#thread: the ripples of the water surface

[ferinehuntress]

◈　 ⇢  @lunarrepel　 ⋯　 Continued Ask. 　　　❝ A better conversation started off at the campsite quiet. ❞

Aylin pushed her platinum blond hair back behind her shoulder, looking down upon the smaller woman, yet it did not hide the forceful ferocity she held. A strength she would need in the coming days, Aylin vowed not to let dwindle with the change of her life. It took a strong-willed heart to do what she had done, and Aylin would not allow her to travel that road alone. "Ah, I cannot speak for much of my kind, other aasimar or devas. I, for one, enjoy being in Faerun though. Tis many wonderous beauties this continent has to offer, and my father lives among them," Aylin smiled, offering a small inward offering of her life.

The darkening tone to Shar caused Aylin to frown a little. "Shar.... is a cruel mistress. She contaminates the minds of those who follow her, ensuring only her voice remains. For those who follow, she is everything. For her, you all are nothing but tools. It is a cruel fate, and I am sorry, Shadowheart, for the poisoning voice of her words that made it hard for you. I swear on my oath and my sword that my words are not lies. I, too, suffered her voice for many centuries. My aunt is the  definition of a tormentor in beautiful garbs," If Aylin could, she would remove her curse, and ensure that Shar could not harm Shadowheart for her decision. Everyone deserves free will, to choose. Not everyone follows Selune, but that does not mean Aylin forbade them from her protection. She protected anyone innocent of heart and kind of soul.

"Ease, my friend. No vitriol when speaking about the validity of past events. Despite her venomous words, you choose your fate, and that is commendable. You may not know now the impact of your choice, but I am sure it will prove to be a momentous wave of change that others will see. As Shar took you, no doubt there are others just like you, chained in the servitude of a goddess they are forced to worship, believing to be their choice," Aylin reached over and placed a hand upon her shoulder. Despite still wearing the metal armor of Shar, it was clear the woman already found herself deviating and changing. But a ripple set off that would soon become of wave. Aylin hoped to ease Shadowheart's apprehension as she tilted her head and moved over to sit down on the ground. Aylin had foregone her armor, set underneath the tent to wear a tunic and some comfort pants that puffed around her legs.

The question came and Aylin's heart faltered as she took a breath. For some time she sat quietly, formulating her words. "No, my mother could not reach me. I speak with her, in my dreams and when she comes to me during these moonlit hours. She does not hide from me, the moon maiden. But in Shar's domain, the moon could not touch," She glanced down at her hand, the cracked scars bearing proof of a century of torture and abuse as she turned her icy blue eyes to the not-so-sharran. "I did not lose faith in my mother, I knew she would have been there if she could, but Selûne could not enter the Shadowfell without yet another war ensuing. I do not reproach my mother, the previous war with Shar was bloody and many decades of death," Once more, Aylin fell quiet as she reached for a flat stone. It was perfectly polished from years of travel, rounded to perfection with the use of erosion from the great mountains down to this river's edge.

She drew her arm back and tossed it forward, as the stone bounced, causing ripped along the water's edge before it plunged into the waters below. "I nearly lost faith in myself," Aylin finally admitted, finding it easy to talk to Shadowheart. "When you are tortured for two centuries, or so I think it was two... perhaps longer. time is hard to process in the shadowfell. But the silence was longer, and Shar tormented my mind, bleeding lies and regrets and whispers of the ongoing of the world why I was chained to the stones. She enjoyed making her "nightsong" scream," Aylin bitterly stated the title. It was one she did not like, and she hated anyone who used it. her name was Aylin Silverblood, daughter of Selûne. the nightsong was nothing but a curse, forced upon her by the malefactors of death and darkness.

[suguwu]

Mer!jing yuan save me … mer!jing yuan … save me mer!jing yuan

listen i know this is a meme but—

gn!reader, shipwrecks, yandere. minors and ageless blogs dni.

he's been watching the ship.

it moves smoothly through the waters, parts the waves and leaves a quiet trail in its wake. the sails ripple with the wind, a disturbed pond, until they balloon out, full-bellied like the moon. it's well-made, the ship, and well-loved. jing yuan has seen enough ships to know.

and its captain is just as loved.

he's seen how your men respond to you, the way they laugh merrily but follow your orders without question. they cheer your name after you take the helm during a summer storm, the hungry sea breaking against the hull, lightning forking through the sky. after the storm passes, you stand on the deck, chest heaving. the sun peeks out from behind the distant clouds, and you turn your face up towards the watery light. it burnishes you, warms your wet figure into something more.

the ship sails on.

jing yuan follows.

it's easy to keep up despite the wind catching in the sails, his powerful tail coiling and bunching with muscle as he swims, the scales shining like moonlight beneath the water. he keeps his distance, for now.

the ocean favors you, he thinks, with the way sea spray kisses your lips like a lover, catches in your hair, crystalline droplets crowning you. the salt gleams on your skin when you're on deck, glittering in the sunlight as you weave your way through the deckhands.

he has heard the sirens before, the wailing echo of their enchanting song, and he hears them in your voice. it draws him near, closer than he should, peeking out of the water like the moon rising over the horizon to watch you as you get ready for bed, your windows open wide to the expanse of the sea. he watches, and watches, and watches.

the sound of your voice sinks into his bones, slips silken through his blood. he would know it anywhere, can unwind the thread of it from the patchwork quilt of the sea shanties you sing with your crew. he contemplates speaking to you, but he can wait. he knows the path you are taking, his fingertips weaving a current. he knows where it ends.

jing yuan knows patience well.

your laugh shimmers like moonlight on the water as you dance a jig with your first mate, bouncing merrily. the sea laps at the hull of your ship, peaceful and sweet, belaying the tempest it can whip into.

he can taste the storm coming.

it hits that night, the bruised clouds swallowing down the moon, the sea churning, white-capped waves like teeth. the ship is buffeted by the howling wind, sent skipping forward as you yell to your crew, voice firm. it is only because he knows you so well that he can recognize the waver to it.

the storm grows.

it catches the ship in its teeth, drags it to and fro like a dog with a bone. you yell until your voice goes hoarse, rasps like the waves against the pebbles of the shore. the ship keels under the press of a hungry wave. jing yuan hums to himself, the sound lost to the storm, and dives.

beneath the roiling surface, the ocean welcomes him, the currents tickling against his powerful body as he keeps pace with the ship. the current he'd spun swirls around him like a tapestry, warm and familiar.

it does not take long to see them.

his mother the sea has whittled the rocks into gravemakers to feed her unceasing hunger. beneath the surface lies the wreckage of several ships, rotting in the ocean's maw. they are barnacled, wicked-mouthed things, the gravemaker rocks, pointed like spears and dark enough to meld with the ocean's blackened surface. the current ripples around them.

they rend your ship asunder.

they tear through the wood like teeth to meat, ripping through the hull with a ravenous bite. the sea howls her delight as the hull splinters; the water rushes in, eager to devour. as he surfaces, watching, waiting, jing yuan can hear your voice pitched with fervor, lined with a well-hidden panic.

a wave rises and crashes into the ship, pinning it further onto the rocks. the hull gives. it folds into itself like a paper crane crushed in clumsy fingers; the water swallows it.

jing yuan knows the second you hit the water.

he calls the current to him, following its beckoning fingers with just a few pulses of his powerful tail. he surfaces to find you floating amid the wreckage, blood seeping from a few scrapes and scratches.

he hums and gathers you into his arms; lets the warmth of your skin sink into him. you stir for only a breath before sinking back into unconsciousness. but your heartbeat is strong and steady.

jing yuan wraps himself around you and dives again. he has been patient enough.

this is always where your path was leading.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

So. Lena as a stitch witch/thread mage. She spends multiple hours-long sessions with Kara's cape in her lap, her fingers slowly moving across the warp and weft, lingering every painstaking millimeter. Kara sees her do it, Lena tells her exactly what she's doing (imbuing the cloth with protection magicks) -- its not a secret by any means.

A couple months/years later, Lena develops the means for laypeople to see magic. (Think one of those magnifying ring lights that scientists and crafters use.) Kara thinks its dope that her girlfriend is so smart. But then she gets bored, and wanders into the lab alone to poke around. She's idly swishing her cape around her, as one does, until she pauses, recalling those days Lena spent with said swath of fabric.

Kara knows what magic looks like by now-- they've used it on a couple of magical items they've found around the city, trying to track down an unknown magic user. It looked like gentle ripples, undulating over the surface of the object.

As Kara takes a handful of her cape, drawing it towards the lens, she wonders what color Lena's magic is.

The fabric shines so bright under the magnifying glass that it sears Kara's retinas, temporarily blinding her.

"Mother of-- Rao!" Rearing back, she slaps her hands over her eyes, now watering, and tries to blink away the newly won shadows from her vision. "What the--"

"Kara?"

The sound of Lena's footsteps rushing to the lab draws Kara's attention.

"What happened--?"

"Jesus-- me being an idiot happened," Kara grumbles, blinking rapidly to try and focus on where Lena should be. All she sees is a large dark blotch. "Hey, what did you calibrate that thing with?"

"One of Nyxly's artifacts," Lena responds. Warm hands take Kara by the elbows and guide her over to a nearby stool. "I wanted to be able to distinguish between fifth dimensional energy and true magic. Here, can you follow my finger?"

"What finger?" Kara quips. The blotch is already beginning to shrink by a fraction, assuring Kara that the damage to her vision isn't permanent. Her mind spiralled.

Nyxly had had magic unlike the world had ever seen. More powerful than Mxy even. None of the artifacts they'd put under that lens had come anywhere close to producing even half that effect.

"Kara, will you please tell me what you were doing--"

"I wanted to see what your magic looked like," she says, bluntly. "My cape..."

"...oh." Lena's voice is quiet. "Yeah, that--"

"Probably wasn't the best idea. Clearly." Kara tries to grin, but she knows it probably comes up flat. "But my god, Lena..."

"Florence says I have an affinity for magic. Like my mother."

"This," Kara gestures towards her eyes, "is more than an affinity."

She hears Lena swallow. "Please don't be scared. I would never do anything to hurt--"

"Scared? Lena, I'm-- I'm in awe of you."

A beat of silence follows, before Lena's hands settle in hers. "Please don't be that either. I'm just me."

Kara blinks, and smiles towards the hazy silhouette of Lena's hair, in its usual gentle waves. She tugs Lena closer, until Lena relaxes towards her and lets her forehead rest on Kara's.

"Just you is amazing."

[hrefna-the-raven]

Cat and mouse

Masterlist - BG3 masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4

Words: 930

Summary: you try to win that game of cat and mouse you're playing with Raphael

Warnings: smut mention, kind of, no real smut, not yet 😇

"We delivered the devil, now I want what I'm owed! We had a deal!", Astarion snapped, the tone of his voice cracking ever so slightly at the shock the newly found information provided.

"Indeed we did. I discovered all there is to know about those scars. It's a rather grim tale, even for my taste", Raphael chuckled, "but what can I say? Dear old father has a taste for drama."

"Yeah I wonder who else does?", you muttered passing them, not even bothering to look at the devil as you made your way towards the river not far away from your campside.

The argument between the devil and the vampire subsided the further you got away and a sense of relief washed over you as the only sounds that filled the air were the gentle flow of the river and the soft chirping of crickets. Outwardly, you tried to maintain an air of indifference towards Raphael, but internally, a tumultuous battle of emotions raged within you. From the very moment you first encountered the devil, there was a faint connection, something special that lingered in the shadows of your mind, silently intertwining with the unknown threads of fate.

You undressed and entered the water, feeling a shiver run through your body as the coldness brushed against your skin. Inhaling deeply, you descended into the depths, enveloped by the serene silence of the currents, finding solace as your restless thoughts gradually eased. Time was elusive beneath the surface; it could have been a minute, two, or an eternity as it seemed, until an ominous feeling of peril slowly crawled up your spine, compelling you to resurface once more.

A gasp escaped your lips as you suddenly found yourself face to face with Raphael's naked human form, his eyes, a deep, mesmerizing shade of brown, locked on yours. The two of you were suspended in the water, locked in a moment of tension and hidden desire.

"Are you aware that cats usually despise water?", he asked, his voice low and seductive.

"Then perhaps this cat must be very tempted to catch the mouse", you shrugged, attempting to sound nonchalant and unaffected.

"A real temptress this mouse is and very... elusive", he chuckled softly, his breath caressing your skin as he inched closer, "you've been trying to ignore me."

"And you've been keeping secrets from me", you turned away, attempting to conceal the heat that was spreading across your cheeks upon realising the growing intimacy between the two of you.

You sensed a ripple in the water, causing the hairs on your neck to stand on end as if a scorching breath brushed against your skin.

But as you turned around, splashing water where the devil had been, you realised that he had vanished. A quivering breath escaped your lips and just as your heartbeat calmed down, something seized your foot and forcefully dragged you beneath the water's surface.

In a panic, you tried let out a piercing scream that morphed into a cluster of bubbles and you kicked in all directions, desperately fighting to resurface. Eventually, you emerged from the depths of the water, gasping for air. Your eyes darted around, attempting to make sense of what had just occurred. Still in a state of shock, your realised that you were no longer in the river. Instead, you found yourself confined again within that same room with its walls adorned in crimson hues and the opulent bed, this time pinned in the pool under Raphael's bare demonic figure. He leered down at you, his eyes flickering with an insatiable hunger and desire.

"My little mouse", he whispered into your ear, gently grazing his teeth along your neck, eliciting a suppressed moan that you fought to hold back.

In a desperate attempt to create some distance, you placed your hand on his chest, only to find your efforts futile.

"My cat", you swallowed nervously, "I propose a... deal."

Raphael raised an eyebrow, surprised by your sudden choice of words.

"A deal? How intriguing", his husky voice sending shivers down your spine.

"You'll tell me the complete truth about your feelings towards me", your fingers trailed down his chest in a newly found burst of confidence.

"And what do I get in return?", he half moaned, his growing desire evident.

This was a perilous game he found himself playing. If he wasn't careful, he would be ensnared by you instead of the other way around. Whatever enchantment you held over him was becoming increasingly difficult to resist.

"The chase ends once and for all", you wrapped your fingers around his hard length.

A primal sound emanated from the depths of the cambion's chest as he pressed his face against your neck, his hips instinctively moving to seek more of your captivating caress. It was at this precise moment that you realised you had him, despite any attempts he may make to cheat his way out this deal, his response spoke volumes, confirming the lingering doubt that had haunted you since the encounter at the mausoleum.

"So, do we have a deal, devil?", you leaned against his warm cheek.

The words slipped from your lips, a soft whisper while your hand kept stroking his cock. Raphael raised his head, his black pupils dilated with an intense longing. His lips crashed onto yours, submerging you beneath the water's surface, his weight pressing down upon you.

But just as suddenly as it began, it ceased. The sensation of his scorching skin against yours vanished, and you found yourself back in the river near the camp.

"Foul creature," you muttered quietly, attempting to push aside the pulsating heat between your thighs.

[ikkosu]

OFFICER PROWL AND SELKIE

think I did a little drabble of the idea, but this is the polished one :D manifesting I finish this mini-fic during may grahhh. selkie asks -> this and this. Thanks to gourmet anon for the idea 🫡

—[pt one]

THE half-crystalized water ripples back with a waver, and leaning over the ledge of the boat, he's got a decent glimpse of his own cinched up expression. Immediately, whether it was because the intensity was too much even for his own to bear, the scowl loosens and Prowl's left dumbly blinking at the water.

Not the most ideal kind of climate to scour for a dead body — winter, especially.The sky scathed with cotton clouds might as well merge with the ether as one.Then again, it's not the most normal kind of murder he's faced with : dead body dropped in the middle of the lake and all.

Despite the gloves, his fingers twitched, nose and ears blossomed red like the veneer of his boots. Bluestreak had called him 'lobster face', 'lobster scowl' and the variations culminating from that nickname alone is enough to give a Cougar a run for it's money. 

All he wants is to get this charade done and over with. While it's a bitter pill to swallow, it's not like the body will suddenly appear when he wants it to be, does it? Somewhere around the waters, floating, gliding along the currents. Wedged between rocks, too. It'll take more than a few weeks at most to map out the entire creek — that is, if the creatures down there haven't torn the body to pieces, already....

Or if Sentinel, bonus if he got a kick out of it, had decided the pendant wasn't worth uncovering, called off the search. He's an interesting specimen like that. Actually, no. Better not resort to that line of thought, yet. That's the worse to come out of this situation.

He's yet give that prick an earful. 

A cloud of air seethes through his teeth, frostbitten. He'll have to head inside and warm up before he can continue searching for another hour.His joints are already locked, the muscles taut and stiff, fingers with barely any pulse of warmth in it and his nose might as well pop off by now with how the cold’s nipping it numb.

Prowl plods towards the end of the boat, boots clacking the surface. As he's hauling up the rope, grunting with his gloves curled round the thread, the sudden ire of the floorboards creaking made him stiffen. He halts. 

Prowl swivels around.

All that were there on his left was a cliff-side, cloaked with snow. He could barely see the top because of the fog, and it loomed over him like a stretched out cloud of shadow. On his right, were silhouettes of valleys and trees galore. Figures human-like, almost daunting. 

And still — nothing in sight.

Another creak resounds. The water surrounding the boat rippled. Prowl tilts his head to listen, eyes narrowed. His heart pulsed when another creak sounded. Then, another creak. Another. And, many more. Following in succession like the purging of bullets. 

Something is under this boat—!

Prowl let's out a startled grunt when the boat tips forward, launching him face first into the waters, immediately strangling him of air. It's a cold slap to his face and a quick pierce through the layers of his clothing.

It's cold. Cold, cold, cold. And, he's struggling to breathe under the weight of the water and the heavy layers of his clothing didn't help. Steadying his breath, Prowl claws upwards, reaching for the frayed ends of the rope that dawdled over the boat— 

Only to be tugged down by slick tendrils  curling around his ankle. Prowl let's out a startled shout, kicking and thrashing his leg to get it off but his effort is proven futile as all it does in the face of his struggle is yank him down further into the abyss. 

One look at the visage below — what he's greeted with is not such a genial sight.

Yellow eyes, a face and fangs.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

"And he shall smite the wicked and plunge them into the fiery pit.”

Aaaand we've finally come to the conclusion of Rollo at the Writing Desk! (The masterlist for it will go up later.) If your ask was not answered, it was likely too similar to another interaction and/or was submitted outside of the allotted blog event period 😅 Here's a little piece to "wrap up" Rollo's hellish stay with us at NRC~

The End of Rollo at the Writing Desk.

At the end of his stay, Rollo was more frazzled than Raven had ever seen him.

Of course, he wouldn’t dare to outwardly present disheveled. Certainly not what he could control at least.

Not a hair out of place, and not a single crease in his elegant robes. However, there was an unmistakeable disturbed look in his eyes. Palpable fear and revulsion, as if he had witnessed things he shouldn’t have and failed to scrub his mind of the memories.

“… Is everything okay?” Raven asked, her question a loud whisper in the crystalline Mirror Chamber. The words reflected off of the dark faces of many mirrors, coming back as a soft wail. Okay—okay—okay, came the echo from the unknown.

“Yes.” His reply was prompt, automatic, and without frills. “You needn’t waste your concern on me.”

“… Right.”

Raven turned away and to the Mirror of Darkness. It floated upon its dais, a ghostly apparition of magic.

“O Dark Mirror, I beseech you! Return this soul to where it belongs: Noble Bell College in the City of Flowers.”

Upon her request, the surface of the mirror ripple like water. Some indescribable magic was reaching out across space, tugging on the thread that would connect this place and that. When the rings upon the water faded into smoothness and gave way to a faint image—flying buttresses and stained glass windows illuminated by candles—Raven knew it was ready.

She lifted the hem of her skirt and curtsied to her departing guest as he stepped onto the dais. “Bon voyage, Rollo-senpai. I hope you enjoyed your time with us here at our Night Raven College.”

Enjoyed?

A strong word to assign to his harrowing experiences. Parties swarming with people, offenses committed, confrontations he was not yet ready for.

“I’m like you, and you’re like me,” he had been told, time and time again. Tearing open old wounds, rubbing the salt in for good measure. “We’re not so different, you and I.”

And his brother.

What would he think of him now…?

There it was again, that slow, uneasy pain that filled his chest and fanned outward. The feeling festered like a fire with no one to put it out. Standing before the gateway home, it suddenly hurt more than ever.

Rollo glanced back at his attendant, providing a curt good-bye. “… This is is farewell, Miss Crowley.”

“It’s only farewell ‘for now’,” she corrected him. “We’ll speak again. We’ll meet again. I’m sure of it!!”

In the beginning, he would have scowled at the reminder—at this incessant bird chirping in his ear, insisting on sitting on his shoulder like a cricket claiming to be his conscience. Now, he was tired, and laid there in defeat.

But raise the formal white flag? Concede admit defeat, let her have the last laugh?

Never.

He rested a hand on the mirror frame.

“… I await your next written correspondence. It doesn’t sound like you intend on giving up anytime soon.”

“Nope!!” Raven flashed a grin which showed off her tiny fangs. “I can be stubborn when I want to be.”

A dry, arrogant chuckle. “I am well aware. Then…”

He returned his attention to the mirror, and the world that laid beyond it

“The time is nigh.”

There was no steeling of the soul, no anticipatory breath before taking the plunge. Rollo simply stepped through the portal, and he was gone.

The raven was alone in the Mirror Chamber, smiling into the darkness.

It’s a promise.

[kendrene]

Avatrice + “Ineptly kiss cheek”

(Also I love your writing)

Ava never lingered much on the concept of water before Beatrice taught her to swim. She’s come to learn since that each body of water is different. Wind blows down from the nearby mountains and fluffs the surface of the lake with its touch. The public pool at the end of their street every single afternoon — weekends excluded — hosts a miniature tsunami; 3pm sharp, the end of daily kindergarten summer camp.

The stream they’re resting next to is overseen by gravity. 

Ava spends a solid fifteen minutes crouching on the edge of it, watching water race downhill. Vortexes and whirlpools form where the stream runs deeper, foam laps at the bigger rocks. The stream sometimes forces a path through them, sometimes hops right past. 

“Take off your shoes and come in!” Beatrice bends down, splashing a little wave in her direction. “The water is nice, I promise.”

“The water is cold.”

“If you come here I’ll teach you to fish.”

Ava frowns, making a mental inventory of everything that’s in the rucksack Bea had her lug all the way up here. Nope. No fishing equipment.

“We have no fishing poles or bait.”

“All you need is your hands, Ava.”

Beatrice is gonna teach her some kung-fu level shit. Hell yeah. She’s in. 

Literally.

//

The water is cold, as the chill rising from it to sting Ava’s cheeks had her guess rightly. It’s colder than expected. She wades upstream to where Bea is waiting, the soles of her feet slipping over smooth rock until her flesh is solid pins and needles. The numbness makes it somewhat bearable to copy Beatrice’s stance, body braced against the swiftness of the current, but only just.

“Okay. I’m here. Now what?” Ava wiggles toes she can no longer feel and peers under the clear surface of the water. It’s like observing the world through a piece of warped glass; her feet still attached, but kind of the wrong shape. She wonders, briefly, whether they’re starting to turn a shade of blue. It’s a trick of the light, splicing through water. Maybe.

“The fish, do you see them?” 

It takes a few moments for Ava to notice the first. Slim shape threading like a silver needle through a tapestry of water. There’s more; a school of them camped in the shade of jutting rocks a few steps away.

“So you want to make sure not to shadow the water.” Beatrice bends her knees slightly as she talks, shifts first one foot, then the other, careful not to cause any ripples. “Fish will notice and dart where you can’t catch them, if you do.” 

Ava can see what she means, how she positions herself so that her shadow, while stretching big over the water at her back, does so away from where the fishes gather. “Once you’re in position, you wanna dip your hands in slowly. Like this.” Beatrice’s fingers break through the water tension, and she lowers her voice to a barely audible whisper. “And then—” Beatrice makes a scooping motion. The fish scatter. Except for the one that she’s holding, steady, with both of her hands. “Here.” She lets the fish go. “Now you try.”

Ava tries.

Again.

Again.

Again.

//

“Ava we should head back. It’s getting late.”

“Just one more try?” Ava’s legs are numb all the way to her thighs. Her hands are red, the skin of her fingers wrinkled from having spent so much time underwater. Her shirt is soaked through. “I swear I almost had the last one.” From the grassy streambank Beatrice looks at her, doubtful. “Please, Bea?”

“One last try.” Bea finally agrees, and Ava has to hide a quick grin. “I mean it Ava.” Beatrice adds, like she knows exactly what Ava is thinking.

“Okay. Alright.” Ava totters back upstream, shielding her eyes against the setting sun. Orange-soft light hits the water at an angle, making it hard to see what lies under the surface. Not that it makes much of a difference. Even when she could see the fish, Ava didn’t catch shit.

One last try. She pulls in a breath, holds it and feels her heart slow. Feels Beatrice’s gaze on her like a tangible weight, a hand cupping her cheek. Her whole face heats up, and to offset the sudden flush Ava plunges her hands in the water. 

One attempt. 

She’s got to make it count.

Something smooth and quick bumps against the curl of her fingers right as the day ends. Her hand closes, reflexively, pulling in and up the way Beatrice had shown her.

“I got it!” Ava lifts the squirming fish over her head with a laugh. “Bea, look! I caught one!” 

“So I see.” Bea stands. Stretches. A smile teases at the corner of her lips, rivaling the setting sun for brightness. “You did good.”

“Don’t worry, lil guy.” Ava cradles the fish gently. “I’m gonna put you back into the water now. But first—” She brings the wriggling form to her face and kisses it quickly. “I kiss you goodbye.”

“Ava!”

“What?” Letting the fish go, Ava clambers out of the water. “Wait, are you jealous? Because I can kiss you, too, you know.”

“Ava, st—”

Before Beatrice can complete the sentence, Ava has reached her. She means the kiss to be just an innocent peck on Bea’s cheek, but her wet feet make the grass slippery. Ava falls forward. Beatrice catches her.

Ava kisses her right on the mouth. Neither of them break away.

Oh.

Fuck.

[balladofthewhitehorse]

hope you aren't sick of me requesting things but how about "dinner is served" for eng, Scot, and Wales!

I would never be sick of your requests <3 Thank you so, so much - You inspire me to keep writing Hetalia Fics, not gonna lie. Your bear Eng has fuelled me. 

Wales scrutinised her brothers quietly, leaned back in her chair as England and Scotland stood on the shores of the lake; It was painted in idyllic colours, faint hues of pink and washed out orange unfurling across the sky. A thread of anxiety coiled tightly around her lungs, her heart, her ribs as England muttered something to Scotland - and then a bark of laughter let Wales breathe. ‘’Having fun-?’’ She called out, smiling thinly as England turned around to regard her - with an expression painfully reminiscent of younger days amongst the dandelions and the trees (Children’s wishes and sunlight - freckling the dark undergrowth). It struck at her heartstrings like fingers at a harp, Wales’ smile thinning. ‘’-Caught anything?’’ 

‘’Not yet.’’ England grunted softly, shaking his head dolefully; Fish had been furtive and England hovered on the grassy lakeside, almost tempted to dive in head-first into the brackish water. They would have more success that way, England was sure - impatience thrumming through every nerve. ‘’I don’t know how you can stand this - just a load of sitting around…waiting for something to happen.’’ (Once he had complained during a siege, staring up at those insurmountable walls - and now it echoed by the lakeshore, on a cold, grey day).

‘’Maybe if you stopped whingeing, the fish would come.’’ Scotland muttered under his breath.

England’s eyes flashed as he shot Scotland a glare; The surface of the lake rippled as a fish came up for air, a darting brown shape in the dusky light (England pouted, irritation bearing teeth - a thorny thing he was, as he elbowed Scotland in the ribs for good measure). ‘’You’re hardly the epitome of cheeriness.’’ He glanced at Wales, seeking her approval with an impish grin that lit up his eyes - and one that vanished as quick as a wink when Wales shook her head. ‘’Oh come on-’’ England groused, petulant while his half-sister simply crossed her arms in disapproval; A tension crackling in the air as England reluctantly stood down. 

‘’Sorry.’’ 

Scotland shrugged, smirking as he reeled in a struggling trout - its speckles shiny in the early light. ‘’Naw, it’s alright-’’ He held up the fish to England’s face, pride blooming a fire in his heart as he slowly unhooked it from the line. ‘’-Caught something. Shown you how it’s done.’’

‘’Get it away from me.’’ Scotland snorted, amused as England’s nose wrinkled with disgust (freckles dusted the bridge of his nose - and Wales’ too, and Scotland was struck at once with the heady, heavy realisation that they were his siblings). The trout was carefully placed into an ice box, still kicking as Scotland laid it out reverently - a bruise coiled tight in his chest as the chatter of his family continued to murmur in the background like mayflies. ‘’...Hey, you know what we should do?’’ He sat down, wincing something in his back twinged - bad memories dragged to the surface, like a cat with a mouse - and pulled out a small pocket-knife, blood spooling out of the fish as he began to cut it open. ‘’-Have dinner here? There’s plenty of wood for a fire and…England, you remember how to set a fire? Like I taught you? Remember?’’ Scotland asked hopefully as he looked up at his younger brother (hands folded around a pair of dry sticks, knees bent into a thick bed of pine-needles - finger outstretched in patient instruction). 

‘’Or I could use a lighter?’’ England replied, his voice curt (the snapping of twigs beneath his feet as they stalked one another like wolves; Circling in bitter enmity, kin’s blood on their palms). He fumbled with his pockets as Wales slowly stood up - wandering along the lakeshore, in search of dry wood for the fire. ‘’It’s not-’’ A lump rose in his throat, England choking on sentimentality as he scoffed, a defensive sneer on his face; Prickly and warring with thorns, swarthy red flowers as a flush rose up his neck, cowed by the purse of Wales’ lips and the raise of Scotland’s thick eyebrows, questioning his little brother’s stubbornness.

‘’Are you saying that because you’ve forgotten?’’ Wales hummed quietly, striding towards her brothers - armful of twigs and sticks of varying sizes, carefully chosen and carefully arranged in a small pyramid-ish shape. ‘’...I thought you didn’t carry lighters, Eng?’’ Wales replied softly, watching England grasp it between his thumb and index finger. ‘’You don’t like the fi-’’ A short, curt look - a flash of sparks in England’s eyes, and Wales bit her tongue ruefully. ‘’It’s not the olden days anymore.’’ He replied, fumbling the lighter out of his pocket; A shudder as he pressed the pad of his thumb down on the cool metal, taking a deep breath as something fearful inside England filled out the space in his lungs - a stone in his throat, smooth and icy and heavy. ‘’We’re not-’’ A spark, and England wavered (a deep chill set into his bones, a field turned barren - there would be no more crops, all the men and women and children were leaving; Seeking more fruitful land, somewhere where there wasn’t ash, smoke and cinders). ‘’We’re not like that anymore-!’’ He cried out, half-between laughter and frustration, crinkling the corners of his eyes as the lighter trembled in his fingers. ‘’Old fuck-’’ 

‘’Hey-’’ Scotland’s brows furrowed, heavy and thoughtful; Scales clung to his fingers, silvery in the little grey sunlight. ‘’-You forgot. What about it?’’ (Wreaths of smoke hung in the air, trepidation at the base of Scotland’s spine; Convoys of mumbling strangers, yet no England). 

‘’I didn’t forget.’’ 

‘’Aye, you did.’’ ‘’Would you piss off, you-’’ 

Wales couldn’t help, but snort with amusement - head jerking up towards the treeline, now gone plum-dark. Streaks of gold filtered against a pale pink sky, a blue haze steadily encroaching with the usual impatience of twilight. She had taught Scotland how to build a fire, and then he had passed those lessons onto England while she was away; Cinders at his fingertips, England had a faceful of smoke and coughing lungs by the time Wales had come back to find the aftermath of an argument - tempers had frayed, red-eyed and hissing curses as Scotland tightly bound the puckered, pale seam of a blister under his palm, England’s face drawn into a defiant glare - shot up from the summer grass like a startled rabbit, raw knees. Hot coals on freckled skin, thrown in an argument over what leaves to burn. It was the typical kind of argument that would soon become familiar, and in time - even endearing, before spats were traded for conflict, balled fists and hair-grabbing for swords and war-hammers. The air crackled with tension - a storm brewing between England and Scotland, frowns drawn like blades, and she was stuck between them again. ‘’Would you knock it off, you two?’’ Wales hissed between her teeth, scolding her young brothers - pulling them apart, sit in the corner and think about what you’ve just done - and when she looked at them, eyes flitting between England and Scotland, Wales felt a pang of heartache. Some things would never change. 

‘’England, you can prepare the fish; Scotland, deal with the fire.’’ Wales huffed quietly. ‘’I’m hungry.’’ A sidelong glance down towards the copse of woods, and she nodded resolutely. ‘’I’ll get some thyme, sage and rosemary. Please try not to kill each other, you hear?’’ She offered a lop-sided smile - anxiety thrumming beneath her skin as she slowly walked away, slipping into the cool shade of the woods; Twigs cracked beneath her footsteps, a tight coil of nerves sitting heavy in her chest as she drew in a deep breath. She just hoped they would listen to her - just one day of peace and quiet, just one day of the year with her brothers that didn’t make Wales want to scream (it would well up inside of her; Dragonsfire buried deep in mud). 

Lingering in the wake of Wales’ silence, England blinked slowly - and staggered to his feet with a grunt, muttering under his breath as he slowly deboned the fish with a practised ease of a man who’s been doing this for centuries. A sailor had taught him, sat on a pier with a grey sea churning beneath their feet - stone and timber and a sense of hope that England longed for. Scotland might have taught him to fish, but England remembered with a rueful smile the lessons passed on to him through mortal hands. ‘’I’ve heard birch bark is good for starting fires.’’ He piped up, glancing towards Scotland with a thoughtful smile. ‘’Don’t remember where I heard it from.’’ A steady plume of smoke had already started, trawling through the air in a lofty and lazy trail from the pile of dead leaves and sticks. ‘’I think you-’’ ‘’-I told you about that.’’ Scotland cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘’Nice that you remember.’’ A silence - filled in by the odd birdsong - crept in, uncomfortable and yet familiar (the woolly burr of an old blanket, drawn tight around their shoulders as they lay side by side - the crooked lean-to of their shelter and one another all that they needed). When Wales returned with sprigs of rosemary and thyme, they set about cooking the fish in a small frying pan from the boot of Scotland’s car. (‘’Why do you have that?’’ England had asked, incredulous and confused. ‘’Why not?’’ Scotland had responded - his tone manner of fact, offering no further explanation and certainly not wishing to admit that it had been France’s idea, hastily sequestered on him in case of a car breaking down on the side of the road; Leaving them both to subsist on poor quality petrol-station lunch). 

Once dinner was served, they sat in the cool glow of the dusky light - and for the first time in a long while, things were amicable between them.

[venti-venus]

a momentary peace - c. s. x reader

a/n: i feel like i kinda left this open for a part two? let me know what you guys think !

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the tranquil lake. Y/N sat on the weathered wooden dock, her gaze fixed on the water's reflection. The gentle ripples mirrored the complexities of her thoughts, and she couldn't shake the emotions swirling within her.

Coriolanus Snow, a name that echoed through the Capitol's corridors of power, sat down beside her. His soft blond hair gleamed in the fading sunlight, and his sharp, calculating eyes observed the world with a detached intensity. Y/N couldn't deny the allure of his charisma, the way his presence commanded attention.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Her fiancé sighed as he sat down, leaving a comfortable space between the two of them. He looked over at her, offering a soft smile.

Y/N nodded, her eyes never leaving the water. "Yes, it is. The calm before the storm, they say."

Coriolanus chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down her spine. "The storm is always brewing in the Capitol, my dear. I expect it to be an absolute hurricane by the time our wedding day arrives."

As they sat in a companionable silence, Y/N couldn't help but recall the first time she met Coriolanus Snow. A chance encounter at a Capitol gala had sparked a connection neither of them could deny. There was something enigmatic about him, a darkness that intrigued her rather than frightened her away. A part of her wondered if that was a mistake.

"Before we're to be wed," Coriolanus broke the silence between them, "I'd like to get to know you better. If you don't mind, that is."

As much as Y/N liked to believe the two of them were getting married out of love, she often ignored the fact that they had only met a month ago. Romanticizing had become a hobby, as this was purely a marriage of convince for Coriolanus. Another mark off the future president's checklist.

"What would you like to know?" Y/N traced her fingers absentmindedly, trailing the surface of the water.

Coriolanus looked down at his fiancé with a knitted brow. "What drives you? The world is cold and harsh, Y/N. How do you keep going?"

Y/N inhaled. "Well, I suppose it's the belief that there's more to life than the struggle for power and prestige that keeps me afloat. I find solace in the simple moments, in the connections we forge with others."

Coriolanus arched an eyebrow, intrigued by her response. "Connections?" he echoed, the word tasting foreign on his tongue.

"Yes," Y/N nodded, her expression softening with emotion. "The bonds we share with those who understand us, who see us for who we truly are. It's in those moments that I find meaning."

A flicker of something unreadable passed through Coriolanus's eyes before he masked it with his usual composure. "Meaning," he mused, as if testing the word for himself. "A noble pursuit, indeed."

Their conversation lingered in the air, a delicate thread weaving between them. In that brief exchange, Coriolanus glimpsed a side of Y/N he hadn't expected, a depth of character that intrigued him more than he cared to admit. And as they sat by the lake, the gap between them narrowed ever so slightly, a tentative bridge forged by shared words and silent understanding.

This would be the last time Y/N would know peace.

[suguwu]

I hope this isn't too lewd to ask but how would bridgerton stsg react if they caught their darling touching herself?

not too lewd at all anon!! they're annoying af about it, honestly.

f!reader.

—

"my, my," suguru purrs, leaning against the bathroom doorway, "look what we've found."

you snap your legs shut, the bathwater sloshing as you pull your hand out from between them. you curl into yourself like a fern frond with a gasp.

"don't stop on our account," satoru says. he's grinning, all pearly white teeth. his pupils are blown wide, until just a faint ring of comet-tail blue shows around them.

"i—i just—"

you can't meet their eyes, gazing down at the water instead. it's still rippling.

"just had your fingers in your cunt?"

heat pools in your cheeks, a supernova burn. you nod before you can stop yourself.

"such a curious little thing," suguru says, amusement threaded through his voice. he prowls forward to kneel the edge of the bath. "was it as good as our fingers?"

"no," you say, voice small.

satoru laughs, entering the bathroom and kneeling on the other side of the tub. he dips a long finger into the water, stirring it until it laps at your skin like waves against the shore.

you gasp as he sinks his big hand beneath the surface, soaking his sleeve. suguru shakes his head.

"impatient," he chides, rolling up his sleeve with careful precision.

satoru scoffs. "you're just too slow."

suguru merely sighs and dips his hand into the water. his thick fingers find the seam of your thighs and delve between. satoru's hand slips into the space he's created to cup your cunt.

you choke out a little noise and he grins at you, his blue eyes burning. he traces a finger over the petals of your pussy before he sinks it into you.

"let us show you how to touch that pretty cunt of yours, wife."

[hcdragonwrites]

Rain (a Journey to the Au Drabble)

I wrote another thing! I was touched and inspired by @journey-to-the-au ! I wasn’t expecting to finish it in one sitting but my brain was afire, and I lost track of time so swiftly. I hope you like it and I hope I did your babies justice !

“Another day in paradise.” Earth Reaching Willow spoke the words aloud, soft and sad.

Then why did it feel like another day pressed between the pages of a book? The thought came like a tidal wave to the front of her mind, stirring and shaking Willows mask of serenity just a bit. No colors or sensations, just the barest touch of description was what the South Pole Palace had become to her.

Heaven was peace - but that peace was starting to chafe Earth Reaching Willow sharply. Here she stood, Eldest Daughter to the Jade Emperor along the railing of her favorite bridge in The Garden of Heaven, feeling the softest breeze curl against her cheek. The water beneath her did not stir with the breeze. The koi swimming beneath in their burning colors of gold and orange fire had the grace of clouds, hardly stirring the silt beneath them.

‘Why can’t I be content?’

She knew why. Earth Reaching Willow was able to eloquently pick apart her own thoughts just as she could with any noblemen or Celestial counselor that brought her gifts to bribe her hand.

Knowing peace all of her existence was beginning to feel as if she were repeating the same day over and over. Reading the same passage in a book, viewing the same painting upon her fathers study wall of bobbing cranes and water dragons. The frustration rose in her. But that’s all I can do. I view the things I hear of. Read of them but I, Daughter of Heaven, will never experience them.

She let that grace her father so prided her on slip off of her as she slumped to rest her arms upon the bridge. The same breeze teased her face again and also revealed she had, surprisingly, a loose thread upon her sleeve.

Earth Reaching Willow took the thread in hand and twisted it between her fingers.

The golden royal hues of her gown were pearled in the most intricate of stitches of willow leaves and falling blossoms, reaching downward from her arms to brush against the river that wove itself across the hem of her attire in a frothing and silent roar. Her handmaidens were so scrupulous in their fussing of her that she was surprised they had missed this little thread. She tugged and noticed the thread was connected to a stylized blossom on her wrist in free fall. It was forever stuck in its descent, never moving beyond where it was perched.

“Are you rebelling against the design of your Life, little thread?” Earth Reaching Willow gently asked.

She had been taught and schooled in being the epitome of serenity, in walking with a stillness and grace that other immortals and celestials envied. Willow and her sisters danced with grace, every motion balanced and calculated. That was the true flow of peace- to balance every motion to not disrupt the water around it. All the people of earth craved this peace, this very place that Earth Reaching Willow lived in.

She plucked at the thread. I am but a stitch in Heaven's grand tapestry. Just like this thread I’m bound up and frozen in a state of existing between.

It almost raised Willows emotions above that dam she had built within herself, almost swamping her in the feeling of stasis.

I cannot succumb to that feeling. She would not. Her finger came away from her sleeve with a snap that startled her silence. The thread she had been twisting and worrying at had come free. It waved in the breeze between her fingers.

Earth Reaching Willow let it go, watching as it floated down and shattered the mirror surface of the water. Ripples rolled from its wake, the most movement Willow had ever witnessed here. The carp swam close, investigating this intruder to their watery paradise.

“Be free Little thread. Be free for both of us…”

“Should I be concerned that my bride-to-be is talking to her clothing?” A warm buttery voice called from behind her.

Willow knew this voice.

“You should be more concerned you have yet to greet me this day, Husband-to-be.” Earth Reaching Willow responded, turning. Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven strode forward and took her hand to kiss it.

Of all the heavenly attendants and immortal beings in all the heavens of the worlds she knew, she was glad Wukong was hers. The Monkey King was dressed in his royal regalia, the armor shining bright in the perpetually perfect sunlight. He was dressed to impress. But it wasn’t to impress her.

Willow raised her sleeve to cover her face in mock flustered love, when really she was hiding her silent laughter. She whispered just loud enough for her dear friend to hear but too silent for any eavesdroppers to catch.

“How many are watching?”

Wukong looked up from her hand, hiding his own smile against her wrist.

“Two from beyond the wall and one from a bench beneath the pear blossom tree. I think if you entwine your hand with mine and if we make moon eyes at each other we may satisfy their curiosity.” He had a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“Done.” Earth Reaching Willow dipping her hand to clasp Wukongs fingers, laying her own kiss upon his skin.They pressed their faces close, cheek to cheek.

Playing at being head over heels in love was the most fun Willow had ever had. When Wukong and her and thought up the scheme, she had had her concerns- mainly with the retaliation from the simpering suitors that would be furious that a mere immortal had caught the Princesses attention. There had been protests of course. Then Wukong had declared his intentions, regaling the court with his great deeds and how, if he had to, he would champion himself and outdo all his previous accomplishments in the name of proving he was worthy of the hand of Earth Reaching Willow.

Well that had set the court to a flummoxed and outraged chaos. When Wukong and Willow had gotten away from the courts eyes and ears they had bent over and laughed, tears welling in their eyes. Yes Earth Reaching Willow had had her misgivings. But months down the line Willow loved the game they played. It was the most alive she had felt in all her life. She began to look forward to her days and meetings with Wukong, this handsome monkey who brought life to her she so craved.

After a time of whispering in each others ears (mostly jokes or riddles that would set the other to smiling) Wukong flicked his tail, their silent signal that they were alone.

They stayed close but relaxed truly now, smiles becoming wide and friendly instead of the flirty facade they played for court.

“We should start our own acting troop.” Wukong said, resting his arms over the bridge to gaze out on the garden.

“Oh?” Earth Reaching Willow raised a perfect brow.

“We are both actors of stunning caliber!” He said, tapping his chest with pride. “You keep pace with every act I bring to the table and have even come up with your own! Remember the Banquet of Snow?”

How could she forget? “We danced together so long that my own Father had to interrupt us! Then I fed you from my own plate and you me- I am pretty sure we left them all sick with how in love we had been.”

Wukong laughed. Willow laughed with him. He had that effect with his laughter, so warm and uncontained. The sound broke Heaven's peace in such a way it swept one up with it in a tide of warmth.

An edge of melancholy overcame Earth Reaching Willow then. I want to feel this all the time- this laughter. This light.

“Oh Wukong, I wish you would never leave.” She told him then, staring off into the water. Her thread was gone, either taken by the invisible current or plucked out of the water by some invisible attendant.

The Monkey King turned his head, ears curved forward.

“Now Willow, what has made you so sad?”

She shook her head, eyes cast to the water below.

“Don’t try and hide it from me- I know you too well now. You may be an actor but you can’t fool me. I’m your partner in crime, after all. I’ve seen all your tricks.” He jested, smile playing along his lips

“Oh have you?” Willow asked but her voice lacked the usual playful banter. Her mind had returned to the heavy thoughts of grace and perpetual serenity, of the mantle of sameness and here, with him, she couldn’t hide.

“Willow…” Wukong gently tapped her arm with his hand. “What has dampened your light ? My friend, tell me. There is no one in the Garden. It’s safe here.”

It was the softness with which he spoke that almost broke Willow. He had always been kind to her. She took just a half shuffle to the side, reaching for recomposure. If she stayed in his kindness she would have unleashed that tidal wave battering within her.

It wanted to get out.

She had to keep it in.

She took a breath.

Then another.

“Heaven is … Paradise.” The words came from Earth Reaching Willow softly. Only a bit- only a trickle of that emotion I will let forth. If I let it flow free I’ll loose that peace and I don’t want my Father to catch wind I cried in the Garden. Or to thing it was Wukong who caused it.

“Maybe a little rain or something.” Or anything her heart sang. A bird within a gilded cage.

Now that it was out- now that she had said it, her body felt lighter. A stone cast from her soul. If it had just been her, Willow was concerned she wouldn’t be able to cast off this pallor of sorrow with ease. With Wukong however, his vibrancy drew from her heart the deepest of her well locked up sorrows.

Wukongs hands were suddenly over hers, tugging Willow off and away from the bridge.

“W-Wukong what -“ Earth Reaching Willows voice faltered. Her friends face was brighter than any sunbeam she and her sisters had ever woven, some unknown emotions twinkling in his eyes.

“Come with me Willow-I have something to show you!” He pulled her off the bridge and out the garden, tail tapping in tandem to his bright smile and little laughs. “Come come- out of that stuffy garden with you!”

“Wukong what has taken over you?”

“An idea. A brilliant and stupendous idea! But it is a surprise so you must close your eyes!” He peered right into her face, mockingly stern. “No peeking! It will ruin the effect!”

Willow snorted, being swept up again in his golden glow of emotion. He is quite adorable.

“Alright alright ! I will cover my eyes!” Willow lifted her hands, covering her eyes from view. The smile dancing on her lips couldn’t be washed away by the tide of sorrow within her. Not when this burning bright flame of a person was with her.

“Wukong…”

“Not yet!”

“Wukong how much longer?”

“Not much farther! Just — oop watch your step here!”

It had been a short flight to this mysterious place Wukong had taken Willow and she couldn’t help the electrical feel of excitement ripple up her spine. Any other being covering her eyes would give Earth Reaching Willow pause. Wukong however ? This was her sweet monkey, the kind soul that had seen her trapped between unhappy marriage options and had come in to give her an escape.

She trusted him just as he had trusted her with his past, with who he was.

Wukong stopped.

“Alright Willow- let me cover your eyes now that I have you on a safe spot.”

“Don’t want me to wander off a cliff dear husband-to-be ?”

“I would be a terrible husband if I let my wife-to-be walk her way off a cliff. The Emperor would have a new monkey rug to enjoy.”

She laughed, smiling against his palms.

“You could never be turned into a rug my dear.”

“You are right- however my own mothers would make me one in his stead.” The laughter slowly faded and Willow felt Wukong lean forward from behind. He was warm against her back, the breath against the shell of her ear making her ticklish.

“Are you ready?” He asked. She couldn’t help the spark that set off in her limbs. Surprises in Heaven were always of the placibile kind. A new set of moon needles to sew with, a gown woven from the beard of a water dragon, a parasol that changed decorations by the phases of the sun- all orderly gifts expected to be given to a princess.

Wukong however was not of the Heavenly court. His gifts had never been of the ‘appropriate’ kind that those stiff backed men had presented to Willow.

“Yes.” Her breath came quickly now.

“Alright…” the Monkey King removed his hands from her face. “Open them.”

Earth Reaching Willow did.

And lost her breath.

She and Wukong were standing upon the edge of a mountain cliff, facing out to something Willow had only seen once before. The ocean sparkled and flashed beneath the warm amber sun that was beginning to set in its sea. Like scales upon a dragons skin, the ocean moved as if breathing, basking in the buttery glow of the sun. Colors came alive in the twist of the mountains beside them- upon the leaves of the trees as they refracted the sunlight. Something was rising from within her, a rush of feeling. What could it be? It was as if she had drunk too much heavenly wine, a headrush so clear and bright and so unlike the muddling effects of wine. Willow opened her mouth, to speak to gasp to thank, she didn’t know. She didn’t get a chance.

A great cloud of gray swept over one of the mountains, close enough to see its plumes of ink dark but not in the way of its storm path. Great sheets of water streamed down beneath its mass, diamond drops of water glowing like honey in the sunset. The sound! Her ears, if they could move, would have swiveled to catch it. A great Crescendo of sound, sweeter than chimes and deeper than flutes, fell with the rain. It made sound out of the colors and things before her, falling on that great oceans back, painting the mountain dark, and scenting the air with such a perfume as to be heady and intoxicating. It made her heart race, her blood feel afire. Willow took a half step forward.

“Careful love.” Wukong caught her arm, gently stopping her from getting too close to the edge. Willow turned to him and Wukong gasped. Her monkey reached up and wiped away something that was spilling from her face. A tear. She had been crying?

“Wukong …” she heard the emotion in her voice, that swelling water within her threatening to come up and drown her words.

“We call it a sun shower.” Sun Wukong replied, gesturing to the magnificence before them. “Do you like it ?”

The dam within Willow broke then. Her smile became as wide and bright as to rival the sunset before Wukong. She laughed, throwing back her head in a way he had never seen before.

“Like ? Like ? Like does not even begin to brush upon the - this - this feeling. It’s-“ How to describe this thunder within her body? Willow was eloquent and well versed in poetry. But all the poetry of the broad heavens and the words in all the languages known and unknown failed to compare what this gave to her. She could only laugh, only cry and only smile. “I Love this…”

Suddenly Earth Reaching Willow was vibrating with a radiance The Sage had only caught in glimpses when he had disarmed her within the court with his charm or wits. Wukong felt a glow of pride and love wash over him, seeing her in a way no one else had.

Earth Reaching Willow was finally alive in a way she had never been in all her eternity within Heaven's own Garden. Rain and sun, sea and sky had freed her and, if Wukong had anything to say about it, he would give her this every day for the rest of their existence together.

Earth Reaching Willow was for the earth after all. She was finally Home.

[flyingwargle]

lynette is crouched at the lakeside, blinking at her reflection across the crystalline surface. her fingers rest on her knees, drawn to her chest, tail-tip twitching in the air. she presses her lips together into a frown, then lets out a small sigh.

life would’ve been simpler if she had said no to lyney. it would’ve been the first time refusing a trick, but after seeing his excited expression and elaborate plan, she didn’t have the heart to turn him down, hence being at the lake to practice.

her reflection ripples as a shadow appears in the water. freminet emerges, droplets dripping from his hair, sunlight glistening off his freckles. he tilts his head at her. "big sis?"

"mm?"

"are you okay?"

her tail lies flat on the ground as she leans forward to dip her fingers in the water. the chill is a welcomed sensation from the warm air. freminet watches. "it's cooler in the lake. you should join me."

she shakes her head. he holds his gaze a moment longer and then leans back until he is floating, a small speck among the waves. soon, she loses track of him.

lynette dislikes water. it's heavier than the wind at her fingertips, less malleable than the flames that her older brother beckons, more unpredictable than the ice that her younger brother uses. it has its uses, but there's something about its unknowability that unnerves her. what lies in the darkness? what mysteries does it hold?

what does her younger brother see whenever he explores the depths?

she shakes herself. tossing the towel draped around her shoulders aside, she tosses dips a hesitant foot into the lake, then throws herself in without second thought. she has to practice. their success depends on her.

freminet stays out of her way. he has no interest in magic, much to lyney's chagrin. lynette is aware of the change in waves from his dives and breaks, though it doesn't affect her. she's focused, occupied with her own practice until an extended silence catches her attention.

it's just her, in the middle of the lake surrounded by trees, by her lonesome. she turns.

"freminet?"

there is no answer. there are no bubbles from where he had submerged, no change in the water. lynette is close to the edge, where she can reach the bottom, but further in the center, it's deeper. he wouldn't have...

he would have. lynette braces herself. then, she dives.

lyney taught her how to swim. it behooves magicians to have a large skillset to diversify their repertoire. however, he learned from watching divers in the distance, mimicking their movements. he taught her an imitation of an imitation.

freminet is the only one who learned the proper techniques, but he never relinquished his secrets.

she breaks for air and dives back down. light dapples the murky lake bed. there are bottom feeders and thin trails of vegetation. then, she sees a body.

he looks exactly how he's asleep in bed – sprawled on his back, eyes closed, chest barely moving. the waves cradle him, similarly to how he surrounds himself with blankets. his hair floats around him, a golden halo.

had she not known any better, she would've thought of him as the sleeping prince of the lake, waiting for someone to wake him. but that's not who he is – he is her brother, and he walks among the light, rather than the darkness.

she moves her arms in front of her, kicks with all her strength. even though the anemo threads are nearly suffocated by hydro, there's still enough to manipulate and pull her forward.

arms out, she grabs hold of her brother and kicks off from the bottom toward the surface, dust blossoming in her wake.

they break the surface. lynette gasps for breath, floating freminet over the water, similar to how her tail floats. she moves to the lakeside, drags him out before following. her body trembles with exhaustion, but she still rests his head on her lap. "fremmy?"

it takes a while. once his body realizes it isn't underwater, his breathing restarts, a thin inhale. his eyes open slowly. lynette watches him.

"sis...?"

"you were gone. you worried me."

he turns slightly, gaze obscured behind his bangs. "i'm used to it. divers can hold their breath for a long time."

"but..." it isn't normal. what about their family is normal, though? she keeps her lips together, chooses her words carefully. "you could've told me."

"sorry. it's a bad habit." freminet pushes himself upright, ignoring her attempts to help. "did you practice?"

"yes. we can go home, now."

"oh. okay." he gazes at the lake, though it only lasts a second. then, he turns to where they left their belongings beneath a tree.

lynette watches. a trail of water follows him, small and thin. for all the prestige he holds in the court, it's barely noticeable outside of it, a façade reserved for fancy suits and beaming faces.

if she understands water better, would she understand him, too? it will be something that she'll strive to do.

[impala-dreamer]

Tourniquet - Chapter Ten (Finale)

 Supernatural Dean x Reader Series Told Backwards

~Y/N has been by Dean’s side through his worst days, always there if he needs her, forever just a call away. Love is impossible to fight and more impossible to live with. Just a side character in his epic life, Y/N would give anything just to give Dean a moment’s peace.~

Please see MASTERLIST for full info/warnings/chapter links.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works ~ Get A Custom Story

At First Sight 

There was a field behind the junkyard, a wide-open space not yet overtaken by rusted car skeletons and twisted metal. The grass grew high above her head, and in the spring, bluebells and tiny purple flowers bloomed, peppering the space with joyful color. 

She first saw him there, peeking at her through the tall grass. He was taller than the weeds, so much taller than she was; older too, by a few years, it seemed. But he was beautiful and she knew it. 

She’d seen beautiful people in her nearly eight years on earth- her mother who had just died, and her younger sister who went with her. She’d seen mountains covered in autumn mist; country roads slicked with rain. She’d felt the sun in the desert; tracked a rainbow across the sky. There were so many pretty things in the world that she was just learning to appreciate, but she’d never seen something like him before. 

She’d never seen green eyes that glowed golden in the sunlight, cheeks sparkled with freckles, hair a soft brown somewhere between straw and bark.

When he spoke, her cheeks heated up. When he grabbed her hand through the grass, her stomach flipped. 

“What’s your name?” he asked, pulling her into a run through the brush. 

“Y/N!” She laughed as he tugged her along, running so fast he nearly lifted her off her feet. 

The sky was perfectly blue, not a cloud to be seen. 

He looked back over his shoulder, face haloed by the June sun. 

“I’m Dean,” he said with a smile. 

They ran to the edge of the property, stopping short of where they weren’t allowed to go. There was a stream that hugged the line, a shallow creek, not more than ankle deep and wide enough for Dean to straddle with his bowed legs. He put one foot on either side and reached for her hand. 

“Come on, it’s fun.” 

Y/N hesitated, watching from the left bank. 

“Daddy says I’m not to go past the water,” she explained, looking back toward the house. They were far enough away that the rickety roof wasn’t visible, but she knew the woods, she’d grown up running through Bobby’s legs, hiding in the car graveyard, lying in the warm grass. 

Dean craned his neck to look around her. He shrugged. “Don’t see your dad anywhere.” Again, he reached for her and smiled. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” 

Nervously, she took his hand and Dean helped her down into the riverbed. She toed off her grass-stained white Keds and chewed her lip. 

“You sure you won’t get me in no trouble?” 

He laughed sweetly and lifted a finger to his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die!” He placed an X on his thread-worn tee and she gave in. 

Her toes skirted the water and Dean helped her step over it. 

“You shouldn’t hope to die,” she warned. “The ghosts might hear and come get you.” 

They hopped to the other side and perched on a big rock, just wide enough for two children to sit on together. Their shoulders bumped and Y/N’s stomach twisted up funny again. 

“Ain’t no ghosts here,” he assured her. “My dad would know. He’s the best hunter there is.” 

Y/N squinted up at him, unsure. 

“Besides,” Dean went on, bending to pick up a pebble near his foot. “You think Bobby would let his place be haunted? Bobby knows everythin’ about everythin’. No way he’d let some nasty ghost bother us. You’re safe.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging her fear. “You sure, Dean?” 

He tossed the pebble into the stream and a ripple pulsed over the surface. 

“I’m sure.” Dean threw his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. “I’ll protect you. I promise.” 

She didn’t know why, but she believed him. There was something about him that seemed magical, like he was a superhero or something. She sighed against him and put her head on his shoulder. 

They sat and watched the water for a while. Now and then a leaf would float by, or a few tadpoles would appear. It was quiet and peaceful and the wind was warm. 

When the daylight began to fade, they left the stream behind and stepped into the grass again. He held her hand and swatted away the weeds, making a path for them. 

“Are you stayin’ up in the house?” she asked, hoping he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. It was boring being alone even though she found things to do, but with her dad off on a job, it had been just her and Uncle Bobby for a few weeks. 

“Yeah. Just a few days. Gonna head to Kentucky next.” 

“I’ve never been there.” 

Dean shrugged. “It’s OK.” 

The grass gave way to gravel and Dean let her hand go once they could see the house in the distance. 

“Have you been here a while?” he asked, sneakers kicking up dust as he shuffled beside her, hands jammed into his pockets. 

She exhaled sadly and nodded. “Yeah. My mom just…and… and Jackie, my sister. They…”

Dean paused and turned, looking down at her and leaning on a broken Oldsmobile. “Mine too,” he said softly. “I mean, my mom- she uh- well, it was a long time ago.” He kicked at a stone and it rolled a few feet away. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He smiled gently. “It gets better after a while, ya know..” 

Tears prickled her eyes, her bottom lip trembled. “Does it really?” 

Dean looked away, pretending to count the row of cars to their right. “No,” he whispered. “Not really.” 

An ache pulsed in her chest and she felt sorry for him, for both of them. She could see the tears in his eyes as surely as she felt her own, and she slipped her tiny hand in his, squeezing tight. 

“We’ll be OK, Dean,” she said, trying her best to believe it. “You’ll see.” 

Sniffling hard, he beat back the tears and took a breath. 

“Hey, you smell that?” 

Confused, she took a deep breath and her stomach growled loudly. “Burgers?” 

He grinned. “Burgers!”

They ran through the junkyard, carefully maneuvering through the jagged steel and dodging each other as dusk settled over Sioux Falls. 

She didn’t know why, but she felt like he was it. He was the thing that would keep her going, the friend she needed right then, get her through the pain and the confusion. 

The boy with the green eyes. 

Tourniquet Tags:

@prettyinplaid94 @winharry @muhahaha303  @cookiechipdough @ladysparkles78

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67@k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05 

[pisupsala]

One for The History Books [Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw] | Complete | Index

[Summary] You are an archivist at the Pentagon, sent on assignment to TOPGUN to catalog and report on a top secret mission. In the days under the Californian sun, a certain naval aviator puts your once orderly life in a tailspin that you might never recover from.

[Pairing] Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc

[Warnings] Mature content: swearing, (explicit) smut. 18+ only.

[Chapter 1]Don't Take The Bait [Chapter 2]Threading Water [Chapter 3]Strain [Chapter 4]Anchor [Chapter 5]Drown Me [Chapter 6]Adrift [Chapter 7]Reeling [Chapter 8]Surface Tension [Chapter 9]Breaking for Air [Chapter 10]Cresting [Chapter 11]Ripples [Chapter 12]Low Tide [Chapter 13]High Tide [Chapter 14]Becalmed [Chapter 15]Taking on Water [Chapter 16]Waterlogged [Chapter 17]Sinking [Chapter 18]Capsizing [Chapter 19]Rock Bottom [Chapter 20]Reaching the Shallows [Chapter 21]Landfall [Epilogue] [Side Stories/One Shots] Where Else Would I Be? Summary | He's been gone for so long.

Any Way The Wind Blows Summary | There’s a sudden shift in the mood.

Wish You Were Here | part 1 | part 2 Summary | Some things you’d rather not face alone.

[Final Update 22.02] With Wish You Were Here part 2 out, the story is really really over now. Lots of people stuck with me and the story since June last year, and I'm super grateful for that. When I write, I try not to look too much at how many notes something gets because I want to enjoy writing and write what I enjoy. And I'm only glad if you like it too. Every note I get is one person more than I thought would read it. So when I saw the index had over something over 500 notes, I got a little choked up tbh. Now it's time to say goodbye to these two idiots, and I'm probably going to have a little cry over that. But I hope to see you again in the next story <3 [Update 22.10]So, lmao at myself for nearly writing triple the chapters that I thought I would. I ended up adding additional plots lines and kept coming up with things I wanted to write about. So now I know how the story will end + I have an epilogue in mind. So I will stop stuffing it with other storylines that I hadn't introduced yet, and any new scenes I want to explore I will start writing as one-shots or side stories. Also I have almost 200 followers! [Update 31.08]Yeah, that was an unplanned "hiatus" to take care of some real life situations. Good news, it's all sorted, and I'm still committed to finishing this story. Thanks for all the comments and support I got in the last ... 8 weeks? I really hope this story will be worth the wait! [note] I decided it was a good moment to start collating all chapters of One for The History Books in a masterlist. I usually update the index in all chapters separately, but as I'm working on chapter 6 now, it's getting a bit much. I want to thank everyone who is reading my story and leaving comments. It seriously makes my day <3 Looking back at some chapters, I feel they would benefit from some stricter editing — I'm planning to finish the story in its current form, and will probably edit more strenuously when I repost on AO3. Thank you for sticking with the story, it means a lot to me!

[edensqx]

Fic ideas for yall!

• The shallow waters of my soul are already drowning me, and the abyss is my only solace.

• My existence is but a momentary ripple on the surface of the ocean's despair.

- originally my idea for the Iron Body. However, you can make an idea for Jinwoo as well.

——

• Will you still cherish the memories we made, or will they be reduced to nothing more than a distant, fading echo.

- Possible minhee or eunseok/heejin angst

——

• You’re just a character that I mixed up with my own twisted fantasies. A character who ought not to exist as prior your own creator is willing to do. However the pride came to the mind and made a little copy of themselves. Who do you think is the thread between the one who was cursed to relive their own creator’s agony, and the one who is damned to fade away from life’s existence?

- the absolute being, i think, towards his creations

[feralghxuls]

Mushy May Day 1 - Bathtime

Rating: General audience

Pairing: Swiss/Rain

Tags: hurt/comfort, early relationship, mind chatter/telepathic communication

Word count: 937

mushy may prompt list put together by @forlorn-crows !!

Swiss watches the taut line of Rain's shoulders from across the rehearsal room, the tension clear in the controlled way he moves as he puts his bass away. Rehearsal had been a disaster. Flubbed solos, missed cues, broken strings galore. Copia had dismissed them a minute ago and now stands at the front of the room, his back to them and the bridge of his nose resting in pinched fingers, frustration radiating from him. He'd snapped at them, something he rarely does, had yelled at them for several minutes, begging them to focus, brutally reminding them that they leave for tour in less than two weeks. That right now, he'd be embarrassed to share a stage with them. Swiss had watched Rain stiffen, had watched the tension creep through his entire body, knuckles going white where his fingers wrapped around the neck of his bass. The next playthrough of the song they kept fucking up had been flawless, but the energy behind it had been akin to a funeral dirge. 

And now there's a thick fog of guilt and irritation settled in the room. Swiss packs his own things away with half an eye on Rain, unease curling in his belly like a pit of snakes. He knows how he gets, the stress and the guilt overwhelming him. It's bad enough without Copia shouting at them. Swiss shoots a withering glare at his back, and it makes him feel a little better. When he glances back to Rain, though, he's gone.

Read the rest on Ao3 or under the cut!

Panic slices through Swiss and he abandons his instruments, bolting across the room and out the door just in time to see Rain disappearing around the corner at the end of the hall. He books it after him, knowing Rain doesn't need him but wanting to be there for him anyway. He follows Rain to his room, where he goes straight for the bathroom, flipping the cold water on and stepping into the tub to melt into the bottom of it without even taking his clothes off. Swiss shuts the door behind them and quietly settles down on the floor beside the tub, trying not to breathe too deeply because Rain's scent is so bitter and sour it's making him a little queasy. He's left one arm draped over the side, trembling, and Swiss reaches up to take his hand, threading their fingers together and holding on tight.

Forty-five minutes. Rain has been submerged in the bathtub for forty-five minutes and counting, showing no sign of surfacing. Swiss has shifted from cross-legged on the cool tile floor beside the tub to sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him, back to the porcelain. He holds Rain's hand against his chest, his arm draped over his shoulder. He's still trembling, has been the whole time, and every so often Swiss gives his hand a squeeze, a reminder that he's here. It takes a few seconds but he gets a squeeze back every time. 

It's an hour and a half before Rain finally breaks the surface, the softest sound of rippling water catching Swiss's attention. He twists to see him rising until the top half of his face is exposed to the air, the water line just below his nose. Swiss straightens up a little, giving him a soft smile. His chest is tight, though, wrought with worry. He doesn't usually spend quite this long under, but it doesn't matter if it's five minutes or fifty, it still stresses Swiss out. Even though he's a water ghoul. Even though he has gills. 

Rain's thumb brushing across the back of his hand catches Swiss's attention, bringing him back to the present. The movement is small and shaky, but it's significant. It means Rain is starting to come back, that the all-encompassing distress is starting to release its hold on him. Swiss brings the back of Rain's hand to his lips, kissing it softly, leaving it against his mouth and letting his eyes fall closed with the relief that washes over him. 

Swiss? Rain murmurs, his voice quiet in Swiss's head, far away. He opens his eyes to look at him, finding Rain watching him, expression still tense. Thank you. 

I didn't want you to be alone, Swiss says, his chest tightening and tears pricking at his eyes, overcome with the intensity of his empathy for Rain, the relief that he's starting to be okay again. 

It stresses you out, Rain says, blinking slowly at him. He's still shaking a little, but it seems to just be residual at this point. You don't have to.

Yeah, it does, but I care about you and I know you do this because you're stressed, which is an understatement, I know, and the amount it stresses me out is nothing compared to what's happening to you. He's babbling, he knows, but he doesn't care. He squeezes Rain's hand tight. Trying to say it without saying it because right now is not the time to be confessing that he's in love with Rain. That he has been since the moment he first laid eyes on him, dripping creek water all over the floor. 

It means a lot to me, Rain murmurs, tugging his hand away from Swiss's lips, stretching his fingers out until he lets go of his hand so he can cup Swiss's cheek. Swiss doesn't take his hand away from Rain's, clinging to it as he pulls Swiss towards him, rising further out of the water until he can rest his forehead against Swiss's. Rain tugs him down into a kiss, and it's cold and wet and Swiss doesn't care.