#the deep lemuria | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moongirlcleo · 3 months ago

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Dutybound

❤︎ tags and content: arranged marriage, two dicks, double penetration, overstimulation, aftercare, rough and messy, raf is a smug bastard ❤︎ author note: check out all my fics by searching #moongirlcleo or on AO3

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/cafekitsune Fic: @moongirlcleo

Married to a god of the deep, you expect duty. You don’t expect desire.

Rafayel is patient, indulgent—dangerous in the way he watches, waits, toys with you. He lets you pretend this is an obligation, that you don’t want him.But when you finally ask—when you offer yourself to him—he makes sure you understand: This was never just duty.You were always meant to be his.

You had never met your husband.

That was the first thing people always wanted to know. "What’s he like?" they'd ask, eyes gleaming with the kind of curiosity that thrived on scandal. And you would laugh, awkward and forced, because how did you even begin to explain that your own husband was a stranger to you?

"He’s... mysterious," you’d say, which wasn’t a lie. He had to be, considering you knew next to nothing about him. Your marriage existed on paper, a set of meticulously drawn signatures binding your life to his in a way no real emotion ever had.

A political arrangement, they called it. A necessity. An alliance between two worlds that had once been at odds, the threads of old wounds still raw between the lines of diplomacy. You, a human with nothing particularly extraordinary about you, were now tied to Rafayel—the Lemurian prince, the so-called God of Tides, a man whose very name carried the weight of tides and tragedies you had no part in.

And yet, in the eyes of the world, you belonged to him.

It was an absurdity you had never fully wrapped your head around. One day, you had been yourself—just yourself. And the next, you were a wife to someone you had never spoken to, never touched, never seen outside of fragmented images and whispered rumors.

He was beautiful, or so they said. Ethereal in the way all Lemurians were, a creature woven from the sea itself. Dusky violet hair, bi-colored eyes like a shifting current. Taller than most men. A smile that either charmed or threatened, depending on his mood.

You had spent nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what he thought of all this. Did he resent it? Did he scoff at the idea of being bound to a human he had never met? Or was he indifferent, viewing you as nothing more than another burden to bear?

Tomorrow, those questions felt heavier than usual. Because after months of silence, of letters exchanged only through intermediaries, of a wedding that had been sealed without so much as a glance between you—

You were finally getting the chance to meet Rafayel in person.

You wake up before dawn, the weight of reality settling into your chest before your mind fully catches up. Today is the day. The day you finally meet your husband.

The morning air is crisp against your skin as you dress, each movement meticulous, measured. You’d spent far too long the night before debating what to wear—something regal enough to match his station, but not so extravagant that it felt like an act. In the end, you settled for something simple yet elegant, the kind of thing that whispered confidence instead of shouting it.

Your hands are steady as you adjust the fabric, but your pulse betrays you, thrumming beneath your skin like the distant crash of waves.

You’d been prepared for this moment in theory. Advisors had coached you on the proper way to address him, on the history of Lemuria, on the subtle nuances of a culture long thought lost beneath the tides. But none of their words had prepared you for the reality of it—that in mere moments, you would stand before a man who was as much legend as he was flesh and blood.

And then, the summons comes.

A quiet knock at the door. A low-voiced attendant informing you that he has arrived.

Your breath catches. With a final glance at your reflection, you step forward to meet the mysterious man that, to the rest of the world, had stolen your heart.

The room is grand—of course it is. Every inch of this place is designed to remind you of the weight of history pressing down upon your shoulders. Dark wood panels stretch along the walls, and high arched windows spill the morning light across polished floors. It smells of salt and something faintly metallic, like the remnants of a storm at sea.

And yet, the man waiting for you is not the one you expected.

He stands near the center of the room, hands neatly folded in front of him, posture straight but not stiff. His suit is pristine, the deep navy fabric tailored to perfection, but there’s something about the way he holds himself that feels unshakable—a man who has long since mastered the art of control.

“Lady y/n,” he greets, his voice smooth and measured. “A pleasure.”

You blink, your carefully rehearsed introductions crumbling under the sheer weight of confusion. “I—thank you.” A pause. “I was told I’d be meeting my husband?”

Something flickers across his face—just for a moment, just enough for you to catch it before his expression smooths back into polite indifference. “Lord Rafayel has been... delayed.”

Delayed.

Your stomach tightens. You are standing here, in a place you do not know, bound to a man you have never met, and he—what? Couldn’t be bothered to show up?

Thomas seems to sense the shift in your mood because he exhales, a soft, barely-there thing. “It is not a slight, I assure you,” he continues, his voice dipping into something quieter. Smoother. “Lord Rafayel is... particular about how he does things.”

You don’t know why, but the phrasing makes something bristle in you. “And meeting his wife isn’t one of them?”

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of Thomas’s mouth, gone before it fully forms. “On the contrary. He has been very interested in meeting you.”

You don’t miss the deliberate wording. You fold your arms, tilting your head just slightly. “Then why isn’t he here?”

Thomas hesitates. Just for a second.

And that second tells you more than any explanation could.

“He prefers a certain... grandeur to introductions,” Thomas finally admits, and for the first time, the carefully placed neutrality in his tone wavers, like he knows exactly how ridiculous that sounds. “He will arrive soon. In the meantime, he has requested that I keep you company.”

You narrow your eyes. “To distract me?”

“To prepare you.”

The words land heavier than you expect.

You don’t know what you expected from this meeting, but something about the way Thomas says it makes your pulse slow, deliberate.

“Prepare me for what, exactly?” you ask.

The man finally allows himself a real smile, small but undeniably knowing. “For him.”

Thomas is efficient, moving through the room with the kind of practiced grace that suggests he has been in service far longer than his youthful features let on. A man trained to anticipate needs before they are spoken. He gestures for you to sit near a low table, where a tray of refreshments has already been arranged—an assortment of delicate pastries, rich tea, and something that gleams darkly in a crystal glass. Wine, perhaps. Or something stronger.

You sit, smoothing your hands over your lap, not missing the way Thomas studies you with the quiet precision of a man taking careful notes.

"You don't seem particularly nervous," he remarks as he pours your tea.

You arch a brow. "Should I be?"

Thomas lets out a soft, amused hum. "That depends." He passes you the cup, waiting until you've taken your first sip before continuing. "Most find Rafayel... overwhelming at first."

The way he says it—light, unassuming, but with a thread of warning—makes something stir uneasily in your chest. "And you? What do you think of him?"

Thomas considers you for a moment before answering. "I think he is not easily understood."

Not a good man. Not a bad one. Just... not easily understood.

Something about that unsettles you more than an outright warning would have.

You set your cup down, tilting your head slightly. "And why do I get the feeling you're trying to understand me?"

This time, Thomas doesn't bother hiding his smirk. "Because I am." He leans back slightly, his gaze assessing, sharp without being unkind. "I have been by Rafayel’s side for a long time. I am very familiar with how he operates. And so I am curious—what kind of woman agrees to marry a man she has never met?"

The question lands softly, without judgment, but still, you feel the weight of it settle in your ribs.

You glance down at the ring on your finger, at the delicate band that binds you to someone you should know, but don’t.

"My reasons are my own," you say finally, keeping your voice even. "Just as I imagine his are."

Thomas hums again, something like approval glinting in his eyes. "A diplomatic answer. You’ll need that."

Before you can ask what that means, the candlelight flickers. Just a whisper of movement in the farthest shadow of the room. A disturbance so slight that most wouldn’t notice it.

But you are not most.

The air shifts, the faintest rustle of fabric reaching your ears.

You are not alone.

And somehow, you never were.

Thomas, still composed, still pouring himself a glass of wine, does not turn his head as he speaks again. But his next words are different, heavier, threaded with something almost... knowing.

"Tell me," he muses, swirling the wine in his glass. "Do you prefer your introductions grand... or intimate?"

You don’t answer Thomas right away. Instead, your gaze flickers toward the far end of the room, toward the deep pockets of shadow that seem too thick to be natural.

The sensation of being watched drapes over you like silk and iron, both weightless and unyielding. It shouldn’t unnerve you as much as it does—this place is unfamiliar, its corners vast and unknown. It makes sense that you would feel small beneath its walls.

But this is something else.

Something pointed.

And Thomas—well. Thomas seems amused.

He watches you with the sharp patience of a man who already knows the game being played but is far too entertained to warn you of the rules. He swirls his wine again, watching the deep red liquid coat the glass before finally breaking the silence.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

Your spine stiffens, and you force yourself to focus on him. “What question?”

Thomas tilts his head slightly, as if you’ve just confirmed something he already suspected. “How you prefer your introductions,” he reminds you, voice smooth as the wine he sips. “Grand or intimate?”

The way he says it—intimate—is deliberate. A brush of velvet over steel, a thread of implication woven just faintly enough that if you called him out on it, he could feign innocence.

You shift in your seat. Not enough to be obvious, but enough that you’re suddenly hyper aware of your own posture. The space you take up. The way your breathing has slowed just a fraction too much.

Thomas notices. Of course, he does.

And, somewhere in the shadows, so does your husband.

There’s a reason Rafayel has not revealed himself yet. He is watching, studying, waiting for something only he will recognize.

You lick your lips before you can stop yourself, forcing your voice into something composed. “Does it matter?”

Thomas smiles. A small, knowing thing. “To him? Oh, absolutely.”

The weight of unseen eyes presses heavier now, the air shifting in a way that makes the candlelight tremble. A flicker of movement—too swift to catch—somewhere just beyond your periphery.

Your heart picks up, but Thomas is merciless in his curiosity. He leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the arm of his chair, gaze never leaving yours.

“I wonder,” he murmurs, as if he’s speaking only to himself. “Do you fear him?”

The question catches you off guard. Not because you don’t know the answer—you do. But because you feel the shift. Something in the air tightens. A ripple, a tension pulling. And suddenly, you are very sure that whoever watches you from the shadows is no longer just watching.

He is listening. Waiting for your answer.

You wet your lips again, pulse thrumming against the delicate line of your throat.

Do you fear him? Or does something else coil in your stomach at the thought of meeting him?

Your lips part, the answer forming before you can second-guess it.

“No.”

The word settles between you and Thomas, clear, steady. A statement, not a question. Not a doubt.

For a moment, there is silence. A low, amused hum from the darkness shortly after. Slow. Drawn-out, ike someone savoring the taste of your answer.

“Interesting.”

The air in the room shifts.

The shadows stir, peeling away from the far wall like they are no longer satisfied with merely lurking. There is no grand reveal, no sudden burst of movement. Just a presence unfolding—fluid, effortless—as though he had been part of the very architecture, waiting for the right moment to detach himself from it.

There he is. Your husband.

Rafayel moves like a man who has never needed to rush a day in his life. His presence fills the space effortlessly, as if he had already claimed it long before he arrived. Tall, lean, otherworldly.

His dusky purple waves frame sharp, striking features—high cheekbones, a jawline that could cut, and eyes that are wrong in all the right ways. Blue and pink, flickering with something unreadable, something depthless.

He is dressed in dark silks that shift with every movement, the deep purples and blues of his coat nearly indistinguishable from the abyss he just stepped out of. And yet, despite his ominous introduction—despite the way your body knows he is dangerous—

He smiles at you. Not the smirk you expect, not the wolfish grin of a man who enjoys his power. But something softer. Playful. Amused. You don’t know what you were expecting from the Lemurian prince, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t the easy, almost lazy confidence in the way he watches you. It wasn’t the way his head tilts slightly, like he’s indulging in the sight of you, rather than staking a claim.

And it certainly wasn’t the first thing he says.

“You’re lovely.”

The words are too casual. Too intimate for a first meeting, as if he has known you for much longer than the last few seconds. You blink. Open your mouth. Close it. Thomas—damn him—looks supremely entertained. Rafayel’s smile lingers, his gaze flickering over you like he’s committing something to memory. Then, with a graceful dip of his head, he speaks again.

“I suppose introductions are overdue. Though I feel as if I already know you.” His voice is smooth, rich—like deep water lapping at the shore.

Then, his lips curve just slightly at the corners, teasing.

“You did say you weren’t afraid of me. I think I’m flattered.”

His tone is unreadable—mocking? Delighted? Genuinely intrigued? You can’t tell.

You should say something. You need to say something.

But your mouth has forgotten how to form words, and Rafayel—your husband—knows it. The way he watches you is almost lazy, eyes lidded in amusement, like he is waiting for you to catch up. As if he already expected this reaction. As if your flustered silence is exactly what he wanted. And Thomas—ever the opportunist—seizes the moment with all the grace of a man who lives for entertainment.

“Well,” he hums, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “I’d say my job here is done.”

You snap out of your daze just enough to flick a sharp glance his way. “Wait, you’re leaving?”

Thomas gives you a look that is all polite indifference, save for the glint of humor in his eyes. “You are married, my lady.” He gestures vaguely between you and Rafayel. “It’s only right that I allow the happy couple some time alone.”

The words send a fresh wave of awareness through you—because he’s right. You are married. To this man. To this prince. To this God of Tides whose presence alone feels like it has swallowed the entire room whole.

Before you can form a protest, Thomas inclines his head in a short bow. “I’ll take my leave, my lord.”

Rafayel, still entirely at ease, flicks his fingers in a lazy dismissal. “Thank you, Thomas.”

He doesn’t even look at him. His gaze remains on you as the door clicks and the two of you are alone. The silence stretches. You swallow, your fingers twitching slightly against your lap before you decide to busy yourself with the teacup Thomas left behind. You reach for it carefully, only to realize too late that your hands are not nearly as steady as you’d like.

Rafayel notices. He watches the way you hesitate, the way your fingers tighten minutely around the porcelain before you manage to lift it to your lips.

He smirks.

“You’re nervous,” he observes, tone far too amused for your liking.

You lower the cup, glaring at him over the rim. “I am not.”

Rafayel makes a low, thoughtful hum. “No?”

And then, before you can react, he leans forward just slightly—not enough to be invasive, but enough to make you feel it. The shift in proximity, the awareness prickling along your skin like the tide creeping up on unsuspecting shores.

His voice drops, low and measured. “Your hands tremble when you lie.”

Your breath catches. Heat prickles up your spine—traitorous, unbidden.

You pull back, willing your pulse to slow. “Maybe I’m just cold.”

His smirk deepens. “Are you?” You don’t answer. You can’t answer, which only seems to amuse him even more. Then, as if deciding to take mercy on you, Rafayel shifts back, allowing just enough space for you to breathe properly again. He watches you over the rim of his own glass as he takes a slow sip, considering.

“Would you like to ask me something, wife?”

The title lands heavier than it should. Not mocking, not teasing. Just… a fact. You grip your teacup a little tighter. There are a hundred things you could ask him. A hundred different paths this conversation could take. But what comes out of your mouth instead is—

“…Why did you watch me before revealing yourself?”

Rafayel pauses. Then, a slow smile unfurls across his lips, like the tide dragging back just before a wave crashes.

“I wanted to see if you were afraid of me,” he admits.

You blink. “And?”

He tilts his head, studying you. “I haven’t decided yet if I believe you.”

A shiver curls through you—one you hope he doesn’t notice. You clear your throat, shifting in your seat. “That’s not an answer.”

“Isn’t it?”

You glare at him, but he only grins. He sets his glass aside, propping his chin against his palm as if you’ve just become his new favorite curiosity.

“Ask me another,” he offers.

You hesitate this time, choosing your words more carefully. “What do you want from this marriage?”

Rafayel doesn’t answer right away.

He watches you instead, gaze dipping lower—not improper, but assessing. A slow, deliberate once-over, like he is measuring something unseen.

Then, finally— “Everything.”

Your breath stutters. All Rafayel gives is a smile. The way he says everything lingers in the air between you, heavier than it should be. It coils around your ribs, presses against the delicate skin of your throat, and sinks.

You swallow, pulse fluttering where it shouldn’t. “That’s—” Your voice catches, and you hate that it does. “That’s not very specific.”

Rafayel tilts his head, watching you with the slow patience of a tide creeping forward, his gaze shifting between blue and pink in a way that makes him unreadable. There’s a calm deliberation in his expression, as if he’s already considered every possible response you might give and is simply waiting for you to stumble into the most interesting one.

“It is not,” he agrees, amusement curling at the edges of his voice.

Your fingers tighten against your cup. “Would you care to elaborate?”

His lips curve, slow and deliberate, before he leans forward again—closer this time, enough that the warmth of his presence seeps into your space. He doesn’t touch, but he doesn’t need to. The sheer weight of his attention is enough to make you forget how to breathe properly.

“You wish to know what I expect of you?” he asks, voice as smooth as silk, laced with something you can’t quite name. “As my wife?”

There’s no mistaking the intent behind the way he says it, the possessiveness woven into the words, not spoken as a mere formality but as an undeniable claim. You hate the way heat pricks at your skin in response, creeping up the back of your neck despite your best efforts to ignore it.

You clear your throat, willing your pulse to slow. “That would be helpful, yes.”

Rafayel hums, watching you for a moment longer before settling back into his seat with a deliberate, unhurried ease, as if indulging you. His posture is all relaxed grace, yet something about the way he moves suggests he is always in control.

“In Lemurian tradition, a royal union is not truly sealed until it has been properly consummated.”

The words drop into the space between you like a stone into deep water.

You knew this. It had been mentioned in your endless briefings, an unavoidable detail buried among the many customs and expectations you were expected to uphold. But hearing it spoken by him, in this setting, while he watches you like that—like he’s already imagining what fulfilling that particular duty will look like—has your grip tightening around the delicate porcelain in your hands.

Rafayel notices.

His smirk deepens.

“I see you remember.”

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to maintain your composure. “That’s not—” Exhaling slowly, you fight to keep your expression neutral. “That’s not exactly an immediate concern, is it?”

His gaze remains steady, unwavering, and entirely too entertained by your reaction. Slowly, deliberately, he tilts his head, studying you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. His voice drops just slightly, as if drawing out the moment for his own amusement.

“No,” he murmurs, taking his time with the word. “But it will be.”

Heat floods through you before you can stop it, spreading from the base of your spine up to your cheeks, and damn him for the way he seems to take pleasure in every second of it. He doesn’t move, doesn’t lean in again, but the weight of his presence feels closer than ever, as if he is already closing in, testing your reactions, measuring your every breath.

You force yourself to focus on something else—anything else—and grasp onto the shift in conversation when he finally moves on.

“Beyond that, there are formalities,” he continues, finally offering some distance, though the lingering amusement in his voice tells you he isn’t finished toying with you. “Public appearances. Celebrations in your honor. You are to be presented as the Princess of Lemuria, and with that comes expectation.”

You latch onto the new topic like a lifeline, willing yourself to regain some semblance of control. “What sort of expectation?”

Rafayel doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he watches you in that careful, assessing way of his, gaze dipping over you as if weighing something unseen. The pause stretches just long enough to make your stomach tighten, anticipation curling in the space between heartbeats.

“You are mine now,” he says, as if it is the simplest truth in the world, and it is not a metaphor. “And I intend for the world to see that.”

Your fingers press into your lap, grip tightening on the fabric of your dress. The certainty in his voice leaves no room for question, no space for doubt. It is not a boast or a threat—simply a fact, one that he expects you to understand as well as he does.

“There will be gatherings, ceremonies, and opportunities for you to become accustomed to your role,” he continues, tone lighter now, as if this is all perfectly reasonable.

You exhale slowly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze despite the lingering heat in your cheeks. “And what, exactly, does that role entail?”

Something shifts in his expression, not quite a smirk but something close, something knowing. He studies you for another moment, stretching out the silence just enough to keep you on edge.

“You will find out soon enough.”

The deliberate vagueness sends another shiver down your spine, and you hate the way he seems to enjoy the way you react to his words.

Your breath hitches, and for the first time since he entered the room, you realize—

This isn’t just a conversation to him. It’s a game.

And you, whether you like it or not, are playing it.

His gaze flickers over you one last time, that same unreadable look settling into his features before his lips curve into something slower, something deeper.

The silence stretches, thick and charged, his words lingering between you like something palpable. You will find out soon enough. There is no teasing lilt to his voice this time, no smirk playing at his lips. Just certainty. A weight that settles over you, pressing against your ribs, making your skin prickle with awareness.

Your fingers tighten in your lap as you force yourself to focus. You knew this moment would come eventually—that there would be expectations between you beyond the political union, beyond the public ceremonies and carefully curated appearances. There is another duty that marriage demands. A truth you’ve known from the moment you signed your name on the documents binding you to him.

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself. “About the consummation.”

Rafayel’s expression doesn’t change, but there is something new in his gaze, a flicker of interest as if he had been waiting for you to bring it up. He shifts slightly in his seat, his posture still relaxed, but there’s a weight to it now, an attentiveness that wasn’t there before.

“Oh?” His voice dips, smooth as the tide lapping against the shore. “You wish to discuss it now?”

Heat creeps up your neck, but you hold your ground, refusing to let him unnerve you any further. “I think it’s something that should be addressed sooner rather than later. It’s a requirement of the union, isn’t it?”

His lips curl—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile, just something slow and considering. “It is.”

You nod, exhaling softly. “Then we should establish expectations.”

Rafayel watches you, his fingers drumming lightly against the arm of his chair, his eyes flickering over your face as if he’s searching for something. The slow rise and fall of your breath, the way your shoulders are set with careful determination, the way you refuse to look away despite the heat pressing against your skin.

Finally, he moves.

Not much—just a small shift forward, a subtle lean of his body, but it feels as though the very air around you changes. He does not reach for you, does not bridge the space between you completely, but his presence alone is enough to remind you exactly who you are speaking to.

“You say that as if this is a contract negotiation,” he murmurs, his voice just above a whisper, something dark and amused threaded through it. “Tell me, wife, how do you propose we handle this particular expectation?”

Your pulse stumbles, and his gaze sharpens, catching the flicker of hesitation before you manage to smooth it over. You steel yourself, swallowing past the dryness in your throat. “I think it would be best if we approached it with a clear understanding. No surprises.”

Rafayel’s expression flickers, a shadow of something unreadable passing through his features before he settles back again. “No surprises,” he echoes, as if tasting the words, rolling them over in his mind. “How very... diplomatic.”

Your fingers press against your lap, resisting the urge to fidget. “I only mean that we should agree on—”

“On what, exactly?” His voice is softer now, but no less intense. “On how it will happen? When?” He pauses, and the way he tilts his head, the way his lips part just slightly as if savoring the thought, sends something warm curling in the pit of your stomach. “Or are you looking for reassurances?”

The words settle over your skin like a slow tide creeping in, dragging you under inch by inch. There is no outright mockery in his tone, no cruel edge, but there is something deliberate in the way he speaks, in the way he waits for your reaction, drinking in every little shift in your demeanor like he’s memorizing them.

Your throat tightens, but you refuse to look away. “I think it’s important that we both know where we stand.”

Rafayel considers you, his gaze sweeping over your face, lingering at your lips before meeting your eyes once more. “You’re tense,” he observes, and there is something far too knowing in his voice, something that makes your breath stutter despite your best efforts to remain composed.

“I’m being practical.”

His lips curve, slow and unhurried. “Are you?”

Your fingers twitch, curling slightly against your lap as heat prickles beneath your skin. You don’t trust yourself to answer, and he seems to know that too, because he shifts again, this time just slightly closer, his presence wrapping around you like the pull of deep water.

“You don’t need to worry,” he murmurs, and for the first time, there is something almost gentle beneath the amusement. “I have no intention of taking anything from you that you do not wish to give.”

Your breath catches at the quiet promise beneath his words, at the certainty in his tone that does not feel like a concession, but a truth.

And yet, something in the way he looks at you—the steady weight of his gaze, the quiet intensity simmering beneath the surface—tells you he does not believe this will remain an issue for long.

Because despite his patience, despite his willingness to let you set the pace, Rafayel is a prince. A man who has spent his life taking what he wants, bending the world to his will.

And right now, that sharp, unreadable gaze tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

He will wait. He will give you space.

But when you do come to him—and he seems certain that you will—there will be no mistaking that it was your choice.

The thought sends a fresh wave of heat through your veins, and as you quickly reach for your tea, desperate for something to focus on, Rafayel just watches.

The silence stretches long enough that your own thoughts begin to betray you. The weight of his gaze, the certainty in his expression—it’s too much, too overwhelming, pressing against your skin like the tide creeping in, swallowing every last inch of sand.

Your pulse stumbles, breath too shallow, and you hate that he can probably hear it. That he can see every tell in your body, every shift in your posture that betrays the nerves coiled tight in your stomach.

It would be easier if he were cruel. If he taunted, if he smirked with the satisfaction of making you squirm. But this—the quiet patience, the way he looks at you like he already knows exactly what you’re going to do before you do it—is far worse.

You need control. You need to take control before it slips completely from your grasp.

The words are out before you can think them through. “We should just do it now.”

The air changes.

Stillness settles over the room like the deep ocean before a storm, thick and weighted, suffocating in its quiet. You hear the faintest shift of fabric as Rafayel straightens slightly in his seat, but he does not speak immediately. He just watches.

And then—his lips part, voice smooth, steady. “Now?”

Your throat is tight, but you force yourself to nod. “Yes.”

His gaze flickers over you, trailing from your eyes to your lips, lower still before returning, a slow drag of attention that makes your pulse hammer against your ribs. “Because you want to?” The words are soft, deliberate, but you hear the unspoken question beneath them.

You know that’s what he means. And you know he’s right.

You lift your chin, pushing past the dryness in your throat. “Because it’s expected.”

Something glints in his expression, something sharp and unreadable, and for the first time since he stepped into this room, the air between you shifts. The teasing lilt in his voice fades, the lingering amusement dulling into something deeper, something darker.

“You truly wish to do this now,” he muses, voice slow and thoughtful, as if weighing something unseen. “To get it over with.”

The way he says it makes your stomach tighten, and you hate how clinical it sounds when spoken aloud. You clench your fingers slightly, willing yourself to stay steady. “I just think prolonging it will only make things... more difficult.”

For a long moment, he says nothing. Then, he moves.

Slowly. Deliberately.

He stands from his chair with an ease that feels far too controlled, like a predator shifting from rest into motion. His steps are unhurried as he crosses the space between you, silent save for the soft rustle of fabric, until he stands before you, close enough that the faint scent of salt and something darker curls around your senses.

Rafayel lowers himself into a crouch before you, resting one arm on the side of your chair, his other hand reaching out—not touching, but there, hovering near your wrist, close enough that you feel the warmth of his skin.

“If we do this now,” he murmurs, voice like the deep pull of the ocean, “it will not be because it is expected.”

Your breath catches.

His fingers ghost up your forearm, barely grazing over fabric, not quite a touch, just a whisper of presence.

“It will not be to ease your nerves,” he continues, eyes locked onto yours, unblinking, unwavering. “It will not be because you are uncertain, or because you think it will be easier to have it done and forgotten.” His voice drops, the syllables dragging over your skin like velvet and tidewater. “If we do this now, it will be because you are asking me to take you.”

The words send something molten sinking low in your stomach, twisting tight.

Your throat is dry, your fingers curling against your lap as his hand finally closes the distance, fingertips grazing lightly over your wrist. Just enough to feel. Just enough to make you aware of every inch of your own skin.

“Is that what you want?” His question is quiet, but not hesitant. Never hesitant. His touch is warm, his breath feathering against your skin as he speaks, but he does not push. He does not take. He waits.

For you. For your answer.

Because he meant what he said. If you say no, if you pull away, he will not press. But if you don’t—if you let him continue, if you let him show you what it means to be his—there will be no half-measures.

You will know what it means to be taken by Rafayel of Lemuria. And he will make certain that you never forget it.

Your pulse pounds against your ribs, every breath a battle between reason and the undeniable pull of him. You should hesitate. You should take a moment to think, to untangle the mess of nerves and desire twisting in your stomach. But the moment he touches you—just barely, just a whisper of warmth against your skin—it becomes impossible to deny the truth.

You do want this.

You want him.

Your fingers tighten slightly against your lap, your throat dry, but you force yourself to meet his gaze. His eyes are steady, impossibly deep, waiting for your answer with patience that feels far more dangerous than if he had pressed for it.

You could lie to yourself, pretend this is just about duty, about obligation. But you know, and he knows, that would be a lie.

Your lips part, and when the word finally comes, it is softer than you mean for it to be.

“…Yes.”

His gaze sharpens, that flicker of something dark and satisfied flaring beneath the pink and blue of his eyes. But he does not move, not yet. He waits.

You inhale slowly, pressing forward, trying to steel yourself. “I want it.”

A breath. A single moment where the weight of your words settles between you.

And then, Rafayel moves.

The shift is slow but deliberate, his fingers sliding higher along your arm, just barely trailing the fabric of your sleeve before settling at the crook of your elbow. His other hand rises, brushing a knuckle over your jaw—light, teasing, a feather-soft touch that makes your skin prickle beneath it.

“Say it again.”

His voice is low, a command wrapped in silk, coaxing you toward the edge of something you aren’t sure you’re ready to fall into.

Your breath shudders, but you do not look away.

“I want you.”

It’s barely above a whisper, but it doesn’t matter. Because the second the words leave your lips, Rafayel decides. His fingers tilt your chin higher, his touch still gentle but firm, leaving no room for retreat. His gaze flickers lower, to your lips, lingering there for a single, agonizing heartbeat. And then, he closes the distance.

The first brush of his lips is light—testing, deliberate—but it is not hesitant. He wants you to feel it, to know exactly what you have asked for, what you have invited. But when you don’t pull away—when your fingers twitch slightly, your breath catching in a way that betrays you completely—he presses.

The kiss deepens, slow and devouring, his fingers sliding down to your waist, drawing you closer in a way that makes it impossible to think of anything but him. He kisses like a man who has already decided that you belong to him, that you will know the weight of his claim, that this is no longer just about duty but something far more dangerous.

And when he pulls back just slightly, breath fanning against your lips, his voice is dark with satisfaction.

“Good girl.”

Heat floods through you so fast it makes your head spin, your stomach tightening at the way he says it, at the way it feels earned, at the undeniable truth beneath it—

You are his.

The kiss lingers even as he pulls away, leaving your lips tingling, your breath uneven. He watches you for a moment, his gaze heavy-lidded and dark with satisfaction, before his fingers slide lower, just barely grazing the pulse at your throat. He doesn’t need to comment on how fast it’s beating—he knows. He feels it beneath his touch, beneath the way your body shivers when he moves.

He exhales, soft and warm against your skin. "Come."

It is not a request.

He takes your hand, fingers lacing through yours with a casual intimacy that makes your stomach tighten, and rises fluidly to his feet. When he guides you forward, you follow—because what else is there to do now but go with him?

The halls are quiet as he leads you through them, the air thick with unspoken promises, with the knowledge of what’s coming next. Your heart pounds with every step, nerves and anticipation curling in your stomach, but Rafayel doesn’t rush. He walks as if he has all the time in the world, never looking back, knowing without question that you are with him.

And then, you are in his chambers. Your chambers.

The room is vast, but not in an overwhelming way. It is warm, dimly lit with the golden glow of candles reflecting off dark wood and deep blue silks. The scent of salt and something richer lingers in the air, something undeniably him. But your attention is drawn to the center of the room—the massive bed draped in fabrics the color of the ocean at midnight, waiting.

Waiting for you.

Your breath catches, and Rafayel turns to face you, fingers still wrapped around your wrist. He lifts your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles, slow and deliberate, before trailing them lower, dragging warmth in the wake of his breath.

“There is no need to be nervous,” he murmurs, voice smooth, steady, but knowing. “I will give you everything.”

Your pulse stutters, heat licking at your skin despite your best efforts to stay composed. He can see it, feel the way your fingers twitch slightly in his grip. He hums, pleased, before guiding your hand to his chest, pressing your palm flat against the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“You are mine now,” he continues, his other hand sliding along the curve of your waist, up to your shoulder, lingering at the clasp of your clothing. “And I intend to make sure you feel it.”

There is no hesitation as his fingers begin their work, unfastening the first piece of fabric, the cool air kissing your skin where the barrier once was. His touch is slow, agonizingly so, taking his time with each clasp, each ribbon, each delicate fold.

He doesn’t strip you—he undresses you.

With reverence. With purpose.

His fingers skim over the newly exposed skin, not grabbing, not claiming yet, just learning, just feeling the warmth of you beneath his fingertips. His breath is even, controlled, but his eyes burn with something deeper, something dangerous as each new inch of you is revealed.

You shift under his gaze, heat spreading in a slow, consuming wave over your skin. You should feel self-conscious, should feel exposed, but Rafayel does not let you. He does not let you shrink. His touch is steady, reassuring, making it clear that this is not just for him. This is for you, too.

A soft hum leaves him as his fingers finally slide the last piece of fabric from your shoulders, letting it slip down your arms, pooling at your feet. You are bare before him, and yet, he does not move immediately.

Instead, he looks.

His gaze drags over you, taking in every inch, every detail, like he is committing you to memory. Not with hunger—but with something deeper.

Possession. Devotion. And then, with slow, deliberate intent, he lifts his hand to your cheek, cradling your face in his palm as his thumb brushes over the heat of your skin. His lips curve, the barest hint of a smile, but his voice is low, heavy with something unreadable.

“Perfect.”

The word sends a shiver through you, your breath catching as his thumb drags lower, tracing the curve of your jaw, the column of your throat.

He leans in, lips barely a breath away from yours, and murmurs, “Lie down for me.”

The air between you is thick, weighted with something inescapable. Anticipation coils in your stomach, your skin prickling under his gaze as you lower yourself onto the bed. The sheets are soft against your bare skin, cool in contrast to the heat burning beneath your flesh. But the moment you settle, the moment you look up at him, everything else fades.

Rafayel stands at the edge of the bed, watching you with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. His hands move to the fastenings of his clothing, undoing them with a slow, practiced ease, shedding layers of dark fabric one by one. His movements are unhurried, deliberate, but his eyes remain locked onto yours, drinking in every reaction, every shift in your breathing, every quiver of expectation running through you.

When the last of his clothing falls away, your breath stutters.

Because he is not just a man.

You knew this already—of course, you knew. But knowing and seeing are two entirely different things.

His body is sculpted, all lean muscle and power, his dusky purple waves of hair falling over his shoulders, framing the sharp angles of his face. But below—where flesh meets something more, where the remnants of his oceanic lineage remain—his body shifts into something distinctly not human.

Two thick cocks spring from his lower half, soft pink, ridged and powerful. Dark veins tracing along their edges like the glow of some deep-sea creature lurking beneath the waves.

Your lips part, something tightening in your stomach at the sight of them.

At the implication of them.

Rafayel sees the way your breath catches, the way your thighs press together just slightly, and he smirks.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, voice smooth as silk, thick with amusement.

Heat blooms in your cheeks, but you don’t look away. Can’t.

“What…” Your voice falters, your throat suddenly dry. “What do they feel like?”

Rafayel exhales a soft chuckle, and in one slow, fluid movement, he climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His arms cage around you, steadying him as he moves over you, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

“Why don’t you find out?” His voice is a murmur against your ear, his breath warm, teasing. One of them sits lightly against your thigh—not enough to do anything, just enough for you to feel.

A shudder runs through you. The skin is smooth but firm, powerful, the ridges adding the slightest texture against your bare flesh. The touch is exploratory, almost gentle, as if waiting to see how you react.

You exhale sharply, your body responding before your mind can catch up, your hips shifting just slightly toward him.

Rafayel notices.

“Eager,” he muses, fingers trailing down the length of your side, slow and reverent, while he shifts his own hips to drag them up your thigh, skimming over sensitive skin, teasing, testing. “Good.”

Before you can respond, his mouth is on yours again, stealing whatever thought you might have had, devouring you with the same slow, deliberate hunger. His kiss is deep, claiming, but controlled—he is savoring this, savoring you, taking his time unraveling you beneath him.

He pushes closer. The sensation is overwhelming, not just because of what he is, but the fact he remains controlled, patient, intentional.

You gasp, your fingers gripping at the sheets, your body arching beneath him, seeking more. Rafayel smiles.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against your throat, his lips dragging lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck. “I wonder…” His voice is thoughtful, teasing, dangerous. “How much you can take.”

And then, with slow, agonizing intent, he pushes both cocks inside.

The stretch is unlike anything you’ve felt before—the firm, thick heat filling you, the ridges dragging against your walls, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through your core. The other slides into your ass as he holds you steady, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

A soft, broken sound escapes your lips, your body tightening around him, and Rafayel groans, the sound reverberating through his chest, vibrating against your skin.

“You feel—” He exhales sharply, his grip tightening at your waist, holding you still as he gives you more. “Perfect.”

Your head tilts back, pleasure rippling through you as he moves, slow and deep, every inch of him dragging against your walls, every ridge pressing in ways that make your toes curl. Your fingers scramble for something to hold onto, nails pressing into his shoulders, his back, needing something to ground you.

Rafayel’s breath is heavy against your skin, his lips brushing against your jaw, your cheek, your mouth, stealing every gasping moan that escapes you.

“You are mine,” he murmurs, his pace steady, unyielding, each slow thrust pulling another whimper from your lips. “And I will make sure you know it.”

His grip tightens, his cocks pushing, pressing, claiming, and the pleasure surges higher, drowning you, pulling you under, until there is nothing left but him.

Nothing left but the way he takes you—slow, deep, thorough—and the way you surrender to him completely.

Because you do.

You give yourself to him, to the weight of his body, the strength of his touch, the inescapable truth that you are no longer just yourself.

The pleasure coils in your stomach, winding tighter with every slow, deliberate thrust of his cocks inside you. Rafayel moves with intention, with precision, his pace measured, his control absolute. The firm ridges drag along your walls, each movement sending another wave of heat pulsing through your core, yet he does not rush.

He is holding back and you can feel it.

It’s in the way his fingers grip your waist, strong but restrained. It’s in the way his breath comes in slow, controlled exhales against your skin. It’s in the way his body trembles ever so slightly, like a storm waiting to break.

You need him to break.

“Rafayel,” you gasp, your fingers tightening against his shoulders, your nails digging into the smooth, firm muscle beneath his skin. His pace falters for the first time, a flicker of hesitation, as if waiting for something.

You swallow hard, tilting your head up just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes burn, a shifting mix of blue and pink, the light within them flickering wildly, barely restrained.

“I’m ready,” you whisper, voice trembling with something more than just need—trust.

And that—that—is what shatters him.

A growl rumbles from deep in his chest, vibrating against your skin, a primal, possessive sound that sends a shiver down your spine as he moves.

His grip tightens, spreading you open, locking you beneath him as he slams into you. The force of it knocks the air from your lungs, pleasure crashing through you like a tidal wave.

A sharp cry leaves your lips, and Rafayel devours it, his mouth capturing yours in a searing, claiming kiss as he sets a relentless pace. There is no hesitation now, no careful control—only need, raw and overwhelming, as he takes you the way he’s wanted to since the moment you walked into his life.

The ridges of his member drag against your walls, pressing against every sensitive place inside you with devastating precision. The second one, the one buried in your ass, throbs as you see stars. Your whole body shakes.

“You take me so well,” Rafayel growls against your skin, his lips trailing fire down your throat, his pace brutal and perfect. “As if you were made for me.”

Another deep thrust. Another broken moan spilling from your lips.

His voice drops lower, rougher, sending a shudder through your already trembling form. “Say it.”

You barely register the words, too lost in the overwhelming sensation of him filling you, stretching you, owning you. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your fingers curling against his back, desperate for anything to hold onto as he continues his relentless claiming.

“Say it,” he demands, his thrusts growing rougher, sharper, pushing you higher, forcing you toward the edge. “Say that you’re mine.”

The pleasure builds too fast, too intense, threatening to consume you whole. You barely manage to choke out the words between gasps, your voice breaking under the weight of it.

“I— I’m yours,” you whisper, then louder, more desperate as he slams into you again. “I’m yours, Rafayel.”

His grip tightens, and his whole body shudders at the sound of it.

“Good girl,” he groans, his pace turning frantic, his breath hot against your skin, his teeth grazing your shoulder, threatening to mark. His fingers sneak between the both of you, pressing hard against your swollen nerves, sending sharp pleasure rocketing through you.

You don’t stand a chance.

The orgasm crashes over you like a violent tide, dragging you under, stealing your breath, making your whole body tighten around him. A cry rips from your lips, pleasure consuming everything, and Rafayel follows you into it, his movements turning erratic, wild, as he buries himself inside you, his own release shuddering through him.

His lips find yours again, a deep, lingering kiss, as if sealing something unspoken between you. His appendages slowly unravel, his hands smoothing over your trembling body, grounding you, holding you close even as the aftershocks pulse through you.

For a long moment, neither of you speak, the only sound in the room the slow, heavy breaths of two souls tangled together, bound now in a way that cannot be undone.

And then, softly, his lips brush against your ear, his voice a quiet, satisfied whisper.

“You were perfect, wife.”

The room is quiet now, save for the soft, steady rhythm of your breathing, still uneven but slowing as the aftershocks pulse gently through your limbs. Your body feels wrecked, boneless and sated in a way you’ve never known before, heat still lingering in your skin where Rafayel’s touch has claimed it.

You expect him to pull away, to put some distance between you now that the act is over, but instead, he stays.

His arms remain around you, strong and steady, his warmth sinking into your skin as if he isn’t ready to let go just yet. His breath is slow against your hair, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns along the curve of your back, grounding, soothing.

It’s almost tender.

You shift slightly, and immediately, Rafayel tightens his grip, pulling you closer, pressing you fully against his chest. A soft, pleased hum vibrates through him, low and content, and you feel the ghost of a smile against your temple.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is rough from exertion but still carries that teasing lilt, that ever-present amusement as if he is entirely responsible for the state you’re in.

You huff, your cheek pressed against the solid warmth of his chest. “Nowhere. You’re holding me.”

He chuckles, the sound low and pleased. “Of course I am.” His fingers continue their slow path over your back, tracing every ridge of your spine as if memorizing you all over again. “Would you rather I let go?”

You hesitate. You should say yes. Should remind him that this marriage was not something you entered with romance in mind, that this was meant to be duty, obligation. But after everything, with his body wrapped around yours, his hands so gentle despite everything he’s done to you, the words don’t come.

“…No,” you admit softly.

His arms tighten just a little, as if rewarding you for your honesty. “Good,” he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. You listen to his heartbeat, feel the slow rise and fall of his chest against yours, and let yourself sink into the warmth of him.

And then, softly, Rafayel speaks again.

“You were perfect.”

Heat rises in your cheeks, and you make a quiet sound of protest, burying your face deeper against his chest. His chuckle rumbles through you, amused and knowing.

“I mean it,” he murmurs, his fingers tilting your chin slightly so you have no choice but to look up at him. His eyes, still flickering between blue and pink, are softer now, the intensity subdued into something quieter. “You are mine, and I will take care of you. Always.”

Something warm settles deep in your chest at the quiet certainty in his words.

He means it. Despite all his teasing, despite the way he enjoys watching you fluster under his gaze, there is nothing uncertain about this. He has claimed you, not just in body, but in a way that feels far more permanent.

And, perhaps most surprising of all—

You don’t mind it.

The thought should scare you, should send panic curling in your chest, but it doesn’t. Instead, it settles comfortably, as if some part of you already knew this was inevitable.

As if you were always meant to belong to him.

Rafayel watches you, his gaze flickering over your face, taking in your silence with something unreadable in his expression. Then, after a moment, his lips curl slightly. “You’re thinking very hard, wife.”

You roll your eyes, shifting against him. “I’m thinking that maybe this marriage isn’t going to be as awful as I thought.”

His grin is slow, satisfied, and utterly self-assured. “Of course it isn’t,” he murmurs, brushing another kiss to your jaw, trailing lower, as if he’s already thinking about pulling you under again. “I plan to make sure of it.”

Your breath catches, warmth flaring through your body all over again as your hips softly grind against him, eliciting a growl from the prince.

Maybe married life wouldn’t be so bad.

#love and deepspace smut #lads #lnds #lads rafayel #lnds rafayel #lads smut #lnds smut #rafayel x reader #qi yu #moongirlcleo #mgc lads

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knuppitalism-with-ue · 10 months ago

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In the depth of the central lake the floor of this enormous body of water gets next to no light from the surface. Here a drastically different ecosystem thrives. We call it the worm zone, for it's diversity of large worms that lives of the carrion from above, bacterial lawns and small living prey items. Many species down here are endemic, but certain species are making migrations to the surface at night or visit on deep dives.

On Lemuria

Lemuria is a new spec evo project for and by the #paleostream community. Like the Atlantis project beforehand it deals with a fictional piece of land in 3 phases. Lemuria is an already existent concept that was invented before the recognition of plate tectonics to explain certain distribution patterns of animals and plants. In our case Lemuria is a continent consisting of India and Madagascar. We speculate how animals and plants would evolve if these two would never separate. This has MANY consequences. And the further we progress through time the more natural history will change. Phase one deals with the Cretaceous, when things are still rather "normal".

#paleoart #sciart #paleostream #palaeoblr #spec evo #lemuria

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szarina · 3 months ago

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sleepless nights ft. rafayel

There's one thing about toddlers Rafayel dislikes is when they get restless and he's talking about his child.

In the middle of the night, where the tide ebbs and flows into a gentle rhythm comes the tiny hands patting the surroundings like crabs in the sea bed waiting for the catch.

He ignores the little one tugging at his pants and crawling to his chest. Pulling the sleeves of his shirt to use it as makeshift rope for the toddler to climb up. Miffed at the movements of his toddler, Rafayel wakes up and see the tiny version of him staring right back at his own. The reddish and purplish tint dancing along the darker bluer parts of his eyes.

“Why are you awake?” The painter asks the toddler on his chest. A mix of glowering and staring at the child in front of him. The toddler blubbers incoherently at him. Drool dripping at the corners of his mouth. “Eww.” Rafayel's brow scrunched up. His face morphed into something of disbelief.

It escalates into something more sinister when the thin sheen of saliva drips in his shirt. “Oh no, you didn't! You little fishie...” The painter groans. The baby sees his expression as nothing but amusing began to giggle. Relishing on the terror he put on his father. His chubby arms flailing and he looks like a seal on the land.

Rafayel was little distracted when he feels you stir in your sleep. His wife in a deep peaceful sleep. The toddler followed his father's gaze before breaking out in a coo. Chubby fingers closing and opening trying to grasp you from their reach.

A smug grin quirked in Rafayel's lips. “Oh, you want your mama? Too bad you're here with me.” He taunts the toddler. It only took a few seconds before their chubby face scrunched up. A fit coming through. His eyes beading with tears. Toddlers and their sudden speed nowhere, Rafayel watches as his son scrambled towards you, climbing in his chest and kicking him straight in the jaw in the process.

“Ouch!” Rafayel winces and that woke you up.

The toddler immediately cuddled into you. “Hmm, someone's wide awake, eh?” You sleepily mutter before looking at your husband. “What happened, Raf?”

“He kicked me, eugh.”

“Shall we get your jaw checked at the hospital?”

You teased. Rafayel pouts at you while shooting the toddler a glare who was happily bouncing on your lap now he's at her mother.

“Da-da's upset, little fishie.” Cooing at the toddler.

“That little fishie is mean.” Rafayel grumbled.

“I wondered where he did get that from.” Feigning curiosity and poking more of Rafayel's attitude towards his son.

“Why the attitude to this little fishie, Rafayel? If my memory serves me right, someone's adamant to get me pregnant so we can repopulate Lemuria and we have this little fishie now.” Lifting the toddler who's wiggling on your hold. His giggles bubbling in the air as you blew raspberries on his chubby cheeks.

“Hmph. I did but I didn't know it was a mean little fishie, cutie.” Rafayel scoots closer to you. Him behind you as traces his son's chubby cheek with his finger. The toddler happily bites into it. Saliva covering his slender digits.

Truth be told, he loves his son more than anything else and you. His child with his blood and yours running on his veins. Your creation made from his. It was the playful teasings when the night gets quiet that made him love his life with you.

“You know what else I didn't know, Rafayel?”

“What is it, cutie?”

“That this little fishie nine months in my womb and he looks like his stupid dad.”

“Hey!”

Once again the quiet night gets livelier with your laugh and his child. Rafayel wouldn't trade anything in this world for this moment and for the sleepless nights.

#♱ ⋮ shai's works⸝⸝#chubby reader #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #lads x chubby reader #lads fluff #lads x reader #lads rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you

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headfullof-ideas · 2 months ago

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I have created a biomechanical murderous assassin monster fueled by blood and nightmares to haunt Lemuria’s history. What’s any culture/civilization without a few skeletons in their closet?

I don’t actually have anything to show for it yet, but it’s in my head and I’ll draw a diagram with notes for it one day I swear

#it doesn’t even have a name yet #but I know exactly how this thing works #and what it added to lemurias history #and why it got shoved so deep in lemurias past that there’s only one mention of it in the guardian archives #I’ve been picturing something built similar to the death angels from a quiet place #mixed between the white spikes from tomorrow war #just very lean and long legged and /fast/#we’ve heard too many good things about Lemuria. the only bad thing we know about was the benthos uprising #a kingdom as big and long lasting as what we saw has to have some dirt under its nails #some dark parts of its history. every civilization does #the deep 2015 #the deep cartoon #the deep Lemuria #the deep guardians

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a-hermit-pining · 3 months ago

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LADS Men React to You Being Different From Other Lifetimes

AN: The what ifs in my brain go crazy.

Pairing: Lads boys x (varying) reader

Genre: angst, fluff, drama, everything

Summary: In another lifetime they meet a different you.

(I do not own these characters)

Xavier: Vampire reader

What if the prince of light met you, the evil in the dark?

He found you in an alleyway, crouched over a withering man beneath the same pale light where he'd first seen you in Philos.

But you were not the same.

Your eyes, once shimmering pools of hope, were now blackened depths of corruption. Your lips, which once curled into soft smiles, were pulled back in a wicked snarl, dripping with blood.

"Hello, princeling." Your voice slides through the air like silk laced with venom. And then, you're next to him, breath ghosting along the curve of his ear. "Came here for this body?"

The hair on his neck stands on end. A dangerous warmth coils low in his stomach.

He can still feel the ghost of you, the whisp of the light you once carried. And yet, standing before him now, you are everything dark and unholy.

In that lifetime, he drove the stake through your heart. His hands trembled. His breath shattered.

And never before had he felt so hollow, a bone-deep melancholy that clung to him like a curse, long after your body turned to ash.

Rafayel: Older reader

He feels the pull for the first time as he walks toward his seat on the plane.

The ancient pull of his oath, mercilessly reminding him of the emptiness of this lifetime. He hadn’t found you. Across countries, towns, and villages, he had failed, lost another chance.

He had given up and was now on his way home, to the shores of seas that reminded him of Lemuria. He had boarded the plane and now… here you were.

You look up at him with the same eyes he’s been searching for. But now, in this life, they sit beneath crow’s feet. Lines of age carve your face.

He has never seen you like this. The sight steals his breath away.

Gray hair, a kind face, glasses perched on the tip of your nose.

In this lifetime, you lived, longer than any.

He wishes for nothing more than to grow old and blissful with you. But time had not been kind to him.

Instead, he sits next to you, listening to your chatter about your grandchildren, your late husband, and the life he had been denied access to.

Zayne: Soldier reader

He holds a saw and, without a flinch, chops off your leg.

The screams of a young soldier fill the tent, only to be drowned out by the explosions outside. The world was coming undone, with you.

The blood of millions failed to sate its hunger.

But Zayne cannot think about that now. He looks at your terrified expression, the pain and anguish of hurt mixed with hysteria.

"My leg..." you whimper.

He cups your face. You are so young. A peasant, shoved into the war between kings who could not care for life.

"Shhh, poppy will make it better," he murmurs, tipping the warm milk to your lips. "You’ll be fine. I will take care of you."

He sits next to your bed, holding your hand until your eyes droop shut.

There are so many others to tend to. But just for a moment, he steals time to sit with you, to the cruelty of watching your innocence shatter.

His eyes land on your broken spear, all that you had. In a battle of fire and steel, all you were allowed was a rusted spear. His heart twists at the unfairness of it.

Sylus: Elf reader

The old world was fading. That’s why the sight of you. your form, was astounding.

An elf. In the modern world that bowed to mortals. You were a peredhel. Half elven.

But this was not your world. Even if it demanded your very core. Tt was not yours.

You knelt beside a man who bound you in chains of servitude.

Sylus felt bloodlust flood his mind.

His other half, his mate, treated as such.

Immortal, untouched by time… this was perfect. He would have an eternity to remind you of the past.

He would find another way for the world to function, and if that came at the cost of others, so be it.

Ignoring the room full of Onichynus members, he walked toward you, breaking off the chains with his bare hands. Your captor was already headless on the floor.

Without a word, the scent of the past fills his mind as your hand slips into his palm.

You look at him, terrified. And in the tongue of sea elves, you say, "Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo."

A star shines on the hour of our meeting.

Caleb: Male reader

Brothers, many assumed. Or cousins, on occasion.

But Caleb always made it a point to state that you were friends, that you shared no blood.

Once, it had hurt you. Your soft, childish heart had feared being the cause of his shame.

If he wanted a friend, you chose to be just that, though the idea of a brother had always been dear to you.

It would be years later when you would come to know his side of things.

How the prospect of being your brother, or a long-lost cousin, had been his greatest nightmare.

Not because he loved you any less. But because he loved you differently.

And when his words are said out loud, he finally allows himself the love he had held back, to have this.

Holding hands, kissing, matching gear, he does it all. Without ever caring about others.

Now that it wouldn’t mean being perceived as your brother, but as your lover.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace headcannon #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #caleb x reader #fluff #love and deepspace reaction #angst #drama #different readers #caleb x male reader

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dark-orca-dynasty · 10 months ago

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Alpheus! Something to keep in mind is that all that info next to him is from his point of view and he is not a reliable narrator. It's a little bit ego and a little bit misinformed, but he's also not entirely wrong about Nereus not liking him. The man remembers Lemuria falling, and that it was a Benthos who caused it.

I went for comfy minimal clothes instead of my original techwear inspired plans (it involved many extraneous buckles) because I thought he'd like something low effort when he's not expecting to be around people. Which is probably a lot of the time, unless Proteus is travelling with him.

#alpheus benthos #the deep cartoon #the deep 2015 #my art #dead hammerhead au #it was not Alpheus fault Lemuria fell and Nereus knows it!#but that initial apprehension was all it took for Proteus to get his hooks into the boy #Alpheus is still picking fights with a twelve year old so keep that in mind too.

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yv0nn1e · 5 months ago

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"'cause i don't feel alive 'til i'm burnin' on your backburner."

backburner — rafayel

summary: in every life, in every timeline, the god of the sea is doomed to sacrifice everything for his beloved, angering the deep sea, and causing lemuria to fall. in every timeline, the sea god's most dedicated follower cannot stop that from happening.

pairing: rafayel x (non!mc) fem!reader

cw/tw: pure angst? and blurry timeline & lore (heavily implied relation to myths and anecdotes from the game, but will have some non-canon twists of my own)

note: have i been gone for 2 years only to come back to write a gut wrenching thought i can't contain anymore about my beloved fishboy? yes.

wc: 2k+

thinking about non!mc reader who can see and remember every timeline she has ever been in. with those timelines being intertwined with lemuria and the sea god, rafayel, her beloved but not his.

non!mc reader starting in the forgotten sea timeline as a lemurian herself whose family is closely associated with the sea god, rafayel. when young, she finds herself unexplainably infatuated with an adolescent version of rafayel himself and his aura. he was just so mischievous and cheeky in a way that it made her admire his bravery and eagerness to just explore the world. she becomes close friends with him and eventually, she realizes the underlying danger she has put herself into.

"when lemurians fall in love with someone, all our senses are committed to perceive them."

at first, she found it sweet. cute even. she adored rafayel. even if she had no oath or celestial bond that bounds her to follow anything rafayel asks, she knows it deep down that she will still obey and do whatever he wants. rafayel, ever so kind, kept her near and considered her as one of the closest companions he's ever had in such a large yet lonely position as the next sea god. their bond was somehow intimate—with her keeping rafayel stable whenever the pressure of lemuria's expectations get to him and rafayel accepting her for who she is whole-heartedly. every flaw, every freckle, and every scale in her body and soul that he could see, he could understand.

but then one faithful day, years after their younger selves have formed their close friendship, a loyal group of humans who simply idolized the god of the sea set out to offer a sacrifice to rafayel. unknowingly, when their mission goes south due to a storm, this sacrifice of theirs manages to escape and unknowingly meet the sea god himself, asking if he were lemurian and for him to help her, only to get teasing from rafayel in response. then everything happens so quickly with a kiss that sets off the mark of their oath. to the girl, mc, it may seem as though she was just trying to survive since legends held tales of a lemurian's kiss blessing one with the ability of breathing underwater. yet to non!mc reader and rafayel, they knew that it was something much deeper. something binding. sooner, the sea god then chooses mc to become his 'devout follower', failing to see that there was already one who was so willing to be in that position. with that, non!mc reader realizes she's already lost rafayel, her beloved. their ever so holy tome (tome of the sea god) states the everlasting bond that the sea god has when he has chosen his devout follower—meaning, he is bound to that very person. every command and ask must never be disobeyed or rejected; otherwise, the bond breaks.

and non!mc reader's heart breaks, especially with that girl down in lemuria and the sea god's ceremony approaching where the sea god, rafayel, and his devout follower exchange vows. jealousy was an understatement. whilst all of lemuria await in excitement, she wallows in the truth that rafayel has undoubtedly chosen mc as his beloved and his bride. before the ceremony, rafayel meets non!mc reader one last time, jokingly teasing her to not worry for he won't forsake his friendship with her which only earns him a soft chuckle and a hidden pained smile. he then thanks her for all those years he stuck by her side, that he could not have gone past the challenges and hurdles of his training and his pursuits if not for her.

"you mustn't forget to bestow us your utmost protection when you ascend to a higher level of godhood." she jests, trying to make light of the situation and distract herself with some light banter than she hopes might just change his mind and choose her to become his devout follower instead.

rafayel could not promise her that. with the slight shift of his eyes, flickering a hint of guilt, non!mc reader supposes that she knew that too.

"to love you is a privilege." that i do not have. non!mc reader says to rafayel with a soft smile, her eyes calm yet hurt, somehow helpless too. she is unsure of what he plans to do but something within their conversation told her that perhaps, it would've been the last.

and it was.

outside the temple of lemuria, the civilization starts to shake and crumble. the lemurians run with panic, wondering what could have made the deep sea enraged on such a momentous occasion. as bloodshed stained the waters of the city, non!mc reader stood amidst the chaos, shutting her eyes in disappointment and regret that she could not have stopped rafayel from whatever he was planning to do. that she could not stop rafayel from giving his heart away to his beloved costing him lemuria and his most treasured friend.

non!mc reader remembering her life during the sea of golden sands timeline where she is a guide with abysswalker!rafayel. in this timeline, they strive hard to find a way to restore lemuria and when they find out that the princess of philos has what they need to achieve that, she insists on coming with rafayel to visit her, only for rafayel to refuse.

she warns rafayel that it's dangerous. that he was already caught once when he was younger. that he was lucky for the princess to be kind enough to let him go. rafayel reassures her by telling him what happened that faithful day when rafayel was gifted to the princess of philos. he told her that one day, he'll come back for her.

non!mc reader knew that rafayel would only be captured if he wanted to. meaning that he purposely wants to be caught just to see the princess. then it hits her. the princess of philos was the same girl who became the sea god's devout follower in another life. she doesn't know how or why she knows this kind of information but something in her just recognizes the emotional and literal agonizing pain of lemuria falling and her heart being torn to shreds. she then sets out a theory that she may have gained the ability to see her past lives.

non!mc reader only finds herself becoming angry when rafayel brings the princess to the sand ruins, telling her his plans of reviving their homeland, lemuria. it angers her even more when the princess mentions dreams of the strangely familiar land. that's when she confirms that the princess was indeed rafayel's devout follower. when the princess regains her past memories after the tome reveals the symbols that stated the god of the sea killing his beloved to awaken the seas, non!mc reader knows that she's lost rafayel in this lifetime again. with much love for lemuria, she tries to set rafayel back to the right track, ignoring the fact that the princess was rafayel's beloved and convincing him to just take her heart already and revive lemuria. the princess then wished to return rafayel's heart after it is revealed that in the past life, during the ceremony of the sea god, rafayel had given his heart to mc instead of the other way around. this revelation lights fury within non!mc reader due to the clouding judgement that lemuria had fallen underneath its own god's sacrifice, seeing it as an act of betrayal on rafayel's part. yet, she said nothing. she said nothing even when rafayel refuses to take the princess' heart, even resorting to erasing her memories so that she'd forget this encounter.

"you are such a paradox, rafayel." she says with underlying venom under her voice as she sits down on a dusty rock. "you wish to revive lemuria and yet you cannot make the one true sacrifice you need to do so."

"perhaps there are other ways." rafayel gently yet assertively says.

"perhaps." she responds which may seem polite and complacent enough, yet anyone with delicate ears can definitely dissect the mockery in her voice.

days later, as their crew prepares to leave, non!mc reader notices the light glow of the fishtail beacon rafayel carries with him. with amund questioning whether or not rafayel and the princess' bond was truly even broken, non!mc reader silently scoffs in irritation, especially when the princess somehow just arrives in their hideout. despite the anger she had for rafayel, her heart gets deja vu with the way the princess declares her wish to follow rafayel wherever he goes, as if swearing she'll be his devout follower in this life too.

non!mc reader who swears she will not fall for rafayel in the next timeline she falls into when rafayel manages to put her life in death's door on this universe once more.

non!mc reader in the current timeline who, after the tsunami that revealed the reappearance of lemuria southeast of linkon, leaves the sea. leaves rafayel. leaves lemuria and her mermaid form to pursue becoming an actress on land, proceeding to be one of the most popular actresses as rafayel travels around the world, becoming a well-renowned painter who took revenge for those who wronged lemuria and his people on his own, secret ways.

non!mc reader whose heart stops on a windy day, with the sun setting and the waves of linkon city's beaches were playful once she sees rafayel walking towards her with a cheerful smirk.

"it's been a while. if i didn't know better, i'd think you were avoiding me all this time." rafayel teases to which she shakes her head to ground her thoughts.

"if only i could truly avoid you." she responds with a well-practiced smile, feigning a friendly banter that long calls back to their very first timeline.

"have you been well?" at this point, rafayel invites her to walk along the shores of linkon city, catching up on the years they've been apart. she could not deny it no matter how much she tries. she was fated to always be next to rafayel.

perhaps, it was also destiny's fault that she inevitably falls for him in every one of her lives.

"i couldn't be happier." she lies. after the multiple lives she's lived, hiding her true feelings for the man, she's learned the skill of lying so swiftly as if she were actually uttering what she convinces herself was the truth. perhaps that was why she had grown to obtain a penchant for acting.

because in every universe, she has had to act as though she was not broken by the fact that she was undeniably in love with a man who was forever bounded to his beloved.

non!mc reader who foolishly accepts rafayel back into her life when he mentions that he's staying in linkon, even though something in her already knew that he was there for a reason. even though she long realized that rafayel agreed to also leave lemuria to travel the world only to search for his devout follower, his bride, his soulmate.

non!mc reader who is no longer surprised when rafayel introduces his new bodyguard, a young woman with a heart condition. she could only smile at the girl, knowing that rafayel, has once again, found her. that, once again, destiny has shoved it in her face that she was only meant to yearn for rafayel's love, forever by the sidelines.

a celebratory party was held for yn when she just reached a greater height for her acting career. she finds herself walking the shores of linkon at night in her velvet blue dress, the mermaid cut of the skirt softly brushing against the white sands. she adores the warmth of the yellow string lights within the trees and posts, engulfing herself in the solitude and respite she needed. truth be told, despite her love for her career, one of the main reasons she even pursued the thing was to distract herself from the impending doom and painful fate she was destined to go through, like in every timeline she was ever in. to be killed under her own deity's hands.

"i never took you to be such a loner." a familiar voice takes her out of her trance, eyes shifting from the whispered waves of the beach and towards rafayel.

"just thanking home, i suppose." she responds elegantly, head tilting a bit to point to the ocean.

there was an awkward silence when she turns her body away from rafayel, her back facing him as she hugs herself to give some warmth from the cold brush of the sea breeze.

"afraid to get in the water?" rafayel gently teases as he walks closer to her, arms already taking off his dark blue blazer, not even giving her a chance to react as he wraps the garment around her shoulders.

taken back, she tilts her head to look at him, eyes slightly wider than normal but not enough to show shock.

"you looked like a cold fish." rafayel points out, justifying his actions.

for a moment, she takes rafayel in once more. it's been so long that she's avoided true connection with him to lessen the pain she would have to endure in this timeline. he seemed the same. different yet the same. his purple hair softly brushing against his forehead, bringing out the multiple hues within his eyes, and the glint of different colors making up his skin under the glow of the moon.

the longer she looks at him, the more she remembers every life she had suffered because of him.

destiny is far too cruel with fate to let her fall in love with him over and over again.

destiny and fate be damned.

"i love you, rafayel." she didn't expect her voice to quiver but as soon as those words slipped past her lips, her eyes blinked with crystalline waters pooling above them, almost teasing their fall.

"i wish i didn't, but i can't help but fall for you in every life i can remember." rafayel, still taken back with what she said could only stand there.

"i don't know if you can remember but i certainly do, as if they were just memories of yesterday." biting her lips, she lets out a heavy breathe, letting the weight of centuries of pain after every timeline and every life go. "and i am most definitely tired of having to endure those lives standing by your side and keeping quiet of what i truly feel."

"i love you, rafayel, and words can not begin to describe the longing that my heart must go through just by standing next to you. i can not continue moving on from one life to another and pretend as though my heart does not beat for you. as though i am not ready to carve it out and serve it to you if that's what it took to open your eyes. it pains me, so to know that i am destined to a sad ending of being alone, without you. but perhaps, it's high time i fight against it."

non!mc reader who fails, falling in love for rafayel in this life and realizing that she will keep falling for him in every other one that may come.

"destiny had always been my biggest enemy, with you as my greatest regret."

#yv0nn1e #rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel angst #lads #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lover and deepspace angst #lads angst

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souriru · 4 months ago

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am i falling in love with the one? || love and deepspace

xavier listens to you sing in silence, gentle eyes wide open with an intensity in the blue-gray that makes you shudder deep in your heart. he doesn't interrupt, no, how could he, when he inspired such a song, that no matter your ability to sing, you were singing? for him? after you finish, he still sits silently as you fidget in front of him, and he whispers praises breathlessly as he reached for your hands. "you wrote this for me? for me?" he looks away, eyes still wide, wondering how to voice the emotions violently swirling in his chest.

later, he’ll casually hum the melody under his breath when he thinks you’re not listening.

when you sit him down after a long day and start humming, zayne makes sure to listen to every word. his sharp, attentive eyes droop with relaxation and ease, and you try not to smile at the way he slides cozily on the bed, resting on the covers and trying to fight the need to close his eyes and rest. As the song continues, his skin flushes and his ears turn red, and as you end the song, he pulls you closer to him, kissing your torso and your hands. "thank you. the song was beautiful. if you have more, i would love to hear them all."

later, he insists you record it so he can listen to it during his rare breaks.

from the first note, rafayel is mesmerised. it's almost as if he's not even here with you anymore- far away in lemuria, under the ocean, where his home was. his expression softens as he rests his cheek on his fist and closes his eyes, completely absorbed in your voice, as if you’re the only thing that exists. it scares you, a little- the way he can be so absorbed in you like nothing else matters. it is flattering, nonetheless, and when you finish the song, he doesn't say anything for a minute. "it's wonderful. i love it. it's... it's as if you wove the universe into a song just for me."

later, you find him playing the melody on his violin, lost in his own world.

sylus watches you with an unreadable expression and a glass of wine in his hand, red eyes locked onto yours, unblinking but gentle. as you sing, his posture stays relaxed, but you can sense the storm raging beneath his exterior, and you try not to smile- he loves you, loves you, loves you so- but you see the slow tapping of his foot as he clumsily tries to match the beat. by the end of the song, he lets out a breath, one he didn’t realize he was holding, and a slow smirk tugs at his lips as you smile. "you’re full of surprises, aren’t you, sweetie?" his voice is low, teasing, but there’s something else there, something vulnerable, something loving. he won’t say it outright, but the song means more to him than he’ll ever admit verbally, but you know what he means.

later, he hums it absentmindedly, a little off-key, as if it’s been etched into his very soul.

from the first note you sing, caleb’s expression is pure awe, awe in a way that could never be explained, only seen. his eyes widen, and a soft smile spreads across his lips as he listens, phone tossed carelessly to the side. he leans in, elbows on his knees, completely lost in you and your voice, and when the song ends, he blinks rapidly, as if snapping out of a dream he did not want to end. "that was... amazing. no, no, more than amazing." his voice is thick with emotion and earnestness, and before you can react, he wraps you in the warmest hug. though you don't comment, you can feel his heart pounding. "sing it again? please?"

he’ll never get tired of hearing it, and later, he asks you to teach him the melody and the lines so he can sing it back to you.

@valzxx11 requested this in the community and the server and the gods forced me to write this like my hands were on fire so why not :3 it's a very cute idea, and i hope you like this!!! im sorry that these are so short :") || xavier, zayne, and rafayel's headers are by @editshan! || 671 words

#love and deepspace #lads sylus #lads zayne #lads caleb #lads xavier #lads rafayel #lads x reader #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace sylus #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace mc #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #sylus x reader #caleb x reader

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yuansie · 4 months ago

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ocean memories : why, then, did thy fall?

synopsis. desire is influenced by the impulsive need to have something in one's heart. desire is bad and it is dangerous—you learn this from the very being that was supposed to have a blessed bond with you, the being that was meant to protect you all.

pairing. rafayel x fem! non mc! reader

warnings. (implied) death, an argument somewhere in there, mentions of hatred, destruction (?), reader prays bc lemuria going through it oops 💔💔 if there is anything i'm missing, please let me know!

genres. angst

rating. pg-13

w/c. 2.1k

a/n. HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAYYYYYYYY this is my gift to you heh... not proofread. we die like them today I MEAN WHAT

YOU FOUND A HUMAN BOOK ON ONE OF YOUR IMPROMPTU VISITS TO THE SURFACE WHEN YOU WERE A TEENAGER, and it had described an interesting concept that fascinated you to no end: time for humans. to humans, time is precious for they don’t have a long lifespan. time can fly by fast for them before they know it. for lemuria, time goes by slowly. lemurians have longer lifespans, immortality making a day for a human seem like a hundred years to the ancient civilization.

yet time has flown by fast for you in these recent months.

perhaps it is because you do not speak to the god of tides anymore, or it is because of the appearance of his most devout follower.

when it was revealed that rafayel had taken a human to live in his temple, lemurians were baffled. you spoke to them in a calming voice, easing the worries that began to swim in their heads.

the attention the devout follower was receiving, the words being whispered about her, eventually reached rafayel. he appeared to them while you lead a prayer, revealing to them that she is his devout follower before leaving.

of course, you were left with the aftermath of a panicked lemuria, one that questioned the intentions of their god. you told them that it is a good thing, the appearance of the devout follower, for it means that he will soon be the sea god.

lemuria calms down, and you are left with a heavy heart.

“please, put the flowers at the base of the pillars,” you instruct, watching the lemurians helping you prepare the temple for the ceremony. “and have them go up and wrap around the pillars.”

“yes, divine priestess.”

you smile, glancing to your side. arabelle stands next to you, her attention elsewhere. you tuck her black hair behind her ear, making sure it won’t tangle itself with the string of the veil she wears around her mouth—the one you used to don when you were training to be the god of tides’ priestess. “what is on your mind?”

arabelle looks at you, her silver eyes hesitant. “…miss priestess.”

“yes?”

“why are you not with him? are you not his devout follower?”

are you not his devout follower? the words echo loudly in your head.

“…it is because i am his priestess,” you answer carefully. “i cannot be the devout follower for the ceremony for i am needed by both the temple and the people.”

a deep and vibrant blue taints her silver eyes, seeping into the irises until it is fully consumed. glowing, blue eyes stare into your widened ones.

“you are his most devout follower,” a voice rings out from arabelle’s throat, sounding like rafayel’s yet different. “you are the one with the most blessed bond with him, the only one chosen by the deep sea and sea god.”

you watch as silver slowly replaces the blue in her irises. arabelle frowns, “it should be you in the temple tomorrow, miss priestess.” she quickly waves her hands in a panicked manner, shaking her head. “not that i doubt the god of tides! it just makes more sense for you—” she stops, her gaze downcast as you chuckle.

“it is fine to have doubts,” you tell her, gently ruffling her hair. “just don’t let anyone hear of them.”

the bells ring, and you and the girl watch everyone inside the temple trickle out before the doors close. you hold out your hand, arabelle grabbing it, and lead her to the room you used to stay in when you were younger. your eyes rake around it, noting how it lost all of your quirks and now reflects arabelle’s personality. her desk is piled up with neatly stacked books and sea shells decorate her walls.

“you know where to find me if you need anything, right?” you ask by the door. arabelle nods as she takes off her veil, grinning at you. “then i wish you a goodnight.”

“goodnight, miss priestess!”

you make it down the hall before a familiar voice speaks up.

“i did not know that i appointed a new priestess.”

he emerges from the shadows of the corridor that leads to your room. you spare a glance at him before walking past him, merely letting out a huff. “is that so?”

the god of tides follows after you. “why did you not tell me?”

“i am busy,” you shrug. “after all, i have to prepare the temple and the citizens accordingly for the ceremony. it is only natural i take in a child in these… lively times.”

“but that child was not chosen by me.” there is exasperation in his tone, and it irks you. what is there for him to be annoyed at?

“did she have to?” you swivel around to face him and tilt your head to the side, your eyes slightly narrowed. “you are busy with… your own affairs, so it falls to me to make these decisions for the greater good of lemuria.”

dual toned eyes stare at you with a sort of emotion you can’t pinpoint. perhaps it is anger that swirls in his blue and pink irises. “you—”

“i do not have time for this,” you mutter, turning around and continuing your walk back to your room. “and neither do you.”

“but y/n—”

“priestess y/n,” you correct, stopping at the entrance of your room. you push the door open and pause, “it is priestess y/n, my lord.”

“my lord?” the god of tides repeats, baffled. “since when have you called me that? since when have we used titles?”

“i have realized that i have grown lenient,” you reply, taking a step into your room. with a deep breath, you continue, “you and i have grown lenient.”

“lenient?” he repeats. “why do you say that?”

“because a priestess should not be calling their god by first name. our relationship should not be what it is now.”

“what are you—”

you take another step inside, twisting around to face him. your heart pounds in your chest, painfully aching at the words you’ve uttered. yet, you do not back down. he chose this as soon as he brought forth the human as his devout follower, and you are finally drawing the line. you should’ve done it ages ago for your relationship was never supposed to grow to this extent.

there was always going to be a line separating the two of you, and you both chose to ignore it when you were younger. but you are older now, so you will finally address it.

“goodnight, my lord,” you say, slowly closing the door. “rest now, for the ceremony is tomorrow.”

there is a soft clicking sound the echoes quietly in the dark corridor as soon as the door closes.

there is a statue outside of the temple, one that the head of the village had commissioned to get done when you were a kid, of the god of tides. you kneel in front of it, eyes closed and your hands clasped tightly. you are tense and rigid, arabelle’s words repeating in your head like a broken record.

the sea god and his devout follower have gone to the surface.

you want to let out a bitter scoff, you want to roll your eyes to the back of your skull at his sheer audacity to do such a thing on this important day.

but you don’t.

you instead pray, but you don’t pray to the god of tides. no, you pray to the deep sea. you pray that today be blessed, that the ceremony would go smoothly.

there is a shift in the currents, the singing of the fishes of his arrival flows into your ears.

“the ceremony will begin now,” you mumble, eyes still closed. “go tell them. i will continue to pray.”

there is a shuffle next to you followed by running footsteps that soon fades away.

you sigh, shoulder slumping. let the ceremony go smoothly, you pray, give him the strength to do what must be done. you pray to the deep sea because you aren’t sure if he will do what has to be done.

a sudden chill falls on you like a blanket, making your eyes snap open. whalefall city is plunged in darkness, and the sea is silent until your ears pick up the panicked shouts of the lemurians. you rush into the city, finding everyone gathered at the bottom of the road that leads up to the temple.

“divine priestess! has the ceremony gone wrong?”

“what are we to do?”

“divine priestess, what is going on?”

“are we doomed?”

“my brethren,” you say softly, holding out an open hand. bright, blue swirls appear, rendering everyone silent. “you must stay calm. the ceremony is still ongoing. we—”

everyone screams and yells as the ground suddenly shakes, the sea growing violent as it sends currents everywhere.

“stay close to me!” you yell.

you’re about to fall onto the ground after another violent shake from the seafloor, yet the water holds you above the ground. the deep sea, despite its anger, is still looking after you.

but the same cannot be said for the rest.

much less for him.

because everyone gasps, their attention drawn to the crumbling sight of their beloved temple. your eyes are wide with shock.

the ceremony has—

the shaking stops and the sea is calm.

“miss priestess,” arabelle walks up to you, a slight tremble in her hands as she places it on your arm. “has the ceremony gone wrong?”

you don’t know what to say. “arabelle—”

“look!”

the sea god emerges from the rubble, holding onto a tiny flame that flickers dangerously so… the devout follower is nowhere in sight.

“the ceremony is a success!” someone shouts.

cheers erupt amongst the lemurians.

“the sea god is among us now!”

no, you think. he is not the sea god.

the ceremony was a failure, and he has doomed you all. it is just as the deep sea had told you: disaster.

the sea god disappeared, leaving whalefall city alone with the divine priestess of the deep sea. he has not appeared in many years, not even as the city plunges to the depths of the sea. he does not show his face when you help everyone evacuate the city, though you don’t go with them.

“must you stay here alone, miss priestess?”

arabelle now reaches your shoulders, having grown quite the bit over the years. you smile and ruffle her hair, “i must stay here and pray for everyone’s safety.”

“i can do that in your place!”

“you cannot,” you answer firmly. “as the divine priestess, i must stay here to pray in order to ensure everyone’s safety.” you sigh and grab arabelle’s shoulder, squeezing them softly. “arabelle, i chose you for a reason. you must lead them, help them build anew.”

the girl slowly nods. “i will do as you say, miss priestess.”

you smile wider, pushing her slightly towards the lemurians that wait for her. “go now.”

“miss priestess, will i… will i see you again?"

all you can do is continue to smile, “goodbye arabelle. may the deep sea protect you on this journey.”

you watch the lemurians leave their home until your eyes no longer can. that’s when you head to the ruins of the temple and watch with disdain at the crumbling statue of the person you used to love. you will the anger to go away, not wanting your last moments to be of hatred. no, you want your last moments to be filled with hope that the lemurians of whalefall city may build their new lives easily without trouble.

your eyes close when you start feel your tail grow lighter and how it travels up your body slowly. you mournfully sing goodbye to your people and to the sea you love so much, stopping to utter a final prayer to the deep sea.

“do not let me meet him again, oh deep sea,” you mumble. “i wish to not see him again.”

and then you’re gone, reduced to foam.

you’re gone and he heard you whisper your final words in the form of a prayer to the deep sea and not to him, making his chest feel like it is about to cave in.

you’re gone and he watched as you turned into sea foam, the color so alike to your hair that it makes him sick.

rafayel closes his eyes from where he is, letting out his final breath. what was the color of your hair before it had turned into the color sea-foam? he cannot remember.

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