life-choices, the thought that he has to hear something like this from random corporate idiots during their lunch break instead of from the person he shares the bed with, annoys him.

Initially, Ratio had not harbored any intentions to meet Aventurine today. He is here at the IPC’s headquarters for business reasons, not for personal ones. However, now his curiosity gets the better of him. He wants to know if these rumors are true, so he decides to visit Aventurine in his office. 

He gets lucky. In his position, Aventurine is a very busy man, but when Ratio arrives at his office, he finds the door open. No meeting, no video calls. Instead, the gambler is looking at his laptop, his face showing deep concentration and nothing but professional sincerity. It is a sight Ratio enjoys for it is in such stark contrast to his usual expression of - all too often - acted nonchalance and playfulness.

When Aventurine finally notices his presence, his expression changes, but it is not an unpleasant change either. After a brief moment of surprise, there is a bright flicker in his eyes, and a genuine smile spreads over his face. Like every time when this happens, Ratio is reminded just how handsome he looks when he is happy. 

“Doc! That's a pleasant surprise! What brings you here?” the gambler exclaims before getting up to give Ratio a hug and a small kiss on his cheek. It is a display of affection the doctor always finds a little hard to accept in public, although it is gradually getting better. He is able and always willing to learn, after all.

When they have settled down on the two chairs in the waiting area of Aventurine's office with a cup of hot coffee a few minutes later, Ratio decides to get straight to the point: 

“I heard a rumor. About you taking some time off to go… home. You have never said anything about this, and you know that I'm a curious man, so I came here to ask you about it myself.”

“I see…” Aventurine sounds a little embarrassed, and Ratio worries that his words sounded too much like he is blaming him for something, which was not his intention. Sometimes, his curiosity really is a curse. 

“I wonder who knows those details?” Aventurine mumbles before finally giving Ratio his answer. It is very fortunate for the doctor that this man understands him well enough to usually not take any offense at his words and actions, however harsh they sometimes may sound.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that those rumors are true. I applied for a two-week vacation, and I'm planning to spend one of those weeks on Sigonia-IV…” he admits, and Ratio finds himself at a loss for words while his thoughts spiral into different directions.

Yes, Sigonia-IV technically is Aventurine's home, he knows this. But at the same time, it is also the place where he had to witness how his family and everyone else he knew and cared about died - or rather: got slaughtered. The place where his people were always disregarded for who they were, solely based on pointless prejudices. Why does he want to go back to this place? Ratio wants to know, but something in the way Aventurine only hesitantly shared his plans with him right now tells him that he will not get a direct answer to such a question, at least not right here and now. That is fine with Ratio. There is a right place and right time for everything, and it does not have to be here and now. 

However, there is something else about this idea of the gambler that does not sit right with him. Aventurine has been through a lot, and although Ratio has only seen glimpses of the trauma this has caused him, it has been enough to understand that the wounds in his soul run deep. It puts him in a different spot right now, both as a doctor and as somebody who cares about this sometimes insufferable gambler. Neither does he want to force himself on the man when he so clearly already seems to have made this choice for himself, nor can he stand the idea of having him deal with all of this without someone who can take care of the aftermath. So, in the end, he decides to come up with a white lie, one he hopes to be believable enough for the moment: 

“Would you mind letting me accompany you on this trip? For… research reasons?” he asks, and Aventurine stares at him in silent surprise. 

Just when he is about to give up on receiving an answer and already tries to think of other arguments to join him on his trip to Sigonia-IV, Aventurine catches himself and replies: 

“Sure.” 

Just this one word and nothing more. Ratio can tell that - just like for himself - there is more he wants to say. However, both of them seem to be unable to find the right words, so this is all they say in the end. Interesting enough, Ratio still feels pretty sure that the gambler is just as relieved as he is with this unexpected outcome of the events.

[...]

Read the full fic on ao3

[its-luna-noel]

pirouettes & the ghost of harman street | gojo x reader

08. the silence is killing me

"Baby, I'm hurt so bad by you I also think about how nice it'd be, to fall in love again I won't expect the same" ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ Satoru Gojo lost his best friend, his partner, his other half. He's terrified when another friend falls for him. He can’t let this time be like the last.

warnings: 18+, MDNI, f!reader, eventual smut, friends to lovers, past satosugu, drinking, partying, brief non-con & past non-con trauma, depression, past suic!de, grief/loss, panic attacks, some dark themes but i promise this is a comfort fic

word count: 3.0k

chapter: 8/10 prev. chapter | next chapter

masterlist | link to ao3

notes: big content warning today, suic!de is a major theme this chapter so make sure to take care of yourselves. pls enjoy

Satoru lets you go, but months go by where he can’t seem to relax his grip on your memory.

Last time you parted – when he was the one to walk away – he was able to pretend that everything was fine. He drowned himself in the bottom of a bottle, went out and forced himself to have fun, because he couldn’t bear to go back to the way he felt after losing Suguru.

He couldn’t bear to mourn again.

But now, having watched you turn your back on him and walk away, leaving him behind instead of the other way around, he can’t fight back those dangerous thoughts anymore, those same thoughts that filled his mind when Suguru died. Everyone leaves, and It’s all your fault.

And really, are either of those thoughts untrue?

Everyone does leave.

And it is all his fault.

He’s in the middle of a workout at the boxing club, slamming bound fists into the punching bag in repeated sets, over and over again, until his mind is numb. All he can hear is the music in his headphones and his own labored breathing, but then why does his heart still ache, and so he just pushes harder until he can’t distinguish the burning of his lungs from the pain in his heart.

It’s not until he hears a familiar voice that he stops and looks up, cheeks red and sweat dripping from his brow.

“Hey, Satoru,” Shoko calls from the lockers, wrapping her hands.

He tries not to grimace. He’s been avoiding everyone he can, since that night at the bar. He doesn’t know which of your friends have chosen him, and which chose you.

If they chose at all.

But it pained him to think one of his closest friends, the one who helped him through the loss of Suguru, would choose you instead.

“Hey,” he finally replies, voice gruff. He clears his throat and takes off his gloves, holding them between his knees as he starts to undo his own wrappings. “I was just finishing up.”

Shoko looks over at him, brow creased, looking worried and unhappy. “You don’t have to leave,” she tells him.

He waves her off, tossing the wraps in his bag. “I know. S’not like that. Just…heading home.”

She sighs softly and reaches up to put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m here, Satoru,” she says quietly.

He just nods and brushes past her, pulling his hoodie over his head and slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder before pushing his way out of the gym door.

It’s cold outside; it’s winter again. Months have passed since he last saw you, and yet all he can think about is that last time he saw you, the tears in your eyes, the flush in your cheeks, the feeling of your lips, the taste of your tears.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and walks quietly down the sidewalk, head ducked against the cold. And as he walks, he indulges in his thoughts of you, because at least then he can hold you close.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

He ends up at the same bridge Suguru did.

He leans against the metal railing, staring down at the crashing waves and stormy water, wind whipping through his hair and nearly stealing his jacket from his shoulders. He huddles deeper into the fabric, breathing deeply, staying quiet as he listens to the tumultuous waters, mirroring his tumultuous thoughts.

Is he ready for this? This kind of jump?

He huffs a small laugh, into the empty space in front of him. His breath turns into a cloud in the frigid air. Wasn’t he just pissed off at Suguru for doing this same thing – in the exact same spot – only months before? Wasn’t he ranting to his favorite little princess about what a selfish decision it was, how Suguru left everyone who loved him, just because he wasn’t strong enough to face his hardships.

Maybe he wasn’t strong enough to hold on. Maybe he couldn’t figure out how to ask for help.

Satoru scoffs again. Ever the wise little princess. But those words mean little to him now; he made his decision. He doesn’t have to figure out how to ask for help; he doesn’t have to be strong enough to hold on.

He’s convinced himself that Suguru is waiting.

“I believe there is another world waiting for us, Sixthsmith. A better world. And I'll be waiting for you there.”

So he takes a deep breath and climbs over the railing, careful not to slip.

When he goes, he wants it to be on his own terms.

He looks down at the water, and he thinks about the last time he was here, when the coast guard was posted on the shore. Would they do the same for him? Would they investigate his death, too?

It will just be one more way to be like Suguru. One more parallel as he chases after him, following after him without question, just like he always has.

He fights to swallow. He has to be ready.

His thoughts turn to his goodbyes, the words he still has to say. He wishes he had time to call Shoko, Utahime, Nanami. His little princess. He wishes he could say goodbye, say the words that Suguru wasn’t able to.

Instead, he says them in his mind. Tells you, his princess, goodbye.

His phone rings in his pocket, and he almost ignores it. Almost takes it out and chucks it into the waiting water, right before diving after it. But something makes him look at the caller I.D., and when he does, his breath catches in his throat.

Princess.

He considers ignoring it. He doesn’t know what made you reach out after all this time, doesn’t know what higher power let you know that he was all alone, that in his final moments, he was thinking about you.

He wants to ask. So he answers, clearing his throat and trying to sound normal. “Hello?”

“Hey.”

He closes his eyes. Your voice sounds so warm, so familiar, exactly the way it did when you told him goodbye all those months ago. The sound makes unfamiliar tears burn his eyes. He tries to keep his voice even. “Hey, princess. What’s up?”

“Just calling to check on you.”

He laughs, and the sound comes out strangled, incredulous. “Check on me? What for? I’m doing fine, princess. No need to worry.”

You’re quiet for a moment. He feels a pang of worry, wondering if he’s hurt your feelings one last time before he jumps. But your voice is just as gentle when you speak again. “I just had a feeling you needed me.”

He takes another breath, feeling like he’s choking, already drowning while above water. “I always need you, princess,” he breathes, and it takes all his strength, all the strength of being Satoru Gojo, to hold back his tears.

You’re quiet again. Then, “Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“Get down from the bridge.”

He has to grip the railing a little tighter as a wave of confusion, shock and…relief…courses through him. He gasps. “What did you say?”

“Get down. Please.”

He clutches the phone. “How– How did you know?” he stammers, eyes wide, still staring down at the rough seas below.

“I just do. Please, ‘Toru. For me.”

He should’ve known when you called him that; you only ever called him by his full name.

He’s still gasping, chest heaving as emotions threaten to overcome him, but he’s at the point where he can’t think anymore, can’t think of anything except you, and how the hell you knew how weak he was feeling.

So he throws his leg over the railing and climbs back over, to the safe side.

You don’t waste a second before speaking again. “Thank you.”

His hand tightens around the phone again. “How did you know?” he demands, brow creased in confusion because you shouldn’t have known, you shouldn’t have been able to talk him down.

“Turn around,” is all you say.

He spins and whips his head around, and when he sees you walking towards him, his breath catches in his throat. He almost rubs his eyes, almost squints to make sure he’s not hallucinating, but you’re there, your steps hurried against the sidewalk.

“Princess,” he chokes out, and he takes a step back because what the hell is happening? The small of his back hits the metal railing. “What are you doing here?”

Your steps slow, and you put your hands up in front of you like you’re approaching a startled animal. “Satoru,” you say, your voice quiet and achingly familiar. “I’m here, Satoru.”

He slowly shakes his head, staring at you with wide eyes. “What are you doing here?” he demands.

You shake your head, brows creased. “I’m here to check on you.”

Your words knock the breath out of him. He shakes his head again, but he doesn’t say anything this time. He just looks at you, wondering how in god’s name you knew how to find him, knew what he needed.

“Satoru,” you say again, taking a slow step forward, “can you come away from the railing?”

He blinks, and his hand reaches back to grip the cold metal, but then he lets go and steps forward, eyes roving over you as he comes a little closer.

Your voice is soft when you speak again. “Another step, ‘Toru.”

Again, he should’ve known.

He takes one more step, and then he’s right in front of you, and he can’t help but dive forward, taking you in his arms.

He wraps his arms around you, and you feel so real, so soft and warm. He buries his face in your neck, and he breathes you in, and he just asks over and over again, “How’d you know, how’d you know?”

You don’t answer; you just hold him.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

When Satoru wakes up, he runs a hand over his face, making sure he’s really alive, here in bed.

Then, when he realizes it was all just a dream, he sits up in bed, buries his face in his hands, and starts to weep.

He cries so hard he begins to sob, and he’s on the verge of hysteria as his shoulders heave, as his chest aches with every shaky breath. His head hurts, and he’s getting lightheaded, and oh god this has happened before, he’s dying, he can’t breathe–

And then he remembers your sweet voice.

We’re gonna play a little game, okay? Tell me five things you can see.

It’s always you saving him.

He gasps for air, lifting his head to look around, to find what he can see, and he names them off for himself: his sheets, the window, his lamp….

And he continues, from touch to feel to hear to smell to taste, and once he’s done, a glass of water in his shaky hand, he has to admit that he feels better.

He can breathe, and it’s all because of you.

It’s all been because of you.

He clutches the glass in his hand, staring at the water sloshing back and forth along the sides. It’s hypnotic in his hand, and as he watches his shaking starts to slow, and then stop.

But his thoughts continue on.

He knows it was all a dream, now, all just a harmless dream. But the thoughts behind that dream, the desires, the danger, are all too real. He has to admit to himself now, now that he saw the dream.

He doesn’t want to live this life he has.

He isn’t living.

Because what does he do? He goes to the gym, he goes to the bar, he hopes to drown out every thought he has, every pain he feels, because he’s been haunted, haunted by the ghost of Suguru, the ghost of that bridge. He hasn’t lived a single goddamn moment since his best friend went to that bridge.

He stopped living when Suguru died, so who’s the ghost in his life, Suguru or him?

But he can think about moments when he almost got there, when he almost started living again. And those moments were all with you.

And that’s when he realizes. When he realizes what a mistake he’s made, what he’s done to himself by leaving you, let alone what he’s done to you.

He’s kept himself from living.

But it’s been long enough.

That’s when he decides. He gets out of bed, looking at the clock to see it’s just before midnight. He might wake you up, but he has to see you, he can’t wait until tomorrow. He has to tell you what you’ve done for him, that you’ve saved him, that you’ve made him want to live again, that after everything you’re the light that shines through his darkness.

And when he thinks of your light, all he can imagine is your laugh.

So he pulls on clean clothes, jeans and a henley he knows you liked once, and he’s torn between wanting to get to you as quickly as possible and wanting to look good for the first time he’s seen you in months. But that’s simple vanity, and this is a race, so he just runs a cursory hand through his hair and grabs his jacket and scarf, hurrying out the door and practically jogging towards your apartments.

And then the thought hits him that you might have moved, might have wanted to leave because your place was so close to his, and it sends a pang of panic through his chest.

But he just shakes the thought away. If that’s the case, then he’ll deal with it when he gets there. For now, he just has to hope.

He walks briskly down the sidewalk, and it’s such a familiar route that his body’s on autopilot while he moves. He can take this walk in his sleep – oh is he sure he’s not still dreaming? No, too cold – and so he just thinks instead, thinks about what he might find at your apartment, if you’ll still be awake, if you’ll be half asleep and drowsy, if your eyes will light up when you see him, if you’ll shut down and close in on yourself.

He doesn’t know, can’t know, and that fact is driving him crazy.

So he just walks a little faster, pace brisk, as he hurries through the cold winter night.

He practices what he’s going to say, what speech he’ll give, how he’ll apologize for anything and beg on his knees if he has to. He plans how he’ll touch your cheeks if you let him, run his thumbs across your soft skin, hold you between his hands like you’re precious because you are, how he’d lean in and kiss your perfect mouth–

No. Gotta stay focused.

He brings his thoughts back to what he has to say to earn that privilege, earn the right to ask to kiss you, after what he did after your first one.

But when he finally walks up to your door, his heart leaps into his throat, and suddenly he can’t remember a damn thing he planned to say.

He raises a sweaty, shaky hand, holding it above the wood of your door for a long moment. Then he takes a deep breath and knocks, quietly enough not to scare you, because he knows you’re easily startled.

For a long moment, he doesn’t hear anything. He begins to wonder if you’re asleep, and he tries to decide if he should knock again, louder this time, or if he should just do the reasonable thing and go back to his place and wait until morning.

But he can’t wait. He can’t. Not after all these months.

So he raises his fist again, but before he can knock, he hears movement from behind the door. His heart starts to pound. He has to swallow the sudden lump in his throat.

He hears the sound shuffling closer, and there’s a pause before the deadbolt unlocks. Then the door slowly cracks open, just enough for your head to poke out and look at whoever the hell is at your apartment at midnight–

He can see the confusion, the incredulity in your eyes, just before you look up and see who’s standing there. And then there’s a flicker, a mosaic of emotion that he can’t even piece together because it’s all so catastrophic, so divine, so heartbreaking.

You can’t tell what you’re feeling either. Just that your breath catches in your throat, and suddenly your palms are sweating, too.

You stare up at him for a long moment, lips parted slightly in shock. Your eyes so wide and open, so easily read but so impossible to interpret, and Satoru just watches you back in silence, because you’re here, you’re really here.

He clears his throat. “Hey, princess,” he breathes, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans to hide their shaking.

You blink up at him, quiet for another moment, and then you whisper, “Satoru,” and it’s euphoric, it’s enchanting, it’s everything he needs, because here you are saying his name in that sweet voice of yours. He almost abandons all pretense, all decorum, to sweep you off your feet and hold you to his chest, because he can’t believe how lucky he is to look at you again after all this time.

It feels like coming home.

Then you continue, your voice still quiet, eyes still filled with such destructive emotion. “What are you doing here?”

He takes a deep breath. “I came to see you. I… can I come in?”

You hesitate, and he’s sure he knows why. He’s sure it’s because he’s broken your heart, done nothing to convince you that you’re as important to him as you really are. He has taken and shattered everything you’ve given him, and he’s sure that’s why you hesitate.

And then he hears another voice say, muffled through the space of the apartment, “Who is it?” And his heart stops.

It’s a male voice. And it’s coming from your bedroom.

thanks for reading! -luna xx prev. chapter | next chapter

[totesnothere04]

From Heartbreak to Harmony

Neytiri x F!Omatikaya!Reader x Jake

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the fanart, screenshots, or gifs used with my stories.

Warnings: Hurt to comfort, tsaheylu, major character death, yall... (Y/n) gots alot of friggin kids. Also 4 releases in one weekend?? Holy crap.

"Okay let's go through them again." Grace said as she started showing Jake pictures of important members of the clan.

"Mo'at the dragon lady." Jake says and Grace changes the image. "Eytucan." Jake says and Grace rolls her eyes.

"Eytukan. He's the clan leader, and she's the spiritual leader. Like a shaman." Grace tells him and shows him the next.

"Su'tey." Jake says.

"Tsu'tey." Grace corrects him.

"Tsu'tey." Jake corrects himself.

"He's the high warrior." Grace tells him and shows the next picture.

"Neytiri and (Y/n)." Jake says as he takes the tablet and looks at the picture closer.

"Of course those are the two you get right." Norm says exasperated.

"Hey focus." Grace warns Jake when she sees he's about to argue with Norm. "Neytiri is the next clan leader and (Y/n) is the next Tsahík. They become a mated pair." Grace says and Jake seems confused.

"But how will they produce the next of their line?" Jake asks and Norm decides to flaunt his knowledge.

"It's not unheard of for the leaders of the clan to have a third mate." Norm tells Jake and leans against the hand rails. "Which you would know if you had any knowledge of their customs."

"Well who has a date with both of the future clan leaders?" Jake says cheekily and Norm throws his hands up.

"C'mon man that doesn't count-" Norm says and Grace shushes them both.

"Link now. Village life starts early." She says and leans over Jake after he lays down. "Don't do anything overly stupid." Jake doesn't respond as he shuts the lid over himself. When he opens his eyes he finds a pair of eyes staring back at him.

"Come JakeSulì. I will redress your wound." You tell him and he's quick to get out of his hammock. He follows behind you getting a better look at his surroundings now that it's daytime. When you get to the healer's area you gesture for him to sit and he does as asked. You sit across from him and take his old dressings off. He watches you as you apply a salve to his wound and can't help but admire your features. Your bioluminescent freckles aren't visible in the daylight but their pattern is still captivating.

"So, you're promised to Neytiri huh?" Jake asks trying to make conversation. You look up at him and nod.

"We have been courting since we were 14 cycles. I was chosen as tsakarem at 16 cycles, and she was chosen to be the next Olo'eyktan." You tell him and he nods. You back away from him after you're finished and wash your hands off in a bowl of water and dry them off. "Come. We will eat first meal and Neytiri will take you to start your training." He gets up and follows behind you again. You squat down and so does Jake, then not long after Neytiri joins the two of you. It's quiet as the three of you eat.

After you were all finished eating Neytiri planted a kiss on the top of your head and dragged Jake behind her. You smiled softly as you watched her drag the odd uniltìranyu with her.

Later in the day Neytiri and Jake showed up and Mo'at excused you. You followed Neytiri as she led the small group into the forest. When you walked into the treeline you took a deep breath and ran your hands over a few tree trunks. Eywa's voice danced around you and your companions as she led the three of you on an unknown path. Neytiri finally stopped and sat down on a thick tree branch and you sat down next to her. You allowed your fingers to glide over the moss covering the tree bark and you smiled.

"I had (Y/n) join us to help with teaching you our language and to teach you about Eywa." Neytiri tells Jake who nods.

It had been a few months since Jake had started his training and you started to contemplate something. You were going to propose the idea of Jake being your and Neytiri's third mate. He is strong and once he started learning you found him intelligent and a quick learner. Though his reluctance to believe in the Great Mother was a questionable quality to you. Neytiri believed him ready to tame an ikran, but you voiced that you didn't think that to her. Your concern is he didn't want to learn about Eywa. She told Tsu'tey he was ready anyways and had him take him along with the other ready warriors and hunters.

When they returned and Jake had tamed an ikran you started to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Something was about to happen but you had no idea what it could possibly be. There were so many things going on in your world right now that it could be anything from an attack by the sky demons, to someone close to you dying again. Mo'at spent the better part of the evening helping to ease your growing concern. But the Great Mother had never lied to you before, so you would not start questioning her now. That night you prepared yourself spiritually for whatever it might be.

The next morning you woke up early and went to prepare healing supplies for the day with Mo'at. After first meal you sat working quietly when your curiosity got the best of you.

"Have you seen Neytiri this morning? I would like to suggest our third mate to her before we present him to you." You say and Mo'at clicks her tongue disapprovingly.

"I have not seen Neytiri today. She was not in her hammock either. I thought she might have slept in here after last night festivities, but she was not here either." Mo'at says and you got the same gut feeling that you had the night prior.

"What if what I am sensing has to do with Neytiri?" You ask Mo'at and her head shoots up to look in your eye.

"It is a possibility. We all return to the Great Mother when the time is right." Mo'at says and you nod.

"I am aware, but my fear exists in having to be given a new mate. I have fallen in love with Neytiri." You tell her and she places a hand on your arm.

"Tsu'tey is in love with Sylwanin. It is why he refused to be chosen to be the third mate. However, if it must happen he knows he is the first choice to take Neytiri's place." Mo'at says. "For both Olo'eyktan and as your mate. He holds the right to refuse our choice, as you do." It seems like she is going to continue speaking when you hear Tsu'tey shouting in the main area. You and Mo'at look at eachother then go to investigate. His hunting party returned early from their outing and you frown.

"Tsu'tey, what is the meaning of this?" You ask him and he looks over at you.

"The demons have destroyed the Tree of Voices. They flattened them to the ground and left nothing of them behind." Tsu'tey says and your hands fly to your mouth. A startled cry erupts from your throat.

"Neytiri might have been showing them to Jake now that he is one of The People." You told Mo'at quietly and you see a short moment of fear cross her features.

"We must stay here. Soon it will be your time to take my place in deciding to take action to war. You must learn to make this decision, ma'ite." Mo'at says and you bow your head in understanding. The proceedings were intense but there was no opposition to going to war with the demons. Tsu'tey was celebrating the preparation of war when Jake and Neytiri emerged from the crowd. You felt relief flood your body when you saw Neytiri was okay, so you made your way to her. But her scent was off. She did not smell just of herself but Jake as well and you took a step away from her. Tsu'tey shoved Jake to the ground and Neytiri pushed him away, and you knew.

"You mated with this woman?" Tsu'tey asked as he cast his eyes to you, who stood nearby.

"Is this true?" Mo'at asked angrily as she came forward. Neytiri looked like a child who had just gotten caught doing something they weren't supposed to do.

"We are mated before Eywa. It is done." Neytiri says in finality and you wrap your arms around yourself. Mo'at pulls you into her arms when she senses your sadness well up within you.

"Ma'tiyawn, we wanted you to come with us but we could not find you." Neytiri says as she tries to come to you but you put your hand up to silence her.

"You have made me the third." You tell her and her ears pinned back. "If you had both waited until this morning I was going to speak with you privately about taking him as our third. However, you have now disrespected my placement on our mating by doing this." You tell her and Neytiri looks close to tears and Jake is looking at you with eyes full of hope.

"Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'ite, because of this you can never be Olo'eyktan. Your actions have shown impatience and impulsive behavior, which cannot be tolerated from a leader." Mo'at says. "(Y/n) will remain tsakarem and Tsu'tey will become her Olo'eyktan and mate should he accept." Mo'at speaks in an authoritative tone and she looks at Tsu'tey.

"I accept." Tsu'tey says as he makes eye contact with you. Jake speaks up after all of this is declared.

"Tsu'tey, brother. Do not attack the sky people. Many Omatikaya will die if you do." Jake says and Tsu'tey pulls out his knife.

"You are NOT my brother!" Tsu'tey attacks Jake only for Jake to throw him off balance.

"And I am not your enemy! The real enemy is out there and they are very powerful!" Jake says. "I can talk to them."

"No more talk!" Tsu'tey yells as he charges forward to try to attack Jake again but he sidesteps his attack and only sustains a cut. Tsu'tey tries to stab Jake again only for Jake to stop his arm, punch him across the jaw, knees him in the chest, then punches him directly in his nose. You gawk at the fighting style as it is foreign to you and you immediately recognize that this man is far more trained than most of your clan.

"I am Omatikaya. I am one of you. And I have the right to speak." Jake says. "I have something to say... to all of you." Jake pauses and grimaces. "The words are like stones in my heart." He finishes in the demon language.

Grace drops to the ground and you run to her side and start looking over her for any wounds.

"Grace!" Neytiri yells and drops to her knees on her other side.

"Oh no. Look I was sent here to-" Jake says in a rushed manner then promptly falls to his knees. Tsu'tey takes this as an opportunity and lifts Jake's head up with his knife to Jake's throat.

"You see? It is a demon in a false body." Tsu'tey says and Neytiri pounces on his back and throws him away from Jake's still body. He directs his knife toward her and she stands over Jake protectively with hers drawn as well. You exhale and walk back to the healer's area to continue preparations. Some time later Jake and Grace are awake again and Mo'at gathers you to stand beside her.

"Ma'Eytukan! I have something to say." Jake says hurriedly and Grace joins his side.

"Listen to him." She says.

"Speak JakeSulí." Eytukan says and Jake takes a deep breath.

"A great evil is upon us. The sky people are coming to destroy Hometree!" Jake says and Mo'at becomes concerned. "Tell 'em they're gonna be here soon." He says to Neytiri and she translates for Eytukan.

"Are you certain of this?" Mo'at asks.

"Look, they sent me here to learn your ways. So that one day I could deliver this message and you'd believe it." Jake says and you glare at him.

"What are you saying Jake? That you knew this would happen?" Neytiri asks him and he hesitates.

"Yes. Look, at first it was just orders. But then I fell in love. With the forest and with the Omatikaya people. And with you and (Y/n)." Jake says and Neytiri looks like she's holding back tears.

"I trusted you." Neytiri says as she starts to back away from him.

"With you and (Y/n)!" Jake continues to try and calm her but she's angry. She continues to yell at him until she finally walks away from him. Eytukan looks at both yours and Neytiri's sad expressions and turns to the warriors.

"Bind them!" Eytukan says and everything became a blur after that. Grace and Jake were dragged out of Hometree and you stayed with Mo'at inside. After an hour or so you heard the sound of the sky demons machines outside. A few moments later a metal canister flew through the entrance of Hometree. It released smoke that caused your eyes to water so to protect the children and mothers you started telling them to run for the trees. Then they started shooting at Hometree. The explosions throw you off of your feet and you try to push through and get out of Hometree. You're stopped a little ways away from Hometree by Eytukan.

"You must go! Run for the forest!" Eytukan says but he quickly throws you behind him and a massive explosion throws you both off of your feet. When you make contact with the ground your head hits it hard and everything goes dark.

You wake up to the sound of fire and someone shouting for the father. You take notice of Eytukan a short way away and run to his side as best as you can.

"Ma'Eytukan... I'm so sorry. I should have gotten up sooner." You cry as you look over the piece of wood that's straight through his chest.

"Ma'ite. Lead the people wisely." Eytukan says as he takes off his headpiece and hands it to you and you cry harder.

"Ma'sempul!" You finally recognize the voice as Neytiri's as she finds you both. She cries out as she joins you by his side.

"Ma'ite, protect the people." Eytukan says as he hands Neytiri his bow. When she has a good hold on it his arm goes slack. Neytiri falls into hysterical crying and you wrap an arm around her shoulder as you sob quietly next to her.

"Neytiri! (Y/n)!" You hear Jake searching for both you and his mate, but you can't bring yourself to look up at him. He stumbles into the small clearing you're in and he drops to his knees on Eytukans other side. He looks over the beloved Olo'eyktans dead body and he reaches over to set one hand on Neytiri's neck and takes one of your hands in his.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Jake says trying to console both of you.

"Get away." Neytiri says through sobs but her sadness quickly turns to anger. "Get away! Get away from here, never come back." She takes Jake's place and cradles her father's body in her arms as she continues to cry. Jake looks on like he's lost and turns then leaves. You put on the headpiece that Eytukan gave you and quietly follow Jake. He collapses and you check him over to make sure he wasn't wounded but find he's alright. You leave your leather pouch full of fresh water on his chest and run off to follow the rest of the clan to the Tree of Souls.

The next couple of days are filled with sadness as the clan mourns the loss of the Olo'eyktan and Hometree. However, the days following Toruk Maktos return are chaotic. War breaks out as 15 clans come together to rid the world of the demons. In the war, you lost your second promised mate and you feel lost.

After a new Hometree is found a new Olo'eyktan is chosen, and it's Toruk Makto himself. Mo'at refused to allow her daughter the title because of her past actions. During the time of rebuilding Jake and Neytiri approached you.

"I meant what I said before the destruction of the original Hometree. I want to be mated with both of you because I am in love with you. The passion and love your eyes held when you taught me about Eywa and helped teach me the language. It made you even more beautiful than you already are. Please join us in our mating?" Jake says and he offers you his tswin and Neytiri offers hers as well. Your breathing becomes shallow as you look from the eyes to their tswin's presented to you. You feel tears start to fall from your eyes and Jake uses his free hand to wipe them away. You take a deep breath and present your tswin to them. The three groups of nerve endings dance until they all bond together. You wrap one arm around Jake's waist and the other around Neytiri's shoulders. The intimacy quickly changes from gentle and comforting, to aroused and complete.

Months later you welcome your first son into the world as Neteyam te Sulí Tsyeyek'itan, right after little Kiri te Sulí Kìreysì'ite born from Grace's avatar, then Neytiri brought Lo'ak te Sulí Tsyeyek'itan. Many cycles later both you and Neytiri brought one more child each. She gave birth to Tukitery te Sulí Neytiri'ite, and you were blessed with another boy, on the same day as Neytiri welcomed Tuk, you welcomed Tomis te Sulí Tsyeyek'itan. Blessed was the only word you would use to describe your life now as you watched your mate teach and play with your children.

Permanent Taglist(message me if you want taken off of it): @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @kenzi-woycehoski.

[nekoannie-chan]

A future trapped in the past

Title: A Future Trapped in the Past.

Fandom: Marvel, Captain America.

Ship: Steve Rogers X Reader.

Word count: 457 words.

Square: 8 “Tangled in the rigging”.

Rating: Teen.

Summary: Some decisions will change everything.

Major Tags: Angst, broken heart.

Additional tags: My entry for the @fandom-free-bingo Maritime May Edition.

Links: Wattpad, Ao3, Spanish version.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish, so I wanna improve my writing skills in English. Please let me know if you notice any mistakes, and I will correct them.

I don’t grant permission for my fics to be posted on other platforms or in other languages (I translate my work) or for the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this). I created them exclusively for my fics; please respect my work and refrain from stealing it. Some people here make dividers that anyone can use; mine is not this type, so please look for the other people's dividers. The only exceptions are those I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. Please let me know if you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

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If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @real-fbi @caplanbuckybarnes @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga @endlesstwanted @patzammit @kmc1989

The air at the Avengers' base was charged with a strange mixture of relief and sadness. The Blip was over. They had won. Thanos had been defeated, and all those who had disappeared five years earlier had returned. Steve Rogers hadn't said much since then.

You noticed it right away. You knew him too well.

And you knew him. You knew exactly what he was.

Peggy.

Ever since Tony had devised the time travel plan, ever since you knew you could return the Infinity Gems to their exact time and place, Steve had changed.

But before that, you guys got married.

It wasn't a big wedding; it was on a rainy night he had chosen to be with you.

But now...

Steve was caught in a dilemma he had never imagined having.

Peggy or you.

His past or his present.

That night, you found him on the balcony of the base, looking up at the sky as if searching for an answer in the stars. He was leaning on the railing, his knuckles white from how hard he was squeezing the metal edges.

You took a deep breath and stepped closer.

“Steve.”

He closed his eyes for a moment as if your voice made him remember he was still here. Then he turned slowly, and his gaze met yours.

Oh, God. There was so much in his eyes.

“You can't go on like this.”

He lowered his head, exhaling a heavy sigh.

“I don't know what to do.”

Those four words were like a stab in your chest. Because you knew what they really meant was, I don't know who to choose.

It hurt.

“Do you still love her?” you asked, bluntly.

Steve closed his eyes tightly.

“I've always loved her...,” he confessed, and you felt the air leave your lungs. But...

He paused as if the next word was stuck in his throat.

“But now I love you too.”

It was the first time he said it. The first time Steve said out loud that he loved you.

“If you leave, you won't be able to come back. If you decide to stay there, in the past, I... I'm not going to wait for you, Steve.”

It wasn't a threat. It wasn't an ultimatum. It was a fact.

Because if Steve chose the past, then you would have to move on.

Steve knew that. And for the first time in his life, he didn't have the right answer.

“I know it's selfish, but... You need me. I know you need me.”

Damn him.

Damn him for knowing exactly the truth.

Because you needed him.

Because you had imagined a future with him.

Because you loved him with every part of you.

And he loved you, too.

[linked-rails]

TUNA PIANO

Another silly comic to test how to comic TM

[noisyquokka]

Lifetimes Before

PAIRING - Chan x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS - Sometimes all your soul needs is a quiet night with your Lover, something that always feels familiar to you that you can't quite put a finger on.

WORDCOUNT - 2k

WARNINGS - Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, dancing with this man under the stars? sign me up!!

A/N - I've had this idea stuck in my head for a while now, so I thought I'd finally get it out. Giggled, kicked my feet, twirled my hair whilst writing this and now I wish I could dance with my girlfriend... Anyway Happy Chan day, everybody!!🥰🎉

The wood creaks beneath your weight as you descend the staircase, halting at the second-last step and leaning over the railing. You scan the open space in search of your Lover, ears perking at the melody floating about the first floor. Something far older than the two of you, with elements of blues, swing, big band. A man with the vocals of silk and lace, a warm embrace. Nat King Cole. It's a record you're familiar with, one you can imagine your grandparents listening to in their late 20s. It's something that fits a quiet Sunday evening, the spices from a homecooked meal wafting through the house as the family sits down to eat. Something that fits this quiet Sunday evening.

The chosen vinyl spins on the turntable, soundwaves moving you like nothing else can. You skip down the last few steps, turning towards the back patio with a furrowed brow. There's a faint glow shining through the door's glass, fighting its way through the sheer curtains hanging from them; a pathetic excuse for privacy. But you find the golden glow of a sunset too good to pass up most days, the rays bleeding through the hallway, running up the walls like untamed flames in a campfire.

Ah, that glow… one of crackling wood and all-encompassing heat.

A smile pulls at the corners of your lips, your slippers padding across the runner in the hall as you pull the door open. Chan's back is to you, tending to the fire in the freestanding pit. Daylight is fading, the tree tops along your property rimmed in the amber glow of late Summer. The northern breeze assaults the fabric on your person, greeting the bare skin beneath with a sweet kiss of chills. You step out anyway, patio bricks smooth underfoot, and clear your throat. The man's shoulders tense only for a moment, straightening up as he turns to you. That familiar look of affection adorns his face.

"So what's this, then?" You gesture to the fire, the buzzing stereo inside. It's romantic beyond measure, and even as you know the events that are about to unfold, you play coy. "You call me down here for what, exactly?"

"Leave the door open," He says, waving you over with a wag of his fingers. You oblige, unable to hold back your smile as you close in on the sight before you. The mess of curls atop his head move with him, his focus on nothing else but you as you cross the space from the entrance to the patio. The closer you get, the wider Chan's smile gets until you're greeted by those dimples, the fire light washing over the elusive divots as he turns back to the horizon awash in a blaze of vibrant hues. Orange, violet, yellowish-pink.

You stop behind him, feeling the warmth of the fire spill over the broadness of his shoulders. He chuckles when your arms slink around his waist, tightening as you rest your cheek at the space between his shoulder blades. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes. The patio door sways open further with the breeze, the sound of the stereo mingling with the crackles and pops of dry wood. It's almost like the sands in the hourglass stop out here, every single time. If only…

Chan's fingers slip under one of your hands, linking your fingers together to pull you around to his side. The song that's playing ends, and you recognize the next instantly. Those fingers squeeze around yours in a nonverbal question, and Chan follows up with a verbal one.

"May I?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

"I'm just being a gentleman." He insists, pulling you closer with a gentle hand. His other hand settles at your waist, taking the lead in this three-step on this chilly evening. And you follow with no complaints, bringing your opposite hand up to rest on his shoulder. Nat King Cole begins his silken performance from inside.

Three little words,

Oh what I'd give for that wonderful phrase,

To hear those three little words,

That's all I'd live for the rest of my days,

His grip on you is firm but comfortable, there to keep you close even as he knows you're not going anywhere. The two of you ease into that familiar swing and sway, so used to being soul partners in this backyard oasis where the only wandering eyes are the wildlife that slinks through the shadows and the stars that have yet to make their appearance tonight. Moving together as one, sharing the same space as Chan pulls you in so your back is to his chest.

And what I feel in my heart,

They tell sincerely,

No other words can tell it half so clearly,

His voice rumbles in his chest, swaying you back and forth as he softly serenades you in his arms. You're smiling, lashes fluttering at such a serene and calming voice, the lyrics carrying you on wings of sound as you step in time with the music. And oh, does that voice hold nothing but the strongest affection for the one he's singing to. It erupts butterflies within your chest.

Chan unfurls you from his embrace, your fingers interlocking again as you step backward, shifting your weight to your left foot and coming back to center. It's hard not to smile, something so natural to the both of you - a waltz between two Lovers in firelight as your bodies flow like a river - when you've been here a number of times. The instrumentals fill the air between you both, floating out of the warmly lit home and into the night. 

Three little words,

Eight little letters,

Which simply mean I love you.

Chan's voice fills your ears again as he spins you around the patio, the chill creeping under your shirt. Even so, you feel nothing but warmth radiating from the man that's swinging you around like this is the most fun he's had in all his lifetimes. He pushes you away, shifting his left foot back before strong arms are pulling you back into him. Your laughter echoes through the trees, and you let your head fall back in bliss. You bite your lip as he presses a kiss to your chin.

"Am I doin' this right?" His breath is soft on your neck, arms slipping to the small of your back while yours find their resting place at his shoulders. You're much too close to properly dance, so Chan guides you into a slow and simple sway, shifting your weight from your left foot to your right.

"You're the dancer, Christopher," You reply, tilting your head to lock eyes with the man, "shouldn't you know?" A soft smile takes over your lips as you let your eyes linger on his in the warmth of the fire.

"I was referring to my execution," He gestures to the romantic setting he'd created with a smirk. "but from the look on your face, I'm guessing I've done alright."

You chuckle, blinking as your fingers find the hair at the nape of his neck. Your gaze flits around the backyard, seemingly judging the choices he'd made. The wind kicks up now, rustling the changing leaves that sway along their branches with you two below. The flames crackle with the intrusive whispers of air, embers glowing as they travel on the wind's current like fireflies. Your focus come back to those warm amber eyes, licking your lips.

"I'd say so." You murmur, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Chan grins at that, lifting you with ease and twirling you around, the two of you moving in a smooth circle. You squeal at his movements, eyes wide for the slightest second as the pads of your fingers dig into his shoulders. But then you hear him giggle and you're being brought back down just enough that his lips can find yours. You hum contentedly into the kiss, lashes fluttering against your ever heating cheeks.

And what I feel in my heart,

They tell sincerely,

No other words can tell it half so clearly,

He sets you back to your feet and without missing a beat, you're back in step with little effort. Your body moves in time with Chan's and his with yours, each step blending into the next. The intuitive tells and the way you understand each other's bodies is an artform, with a level of cohesion that defies all logic. Like two halves of a whole, your souls intertwined in a way that's otherworldly. Attuned to the natural rhythm of one another, every step, every touch. It's something learned over lifetimes. It's an enchanting feeling; an experience you could live in for eternity if only you get to experience it with his soul in every single life beyond this one.

Three little words,

Eight little letters,

Which simply mean I love you,

He spins you away again, lyrics dancing on the tip of his tongue. The man's voice is like a soft, melodic lullaby, it's smooth and soothing tones washing over you. The breeze and the fire craft a tranquil and romantic atmosphere as you sway your hips with the music. The flames cast a glow across Chan's face, dancing over bare skin as he draws you back into him, foreheads bumping softly. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing fervently at the warm skin. Time moves slowly in this moment, lasting an eternity as you breathe each other in. You could've sworn this song is only about two minutes long.

"Simply mean I love you."

He sings the last line softly, a wide grin taking over his face. You mirror that grin, unable to hold back as your heart beats heavy in your chest. Two pairs of eyes stare for a long moment, taking in every feature, every imperfection, everything. Nothing but a heart palpitating love in those gazes, melting into one another. There's love.

"I love you."

It's said at the same time, soft chuckles vibrating through warm chests. His breath lightly fans over your cheeks, the hand at your back coming to rest at your hip. He tilts your head up just enough, the softness of his lips meeting yours in another gentle kiss. You're still slightly swaying as the next song plays in the background, your senses tuned into him as you feel the chill on your skin, the scent of burning wood, the taste of Chan's lips on yours.

You dance until the fire begins to die, your bodies intertwined and foreheads resting against each other. Until the vinyl is finished playing, giving way to the chorus of night insects that still sing this close to the start of Autumn. The embers burn away, cooling into white ash as starlight takes over, the moon's soft luminescence illuminating the two of you. And even after all is quiet, you stay in Chan's arms, the warmth of his skin and his voice a gentle comfort.

You know you have work in the morning, but enveloped in your Lover's arms, you don't see yourself finding the willpower to rush back inside to go to bed. Not when everything feels as it should. Heartbeats in sync, two souls sharing such a profound connection that poets of old could only weave into the fabric of humanity's web with their weathered scribes.

You see their gazes now, in the twinkling of the stars above, beautiful and serene. A creation all their own. The scene brings a smile to their shimmering faces, that you know every inch of the man beside you. Every inch of his body, every movement, every sound. There is nothing that Chan does that you don't already know. Your love runs deeper than flesh and bone, deeper than the vastness of galaxies. It's a love that runs to the very essence of your two souls. A love that has lasted lifetimes before this one and will last for lifetimes after.

The hours pass, but you don't rush back inside to sleep. There is no hurry, no need. 

You are where you're supposed to be, in the arms of the man you love.

Psst!! If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my work 💕 I appreciate you!

[loganwritesprobably]

– Robin with the 2° genre, prompt (h.) 🌸✨

You really DID go hard with all these requests! This prompt is SO sad in combination with Robin, but the genre gave me a little bit of hope. I ended up including Brook in a platonic sense, and I've never written him before, so I hope he's okay?

I changed the prompt a little to make it work and I think it's nice ✨

Content/Warnings: Robin/GN!Reader, hurt/comfort, established relationship, Reader is insecure, Reader & Brook, Brook gives good advice

Robin was one of, if not The, most powerful women you knew. Nothing hurt more than knowing you couldn't be as strong as her. You'd never have pulled through all of the awful things she had to experience in her life. You would never deserve her. She could do so much better than you, someone who could match her strength and beauty. You were stopping her from achieving more.

You sat on the deck of the Sunny under the bright moon, watching the stars twinkling reflections on the waves. Now that you were together, you couldn't imagine a way to break things off without disrupting the entire crew, which only made you feel worse. You could either make the right choice for Robin, or the right choice for the crew.

You heard footsteps approaching you from behind, but you didn't acknowledge the person, instead just kept your eyes focused on the dark abyss of the ocean.

"My, you look deep in thought." Brook commented, his bony hand coming to rest on the railing beside yours. "Yeah, something like that." You agreed, not looking up at him. "Berri for your thoughts?" He asked, and you sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. Maybe it would help, talking about it. Brook was a friend, and had so much life experience. "Robin deserves better." You said, because you didn't need to ramble or dice your words - that was the core of your issues. "Ah, I see. Struggling with feeling inadequate," Brook mused while you continued to look out at the horizon, afraid to look at him for the first time, "I think she'd disagree, and surely it's Robin who should be making that choice? We all see ourselves differently to how other people see us. We often don't see our own value." He said, and while his words made sense you struggled to apply them to yourself.

"Sometimes I just think I should break things off and leave, she gets the chance to do better and it doesn't affect the crew." "That would be running away, and I know you're no coward. Besides, we both know she'd just chase after you yohohoho." And once again, he was right. You knew he was. It was silly to be thinking about this because ultimately Robin was the one to decide what she wanted - and she'd chosen you. "Thanks Brook." You said, and he nodded. He gently rested his skeletal hand on your shoulder and squeezed before turning and leaving you to continue with your thoughts.

Requests are open! See below links for my other works, and how to leave requests. I write both canon/canon and canon/reader requests for your enjoyment

AO3 | Fanfic Masterlist | Request Rules | Fic Trades Guide | WIPs

Tags: @claryeverlarkf

[mabepearls]

ok, finally making a post sharing melanie's voice claims + notes on why i chose them! hope all the melanie fans enjoy (o゜▽゜)o☆

english - indya moore (link, alt link w/o music and effects so you can hear her better)

this voice claim was suggested by my friend and resident melanie stan, maya @girltwinkcn ! from the start, i knew i wanted melanie's hypothetical english voice actor to be a trans woman of color, and honestly i'm shocked i didn't think of moore before maya did lol. i think it shows off melanie's sorta... tired yet assured personality well. not speaking lazily but still with a bit of slowness, y'know?

chinese - tang yajing as xingqiu from genshin impact (link)

another voice claim that was suggested by maya! this one was chosen somewhat because it was similar to the ENG voice. it retained that firm and elegant tone while still being expressive in its own unique way, just like melanie herself :] i find that the CN voices in star rail are often the most in-character/telling of the character's true personality, and i think that rings true here, too.

japanese - kotono mitsuishi as peko pekoyama from danganronpa 2 (link)

this one was meant to emphasize melanie's more no-nonsense, stern personality, much like the one seen when she's around boothill (before they get together, that is). in that same vein, placing the voice in tandem with boothill's JPN voice only made me firmer on the idea. i know it's quite different from the other voice claims, but rarely are star rail's own canon voice actors perfectly in-sync with each other, so...

korean - lee so-young as kayle from league of legends (link)

i actually changed this language's voice claim very recently; her previous KR voice was shin nari as changli from wuthering waves, but i decided to change it because it didn't feel nearly as in-character as it did when i chose it months ago. it's a sort of combination of the JPN and CN voices in my mind, being expressive and no-nonsense like the former, yet deep, mature, and elegant like the latter.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

I did it I did it I finished chapter one I did it

Someone should probably pat me on the head.

Fuck it I'll do it myself.

Bit shorter than my chapters usually are (I usually aim for 3k-4k words), but the stopping point just sort of served itself up to me on a silver platter and I couldn't resist.

So it's only like just over two thousand.

So this is the fan fiction I've mentioned a few times, with the OC whose character sheet I will link among my Masterlist alongside this fanfiction.

Enough rambling, here we go.

Hearing Problems

Chapter 1: A Deadly Challenge

Next Chapter Link

Tags: Slow-burn, Enemies to Lovers, eventually NSFW, uh, if I think of more I'll add them or something

Trigger Warnings: None for this chapter

Wordcount: 2.1k

After having her sloop sunk by the Buggy Pirates and losing moat of her worldly possessions in the process, the normally solitary mercenary Karimi Lionne finds herself teaming up with the rag-tag little crew that is the Strawhat Pirates to defeat them. She bonds with them far more quickly than she bargained for, and that quickly turns into a problem for the Kiku Kiku no Mi devil fruit user when she learns of Nami's plans to leave them high and dry, and Zoro issues a challenge at Baratie that he very likely won't live long enough to regret.

"Which one of you is Monkey D. Luffy?"

Karimi didn't even bother lifting her head at first. Slumped back into the elongated bench seat that wrapped around the railing of Baratie's bar, head tilted back against the back rest with her tricorne hat tilted down to cover her eyes, she was pretty sure she had gone a little too heavy on the rum. She didn't drink often when she was traveling alone, and she usually traveled alone.

"Who's asking?" she heard Nami ask from the seat next to her.

Everything had recently changed for Karimi, when the Buggy Pirates hired her to assist in retrieving a map of the Grand Line, and she had failed to get her hands on it before it was stolen by a different crew. Buggy had been enraged enough to sink her sloop as "compensation," leaving her stuck there until Buggy made the mistake of going after the crew that possessed the map he so coveted.

The crew in question had been more than happy to take her with them—at least, their captain had. The more the merrier, in Luffy's borderline empty head. Karimi had honestly enjoyed her time with them, and it didn't hurt that Luffy's idol, Red Haired Shanks, had been her own mentor for her first two years on the open sea. Luffy was easily as hilarious as he was infuriating—the young pirate was naive as they came, but he had enough heart to make up for it, a no-name with an ambition stronger than anyone else she had ever met.

And with someone inquiring about him in a renowned seafaring restaurant despite Luffy's relatively green career as a pirate.

Just as Karimi decided to lower her head and get a look at the inquirer, she heard Zoro speak up.

"You're Dracule Mihawk."

And she froze like a statue.

Zoro's words had such an instant sobering effect on her that she felt like her head was spinning. That was a name that she knew, a name that anyone who had been out on the ocean for as long as she had should know. Dracule Mihawk, one of the seven pirate warlords, a pirate so powerful that the World Government had chosen to ask him for an alliance rather than attempt to continue fighting him.

And the man standing at their table just to the left of Zoro, the man that Usopp had just introduced as his "new best friend", matched every description that Karimi had ever heard of him. From the broad-brimmed hat to the enormous greatsword to the piercing yellow eyes.

Those yellow eyes flickered between the four of them. "I have business with your captain."

Karimi thought her heart might have ceased beating for a when his eyes lingered on her own for a moment, before shifting back over to Zoro.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll hand him over."

"We don't know anyone named Luffy," said Nami, her voice cautiously aloof. "Right, Zoro?"

But that was absolutely no use, and Karimi knew it.

She could hear the whirlwind of thoughts swirling around in Zoro's head, and quickly realized what he was about to do, the idiotic words that he was about to let spill from his mouth. Without any concern for the fact that the others still didn't know about her devil fruit abilities, she quickly blurted out, "Zoro, for fuck's sake, don't—"

"I've been following your career since I was a child. It's an honor to finally meet you, sir."

Zoro didn't even hear her as he stood from his chair, speaking slowly, in a low and almost toneless voice.

If he was seriously going to challenge one of the most deadly pirates in the world to a fight to the death, Luffy needed to know—immediately.

Darcule Mihawk did hear her, his sharp yellow eyes flickering over to the girl for a moment as she stood, swearing under her breath and adjusting her hat before storming away from the table toward the kitchens.

Then back over to the green-haired young man. "Thank you," he said shortly, rolling his eyes a little.

"Which is why it pains me to inform you that tomorrow..." He paced a few steps across the deck. "You're going to die."

Usopp's jaw fell open, and the ginger haired girl sitting beside him sat up straighter, her eyes widening. "Wait, what?" she demanded.

"I, Roronoa Zoro, challenge you to a duel." Mihawk looked back over his shoulder, not bothering to hide his disinterest. "To the death."

The boy by far wasn't the first, and he certainly wouldn't be the last. Mihawk turned around to face him at this. "I've never heard of you," he said, with the air about him of shooing a fly away from the rum of his wine glass.

"They call me the Demon Pirate Hunter," said Zoro, leveling his eyes with Mihawk's. "But my lifelong dream is to best you in single combat and become the greatest swordsman in the world."

There wasn't the slightest ounce of intimidation in the younger swordsman's eyes; only a cold, unshakable confidence and resolve. Perhaps this would actually be interesting—certainly more interesting than chasing after this Luffy character that Vice Admiral Garp was so interested in.

"You're serious," he said after a moment."

"Accept my challenge," said Zoro, a ghost of a smirk on his face. "You'll see how serious I am."

"Very well." He walked forward in slow strides, and Zoro remained unblinking, unflinching. "Tomorrow at dawn. And when I'm done with you, pirate hunter..." Mikhawk stopped in front of him for a brief moment. "I'll take your captain."

There was no rush; while he suspected there was a bit more to the young swordsman than just bravado, Mihawk was sure it wouldn't be enough. It never was. He would handle this Zoro, take Monkey D. Luffy to Garp's ship, and be done with the Marines until they found some other menial task to waste his time with.

He took a refill on his wine at the bar and took a seat toward the corner of the deck, further out of plain sight, and watched silently the chaos unfold amongst the small crew.

The orage-haired girl barking at Usopp to go find Luffy before dragging Zoro off by the sleeve of his shirt.

The self-proclaimed "captain" hurrying g toward the kitchen, and nearly running headlong into the other two of their number—a lanky, dark-haired boy in a very familiar straw hat, and the girl who had earlier stormed away from the table before Zoro had even begun to let his borderline suicidal challenge slip out.

She turned her head, her sharp green eyes honing in on his gaze for a brief moment, as if she knew exactly where he was seated on the crowded deck.

Then she gave the boy he could only assume was Luffy a sharp shove at the back of his shoulder, and the three hurried off to the exit.

It was an exceedingly rare thing that the Pirate warlord found himself taken aback. Leaning back in his seat, his head cooked slightly to one side as he watched the trio disappear. There might have been more to this than he originally suspected, more to this ragtag group of "pirates"—especially if Luffy was wearing the hat of Red Haired Shanks, a hat that had been given to the now infamous captain by Gol D. Roger himself.

And the girl.

Perhaps she could have simply inferred her crewmate's intention to challenge him—but the way she had turned her head on leaving the kitchens, turned her head and fixed her gaze immediately upon him....

That was something different.

Almost as if she had read his mind.

It was a bit of a disturbing thought, but also a fairly absurd one. There was every possibility she had trained in haki, though she did appear to be rather young to be able to use it that effectively. Such things weren't unheard of, but they certainly weren't common.

Still...she was a curious little bird.

He turned his gaze down to his wine glass, swilling the burgundy liquid with a small, thoughtful frown before taking a sip.

Perhaps it was just intriguing enough to find out more.

# # # # # #

Zoro wasn't budging, and Luffy wasn't helping.

Luffy was encouraging the sheer idiocy of his first mate's challenge, and Karimi had to remove herself from their presence before the temptation to wring both of their necks became too great for her to resist. Remove herself from the Going Merry entirely, taking with her a cheap bottle of wine that she had stashed away among her few belongings that hadn't sunk to the bottom of the sea with her sloop only days earlier.

She sat down heavily on the dock several yards away from the Merry, pulling the cork out of her wine and spitting it into the water before taking a long drink.

God, did she miss traveling alone.

Doing as she pleased, making her own way, taking on jobs from crews that needed the subtle touch of stealth and precision.

Not answering to anything but her own whim.

Not caring about anyone but herself.

She had so quickly come to see the boys almost as annoying yet still somewhat endearing little brothers. Nami was more distant, but that was understandable, given her situation with the Arlong pirates and her village, a matter Karimi had intended to talk with her about tonight before the younger girl's plans to leave the following morning with the map of the Grand Line and not a word to anyone came to fruition. Talk to her, try to help advise her even if she did plan on leaving, to make sure she was safe.

But right now, she didn't want to so much as look at any of them—much less continue to hear their bickering echoing around in her head. Everything was falling apart and she wanted nothing to do with it.

She tugged her boots off aggressively where she sat, followed by her socks, shifted forward to the edge of the of the dock, and slowly hung her legs over the side.

A shiver crept over her as she lowered her feet into the cool saltwater, her eyes slipping shut amid a small sigh—much of her strength left her body, yes, but so did the inane chatter of everyone else's thoughts that had constantly filler her head for the entire twenty years since she had eaten that damnable devil fruit.

She had been no older than four, and she didn't really remember doing it. Didn't know how she had gotten her hands on the thing, save for the fact that it had been on her father's ship. What the Kiku Kiku no Mi had granted her felt far more like a curse than a blessing compared to other devil fruit powers she had seen and heard of. Luffy, able to stretch himself like rubber and make himself impervious to so many types of attacks. Her father, able to control the wind itself. Her grandmother's mastery over water.

Marine Admiral Jackson "Volcano" Vesper, who's powers and revenge-driven madness had burned the village she had grown up in to the ground before he killed her grandmother in front of her and—

Karimi gritted her teeth, clenched her eyes shut and took another deep swig from the cheap Merlot before her thoughts could drift any further into the past. She set the bottle down heavily, lying back on the docks with a hand subconsciously shifting to the top of her head to hold her grandmother's old hat in place.

"Devil fruit, then, is it?"

Karimi stiffened like a statue at the sound of the drawling voice overhead. She swallowed.

Her blood ran cold, racing through her veins as her pulse quickened.

All she had wanted to do was catch a buzz. Calm her nerves enough to go confront Nami, and now...this.

For a long moment she remained laying there on the dock, not daring to move. Not daring to even open her eyes.

Then, taking a slow, deep breath, she let them slowly drift open, meeting the piercing yellow gaze of the pirate warlord standing over her once again.

Next Chapter Link Again for your convenience

[bestworstcase]

You’ve referenced Salem’s “what they could never be” line in the lost fable in connection with a Faunus creation myth a few times. Could you provide the larger context of that line from the Text/Book you’re citing? Like a quote of the full passage or where to read the story you’re referring to. I’m trying to cook and there’s a wrinkle I want to unravel there

's from the end of ‘the shallow sea’ in fairytales of remnant (epub, if you want to read the full text. link is to the drm-stripped version in my mega archive 👍)

context: the god of animals has an island populated by all kinds of animals. they’re fascinated by humans and long to invite some into their world, but they’re also wary because they know how ruinous and cruel humans can be. so they disguise themself and go around the world seeking out outcasts, people who feel like they don’t belong, and gather them to sail to the island. there, the god of animals leaps off the boat into the shallows to reveal their true form as a shapeshifter and invites their chosen people to follow:

“This can be your home, if you want it. You’re right, this is no place for mere Humans—but you are no mere Humans. If you jump from the boat and join me, you will see.” The people with the strongest faith leapt from the boat immediately and splashed in the shallow water toward the shore. Those who stayed behind on the boat watched their brethren transform before their eyes, each of them acquiring an animal trait: ram horns, rabbit ears, cat ears, monkey tails, and more. By the time they reached land, they were something new to Remnant—both Human and animal at the same time. “This land is no less hospitable than where we came from,” the people on the beach said. “But here at least we have control of our fates, free from the influence of others.” More people on the boat, emboldened by the miracle they had witnessed, jumped next into the water. They followed the others to the shore of the island, each of them changing in the process, taking on animal features of their own: leopard spots, lion manes, lamb ears, pig snouts, crocodile scales, and more. The final group of people on the boat hung on to the railing. “What have you done to them?” they cried. “They didn’t do anything to us,” the people on the shore called. “The water hasn’t changed us. It has washed away the lies to reveal what we’ve always been, just under the surface. Our old forms were just a shallow disguise. This is who we are.” A few dozen more people on the boat were convinced. They dropped into the ocean, and though they transformed more slowly, by the time they stepped out of the water, they, too, had become their true selves and were welcomed onto the island. But the small group remaining on the boat were too horrified or afraid to take the leap of faith. “What kind of monster are you?” they shouted at the God of Animals. The god’s heart hardened against these people. “You were my chosen ones, but you have disappointed me. You may stay on the boat and return to your homes. There is no place for you here.” And with that, the ocean current swept the ark away with the Humans. “The sea revealed the shallowness of their thoughts,” the god told their chosen people. “Without them ever stepping off the boat.” From that moment on, there have been animals, Humans, and Faunus. And the descendants of the Humans who turned away from our god’s great gift have always carried envy in their hearts. To this day, they resent us for reminding them of what they are not and what they never can be.

…and that’s the end of the story. here’s ozpin’s commentary in full:

Although this fable once was among the most common stories told to Faunus children, it has never been written down before its appearance here, not by Faunus and certainly not by Humans. I gave serious consideration as to whether to include it, but as it provides a lovely, and I think necessary, counterpoint to “The Judgment of Faunus,” also in this collection, I felt it important to record. I humbly request forgiveness if I am perceived to have overstepped myself in any way; know simply that I deeply respect the rich history of Faunus and wish to represent them among stories of Remnant. As Faunus stories are generally passed down from generation to generation, few outsiders have ever heard them, and that does everyone a disservice. We must be exposed to the stories of people from all kingdoms and cultures, Humans and Faunus alike, if we hope to make progress in understanding one another. That said, we must take care not to characterize “The Shallow Sea” as a mere story, for it is so much more to Faunus. I do not wish to subject it to the literary critiques I might bring to another tale. This story is a key to Faunus’s identity, and therein lies its chief value. However, I will note that many Humans and even Faunus view this story as mere fantasy, a fanciful creation myth—and even, perhaps, a dangerous one. In the aftermath of the Great War, when Faunus settled on Menagerie, the story of a magical island made just for them has become tinged with bittersweet irony. Consequently, the story has fallen out of favor and I understand it is rarely spoken these days. This, too, influenced my decision to record it before it is lost to posterity. Here I will remind you that this story—dare I say every story ever told—may still hold a kernel of truth, even if the plot details are contrived. Whatever the criticisms laid upon “The Shallow Sea,” in my opinion it still holds deep truths about Humans and Faunus that everyone should take the time to consider.

[blackbearmagic]

you beat OOT on an emulator??

Yeah, when I was in college. Freshman year, so that would've been 2009-10.

I had just learned about game emulation from my friend James, so I figured what better way to get into it than with my childhood favorite? You know, a game that used a joystick to move the character? A game that featured active rather than turn-based combat? When all I had was a keyboard?

There are parts of the Fire Temple that I can, to this day, navigate without looking, because of the goddamn Megaton Hammer.

For anyone here who has never played the absolute classic that is The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, the second half of the game is broken up into temples that you have to clear. Each of these temples has a weapon in it that is necessary to defeat the temple's final boss; in the aforementioned Fire Temple, this weapon is a warhammer called the Megaton Hammer, and you use it to play Whack-a-Mole with a giant fire dragon.

When you find it, the Megaton Hammer is in a chest surrounded by fire, positioned at the end of a winding path that steadily narrows to the width of the character's movement box. You step on a switch to dispel the fire for a short period of time, then run along the path until you reach the chest. There are, of course, no guard rails on this path; in fact, on both sides of it is just a yawning void that drops you down several floors of the temple. If you fall down, you have to travel all the way back to that room to try again.

This is tricky and kind of annoying, but ultimately very doable if you're using a joystick to guide Link along the path. It is absolute hell if you're doing it using WASD.

Go ahead and take a second to imagine that.

There's no way to make curved movements. The emulator doesn't know what to do with simultaneous inputs, so the only way to go diagonally is by alternately tapping the keys you've assigned to forward and side movement. There's no pressure sensitivity determining whether you walk or run in the direction you've chosen; you always run. The only way you can take this path is in jerking, swerving fits and starts. And if you go off the edge, it's at least another ten minutes to get back for another try -- and that detour has combat, as well as time-limited paths and dicey terrain of its own. And, don't forget, you have a time limit.

It took me four days.

When I finally had hammer in hand, naturally, the first thing I did was tell all my friends about how I'd done it. (They'd all be very invested in my updates. Several of them thought I was insane for trying to play the game without a plug-in controller, but I couldn't afford one.) My friend James was impressed -- not with my accomplishment, but with how long it had taken me.

"Four days? Even using save states?"

"Using what?"

See, when you emulate games on a computer, you can create a save file at any point. No matter what you're doing, no matter how the game would otherwise save. (You can still use the in-game save, but those files are fickle and sometimes disappear.) With a save state, you can freeze the game at an instant, then reload it from there at any time.

After James explained this feature to me, for the very first time, I unplugged my USB mouse and threw it at him.

Armed with that new knowledge, though, the rest of the game went much more smoothly. I was able to make save states before doing anything difficult and simply reload them whenever I beaned it. Which continued to happen a lot, because all the practice in the world didn't change the fact that I was playing the game with inputs it was not intended to have.

I managed to complete the entire game, final boss and everything.

And I never emulated another N64 game that used the joystick for character movement. Ever. I learned my lesson.