#squishy buoys

[ambylotl]

I made some Minecraft sillies based on some cool fish- idk how theyd be added in my hypothetical update, maybe some kind of aquatic update revamp to better fit with tales and trails? Idk, I think it's cool anyways.

The Flap-fish is a passive mob that likes to sniff out goodies when you feed it fish. It can blend into the blocks below it when it needs to hide, or dig up sand and gravel as if it was suspicious and dig up warm or cold ruin loot. It lives in shallow warm waters and coral reefs. It's breedable with tropical fish and creates up to 4 pups

Monstro is a massive boss, the largest creature in the overworld. It spawns rarely near deep ocean shipwrecks. It chooses at random 3 phases of attacks every 10 hp, attacking the player outright with it's bite or by flicking it's tail, diving deep underwater and trying to ram the player from below, and running away while trying to heal

I also have some ideas for fighting Monstro, a harpoon that launches tridents, a burning bamboo raft, and a trapped tnt boat. When Monstro is killed it drops a lot of treasure chest loot and a specially enchanted harpoon called "Ahab's Folly".

Nibblers are little fish that can be carried in buckets. They are neutral and attack only when provoked- by themselves they do little damage, but they attack quickly and always in a swarm of up to 10 fish. They spawn in jungles and can be fed with a fish to gain a special blessing that increases attack rate an power called Feeding Frenzy

The Blue Snaggletooth follows boats through shallow waters and rivers and love attacking creatures bigger than themselves. They are pricks

They drop shiny scales you can use to decorate your leather armor or something, I dunno

[merakiui]

his blueberry eyes (anagapesis in paradise).

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, death/murder of reader, obsession, codependency, emotional manipulation, psychological abuse, mentions of self-harm/suicide attempt, brief mention of pregnancy + loss of baby, vague mentions of binge-eating/disordered eating, angst, characters written as 18+ note - the color blue haunts azul. // loosely based on clingy, codependent bf azul.

the prelude - forever lost in cerulean paradise.

Azul Ashengrotto, a man forever bound in burdensome blue, surfaces from the numbing sweetness of an all-consuming slumber and finds the tops of his hands are littered with deep, dark, desperate scratches. They’re furious and distinct, standing out like pearly teeth on black tile, spotting his pale, paper-thin skin like a child’s poor attempt at proper handwriting. Carefully, he runs a trembling finger over the length of one as it travels from ring finger to the delicate bone of his wrist. A wet laugh bubbles out of him, ink-stained and heartbreakingly pained. He wipes tar-colored saliva from the edge of his mouth, smearing it, and shudders through another laugh. The sound wavers as if caught in his esophagus, pronounced choked and raw.

“Ah… I did it again.”

He sits back on his haunches, small and scared like the squishy thing he once was all those years ago, and inhales a steadying breath. His vision, once narrowed so scarily slim, widens to encapsulate the rest of the sitting room, which is cast in a cool glow from the crystalline cityscape beyond. He spies his haunted reflection in the glass, his hair mussed and matted. From sweat, most likely. It’s unsightly, his unkempt, ugly appearance, but it’s him staring back. 

Looking on with those bewitching blueberry eyes.

Swallowing thickly, he pushes a swoop of silver hair out of his face and whispers, “I fell asleep…again. Right. Again. That makes it—what is it now? Four times in a week? No, not quite… I fell asleep, but then I…”

His gaze slides from the windows to the floor. Lying sprawled and stiff, amidst shattered glass and crumpled, lemon-hued tulips, is the love of his life.

“Ah, I see now.” He runs two fingers over the injuries on his hand. His nose wrinkles once and then twice. His throat is set aflame, constricting like a python coiled around its prey. Blueberry eyes sink in a rising tide, overtaken by tears spotting a weary lash line. “My world… My angelfish…”

He forces himself to stand on rubbery legs. He stumbles once, reaches for the coffee table’s reliable support like a newborn grasping their mother’s outstretched finger, and peers at a shattered portrait splayed on the floor. It’s you on your wedding day, flashing a toothy grin at the camera, while he holds you close, an arm secured around your waist. Clinging to you like you were the only buoy in a rocky sea. Planting parasitic roots by way of attraction, and you were simply too blinded by the charms of shimmering, sparkling cheer to realize. So was he in that regard—struck dumb with a too-large love, unable to handle the full capacity of what it meant to fall into a sugary-sweet romance.

It’s a happy picture, one of many, but then the memories of the many elude him at this moment. He, the brilliant, benevolent actor, struggles to differentiate the real from the fake. What is a smile if not another foggy reflection of something far sadder? What is laughter if not the sounds of a hollowed sweetheart howling joyous tunes to placate?

His fingers curl around the wooden table. It’s too familiar and, as if having touched something hot, he jerks away. Azul turns his hands over, searching for imperfections he’s already found. Slowly, he pivots to confront the body.

“My darling angelfish, please wake up. It’s not… It’s not very nice of you to play pretend. We’ve been over this.” He shakes his head and steps around the overturned vase and puddle of flower-spotted water. He lowers to your height, offering a hand you don’t take. “Please, my love. I’m sorry for scaring you. I won’t do it again. I… I’m getting better, you see. I’m doing it for us. I want to get better. I promised I would, didn’t I? Aren’t I a man of my word?”

You remain there, eyes shut in blissful permanence. Azul sucks in a breath through grit teeth. You’re always so…difficult. Sometimes. Not always. And even when you act like this, he still cherishes you. But fighting is not something he loves, and he wants this feud to end sooner rather than later.

Azul Ashengrotto hates the sharp, bitter sides to his marriage.

“I can be patient,” he says, though it’s more of a consolation than a promise. “I’ll be patient. But, really, being vindictive will get you nowhere, my dear. Haven’t we been over this?”

Still, no matter what he says, you don’t stir.

He allows silence to fill the room to a suffocating degree.

One minute passes. Then two. He drums his fingers along a newly forming bruise on his arm.

Now it’s three.

Four.

Five.

It’s too quiet without your pretty voice filling the empty room, filling the hollow in his heart, filling the gaps in his brain to snuff any other self-destructive thoughts from pushing through.

“I love you,” he whispers, less forceful this time. “And… And I’m sorry. Truly, I mean it. I’ll never put my hands on you again. Never. And I’ll go back to therapy. I won’t skip my sessions. I’ll even take my meds!” A crooked smile stretches across his lips. “I promise. I won’t lie to you. I’ll leave the cooking to you. I won’t touch sharp objects. I’ll stop hiding knives from you. I’ll be honest from now on. So please…” His voice cracks, weak and raspy. “P-Please… Please don’t ignore me…”

Azul reaches out to you, fitting his trembling hand in yours. It’s cold. He brings it to his face, kisses the top of it, and then cradles it close. His shoulders shake, wracked with silent sobs.

It’s cold.

His breath hitches.

You’re cold.

“Angelfish, please…” He sniffles. The tears are already falling in thick, salty rivulets. He’s always been an ugly crier. “Please don’t leave me. Without you I…”

His untrimmed nails dig into your palm, and a great sob shudders through his body when he presses his thumb into your wrist to check your pulse.

It’s stopped.

He scrubs his face with his free hand. A fruitless effort. The tears won’t cease.

Without you, I’m nothing.

He gathers you, stiff, cold you, in his arms and holds you like you’re a treasured childhood plushy who’s lost its stuffing. His reflection blinks back at him, blueberry eyes awash in watery tragedy.

Without you, I’m all alone.

He spies the markings on your neck and his throat closes up. He grabs your face between both hands, searching it for any indication of life. A lie, surely. You’re just pretending. You’ve always done that, putting on acts to keep him and everyone else pleased. You, the best actor, knew him better than he knows himself. Because, in spite of the loose, fraying seams, you took them, poured remnants of your heart into each tear, and stitched them up until they were better again. You’ve sewn him anew when he thought all hope was lost.

So it’s impossible. A lie, definitely.

You’re a pretender, and he’s the captivated audience member. Soon you’ll open your beautiful eyes and shout, “I got you! You should have seen the look on your face!” And the cycle will repeat itself. He’ll pretend to be okay and you’ll follow along with a sweet smile, chopping vegetables with the same knife he used to threaten his own life days prior.

You can’t fool him.

Only you do. And you have.

He peels your eyelids open. Your listless stare pierces something in his brain, wires the circuitry correctly so that Point A and Point B can connect.

With a horrified gasp, Azul drops your limp corpse. Your head smacks against the floorboards, but you don’t groan in pain. Because there isn’t any pain to be felt. Because you’re not going to wake up. Because this is the final act and the curtain has closed on your skillful pretending.

Azul Ashengrotto, a man forever bound in burdensome blue, has lost the very person who once made him feel so whole.

the first vow - to have and to hold.

“We should make a baby.”

In the first month of being newlyweds, you’d told him that. He leaned over to nudge you with his hip while you painted swirling designs on a blank kitchen wall. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not opposed to it.”

You pulled away from your canvas and grinned. “Neither am I.”

“Sooo,” he encouraged, nodding, unable to curb the glee in his curling smile. “What? Should we make one?”

“Can we?”

“This conversation feels rather circular, my dear.”

“You’re circular.” You stuck your tongue out at him and dipped your brush in a bright blue. “I’m gonna paint an entire field of cornflowers on this wall.”

Azul hesitated at the sudden change in subject, considered the meaning of a cornflower, and snorted in amusement. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “If you want a baby, just say so and I’ll give you one.” He nosed your neck, humming into your skin. Sneaky hands slipped under your loose cotton T-shirt to cradle your stomach. “I once read a statistic that claimed marriage improves the outcome of a pregnancy. Shall we see if it’s true?”

You rested your free hand over his. “If you help me paint.”

“You know I’m no good at art.”

“Anyone can be an artist.”

“Angelfish—”

You shifted in his arms and held up a clean paintbrush. “Anyone, Zul. That includes you.”

He stared at the brush, frowning. “I’m nowhere near as good as you.”

“I’ll have none of that talk.” You rested your head against his chest and peered up at him through your lashes. A pleasant smile softened your face. “I don’t want this wall to be my masterpiece. I want it to be ours.”

“Yes… Yes, I’m aware. But even so—”

“The best things come in two, don’t they? Come on. You won’t know if you’ll enjoy something until you’ve tried it.”

“But I have, dear.”

“Not with me you haven’t.”

Azul laugh-scoffed. “Stubborn,” he chided, pinching your side and shaking his head in disbelief. One hand slid out from beneath your shirt to grasp the brush. “I suppose I can try. An entire field of cornflowers won’t paint itself now, will it?” He winked.

“That’s the spirit! I think blue suits this room, don’t you?”

“I’m struggling to see your vision, darling.”

“It’s a nice color. One of my favorites. And…” You turned in his arms to press your lips to his cheek. “Blue is you.”

He was smiling; he could feel it—the tug of toothy jubilance. “Is that right?”

“It is! I thought that the moment we met. If it weren’t for your pretty eyes, I don’t think I’d have approached you.”

“Ah, right. You thought they were rather lovely, didn’t you?” His hold on you tightened as he recalled the memory. “How did you say it? ‘Sir, I just had to come up to you to compliment your eyes! They’re the nicest shade of bewitching blueberry blue I’ve ever seen.’ You said it like that, yes? And it was the first time I’d ever heard such a strangely specific compliment. Normally, most go for the outfit or the hair.”

“But you liked it, didn’t you?” you say, singing the question like a pansophical siren.

“I did. I…really did. I still do, in fact.”

Your body shook with your laughter. “Then it’s not so strange after all.”

“Not in the slightest.”

His fingers brushed your navel, a fleeting touch that turned giggles into shivers. You put your brush to the wall, but no designs bloomed. He did much the same, meeting your brush halfway, bristles dipped in friendly yellow. Only after he’d marred the wall with it did he realize his error.

You always ruin everything, he thought, resenting his clumsy ways. Everything you’ve ever touched, you ruin.

“Ooh, yellow and blue. That’s pretty. Like sunflowers and cornflowers!”

“But I… Your blue—I completely tarnished it.” He couldn’t help it; the words rushed out.

“What? No way! I like it.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, it’s true. It adds something to the blue. Makes it come together, you know?”

Azul stared at the wall, his face scrunched with poorly veiled vitriol. “I fail to see how that logic tracks.”

You gathered both brushes and set them down on the countertop before turning fully in his arms. “Hey, it’s okay. We can paint over it if you want. But… Well, personally, I think we should keep it.”

“Why?” It came out hushed, a broken murmur.

“Because it’s like happiness amidst sadness.” Like the angel you’ve always been, you reached up to cradle his face between your warm, gentle hands. He melted in your hold, weak to the ways in which you often lifted him up. “Too much of anything in abnormal amounts is unhealthy, so we need happiness to balance the sadness. Plus, if this room was solely blue, I might go crazy.”

He wanted to reject your explanation, gripe and groan about how it was much too fluffy and foolish, but you were right. You have always been right with emotions, reading him well enough to pick apart his tells.

It’s your lips on his that brought him back to himself. He blinked when you separated.

“You’re not perfect. No one is. Not even me, and this wall definitely isn’t going to be perfect either. But it’ll be special because we made it. Because it’s a unique combination of us.”

Azul felt himself nodding along.

“So don’t worry. Sometimes mishaps like these are for the best. They help put things into perspective—to show us something we might not have seen before.”

“Like painting a new picture.”

“Exactly!” You squeezed his hand. “So no pity parties, got it? Not unless we’re going to throw one together and have snacks and tea.”

He exhaled shakily, reciprocating your affectionate touch. “Thank you, my love.”

You smiled so beautifully that he was compelled to enshroud you entirely and keep you with him in a cage of limbs. To ensure you’d never leave. To keep you backdropped by a work-in-progress wall forever.

And for the first two years of your new life with him, you remained in that cozy, quaint house, adding details to the wall when you could. The kitchen shaped itself nicely, embroidered in an array of blue hues, accompanied by sunny yellows and frilly whites. Every morning, you’d stand at the counter and cook, ever the early riser, and he’d drag himself in just after the sun had peaked in the sky; and together you would eat in front of that wall, tied together by the bright, beautiful wonders of young love.

Sometimes it was the yummy temptations of good food that brought you together. Other times it was each other, bodies pressed flush. Clothes wrinkling and coming off in heaps. Windows left open in the aftermath to bring in sweet spring breezes. Gathering each other and sitting in the bath, giggling about something silly. More kissing and touching; playful squeezing while washing the other. If Azul’s life had been a tragedy before, then this was certainly something far better. A new chapter in a new book with crisp, unturned pages, each one ripe and ready to receive love in loads.

You fell pregnant just as the changing winds ushered summer in, and suddenly that storybook blossomed considerably, pages stained with all things good. He had pinched himself before just to ensure this wasn’t a delusion or a dream, and finding that it was neither proved that there was indeed tenderness in his world. It was destiny that you two would meet by pure chance, fall for the other’s quirks and charms, and agree to a whirlwind marriage, so swept up in the authenticity of redamancy.

Azul thought his life couldn’t get any sweeter. A perfect wife, a perfect job, a perfect house, a perfect paradise built for two. It was a future he’d only ever fantasized about, an illusion he imagined to be forever out of his reach. But he had attained it, miraculously grasped it with both hands, and from here it would only be days and days of wonder and whimsy.

Thirty-one weeks into a perfect, pretty pregnancy, you fell again. Down the stairs, crumpled in a heap of limbs and broken promises. He stood at the top of the stairs, his chest heaving with the remnants of some animalistic emotion. You shattered like porcelain, a marionette cut free from her strings. The baby fell with you.

Then came the darkness: creeping, encroaching, all-consuming.

Then came the lies.

Then came the obsession with omniscience.

And all throughout it, you’d continue to imprison yourself in his eyes.

the second vow - to love and to cherish.

“You shouldn’t work so much.”

By the fourth year, he had told you that.

You looked up from your plate, which you’d spent most of dinner pushing the food around rather than actually eating. Meals carried out in this fashion, a cyclical routine you dreaded. Ever since he’d purchased a penthouse suite and moved you to the city, abandoning the life you had built in the tiny, two-story house with its friendly neighborhood of faces, your world became the sky: sad and cloudy. Always rainy. It was empty up there, and the luxuries he provided did nothing to fill the holes in your shattering heart.

You couldn’t paint any walls here, for they had already been colored in boring monochromes.

“But I like the coffee shop. Everyone’s really nice to me, and the hours are reasonable. I’m paid well, too.”

“It’s minimum wage, (Name).”

“Still…”

“I make enough to support the both of us.”

And it was true. He’d just opened the first branch of the Mostro franchise, an elegant, high-end eatery stuck right in the heart of the city. Money has never been an issue, not when he was so determined to see each of his dreams through to the very end. You were dragged along through the wild currents of those ambitions. Simple luxuries were no longer sleeping in on weekends or watching the sun rise and set in the garden. Now it was extreme excess and opulence, devouring you with designer brands.

“I’d rather not be home all day. It’s lonely.”

“Jade or Floyd can provide company should you need it.”

You stared at him, your mouth agape. “I don’t need babysitters. I’m an adult, Azul.”

“They wouldn’t babysit—” He sighed, shook his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re welcome to accompany me to the office instead.”

“But I like my job. I like talking to customers and taking orders and making drinks. If I quit, I wouldn’t have anything else.”

“That’s not true. You’d have me.”

“The regulars would miss me. So would my coworkers.”

“Darling… Angelfish, I don’t quite care for them and I don’t think they care for you either. At the end of the day, all of you are working a dead-end job, putting up with nonsense from rude, impatient customers who never bother to tip despite having full pockets. You’re not working.” Azul smiled, his blueberry eyes ripe with a strange sort of light. “You’re surviving, and that’s not a quality of life you should shackle yourself to.”

You pushed food around on your plate, unconvinced. “I just don’t feel right about lazing around and doing nothing. It’s not very fair if you’re the one doing everything while I just sit back and reap the benefits.”

“Why not? I hardly mind. Besides, I enjoy spoiling you. You deserve this and so much more.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “If I could, I’d package the world in a little box and give it to you, my dear.”

“We had that once and you broke it.”

His body stiffened, eyes flicking to your mouth. He couldn’t meet your eyes. He’s never been able to—not since that day. Neither of you can figure out whether it was intentional or an accident, or maybe it was something more: an intentional accident.

“P-Pardon?”

“I had the world and you broke it.” You set your fork and knife on your plate, perfectly vertical in accordance with proper etiquette. “Back at the old house.”

“Darling, you know we couldn’t stay… We were due for a change of scenery.”

Furiously, you opened your mouth, tears springing forth, but no words came. Instead, you clamped your jaw and stood from your chair, turning away from the table in a hurry.

“(Name), sweetheart, please wait!” He stood as well, nearly stumbling over himself as he moved to intercept you. “My love, you know I never meant for that to happen. If I could, I’d go back and I’d fix everything so that we’d never have to experience such sorrow again.”

He reached for your hands, but you slapped them away and took a grand step back. “You knew we were at the top of the stairs. You knew, Azul. You knew it was wrong because you moved me away so no one could question it!”

His face contorted with offense, nose scrunching as if he had just smelled something foul. “I did not.”

“You did! You pushed me down those stairs and you watched me. Watched me cry and groan because it hurt and the baby was hurt. You watched and you waited because you knew.”

“I did not!” he said, louder this time, his face blue with rising frustration. “I was in shock, (Name). You can’t possibly expect me to jump into action when I was frozen stiff and horrified. And it was an accident. We’ve been over this before. I’ve apologized numerous times.”

“Sorry, but words aren’t gonna fix anything. See? I’ve said it and nothing’s changed. It’s not words that fix broken things, Azul. It’s action.”

You stomped out of the room in a huff, blinded with tears and rage. You weren’t sure if you were more frustrated with the circumstances or Azul himself, but it might have been the latter when he pursued, insistent like the worst kind of thorn. One that’s wedged itself so deep you couldn’t possibly pluck it free with your fingertips.

You’re not sure tweezers would work either, for the hold he has on you was and still is a nasty vise.

“I… (Name), love, darling, I’ll do better. I’m trying.”

Though he made these claims, he expressed them rather pathetically—his arms outstretched, palms up, as if to show you he was no longer a threat to your mental and physical well-being. His face was in poor shape; he was blue all over, flushed from the rush of emotions, his eyes much too small. He looked almost deranged in a desperate, animalistic way. As if someone was cutting him into meticulous slivers with a precision so painful it would leave him to bleed out for hours.

You inhaled a deep, shaky breath, freezing the red-hot anger for a moment. I have to be the bigger, better person. Fighting isn’t going to accomplish anything.

“Look, if you want to make a conscious effort to be better I’m all here for it. But you have to actually try, Azul.”

“I am—I… I will!”

“I’m serious.”

“As am I.”

“Then please let me do things for myself. Marriage is about fairness. It’s you and me. We have to work together. And if that’s you supporting us with your business and me working part-time for extra cash, then let it be that way. That’s togetherness, not forcing the twins to babysit me like I’m senile or convincing me to quit a job I enjoy doing. Money shouldn’t matter if we’re both making it and we both trust each other to be responsible about it. So, while I appreciate surprise purchases, I’d much rather we do things together like before. That’s more meaningful and priceless to me than materialistic ploys meant to win me over.”

He swallowed thickly. Blue bled into the rest of his scleras. You watched him gradually inflate with relief. “I… I understand. I’m sorry. Truly, I am…”

“Stop telling me that. Show me. Please. And mean it.” You held your hands out. Hesitating, he fidgeted on his feet before gingerly placing his palms in yours. They were ice-cold. “Every relationship has its faults. Ours is no different. I’m forgiving you for the past, but I’m not going to forget and I’m not giving you a free pass either. I want to trust you, Zul, and I want you to trust me.”

“I do…” he began, only to curb himself. “I… Well, you know I worry. I know you have good friends, but when you’re out so late… O-Or when you don’t text me back… I’m always worrying.”

“Don’t.” You smiled and squeezed his hands. “I can take care of myself.”

His face darkened at that, a slew of stormy emotions brewing behind blue eyes. “Still.”

“I don’t worry about you when you’re at work or flying out for business trips. I trust that you’ll be okay because you know what you’re doing.”

“That’s different… That’s—”

“I’m happy that you care so much, but I promise I’m always safe when I’m out. You know this.”

“Yes. But… Well…” He sighed and shook his head. “At the very least, please let one of the twins drive you to and from your destinations.”

You fixed your lips into a moue. “Azul.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning softly. “Yes, I know how that sounds. I know.”

“I’m not asking you to change overnight. No one can. It takes time. Everything does. I understand that you worry, but I’ve proven to you more than once that I’m plenty capable on my own.”

“All right.” His eyes flicked open at that, and without warning he tugged you into his chest. The embrace was constrictive with an alarming tightness that seemed to mean: I can’t lose you, so I’ll never let go. He buried his face in your hair, clinging to you out of sheer need. “All right. From now on, let’s be together.”

You nodded, slow to reciprocate. “No more gloomy dinners?”

He shook with awkward laughter. “No more gloomy dinners.”

You thought you had it under control. You thought you could reel him in and sculpt him from the shards—take all of the hateful, broken parts he harbored and glue them whole. You thought it’d be safer to organize his medication with encouraging notes each morning in hopes that he wouldn’t neglect it. You thought you’d ease into discussions with a gentle approach, if only to avoid stoking the flames of something monstrous. If only to ensure neither of you would scream at each other until your voices were spent.

You thought you were making progress when he showed you all of the secret spaces in the penthouse, admitting to squirreling things away out of weakness, out of greed, out of some tangle of complicated feelings. The majority of his stash was comfort foods, each one more unhealthy than the last, accompanied with a tiny notebook he’d used to scribble calorie counts. The pages were brittle and stained when you flipped through them; he had been crying each time he documented the amounts. Pieces were beginning to fit themselves together. On days when he surpassed his recommended calorie intake, he hardly indulged in dinner, preferring to pick at his plate. Instead, he would feast on empty conversations with you and those would be enough to sustain him.

Throughout all of this, Azul kept his gaze firmly glued to the floor and tore at the skin near his nails. The tips of his ears were flushed blue with humiliation.

“I hate eating,” he muttered, tapping his foot in quick, anxious rhythms. “I hate it so much.”

“Azul,” you said, soft like linen, “do you really mean that?”

His eyes found yours, glossy and defeated. “I… I…” He shook his head, the truth spilling free like paint dripping from a slain canvas. His arms, trembling and twitching, rose to his face. “No, I don’t,” he wailed into his hands, the sound echoing in the hall. “I really, really don’t.”

You shut the diary. It’s because you love food so much that you hate it, you thought, pitying him and the self-deprecating notes he’d scribbled alongside columns of calculations. Because when you eat, you don’t want to stop. Because if you aren’t thinking about numbers, you enjoy it. It makes you happy. And you restrict yourself and this happiness because it hurts to have any more than the bare minimum. Because the bare minimum also hurts, but it feels better when you have less in your stomach so you can eat the rest in secret.

“Let’s start small,” you offered, placing your hand on his arm. He lowered it to reveal a snotty, teary face, blueberry eyes darting to and fro. “Let’s plan our meals together. If we know what we’re eating in advance, we can avoid falling into bad habits. And meal plans are a good way to budget.”

Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he sniffled. “I’m…not opposed to the idea.”

You had it under control.

But then the knives would go missing, later turning up when it was most convenient. When he needed a clever way to get you to stay.

You had it under control.

But then you would forsake plans with friends and family in order to help him through another spiral.

You had it under control.

But then it felt like he was breaking himself into pieces nearly every day, at every hour, over the smallest of inconveniences. Working a minute too late. Eating dinner before he could get home to join you at the table. Going out on your own without supervision from Jade or Floyd.

You had it under control.

But then his shadow was stretching too far and too wide, swallowing you in a portrait of possession.

You had it under control.

But then that was at the cost of your sanity.

the third vow - till death do us part.

“Hypothetically speaking, if I were to die tomorrow, would you grieve me forever? Or would you simply get over it and remarry?”

By the sixth year, just a few hours ago, he’d asked you that.

You looked up at him from the notebook in your lap, where you’d been aimlessly scribbling in circles. The lines overlapped, ink blotting together in manic patterns. Originally, you were going to write a grocery list. But now all you had were jagged lines and not-quite-right geometry.

As if you had rehearsed it prior, you answered smoothly, albeit with an edge to your voice, “But you’re not going to die tomorrow.”

“I could.”

“You won’t.”

Azul slumped back against the sofa and pulled his knees into his chest. “Maybe not. I have a clean bill of health.”

Not mentally, you thought, morbidly wry.

“You shouldn’t sound so disappointed. It’s good to be healthy.”

“You won’t care for me as much if I’m healthy,” he mumbled, gazing out the window at the sparkling cityscape with those dull, dreary blueberry eyes of his. “I wish I was sick. Then I could take a week off from work and just…exist.”

You frowned at him from where you sat opposite in a comfortable chair. It was the only piece of furniture he took from the old house. For sentimental reasons, of course. Sometimes you thought it still smelled like home, even if the scent of home was so warped and far-off now.

“You’re the boss, aren’t you? If you need to rest, take some time off and recuperate.”

“I want to, but my schedule can’t afford any interruptions. Not now.”

“Don’t overwork yourself.”

“I’m not.”

The conversation flatlined, only to soon breathe again when he suddenly added, “We should go on a trip.”

“A trip?”

“New scenery would do us a world of good.”

“Oh. Um, okay. Where should we go?”

“Anywhere.”

“Anywhere is too broad. Plus, we’d have to plan it in advance. Make sure everything’s covered. Expenses and whatnot.”

Azul’s expression soured. “Ah. Right.” He hummed his contemplation, drumming his fingers along the sofa’s armrest. “We could go somewhere nearby. Hospital food sounds good.”

You speared him with a sharp, stern look. “Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not!”

You set your notebook and pen on the coffee table, aware of his powdery hues tracking your every move. “Azul?”

“Mhm?”

Your heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Relentless, the sound skyrocketed into your eardrums and joined in chorus with rushing blood. But you had to tell him. You had to broach this subject. It had been gathering dust and cobwebs, aged by many tiresome years. You couldn’t do this anymore.

“Azul, I think—” You swallowed hard, your fingers curling up into tight fists. “I think we… I think we should get a divorce.”

His head snapped up from where it had previously rested on his knees. He stared at you for a long, silent time.

And then, sucking in a breath, he asked in a fragile, breathless whisper: “What?”

“Um… I… We…” Your chest heaved with your exhalation. “We’re not happy.”

“We are.” He blinked at you, owlish and unwilling to look past the gilded lie. Unable to stop playing pretend. “We’ve always been.”

“No… No, we haven’t. Azul, it’s—really, it’s so exhausting. I’m so tired.”

“Then let’s sleep.” He lowered his feet onto the floor, intending to stand.

“Mentally, Azul. I… Fuck, I’m so tired. I really can’t do this anymore.”

Color seeped from his eyes. His pupils widened and shrunk, and then a wobbly smile overtook his gaunt features. “Angelfish, that’s not a very pleasant joke…”

You could only offer him your most forlorn look, finally defeated after six years. Six years of pushing a stone up a hill, never to advance and never to succeed. This conversation was well overdue.

Azul rose to his feet, his apparent horror dawning. It molded his features into something wrong and fearsome. Something panicked and cornered. “Darling, you’re not serious about this, right? You… We’re just going through a bit of a rough patch, but we’re okay. I’m okay. Yesterday’s session went so well. I’m getting better. I… I’ve done all of this for you—for us! So we don’t need to do anything rash. We don’t need to get divorced. We just need to—”

“You’re not okay. Azul, I’ve tried so hard. I really have. I’ve done everything, but I just can’t keep exhausting the same tricks.” You heaved a dry, tearless sob. “I can’t keep doing this anymore. I want to go back to work, but I can’t because I never know if you’ll be okay on your own. I want to trust you, but I can’t. We’re not communicating. We’re just—we’re playing the same delusional game and it’s getting us nowhere. You and I both know we’re not working. We stopped working the day you pushed me down those stairs.”

He froze, his lip quivering. “Darling, please… Please don’t say that. You don’t mean that.”

“I want you to get better—genuinely get better—but I’m not the help you need.”

“That’s not true. You’re all I need—all I’ve ever needed. With you here, I’m whole. I’m happy. What was it you told me? That marriage is togetherness? That it’s you and me? So as long as we’re together—no matter what may come between us—we’ll always be happy. We have our disagreements, yes, but every relationship is like that. It’s normal, my dear. So please don’t say those things. I am better, and I’ll continue to be better until my final breath.”

“Azul, you’re not listening.” Now you were standing from your chair. “Togetherness is not this. This—” you gestured to yourself, to the way your clothes hung from your body, a size too large, before pointing at him— “isn’t healthy. We’re not healthy. Every day I’m with you is hell. I need a break as much as you do. We can’t keep doing this. Let’s save ourselves the insanity and misery, and let’s be sensible adults. A divorce is the only—”

“You’re wrong.”

The rest of your tirade stuck in your throat. “W-What?”

“Divorce is an expensive, lengthy process.” Azul stepped around the coffee table, his stare blank and haunted. Twin pools of the darkest ocean bored into your skull. “I can easily afford it, but it’s a price I’m not willing to pay.”

Despite what little confidence you had before, it’s all but diminished now. You shrunk away from him. “A-Azul, calm down. You… You’re scaring me.”

“Well, that’s nothing new now, is it?”

“Azul—”

“You want sensible adults? Very well. Let’s have an actual discussion instead of picking each other apart like this.” He peered down at you from where he stood, his head angled in such a way that his acknowledgement of you appeared contemptuous. “So sit back down in your chair and talk like a sensible, mature adult.”

Opening your mouth, you intended to respond. But the words wouldn’t come. They were lodged in your throat, coagulating with raw, rich fear.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

I can’t say anything, you thought, your body petrifying with every passing second. I’m scared…

“If you put just a little more thought into your brainless idea, you’ll find it’s quite…lacking. Divorce ruins our togetherness, splits us apart and condemns us to two different worlds. And if I’m no longer able to cross into your world—if you forbid it and leave my world—I’ll truly die. I refuse to let that happen. So, no, darling, we won’t be getting a divorce. I won’t agree to it.”

Perhaps it was the hopelessness in your heart that forced fresh tears from your ducts, or maybe it was the final straw in your weakening defenses, but the words came bursting out in a hurry.

“I don’t care anymore! I want you to die!”

You slapped your hands over your mouth. Azul stared at you, stupefied.

“I… I want to be rid of you,” you continued, your words muffled and distraught. “I’ve always thought… Always hoped you might just disappear one day and I’d finally know peace… Please, Azul. Let’s end this. I don’t want to be stuck in this cycle. I don’t even love you anymore. I’m just…done.”

“You don’t mean that…” He made a strange sound, a hybrid between a gasp and a laugh. “Y-You’re just saying that. You still love me. You don’t actually want me gone. You love me… R-Right? Please say you do. Please, angelfish. My love… Please…”

“You’re not well, Azul. I think… I think this is for the best.” You turned away from him. “I’m going to stay in a hotel tonight. Please take some time to calm down and then we’ll talk more in the morning. I… I’m sorry. I really do want you to get help, but I can’t be around you any longer than I already have. It’s draining. You’re draining.”

You took one step further and something inside him splintered.

His power was cut, a line between consciousness and reality severed.

You did not love him. You wanted a divorce. You did not love him. You wanted a divorce.

Did not love him. Divorce. Did not love him. Divorce.

Did not love did not love did not love did not love not love not love not love.

Divorce divorce divorce divorce divorce.

Not love not love not love.

All alone.

Alone like before.

Back to the disgusting creature he once was.

You were walking away, your back turned on him.

He was going to lose his world. It was slipping through his fingers, fleeting and frail.

He couldn’t lose his world, for it’s all he’s ever had.

Azul lunged, seizing your wrist and dragging you down.

Your scream was cut short when his hands clung to your throat.

From then on, everything was a blur.

Two blueberry eyes swallowed you whole, entrapping you in cerulean paradise.

the epilogue - there will never be two without you.

“They used to call me all manner of cruel things when I was a child,” Azul admits to the desolate quiet of his penthouse suite. “I was ridiculed every day. I couldn’t even recognize myself in the mirror. Isn’t that just terrible?” He leans against the sofa and exhales slowly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “But then you told me I was pretty and suddenly the mirrors blinked back at me. Suddenly the world looked just a little wider and…brighter. So bright! The sea swallows so much color, my dear, and so you’ll never know just how vibrant the surface is to us merfolk.”

He deflates with a wet, wheezing laugh. “No one’s ever told me I was pretty. No one’s ever loved me. Not in the way that you did.” Sighing, he runs a hand down his face. Tears track his cheeks; his blueberry eyes exist in a field of splotchy red. “You were such an angel. To love a filthy, hideous thing like me… Only an angel could do that. Only an angel could look beyond every flaw of mine and love so gently.”

Azul lowers his arm and peers at the knife clutched tightly in his other hand. “I never deserved you. I’ve treated you so horribly. I—” He chokes on a rising sob and shakily lifts the blade to his wrist. It presses against his skin for a moment before he’s yanking it away.

“Fuck,” he spits, his voice trembling. “I… I can’t do it.”

You’re a coward, his inner critic berates. A cowardly, clumsy fool of an octopus.

Gritting his teeth, he steels himself and tries again. The blade digs deeper into his flesh, enough to draw the tiniest pinprick of blood. Pain flashes through his nerves, prey instincts firing off commands. He attempts to push past the curtain veiling his thoughts—Stop before you hurt yourself! Stop before you kill yourself!—but then he spies the blue rising to the surface, pooling under the blade, and he retreats immediately. Horrified, he discards the knife at once. It soars across the room in an imperfect arc before settling on the floor with a clatter, just inches from your body.

“Fuck,” he whispers, closing his hand around his wrist to halt the bleeding. “Fuck. Fuck!”

I really can’t bring myself to do it…

He throws his head back against the cushions, eyeing the ceiling. “I’ve done such an unforgivable thing to you and yet I… I can’t do it to myself. I just can’t.” He shuts his eyes, inhales deeply, and opens them again. “I so selfishly took your life, but I’m clinging to mine like a spineless loser.”

Azul lowers himself onto the floor, curling into a fetal position. He grips his wrist in a tighter hold. His glasses are somewhere in the room, likely cracked or worse. He can’t be bothered to seek them out.

“Did you ever believe in soulmates? Ah, what am I saying? Stupid… But I truly think we were soulmates. Perhaps not in this lifetime. But somewhere on a distant horizon…” He smiles dreamily, pressing his cheek against the cool floorboards. “I wonder if we’ll ever meet again. It’s a matter of luck and fate. Sea Witch below, I hate those odds.” Another noisy sob bubbles up in his throat. He shakes with the force of it, his throat raw and ruined. Another onslaught of tears pours from his eyes. “I was r-really happy that day you approached me. I was so happy… More… More happy than you’ll ever know. Thank you for looking at me and seeing me and opening your heart to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t cherish you more than this.”

He forces himself up onto his arms and then, as if just learning how to walk again, rises to his feet on wobbling legs to cross the slim distance to arrive at your body. Like a sinner on trial, he drops to his knees and gathers you in his arms as if you are his Madonna della Pietà.

“Without you, there is no world,” he murmurs, holding you close for a moment longer before lowering you to the floor. His tears dot your cheeks like somber rainfall. He reaches for the knife next, his mind made up. “Thank you for loving me. Sincerely. Truly. You’re the only one I’ll ever love. For that, I’m grateful. Because of you, I was able to know the taste of romance. And…” He hiccups through his bawling. “And it’s so very sweet.”

Blue blood spatters the floor, spilling from a messy gash in his abdomen. The knife is sharper than he thought.

Azul flops onto his stomach beside you, reaching out to run his fingers over your cheek. He inhales a weary breath and agony fills his lungs.

The world is dyed a brilliant, burdensome blue.

Azul Ashengrotto wakes in captivity. Bandaged, dressed in a plain gown, and cuffed to the bed, he is alive.

He moves his wrist, each of his senses filtering in at once. His other arm is turned over and pierced with an IV. Groggily, he lifts his gaze to the machines humming around him. Blue blood sits heavy in a bag, and he watches the liquid travel down, down, down through the tube. He blinks. His eyes are crusty. Has he been crying?

Assessing the handcuff once more, he turns up empty.

Why is he here?

Why does it hurt to move?

Why are there so many bandages around his stomach?

Most of all, where is his world?

What is this place?

It’s a hospital, yes, but why is he here? He has a clean bill of health.

Where is his world?

It’s when he starts actively struggling against the restraint, his breath coming in terrified huffs, that the nurses file in to tend to him. They check his vitals, run some harmless tests, ask him a few questions—it’s a lot all at once. He goes through the process as if stuck in sludge.

“My… My wife,” he croaks, unable to think of anything else. His heart tightens in his chest. “Where is she? What happened? Is she okay?”

Nervously, the nurses skirt around his questions until, eventually, he loses patience and tries to tear himself free from the bed that confines him.

“Where is she?!” he’s screaming, thrashing on the bed like he’s Frankenstein’s monster—a haunted reanimation shocked with electricity. “Answer me! Where is she?! She has to be here. Please… Please tell me she’s safe. I need to see her—need her here right now.”

They hurry out just as he curses at them.

“You can’t keep her away from me! She’s my wife—mine! If you lay a hand on her—”

A new face appears in the doorway; it’s a man dressed in striking attire. A police officer. Azul stares at him, his nostrils flaring wildly. For a short beat, they simply watch one another. Eventually, the officer nods towards a chair.

“May I?”

“What do you want?” He narrows his blueberry eyes, immediately suspicious.

“I’m here to have a chat with you. It’s about your wife. Is that okay?”

At the mention of you, Azul’s thoughts stall out. “Do you know where she is? Is… Is everything okay?”

The officer lowers into the chair and casually crosses one leg over the other. Casual in the friendly sense, Azul realizes. He really doesn’t like this man. Any longer here and he’ll start trying to build rapport.

“We’ll get there in a second. First, I’d like to introduce myself.” He goes through the motions; Azul is only half-listening, replying when it’s beneficial.

(Name). She’s safe, right? She must be. She has to be. Everything’s okay.

(Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name).

Where are you? Do you realize how worried I am? Oh, this must be my fault. I did something foolish again.

I must have tried to hurt myself. Angelfish, please wait for me. I’ll be okay. You’re safe and so am I.

Safe. Yes. Right. Safe. Safe. Safe.

Safe… Right?

Right.

Right?

“Had your friends not called in, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

That brings Azul back to the world. He blinks at the officer, one eye at a time. “What?”

“You were on the verge of bleeding out.”

“Friends?” He’s slow on the uptake. “Jade and Floyd?”

The officer nods. Silence fills the space. Azul wonders when he’s going to open his mouth again.

“What about them?” he asks instead.

The officer frowns. “Do you not recall anything?”

Azul thinks long and hard about this. “I… I was having a discussion with my wife. It was something about a trip. No, not that. Um… Something…important. Something else, perhaps?” He shakes his head, unable to turn up anything useful. “I haven’t a clue. Why? Is something the matter? Where’s my wife?”

Silence is his only reply.

Somehow that tells him everything and nothing all at once.

Somehow he suspects it. His body knows. His fingers twitch with phantom spasms, curling inwards to cut off airflow. The puzzle is scrambled and the image is fuzzy, but he knows.

He knows because he’s already crying, and there’s only ever been one thing that can bring out the inner crybaby he despises so.

It’s always been you.

Azul Ashengrotto is the sole speck of blue in this white hospital room.

And he certainly feels it.

He’s right back where he began: alone and clumsy, an octopus out of water, viewing the cramped, compact, colorless world with his bewitching blueberry hues.

[monster-bait]

Monster Match: Torben the Werebear, NSFW

For @monstersandmaw​ I’m here for big squishy monster bois - werebears or werewolves or whatever takes your fancy when you get the chance in the new year. 

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The morning sky was clear, pink-threaded golden light enveloping the valley between the trees, glittering across the lake’s surface. Noisy bursts of birdsong split the air from the tall curtain of pines that ringed the lake on one side, and you sucked in the crisp air. Breath...hold...exhale.

You would be fine.

After all, you’d taught this class before, for weeks at a time: had spoken in front of groups larger than this, had walked more people through the steps of sawing and filing, explaining the different flames of the soldering process, the difference in dapping and doming. To children, to teenagers. Never to adults, never to other creators…Teenagers who possessed more experience than this lot, you remind yourself. The intermediate class, teens who had been taking advanced classes in poetry and horseback riding in tandem, who had long since mastered the basics of your trade.

You would be fine.

.

.

Are you a tradesman of a dying art? 

Would you like to extend your creative repertoire?

We’re seeking hands-on artisans for an immersive ten day retreat

Teach your craft and learn from your neighbors!

Contact us to reserve your spot now!

The flyer had been hanging on the community board of the small, arts-focused school where you taught silversmithing to teenagers privileged enough to attend a school like Putnam, where “experience and collaboration unlocked the doors to the future.”

You’d made a promise to yourself that year: that you would start making you a bigger priority, that you would do a better job protecting your mental health and feeding your happiness. You loved learning new things, you loved travel, and you absolutely loved being surrounded by nature…

The job at Putnam was a good gig and you were lucky to have found it—the kids were mostly great, the administration treated the guest artists like visiting celebrities, and most importantly, it was flexible and paid well enough that you could definitely afford to fly across the ocean for a ten day retreat in the Canadian wilderness. 

Now you were here and today was the day—you’d be standing in front of the room, showing other professional artists the basics of silversmithing. You still weren't sure if being assigned to teach your class on the first day of the retreat was enormous luck, or if you’d pulled the short straw, but it was too late to dwell upon it now. Gripping the rawhide mallet you’d been swinging, you turned away from the lake. It was time.

What if no one shows up? What if you trip over all of your words?  A jumble of nerves tripped and climbed over each other as you walked back to the cabin where your class would be held; the same fears you’d had as an anxious seven-year old, waiting to see who would show up to your birthday party, the pony-shaped cake ordered for the occasion placed in the center of a long, rainbow-festooned table.

The door to the cabin opened as you plugged in the slow cookers full of pickling solution, interrupting your panic. A tall man ducked under the door frame, shouldering into the room and stopping your spiraling thoughts in their tracks. 

You’d noticed him the night before at the welcome dinner: ruggedly handsome and somewhat outsized, wedged between the organizer and the woman who wove intricate baskets and wreaths from long strips of tree fiber that she shaved directly from a large stump. He flashed you a lovely smile, even and white and beaming wide, before he took a seat near the front of the room. 

You wouldn’t have minded him being the only attendee, you thought, appreciatively eyeing his wide shoulders as he settled in the too-small chair. 

The fears of your seventh birthday proved to be unfounded, as the door opened again. For the next five minutes, a steady stream of participants flooded into the room, filling nearly every seat. You’d brought just enough material, you realized with a relieved sigh.

After a brief introduction, you told the group a bit about your background in a voice that only shook a little, when you made eye contact with the big man in the front. His eyes were like pieces of bittersweet chocolate, dark and shining, and his full lips raised in a small, encouraging smile as you straightened and pressed on, buoyed by the confidence his smile lent you. 

You’re a teacher, a master craftsman. This will be a piece of cake, you assured yourself, meeting his eye fleetingly once more. 

.

.

“Do you need a hand with these?”

He was hovering in the doorway, pointing at the crockpots of pickling solution, the last person in the room after your workshop.

“I would love that.” You beamed, craning your neck back to make eye contact. Broad shouldered and barrel-chested, he was as tall as a tree.

“You were really great, I learned a lot. I didn’t even melt the copper to my thumb! I’m Torben, by the way.”

His thick, dark hair was close-cropped on the sides and left longer on top, and his eyes crinkled when he smiled, again showing off that even row of white teeth as you laughed. He’d been attentive and studious during your workshop, asking you the kinds of questions that indicated his experience, to a decent degree, with the tools of your trade.

You sagged against the wall in relief as he dumped the steaming pickle solution down the utility sink’s drain.”I was so nervous,” you confessed. “When I signed up for this, I was so focused on the travel aspect that I forgot I was going to need to actually teach! I’m glad to hear I wasn’t just rambling...you seem to have a bit of experience, though. What class are you instructing?”

You learned, as he walked with you across the sun-dappled campus, that he was a glass blower, with a small studio right there in British Columbia. You’d unconsciously walked back to the commissary, you realized, smiling as he held the door open. When you’d left your small cabin that morning, you couldn’t have possibly imagined that you’d be practically strolling arm-in-arm with the handsome man you’d spied the night before, and wondered what the cost of such dumb luck would be.

Torben took his coffee with cream and two sugars, knowledge that seemed insignificant but strangely intimate, and you tucked it away as he chuckled at your dismayed reaction to the tea selection. 

“So what’s the plan for the afternoon?” he asked, after sipping from his steaming cup. You’d followed him to a picnic table outside the commissary’s doors, and the sun warmed your back and glinted off his sable hair. “Are we gonna do the fabric dyeing or the…” he glanced down at the schedule before him, cocking a full eyebrow, “...bread dough sculpting?”

We. Maybe it was forward of him to assume you’d be amenable to buddying up for the afternoon, or, you considered, maybe you were just reading too much into his words. You were, after all, in a rather small group, clusters were bound to form. He’s just being friendly.

You sat beside each other at a long wooden table just a short time later, once more huddled around crockpots, as a serious-faced hulder explained the different colors one could achieve through soaking their wool with onion skins and madder root. 

“I forgot to mention,” he whispered, leaning in close enough that you were able to feel the heat of his skin, woodsey pine notes curling around your nose, making your pulse flutter, “I’m red-green color blind. This is gonna be fun, eh?”

You were given free rein to attempt creating your own colors for small bundles of processed wool, and your stomach bunched and swooped every time he leaned in to deliver some self-deprecating quip or exclaim in horror that he’d skipped a step in the instructions.

“Maybe we should have done the bread sculpting,” you tittered, barely able to hide your giggles behind your hand, as the scowling hulder examined Torben’s fabric swatches, which had all come out the same indistinct, muddy color.

Fabric dyeing was followed by a late lunch together, where you learned he preferred the peace and quiet of the wilderness to the non-stop hecticness of Vancouver, where he lived in a small apartment. 

“I come out here every chance I get. I live in a really cool area, there’s always a lot to do—lots of galleries and concert clubs, great restaurants, but it’s just non-stop. Noise, crowding, traffic...it’s nice to get away. I guess becoming a woodsman is my secret ambition,” he laughed.

“It’s so beautiful here,” you sighed, lamenting that free time during the day was sparse. “I’m fortunate to live outside of the city, I can pop off to be outside whenever I want. I wish we had the chance to check out some of the trails here, but I guess that’s not what we signed up for.”

"We have free time at night," he cut in, a bit cautiously, glancing at you from the corner of his eye to gauge your reaction. "I know this area like the back of my hand. If you wanted to go for a walk tonight, we could."

Butterflies trembled through you at the thought of spending time with him, secluded in the dark. More than just being friendly, maybe...You had no reason to doubt his sincerity or his intentions, you decided. All day he’d been funny and personable, talking about himself freely, never making you uncomfortable with his questions or nearness. He was friendly, he was disarming, he was...dead sexy. 

You bit your lip, unable to disagree with yourself. He was solid and thick-set, with a wide back and powerfully-built arms, if the stretched-taut fabric of his shirt was any indication. His big, dark eyes were framed by a thick fan of lashes most women would be thrilled to have, and you had the feeling that snuggling with him by a fire would be the coziest thing imaginable. Feed your happiness…your internal voice was right, you decided with a grin. This trip was about doing what made you happy, and you hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d hung behind after your class that morning.

“That sounds excellent.”

.

.

He had giant hands. 

You’d been remiss in not noticing earlier, you thought, watching the enormous span of them as he shaped the wet lump of clay on the potter’s wheel. Every time he dipped his thick fingers into the bowl of water, a fresh layer of the oozing clay would cascade down the side of his hands, cupping the sides of the spinning heap, carefully guiding the shape to take form. You’d felt the span of them the night before, the thickness of his fingers and the strength of his grip, but seeing them now, covered in clay, nearly took your breath away.

It was the fifth day of the retreat, the halfway point, you noted with a pang that morning, saddened that the relaxing time in the woods was nearly at an end. The camaraderie of the shared meals and the interesting workshops...and the time with Torben. 

Your supposition that he’d be an excellent cuddler had proven true. 

That first night, he’d told you about the wildlife in the area as you walked up the dark path, gripping his sleeve as the moon disappeared, once you moved into the treeline.

“Bears?” you’d murmured nervously, gulping. There were no bears in the wild in the UK, but you’d seen them in zoos before. They did not seem like the kind of animal you wanted to wonder upon in the dark forest.

“We can watch them, if you want.” His voice had been a whisper, one that you’d felt shiver up your spine as he pulled you carefully through the darkness. “Nothing will hurt you.”

You’d been clinging to him when he led you carefully to a rocky outcropping, overlooking the twisting river. Below, illuminated in the bright moonlight, was a bear and its cubs, nosing at the water’s edge. You’d watched, spellbound, until the trio ambled back into the treeline, amazed that Torben had seemed to know exactly where they were in the great pine forest.

He’d proudly produced a box of Yorkshire Gold at breakfast the following morning, to your delight, before once more consulting the schedule for the day. Your cheeks had been warm as he read off the day’s different offerings, butterflies once more flapping a riotous frenzy within you.

On the third night, you’d blurted the question that had been bobbling in your mind for several days at that point. 

“So are you part-orc or something?” You’d been pressed to his side, your arms wrapped around the thick tree trunk of his own arm, absorbing the heat and smell of him, feeling cozy and drowsy and turned on all at once. The rocky ledge had become your spot together, and you’d walked through the dark trees each night before sitting quietly to watch whatever animals visited the river below. He was huge, you thought dreamily, feeling the enormous strength of him against you...huge and strong and incredibly sweet. Dead sexy. He made your own curves seem positively dainty, a feeling you appreciated. Thickly built with solid, well-insulated muscle, heavy limbed, impossibly tall...being part-orc seemed a likely possibility, and the words left your mouth before sense could catch up with your vocal chords. 

His laughter had been a deep rumble, echoing down the rockface and raising the hairs on your neck. Torben held out an arm, examining it under the moonlight. “I can usually see green okay, but who knows?” He laughed again when you buried your face against his arm, groaning in mortification. “Not an orc. Wow, this is easier than I thought it would be...I’m a were–”

“A werewolf? You’re a werewolf?” You interrupted with wide eyes. You’d always had a thing for werewolves, had gone out with one a few times back at home. The butterflies took wing once more as you waited expectantly.

“Not...exactly. A werebear. I guess you probably don’t meet too many of us taking the tube into London.”

Your eyes, if it was even possible, had widened even further. It made sense, you thought—his immense size and solid physique, his cuddliness...you hadn’t planned on kissing him at that moment, but once again your brain was left out of the equation as you leaned in, gripping the fabric of his shirtsleeve for leverage as you lifted yourself to his mouth. 

Torben’s full lips were soft and warm against yours, a gentle pressure as he returned your kiss, again, then again. Your breath caught when he sucked your plump lower lip between his own, holding it there before your mouths broke apart. The soft sounds of the forest—the slight rustle of small animals in the underbrush, the wet lapping of the river—reigned in the comfortable silence that followed. 

“And you? Are you a good witch or a bad witch?”

You gasped in mock offense to his question, amused that he’d been wondering about you too. His rich laughter echoed down the canyon, stilling the animals in the brush. “I’m a plant witch,” you clarified haughtily. “And all that means is that I have a way with green things and I know how to use them. No broomsticks.”

“That’s a relief, I’m really not a fan of heights.”

Dinner the next night had once again been a group affair, and you’d met the wise-cracking lich who would be running the pottery workshop. He’d sat next to you, keeping the whole end of the table entertained with his stories of the little boy who lived next door to him who thought he was the grim reaper, and how he fed the theory by leaving dead plants and pet-less leashes on his terrace and peering menacingly through the blinds, while the bespectacled basket weaver had been on your other side, asking endless questions about arts education in the UK and the school where you taught. 

Throughout, your foot had rested comfortably against the ankle of the werebear across the table, as his chocolate eyes sparkled.

After promising you’d be at Jerry the Lich’s pottery workshop the next afternoon, you’d excused yourself from the table, Torben close behind. There’d been less preamble before your mouths met under the moonlight once more. His tongue was hot against yours, and your hands appeared doll-like against the massive expanse of his broad chest. 

“You know,” you’d said thoughtfully, once the heated kiss had broken off, “I’m starting to have my doubts that you’re actually teaching anything this week. You got wax everywhere.” 

“You’re the one who wanted to be a chandler! I wanted to do arrow fletching!”

Your laughter was muffled by the fabric of his beleaguered button-down as your hands smoothed down his heavily-built torso, wondering how far you were willing to allow this little forest-bound fling go. You could easily envision yourself astride his hips, dragging your nails down his bare chest as he moved within you. Feeding your happiness...Heat flooded your face as you squeezed your thighs together, your sneaky, independent hand rubbing circles down his stomach...when Torben’s head raised sharply. 

In an instant he was on his feet, gripping your wrists. “Don’t move.” His voice was practically a growl, gently pressing you to stay on the ledge. Your breath stuttered and stopped as he stepped away, staring intently into the impenetrable darkness of the trees. 

You heard it then, somewhere in the distance: the snap of twigs as something heavy moved through the brush, followed by a snuffling grunt. The other sounds of the woods had abruptly ceased, the small animals holding their breath alongside you, as the huge creature lumbered closer. Torben echoed with a similar sound of his own, before the night air was rent by the sound of a huge paw slapping the earth. To your shock, Torben glanced back with a grin. 

“C’mon,” he whispered. “The cubs are probably nearby and she wants us gone. Mama bear is not impressed with our canoodling...wait, what do you call it? Snogging?”

“This is not an angry bear in the woods conversation,” you’d hissed, allowing him to grip your hand tightly and steer you through the trees, moving off the trail and away from the threatened bear. 

You saw the vague shape of her, slapping the ground in warning again as you pressed through the darkness. Your heartbeat had been thunderous when you’d arrived at the stoop of your small cabin, adrenaline racing like lightning through your veins, dragging him down by the collar, meeting his lips and tugging him inside, once again leaving sense behind.

His giant hands had completely encircled your waist, pushing the thin jumper up your body, as you made quick work of his buttons. Your thudding heart seemed to be everywhere at once—in your fingertips as they dragged through the dark line of hair that moved down his chest, jumping in your neck when he sucked at your pulse point, pouding behind your eyes as his lips moved over your breasts, teeth catching on a pebbled nipple. The bedding bunched in your fists when his hot tongue pressed between your open thighs, lapping at the wetness that was already there, making you arch when his full lips puckered and suckled at your clit. 

This trip was about feeding your happiness, you reminded yourself after you’d come against his tongue, the ebbing pulses of your orgasm still quivering through you. 

You intended to be a glutton.

“This is the cheapest condom in North America,” he laughed, after you’d produced the prophylactic that had come in the little first aid kit you’d bought at the airport. “We could wash the dishes with this thing.” 

His cock was heavy and thick, slapping against his belly when you freed the swollen length of it from his boxers, stretching you deliciously when you lowered yourself, a knee on either side of the wide expanse of his body. The image you’d had in your head earlier couldn’t compare with the reality of actually fucking yourself atop him, the press and squeeze of his girth making you moan in a way that might have been embarrassing, if it hadn’t felt so bloody good. 

When he began to lift his hips, meeting your shallow rolls with a depth your short legs were unable to achieve, you came again, clenching around him, feeling like you were flying.

The pillow was a plump cloud as your head sunk into it when he’d shifted your positions, rutting into you with fast, powerful thrusts, chasing his own release. “I’m close,” he panted, his hips still hammering against you, “but I can’t come in this thing. It feels four inches thick.”

He didn't protest when you pushed him up, even though the press of your palms against his shoulders was tantamount to moving a brick wall, rolling to his back once more. In contrast to his, your own small hands and stubby-seeming fingers barely fit around his heavy cock, and you were obliged to use both hands as you pumped him. The reverberation of his deep groan of pleasure could be felt against your lips when you bent to suck him, moving your tongue over his swollen head, his big hips jerking. 

Another groan, a telltale throb, and then your mouth was flooded, his release running over your knuckles as you continued to pump him through an endless orgasm.

The circle of his arms was impossibly warm and cozy as you tucked against his side afterwards, his huge body completely filling the small single bed. You’d wondered, as you’d drifted to sleep against him, if Putnam would be amenable to giving you off for the winter months, allowing you to come hibernate in the Canadian wilderness.

Torben’s pot was surprisingly well-formed when it came off the potter’s wheel, perfectly formed by his huge hands, which was more than you’d been able to say about the misshapen cup you’d thrown. He’d laughed gleefully, gloating that he’d finally done something well. 

“You’re going to go home with so many presents!” he exclaimed cheerfully, as you laced your fingers with his, uncaring of what other attendees might gossip. “Two expertly-dyed bundles of brown wool, a blob-shaped candle, and a really nice bowl. And you can take that condom back and wear it as a rain hat. Your hair will never be wet!”

Your outraged laughter made the hulder, just ahead, turn back curiously as you swatted his arm. His workshop was the following afternoon, and you couldn’t wait to see him in action. There were only five days left to enjoy his easy laugh and sparkling eyes, four nights to spend wrapped in his arms...but then there would be texting and video calls, future trips across an ocean that didn’t seem all that big, not when you compared it with the way he made you feel.

Your happiness, you decided, had never felt fuller. 

.

.

Monster Matches available on ko-fi 

... booking for February now!

[verai-marcel]

Playing Dress-up (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur x Fem!Reader, Neighbor AU, Part 1 of 2, 18+)

Summary: It’s Halloween, and after taking Isaac around trick-or-treating, Arthur drops him off at Eliza’s house. Feeling a bit lonely, he knocks on your door. Will you give him a treat?

Author’s Notes: Both stories start out pretty similar, but they diverge when it comes to what Arthur wants… in bed. There are little differences sprinkled in the intro as well. Also @arthurs-atonement requested overstimulation, and I thought this was a good time to put that in.

Tags: high honor: anal sex, doggy style; low honor: roleplay, rough sex, consensual dubious consent, overstimulation

AO3 Link is right here, angel. 

--------------------

Side A: High Honor

"Trick or treat!" 

You took one look at Isaac's adorable face with his squishy cheeks and his cute Pikachu costume, and a giant grin appeared on your face. 

"You get all the treats!" you squealed as you took a big handful of candy and dumped it into his pumpkin bucket. 

"You’re spoiling him."

Looking over at Arthur, you swallowed as you took in his cowboy costume. Although to be fair, it really didn’t look like a costume. It wasn’t much of a stretch from the outfit he wore on your first date; the cowboy hat and boots were there, and so were those Wrangler jeans. But he added a big ol’ belt buckle, a black vest, and a white button down shirt. He really shouldn’t have looked that good.

He was giving you a smile, letting you know that he was at least partially kidding about his comment. But you just stuck your tongue out at him all the same. 

“It’s Halloween, I can spoil him a little bit.”

“I guess. Isaac, what do you say?”

Isaac looked up at you and grinned. “PIKA-CHUUUU!”

You smiled. “I’m gonna assume that means thank you.”

Isaac winked and gave you a thumbs up. The kid was too cute.

“Alright, let’s get goin’. Gotta get you candy so you can level up.”

“Pika-pika!”

Isaac waved happily at you as he took Arthur’s hand and led him down the stairs. Arthur waved bye to you and smiled, leaving you with a warm, fuzzy feeling. You watched as father and son, hand in hand, walked down the steps to the other apartments for trick-or-treating. Ducking back inside and making sure your light was on for the little kids, you sat on your couch and decided to read one of your romance novels that you had borrowed from the library as you waited for trick-or-treaters for the night.

***

It was 8:30PM when you got a text, just as you had given out the last of your candy.

I’m dropping off Isaac at his mom’s. Do you wanna hang out after?

You smiled. It was a weekday night, but you worked from home tomorrow, so you could afford to sleep in a little bit.

Yeah, come on by.

***

As soon as you sent the text, you had a wicked, dirty thought.

You prepared for a special night. You took a shower and cleaned yourself thoroughly. Putting on some sexy lingerie, complete with garter belts and stockings, a white button up shirt with the top few buttons undone to reveal your cleavage, and a short black pencil skirt, you put up your hair in a bun and put just a bit of lipstick on. Sexy teacher look, completed!

You heard a knock on your door at 9PM, and when you opened it, you noticed that Arthur had changed out of his cowboy outfit, much to your dismay. He just had on his usual T-shirt and jeans.

“Aw, I was hoping to ride a cowboy tonight,” you joked.

Arthur smiled. “I could go get the hat.” He looked you up and down and his eyes sparked with lust.

You grabbed his arm and pulled him into your apartment. “Maybe next time, pardner. Just get in here.”

***

The moment you two were in your apartment, he picked you up and sat on the couch, kissing you until you were out of breath. 

“I can’t get enough of you,” he mumbled before he kissed you again. His hands held your thighs, and he slowly worked his way up and under your skirt.

“You naughty man,” you teased. “Should I teach you a lesson?"

You felt Arthur grinned under your lips. "Yes ma'am."

Pulling away from him, you got up and led him to your bedroom. You sat him down on the edge of your bed and stood in front of him, swaying your hips and unbuttoning your shirt. He watched, enraptured by your seductive strip tease, gripping the mattress to keep himself from just grabbing you like a caveman. Every article of clothing was slowly peeled away until you only had on your garter belt and stockings on. Turning around, you ran your hands down your rear, watching his eyes widen as he let out a shaky breath. 

"You ever taken someone's ass before?" you asked. 

Arthur shook his head. 

"Do you want to?" 

He nodded his head enthusiastically.

You smiled as you picked up the lube and butt plug from your nightstand and handed them to him. Then you grabbed the rolled up towel on the bed that you had prepped beforehand and laid down on the edge of the bed next to him, using the towel to prop your ass up higher. Spreading your legs as you looked at him, you smirked at the look of wonder on his face as he turned his body to face you. Taking the lube and plug from him, you applied the lube to the plug and to your rear opening, and then, slowly, keeping your eyes on Arthur, you slid it inside of you.

“Can… can I touch ya?” he asked in barely a whisper.

“Yes,” you breathed as you worked the plug in and out of you in slow circles, gently opening yourself and relaxing your muscles. You guided one of his hands to your core, the other to your breast. He got the idea and played with you, stoking the fire of your pleasure as you stretched yourself out.

After a while, you took his hand and showed him how to move the plug around. He took the handle and carefully pumped in and out, watching you lovingly as you whimpered and moaned, your eyes never leaving his.

“You are so gorgeous like this,” he said in a husky voice before he leaned over and started to lick your clit as he stretched out your ass.

“Oh, fuck!” you yelped, caught by surprise by his sudden decision to eat you out. Your hands immediately clung to his hair, grabbing and pulling as your hips jolted upwards. Arthur held you down with this other hand, humming against your body, the vibrations feeling so damn good against your core. He wouldn’t let up until your grip in his hair became nearly painful as you came against his tongue, crying out his name and a string of curses as the euphoria ran through you like lightning.

“I… I’m ready now,” you said, gasping, as you lifted your legs. Arthur got the idea, moving so that he was standing between your legs. Leaving the plug inside of you for a bit, he stripped off his clothes, knowing that you were watching him, knowing that your eyes went straight to his cock. 

“I can’t wait, angel,” he growled as he pulled the plug slowly out of your ass.

“Put it on top of the towel on the nightstand, then put more lube on,” you said when he paused for a moment. You had thought this through, after all.

Arthur nodded and did as you directed, taking the lube and spreading more onto his dick before lining himself up with your tight opening. He started to push inside of you, taking a deep breath as he felt your muscles clench and tighten around him. 

“So tight,” he panted. “Never felt anything like it.”

He continued to enter you, watching your reaction like a hawk; you reached up and caressed his cheek. “I’ll tell you if it hurts,” you said softly between moans. Buoyed by your words, he kept going until he hilted inside of you.

“Slowly now,” you murmured, and he steadily moved, his eyes fluttering shut as he lost himself to the ecstasy of something so naughty, so sinful, so good. His pace got a little quicker as you grabbed his arms and dug your fingers into his muscle, giving him soft sounds of encouragement.

You praised him, telling him what a good man he was, how good he was making you feel, how much you loved the feel of his cock deep inside of your ass. You urged him to move faster; you begged for him to take you like a whore.

“Damn, you sure are a bad girl,” he huffed as he picked up speed, his length sliding in out of your ass easily now that you were used to his size.

You responded by pushing at his chest. Pausing, he watched you slide off his cock and turn over, sticking your ass high in the air. He let out a shaky breath and slid back inside of you, both of you moaning as he filled you up once more.

“Fuck,” he moaned, slapping your ass and taking you harder. The light spank surprised you, and also turned you on. Did he have a dirty, wild side?

“Please, cum in my ass!” you pleaded.

Arthur’s hands gripped your rear harder when he heard you beg for him. Groaning as he leaned over, his hips slammed hard into you; the sound of flesh against flesh and his heavy grunting filled the room. He reached down to stroke you, slipping his fingers inside of your pussy, his other hand reaching around to push two fingers into your mouth. Muffled, you could only mewl helplessly, being completely filled by Arthur in all of your holes. It was too much; your mind broke as you came, crying out, your sounds strangled by his fingers in your mouth.

“That’s it, take it,” he rumbled, letting his filthy side come out. “Gonna fill that pretty ass of yours…”

He trailed off, any further words replaced by deep moans as he came inside of you; his cum was spilling out and dripping down your thighs as he kept pumping his hips, chasing his pleasure to the very last. After a few minutes of catching his breath, he took a step back and collapsed next to you.

“Damn,” he muttered. “That… that was amazin’. I think I’m seein’ stars.”

You laughed and turned to him. Giving him a quick peck on the cheek, you got up carefully, taking the towel under you and wrapping it around yourself.

“I’m gonna go clean up. You just stay there, I’ll come out and clean you up in a bit.”

Arthur could only grunt as you walked to the bathroom, laughing softly.

***

"Get up, angel. You start work in half an hour."

You rolled over and slowly got up, glancing at the clock. 7:30am. You didn't remember setting an alarm. 

"How'd you know?" you asked, blearily rubbing your eyes and yawning. 

"You said you work from home today. Figured I'd make sure to get you up on time, since I kept you up late."

You smiled and leaned in to give him a sweet kiss on his forehead. He pulled you back into his arms for a full kiss, tempting you to stay in bed for just a little bit longer. 

"Git goin', I'll come back tonight." Arthur gently pushed you away and smacked you lightly on your rear as he got up to put on his clothes. 

"I didn't scare you away?" 

"Quite the opposite." He leaned towards you to whisper into your ear. "Maybe I’m secretly a bad boy."

Laughing, you went to shower and get ready for work as Arthur left you apartment with a kiss and a promise to return. 

----------------------

LH Arthur part is next!

[love-and-monsters]

Alien Encounter Pt. 3: Stargazing

So, before this story begins, I just wanted to update you on the scheduling of these parts. I’ve been trying to keep a weekly schedule with the updates, but I recently got a new job that’s really wiping me out and taking up a lot of my writing time. I’ll still try to make weekly updates, but I might have to push the story to biweekly updates instead. I hope you all can be patient with me and hopefully I’ll get back to a better schedule soon. Enjoy the story!

I lay on my back, staring up at the star-dotted sky above me. The night was warm, with only a trace of a breeze, and there were no clouds in sight. Near the top of the tree, it was quite peaceful.

It had been three weeks since I’d crash-landed. The first few days after finally being able to eat, I’d gotten enough energy back to be antsy, so Valain had showed me up to a perch.

“This is a spotting platform,” he’d explained. “I use it to scan the skies or send off signals, if I need help.”

I examined the platform. There was a telescope built into it and small console with several buttons on it. “What are those for?”

“They’re signals. Color coded. Red for natural problem, like a storm, green for an invading army, blue for an unspecified problem.”

“So, I’d be a blue light, then?”

“Yes. And a spaceship would be blue as well. But there haven’t been blue lights in a while. Or ever, really. Haven’t seen them as long as I’ve been here.” He cast me a sideways look. “Sorry.”

“Don’t mind it,” I said.

“Regardless, if you want to come up here at any point, you’re welcome. I know the house is small.” He gave me another apologetic smile. I nodded back at him.

I’d been spending most of my time since then up on the perch. It was difficult to climb up with only one working wrist, but there was a ladder built into the tree to make things easier.

There was a quiet scuffling noise and I turned my head just in time to see Valain scrambling over the side of the platform. He had a bag slung over his shoulder. “Hey. You’re later than usual,” I said.

           “My patrol took longer than usual. Saw something in the sky,” Valain said, swinging his bag down onto the platform. I sat up. “Oh. Not that kind of strange. Sorry.”

I slumped back onto the platform. “I need to stop getting my hopes up.”

Valain crossed the platform and sat down next to me. “Here. Patain?” He held out the pear-like fruit I’d first tried. I took it and sat up. “It’s a nice night out.”

“Mm. Clear sky.” I bit the patain. “What did you see?”

“You’ll see them for yourself in a few minutes,” Valain said. “They were heading this way when I last saw them.”

“They were?” I asked. Valain nodded.

“You’ll see.” He rolled onto his back, carefully positioning himself so he didn’t pin his tail beneath him. “The stars look nice tonight.”

“Yeah, I guess. They’re not bad.”

Valain gave a small, forced chuckle. “They must not be as nice once you’ve seen them up close.”

“They’re not,” I sighed. I could feel Valain looking at me. “Okay. You see that one?” I pointed to one of the larger stars.

“Which one? That one?” Valain pointed at a star slightly to the left of mine.

“No.” I took hold of his arm and moved it until his finger was pointing at my star. “That one there.”

Valain pointed at the star, but his gaze was still on me. “What about it?”

“I’ve been there,” I said, lowering my arm back to my side. “I think. It was probably that one.”

Valain looked at the star. “What was it like?” His voice was soft, almost reverent.

“Pretty big. It’s kind of a reddish orange color up close. If you look really close at the edges of the star, you can kind of see these, like, strands of light that come off of it. They’re cool to look at.” I squinted at the star. “And not too far away from that star, there’s this really pretty nebula. It’s all bright pink and green and purple. They call it the dragonscale nebula, because it kind of looks like a big, spiky dragon scale.”

“What’s a dragon?” Valain asked.

“It’s, uh. Hard to explain, I guess. Mythical creature. A big lizard with wings, basically. Basically the nebula looks like a spiky scale.” I let out a nervous giggle. “I know I’m not explaining this very well.”

“No, I get it.” Valain scanned the sky. “Have you been to any other stars near here?”

I frowned at the sky. “It’s hard to tell. Looking at an actual sky is different than looking at a map. I’ve probably visited a few stars up there though, at least. I’ve traveled a lot.”

“It must be beautiful up there.” Valian’s voice was soft and wistful. I looked at him. He was staring at the sky, eyes misty.

“Yeah. It is. That’s part of the reason I decided to go traveling. I wanted to see space.” Valain looked at me. I looked back up at the sky, hoping he hadn’t noticed me staring.

“What was the other reason?” he asked.

I sighed. “I guess I wasn’t sure what else to do? I’d gone through school, but I didn’t know that I wanted to go on to a specialized field or anything. I never felt very strongly about doing anything. I mean, I liked things, but I never liked them enough to actually decide to make a career out of them, you know? So, I found the courier job. Paid well and it was interesting work and at least while I’m doing it, I can think about what else I want to do.”

“That’s funny,” Valain said. I could hear the laughter bubbling in his chest and buoying his words. When I glanced at him, he was smiling, and when he caught my eye, he actually laughed out loud, a warm, quiet chuckle. It was an intoxicating sound and I laughed even though I wasn’t sure what the joke was.

“What’s funny?”

Valain looked back up at the sky. “That was the same reason I became a guard. I finished my school and I didn’t know what I wanted to do as a career. Being a guard was something I picked because it’s supposed to be a meditative, solitary job. I thought maybe I could use it to think about what I wanted to actually do.”

“Guess I kind of interrupted that for you, huh?” I teased. Valain didn’t laugh. His eyes narrowed a bit and he stared at the sky more intently.

“No. Not really. I think you crash-landing here is the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to me.” His ears twitched, pinning back against his head for a moment before flicking forward again. “I think having you here with me has been one of the first times in my life I feel as though I actually have something to do. Something to keep me going.”

I stared at him, but he seemed to be very resolutely not looking back at me. Eventually, I just turned my gaze back to the sky.

A breeze rustled the leaves on the few branches above me. Behind them, the stars gleamed, tiny pinpricks of light. Somewhere up there, they were probably getting ready to declare me officially deceased. Three weeks of searching before a death certificate could be issued. It wasn’t a long time to search the vastness of space, but it was assumed that if you didn’t find someone in that period of time, you never would. Space was just too big. Better to move on and stop looking fruitlessly.

“Thank you,” I said. Valain looked at me. “You didn’t have to take me in, but you did. I know it probably hasn’t been easy to help out an alien. I’m grateful that you’ve been helping me.”

His tail swished back and forth and his ears twitched. “I couldn’t leave you. And you’re good company. I like having you around.” His ears flattened and he looked away. “Though I know you probably would rather be back home.”

“If I have to be stuck on an alien planet, I’m very glad it’s with you,” I said. Valain smiled, tail curling close to his body.

Something floated into view past the tree branches and I sat up. It resembled a bird, I supposed, but really only in that it was flying. It didn’t have the smooth motions of a bird in flight. It bobbled up and down, more like it was swimming through the sky than truly flying. It didn’t have wings either, not in the traditional sense. Instead, strange, fin-like protrusions ran down its sides, rippling with every bob. The entire thing looked like a flying sea slug. But what was most noticeable about it was its color.

It practically glowed, pulsing in brilliant orange and pink, like a miniature sunset. I sat up, still staring as it floated across the sky above us.

“What is that?” I asked.

Valain sat up. “It’s a mophee,” he said. “They migrate every year and right now they’re passing over this part of the forest.” The mophee above bobbed out of view, vanishing behind the tree leaves. “There will be more along in a few minutes.”

Almost as soon as the words had left his mouth, another few of the slug-creatures appeared in the sky. They were of varying sizes and brightness. Some of them were more of a pale yellow, while others had bits of purple and green in their pulsing colors. The larger ones seemed to have far greater variability than the small ones.

“How are they flying?” I asked quietly as one that was probably as large as me floated overhead. I could see the undulation of its body, the way it pulsed as it bobbed along.

“It’s not flying so much as it’s floating,” Valain said. “They produce some kind of gas in their bodies that they use to float and travel between different bodies of water.”

“Wow.” The creatures filled the sky so much that it looked more like a rippling sea of brilliant colors.

“They’re a little less impressive when you know what happens to them in a few months,” Valain snorted. “They tend to die on their way back. It’s less beautiful when you have to clean up their squishy corpses.” He let out a soft breath. “But they are pretty nice right now, aren’t they?”

I stared back up at the sky. It was hard to tell the individual slugs apart anymore. The sky was just one big rippling field of color, mostly orange, with bright pinks and yellows and blues mixed in. It was almost like a watercolor where the paints kept swirling together.

Gradually, patches of the sky started to peek through the mass of color until there were only a few slugs still drifting across the sky. A few of them drifted down, veering into the tree branches. I sat up as one of the really small ones, only about as long as my forearm, wobbled and drifted down until it landed on one of the tree branches above my head.

“What’s wrong with it?” I asked. Valain sat up, tilting his head to get a better look at it. The colors dimmed to a dull orange as it sat in the tree branch, still rippling faintly.

“The ones in the back are always the youngest. Sometimes they can’t manage the long trip. There are always a few that land in the forest. If they make it through the day, they can usually start up again the next night.”

“If they make it?”

“They’re pretty toxic, so most predators avoid them, but if something inexperienced finds them, it might take a bite anyway. And they dry out if they’re left in the sun for too long.”

I stared at the slug that was caught in the tree. Its rippling had stopped, like it had gotten too tired to continue. “Is that one going to be okay?”

Valain looked at me, then back up at the slug. “Give me a minute.” He stood, then crouched. His tail flicked and he rocked on his paws for a moment before springing into the air.

He jumped as least his full height off the platform, landing on the tree trunk. His claws caught on the bark and he started scaling the tree. It was the most effortless climbing I’d ever seen; he sprinted up the tree like he was running along a flat surface. Within seconds, he’d reached the branch the slug was perched on. He hesitated then, tentatively putting his weight on the branch before moving out along it. He stayed carefully stood on all fours, tail held out behind him like a sort of balancing rod. With careful, quick motions, he seized the slug and scaled the tree back down to my side.

He held the slug out to me, cupped in both hands. It had completely faded from its glowing colors, instead a rusty brown. Up close, I could see the slight pulsing of its body, the gentle waving of its little antennae. I wasn’t sure if it could see, or if it could even tell what was happening to it. It just sat still, looking vaguely like it was panting. “Do you think it’s all right?” I asked.

“Yes.” Valain shifted the slug in his hands, peering at it from all angles. “It seems to be fine. There aren’t any cuts on it or anything. I think it’s just tired.” He gently trailed his thumbs along its sides. The slug shuddered, recoiling slightly under his touch and he moved his thumbs away again. “It’s very small. It must be just barely at maturity.”

“How big do they usually get?”

“Mm. Two tails long, about?” Valain suggested.

“Two tails?” I repeated.

“The measurement?” he offered. “You don’t know how long that is?” I shook my head. “A little shorter than my tail, I suppose.” He indicated most of his tail, stopping about two inches beneath the tip of his tail. About three and a half feet, then.

 “They get up to seven feet long?” I asked aloud. It was Valain’s turn to be lost.

“Maybe? I don’t know.” He looked down at the one he was holding, which was just big enough to spill a little out of his hands. “This one’s tiny enough that I’m surprised it’s even making the journey.”

“Do you think that’s why it couldn’t make it?” I asked. Valain nodded.

“Probably.” He bent down and placed the little slug on the ground, placing it close to the tree trunk. It pulsed more intensely for a moment, then relaxed. Its antennae drooped and it grew still.

“Is it okay?” I asked.

“It’s just conserving energy. It should be pretty safe up here, close to the tree. The shade should keep it safe during the day and we can bring it some water and check on it.” Valain beamed at the slug.

I couldn’t help but smile down at it too. It was oddly endearing to look at, despite its slime. “You’ll get back up there, buddy,” I said. “You’ll get home.”

Valain stretched, fins flexing. “We should head back down,” he said, gathering up his bag. “It’s starting to get late.” He moved over to the ladder, glancing back at me. I followed him, carefully sitting down at the top of the ladder and wriggling around to get into a good position to go down the ladder.

 “Do you just want me to carry you?” Valain’s voice carried a hint of exasperation.

 “Can you carry me?” I asked.

He glanced me over before giving a nod. “If you get on my back, I can go down the tree.”

He crouched, looking over his shoulder as I approached. I put my arms around his neck and he got to his feet. I could feel his tension as he shifted his weight, ears twitching. Then, quick as lightning, he crouched and leapt.

Valain slammed into the side of the tree, claws digging into the bark. Involuntarily, I tightened my hands. “Hold on tight,” Valain said, reaching up to adjust one of my arms. With that, he released the tree and dropped a few feet.

I barely had time to scream before Valain’s claws dug back into the tree. We jerked to a stop. Valain paused, turning his head to look at me. “Are you all right?”

I licked my lips and readjusted my arms. “I’m okay. Can we keep going?”

Valain nodded and we dropped again, again, once more, then we landed on the roof of his house. He reared back onto his hind legs and carefully lowered himself onto one of the supporting branches before entering his home. Once inside, he crouched down and gently tilted me off his back.

“That wasn’t too hard on your wrist, was it?” Valain asked. I shrugged.

“Not too bad.” Valain nodded, standing back up.

“We should sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I spent most of the next day up on the platform, looking at the little slug. It stayed close to the shadows, twitching occasionally, but mostly staying still. It wasn’t until the sun started to set that it really perked up, wriggling its antennae more and letting pulses of bright colors run over its body.

Valain vaulted up onto the platform. “How are you doing?” he asked, offering me a piece of fruit. I bit into it as he settled next to me.

“Seems to be going okay. Look at the little guy,” I said. It was almost glowing by that point and the long fins along its sides rippled continuously.

Valain walked over to the slug and scooped it up in his hands. “Ready to let it go?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said. “How do we do this?”

“Here.” Valain tilted the slug into my hands. “Hold up your hands. It’ll get the idea.”

I lifted my hands above my head and there was a tickling sensation as the slug slid from my hands. It dropped a few inches in the air, then began a rapid ascent. Within a few minutes, it had vanished above the trees.

“There it goes,” I said. “Off home.” The word caught strangely in my throat.

Valain glanced at me, then draped one of his arms over my shoulder. His fingers squeezed my arm. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured. I leaned against him and we watched the stars above.

[popatochisssp]

Make Your Mark, 10/10

Series: Undertale, Horrortale Relationship(s): HT!Papyrus/Reader Chapter Warnings: mentions of death, implications of past murder/cannibalism, nothing explicit; a panic attack

AO3 Link

In a world where soulmates exist, monsters and humans have one thing in common: the first time two soulmates touch, a mark randomly appears somewhere–anywhere– on their bodies to represent their match.

It still doesn’t make relationships easier…but maybe it does make them a little more interesting!

Papyrus could easily say that it was the best date he’d ever had in his life… and not only because he could count the number of dates he’d been on with one hand.

You, his wonderful datemate, had been taking it upon yourself to show him all of the cool, fun things a cool, fun couple like yourselves could get up to here on the surface and he really had to hand it to you: the waterpark was one of your most fantastic ideas yet!

He was…admittedly too big for a lot of the attractions—most of the high-velocity slides, as thrilling as they looked, just weren’t a safe fit for him, designed for humans roughly half his height—but Papyrus was delighted to find that there were plenty of things he could enjoy without risk of maiming himself.

(He’d made a point of doing a few mental calculations before waiting in line for anything dodgy-looking, anyway, just to be sure. Not for the first time, he thanked the stars that he was such an avid reader, and that Sans kept approximately ten billion physics textbooks around the house at any given moment for him to have read and reread a hundred times when he was bored!)

(…he was even willing to thank Sans for being so responsive by text whenever he wanted to be extra sure his math was right. The handful of thumbs-up emojis he’d gotten back with his waterproof phone before potentially risking life and limb had been really reassuring!)

But!

He was having a great time!

The hot sun in the beautiful blue sky made every splash of cool, chlorinated water on his bones feel divine, rivaled only by your beaming presence beside him while he enjoyed it.

His favorite thing so far was definitely the wave-pool, watching you bob in the rippling water like the cutest buoy that ever was.

He’d managed to distract you twice before you caught on that he was doing it on purpose, because you were adorable when you caught a wave right to the face and had to sputter and shake it off, all embarrassed and disoriented.

You only got cuter when you tried to ‘yell’ at him for it and the urge to scoop you up and pinch your squishy human cheek was almost too powerful to resist!

It was good! It was fun! Papyrus was having a wonderful date with you!

Tense is important to note here.

Was, because it seems pretty clear to Papyrus that what he’s doing now is completely and utterly ruining everything.

Funny how one dying child could do that.

Papyrus isn’t sure on the details, it all happened very fast—a woman yelling, a gathering crowd, a lifeguard pulling a very small body out of the water—and he’d been three steps forward, ready to declare himself as a nurse, someone who could help…

And then there was a flicker of static in the air, the energy of a small soul winking out of existence.

And Papyrus just…froze.

He doesn’t know why.

He doesn’t, it’s stupid, he is no stranger to death, he’s seen it dozens of times, he sees it every day at work!

But it wasn’t supposed to be here…

All he knows is that it felt like everything in him was locking up at once and it took everything he had to mutter, “Excuse Me,” to you before running off to the nearest changing room.

To hide, like a coward.

He’s so mad at himself and he feels so helpless, slumped against a wall of lockers trying to make his own panicking body cooperate; trying to get his legs back under him, trying to breathe normally, trying to Stop. Fucking. Shaking.

But he can’t.

Even with sockets squeezed painfully shut, he sees that boy, his grief-stricken mother holding him…and he thinks of Sans.

Sans, looking devastated and broken, with blood on his hands and a disturbingly limp human in his arms, begging his brother to help him.

The body, just the first in a line of way too many, laid out on his kitchen counter, dead empty meat that he had to… because everyone was hungry, everyone was starving, and it was already done, Sans had already… so he had to do this part, for everyone, but stars above, the blood, the smell, the taste…!

It always comes back like this, crystal-clear, and Papyrus feels nausea roiling through the stomach he doesn’t even have.

He’s been out of his braces for years—why are his teeth hurting so bad now…?

He clamps his hands over his mouth and hunches down into himself, wishing his own rattling would drown out everything else in his skull.

“…Papyrus…?”

And he freezes again.

No. No, Please, No, Not…

But he can’t catch a break because there you are, standing right in front of him, so sweetly concerned and the shame strikes like a lightning bolt, sizzling all the way down to his soul.

“No,” he gasps aloud, “I…You’re Not Supposed To…”

Be here, see him like this, know that he’s like this.

You’re supposed to see his good side: The Great Papyrus, cheerful and resilient and strong, recovered from the trauma of the Underground in every way!

You’re supposed to admire him, you’re supposed to think he’s cool and tough and never, ever see this weak and stupid thing he is sometimes when it all comes back…

The sound he makes is downright pathetic, dripping with despair, and he folds into himself even more, wishing he could disappear.

You…seem to have other plans.

Papyrus jumps when you throw your arms around his shoulders and squeeze him in the tightest hug you’ve ever given him—the first hug you’ve ever given him.

“Hey,” you say, and your voice is so soft and so kind when you say it that he doesn’t even think of trying to pull away. “It’s okay, you’re… I’m here, it’s…it’s okay.”

The words, so earnestly spoken, make Papyrus sob, just once…which is stupid, because…because he’s not even crying.

…Is he?

Suddenly, he’s not sure of anything anymore except what you said: you’re here and it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay…

He breaks.

Without a second thought, he picks you up, hugging you tightly against his body while he shakes and falls apart and even as it’s worse, somehow it’s…better than it was before.

You’re so warm and soft and slightly damp, like a soggy teddy-bear that can pet him and whisper soothing words and kiss the top of his skull, and Papyrus doesn’t think he ever wants to put you down again.

Especially when, ever so slowly, his body starts to cancel all the blaring Panic Mode alarms and he’s left weakly clinging to you with his face safely hidden in your neck.

It’s…it’s a real, actual struggle to put you down.

He’s pretty sure his cheekbones are glowing and he can’t quite make himself meet your eye.

“That… I’m Sorry You Had To See That,” he mumbles reluctantly. “That Was…Very Embarrassing.”

You stare up at him with hands on your hips and you cluck your tongue.

“No, it wasn’t,” you say, and the certainty in your tone is such that he almost believes you. “That was…a messed up thing that happened out there. I’d be more worried if you weren’t upset at all.”

Oh, Stars, The Child…

Papyrus frowns before he speaks, scared to hear the answer but also needing to know…

“The Boy,” he asks, “Was… Did He…?”

Your smile is the most reassuring thing he’s ever seen.

“He’s fine,” you promise, “the lifeguard did CPR and he coughed up half the pool. Guess he wasn’t a strong swimmer and took off his water-wings when mom wasn’t looking. He got an earful over that, but they left for the hospital just to make sure he was okay.”

Oh, Humans.

Papyrus would never cease to be amazed by their ability to survive the deadliest of things, even coming back from the dead if somebody fixed the problem quickly enough.

Humans were so strong, so incredible…

Papyrus looks at you and feels his expression soften.

So Amazing…

He opens his mouth, ready to deliver the most flattering, touching, affection-filled compliment he’s ever uttered…

Only for you to gasp and mutter a surprised expletive.

When Papyrus follows your gaze and looks down at himself, he sees the source of your impolite language and…may even repeat it himself.

There just aren’t polite words to properly encapsulate the feeling of shock at seeing your soulmark for the first time.

Even if you have no earthly idea what it is.

All Papyrus can tell, looking down at himself, is that it’s bright and it’s everywhere, yellow lines squiggling across his entire thorax and even tagging his humeri with a stray lash here and there.

“…Well,” he says at length. “That Certainly Happened.”

Papyrus has always had a talent for understatement.

But there are more important matters at stake here than that.

“I Hate To Ask, But You Seem To Have The Better Vantage Point,” he admits, “So… What… Is It? I Can’t Quite Make It Out From This Angle.”

You take a few moments to process the question.

Papyrus is happy to wait while you sort it all out—you can’t spell ‘patience’ without…at least two letters from his name!

“It’s…it’s a…” you sound so stunned to be saying it, like you can’t believe your own words, but eventually you manage, “it’s a sun…”

Papyrus isn’t surprised at all.

It’s perfect.

Unable to restrain his grin, he finally gets to his feet, his soul bubbling with excitement at this wonderful revelation.

It more than makes up for that bit of unpleasantness that he’s on a date with his soulmate, one date of surely many, and he’s sure he can salvage the rest of it!

But when he moves toward the exit of the changing room, you don’t follow.

Papyrus says your name, but it’s clear he doesn’t have your attention—not with the way you’re frantically examining your arms and legs and every bit of exposed skin you can see.

You’re looking for a mark to answer the one you’d left on him…and not having much luck, by the look of things.

“Come on,” you grumble to yourself, managing to sound both frustrated and distressed, “where is it?!”

Papyrus comes back over to you.

“Don’t Worry About That,” he gently chides you. “It’s Not Important.”

Your head whips up, your eyes comically wide. “What do you mean, it’s not important?! It’s your soulmark!”

Papyrus laughs. “Well, Yes, In Theory, But I May Not Have Given You One.”

You just gape at him that time, utterly bewildered by his casual tone.

“It’s Perfectly Okay If I Didn’t,” he continues, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder now that he can; now that the touch-barrier between you has already been broken. “Just Because You’re My Soulmate Doesn’t Mean I Have To Be Yours—I’m Not Going To Break Up With You, Or Enjoy This Date Any Less, You Know!”

“…but it’s! Probably here somewhere!” you insist, starting to tug at your swimsuit, and Papyrus stills your hand.

“Maybe It Is!” he agrees. “But You Don’t Have To Get Naked Right Now Just To Look For It! I’m Sure There Are Much Better Places To See Your Soulmark For The First Time Than In A Filthy, Bateria-Ridden Public Changing Room, Don’t You Think?”

You pause, looking around like you were remembering where you both were.

And then you start to laugh.

“There, Now!” Papyrus grins triumphantly, “I Knew You’d See Reason! Now, Why Don’t We Go Try Out That Slothful River Of Yours In The Meantime?”

That makes you perk up a little. You had been so excited about that attraction and so (not so secretly) disappointed when Papyrus hadn’t really wanted to go.

“Really?” you wonder. “You want to, now?”

Papyrus shrugs. “I Suppose I Can Grin And Bear It, For You! Especially If We Can Share A Tube…”

He says this with the emphasis normally reserved for very saucy activities indeed, being sure to waggle his browbones at you ridiculously enough to make you laugh again.

“Alright,” you agree, revitalized, “alright, yeah, let’s go!”

Your mark is perfect: you truly are his sunshine.

…and as you bounce off just a few steps ahead of him, back out into the light of day, Papyrus sees what he is to you, painted across your back in a colorful tableau that nearly makes his jaw drop off.

He thanks his lucky stars that he’s composed and in control of himself again by the time he sees it.

It means that he’s able to play it cool until he can snap the ideal selfie for you about halfway through the lazy river, while you happily doze against his chest.

The hardy desert garden between your shoulder blades—a cluster of blooming cacti and colorful, concentric succulents bursting forth onto your skin—looks fantastic under actual sunlight, but even more incredible beside the daisy-yellow sun rays you’d seared into his bones.

Papyrus is willing to admit to…a small bit of bias.

But only a little.

UT!Sans | UT!Papyrus | US!Sans | US!Papyrus | UF!Sans | UF!Papyrus | SF!Sans | SF!Papyrus | HT!Sans

[twitchesandstitches]

“Hey,” Damara said softly, and probably a bit dangerously. That might go without saying; it was Damara, after all.

Tavros swallowed. A little bit shy, a little bit sort of terrified. He shifted back a bit as she approached, his shirt feeling uncomfortably tight across his broad, muscular body, sleeves outlining every curve of his arms as he cautiously waved, flexing a bicep the size of a full-grown watermelon. As she got closer, he couldn't help but stand up straighter, swallowing again, trying his best to suck in his stomach. Yes, it was big and a bit on the pudgy side, but it was almost all muscle, and that didn't do much good for him.

Damara stopped a few feet from him, her shadow cast over him. Big as he was, close as he was to the average maximum height of the male spectrum for trolls, he was tiny compared to Damara. He loomed up from somewhere around the region of her upper thigh, and he could plainly see that it was several times as wide and thick as he was; round, the strong muscles softly defined, the black carapace lightly tinted with rust-tones so bright they looked dark red in the right light.

He looked up, past a belly that was fairly big and solid with muscle, and couldn't see her face at all. He just knew she was smirking down at him intently, he could feel her doing it at him. (That, and it was essentially Damara's default expression when she wasn't enraged.) The problem was, her rumblespheres got in the way. They were massive, the size of troll-issue exercise balls relative to her size, and she was holding herself in such a way that he couldn't possibly see her face. A hint of her long horns, certainly, bit of hair, but nothing of her face.

Damara was gorgeous, and frightening, all at once, beauty and badass-ness blending together to something that was intoxicating and terrifying at the same time. His biomechanical legs tensed, impressively large backside clenching and loosening as bits of his mind couldn't quite decide between staying there or discreetly zipping out of there.

That sweater. The only thing Damara seemed to be wearing was a sweater, if you could call it that, and he wasn't sure what to call it. Heavy knit rust-red fabric, evidently in the style of the nation of Beforus that Damara originally called home. It covered her breasts except for a few inviting outlying regions, the dark skin showing up nicely against the color of her sweater, the lower sections sliding around her waist in a wide band and stopping just short of her upper thighs. There was no back at all, the sides exposed as well, and he could see the massive globes of her backside rising high over her body, wobbling and shifting as she moved and the sweater constrained her figure just enough to give her extra bounce.

Damara carefully lowered herself down, body wobbling invitingly all the while. Tavros gulped, entranced by the display. He'd heard all the terrible stories about Damara, but she'd never done anything to him, never even hinted anything like that. Maybe she was working her way up to it...?

Her rumblespheres lowered as she leaned over enough to look him in the eyes, which was a considerable degree as he was less than half her size. Due to the sheer size of her rumblespheres, they occupied all the space between her body and the ground, actually buoying her up a little bit. They squished up as one thick arm clasped her knee, the other holding a cigarette burning dully between her very large and thick lips. Tavros couldn't help but stare at the dark red shapes, thicker around than his palm, and his eyes darted up to her eyes.

Pure rust, and they were older than they should be. He felt bashfully aware that his own brown eyes still had a hint of childish yellow in them, though it had been years since he'd matured to adulthood.

The cigarette floated away from her, twirling away and the smoke turning into spirals, going over his horns. The cigarette extinguished itself, and without thinking about it Tavros politely took it and placed it into a waste disposal receptacle. Damara blinked and raised an eyebrow. “You are...” she paused, looking for the right sort of words. “Too nice?”

It was a little hesitant, like she wasn't sure she'd thought of the right phrasing. “Um...” Tavros looked at the ground. That was hardly any better, because his view was dominated by rumblespheres bigger around than he was. He instead looked straight up to the sky. He could feel her smirking again. “I guess so?”

“Hmm.” Damara stood a little straighter, still on level with him but adjusting herself so she was just tall enough to remind him how toweringly big and curvaceous she was. Her free hand patted him on the cheek, claws lingering on her skin. Her palm was big enough to cover his face, the edges of her claws light on her claws.

Tavros got the impression that she hadn't been expecting him to do that in particular, he wasn't sure if she liked it or not.

Regardless, her hand was still on him. He'd expected her to basically grab him and disappear with him, and he was still standing where he wanted so... progress? “You,” Damara said finally. “Come with me.”

Tavros tilted his head. “Huh?”

She snorted. “Alternians. Slow.” She moved forward, and Tavros squeaked as her face approached, lips parting. Her rumblespheres got there before the rest of there, the sweater enfolding him and twin spheres completely overtaking his whole body, from head to shoulders he was surrounded in softness. She was so warm, made warmer by the sweater, and it was actually rather comfortable before he realized just how soft and squishy her rumblespheres were, a faint sloshing around him, his arms pinned to his sides by her encroaching body-

Her lips met his face. She was bigger enough than him that her kiss took in his entire face, rust-red lips softly meeting the entire part of his face from chin to just below his horns. The world went dark, went soft, went warm. Soft and passionate, the squishy pressure around the rest of him getting stronger as her arms wrapped around her breasts and pressed in, every inch of him buoyed up by her body.

Her kiss went deeper, ferocious, like if she stopped kissing him right then and there the world would collapse beneath his feet. Her arms squeezed harder, he squeaked into her mouth as the wobbling squishinesss against every inch of him was too much and his bulges uncurled from his nook, soft metal against his pants and inquisitively moving against her breasts. Damara rumbled approvingly, kissing him harder before finally releasing him with a very faint noise that might have been a pop.

As her head moved back, reluctantly but acknowledging that Tavros did need to breathe, their horns tapped together nicely.

Her eyelashes fluttered at him as she stood up straight, Tavros still clutched between her rumblespheres and starting to sink now. “I...” Damara spoke slowly, trying her very hardest to find the right words and make a proper impression and not screw this up. “Wish for you to... hrm. See my hive?” She raised an eyebrow challengingly. “And then... breakfast?”

“I, okay?” Wait, he thought. It was the afternoon. You had breakfast in the morning. He followed this train of thought, extrapolating appropriately...

Damara sighed, but waited patiently.

“...Oh. Oh!” Tavros blinked up at her. “You... okay? Um. Okay!”

Damara smiled and patted his head. Without another word, she marched off back to her hive, Tavros in tow and quite comfortable in her cleavage.

[youfindmeunafraid]

Deep Water

When drowning  in deep water, you can only try to stay afloat. Grab tight hold of any raft, any flotation device. A big, soft, squishy orange life-buoy. A chunk of drift wood with rusted nails stuck through. Grab it and hold on.

And when the squishy life-buoy's slick rubber slips out your grasp, you grab tighter to that chunk of wood, you let those nails sink into your hands and lock you in place. Pain is preferable to drowning. And blood may attract predators, but death is imminent, so let yourself bleed.

And when you hear someone shouting from close-by, when you see you're not the only one drowning, you kick your abandoned life-buoy to them. You try to keep them afloat too. And when they slip off, you offer to share your wood with its nails, and you apologise for the blood.

And when they'd rather drown than bleed, you offer yourself. Let them hold onto to your shoulders until your shoulders ache. Put their arms around your chest, let them use your ribs for purchase. Let them hold onto your neck. Choke while they breathe.

And when they can't hold anymore, you let them drag you down into that deep water with them. Don't let them drown alone. Pull your hand off those nails, taste the blood in the water you swallow, be glad you tried, but don't let them drown alone. Drown together, don’t survive alone.

Your hands hurt anyway, don't they? You're tired too, aren't you? Your lungs will burn when you breathe in that deep water, but only for a moment.

[ebficnotes]

Lorebook: Pocket Guide to the Empire, 1st Edition/The Wild Region - the sload

Thras:

The coral kingdoms of Thras, a set of islands southwest of the Chain in the Abecean Sea, are home to a godless tribe of beastmen called the Sload.

These amphibious slugmen, perhaps the most hated race in all of Tamriel, were long thought to be extinct. After the Sload released the Thrassian Plague in 1E2200, which claimed more than half of the continent's population, the largest allied naval force in Tamrielic history sailed to Thras, slaughtered all the Sload they could find, and, with great unknown magicks, sunk their coral kingdoms into the sea.

Sadly, it has been reported that Thras has risen again, and that its masters, the Sload, have recently been seen in various areas of Tamriel. Citizens are encouraged to avoid these beasts, and contact the nearest Imperial authorities when they learn of one's existence. Much is remembered about the slugmen, and has been collected for you in the nearby sidebar. Be vigilant.

Collected from the Notes of Bendu Olo, West King of Anvil and Baron-Admiral of the All Flags Navy, and Dealer of Swift Justice to the Foul Spot of Thras:

Life Cycle: Juvenile: Disgusting little amorphous grubs.

Adolescent: Soft, squishy octopuslike things that cannot emerge on land.

Adult: No outside limit to age or size. Individuals seen on land in Tamriel tend to be older, corpulent adults; the trait of greed is common in these individuals, and they excel as merchants and smuggling entrepreneurs. Younger adults lack essential surface survival skills, and are rarely seen on land. Older adults collapse under their own weight unless buoyed by water.

Gifts: Perfect memory. They cannot read or write, but they remember everything they see or hear.

Magic-adept: All land-traveling Sload know the Recall spell at a high level of skill, and use it casually and frequently as the default mode of travel. It also provides the best defense; they teleport out of difficulty instinctively. We must be on our feet!

Liabilities: Poor grasping ability, weak tool use. [Sload slowly adapt their outer integument to conform with surfaces and objects, permitting them to pick things up or climb things like disgusting slugs.] Slow! They think very quickly, but never enough to suit their careful, deliberate personalities. They move slowly, and act slowly. It takes them a long time to come to decisions. They can answer questions quickly, if they choose to… which they seldom do.

Cautious. They have no word in their language for adventure. The closest equivalent means 'tragic disaster'. All their heroic myths are about individuals who sit around and think for years and years, consulting cautiously with wise Sload, until finally they act - always deliberately, always successfully. All their mythic villains act quickly, and always fail.

Morally Repugnant: Every Sload individual encountered has been a grasping, callous, godless, self-loving schemer. They do not seem to experience or display any familiar human emotions, though they are skilled diplomats and actors, and produce gross, exaggerated parodies of human behavior [laughter at lame jokes, weeping at apparent misfortunes, furious tirades at folly or ineptitude]. They have no compunctions about blasphemy, theft, torture, kidnapping, murder, or genocide. They break laws whenever they calculate it in their best interests. They do not perceive or honor friendship or loyalty in the familiar human terms, except for a cheerful affinity for those who defeat them or trick them in any endeavor. The adult form does not apparently reproduce, and shows no interest in the fate of its offspring.

https://en.uesp.net/wiki/Lore:Pocket_Guide_to_the_Empire,_1st_Edition/The_Wild_Region

[junker-town]

Jimmy Garoppolo was good enough to win a Super Bowl until he wasn’t

Photo by Kevin C. Cox/Getty Images

Jimmy Garoppolo was solid for three quarters ... then it all came crashing down.

The biggest question the 49ers faced this postseason boiled down to their $137 million man. Would Jimmy Garoppolo — he of the 208 total passing yards in his first two playoff starts — be able to stand up under the bright lights of the NFL’s biggest stage?

Over the course of three quarters, and even in the midst of a very Jimmy Garoppolo brain-fart interception, he proved San Francisco’s faith was well-placed. Then, as the walls closed in around him and the Chiefs mounted their typical postseason comeback, Garoppolo tapped in to his favorite Chinua Achebe novel. Things fell apart.

A 20-10 lead turned into 20-17. Then a 24-20 deficit. Then, finally, a 31-20 loss. In that span, Garoppolo completed only three of his 11 passes. He took a sack he absolutely could not afford to take on fourth-and-10. His final pass of the game — a last-gasp heave downfield, trailing by 11 points with under a minute left on the clock — was, fittingly, intercepted.

After outplaying Patrick Mahomes for the first three quarters, Garoppolo was forced to watch his fellow QB get showered by red and yellow confetti and tell the world all about his Disney plans. How’d we get there? Let’s start with the good:

Garoppolo excelled when he was asked to make intermediate throws

Garoppolo didn’t throw downfield much during the Niners’ 13-win regular season. Per SIS, he threw only 32 passes 20+ yards downfield, completing 19 of them. That gave him the best deep-ball completion rate among all NFL starters last fall, but also showcased Kyle Shanahan’s reticence to air out the ball.

That trend persisted in the Super Bowl. Garoppolo only attempted two passes of 20+ yards, doubling his total from his first two playoff starts. It was a different story in the intermediate space 10-19 yards downfield.

San Francisco’s potent rushing offense averaged 6.4 yards per rush Sunday, which drew Kansas City’s linebackers a little closer to the line of scrimmage every play. That, coupled with the sticky press coverage of the Chiefs’ cornerbacks, left a squishy chunk of open space in the middle of the field where Garoppolo thrived. He threw nine passes into that intermediate range — mostly to Emmanuel Sanders and Deebo Samuel — completing six for 101 yards.

The one blemish on that record? An underthrown toss-away (well, it might have been a toss-away) Bashaud Breeland stepped under for a first-half interception. It was just as ugly as it sounds.

Stonecold and Big Mike with the pressure, Breezy with the pick pic.twitter.com/9G79wL3jyV

— Kansas City Chiefs (@Chiefs) February 3, 2020

Pick aside, this was an improvement over his regular season — and proof Garoppolo could unlock an extra gear when his team needed him the most, at least for three quarters. Here’s how he performed on those throws through the rest of 2019, which also suggests why the Niners may have found those opportunities in the middle of the field; Kansas City wasn’t expecting it.

With Garoppolo moving the chains for big gains through the air and a yard-churning rushing attack keeping the Chiefs off balance, the Niners didn’t punt until the fourth quarter. That’s where everything went haywire.

The 49ers put this Super Bowl win over Garoppolo’s shoulders, for better or worse (worse. It was worse.)

Through 3.5 quarters of Super Bowl 54, the 49ers led the Chiefs 20-10. Garoppolo’s numbers looked like this:

22 passes

18 completions

195 yards

8.9 yards per pass

1 touchdown

1 interception

a 99.8 passer rating

Those are Super Bowl MVP numbers! But he was also buoyed by rushing game that had run for 109 yards on only 17 touches. Shanahan, as he is wont to do in the Super Bowl with a lead, turned away from the run. The Niners ran the ball just five times in the fourth quarter, one of which was a Garoppolo scramble on third-and-long. That made sense when San Francisco was working on a comeback in the final three minutes, but not as much in the 12 minutes that preceded it.

This focused the spotlight on Garoppolo, who couldn’t withstand the pressure. His final four drives, all in the fourth quarter, ended with a punt, punt, turnover on downs, and an interception. He completed only two of his final nine passes as the Chiefs crashed through his line and forced him to step up and attempt throws in the face of newfound pressure:

That push up front messed with Garoppolo’s timing, forced him into bad throws, and effectively scrambled his circuits. He suddenly couldn’t hit targets downfield. His passes got swallowed up at the line of scrimmage as Kansas City blew through play-action fakes that didn’t fool anyone.

Per Pro Football Focus’s Eric Eager, Garoppolo completed just one of his nine passes when the Chiefs brought pressure. Kansas City turned the opportunity created by the Niners’ stagnant offense into back-to-back touchdowns and a lead with less than three minutes to play.

That left Garoppolo to attempt a game-winning drive in the Super Bowl — and after guiding San Francisco to its own 49-yard line, he threw the one pass he’ll most want back from Sunday night:

3rd and 10 - game on the line, wide open WR for the score and this happens - What is Jimmy Garoppolo's future ? #SFvsKC #49ers #GoNiners #Chiefs #ChiefsKingdom #SuperBowl #NFL #NFL100 #SportsTalkLine pic.twitter.com/UydkwOMDg5

— Steven Van Over (@StevenVanOver) February 3, 2020

Garoppolo made the right risk on third-and-10 to target an open Emmanuel Sanders deep downfield. He just threw the wrong pass. One play later, the Chiefs’ pass rush would envelop him up on fourth down for what was effectively a game-clinching sack. He’d try one more deep pass on the night. It was intercepted in what turned out to be the Niners’ last offensive snap of the 2019 season.

This doesn’t have to be Jimmy Garoppolo’s legacy (but it might be)

When the pressure was dialed up to max, from both a Super Bowl and pass rush standpoint, Garoppolo faded. He couldn’t see through the fog of the Chiefs’ onslaught, and that doomed Shanahan’s pass-heavy approach to the fourth quarter. While San Francisco couldn’t afford to let off the gas against Kansas City, Steve Spagnuolo’s blitz-heavy defense meant the 49ers couldn’t effectively pass, either.

So what comes next for Garoppolo? He played three fairly strong quarters of football at the Super Bowl, which ultimately was only good enough to break the Bay Area’s collective heart. Even so, this wasn’t a lost performance in the wake of his first season as a full-time, 16-game starting quarterback. For nearly 50 minutes, he looked like a Super Bowl MVP. Then, once the Chiefs figured him out, he didn’t.

That’s a problem for the Niners. It’s not an unsolvable one. The difference between hoisting the Lombardi Trophy for San Francisco may have come down to 10 minutes of play from a 28-year-old quarterback. Now the 49ers have the offseason to figure out how to set those 10 minutes right in 2020.

[princettegil]

(Personal) Pros and cons of me possibly getting breast reduction surgery:

Pros: less neck/shoulder pain and possibly less headaches, being able to run without being knocked in the face or feeling the pain of them flopping about, less sweat and copious uses of baby powder, being able to fit in smaller or more fitted shirts (especially those that button up without worrying of putting someone's eye out or my boobs popping out), likewise probably fitting/looking better in my current clothes, possibly having more clothing choices due to smaller bust size, also finding and possibly having cheaper/prettier bras to pick from (sure I'll still be the same band size but my cup size would decrease and that may make things easier to find and less expensive (srsly, no one should have to pay $50 for a bra unless it comes with cell phone and utility pockets or a built-in defense system) that is, if I can find bras in my large band size with smaller cups? I don't know what cup size it would make me so it's a hard thing to research), no more accidentally knocking into people and objects because of giant tits, being able to be proud of my breasts being held upright instead of looking like cow udders, liking my boobs at all, and most importantly, being at least a tiny bit closer to my ideal body type (still fat af but at least I'd have a more androgynous chest and one that would be flatter in a binder. Right now even a good binder just makes me look like I'm a C-D cup instead of a DDD orz.) This would also help with gender issues and general body dysphoria problems.

Cons: Less squishy for people who hug me, explaining to my parents what I'm doing and why and having them be okay with it, probably having my sis want her's reduced even though hers are already smaller than mine but she always tries to take over everything I want or am doing, no more using boobs as air bag-style defense when I hit against a wall, no more using them to warm my hands in winter, no more sitting plates on them or using them to hold shit, possibly no more cleavage to hide stuff in, possibly no longer being able to be the Queen of floating in water since they seem to act as my own personal buoy, no longer knowing what good points my body may have to others since my only sexy point was my boobs (and they weren't much with their shape unless I was in a good bra), no longer having anything in common with several female family members and friends, not knowing my place in silly conversation or family and friend teasing since my boobs were always so much of the conversation and all I really had to speak of most of the time, feeling oddly like I no longer have my real boobs even though they will still be mine and real but just smaller (it should be the same as your tummy still being yours and real after liposuction but somehow it feels like I'd be losing a part of myself that really defined me and like I'd be lying to others with how I'd look after since they may have never seen my real/current chest), potentially disappointing anyone I currently know who may have been interested in me because of or liked my boobs.

[purrpickle]

Random Pezberry Thought of the Day #118

It was second period, time for Brittany to check on the mouse family in the janitor’s closet. Or maybe that was fourth period? Lunch? Brittany shrugged. Whatever time it was, she knew they’d show up anyway because she’d bought ice cream on the way to school.

But when she walked up to the closet, the carton of ice cream in her hands squishy and warm, her eyes grew wide when a loud moan issued from inside. She knew that voice… Placing her hand onto the doorknob, she turned it.

A squeal, echoed by another, and the door, along with two bodies, tumbled into Brittany. She fell.

“Oh my god!” Rachel jerked, fighting her way out from under Santana’s body and pushing a hand into Brittany’s stomach, making her ‘oof!’, hands to her ass as she jumped up. “What did I land on?”

Brittany groaned, rubbing the back of her head. She looked down at her chest, where the mouse family’s meal was now squished and leaking all over her. “No! You owe me more ice cream!”

“Which we’ll get you, B,” Santana assured her, groaning as she pushed herself up and leaning down to give her best friend a hand up. “God. That was fun. Not.”

Rachel huffed. “You told me you locked the door,” she said, trying to ignore the ice cream seeping through her skirt, pushing her hair back from her face and patting it down.

Rolling her eyes, Santana wrapped her hand around Rachel’s wrist, starting to tug her down the hallway. “I thought I had. Blame your insanely short skirt.

“B? I gotta go clean the Berry up,” she said over her shoulder, winking, “Come find me later. I’ll get you all the ice cream you want, kay?”

Brittany nodded, pouting down at her ice cream. Well... The mouse family could still could lick the carton, couldn’t they? And if she left her shirt in there as well, then they could have a mixture of food and materials to make a nest! Instantly buoyed by that realization, Brittany pulled her shirt over her head. Then, pushing the closet door open, she set the half-full, still leaking carton down onto the floor, making her shirt into a comfy looking nest next to it, ice cream up. There. 

Now, to find Puck to get his football jersey from him, she decided, standing up and starting to amble down the hallway in the direction Santana and Rachel had gone. It was fun walking around in that. 

It was too bad she’d found out the hard way she couldn’t walk around school in just a bra, Brittany sighed. That had been a nice day until Coach Beiste had caught her...

[kdinthecity]

Confessions of a Teenage Sugar Queen: Underwater

Welcome to Day Two of @zutaraweek. Here is the previous chapter from Day One, Chapter 1: Fired Up.

The Memorial Day holiday weekend marks the end of school and beginning of summer. Ozai—excuse me, Mr. Kasai, ever so graciously invited “Azula’s friends” to their family beach house on Ember Island. Dad must not have known we’d all be there without adult supervision, otherwise he’d never agree to this. Especially since Sokka is here with his girlfriend, Suki. Ugh, they are so disgusting together and not even subtle about it! I actually respected her—a cheerleader, taekwondo black belt, honors student who nailed the coveted coast guard internship for the summer. But when I stepped on something cold, wet, and squishy in the bathroom on the first morning of our beach getaway... just, ew.

I know it’s not their first time. And I know people do it, alright? Hell, Jet and I did everything but. I just want it to be special. And with someone I… dare I say it? Love.

Can you fall in love in high school? My rational brain says no. I write about it in my fictional stories, but that’s the only way I’ll entertain the idea. Besides, I have responsibilities. Gran Gran is great at taking care of us, but she isn’t getting any younger. Dad is gone over half the year. Sokka can barely match his own socks much less wash them. And for my junior year, I plan to take college level calculus, chemistry, and political science. I don’t have time for a boyfriend and certainly not any notions of love.

“Zuko was looking for you!” Ty Lee plops down next to me on my beach towel. I had distanced myself from the others, saying I want to work on my “tan.” My skin is dark enough already, so anyone with eyes can see through my outright lie. Even Toph wouldn’t be fooled. Although I swear that girl detects falsehood by the catch in your breath or the rhythm of your heartbeat. Toph teases that she can predict the next earthquake through her feet, but I bet she would feel it before the rest of us do.

It takes a while for Ty Lee's comment to register. Why would Zuko be looking for me? He hasn’t spoken a word to me since we arrived. I’m pissed about this, actually, and two can play the game of cold shouldering.

“He found the surfboards,” Ty Lee continues. “Did you want to surf?”

I do love surfing. Mom taught me. Sokka hates it; the uncoordinated doofus always falls off. But I’m a natural, almost as if I can command the waves. I'll be the bigger person and call a truce on this no-talking thing. Maybe Zuko surfs, too.

He doesn’t.

He doesn’t even like the water! He looks at the ocean like it’s going to swallow him whole. This could put up a serious roadblock in our relationship, I mean—friendship! Gah, we don’t even have that! I’ve spoken exactly 17 words to him. Why do I know? Because I've replayed that stupid encounter in my head, thinking I could have said something much more interesting. It would be a miracle if creepy, sexy scar boy ever talks to me again. Like when he gave me a board, he just grunted. And I took it without saying thank you! I clearly suck monkeyballs at conversation.

“Katara?”

“Hmm?” Get ready for case in point.

“I think I gave you the wrong surfboard.”

All I can think about is how tight my wetsuit feels all of the sudden and how his golden eyes shimmer in the midday sun. Even the half-lidded one is so striking, like his gaze is on fire. Zuko barely says a few words and apparently possesses the power to melt my insides and freeze my brain all at the same time.

“Huh?” Yes, I know. Eloquent.

“I gave you my sister’s board,” Zuko continues, a slight flush rising to his cheeks. “From when she was younger. I didn’t know how experienced you were.”

So… he was watching me. Again.

He shrugs. “Um. Maybe you want to try my mother’s instead?”

My tongue feels thick, but somehow I manage. “Yeah. Sure. That’d be great.”

He hesitates before handing over the board, tracing the rail with long nimble fingers. I don’t recall Azula ever mentioning their mother, so I wonder.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll take good care of it.”

He simply nods, and while the sadness in his expression is fleeting, it did not go unnoticed.

I distance myself again at the beachside bonfire that night. I much prefer the cool ocean breeze whipping through my hair over the hot stifling smell of burning wood. From my vantage point on a rocky ledge nearby, I can see the group down below. Azula assembles the ingredients for s'mores, taking a little too much pleasure in stabbing marshmallows with long metal skewers.

Sokka and Suki are snuggled up together in the same position they were earlier. With her head tilted back and lips slightly parted, I can only guess what’s going on underneath their blanket. Ewww.

Zuko is wearing a Hawaiian print shirt and handing out lei necklaces of all things. I decide he is much more interesting to watch—so awkward and adorable. He tentatively places the flowers around Ty Lee’s neck, obviously trying to look anywhere besides the cleavage spilling from her bikini top. She gives him a peck on the cheek in response. It’s too dark to tell, but I bet his face has turned as red as our school mascot, the firedragon. I wonder if he knows that Ty Lee is into girls.

Zuko’s sister waves him away. Sokka and Suki are making out now, so he avoids them. He’s obviously searching for someone. Could it be me?

Mai.

That girl has complained nonstop since we got here. She hates the sand. She sunburns too easily. Ocean water makes her eyes sting. Zuko doesn’t pay enough attention to her. Zuko won’t leave her alone! UGH!

He gives her TWO leis. And she fucking rolls her eyes at him. That’s it. I’m going for a walk on the beach.

I don’t know how long it’s been, but I have a tendency to lose track of time when I’m out here close to the water. My element.

Someone clears his throat. If he weren’t so wrapped up in his girlfriend—literally—I’d expect Sokka to start worrying and come find me. But no, this isn’t a concerned sibling visit.

“Missed you at the bonfire,” Zuko says.

“Yeah, sorry. I guess I don’t really like fire. It’s too—” Destructive. “—hot.” My throat feels tight again but not for the same reason as before. My thoughts have been... drifting.

“I like fire. As long as it’s controlled.” His voice is sexy as fuck, but surprisingly I am able to find mine this time.

“Well, anything out of control is a bad thing, right?” Control is everything. That’s why I work so hard to maintain it.

“Makes sense. I don’t really like the ocean for that reason. The waves seem… uncontrollable. Or controlled by a force that we can’t wield.”

Ah, he likes his control, too. “The waves are controlled by the moon,” I say.

“I know, and the moon is untouchable. At least with fire, humans can light it, contain it, and put it out. Y’know?”

“I think I’d trust the moon over a man with a match any day.”

He regards me for a few seconds with those sad, striking eyes of his, then laughs. “Maybe so.”

He turns to leave, and I’m searching my brain for something, anything to say to make him stay. I want to hear him laugh again.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” He’s suddenly back in my field of vision, and he’s closer than ever before. He smells like campfire and chocolate, and I didn’t think it possible, but those eyes are now smoldering. My breath catches as he gently places a lei around my neck; I shudder when warm fingers brush past my left ear.

He’s gone, and I discover this is no cheap party store necklace, either. The flowers are real, and their fragrance is intoxicating. I might feel high for a different reason, though.

“If you don’t like the ocean, then why did you apply for this position?” I’m basically high on two cups of coffee and a cocoa almond flaxseed energy bar. I’ve been anxiously waiting for our internship to start. We’re already on a boat first thing, and Zuko is gripping the side of it for dear life. Hahn immediately and shamelessly attached himself to Yue like a barnacle to a buoy, so it is only Zuko and me positioned here portside.

“It’s for PR,” he replies.

“What?”

He sighs. “Look, you wouldn’t understand.”

I don’t think his knuckles could get any whiter… or his face any greener. I can’t help but worry.

“Are you gonna be OK?” I ask when he’s clearly not.

“Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No.”

“Can you maybe… explain? I can try to understand.” I stare at the right side of his face, chiseled and flawless. Admittedly, he’s beautiful. It's my turn to sigh.

His eyes remain fixated on the water below. “OK… it’s for my father’s business. To improve his reputation. It looks good for tech companies to support noble causes, give back to the environment. My father thinks I’m useless as an employee, so this is how he wants me to restore honor to the company name.”

“Oh.”

Even though I am mesmerized by his perfect profile, his statement doesn’t settle well with me at all. Of course, I want the position so it will look good on my college applications, and maybe that's a little selfish and not that much different. But I also care about the important stuff we're doing. Nobody ultimately goes into nonprofit work for personal glory, right? Maybe people do it to feel good about themselves, but somehow I know this is not Zuko's intention in this situation. It won't be fulfilling unless he feels something for it.

“Is that how you see it? As just a job to make your father look good?” I ask.

“Katara… I just need to… survive, OK? I need to graduate, get into a good college, so I can get the hell out of here.”

“But… you’ve got the education position at the Marine Center. How can you teach what you don’t really believe in?”

“I got that position because I have a ton of Future Fire Technology branded freebies to hand out when I go visit places. I’m telling you, Katara. It’s all about PR.”

But it’s not! It’s about speaking truth! And saving lives! And changing minds! That’s what Mom used to…

I can’t look at him anymore. I just can’t. I can only look at our reflections in the water and fight the urge to push him overboard.

What if he can’t swim, though? Is that why he’s afraid?

I look at his pained expression once again, and it seems like he’s already drowning.

The setting is modern day California, specifically Silicon Valley where HS kids are super stressed about stuff like internships because the tech culture is all around them, and Stanford and UC Berkeley are the “local schools.” Ember Island is like Angel Island; it exists solely for recreational purposes. The Marine Science Center is based on two real-life organizations in the Bay Area.

Chapter Three: Steamy  | Chapter Four: The Fall

[kuriquinn]

Fic Prompt/Request: SSS Family Time

Anonymous asked:

Okay, so this last semester sucked. University has definitely taken a toll on me. Thankfully it's almost over. Still, I still have to go trough my exams to call it off completely. Please tell me you have something cute of Sarada ou SasuSaku romantic/funny moment planned out for this week.

AN: Here you go, Anon. I hope this qualifies as cute, Sarada and some SasuSaku. Someone else asked me for a first steps or first words moment, but I wanted to do both, so I’ll give you the first steps and I’ll give that anon the first words (at a later date :P). I feel your pain on the whole end of semester woes. Hang in there, you’ll make it through!

Sasuke maneuvers the hoover around the living room, thinking vaguely about whether it’s possible to get an apparatus that handles better around the corners.

It’s not a topic he ever would have considered worth contemplation, but these days his problems are more of a domestic nature than vengeance fueled ambition.

He’s okay with that.

Especially given the fact his nine-month-old daughter is sitting on a blanket nearby, propped in a bean chair and playing with several wooden shuriken (dulled and rounded until they pass childproof muster, of course). She chats to herself in the usual smattering of actual words and toddler pidgin, all of which is neigh incomprehensible around the dummy in her mouth.

As he ambles past the low cabinet in the hall, absently picking up a few of Sarada’s toys – blocks, a squishy book and a well-loved green dinosaur – he notices a piece of paper on top of the mail pile. It is covered with Sakura’s neat writing and Naruto’s almost illegible scrawl (honestly, he almost needs to use the Sharingan to decipher it).

Upon further inspection Sasuke sees it’s the minutes of the last meeting of the clan elders, which Sakura attended for the Uchiha while he was out of town. There is a post-it attached, with a request from Kakashi to add anything he believes needs to be brought up.

With a sigh, Sasuke turns off the hoover and sits down heavily on the couch, frowning at the information. He is vaguely aware of Sarada moving about in his peripheral vision, but she’s quiet and the room is babyproofed, so he focusses most of his attention on the current conundrum.

Naruto keeps inviting him to attend these conferences, even though it’s clear no one in the village really wants to hear from him. And when they do, it’s usually to prompt an answer about the ruins of the Uchiha district, which Sasuke honestly has no idea what to do about yet.

Naruto and Kakashi understand this, of course, as does Sakura. But not everyone in the village is quite so forgiving.

He hates the attention of the other clan leaders, and can’t decide which is worse – the expectant looks on the faces of the younger ones, like Shikamaru or Ino, or the pitying gazes of those older leaders who actually knew members of his family.

It could be worse. The Elders could still be a factor…

He has Sakura to thank for that, at least.

Still, he lets his head fall back on the couch for a second, contemplating just how important it is for him to sit through another one of those stupid meetings –

When he realises that Sarada’s mumbling is coming from the complete opposite direction from where she is sitting.

Peeking one eye open, he experiences a tiny heart-attack at the sight of her blanket utterly empty of the tiny pink body that should be sitting on it. Head whipping to where he heard her voice, he freezes when he sees her sitting in the entrance of the living-room, happily clutching at the dinosaur plushie.

Sasuke blinks, confused, wondering if he fell asleep at some point, because the distance from her blanket to the hall cabinet should have taken her longer to crawl toward, not to mention the dinosaur was higher up than she should be able to reach. Then again, Sarada has been pulling herself up on all the furniture lately…

He revisits the last few minutes, deciding he must be tired, because he can’t remember the specifics of it. He can sort of recall the familiar sight of her dark head bobbing past his line of vision.

Which shouldn’t be possible, because I wasn’t looking down at the floor, which means she was just below eye-level.

She could only have done that if she walked across the room. Sasuke immediately dismisses that because she’s barely ten months old, it’s too early.

Itachi walked at nine months, he reminds himself with only a slight wince. He dimly remembers his mother telling him that once. And didn’t Sakura’s mother say she walked early as well?

Sasuke shakes his head. He is likely just jumping to conclusions.

Still, there’s nothing stopping him from testing out the theory to be sure.

Quietly, he stands and goes to scoop Sarada into his arms. She giggles around the dummy, dropping the plush toy to pat at his face with pudgy hands (he narrowly misses taking a tiny nail to the Rinnegan and a thumb up his nose) as he brings her back to her spot on the blanket. After setting her down and handing her one of the toy shuriken to keep busy, he goes to pick up the fallen dinosaur, places it back on the cabinet, and then returns to the couch to sit.

But this time he intends to observe.

Not directly, of course, because there’s truth in that old adage about watched pots. But he pretends to reread the memo again, only occasionally glancing at Sarada from the corner of his eyes.

At first, it seems as if she is perfectly content to just sit their banging her baby shuriken against the floor.

A few minutes later, however, her eyes flit across the room to the green dinosaur. A tiny wrinkle appears in her nose – a trait from Sakura – and she drops the shuriken. Then, to Sasuke’s utter amazement, she rolls to one side and grabs at the nearby ottoman, using it to pull herself to her feet.

Still completely focused on the plush toy, she makes a beeline for the cabinet, absently grabbing on to the coffee table and easy chair as she goes. The last couple of steps from the couch to the entranceway, there is nothing to hold her up, and he watches with baited breath as she wobbles exactly three paces until reaching the cabinet. Now supported once more, she stretches up on tiptoes, worrying at the toy until her fingers close around one of its paws.

Then she falls backward with a satisfied grunt, the toy clutched in her fist.

Sasuke’s brain is still trying to register what he just saw.

Because his daughter really did just take her first steps.

No. Her second steps.

He missed the first because he was reading a damned memo.

But he can’t find the energy to chastise himself for this, because he is too buoyed up by the overwhelming feeling of pride.

Sarada just walked.

His daughter, the child he never thought he would deserve, is growing up so fast. Every time he turns around, she is doing something new and amazing and he sort of wants her to slow down –

But she just walked!

She’s only nine months old, and clearly a genius. Like her mother, like him, like Itachi –

Boruto didn’t start walking until he was a year old. Naruto is going to be pissed when he finds out.

He snorts in smug amusement at this, wandering back over to pick up his daughter once more, nudging her nose with his own and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“That’s my girl,” he tells her proudly, while she squeals in pleasure.

Although…

Naruto can’t know about this until Sakura does. And when she finds out she missed Sarada’s first steps, she’ll be upset.

He wonders for a moment if he should pretend like nothing happened. It would be a simple thing, to say nothing and just wait for Sarada to decide to start toddling around while both he and Sakura are in the room. Then she wouldn’t feel like she missed this milestone.

He frowns and shakes his head.

No, he doesn’t like the idea of hiding the truth from his wife, even for something like this.

Especially for something like this.

Before he can think too much about a possible solution, fate decides to intervene.

He senses Sakura’s chakra approaching their front door and imagines the clack of her heels on the walkway as she rummages in her bag for the housekeys.

Quick as he can, he puts Sarada back on her blanket and leaves the room, placing the dinosaur back on the cabinet for a third time. Glancing back into the room to ensure his daughter hasn’t moved – and she hasn’t yet, instead sitting on the blanket with a frown on her face like she can’t figure out how or why she is back where she started – Sasuke lingers in the entranceway to greet his wife.  

The front door opens and there’s Sakura – all smiles and tired yet sparkling eyes – about to open her mouth in greeting.

Sasuke raises a finger to his lips and motions her forward, knowing if Sarada hears her mother she’ll probably get distracted.

Puzzled, and perhaps a little wary, Sakura toes off her shoes and slips into the house to stand beside Sasuke. Gently, he manoeuvres her to stand so that while she can see around the doorway, Sarada remains blind to her.

Their daughter, in the meantime, lets out a frustrated sound that’s halfway between a mewl and a scoff, and glares at the plushie.

Sakura makes a strangled noise in her throat that Sasuke thinks might be a hastily suppressed squeal of appreciation. He can’t even fault her for it because his own mouth is drawn into a smile at the way Sarada puffs out her cheeks and draws her eyebrows together.

That smile widens a little as before their eyes, Sarada clambers up on chubby, wobbly legs and crosses the room. This time she barely uses the furniture as she stalks forward with purpose, before once again reaching the cabinet, grabbing her plush toy, and clutching at it defiantly.

There’s a beat of silence, and then to Sasuke’s great shock, Sakura bursts into tears.

As soon as they register, he knows they are tears of joy, but he always finds himself at a loss when he sees Sakura cry.  

“Oh, sweetheart, look at you!” Sakura cries, bounding across the room to scoop up their daughter and cover her with kisses. Sarada is so surprised and bemused to see her mother, that she instantly forgets about her long-sought-after toy and shrieks with joy. “You’re such a good girl! You walked, baby, look at that! You figured it out by yourself, right? Or did Papa help you?”

She turns a questioning, still-tearstained look on Sasuke, who shakes his head. “She did it herself. I missed it the first time.”

He gives her a brief explanation of how events transpired.

“Well that won’t do, we can’t both have missed it,” Sakura declares, lowering the toddler to the floor. She doesn’t let her sit, however, instead holding her by both hands in a way that forces Sarada to stand. “Come here, take her hand.”

Sasuke does so, leaning over to take Sarada’s tiny left hand in his right. She beams up at him in response, tugging at him impatiently.

“Let’s walk with her,” Sakura continues. “Maybe we can get her to do it without furniture if we help.”

Which is how the two of them end up spending the next hour crouched over, guiding their child throughout the house and in the garden. Occasionally Sarada’s enthusiasm will lead her to trip over her feet, but Sakura and Sasuke easily catch her at these times, swinging her between them until she is shrieking with giggles.

終わり

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クリ

[patchthemedic]

I never did post my grad school visit to UConn!

I went up Jan 25, and got a tour of the Storrs campus and the various labs in Beach Hall. I’d never been on a campus so big! It looked so awesome for biking around tho, and there were quite a few people with bikes. They had bike lanes! I ride at Bloom from time to time but you really have to make your own way, that bike culture isn’t really there. I met so many people, I didn’t end up taking any pictures! That night, my advisor there and his wife took me out to dinner at a place in Stonington, which was really awesome. I got a whole fish (mackerel) and I defeated those tiny fish bones.

The 26th I got a tour of Avery Point (the coastal campus), and was able to see way more lab space. This campus is right on the water and so beautiful, and they have so many floors of cool equipment. There’s so many windows to the ocean, and every time you step outside you can smell the salt! The first two pics are some of the climate controlled rooms (they had so many!), and the fourth is one of a series of buoys that are in the harbor taking ocean data. It all live streams to a site so you can see in real-time what the harbor’s conditions are, but I need to find that again. The third pic is just their SEM but I was in awe since it’s so much smaller than the one at Bloomsburg. 😅 They also had 4 ROVs there in the workspaces.

I got to see my potential advisor’s lab and I touched a piece of microbial mat! It wasn’t squishy, it was hard! Which makes sense, but after all this time I still thought it’d be squishy, you know? They were growing different batches from various sample sites around the world, and I held part of the New York one. I got a bunch of mini-lectures by him on how different mats cycle and what they’re made of, and there are these special mats in the Atacama that mainly cycle arsenic since there’s no oxygen present.

I left Avery Point around noon for home (PA), and I stopped in New Haven cuz I could! I’m never up by CT way, so I wanted to check out what that place was like too. I found the Peabody by accident (my goal was to just wander) and I had a great time! Peabody is last 4 pics. I wish I had more time in there, but I still had to finish my drive. Let’s hope I did a good enough job representing myself there, I really want to go to UConn!

[toseektoknoww]

i am not a smol squishy buoy im a growwn up buff buoy