#maybe saltwater/ocean water are just fine!

[wowbright]

I watched Knock At The Cabin and I'm not sure how I feel about it but it was better than I expected. I mean, at this point with M Night Shyamalan I just go in prepared for deep disappointment, and I didn't get that!

#knock at the cabin #m night shyamalan #or according to my dictation app #I'm not sure I'm all in #which isn't that far off really #I mean it's exactly how I feel about his movies #after the shitty ending to unbreakable #I mean otherwise unbreakable was a great movie #I truly enjoyed signs but I know a lot of people didn't either because the religious stuff was too much or because why the hell #would aliens who can't come into contact with liquid water without severe injury #come to this planet of all places #but hey maybe it's only fresh liquid water! #maybe saltwater/ocean water are just fine! #and they thought liquid fresh water is only a tiny fraction of what exists on our planet compared to saline #they can totally avoid it! #I didn't hate the village I appreciated what it was trying to do but still it was a little clunky #somehow I totally missed the one with Mark Wahlberg and the killer trees #definitely did not see his Airbender one #did see the girl in the water and again that was okay but also meh #I can't go into all the reasons why because I don't remember #except that again he does tend to be a wee bit heavy handed with the spiritual themes #which I guess happened again here in knock at the cabin #but Jonathan groff did his groffing and that redeemed a lot if it #jonathan groff #!!!! #and I do always love the Philadelphia and neighboring counties references #looks like peacock also has the sixth sense so he thinks I'm going to rewatch that one #poor M Night Shyamalan his first movie is still his best #it's not even a contest

[comfortless]

*ೃ༄ Some thoughts on a lighthouse keeper König with a fem, harpy reader! 18+ MDNI.

Signing away months of your life for routinized labor comes with little internal protests for him, he’s done it before with military work. He’ll do it again without question; anything, anyplace to keep him away from a house that’s never felt like home.

König’s blessed with an abundance of skills and the strength to perform hard labor. He’s disciplined enough to embrace the solitude, maybe even thinks of this contract as a reprieve from other people, from creature comforts and the hustle and bustle of ordinary life.

He packs only the bare minimum for himself— clothing he doesn’t mind lantern oil spilling onto, thick books ranging from myth to histories, a trusty hunting knife he’s been keening for the time to polish and sharpen to bring back to its former glory. Food and shelter are already provided for him in a cabin battered by sea breeze and saltwater just a bit too small for a man his size mere paces from the pillar of light that he’s resigned himself to tend to.

Each day is spent checking systems, keeping the haunting yellow light clean and functioning well, jotting down weather readings, and meticulously keeping things orderly. The occasional sound of a boat’s horn would bellow out, as close to a voice calling it’s thanks as it could get from his self-sought isolation. The ocean is lively enough for him, anyhow. The sight of a whale a short distance off shore isn’t an uncommon one, pods of dolphins flipping up into the air like performers, a show just for him. Even the sky above is a sight with flocks of birds he could not name passing by, or sea gulls flying high above only to ground themselves on the rocky shore to cock their heads at him; he imagines that if they could speak their small, shrill voices would ask him ‘What are you doing here?’, and he’s thankful he would never have to answer.

Each night, he reads. The bed is a bit small for him, a cot, really. He has to curl in a way that makes him feel like a dog left to waste away outside, knees nearly tucked to his chest and an elbow propped to keep his head up while he turns to pages of his books. He always wakes to his head resting on a page, the scents of old ink, amber and cedar fill his nose when his eyes flutter open.

He makes himself simple breakfasts, the scent of black coffee lingers throughout the cabin each morning. Occasionally it’s bacon, occasionally eggs in a basket, something as simple as his life has become. He thinks about his days of war when he walks to the shore with his mug in hand, wistfully watching the waves, haunted and volatile, so very much like the ocean of his eyes.

It’s never quiet. The gulls call from above, their wings outstretched as they sail through the air, and the waves make raucous noise as they crash against the rock, wearing down every fine point to something softer. A part of him longs to be worn down too, to pry that aching from his heart, the scars tarnishing his body, the callouses on his hands, dissolve them all in dark, salty waters with a gentle ebb and flow. He’s never thought himself to be one deserving of gentle things, but he greedily yearns for them anyhow.

He admires the sea shells that wash up on the sandy patches of the shoreline, some are pearlescent and untarnished, he dares not touch those. The ugly ones with splintering cracks remind him of himself, he’ll allow his hand to reach for those, toss them back into the hellish abyss where they belong. He doesn’t need a reminder of what he is, why he’s here. He wants to surround himself in pretty things that no one can dirty with their fingerprints, not even himself.

A torrential rain breaks up the monotony of his duty for a few days. He’s soaked to the bare bones running back and forth from the cabin to keep the light functioning, wiping away condensation from the glass that confines it and fiddling with the old machinery to stop the massive light from flickering. He holes himself up there, in that old tower for two long, sleepless nights. He imagines ghosts, ghosts of the people he’s killed without remorse dancing at the corner of his vision, taunting him endlessly from purgatory with their frantic dances and unnatural jolts. When he turns his head, their faces are gone, carried away by the ocean breeze that rattled the walls of the lighthouse, yet can not touch him.

He’s hardly able to keep himself upright when the rain finally stops. Addled from a lack of sleep and an ache from hunger, he slinks down the steps to the wet ground outside. There are no gulls fluttering about with their squeals and questions and begging, and for the first time since he’s come here, the water is calm. The sun beams down from a cerulean sky, not a single cloud fattened and gray with rain water in sight.

Only a bird.

König’s taken note of the wildlife since he’s come, all of the sea creatures that would swim about, the pelicans, petrels and gulls that would make their rounds. He’s never once seen a bird this big. It’s wings stretch wide, gracefully flutter to soar higher only to rear back, knees kicked up to its chest in its graceful descent. It doesn’t ground itself to beg him for a crumb of toast or shriek at him, it only perches atop the lighthouse, looking down at him as if exacting some strange, silent retribution.

The bird shifts in place for a moment as his eyes squint to get a better view of it. He’s mesmerized when he takes note of a very human face, soft nude flesh in place of feathers right down to the ankles that house plush, downy feathers and the coarse skin of scales leading down to brutal, curved talons. Her breasts heave and legs tense as she stretches her wings out to take flight. With a single leap she takes back to the air, twirls in it effortlessly as if she’s in the midst of the most elegant, seraphic dance to return to whichever whisper of heaven she descended from.

The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

The salt and foam must play their tricks, because he’s no where near deluded enough to believe he’s seen an angel in a place like this, that one would think to visit him at all.

Still, he’s an awful bastard, because his cock twitches in demand from the sheer sight of her flying far, far away from him. He doesn’t allow himself to touch pretty things, but god he wants to touch you. He settles for returning to his cot and tugging down the zipper of his pants to rest his length in his hand, slow, deliberate strokes with his eyes closed, bringing himself to ruin from just a fleeting memory.

He chalks it up to sleep deprivation the next morning, a waking wet dream. Even before coming to this little island, it had been well over a year since he had been in the presence of a nude woman. Work quickly makes him forget, keeps his hands tied and his mind emptied of softer flesh and beautiful skies.

She comes back with the next storm, a shivering mess in the rain. A rough gale struck her down and he watched her spin out amongst thick, wet clouds, her form aglow with the backdrop of thunder. She falls to briny water, and without thought he’s left his cabin to dive right in after her, scooping the poor thing up to haul her back to the safety of a warm home, a roof above her head.

König wraps her in the only blanket that he has, feels her gaze on his back while he stokes a fire all for her as she sits and shivers, trying to gather her bearings. Human kindness is unexpected, unwarranted, really. She signals great storms, her talons cruel. He looks at her in awe when she nestles against his shoulder, her eyes locked to his, both faces warmed by the glow of crackling flames and comfort.

He tells her he isn’t worthy of an angel wasting her grace on him. She tells him that nothing sent barreling out of the sky like she had could be as pure as he believes.

#König #Konig #König x reader #Konig x reader #konig x you #könig x you #cod mw2 #so many concepts rattling around like coins in my tin-can brain that i will never fully flesh out

[nellycanwrite]

His Queen

K’uk’ulkan x Filipino!Reader Blurb

Summary: K'uk'ulkan pays you a visit to ask you to become his queen.

Rating: PG 13+

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1.5K

Note: Filipino!Reader is inspired by Marvel's equivalent to the Filipino Superhero Pearl Pangan, also known by her hero name Wave. You can control water and have the same capabilities as a Talokanil, but you are still a land-dweller born and raised in the islands of Mactan, Cebu Philippines.

It is also worthy to note that I have not included any Yucatec Maya phrases despite Namor speaking in his mother tongue as respect to his language. Therefore his mother tongue shall be labeled with italics.

This work is a connecting piece to His Timeless Love. Both can be read separately and in any order.

Hidden by the waves of saltwater was a man. But not just any man; K'uk'ulkan. The feathered serpent god from myths old and from legends foretold. Yet his divine countenance could not compare to your own. The water bent by your will, aides you at your beck and call. It surrounded you like a halo of shimmering fractals that danced around you with the flitters of a sea faerie from folktales. It was as if the sea was your bidding, yet it obeyed you like a knight to its queen. Such prowess came from disquieting origins, yet you wielded it proudly. Regally. 

He was enchanted by you.

There were no words to describe the blossoming heat from his chest, traveling from the pulsing veins of his fingertips down to the tingling crunch of fine white sand beneath his bare feet. You moved with the grace of dancing anemone, glowed as brightly as the stars of the evening sea that guided him through the throes of the darkened currents. No matter how many times he would see you, his breath always hitched. Time always stopped. 

Time was no concept for an immortal such as he, yet he found himself counting every precious second when he basked in your company.

"I know you're there." The sea rippled around him. He shook his head and chuckled.

"How did you know?" He rose from the depths of the water and stayed by the shore's edge. The waves lapped at his winged feet pleasantly like a greeting from an old friend. His eyes trailed across your back as you glided your arms in a dance of tradition with the water accompanying your movements.

"You're not subtle, K'uk'ulkan," you did not turn to face him, but you regarded him with a sliver of ocean water snaking across his arms. K'uk'ulkan held the urge to let a pleasant shiver run down his spine. You chuckled, "I saw you peeking your head from the shore."

"Is it unpleasant for you? For me to disturb you from your rituals." He asked. Your hands stopped.

"Never." You did not bother to correct him that your idle movements weren't rituals. It was mere movements controlled by the crashing waves upon the loose sand, imitating the flow of the currents that shook with each stroke. An impulse, maybe. An urge to dance with the hymns of your orient motherland.

You finally turned to face him, eyes locking with a magnificent earthen oak. He chose this moment to shorten the distance between you, his fingers finding solace at the supple of your cheeks. He caressed the lids of your eyes free of seawater and lingered a kiss to your brows with a satisfied smile. 

"Then why call me out?" There was a mischief behind his words hidden beneath the whispers of ardor. You smiled.

"I would rather have your company than to let you linger by the sea. I know you wish for the same."

You noticed his breath become albeit ragged—although it was but a sliver of a puff of air—so you willed the water to sustain his skin from the blistering heat knowing full well that he would stay with you until nightfall. The sun of Mactan, Cebu on the high end of summer's afternoon was one of the hottest recorded in any index; it would harm K'uk'ulkan if you were to let him stay under it any longer. A thin dome of water covered the both of you and the light bounced off from the water to your skins. Picturesque as it might seem to the eyes of an onlooker, there was something much more beautiful in the eyes of K'uk'ulkan.

And that was you.

"Thank you, my love." He spoke in his mother tongue. It was as pleasant and melodious as the wind chimes from your rattan house. It always filled you with immeasurable joy for him to use his language to speak so softly with you.

"Always," you guided him to sit on the sand under a nearby coconut tree, water covering you at every step and wetting the exposed skin of K'uk'ulkan. A question prodded in the forefront of your mind as soon as you were settled and huddled between the serpent god's legs, his arms wrapping around your waist and head buried on your shoulder, "why have you come to visit, my king?"

"Do I need a reason to see my queen?"

You sighed and shook your head, leaning back against his frame and turning your head to kiss the shell of his pointed ears. "A land dweller cannot be queen, K'uk'ulkan. You know that."

"Yet one lay in my arms at this very moment." He tightened his grip on your waist and peppered kisses against your neck. You tried your best not to humor his need for attention despite the growing heat that formed on your nape and cheeks.

"The people need a queen that is of Talokan blood. I can't simply take that role."

"Your achievements speak for itself," he raised his head from your shoulder and kissed your cheek, "you have saved Talokan from the hands of scientists who tried to scour through the depths of our oceans, kept our secret well-hidden from the land dwellers, and you have kept your promise of aid to my kingdom in times of need. We have seen you divert ships away from our home with your riptides and currents."

"That is hardly a reason. I've only repaid a debt."

"And what debt would that be?"

"Sparing me," your hands snaked towards the hands that locked itself on your waist. You drew circles against his skin as he sighed in content at the moment, "you had every reason to kill me when I stepped through the entrance of Talokan. You were a king who protected his people—I was sure I was going to die by your hand that day."

"You intrigued me," he supplied, his hands now taking yours and intertwining your fingers together, "you did not yield under my threats nor did you use the name my enemies have called me when I have antagonized you."

"Namor," you tried, the name foreign to your tongue, "I much prefer your real name, K'uk'ulkan. And why would I make an enemy of the king of a civilization that I have intruded?"

"You might be one of the rarer sane land dwellers."

"I try." You gave him an amused shrug.

"You are also special, my love," he added, his mother tongue chiming through the warm pacific winds, "my people already revere you as a god of their own."

"Me?"

"Do I really have to spell every word?" He placed two fingers on your chin and made you look up at the flowing dome of saltwater that you are effortlessly maintaining with your powers, "you control the sea. Our life source is at your beck and call. You can breathe like us, swim like us, and you could withstand the pressure of Talokan. You have garnered the love of our people."

"Your people." You corrected him. He shook his head and adjusted himself so he could lay his forehead against yours.

"Our people," he stared into your eyes, the rich earthen gaze reflecting that of his love for the sea. With it also came the tremendous love he had for you; his queen. No one was fit to rule by his side but you. Although there might be reservations from others of his kingdom, they cannot refute the fact that you—an entity that controlled the tides of their home—were to be revered. Respected. 

Your benevolent rule will be the legacy of his choice. And it will be living proof for the people that you were the only rightful queen to sit by the right hand of his throne.

"You hold the strength of the sea at your whim, yet you choose kindness above all else. But you do not hesitate to use force when it is necessary. That is the true makings of a ruler. Your judgment astounds me, your beauty is simply divine. You are perfect, my love."

"K'uk'ulkan…" his name was like a prayer to your mouth. It was ironic, you might say, for the prayers of the god of the sea fell into his attentive ears and returned the favor with worship—as if you were the divine entity and he the disciple. You felt his hands creep into the back of your head and pull you impossibly closer, his fingers tangling with your dampened hair from the obedient water from the ocean's tide, his lips fluttering with the tongue of praise to you; his god. He regarded your meager stature like the statue of a Santo Niño. Holy. Sacred. 

He uttered your name in a breathless whisper that wavered the dome of water from your command. He might have found that amusing enough to release a minute chuckle. He was the only one who could sway your otherwise earnest control.

"This I ask again, will you become my queen and rule Talokan by my side?"

#namor x reader #namor #mcu namor #namor x filipino!reader #namor x fem!reader #k'uk'ulkan #k'uk'ulkan x reader #marvel #wakanda forever #talokan

[chadillacboseman]

Okay but could I have a few crumbs of Doc on vacation? He's at a beach-cliche but listen-no shirt or one of those silly hawaiian shirts (more preferably shirtless), he's goin on about how important sun screen is and offers to help his boo, then hes in the water and his hair is wet he's smiling he's happy I mean PLEASE

He deserves to be happy!!!!

"A vacation?" Gustave sounds skeptical as Sam watches him from across the desk, "There is still so much for us to-"

"For them to do," Sam cuts him off with a raised hand, "Wolfguard can handle themselves. You need to be away from this place."

Gustave sputters indignantly at the idea- he's a team player, he doesn't want Wolfguard to go into the field without him. But Sam is insistent, an unmovable object with all the stubbornness that comes with that many decades in the field.

So Gustave is given the boot and he heads home to you with two free weeks on the horizon, courtesy of the fact that he hasn't used a single vacation day in years.

You're surprised when he walks in the door. He's never home this early. Part of you panics that something bad has happened, but he offers you a small smile as he places his bags on the counter.

"Sam insisted I take a break," he pulls out his phone and punches in a website that displays flights, "How does Hawaii sound?"

--

You can't remember the last time you saw Gustave unwind. The burden of the Nighthaven situation. The loss of Harry and the re-emergence of Gerald Morris. He'd carried the weight of the world on his shoulders for what felt like months.

Maybe it was.

But now, here on the beach, he looks like a different man. He's shirtless, leaned back on a towel in the sand. His hair hangs down onto his sun-kissed forehead, and his eyes are closed contentedly.

"Relaxation looks good on you," you nudge him with your shoulder and he hums with a broad smile.

"Have you got your sunscreen on?" sometimes, it's hard to turn 'doctor mode' off.

"No," you answer simply and he tuts in disapproval.

"Here," he motions for you to scoot closer and he dispenses some sunscreen into his broad hand, "It's important to wear it, ma cherie."

"I know, I know," you roll your eyes animatedly and he chuckles.

Gustave runs his hand along your shoulders, then your middle back. He uses the momentary closeness to kiss your neck and you chastise him with a playful swat.

"Hard to resist," he murmurs before patting your back to let you know he's finished.

Out in front of you, the ocean rolls in gentle waves, the water creeping up onto the sand with each one. Gustave's eyes are glittering as he stares out at the vast, unending blue.

"I think I hear it calling your name," you say in mock sing-song and his eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins.

Gustave rises to his feet and offers you a hand that you take to stand alongside him. His face is full of a childlike mischief you haven't seen in months, and when he speaks he sounds as if he's ten years younger.

"Race you."

The sand slows you both down, but you keep up with him until you're bounding into the water with him with a laugh. A wave crashes down and a splash of saltwater soaks his hair as he stares at you, his gaze soft.

"What?" you question and he shrugs. His salt and pepper hair is in disarray, but for once he's not pushing it out of his face.

"I love you," he finally offers and you give him a quick, chaste kiss that makes him smile.

Gustave can't remember the last time he truly relaxed. The last time he was able to just enjoy his time with you without the burden of work fairly breaking his back.

"I love you, too."

Maybe Sam is right. Maybe his vacation days don't have to sit, stagnant and piling up. Maybe Wolfguard is fine in someone else's hands when he can't be there.

Maybe it's what you both deserve.

#someone quick! draw doc in a hawaiian shirt for me #god nerfed me when he didn't give me the ability to draw #i'd be so so SO much more annoying #doc x reader #gustave kateb x reader #he looks so tired in that cinematic :( #let him have a beach day!!!

[whatwooshkai]

16!!!!

Heatwave stretches, flaps and fluffs his plating, relishing the way his sore protoform loosens up.

Primus, it's so nice to finally have a moment to himself.

Back in the academy, sure, he and his bots shared a room, but that was different, at least they had some semblance of privacy, with curtains they could draw around their berths. Hell, they had their own berths.

Primus, Heatwave misses having a berth.

Not that he hates cuddling or anything (quite the opposite, actually, but you'll never catch him admitting it), but it was nice at the end of an especially stressful day to curl up by himself and be left alone.

The firehouse is a lot bigger than their room at the academy, they've got the whole basement to themselves, but there's not really a designated sleeping area, and the floor is really fucking up his spinal strut.

He starts thinking about where he'd place a berth if he had one- maybe in the corner of the sparring area-

"Heatwave? Heatwave!"

Everything's fuzzy.

Heatwave frowns, trying to gather his bearings. Where is he? The ground is soft beneath him, and wet. Wet?

Water splashes up over his pedes, saltwater, from the ocean?

The island.

Griffin Rock is... sinking?

"HEATWAVE!"

Huh?

Heatwave shakes his helm. No, the ground isn't soft or wet, it's solid. He's inside the firehouse, in the basement, on his servos and knees on the floor and his spark is spinning really fast and his vents are stuttered and shallow and Boulder's shouting his name.

"I'm fine," he says, pushing their servos away from him. "Just got dizzy."

Boulder's expression is one of pure disbelief. "You just totally collapsed! Did you crash?"

"No, no," Heatwave mutters, resigning to take their offered servo and let them help him up. "I'm fine, really. Just tired. I think I'll go... yeah."

Heatwave's shoulders hunch as though they'll shield him from Boulder's gaze as he walks away.

They're catching on.

Heatwave can't let that happen.

#THATS A WRAP FOLKS #I just really wanted to write the opening of this one #maccadam #transformers #transformers rescue bots #tfrb #tfrb heatwave #tfrb boulder #writing #ask game #heatwave ask game #woosh answers #thanks for the ask!! #smoke and mirrors au

[getvalentined]

Okay so while I'm 99.999999% sure that BoTW and ToTK take place on their own timeline (I've even figured out where the divergence must have occurred for the events in those games to take place as they did and wrote a spoileriffic post all about it), there is at least one other option. Maybe two.

Spoilers and 1300+ words of lore and theory nonsense under the cut.

There are some things I've noticed that, when put together, form a very interesting possibility. It's not nearly as solid as the concept of this being an entirely different timeline altogether, and separately these things don't mean much of anything. Viewed together, though, they do seem to point in a fairly distinct direction.

Key points:

The Depths are full of massive ancient fossilized tree roots

Hyrule as a whole is heavily populated with the remains of absolutely enormous fossilized tree stumps

The Koroks exist, but the Kokiri don't

The Rito exist, as do the Zora

These Zora can live in freshwater or saltwater without suffering negative effects

Ganondorf refers to Sonia as being Hyrulean, not Hylian, in spite of Hyrule as a kingdom being founded by her and Rauru

Triforce imagery already exists back in that time period, to the point that Sonia has it tattooed on her body

This...may actually be the far-flung future of the WindWaker timeline.

Points 1, 2 and 3:

In WindWaker, the Deku Tree created the Koroks out of the Kokiri so that they would survive in some capacity after the Goddesses flooded the world. They traverse the world dropping seeds in the hopes that the trees born from those seeds will take root deep enough to join together and recreate land.

The Depths are full of ancient fossilized trees. Hyrule is covered in their remains. The Koroks travel the world for reasons unknown. The Lost Woods contain both a Lake Saria and a Mido Swamp, which we can say are just shout-outs to previous titles—except that Urbosa mentions Nabooru by name in BoTW, meaning that she existed. And if she existed, in the capacity that we know her from Ocarina of Time, then Saria existed. And yet the Koroks exist, and the Kokiri don't.

Points 4 and 5:

In WindWaker, the Rito used to be the Zora. They were magically evolved over time because they couldn't survive the flood, there was something wrong with the water. In Ocarina of Time, Zoras appear to be strictly freshwater entities; there are oceanic Zora in Majora's Mask, but that's either so far back on the timeline that Hylia and Demise haven't landed yet, or it's an alternate timeline altogether. In BoTW and ToTK, the Zora are very clear that they can survive in basically any water. They've tested this. They know they'll be fine no matter what.

Rito and Zoras in BoTW and ToTK have very, very similar body shapes, with long torsos and long arms and short legs, very limited sexual dimorphism, and expression of features similar to multiple different real-world animals that live in their respective environments. Teba is a harpy eagle, Kass is a sapphire macaw, Revali is a Steller's jay, Penn is a pelican; Mipha seems to be a false killer whale, Sidon is a hammerhead shark, King Dorephan is a blue whale, Yona is a devil ray.

Unlike the Rito in WindWaker, these Rito are literally just birds. They don't have to go earn their wings, they grow flight feathers at certain levels of maturity just like normal birds. Unlike the Zora in previous titles, who seemed to age at a rate on-pace with Hylians, the Zora age similarly to some some rare deep sea animals—coelacanths, for instance, reach physical maturity around 40-60 years old. (Reminder that coelacanths were also assumed to be wiped out, leaving behind only differently-evolved relatives.)

If we assume that the Koroks' mission was successful, then the Zora could very well have come back into being intentionally, the same way that they became the Rito in the first place. Some remained as Rito, while others chose to branch off and recreate what they used to be, using magic and careful breeding to make sure that they wouldn't die if the water turned against them again. Likewise, the Rito changed alongside them to become more suited to the changing environment, until they reached a point where they don't even remember that they came from the same place. (EDIT: Lending further credence to this possibility, the Stormwind Ark literally looks like two seahorses swimming side by side. Not birds. Nothing airborne. Seahorses.)

Points 6 and 7:

The existence of the Triforce as a holy symbol and the use of "Hyrulean" to describe someone of Hylian descent indicates that Rauru and Sonia didn't create Hyrule as a place, but organized it as a nation. The land of Hyrule already existed, it just wasn't under anyone's rule. Rauru and Sonia, with the power that they possessed, were able to organize the land on which they lived to create a kingdom—it was already called Hyrule, they just took control.

This makes absolutely no sense whatsoever in any context that I can think of outside the WindWaker timeline, where the destined bearers of the Triforce and the Hylian royal family haven't existed for ages. One of three points in the timeline where Ganondorf was killed, not just sealed away. (The other two being Twilight Princess and ToTK.) Until this point, Ganondorf is always the same Ganondorf. He's the same person as he was in Ocarina of Time—the Triforce of Power made him immortal, that's why all anyone could ever do was seal him up. The Master Sword is the sword that seals the darkness, not the sword that destroys the darkness.

There's a really interesting bit in the Twilight Princess manga that, while I know it's noncanon for the games, lends a lot of credence to the idea that Ganondorf in ToTK is the first time that Ganondorf has been properly and truly reincarnated.

Trigger warning for mention of suicide, and spoiler warning for the Twilight Princess manga.

Toward the end of the manga, during the final battle, Link is losing. Link is going to lose. He comes to the realization that he can't kill Ganondorf not because Ganondorf is stronger than him, but because he's just one part of a whole—and Link and Zelda make up the rest of it. Link realizes that he doesn't have the right to kill Ganondorf, because they need each other to exist. He was chosen by Din for a reason, like Link was chosen by Farore and Zelda was chosen by Nayru, and even if nobody knows why Din allowed that to happen that doesn't make it the right of one Goddess' champion to kill another. Ganondorf refuses to accept this, and kills himself so that he can finally be swept into the reincarnation cycle along with Link and Zelda, rather that just living forever and meeting new versions of them again and again. He demands the opportunity to reset and do what he wants without the fetters of his previous attempts weighing on him, with a promise to return someday and take what he deserves.

Ganondorf dies at the end of WindWaker, and it's very possible that he wouldn't be reborn again until the time period where Hyrule would be revived. Ganondorf is the destined bearer of the Triforce of Power—and Rauru is the Sage of Light, but he very clearly serves as a stand-in for the Triforce of Courage, while Sonia presumably stood in for Wisdom until Zelda arrived. At that point, given that Zelda is the destined bearer chosen by Nayru in order to bolster her ability to interface with Hylia (or to house her outright), any protection that position could have granted Sonia was lost, and Ganondorf was able to kill her where he couldn't have killed Zelda.

Do I think this is the case? Almost certainly not. Do I think it's possible? Absolutely.

The other possibility is that Ganondorf in WindWaker succeeded in his wish to reset the timeline and undo everything and the Goddesses took advantage of the wish and rolled it back so far that they removed the Triforce from the timeline altogether in the hopes that Ganondorf would never come into being at all. This new timeline would thereby be the result of that, but there's not much to indicate that beyond the fact that the Imprisoning War is literally the events of Ocarina of Time without the Triforce or Link, down to Zelda watching him kneel in front of the King of Hyrule and ask for allegiance, then telling that king that Ganondorf is obviously evil. I swear it's almost word for word. Zelda. Don't be racist.

#totk spoilers #tears of the kingdom #totk #breath of the wild #botw #windwaker #ocarina of time #twilight princess #the legend of zelda #fandom ramble #lore gremlin reporting for duty #none of my friends are into zelda #I am trying so hard not to just flood them #with stuff they don't care about #so I'm just putting it all here #sorry about that

[ivory--raven]

Day 19. Dagon has a good day. There is an eel. Michael appears to fishermen.

Dagon’s in an ocean somewhere. It doesn’t particularly matter where, and she isn’t sure, she’d just chosen somewhere and found them: humans. Human fishermen. They’ll regret coming out today. She’s menacing them, taking the form of a horrible creature and vanishing into the waves every time they look around. They can’t catch any fish, and she’s filling them with a horrible sense of unease, and they’re not sure why.

Dagon cackles.

Then there’s light and that annoying sound angels make when they want to be grand and glorious. “Killjoys,” Dagon mutters, hiding under the water again.

There is only one angel and it’s her. It’s Michael. She’s stunning. Dagon watches, transfixed, drawn to her like prey to a deep sea anglerfish’s lure. Not prey. She thinks about fusing, letting her carry her everywhere. She could live like that. Maybe, she thinks, she understands why anglerfish do it, for a reason other than they were designed that way.

But no. She won’t. She can’t, anyway. They aren’t anglerfish. Michael is an angel, Dagon is a demon. Having spoken before doesn’t mean anything.

Michael speaks to the fishermen, and they are stunned and awed, as well they should be, puny mortals getting to look at her. They don’t deserve to keep their eyes after this. They don’t deserve to keep their heads attached to their shoulders. Michael lets them go, sends them off, and they are fine.

“Come out,” Michael says then.

Dagon, now less a horrible creature, pokes her head above the surface. Her shiny blue-green-silver scales flash in the angelic light above the murky water. Now she’s not keeping them away fish appear, nuzzling at her hands. They trust her. Nobody trusts her.

“You,” says Michael.

“Hello again,” says Dagon.

“I should smite you,” says Michael, and summons a spear. “Leave the humans alone.”

Dagon makes a show of looking around and seeing no humans, the fishermen having left very quickly with Michael’s help. “Is that a new spear? It looks nice.”

Michael falters. “It - it is.”

Dagon hasn’t been smitten yet. “Aren’t you going to thank me?” she teases. “For the compliment?”

“Demons don’t compliment angels,” Michael says.

“Of course not,” says Dagon. “Silly me. I’m terribly sorry, O Archangel Michael, Defender, knower of demons-”

“Did you-”

“I looked you up,” Dagon says. “Knew I recognised you.”

Michael looks briefly proud, then not, as if remembering her company. “You have a lot of fish there with you.”

“I do,” says Dagon, and looking around her Michael is right. She is utterly surrounded by fish of all sizes, tiny ones to big ones, even a few Porbeagle sharks, bluefin tuna, and a basking shark. They crowd around her, brushing against her. It’s a wonder they aren’t eating each other. She kisses a smaller Porbeagle shark on the snout. “Lovely things, aren’t they?”

“I’d never thought about it,” Michael admits.

Dagon spins in the water. “Come on down then, say hello. Unless you’re too high and mighty for the wonders of Creation?”

Michael shifts, then hovers down to skim the surface. She’s been challenged. Dagon grins at her.

“Here, look. This little guy’s an anchovy.” Dagon holds him up, safely encapsulated in a bubble of saltwater, and he sits complacent in her hands.

Michael inspects him like she’s never seen a fish before. Maybe the Archangel Michael really is too important to bother with ordinary fish. “Very shiny scales. I like that.”

He does shine. He’s blue and green and silver and his stripe is gorgeous. She tells him so, releases him back to the sea, where he nips around her elbows. He’s happy. She’s made him happy. She’s smiling at him when she remembers Michael. “So. You’ve never seen a fish before or…”

“I’ve seen fish before. I hadn’t looked.” Michael locks eyes with Dagon. “I have now.”

Then she disappears. Dagon has made the Archangel Michael look at a fish. What an achievement, she thinks, rolling her eyes. Nothing commendation-worthy.

An eel nudges against her, and she runs a finger along its side, sharing warmth. “Hello, you,” she tells it. Satan help her, she’s smiling again.

#femslash omens #femslashfeb2024 #angelfish #ineffable administrators #good omens

[achilleslefttoe]

The Gods.

hihihihihihi, so basically this is mostly for @star-realities but im making it public cause yes. hope this is helpful so basically, im writing a book series, and my big idea was to make design gods for the world inspired by me and the friends i created the world for. there've been multiple versions of this series but the very first was based on me and 3 of my friends. I found it fitting to make us the gods of the world because if it weren't for us, the book nor the world it takes place in would exist.

so these are us, i made the photos on picrew (@/hunbloom). but anyways here's the actual lore. basically Achaii woke up one day bored as hell and said "damn, this thing we live in is bland as hell. imma spice it up" and grabbed their paintbrush and made the sky. Legends say they still paint the sky every night and morning.

Evanitis saw this and joined in making greenery. The two enjoyed their freedom and the other two watched. Zacharaea and Maion never really liked each other but they both loved Ace and Evan. Then Zach wanted to join in, so he and Evan made fire by accident. Zach, overwhelmed by pride cried, and Ace stepped in to make the oceans and rivers to store the tears of Zach and later on the others. The tear thing is important later. Mae blew the fire out to keep it from spreading, they all knew the power that their creations had.

After Mae had blown out the fire, the earth parted. Evan fixed it to be somewhat uniform afterward. (goodbye Pangea) They called their island Te Etearia Isle, later changed to The Ethereal Isles. Located off the southern coast of France.

After this, Evan created an herb he was fond of and decided to burn it, after he burnt it, he began creating whatever the fuck he wanted (yes, i'm implying he made weed)

One night the deities came together to create the first humans. They loved each other in VARIOUS different ways but it got lonely when it was just the 4 of them. Mae worked out the fine tuning of humans. Two arms, two legs, two lungs, a head, brain, and heart. Of course and so on. Each one of their first humans had their own special features but i haven't worked them all out yet.

Anyways, back to the tears thing. In my story, on their side (there's their realm and our side aka the boring non magic side) there are four bodies of water that are considered Tears of a God, which is written in Latin but I don't have a perfect translation for it yet. These bodies of water have special properties that vary depending on which god cried into them. They're all salt water cause yk, they're tears.

I have one for everyone but Evan, the only thing I know about his is that it's like The Yellow River in China, it's rough and prone to flooding for a very specific reason. But that reason is written in my history notebook that i left in my locker at school.

Ace's (well mine) is called Mourner's Peak, where there's multiple little ponds (or maybe geysers idk yet) each one evokes a different emotion. Mostly negative, but some positive.

Zach's is the original pond Ace had made for him to cry into when they made fire for the first time. That is the main portal, his tears make it possible to travel from each realm easily.

Mae's in a deep deep saltwater pond, under it is the cave where she locked away the other three gods. They're stuck under there for thousands of years.

also, the star over bethlehem where people say jesus was born is where the big fight between Mae and the others happened. The star was Ace fighting cause yk they're the deity of the cosmos and celestial magic. Also toying with the idea I wrote the bible as a joke and someone found it after we locked away and then continued it lmao.

anyways, that's it for now. if anyone has questions or wants me to go into more detail on anything, I will gladly do so. Also if you wanna hear more about my series in general, i will gladly ramble about it

#aced it #using aced it for stuff about my original work or things i've written #books #writing #writeblr #original series

[blackhannetandco]

sleep, irritating, warm, unless, cry, sail, snarky, yawn hiiiiii <333333333

Hiiiiiii <3

Sleep ~ untitled cobra kai fic

If Anthony was content enough to be set down or to be rocked to sleep in his father's arms, Amanda would let him be and hug Sam to her, play all the little games she wanted, carry her on her hip even if her arms got tired. She had the vague notion that she didn't want Sam to feel like the baby was going to get all the attention, that she had to make Sam feel extra special so that on the days Anthony took up all her time, Sam could look back on these sunny weeks and remember that she too, was loved.

Irritating ~ the "you are snowed out. you die of hypothermia" fic (don't worry no one dies) - ofmd

"Oh come on, Steve-"

Stede whirls around and fixes Jack with a glare. "It's Stede, and you know it, you - you irritating fucking imbecile!"

Jack laughs, an obnoxious sound that makes Stede wish he could destroy people with his mind. "Kitten's got claws, eh?"

Warm ~ These Small Hours Still Remain - gen It fic

But he sees the expression on Richie’s face, and a warmth fills him - this is his first friend, the one who he didn’t think he’d like until Richie just. Kept talking to him. This is his best friend, who he pinkie swore with at age 7 that their friendship would be epic and long and epically long. This is Richie, who knows about the possessiveness Stan feels over them being friends the longest, and who feels the same. If any two people can make it, if any two people can become the glue to hold seven friends together...well, maybe it’s them.

Unless ~ the crew invents the wet t shirt contest fic - ofmd

"You're absolutely sure the shirts have to be so thin?" he calls out to the crew, who are hauling up buckets of water. "We'll probably catch cold."

Lucius nods. "Sorry, captain." He doesn't look sorry. "But you'll be fine." And then, with a smug, wide grin: "Unless you're scared of some saltwater?"

Cry ~ #richardsbestfriend - It fic, Stan&Richie friendship

Clown Kin @ wedielikemen I’M FUCKING CRYING @ trashmouth IS WORTH LIKE 2 MILLION AND #richardsbestfriend IS REALLY OUT HERE LIKE “OH NO HE’S GONNA NEED ALL THE MONEY HE CAN GET :/ :3”

Sail ~ Ed and Frenchie's Musical Adventure - ofmd

"Pretty woman, stop awhile; pretty woman, talk awhile..." Frenchie nodded at Ed, encouraging him to come up with the next line.

"Uh...pretty woman, won't you sail with me...?"

Snarky ~ the untitled modern au where Stede and Mary are besties at university. fake dating shenanigans possible - ofmd

"Snarky isn't a good look on you," he informs her primly. She doesn't miss a beat.

"Snarky is why you're friends with me. We can be judgemental and mean together."

Yawn ~ the inception au - ofmd fic

Stede holds back a yawn - only to give in to the urge when Lucius lets out a jaw-cracking yawn of his own.

"Can't we be done for the night, Captain?"

"Don't call me that," Stede says, though he knows the boy won't listen.

And you also said Ocean ~ untitled ofmd fic

The thing about being a creature of the sea is that you instinctively know your own. So Stede knows that Ed, for all his expert handling of himself and his crew, can't call the ocean home the way Stede does. He might still not be human, but that wouldn't be a magic Stede's blood sings with or recognizes.

Izzy, on the other hand...

#i did not have most of these so i took it as motivation to actually work on some of my fics ghgjg #also yes that is frenchie and ed coming up with the lyrics to pretty woman. its their work in progress #asks #ask game #my writing

[nessaxc]

___________________________________

All Wet || Mammon

A beach walk with Mammon turns into something more

~ Rating: Explicit

~ Words: 2.4k

~ Tags: Shower Sex, Public Hand Job, Ocean Hand Job, Skinny Dipping, Vaginal Fingering

___________________________________

“What?”

“Nothing.” Mammon had his hands shoved deep in his pockets as you two walked along the beach. The resort was quiet; it was late in the season and you both were some of the few tourists who were still in the area. Your rented bungalow was right near the water, which made it perfect for taking strolls in the sand whenever you felt like it – like now, at midnight – as well as for having mind-blowing, toe-curling, screaming sex whenever you wanted it since the waves typically drowned you both out.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re up to something, Mammon.”

He smirked, his eyes cast downward as you walked leisurely. “Maybe.”

“Like what?”

He glanced up at you, and before you knew what was happening he ripped off his t-shirt, dropped trou, and ran straight into the surf stark naked.

You stared after him, dumbfounded.

“Oh, fuck, that’s cold!” he yelped, right before diving under an incoming wave.

“Mammon, what the fuck?” you called out, laughing, as his head bobbed back up.

“Come on. Water’s fine.”

“You just said it was freezing!”

“Chickenshit!”

You heaved a sigh and glanced around; the beach was completely empty. Oh, fuck it. You pulled off your dress and then your bra and panties before you had time to second-guess yourself and made a run for the water. As soon as the waves hit your knees you squealed. “Holy fuck!”

“Get in here before everyone sees you in your altogether!” he laughed.

You took a deep breath and dove in, the chilly saltwater sending a shock through your system. You emerged and Mammon paddled over to you. It was shallow enough that your feet could still touch the sand, but deep enough that the waves broke just past you. “You’re an idiot,” you said, teeth chattering.

“I was just thinking the same thing, to be honest,” he replied. “Come here. Body warmth.”

“I don’t have any left,” you said as you curled up to him.

“Mmmm. You have some.” He squeezed your breasts and motorboated them, sending a spray of water into your both faces.

“Ass,” you said, giggling.

He kissed you, and his mouth tasted of salt and tequila. You melted into his kiss as you both floated on the gently heaving sea.

“We can’t stay out here long,” you murmured as he grasped your hips and pulled you so that you were wrapped around him.

“I know.”

“No lifeguard. Dark out. Dangerous.”

“And romantic. And fun. Come on.” His eyes sparkled as he winked at you. “Let’s be naughty.”

You pursed your lips and raised an eyebrow. “Well, salt and sand are no fun in my naughty bits… but if you can get it up quickly, I can jerk you off.”

He was still shivering from cold when he nodded.

“Really?”

“Baby, I’m already hard.”

You reached into the water and was impressed to find he was. “Even with the cold, Mammon?”

“What can I say? You do magical things to me.”

You giggled as you wrapped one hand around his shoulder to keep balance in the currents. The other hand firmly gripped him and started stroking, pausing every so often to add a little twist at his tip. His eyes were closed as he leaned his head against yours and began nuzzling your ear, giving little grunts of pleasure.

“You’re so big and hard, Mammon,” you cooed.

“Oh, fuck, baby… your hand is perfect… oh, don’t stop,” he whispered.

“You like that? You like it when I use my hand to get you off?”

“Yes…”

“What are you going to do to make it up to me when we get back to the bungalow?” You nipped his ear.

He groaned as his hips bucked forward involuntarily. “I’m going to… make you come… at least twice…”

“Promises, promises…” you were teasing him now, running your thumb over his head and dipping it into the slit before stroking down to his base and back.

“I’m going to… drag you into the shower…go down on you…oh, fuck,” he moaned.

You stroked him harder, pressing your legs together as he talked.

“Then… push you up against the shower wall… fuck you from behind… slam into you… oh, oh, Shit,” he gasped, gritting his teeth as you jerked him faster. “Oh God, I’m going to… fuck!” he cried out as his cock twitched in your hand, the warmth of his come momentarily floating past your fingers and legs before dissolving into the cold seawater. He leaned against you heavily, leaving a hot, open-mouthed kiss on your shoulder as you both bobbed with the motion of the waves.

“Satisfied?”

“Always,” he replied, breathless.

“Ready to make good on your promise?”

He gave a low, suggestive laugh. “Oh, yes. Or at least, I will be, once I recover from that, you damn succubus.”

“Hey, this was your idea, you filthy man.” you stuck your tongue out at him, then you quickly checked the beach again and saw you both were still, thankfully, alone. You gave him a wink and dove under the next wave, riding it to the sand. You picked yourself up and took off towards your clothes, pulling on your dress quickly and grabbing your bra and panties.

He followed right behind, his spent cock flapping ridiculously between his legs as he grabbed for his pants, and you couldn’t help but laugh. He yanked his shorts on and picked up his t-shirt before grabbing you in a tight embrace and kissing you as though his life depended on it. “That was fucking incredible, baby… thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you giggled. “Now… I believe I heard some mention of two orgasms in the shower.”

“Oh… did I say that?”

“Why? You going back on your word, Mammon?”

“No,” he grinned. “But I could’ve sworn I said three.” He grabbed your hand and you both sprinted back to the bungalow.

It only took you three minutes to get back at the rate you were going and the moment you got inside Mammon kicked the door shut behind him and slammed you up against the wall, kissing and nipping at your neck. You slipped out from his grasp and ran for the bathroom, but he caught up with you. He hoisted you over his shoulder caveman-style and carried you into the washroom while you squealed and laughed. He placed you on the countertop and turned on the tap water before turning and attacking your lips once more, pausing only to pull your dress up over your head so that you were naked once again. You pushed his pants down past his hips as steam from the shower filled the room. His hands roamed over your damp flesh, exploring the curves of your breasts and waist while you ran your fingers through his wet hair.

He suddenly gripped your ass and picked you up again, this time so that your legs were wrapped around his hips, and stepped into the shower with you. He put you down gently and grabbed your body wash, squirting a generous amount into his palm.

“Turn around, babe,” he murmured, and you obeyed. He worked the soap into a lather and started massaging your back with his strong fingers, and you moaned out loud. He kneaded and stroked the kinks out of your shoulders before he moved down your spine, finally scrubbing and squeezing your ass. He ran both hands up and down each of your legs, soaping them up thoroughly before finally turning you back around. He kissed your forehead while he soaped up your arms and belly, saving his final attentions for your breasts. He traced circles around your nipples before radiating his touches outwards, covering you completely with the sweet-smelling bubbles. Then he whirled you around so that we switched places and you were under the stream of hot water, the body wash dripping off your skin in sudsy streams.

You grabbed his soap and began to reciprocate, scrubbing it across the tan, taut muscles of his chest and abs before you knelt down. You gave his cock a teasing stroke as you soaped him up, then moved to his long, strong legs. He had his eyes closed when you stood back up and turned him around, pressing into his shoulders with firm squeezes, and he let out soft grunts of pleasure as you massaged the tension out of his back. You admired the soft curve of his ass and thighs as you finished soaping him up; by now you were clean, so you pulled him under the showerhead with you and kissed him while the hot water rinsed him off. His fingers probed you curiously as the last of the seawater ran down the drain, and you gave a little gasp as he rolled your clit between his thumb and forefinger.

You weren’t expecting what he did next. He placed you gently on the floor of the tub so that the gentle fall of the shower was aimed right on your belly and pelvis. Then, he knelt between your legs and hoisted them over his shoulders, dipping his head down to put his mouth on you. The combination of the warm water running over your body as well as his rough, hot tongue poking inside you was intense and arousing, and you cried out as he traced his tongue over your clit in maddening circles.

“Oh, fuck, Mammon, that’s… perfect,” you gasped. You were already close, the heightened anticipation from our escapade in the ocean ensuring your body was more than ready for his careful ministrations.

He hummed against you as he drew the little bud into his mouth and suckled at it, and it didn’t take long for you to lose control. You came, your back arching off the floor as your hips bucked into his face, the waves of pleasure rolling through you. He didn’t let up, though; he seemed determined to make good on his promise and he thrust two soaked fingers inside of you, curling them and tapping them against your G-spot. You had barely come down from your first climax when the second hit, even harder, and you let out a tortured cry as ecstasy wracked your body. He extracted his fingers and licked you gently as I floated back down to earth, the hot water streaming over his head and pooling on your skin.

“That’s two down,” he murmured as he kissed right above your mound. “One more to go.”

You grabbed his hair and yanked him up roughly so that he was on top of you. You kissed him fiercely and swallowed his chuckles. His erection was back in full force now, jabbing you in the thigh, and he grasped your arms and pulled you up to your feet as he stood. “You wanted to fuck me from behind, right?” You whispered, turning and grinding your bare ass against his groin.

He moaned as he grabbed both of your arms and held them against the cool tile of the shower wall. “I did… because I still owe you another orgasm…” His voice was deep and full of sinful promise as he spoke into my ear and pressed his torso to your back. “That, and I love the way your ass bounces when I fuck you like this… and those little noises you make, oh God… and the way you reach back and dig your nails into my ass when you’re close and you want me to fuck you harder… the way you come and fall forward and I have to catch you, usually by grabbing onto your magnificent tits while I finish you off…”

You were circling your hips back against him now, desperate to have him inside me. “Please, Mammon…”

“As you wish, Y/N,” he whispered as he pushed your legs apart with his knee and slid forward. You groaned at the intrusion as his cock filled me up; he still held my arms in place against the wall as he undulated his hips against you, his tip just brushing your G-spot.

“Oh, Mammon, that’s… that’s good,” I breathed as the water continued to cascade around us.

“You like that, don’t you?”

“Yes… oh, fuck, baby… more… faster…”

He growled as he slammed into you; he shifted his hands so that he was holding both of yours up against the wall with one while the other snaked around your waist to massage your clit. You arched your back and started to push back to meet his thrusts, urging him forward.

“Baby.” His voice was strained. “Keep that up and I’ll come too quickly…”

“I want to feel you come, Mammon,” you panted. “Please…”

“Not until I feel you…” He paused his rhythm and you let out a frustrated whine, which he silenced with a firm tweak of your clit. You bucked into his hand and leaned your forehead against the wall; You weren’t sure how much more my body could take. “… are you going to behave?”

“Yes, Mammon… yes, please,” you babbled, desperate for your finish.

He started moving again, fucking you even harder while you held still, biting your lip so hard you could swear you were going to draw blood. He sucked at your shoulder while he continued to roll your sensitive nub between his fingers and piston into you from behind. You cried out as you climbed higher and higher, and finally you let out an uncontrollable scream as your pussy clamped down on him in powerful release, your entire body trembling as your brain shut down. Stars burst behind your eyelids as you tried to breathe, pleasure shooting through every nerve in your body. As your cunt contracted and released around him he came with an animalistic roar, spilling everything he had left deep inside you. He caught you just as you began to pitch forward and slipped out of you, holding you close while you both caught your breath.

At that moment, you two were shocked by a deluge of frigid water from the shower. You shrieked and leaped out of the tub, grabbing a towel as he followed behind you, laughing.

“Well, I guess we went through all the hot water,” he said, chuckling as he wrapped a towel around his waist and picked me up again. He threw you on the bed and cuddled next to you. “Not that we need it to stay warm. Right, babe?”

“Shut up, Mammon,” you said sleepily.

“Hey! I just gave you three orgasms in less than 30 minutes. I think I deserve a little more tenderness than ‘shut up.’”

“And I jerked you off while skinny-dipping in the frigid ocean,” you said, snuggling into him. “I’d say we’re square.”

He gave a soft chuckle as he pulled you close, then nuzzled your hair as you both drifted off to sleep, sated and happy.

___________________________________

#obey me #obey me mammon #obey me smut #obey me fandom #obey me fanfic #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me oneshot #obey me x reader #obey me x y/n #obey me x you #mammon smut #mammon x reader #mammon x you #i love mammon #mammon fanfic #mammon headcanon #mammon shall we date #shall we date mammon

[meg-moira]

I did the thing. Based on this writing prompt!

.

.

What am I, you ask?

It was a question I, too asked myself, once upon a time. I ask it no longer, because I don’t much see the reason in dwelling upon questions which have no definitive answers.

I can tell you what others think I am. Will that satisfy your curiosity?

An aged deity they call me. A minor one, of course. For they know I never laid claim to the vast domains of the Great Gods. War, Knowledge, Death are all grand pursuits, but they are not to my tastes.

Besides, I would never claim anything so specific. To those who live in the village beneath my humble temple, I am the warmth of a tended hearth, the safety of home - and the joy of returning to it.

It is a quiet village, you know. And I know my people by look and by voice. They take turns climbing the steep hill to tend my temple.

I settled here for a reason.

Did you notice my temple? It’s nice, is it not? Wooden, round, and short enough that the adults must bend to enter. Inside, two rows of candles illuminate walls lined with dangling shells dug from deep within the earth. Shelves are stacked with pebbles, feathers, twigs, and flowers. Gifts from my followers and requests I planted in the minds of my most devout.

At the center of it all, bathed in the candles’ butter yellow light sits a gleaming stone. It is opalescent and a pretty enough sight to behold. It was recovered generations ago, a layer or two beneath the dug-up shells.

The humans believe that I reside in the Everstone. That’s what they call it. Everstone. It’s got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

I don’t. Live in the Everstone, that is. I don’t believe I live anywhere in particular.

Occasionally I sit in the stone, just for fun. I warm it sometimes when my followers’ reverent fingers brush the grooves. I like the sound of their surprise and delight. Other times I perch upon the temple’s roof, and drink up light from the first and second sun. And on rare instances, I expend the energy to make myself just corporeal enough to walk upon the hillside and feel the grass between my toes. I only allow my most favorite devotees to see me like this. It is strange and awkward to have limbs and take up space. I only do it because the sensation of touch is so entirely captivating.

Those who glimpse my walking form see someone who looks human in the same way that a painting of an ocean resembles the cold, untamable tides. I take up space, and within that space is the suggestion of personhood. They see a figure draped and hooded in ethereal white, brown skinned and with a face whose features are vague and changing. Human faces fascinate me, and I cannot always make up my mind about the features I want for my own. I-

Why would you interrupt me?

Did you not trudge your ugly boots up this steep hill to seek me out? And if you’ve come, as you say, from lands afar - why would you not want to make conversation?

...Could it be that it is not me you seek, but the one who, even now, lies crumpled and half dead upon my temple floor?

That is the truth of it. I can see it in your terrible war-bright eyes. You are no more human than the one who bleeds ichor on my nice wooden planks.

No. No. Don’t go lifting your ugly spiked weapon just yet. I’m not done talking. I can’t talk with the humans. At least, not like this. And the god currently bleeding in my temple wasn’t much able to make conversation.

He staggered up the hillside not an hour before you arrived. He had taken far more care in the crafting of his physical form than I, and I’d guessed right away that he was one of the visible gods. Likely in possession of both power and desire enough to parade himself about for his followers. To drape his body, wrapped in opulent cloth, across the velvet couch upon his temple dais.

Yes, I made the last part up. I don’t know that he liked to drape himself across couches like a subject waiting to be painted, but with his raven black hair, muscles sculpted by an undoubtedly delicate hand, and a pretty face which did not shift like mine was wont to do, he fit the part well enough.

His fine clothes were ripped and bloody when he staggered up my hillside. And his hair, which looked to have once been drawn back in a sleek braid, was mostly dragged loose, falling in wisps and tangles. His pretty face was cut and broken, and when he pressed a shaking hand upon my wooden walls, he left a smear of ichor, brutal and golden beneath the suns.

“Sanctuary,” he murmured, and his voice was cracked and broken as the rest of him.

I could have barred my door. He might have once been powerful, but it had been cruelly beaten out of him by something.

You, I presume.

No. Enough with the weapon waving. I said I was talking.

I let him in. Don’t ask me why. Maybe stripped of his power, he reminded me of my village devotees. Or maybe I just didn’t want his divinely made flesh to stink up my lawn.

He stumbled in as soon as I opened the door, and immediately collapsed, one hand clutching what was surely a severe wound in his side. If he was as human as he appeared, I’m sure he would have died.

No, he’s not dead.

It was touch-and-go for a while. But, as I’m sure you know, gods are not so easy to kill.

I helped him, pouring some of my own energy into his form. It was like feeding oxygen to a faltering flame. As I worked, he lay limp as a doll, lips half pressed to my wooden floor as his voice rasped, filling the room.

His people call him Praesaro. He told me of how you killed a great number of them, cutting a path so you might reach him. His tears of saltwater and gold dampened the temple floor as he spoke, and where they slipped between the slats of wood, wild clovers sprouted from the soil. His throat was dry and grief-wrung, but I did not need to hear him to feel his overwhelming, aching loss. He’d seen his followers cut down, all while he, their glorious protector, was powerless to stop you.

You smile. Does pain amuse you?

I see. It is not just any pain you seek, but a god’s pain. You cared not for the city you slew, did you? You only wanted the god who protected it. So are you the God Devourer of which the wind has been whispering of late?

I hear conflicting tales of you. The wind says that you came from the skies - or perhaps the heavens. The rocks deep within the earth say that you are not of this world. And the oceans say you smell of strange waters. But all of them are in agreement on this point: You come to consume. And you will not leave until your boundless appetite has feasted upon this world.

And now you do lift that monstrously spiked weapon. You intend to destroy my temple and crush the last of the divine life from poor Praesaro - I can see it in the set of your jaw, the way you bare those sharpened teeth.

You intend to devour me too. In my little temple on this little hill, I probably seem nothing more than a snack to you. But before you unhinge your salivating jaw, dear god eater, let me ask you this:

Do you know why I remain here, on this little hill, above this little village?

It is because I like it here.

Do you feel that? The way the earth trembles beneath your bloodied boots? Or perhaps you’ve noticed the wind and how it nips at your skin. And what about the clouds that darken, bearing down upon my little temple on this single, lonely hill.

I was not entirely honest when I told you that I do not know what I am. Or rather, I have a guess.

You see, I remember when oceans covered these hills, and I remember when tiny creatures filled the shells which are strung up in my temple. I knew where each had burrowed, because they were buried in my soil. The feathers collected for my temple were carried here on my wind. And the pebbles smoothed in my streams.

To these people, I am a minor god, because that is how I wish to be perceived.

But for you, Devourer of Gods, I will deign to stretch out, unfurl.

You came to feast upon gods, little one. I wonder, how will you contend with a world?

.

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[lord-explosion-baku]

Trident Tale

Merman!Shinsou x reader, Kirishima x Reader

Warnings: adult themes (Minors DNI)

A/N: read the prologue on AO3

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

(Original image by @maewoahoah)

Synopsis: Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

Storms have never really been your cup of tea. Though you keep yourself locked inside a good percent of the time, there’s nothing quite as suffocating as the compress of clouds overhead. It’s not like you always have to see them to be uncomfortable, but you definitely feel them pressing down, closing in, and caging you, even when you’ve got yourself tucked under a blanket on Ms. Shuzenji’s couch.

It’s been a little over a year since you first moved to the island. All you needed was a new beginning, and you got that, but you got that, and the tropical weather that you’re still getting used to. It’s currently typhoon season, and holy seaweed-on-your-doorstep, is it storming.

There’s little you can do to distract yourself while staying and working at Shuzenji’s bed and breakfast. There are currently no guests, aside from you, so all the rooms are made, and the old lady is on another one of her long vacations, so you’re basically being paid to lounge. You’re grateful for that, at least. But the only thing that’s keeping you physically separated from the terrifying weather is a thick glass pane that water sloshes on every time a wave laps over the backyard walls.

The things that separate you mentally are the old-timey recordings of Shuzenji singing alongside an ensemble cast, and the little device in your hand. If you didn’t have your boss’s haunting melodies echoing throughout the house, and some big, beefy, tatted eye-candy to gawk at during the storm, you’d surely go insane.

Eijirou Kirishima, one of the island’s best surfers, is out on his board, live-streaming his current fight against the waves. His whoops and hollers can be heard over the crashing tides, getting even you excited for what’s about to come. That’s the thing about Kirishima; he’s wild, you’re not, and it’s hot as hell. Oftentimes, you catch yourself daydreaming about joining him out in the surf—he guides you through the waves, maybe yoou impress him a bit with your sudden affinity for wave-riding, and the two of you wash up on shore where you’ll both share your first kiss. It would be feasible if you could swim. It would be feasible if you bothered to learn how to swim, but for now, you’re content with your imagination. At least he can make you hate the terrible weather a little less.

The conspiratorial smirk he shows the camera is borderline swoon-worthy when the swell begins to pull him further out. It’s impossible not to bite your lip every time you catch a glimpse of his arms forcing themselves through the sea. He makes this look easy—like the storm is child’s play, and as the winds blow Shuzenji’s trash bin into the sliding glass door, you welcome the delicious distraction.

As Kirishima stands up on his signature trident board and rides one of the biggest waves he’s seen all day, you’re once again struck with how much of a coward you are. He can fight the elements, while you can hardly bring yourself the courage to talk to him. Mind you, he’s constantly surrounded by a close group of friends—a close group of friends you find intimidating—and when he’s not with them, he’s out in the water. Where there’s water involved, you’re spoken for. Unless, of course, you’d like for the first time you guys actually speak, to be when he’s giving you CPR.

Not the most ideal “meet cute”, but if it works, it works.

A loud crash snaps you out of your admittedly salty daydream. Mango, Shuzenji’s orange tabby, yowls at the blanket of water cascading down the windows, and your stomach sinks. There’s only so many minutes you can pretend that the storm Kirishima is facing isn’t the one that’s destroying Shuzenji’s yard.

With a sigh, you roll off the velvet couch, and grimace when crumbs that were nesting in your shirt fall to the carpet: a mess to clean up later. Without any guests to mind, you don’t have to worry too much over keeping the place spick-and-span, so long as things are nice and tighty by the time the old lady gets back, which will be awhile.

You have an easy enough job—at least, when there aren’t bunches of thick seaweeds crashing over the yard’s wall, flooding the pool.

“Shit.”

Water sprays in every direction. The already trash-infested pool overflows as more kelp rolls in with the maniacal waves, and angry, white foam bangs on the back door. It's a disaster outside, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Fingers wrapped around the back door handle, you struggle to think of a way to prevent a bigger mess, but even if you could manage to clean anything, nothing is stopping the tempest from wreaking anymore havoc. Best case scenario, you stop a plastic soda-chain from washing out to see and becoming a deadly necklace for an unlucky seagull. Worst case scenario, you slip, crack your head open on the pavement, and drown before you can ever utter the words “mahalo” to Kirishima.

Needless to say, you’ll take your life over a gull’s any day.

Another sigh.

A greater wave collides against the wall, bringing more of the Great Unknown into the pool. This is going to be a fun job to clean. Good thing you’ve got Shuzenji’s service boy, Denki Kaminari, on speed dial. You think if you sound particularly distressed in the morning, he’ll show up to help you out with just about anything in the matter of minutes. God bless desperate fuckboys.

So, for now, you cuddle back up on the couch, watch Kirishima shake saltwater out of his thick, red hair, and pretend that his storm is not the same thing as your storm.

It’s early morning when you finally rise out of bed. You hadn’t gotten a whole lot of rest—something to do with the wailing winds shaking your bedroom window nonstop, but after you finally drifted into dreams about snakes and dragons, you woke to clear skies, and light seagull calls.

From the second story, you can see early birds have already gotten the jump on cleaning up the beach. The sun is shining, the ocean blue and vast. The only trace there was ever a storm is already being taken care of. There are lifeguards riding around on ATVs and younger civilians with trash bags and grapplers picking up seaweed and absconded debris. The respect everyone has for the island is something to be admired, and you half-consider going out there yourself, after you’ve dealt with your yard, which is sure to be a wreck.

There’s no interest in picking out a cute outfit for the morning you’re going to have, even if Denki might see you, so you throw on a already-worn-this-week crop top, some pink shirts, and you’re good to go.

The first thing you do after Mango’s fed is check your socials. Kirishima posted a picture of his breakfast: a hefty plate with three eggs, sausage links, bacon, cut avocado, and what seems to be low-carb toast. The post reads, gotta eat ur gainz 2 gain ur gainz, and it’s so ridiculous that you’re infatuated with this reckless himbo. You wonder if you’d ever be able to hold an intellectual conversation with him, if you could ever manage to speak to him in the first place, but conversation wouldn’t matter if his mouth was between your thighs.

Following his example, you crack two eggs over a frying pan, sigh at the mostly empty fridge, then agonize over the state of Shuzenji’s yard. It’s worse than you thought it’d be. The pool is a sickly green color, and from where you’re standing inside, its murky depths seem to be almost opaque from the seaweed and garbage stewing together. Kelp litters the beige pavement, and there’s trash hiding in the shrubs. There’s a chocolate donut floaty bobbing around in there, too, and Shuzenji doesn’t own any floaties.

What a drag.

Before you get too far in your head about everything you’ll need to do to clean up, you quickly dial Denki’s number. He picks up after a ring and a half.

“I know what you’re about to ask,” says the boy on the line, and from his cocky tone, you can assume it’s not going to be about the cleanup. “I am absolutely free tonight. If you wanted to grab drinks at the Salty Barrel, maybe go on a romantic rendezvous out on the beach, watch the sunset on or in a couple blankets, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m not calling to ask you on a date, Kaminari,” you say as you step outside. The pavement is cold underneath your bare feet, and you have to tip-toe around to be sure not to let any kelp touch your skin. Yuck.

“But you’re not, not calling about a date, either,” he counters. By the volume of his voice, you can tell that he’s in his van, talking to you over the speaker. Good. So he’s already out and about.

“I need you to tell me how to drain Shuzenji’s pool.” Call you cold, but you’re used to Denki’s flirty nature by now, and you’ve learned that the best way to deal with it, is to not acknowledge it. Of course, you can’t be too callous when it comes to him, especially when you actually need his help. You eye the dangerously complex-looking valves off to the side of the house, and grimace. “There’s too many twisty thingies! I’m not sure what to do!”

“Now, hold your horses, little lady! Don’t go twisting any thingies just yet. Draining a pool is a process.” There’s a long pause, the loud growl of an engine, then silence. He’d pulled over to talk to you. “How’s your TDL? And what kinda PVC pipes you got?”

“The huh and what?” You don’t need to pretend to be in distress—you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Listen, don’t touch anything. You’re calling because the pool’s a mess right now, right? You don’t need to drain it; at least, not yet. I can swing by in an hour or so to clean it, but I’ve gotta make some stops first. You’re not the only single woman who wants to watch me do my thang, especially not after yesterday.”

“It’s so bad, Kaminari.” The water in the pool sloshes around, like there’s actually something in it causing the water to ungulate and burble. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head over it. You've got me, okay? It’s my job to protect and serve.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“Nope, I’m better than a cop. I’m a pool guy.”

He goes on to ask you to check out what kind of drain the pool has, if you can find the drain, then loses you when he starts talking numbers and gallons. While still on the phone, you send a few texts to Shuzenji, explaining the predicament, then Denki mentions rates. You’re getting the cutie pie discount, doubled because he counts Shuzenji as a “cutie pie” too—something you mention to her because she’ll get a kick out of it—then he drops all business to ask about food.

“I’m cooking my breakfast,” you say with a wary glance back at the house.

“But is your breakfast fries and a shake from Tiki Burger?”

You bite your lip as your stomach growls its empty sorrow. “No.”

“Would you like it to be?” His knowing grin is heard through the line.

“…I’m not gonna go out with you.”

He chuckles and you’re grateful that he can’t see your answering smile. “We’ll see how you feel after you see me work my magic. And hey, if you’d like me to wear a Speedo while I work—“

“You’ll be here in an hour?” You cut him off, because Denki in a Speedo is the last thing you need on your mind. The thought of Kirishima in a Speedo, however, gets you a little hot, which is saying a lot, since you’re a part of the Speedos and Dolphin-shorts Are Abominations To Swimwear belief system.

“Maybe sooner. I think my next client just needs me to check out their chemical levels. Inside pool and all. Everyone else knew to put a tarp out.”

The tarp you had blew away, but you don’t bother explaining that to Denki. Let him believe you’re the dim-witted “little lady” he wants you to be. If it means Shuzenji gets a discount, not that she can’t afford any bill Denki’s company throws at her, then let him believe you can’t open a pickle jar without a man’s help for all you care.  

“See you then,” you say, and end the call. There will be time to work on your charm once Denki gets here. Until then, you figure you could do some investigating so you’re not completely helpless.

Leaving your phone on the pavement so you don’t accidentally drop it in the water, you make your way around the pool to where you think you remember the drain being. You can’t say you’ll know what kind of drain it is, but if you remember correctly, it’s circular, and like, kinda meshy? That description simply won’t do.

Dropping down to your knees, you peer down into the pool, squinting, as if that can help you see through all the muck. There’s definitely a lot of kelp and algae, sand drifting through the water, someone’s wayward brazier, and oh. A school of fish—little babies circling about. It’s wild, but you suppose it could be possible if all the chlorine washed out and there was enough salt water to sustain marine life.

The fish move together, bopping into each other, mouths gaping open to eat whatever they find in their temporary home. You don’t know enough about marine life to know what kind of fish they are. Silvery little things. Maybe Denki has something that can help transport them from the pool to the ocean. It’s not far—Shuzenji’s house is on the beach. It would be a shame if all the little fish had to die. You don’t particularly care about touching or feeding fish, but a life is a life, and if they can be saved, you’d at least like to try.

But all your thoughts of saving fish life stop when you catch something moving in the water. It’s not the fish—they’re not that big, but it’s definitely fishlike. Fish plus. It moves like a shadow, serpentine and fluid. You catch a glimpse of scales, so it’s definitely not a dolphin—even then, it’s bigger than a dolphin, and more graceful than a shark. You begin thinking of leviathan, and other mythical creatures, as ridiculous as that is, when you see a long flowing fluke.

Okay. This thing is not just big. It’s gargantuan, and to see this much of the creature without seeing its head makes your skin crawl. You imagine falling in and being swallowed whole, suffocating in the dark, drowning in a monster’s belly.

The thought spooks you static, just in time to meet a pair of eyes in the water. This is your overactive imagination—you’re scaring yourself insane, but you don’t look away, and those eyes, almost human and curious, don’t disappear.

You’ve consumed enough media to know how these impossible interactions go. The creature is inquisitive, but keeps its distance. It often has to be coaxed out of hiding, and even then, the thing is skittish and untrusting. You’re certainly not one to go “pspsps, hey little guy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” but even if you were, you don’t get the chance, because this thing you’re looking at isn’t the least bit skittish, and in one second, you’re making eyes at at it, and in the next, the thing is exploding out of the water.

A large, broad chest towers over you. The thing pushes itself up with arms, human arms, but it’s anything but human. Sure, it has hair, although an odd purple color, framing its angular face and jaw, which are both human enough. Also framing its face are a pair of long, pointed fins sticking out from where human ears should be. Water dribbles down its chest, down to its navel—its navel. Your brain screams mammal, but underneath its navel are scales, rippling down to where its legs should be. Not human. Not fish.

Fish plus.

Man.

Fish plus man.

Fish-man.

Its eyes are almost the same color as its hair, only a shade lighter, and much sharper, narrowed in on you. It’s glaring. You realize this at the same time you realize that you're staring at it with your mouth agape. This would be so rude in any other setting. It’s also rude to pop out of a pool that isn’t yours without any other warning, but you’re not about to chastise the thing. You’re far too scared.

Then the thing reaches out to you, sprinkling water on your thighs and your shirt. Its hands look like a man’s hand, but its long fingers are connected by thin, indigo webbing that matches its tail. Its tail. You lose focus trying to find the word for this creature that’s barely on the tip of your tongue, when you realize the palm of its hand, its fishy, webby hand, is hovering over your cheek, the other carefully placed next to your knee to keep it upright.

You open your mouth to speak, but only a hiss comes out. The creature, wary, brings its hand back, but only slightly. Not enough to put you at ease, but enough to allow you to gain your composure, and scream.

“H-help!!!” You screech. “Help! Somebody! Help me!”

It claps its hand over your mouth, knocking you back. Water drips down on your shirt as it leans in, mouth curling up with distaste. Then, it does something impossible.

It speaks.

“So loud,” it growls in a low, masculine timbre.

It speaks, you think, it speaks and it has no manners!

You try to yell back, probably something with little thought, but you have a mouth full of fish-man hand, and the more you warble in its palm, the more apathetic it appears.

“Be quiet and still,” it commands, as if obeying it is supposed to be the most natural thing—something it expects from you. It catches you so off-guard that you actually listen, only trembling a little bit as those indigo eyes scan over your form. It’s uncomfortable having an unknown but cognizant creature observe you so closely. You shiver when its gaze roams over your belly, down your legs. You want to curl your legs up, move away, but you’re afraid if you even twitch more than it’s comfortable with, it’ll grab you and drag you into the pool. Your nightmare.

Instead, it does something slightly less worse. It moves its hand from your mouth to your cheek. The palm of its hand warms your skin in an unnatural way, like you’ve been laying in the sun for half an hour and it’s only your cheek that heats up. The creature's eyes widen as light begins to emanate, either from you, or from it, you’re not sure, but definitely from where it touches you. Tingles run from your neck down to your spine, and you wish you’d put a bra on before going outside, because this thing’s touch is making your body react in a way that it shouldn’t.

“So easy,” it purrs appraisingly, somewhat less insolent, but you’re still taken aback, ears hot with embarrassment.

Un-fucking-likely.

“Easy?!” You squawk out. “What do you mean by easy?”

It doesn’t answer you, and instead, moves its fingers from your cheek, down your jaw, to your chin. It begins leaning closer, heavy lids closing. You notice its lips for the first time: a defined line and a pretty bow. If you were in a less dire situation, you’d be able to admit that they’re very nice lips, but they’re getting closer to you, closer still, and you realize with a jolt what it’s trying to do.

Your foot meets its chest in a heartbeat.

“Nope!” You belt out, extending your leg so there’s more distance between you and the impolite beast. “Not today, fish-breath!”

Unperturbed, it lifts a lazy brow. Then, to your absolute horror, it presses both of its hands into your bare leg, and again you’re lit up, warm, and tingly, only far worse than before. Stomach tightening, you make a choked noise, trying to hold in the sigh that claws at your throat.

“Fish-breath.” It repeats your insult like it’s a balled-up piece of paper to be thrown in the trash. “I’ve been told that my aroma is quite appealing.”

“By whom? Other fish-breaths?!” You wriggle your leg out of his embrace, or whatever you could call that invasion, only to have it slip down so your foot rests in the fish-man’s hands, bright as the stars in the sky. “Eww ew! Don’t touch me! Get away!”

The creature scoffs, but let’s you go, and you both watch as the light disappears from the arch of your foot where he’d been touching. Fish-man slinks back into the murky water, hiding under a blanket of algae.

You have enough time to gather your composure, wipe the water droplets off your face, and rub your eyes. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that this has all been a sleep-deprived hallucination, but you’ve never really been one to delude yourself, unless your Kirishima fantasies were involved, and you know that you’ll have to try another tactic to accept the reality of your situation. Perhaps you can try to be civil with this creature, ask it if it’s…hurt, or if it needs a late night escort to get it back to the sea. But then, the thing resurfaces on the opposite end of the pool. It faces you, and leans back against the wall, arms spread out against the pavement, basking.

“You know,” he says, “your decorum is severely lacking. Don’t humans have classes that teach them proper etiquette—how to be more polite towards their guests and such?”

What’s lacking is your patience for marine life.

Standing up, you take in the thing, which you’re now pretty sure is in fact a man of sorts, in its entirety. His tail is long, longer than human legs, extending past the halfway mark of the pool, if your measurement counts his fluke. There’s a golden cuff on his right arm that spirals around, accentuating his large biceps. You stubbornly admit that it’s attractive—he’s attractive, at least, he would be for people who were into fish and not surfers. You brush whatever you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach off by telling yourself that you’re simply awestruck, and move on.

“Where I’m from-“ you begin, straightening your sodden crop top- “we offer our guests various beverages and snacks, depending on the time of day.”

Annoyingly, he looks interested.

“Since it’s the morning, I’d offer a guest tea, or coffee, and if I’m looking to impress, I’d maybe cook them a hot meal.”

The creature offers you a sardonic smile. “I happen to be famished.”

“However, with home-invaders, we’re more likely to pull a gun on them before heating up the earl grey.”

He loses the smile, and you’re glad that he might have an inkling of what a gun is. You’ve never owned one, and they don’t allow firearms on the island, but the threat stands. But if he was intimidated, even for a moment, he doesn’t show it anymore, and proves just that by turning his back on you, and resting his head in his arms. He has a dorsal fin with what looks to be a deep, x-shaped scar near his tailbone. You try not to wonder what that could’ve been from.

“Then how do you propose I go from a home-invader, to a house guest?” Asks the creature with little interest.

Cautiously walking around the pool with your arms crossed, you begin to list things off for the far-too-comfortable fish-man.

“You can start by telling me who you are, what you are, why you’re here, what you want, and why you think you can lay your webbed hands on me.”

“Oh, is that all?” He hums noncommittally. Content. Aggravating. “Why don’t you start then? Who are you, and why are you here?”

The back of your neck grows hot and uncomfortable. “How entitled do you have to be to—!” You start, but you’re swiftly cut off by the shrieking of the fire alarm. Smoke plumes from outside the house’s windows, and you curse under your breath before darting towards the door. You’d completely forgotten about your eggs.

In your haste to move the pan off the stove, you burn your fingers and drop the pan to the kitchen floor, two blackened egg crisps flaking off and diving in different directions. Mango yowls at the commotion and investigates one of the fallen egg crisps. Before you can tell him to buzz off, he loses interest in your mess, not bothering to give it a taste. You don’t blame him, but the eggs didn’t appear to be cat-bad. Ah, you can’t kid yourself. They are cat-bad. They’re completely inedible. Now you’re going to have to head to the market, while worrying about a man trapped in Shuzenji’s pool.

Your stomach roars at you.

After cleaning the mess as best as you could while desperately and ruefully wanting to return to your guest—no, not guest—invader, you get the alarm, half-heartedly fan the smoke out of the house, and return. Angry. This guy better start talking soon, or things are going to get ugly.

To your utter displeasure, he looks all the more amused at your newer, messier state.

“Was that supposed to be the hot meal,” he asks, cocky. “Because if so, I’ll pass.”

Instead of biting his head off like you’d like to, you present him with the still-dirty frying pan, pointing it at his head like you intend to use it.

“Start talking, fish-for-brains.”

The beast snickers, raising his hands in the air in mock-surrender. “Easy there, tiger shark. You know how to use that thing?”

You refuse to humor him. Instead, you keep your scowl tight, your arms steady. If he’s not threatened, he’ll lose interest in this game, then he’ll have to talk.

Lo and behold, you’re right. The fish-man rolls his eyes, and looks at you, again, with apathy.

“My name is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he says, lackadaisical, like he’s already bored of himself. “I’m one of Ryūjin. What humans have learned to call merpeople are actually descendants of the sea gods who lived centuries ago. I’m here, simply because the storm washed me here. What I want is to retrieve what’s mine. I thought I could lay my webbed hands on you—well-“ the corner of his mouth tilts up-“darlin’, it was because your body reacted to me.”

Mouth forming the beginning of a question that never comes, you stare in disbelief at this myth. Then the last thing he said dawns at you.

“I did not react to you!” You rebuke, steady hands now shaking.

“Oh no?” He says, but it’s not a question. It’s a challenge.

Hitoshi grabs the flat end of the frying pan and yanks it, and you, closer to him, closer to the water. You cringe and whine when a wet, webby hand closes around your wrist. Inadvertently, you drop the pan, but he pays it no mind as it sinks past his tail. Your skin begins to glow underneath his palms, and the tingles come back, shooting up your arm, causing tiny goosebumps to appear.

“Would you look at that,” Hitoshi croons, slow and almost sensuously. His indigo eyes narrow on your index finger where you’d burned yourself. To add to this nightmare, he closes his lips around it, and begins to suck. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re disgusted, or scared, or…enjoying the feeling of his warm mouth, his tongue, touching your skin.

“Stop.” It’s a whisper. It means nothing. You think you want it to mean something, but your thoughts are buzzing into a blur. Knees growing weak, you descend, leaning closer to him, not caring about the water or the seaweed or the fish, and instead, entirely focused on his mouth. It’s glowing, his mouth. Faintly. Like a single candle lit in an otherwise empty room.

When he eases off of you, he runs his thumb over your now-healed finger, and let’s your arm fall limply at your side.

“All better,” he whispers back at you.

There are prickles all over your skin once you regain an ounce of dignity.

“What the hell was that?” You ask, breathless for no other reason than shock.

“The glowing?” He asks. “The healing?”

“Both.”

“Your reaction to me.” He’s cocky again. This is something sick. Mythical creature or not, this has got to be a game he plays, washing into people’s pools, causing problems, sucking on lonely girls’ fingers. He probably gets his kicks this way, and uses whatever other kind of magic he has to erase whoever he’s tormenting’s memories, if he doesn’t end up eating them when he’s done. Bogus.

You won’t let him get to you.

“Alright, Hitoshi Shinsou, how would you like me to get you back into the ocean? You healed my finger-“ although it’s essentially his fault you were burned to begin with, if you take into account the sequence of events-“so helping you out is the least that I can do.”

“I could use your help,” he muses lightly, turning his body back around to his chest and abdomen are turned towards  the sun. You tell yourself not to stare like you know he probably wants you to. Though his eyes are closed, he peeps at you, sneaking a glance. “I don’t want to go back into the ocean, though. Not until I get what’s mine.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and scroll through her phone, you swallow your bite, and ask, “what would that be?”

“Oh, this and that-“ he waves his hand around dismissively-“other things.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and find another frying pan, you say, “alright, listen. Someone is on their way to the house to clean the pool. I don’t know what one of Ryūjin means, but I’m guessing people like you don’t always want to be discovered by people like us. So you either tell me what it is you need, or see how my pool guy reacts to a mermaid lounging around in my backyard! I wouldn’t put it against him to call the local news station. Get this place flooding with cameras. Does that sound like a pretty picture to you?”

Absolutely none of your threats penetrate Hitoshi’s cool nature. In fact, he laughs.

“When he gets here,” the merman drawls, knowing he’s got you hanging on every word, “invite him to swim.”

#bnha mermay #mermaid au #siren!shinsou #mermaid!hitoshi shinsou #hitoshi shinsou x reader #shinsou x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha imagines #bnha reader insert #reader insert #trident tale

[lunerbean]

Witch Tips 24

Holy shit it's been over a year since I posted one of these but it's because I kept setting myself up for failure by putting way too high of expectations on myself to crank out 10 new and unique and helpful tips everytime I got 100 new followers except first it was 10 and then it was 50 and holy shit I got so stressed about these so I've just been writing them down as I've thought of them instead and now here we are, please be gentle.

Hello here are tips

1. Use transfer paper and a hair dryer to decorate candles.

Maybe you're doing a spell for someone & you want to put a picture of that person on the candle. This can be a way to help you better visualize the effects of the spell on the person the spell is for. Or maybe you need a picture on the candle for some other reason. Maybe you want to put pictures of coins on it for a money spell. Or hearts for a love spell. Simply print out whatever you want on transfer paper, cut it out & place the image face-down on the candle. Then, you'll want to get your hairdryer and a piece of tissue paper (I highly suggest the tissue paper is the same color as the candle, otherwise you risk getting that color onto the candle. Which can also be fine, but if it's not what you want...) use the blow dryer on a low-warm setting to melt the photo onto the candle side. Remove the tissue paper and there you have it! A picture printed onto a candle.

2. You can incorporate witchcraft into ANYTHING... even brushing your teeth.

I recently got this fucking delicious toothpaste from Trader Joe's. I'm one of those people who sometimes struggles to brush my teeth twice a day because I hate the taste of toothpaste. So I got a super unconventional toothpaste flavor instead, "fennel, propolis, & Myrrh. And about a week after using it, it struck me -holy shit these ingredients have meaning behind them. Most obviously, myrrh is associated with wisdom and meditation. And fennel has been used in magic for centuries! Even if you use regular mint toothpaste, that ingredient has power behind it! Obviously this goes more so for natural toothpastes but I'm sure you can find a way to enchant other varieties as well! Use the ingredients already infused into your toothpaste for enchantments & glamours!

3. Actually study your grimoire.

If I sound at all harsh by saying this, it's only because I'm being harsh with myself too. Study your grimoire. Don't just write everything down & then expect to have it all perfectly memorized & be a master in everything you research. Reread it. Rework it. Learn.

4. Feel drawn to be a sea witch but you don't live by the ocean? Get a saltwater aquarium!

First off, I'm not saying that it's a flawless solution. Being a witch of the sea is more than just using salty fish water in your craft. HOWEVER, with that out of the way, there's no way that a salt water aquarium will harm your craft as a sea witch. Think of it like a houseplant for a green witch. Sure, living in the forest would be better but it's still something special to be able to bring a little piece of your craft into your home.

5. Personal taglocks make a spell more powerful, but exercise caution when using them.

Undoubtedly, using a taglock (such as a strand of hair) can better connect you to the spells you're performing, but they're not always wise to use. I only use them in extremely personal spells and crafts. Things that no one except for me can have access to. I would never suggest using a taglock on something that you wish to give another person (especially another witch) such as a spell bottle or sachet. Even if you're best friends. Even if you're siblings. Even if you're MARRIED. You never know when a relationship can turn south or what someone is capable of when they're extremely angry with you. Don't risk it.

6. Be respectful of the deities that you don't worship or work with

I don't work with deities. Shocker, I know. I have my own belief system when it comes to higher powers that I won't get into on Tumblr, probably ever. But I do believe in showing respect to all things, both living, dead, & otherwise specified. If a deity approaches you who you're not interested in working with, please remain kind & respectful with in declination. You're allowed to say no to anyone and everyone.

7. Just because someone is more experienced doesn't necessarily mean they're always right.

Without naming names or being too specific, there was a witch I followed on Tumblr for a long time. They were much older than me and had been a witch for like 20+ years. I followed everything they said as fact. But slowly, over time I started to learn more and realized I didn't always agree with them. They were SO negative. If they heard basically anything new that younger witches were coming up with, they'd have a whole 10 paragraph post about how "stupid and wrong and ridiculous and fake" these new witches were. There was not an ounce of open mindedness with this person. And because of that, I started to feel really bad about myself and my craft. Things they said would stick with me and I'd feel so shitty about it. Well fuck. That. More experience means absolutely nothing if the person is unwilling to learn or expand their minds beyond their previous knowledge. Anyone can learn and anyone can teach. Age means nothing. Surround yourself with open minded people.

8. Put full moon water into your humidifier to charge your space.

This is an idea that only just occurred to me while I was setting up my crystals & jar of water to charge under the full blue moon on Samhain. I always turn my glowing humidifier on at night while I sleep. As I watched the mist begin to arise out the top I thought to myself, 'if I'm charging that water (the glass jar on my altar) for the full moon, why not this water too?' So now, I just add a little splash of full moon water into my humidifier water whenever I'm performing rituals or doing spell work. This way, the full moon water can charge my entire bedroom with the power of the full moon as I work.

Speaking of...

9. You can charge water under more moon phases than just full.

I don't know if that wording was weird or not so I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense. My point is, I always see people talking about moon water as if it's only full moon water. The moon holds power in every phase she goes through. Adding to the above tip, you can put new moon water into your humidifier to cleanse your space. Waxing moon water to help you plan and focus. And waning moon water to assist during a banishment spell. Hell yeah dude, all phase of the moon are useful and powerful!

10. Incense matches are a great alternative to full incense sticks

I love burning incense, but sometimes it can really overwhelm the area, especially because my house is small & I dont want to expose my cat to it. Incense matches are literally matches that are covered in incense powder. They burn for just a few minutes & produce a steady stream of smoke for spells. They come in a bunch of different scents. I buy them locally for 30 matches for $1.05USD but you can probably find them cheaper online. Still be sure to keep them away from pets & those who are smoke-sensitive.

Thank you so much for reading, follow me for more #10tips, search my blog for the previous 230 tips, & have a magical day.

#10tips #10 witch tips #sea witch #witchy #witch #witchcraft #witches #witchblr #baby witch #cottage witch #witchcore #witch community #witch tips #advice for witches #cosmic witch #full moon magic #moon water #new moon magic #magic #grimoire #grimoire tips #wicca #wiccan #deities #incense #magic spells #magical #advice for new witches #tumblr witches #witchtok

[s-brant]

The Endless Summer (2/?)

(gif: @beccs) (PART ONE) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: A day out on the water goes awry and puts JJ, John B, and Y/N in danger. With tensions rising and the stakes higher than ever, JJ finds it difficult to control his feelings.

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, graphic violence, and JJ being an emotionally confused asshat.

A/N: Welcome back! Thanks for the love on this series, I’m so glad you guys like it and I hope this part is just as good. Things get a little heated in this chapter, so buckle up. Let me know if you enjoyed this. Have fun!

JJ isn't sure why she did it.

He wasn't sure then and he isn't sure now, but he knows one thing for certain: there isn't any going back to how things once were now that the barrier between them came crashing down.

Sweat drips off of his skin from the relentless heat of the Caribbean that has made their recent lives hell with the painful tinge of sunburn atop their tans and heat exhaustion they must be careful to avoid at all costs. They were educated on both topics by Pope, their godsend of a survival encyclopedia in human form, who advised them to spend most of their day outside of necessary tasks like fishing and constructing stable shelter under the shady cover of the treetops.

The sole reason he and John B aren't hiding in the safety of the shade is that it's their day to fish, but he's not thinking about the sun. In fact, neither of them is. They're both wondering where their third fishing buddy is.

It took roughly ten minutes of spearfishing with him in comfortable silence for JJ to finally break and spill his guts about what happened last night. Though there was an unspoken agreement to never tell anyone that their hatred has turned into desire, he couldn't help it. He was going mad trying to unravel it in his head.

After all, he already had a conversation with JB about the recent shift in their behavior with each other by the ocean last night, so it seems fitting to pick up where they left off with the calm and clear blue water in front of them again.

He walks on the jagged outcropping of rock that serves as their perch to observe the fish without disturbing the pattern of the current they swim through with John B closely behind.

"One second she's pissed at me, the next she's all over me. It makes no sense. Then, she didn’t say anything to me after it happened," JJ says with his face hardened into a look of concentration at the fish he squints against the sun to aim at, "Not even "Fuck you, Maybank" or one of her weirdly creative threats. She just sat there all night and talked to everyone but me."

His gaze slips away from the water as his chosen fish disappears from sight before he can bother to throw the spear, eyeing up his friend's reaction to the news.

John B doesn't seem that surprised by it, because who else, aside from everyone else in Kildare who knows of their "hatred" for one another, could've seen it coming as much as he did? He considers it for a second, then props his arm up on the handle side of the spear he digs into the rock to lean against.

"I'm pretty sure that means she likes you."

JJ retorts, "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say."

Why would anyone ignore a person they like? It makes no sense to him. Every time he wanted a person, he'd simply walk over and make it happen. It's never been difficult for him to pursue the people he finds himself attracted to...Well, except for her. For a guy that also ignored her for the rest of the night and pretended their moment in the woods didn't happen, he has some balls of steel to be chastising her for the same things he did.

John B shrugs and says, "I'm being serious, dude. Sarah wouldn't even acknowledge my existence when I worked on the Druthers, and I thought it was some stuck-up rich person thing but it wasn't."

They shouldn't be talking at all right now as to not scare away the fish, but they do it anyway. They both know he won't let it go until it's out of his system for good. He wouldn't allow himself to forget it if he wanted to, so its better to talk it out than turn stir crazy from ruminating over it 24/7.

Though it's, as he worded it yesterday, hot as balls out, being by the sea lessens the feeling of it by a landslide.

The breeze they crave whenever they work on their huts or forage through the forest for wild berries, coconuts, or potential building supplies blows on them without pause for the time they spend here, which almost makes it more dangerous. They stand under the direct harm of the UV rays frying them without truly feeling it burn yet, and he dreads the next few days in anticipation of the returning sunburn he just peeled off of his shoulders the other day.

JJ walks down the side to get a better view of the water, balancing precariously on the sharpened edge with the spear clenched tightly in one hand. The breeze is strong enough to threaten his balance, but he holds firm and digs his toes into the sedimentary rock for traction. His body sways in the midday sun with the struggle for stability, or, at least he suspects its midday.

Since being stranded here, time is a foreign concept to them. With no phones, clocks, or any guide to go off of other that the position of the sun above to display the hours that pass, they've lost complete track of what day it is, let alone how long minutes or hours truly are in comparison to the endless summer they live within. They suspect it's been a month since they were left here, but, in all honesty, it could be two. None of them had the sense to mark the days in a tally until it was too late.

He says, lifting his arm to throw the spear, "Well, she is a stuck up rich person, so maybe it's just—"

"You know I'm right here, don't you?"

The sound of her voice from a few feet behind them startles JJ into turning around to look at her right when he lets go of the spear.

Unfortunately for him, the jerking movement throws off his carefully distributed weight and skews his balance, making the feet placed on the edge slip from underneath him and send him slipping down into the water. His calf is the first body part to hit the rocks, and the groan of pain he lets out at the feeling of the jagged rock slicing through his skin could make her heart stop mid-beat. But what truly scares her is seeing the back of his head hit the ground too.

Before he can slide the rest of the way into the water, two pairs of hands are grabbing onto his arms and heaving him up with all of their strength. She and John B grit their teeth with the effort it takes to pull him back up, their muscles burning from the strain, and once his feet are over the ledge, he pushes off the rock to help them the rest of the way. Drops of his blood disperse into the water off the edge from where he cut himself, dripping until there's hardly any left.

Once he's safely laid back down a few feet from where he slipped, Y/N is kneeling in front of him in a matter of seconds. The rock beneath her knees opens small cuts into her skin, but she doesn't pay it any heed. She sits on her heels to lessen the minor pain and lean forward to inspect the damage he took with nothing on her mind other than worry.

Soon enough, John B joins her to kneel at his feet as he sits up and watches them eye up his injury as though it’s some sort of ghastly, life threatening thing instead of a gash that won't need stitches. He watches them against the glittering ocean, waves washing up on the rocks around them to sting his wound with saltwater.

"It's a scratch, not an amputation," JJ says.

She ignores him with a frown lining her pretty features and twists his leg by the ankle to get a better view of the wound in the sunlight. It extends up the entire length of his calf, almost from ankle to knee, and dribbles fresh blood onto her hands as well as the ground beneath them. From what he can tell, it doesn't look all too severe. No muscle or bone can be seen, so it's a simple, superficial scratch.

When he doesn't get a response from either her or John B while they're too busy checking out his leg, he says again, "Guys, I'm serious, it's fine."

This time, she doesn't hesitate to answer.

"Yeah, well you may not need stitches but you still have infection to worry about. This wilderness isn't exactly the cleanliest place," she says retorts with as much snark as usual, and he quietly rejoices in the fact that she's finally acting normal after what happened last night, "Not to mention, you hit your head pretty hard. There's no need to act all tough."

He shrugs.

"It's not an act, it really doesn't hurt that bad."

John B stands and smears the blood on his hands off on the front of his shorts.

"I'll be right back, guys, I'm gonna go get stuff to patch him up."

Just like that, they are left plunging into silence as he is running away down the peninsula back to the beach they've claimed as their own.

Silence has always been her least favorite thing to share with JJ. She'd rather anything over it—screaming, fighting, joking, friendly conversation, or even what they did together yesterday night. Anything is preferable over the tense and insufferable feeling of silence when they're alone together with none of their friends, or their playful hatred, between them as a barrier between them.

Instead of seeing the same pestering jerk she always used to when she looks at him, she sees the memory of how he looked at her in the woods. He didn't look at her like she was the worst person to ever walk the planet, or like she was his least favorite Kook "Princess", he looked at her like she meant something to him.

They sit together in uncomfortable silence in the time it takes John B to rush to the beach and back, careful not to slip on the rocks the way JJ did, with the supplies from the dinghy in his arms. It isn't much to work with, but at least it's something to keep the nasty wound on his leg protected from dirt and germs. She's sure he'd leave it uncovered and up to fate if he had it his way.

Before he can set them down on the wet rocks, thus ruining the gauze and bandages in craters filled with ocean water, she gestures at JJ with a stern command, "Take off your shirt."

His brows raise.

"Shit, Princess, take me out to dinner first."

She groans in frustration, "Can you be quiet for a second and actually listen to me for once?"

He catches John B's gaze with wide eyes, but complies nonetheless, reaching down to tug the tank off of his torso by the frayed hem until it's balled up in his closed fist to hand off to her. Her eyes only linger on his body for a quick second on accident before snatching it from him.

Her bloodstained palms lay the shirt out on the flattest stretch of rock she can find to act as a barrier from the small puddles of water to protect the supplies. One nod at John B has him setting them down atop the navy fabric as she glances up at JJ with a smug smile.

"Believe it or not," she taunts, unscrewing the cap to the disinfectant, "I didn't ask for it so you could sit there and look pretty."

The words throw him back in time to their conversation on the beach while they thatched the roof to their hut, and he wonders how long she's been waiting to throw that back in his face since he first said it.

He grins at her as he asks, "You think I'm pretty?" but before he can say more, she's pouring a generous amount of the hydrogen peroxide along the length of his cut without a warning for him to prepare himself. His leg jerks away on instinct to save himself from the burning sensation, but she grips his ankle tightly enough to force him to stay still.

His nose scrunches up with the urge to groan in pain, and he does a little. Through grinding teeth, he winces in response to the peroxide slipping into every cell of open skin and bubbling up like the white water of the waves as it kills the bacteria lingering in the gash.

"Does it hurt now?" Y/N asks.

She's looking up at him through her lashes with her lips curled into a smirk as she packs gauze onto the wound until it's covered to her satisfaction. And it should be the last thing he's thinking about right now after cutting up his leg and hitting his head hard enough to worry her about concussions, but he can't help it. Looking down at her like this, it's impossible for him to not think about the unfinished business they have.

Everything is the same as it was yesterday—the tattered white top, the red panties in place of a bikini, sunburnt cheeks, and a taunting look that he'll never get tired of seeing. But that's precisely why he's reminded of it. She's wearing the same clothes and looking at him the way she did on the beach before any of last night's antics occurred, and he can't keep himself from wondering if it'll happen again.

"Yeah," he finally responds.

Her smirk grows for a second before she gets back to work.

"Good."

JJ subtly eyes her up from where she shifts on her knees to set the open gauze wrappers under the peroxide bottle in exchange for the bandage wrap, but he isn't as subtle as he thinks. She can feel his stare no matter how sneaky he attempts to be. He may be able to evade John B's attention, since he dove into the ocean to retrieve the wooden spear that began to float out in the tide, but she never misses a thing. Not when it comes to him.

When he looks at her, he finds memories.

Her legs folded up beneath her bring him back to how smooth they felt on his palms when he lifted them up around his hips. Her rosy lips pressing into a line in concentration bring him back to the coconut flavor he tasted on them. Her nipples poking against the fabric of her shirt bring him back to when he lifted it up over her breasts to suck at the sensitive skin until he got a moan from her—There isn't a place he can stare without going back to last night.

Part of him hates that.

He can't stand that a girl who he spent the last five years hating has found a way into his daydreams. Why couldn't it have been anyone else? Why did she have to lure him into her trap? He supposes there's nothing he can do about it now, though. After hours of stewing over it, he's reached the conclusion that it was likely a one-time thing, a mistake made in the heat of the moment that she won't make again, and he should get the idea of it out of his head.

When she has to adjust her grip to hold the gauze in place while she wraps the bandage around his leg, he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and jerks away again. She glances up at him with her best, "Are you kidding me?" face. Didn't he say he was tough?

"I'm starting to think you're a sadist, 'cause it's like you're trying to make it hurt," he says.

She gasps, feigning offense.

"Me? Enjoying this? It's not like we've hated each other for years or anything."

And though he may not realize it, this is her way of distracting him from the pain of having her apply added pressure to his cut while she wraps the bandage into place. It has to be tight enough to keep water and sand out, but not so tight that it cuts off circulation, and while it may have been tolerable without her touching it, the contact is enough to make it worse for him.

He asks, "Uh, speaking of, why are you the one doing this? Isn't it some kind of HIPAA thing to treat patients you've threatened to violate with tree branches before?"

The sound of her laughter makes his stomach flutter with butterflies, and he wonders what the hell is wrong with him.

"That's not what HIPAA is, genius"—her eyes crinkle at the sides with her wide smile while she wraps his leg—"and I'm the one doing this because I know way more medical shit than the rest of you."

Even Pope.

"Ohhh right, I forgot. Your dad is this hotshot surgeon and that makes you think you know everything," he taunts.

The casual mention of her father makes her chest ache with something not many of the Pogues, excluding Pope, have felt since being stranded on this island. With their parents either disowning them, absent, abusive, or dead, they have no reason to resist the allure of living here for the months or years it may take to be rescued, but she does.

She misses him.

For the longest time since her mom died, it was her and her dad versus the world. In everything they did, they did it together, and before she met Sarah, he was the closest she had to a best friend. Since they had no other family to help watch her as a child, she grew up in the hospital with him, drawing with crayons on his office’s printer paper with her babysitter and picking up small things along the way from watching him for so long.

He could've chosen to leave her at home, sure, but he didn't want to miss out on seeing her more than he already did, so she spent the majority of her childhood in offices, waiting rooms, and the indoor playground of the PEDs wing.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself after the sucker punch of being reminded of her dad and says, "Well, I know enough and, thankfully for you, I'm the one doing this instead of John B."

From far away, twenty or so feet offshore where their friend is paddling through the water with the lost spear held in one hand, they hear John B shouting an offended, "I heard that!" back at her. It draws a soft chuckle from them both, and she silently thanks him for distracting JJ one last time as she finishes and secures the bandage so it won't unravel.

She wipes her hands off on her water-soaked thighs one more time to get as much of his blood off of her fingers as possible before she reaches out with both arms extended to offer him help to stand. He takes them with a murmured, "Thanks," as they both try not to show how affected they are by the casual touch.

It makes them feel pathetic that something as small as holding each other's hands makes them remember what they did and desperately wish to continue it. Her throat bobs with how she must swallow the lump in her throat at their close proximity, barely breathing now that he's standing close to her with less than a few inches between them.

For a second, they don't move away. They stay face to face, and all she can think of is how badly she wants to kiss him again. But she can't do anything yet, not when she hears someone screaming from the water.

"There's a shark!" John B screams as he paddles back faster than he's ever swam in his life, already close enough to the peninsula that they can see the terror in his eyes when they turn to look.

Surely enough, there a tip of a fin too pointed to pass off as a dolphin cutting through the surface of the water to alert them of the fish's presence, but if that weren't enough, the water is clear enough for them to see its outline.

Thankfully for him, it isn't huge. It looks about as long as he is tall, but that doesn't change the degree of danger. Just because it isn't as big as other sharks doesn't make a bite any less lethal, especially when their only form of medical attention rests on her knowledgeable yet inexperienced shoulders.

For once in his life, JJ is frozen with no clue of what to do.

He's always the man with the plan, the one who jumps into action when others choke up and sit on the sidelines, but this makes him falter. What can he do to help other than stand here and pray John B can out-swim a shark? He's helpless, and now that he's faced with the prospect of losing his best friend for a second time, he doesn't know what to do.

It was his blood in the water that must have attracted the shark, and he was so caught up in his own drama with her and the pain of his cut that he didn't consider the danger of John B jumping in to retrieve the spear he dropped. It's his fault. His best friend is about to be eaten by a shark and it's his fault—

The blurred image of her rushing past in his peripheral vision rips him from his stormy thoughts, and right when he thought it couldn't get worse, it does. Water splashes up around her body and swallows her under the surface after she leaps off the edge of the rock with the aluminum spear from the dinghy raised in her dominant arm.

"Y/N!"

Before he even realizes what he's doing, JJ is screaming out her name, screaming it like he cares, and damns the consequences to dive in after her.

While he was frozen, she sprung into action without thinking of her own life first. She knew he was close to the rock, but not close enough to swim faster than a predator designed for the conditions of the ocean. It took one glance at the spear resting to the side for her to lean down, scoop it up, and get a running start to jump out as far as humanly possible. Various joints and muscles ached from how she strained to push herself far off the rock, taking flight with nothing but their survival in mind.

She sucks in a heaving breath upon breaking the surface, but she doesn't take a second to pause with John B paddling up to her so soon.

"Go back!"

The only answer she gives him is, "Use your spear!" before she brings hers out of the water in anticipation of the grey figure bolting straight for them.

It's a stupid plan, but it's the only one she has, and if one of them is in danger, they'd all risk everything they have to protect them. After all, they're already trapped here with the threat of death every day. Is there anything more worthy of dying for than your friends?

Neither of them is necessarily trying to kill it yet either, they're trying to keep it at a safe distance or hurt it enough so it swims away from them, but she puts all of her strength into spearing the fish between the eyes anyway. Her legs kick tirelessly to keep her afloat while she and John B stab as accurately as they can, choking down a mouthful of salty ocean water from how her head sinks at the surface without the help of her arms to keep her up.

Blood stains the water with a crimson hue spreading out around their bodies—whether it's theirs or the shark's, she doesn't know—and she must keep her lips clamped shut to prevent it from spilling into her mouth, breathing solely through her nose. She can tell her legs are soon to give out on her, but then a pair of hands latch onto her body. Call her irrational or stupid, but even with the clear distinction of human hands on her waist, her mind reacts in instinctual fear.

The touch makes her jolt mid-stab and sobers her feral mind back to reality for a moment until she realizes it's a human touching her, not the shark.

It's JJ.

His arms wrap around her thighs and hoist her up out of the water as much as he can while still swimming, effectively pushing himself underwater with one last gasp for air.

The sudden shift in view has her gaze shifting around to take in the new sights with a gush of red water rushing off of her onto the splashing surface: a light grey tail whips around in the chaos, the shark's head oozes blood from the multiple puncture wounds that didn't push quite deep enough, and its jaws snap right where John B's arm is before he yanks it back.

After a fraction of a second, it clicks with her that there's no time to waste watching her friend almost get his arm chomped off while she takes in the unbelievable sight. Her slippery grip on the handle remains as firm as possible, and she raises the spear over her head with an improved accuracy she never could've had from where she previously aimed it before. All of their shots landed well enough, but with the height advantage, she won't allow herself to fuck it up this time with her friend's life hanging in the balance.

She hardly recognizes her own frantic voice shouting at him, "Spear it in the gills!"

Her hands bring the razor-sharp tip of the spear down into its head repeatedly, and she isn't sure whether it's the splashing water or tears wetting her face when she buries the weapon down into it for a final time right when John B lodges his wooden spear in its gills.

Whatever she did, it must've hit its brain, because the animal halts its thrashing. Its teeth no longer snap at her friend, nor does its tail whip around in the water as violently as it did a moment ago.

As quickly as it started, it drops off into a sickening calm that leaves the white bubbles dissolving into a puddle of bloody water surrounding the trio and the fish that dies with no small amount of guilt on her part. There was no choice but to kill it. It makes her ache on the inside, but how could she regret it if she knows it saved them? The guilt might ravage her for the upcoming days, but she can't bring herself to regret jumping in after him.

She hardly has the chance to process it before she's being pulled away by both of the boys, her view of the scene shifting drastically once more with the abrupt drop of JJ letting her down in favor of guiding her through the gentle waves. His calloused hand squeezes her arm enough to cut circulation off on their journey back.

Time rushes past her in the next thirty seconds or so it takes them to reach the peninsula again in a paranoid sprint away from where the dead fish floats. One of them, John B she thinks, tosses the aluminum spear he dislodged from the shark's head up onto the rocks and clambers his way back up on his own. The waves closer to land grow rougher than the tender current out where they killed the shark, and she grunts in pain as one sends her and JJ straight into the rocks. His body hits her back with a solid ‘thump’ and forces her to wheeze with the wind getting knocked from her lungs upon impact, nails cracking on the black rock from the desperate grip she uses in an attempt to lift herself.

Meanwhile, JJ can't seem to catch his breath either, nor can he think of anything other than her once he sees that John B isn’t injured.

As soon as he sees his friend is unmarked from the teeth of the shark after he's out of the water, he positions himself behind Y/N to help her out first. He places his hands on her backside to push her up as quickly as he can. Knowing that the carcass in the water will soon attract more sharks in the surrounding area into a feeding frenzy, he'd rather it be him than her. It's a thought that shoots by too fast for him to fully acknowledge the meaning or weight of it at a time like this.

Somehow within his adrenaline-crazed mind, he is careful not to push her onto the jagged edge that sliced his leg open earlier, then climbs after her with little space left between them.

She's coughing up saltwater onto the rocks as he scrambles over to her, eyes wild with the petrifying worry of anything bad happening to her. They scan over her arms, legs, stomach, and back, and he doesn't even realize his hands are reaching out to inspect her as frantically as she had with him when he got hurt.

His hands cup her face, petting over her dripping hair and forcing her to look up so he can see if she somehow got hit in the face. Never has his mind been so void of rational thought, and, knowing him and his impulsive tendencies, that's saying a lot. The confusion of his contradictory feelings for her muddle his mind. Worry and hatred, attraction and anger—they battle it out, but only two manage to reach him externally.

Worry and anger it is. Worry for obvious reasons. Anger because—

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

She has never heard him sound so vicious since the start of whatever odd relationship/friendship/enemy-ship they have. With his worried expression and how he checked her entire body for injury after helping her out of the water, the last thing she would've anticipated from him was anger. Especially not after she saved his best friend's life. Considering what she just did for him, she thinks he should be thanking her, not chastising her.

Behind her back, she can hear a collection of yelling voices and splashing footsteps over the water dripping from them. It can only be the rest of their friends racing up the peninsula to them, but she can't turn around.

She stares at him with utter confusion flooding her at his unexpected outburst. Speechless.

"What was I thinking?" she asks incredulously with her face still cradled between his hands, "I was saving John B's life!"

Their emotional distance and disagreement are made up for in abundance by how physically entangled they've become. It wasn't intentional. It was a result of him needing to get close enough to scour her exposed skin for any bites, but now that they're sitting so near to each other, they forget to back away.

John B is too busy to engage with them.

He's doubled over on the ground with the compulsion to vomit the contents of his stomach into the ocean, but he doesn't dare get close to the edge again after what they went through. Instead, he positions himself away from them and their approaching friends until the half-digested food is forced back through his mouth. The acidic bile scorches his throat and nostrils on the way out.

JJ doesn't have the opportunity to retort back something about her being stupid, because Pope is the first person to reach them and ask, "What the hell happened?"

The rest of the group isn't far behind. It's Kie who asks the next question, then Sarah, then Cleo. They all pop off in rapid succession before either of the three of them can answer.

"Are any of you hurt?"

"Why is he throwing up?"

"Is that a shark?"

The last question draws everyone's attention over to the half-sunken mass of fish bobbing up and down on the breaths of the sea with a wooden spear sticking straight out of its gills. Though it isn't the biggest, most intimidating shark to roam the ocean, its presence doesn't fail to make everyone who looks at it shudder with the realization of what must have happened.

John B wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and points over at her with his trembling arm outstretched.

"She killed it."

The four of them whip their heads in her direction, jaws nearly falling off their faces in disbelief, but she doesn't say anything yet. Because as soon as they feel the eyes of their friends burning into them, she and JJ realize, as though they're returning to reality from the hazy layers of a dreamscape, that they're still holding each other.

She's slumped halfway onto him from when he hauled her body closer to inspect her, so she's essentially sitting on top of him at this point. Her legs, bruised and scratched up from when the waves crested to send them crashing into the rocks, are entangled around his enough that they look back and forth between them and where his hands cup her face in surprise.

JJ doesn't know what came over him.

Now that he snaps out of it at the same time as her, both of them separating and nudging each other away until their bodies are no longer entwined, he feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

When he saw her leaping past him to jump into the water, his mind shut off. He wasn't thinking about himself, or the possibility of getting killed, or anything at all. He was only thinking of the danger she put herself in, then he dove in and the rest of his conscious mind faded away into pure survival instinct. Yet, even after he knew the immediate danger was gone, the adrenaline kept him on edge, desperate to get her back to land and pray none of them were hurt.

"It was trying to attack him," she rasps. Her throat is raw from the saltwater she choked on, and every word burns. "But we did it together."

She pushes herself off the ground with an exhausted sigh.

Muscles spent from the struggle in the water, her legs wobble beneath the weight of her upper body as she takes a few steps to help John B up from his position on his hands and knees. From what she heard, he has thrown up all he has left in his stomach and hasn't gagged again in a minute or so, so attempting to stand again shouldn't be too strenuous for him.

His hand is cold in her grasp from the water soaking their bodies, but it holds firmly enough for her to help him into his feet without their palms slipping apart. No patches of blood are visible on his shorts, nor are there any puncture wounds on him from the sharp teeth that snapped at his arm in the quick but vigorous fight.

They were very, very fortunate to have made it out alive, and when he looks down at her face, he feels nothing but gratitude for the girl he previously saw as nothing more than his girlfriend's best friend. They went into the water as casual acquaintances, companions of convenience and the happenstance of being forced onto this island together, but they've come out of it differently. Now, they're friends.

Now, she's a Pogue.

He smiles at her, glancing up at their friends as their questions die down at the sight of his crazy grin, and says, "That was some real Pogue shit right there, Y/N." His eyes come back to meet hers. "I think it's about time we officially make you one of us. What do you think?"

She's opening her mouth to respond when Kiara cuts her off. The rest of them are staring at the trio as if they have ten heads sprouting from their bodies for not immediately surrendering more details of their near-death encounter other than saying she killed it.

"I'm sorry, can we please rewind to the part where you got attacked by a shark first?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, can I get a drumroll please for..."

The campfire is roaring with the abundance of sticks, leaves, and branches thrown onto the pile to fuel it as she feels a strong pair of arms looping around her thighs to lift her into the expansive, star-flecked sky.

In a flash of haunting memory, she relives the moment where JJ dove into the water after her and lifted her body above the surface to give her the high ground over the shark. She relives its thrashing hunger, the water splashing on her, and the cloudy hue of blood around them that she hoped wasn't either of the boys. For a second, as the world grows taller with her new perspective, she is brought back to the sudden shift she felt then and feels her stomach drop in panic, anticipating the danger.

But then the sound of her friends laughing, as well as the surging fire and crashing waves, comes back to her and forces the frightful flashback away. Her hip fits perfectly in the curve of John B's shoulder, and she lets her head fall back in giggling laughter at how he hoists her up in the air as though she's a holy figure of worship for the Pogues to kneel to.

His voice can likely be heard across the entire island when he shouts, "The Shark Conqueror!"

The group erupts into a triumphant mixture of cheers and laughter that fills the beach, everyone celebrating in their narrow escape earlier today...everyone except JJ.

After John B divulged the gory details of what happened, from JJ's fall to her picking up the spear and jumping in to save him from the shark, they made their way back with enough conversation to last the month. They all asked questions and took peeks back at where it happened in morbid curiosity, wondering how on earth they managed to come out of the situation without a scratch.

The rest of the afternoon continued on with the same buzzing energy that can only be created from the thrill of being alive. She's felt it many times since joining Sarah's group of friends that seem to find trouble wherever they go, but she has never felt it as vehemently as she does tonight. It's a mixture of euphoria, shock, and soul-crushing guilt for having to hurt another living creature, even one that was intending to make a meal of her friend.

No matter how much she grows up or discovers more about herself as a person, feelings never stop being as frustrating as they were to her as a child. You can get better at processing and hindering explosive reactions to them, but they never simplify. She doesn't know why she feels so much at once. She doesn't know why she feels simultaneously on top of the world and thrown off the edge of a cliff, but she thinks it has to do with him.

Since they walked back to the beach and talked about what happened until the day withered into night, which led them here to the “official” ceremony of her being named a Pogue for life, JJ hasn't spoken to her once.

Suddenly, the shoe is on the other foot.

Much like how she avoided him all night last night leading into this morning, he doesn't talk to her. He tries not to look at her too from where he sits on the log of driftwood across the fire, but it's somewhat inevitable with the spectacle John B is making of her at the moment.

Painted in the warm tones of the firelight like a goddess in her own right, Y/N is impossible to look away from, and it makes him angrier than he already is. A handwoven circlet crafted from the hibiscus and hippeastrum flowers growing in the forest around their camp sits atop her head. It doesn't fall to the ground with the movement of her throwing her head back in laughter. It stays in its rightful place against the rule of gravity until her face comes back into view for him to quickly look away from.

It dampers her laughter to see him avoiding her gaze so adamantly, taking a swig of water from one of the small cups they carved from wood and turning to talk to Kie to keep himself busy. The distinct sensation of being on top of the world slips away with the feeling of his cold avoidance and John B lowering her back to the ground until her bare feet sink into the soft sand.

Before she can start sulking about it for the foreseeable future, Sarah steps up beside her.

The familiar touch of a hand on her shoulder brings her comfort amidst her confusion and hurt over the way JJ is acting, and when she turns to see a pretty face looking fondly at her, a warm smile finds her lips.

"Pogue for life?" Sarah asks.

The three words bring make her smile grow the same way it had when she was talking to JJ on the peninsula. It crinkles the skin around her eyes with its unrestrained happiness to hear them because, as much as she pretends to let JJ's comments roll off of her, tonight marks one of the first times she's felt at home with them.

That's not to say they haven't made her feel welcome in the past, they did, but this isn’t the same. This is closer, this is the type of bond that's forged in situations like these where people have no choice but to rely on each other or let their worlds collectively fall apart, and she thinks, for the first time, that she could live here with them forever if she must.

None of them know how much time has passed since they arrived here, least of all her, but it sure as hell feels like an eternity. At first, she could barely withstand the idea of living here for months with the intention of being rescued as soon as possible, but now...

She brings Sarah into an embrace tight enough to force the air from their lungs.

"Pogue for life," she echoes back with her face buried into the salt-scented tresses of dirty blonde hair cascading over her tan shoulders.

Would it be crazy of her to think that this is where they're meant to be? That they're her family and this place she has fantasized about escaping is now their home?

After all, the lush island provides everything they need to sustain themselves with the rationing, scavenging, and hunting routines they adhere themselves to. Freshwater runs down the land in a stream from a water source uphill, plenty of different edible plants grow in the forest, and there's so much left of the expansive land to explore; it's perfect. Everything here is perfect for them, calling out to them to make it their home, but there's one little problem as of right now, and he's sitting across the fire behind her back.

Sarah's arms squeeze around her shoulders once to bring her in even closer.

"Thank you for saving him," her voice is so hushed, Y/N can hardly hear it with her lips brushing the shell of her ear to whisper into it, "I'm not gonna get all mushy with you right now, but I don't know what I would've done if"—Sarah's breath hitches in her throat, and she shakes her head—"I just wanted to thank you."

When they pull apart, Y/N is looking back at her with a knowing expression, one that says everything she can't in the presence of the others, and Sarah can't help but mirror it.

It isn't long before the blonde-haired beauty is whisked away by her boyfriend to help him cook the crabs they caught closer to shore after their encounter with the shark. Not wanting to swim out or risk slipping off the rocks again with the dead fish promising to lure more predators to their area for the next week or so, they settled for hunting for shellfish and making good use of the fruits they find growing in wild abundance in the forest.

The night ticks away in swiftly passing minutes thanks to the humorous company of the people around her.

She nearly chokes on a mouthful of banana as Cleo tells a story from before she met them, when she used to live in Nassau and work jobs with Terence and Stubbs on ships. For such new additions to the group, they both fit surprisingly well with the lifelong childhood friends that sit around and banter with such ease together.

They talk, laugh, dance, and eat together, and there are moments when she feels happier than ever. There are moments exactly like when John B lifted her up and made her giggle at how their friends cheered on her behalf in indulgence of the silly "ceremony" they did, half out of boredom and half out of gratitude for what she did. But then she is reminded of the man sitting on the outskirts of the group with his features hardened into an expression of contemplation she wishes she could decode.

The night breeze feels heavenly on her perpetually overexposed skin. It blows into the fire and allows it to swell from the oxygen supply, crackling and popping embers out every so often like the spark of the zippo lighter JJ fidgets with in his restless hands. The movement attracts her wandering eyes while they should be focused on Cleo and Kie dancing around the fire with boisterous laughter while Sarah and Pope sing for them.

She keeps herself honed in on the opening and closing of the lighter under the guidance of his ring-clad fingers for the next minute or so.

They may have been pitting themselves against each other since they met, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know him well. If anything, the keen attention that her old hatred for him forced her to keep on him made her memorize everything there is to know. And she surely has picked up on the nervous habit of him playing with the lighter whenever he's thinking, whenever there's something crawling under his skin that he can't piece together.

He sits with his back to her, facing out toward the ocean so all she can see is the hand he uses to flick the lighter open and shut with. With a quick glance at the rest of their friends to see if any of them are watching or wanting to speak with her, she pushes herself up from the log and dusts her sandy palms on her shirt.

The tracks of her footsteps lead around the corner of the driftwood he rests against until her feet appear, sunken into the sand in front of him. It takes a lot of control to not allow himself to follow up the length of her body, panning up along her legs until he sees that infuriatingly tenderhearted set of eyes looking down at him.

However, he doesn't have a choice in looking when her hand outstretches in a silent invitation. His first glimpse of her in the last half-hour shows her jerking her chin in the direction of the beach curving around the bend of the island.

This morning, he probably would've taken her up on the offer. He would've done anything to get a few minutes alone with her, but now he can't see past his anger and doesn't know why. He doesn't know why it hasn't calmed yet, but, in truth, it has more to do with him than it does her idiotic yet brave decision to fight off a shark today. Trust him, it still has a lot to do with the idiotic shark thing, but the rest is lost in translation for him.

"Not in the mood," he dismisses her.

Her brows furrow and form a crease between them as she tries to find something to say but comes up with nothing. At least not until it clicks with her what he thought she was trying to do by inviting him to walk with her.

The last time they went off on their own together, it ended in an explosive encounter they have yet to erase from their minds. It's what greets them whenever they close their eyes for a second too long, existing in their wildest daydreams and fantasies whenever they have a spare moment to themselves. Hell, he can't stop thinking about it even when he's already occupied. It was the reason why he didn't catch any fish this morning before the incident that made him pissed at her in the first place. He couldn't stop thinking of her.

"Oh," she murmurs and starts to kneel down until her knees are sinking into the sand the same way she did when patching up his leg. Her eyes peek over his shoulder to ensure the others didn't hear them—"That wasn't what I meant...I was just wondering if you wanted to talk about today. It must have been a lot to process, since he's your best friend and all, and—"

JJ snaps, unable to tolerate it anymore, and stands up from his spot on the sand to move away from her.

"You don't need act all therapist with me, okay? I'm fine, and I don't need you to fix me if that's what you wanted. Today was fine. Everything's fine, so let it go."

Her mouth opens and closes like a fish with a loss for words. For the second time in the span of a minute, she is grasping blindly for something to say in the wake of him shocking her to silence. He's starting to walk past her but she doesn't let him. Her hand shoots out to stop him and holds onto his arm to turn him back despite his rudeness.

Underneath it all, her concern touches him deeply. It shouldn't trigger a reaction like this in him, so why does it? What about today set him off? He hasn't been this genuinely angry with her since before the hunt for the gold began, before she started to blend into their friend group and establish herself as one of them.

"Woah, woah, woah," she says, "I never said that. I thought that you needed someone to talk to. You know, as a friend."

Their friends start to notice their interaction tensing up now. Before, they didn't pick up on her stepping away for a second to check on him. Now, it's impossible to ignore what unfolds hardly six steps from where they watch as slyly as they can. The two of them haven't had a conversation as cold as this one in months, and what he says next takes it to a place that freezes over the connection they made last night and shatters the warm place it held in her heart.

He scoffs.

"We're not friends. If you think you gotta act different 'cause you threw yourself at me last night, don't bother. You hate me and I hate you. That's how it is."

No nicknames, jokes, or anything to act as a buffer, just cruelty. Rejection.

Though they truly were trying to pretend like they weren't paying attention, every single one of their friends stops and stares. A chorus of hushed reactions sound off from across the fire, and the faint sound of Kie muttering, "Oh shit," is the first thing to reach their ears. It's needless to say that none of them could've expected something so callous to come from him, not after what they saw when they ran up to them on the peninsula this morning.

With the way he was holding her then, doting on her and cradling her face between his hands even in the midst of his anger at what she did, they sooner expected the pair to admit they're dating than have a blowout like this.

In the delayed seconds it takes for her to realize what the fuck he just said to her, he watches her face shift from a look of concern to sadness, to flush-faced embarrassment, then finally to anger. Her teeth grind together, nostrils flaring on her inhale, and in one quick moment, she comes to a conclusion within herself.

She reaches up to rip the handmade crown of vibrant flowers off her head with flames to match the camp fire flaring up in her eyes for him. Before she can do anything, he already knows he crossed a line, if not multiple lines. It's evident in everything he sees, from the hurt look on her face to the force with which she shoves the crown into the center of his chest to send him stumbling back a few steps. Just like yesterday, except it couldn't be any more different.

"Fuck. You." She spits the words as though they're venomous, and he almost shrinks away under the intensity of her stare, “Go find somewhere else to sleep tonight, 'cause it sure as hell isn't gonna be with me."

Petals flutter out upon impact against his solid chest and float peacefully to the sand around his feet as he watches her turn on her heels and storm off toward their hut. Though, after what he did and what she said to him as a goodbye, it isn't really theirs anymore, is it? At least not for tonight, tomorrow, or the next day until he finds a way to make her hear him out for an apology.

He stands there, frozen, the entire time he watches her leave. Nothing can move him from the spot, not even Sarah knocking her shoulder against his with a pointed glare on her way past to follow her into the moonlit darkness.

He doesn't even resist the disappointed looks he gets, or the shoulder check from Sarah. This time, he deserves it. He deserves every ounce of their judgment. All she was trying to do was make sure he was okay and he was too consumed in his unreleased frustration from today to see it. And, in a way, he's still frustrated over it, but it's greatly overshadowed by the guilt seeping through him.

The shadowy shapes of the two girls disappear into the small hut further down the beach, and JJ is left with nothing to do but look down at the flower crown clutched to his chest in regret.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, and @stilesflannels.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #outer banks #obx #fanfiction #obx2 #this fic is so over the top and silly but I love it 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

[miyagihawk]

Could you do a Hawk x reader imagine where you vs him at volleyball on the beach 🥺👉👈

THIS IS CUTE thank you for the request <3

beach day! | eli “hawk” moskowitz x reader

warnings: swearing, mainly fluff, not much of a plot tbh

summary: you spend a cute day at the beach with your boyfriend hawk and his friends (set after season 3, so everyone is cool with each other)

word count: 1,146

Your phone dings and you pick it up from where it lays on your bed.

“I’m outside” the text reads, and you hurriedly grab all your things before heading out your front door.

Today you were going to the beach with your boyfriend and his friends and you’re really excited. You haven’t been to the beach in forever, and you haven’t really gotten the chance to hang out with Hawk’s friends. You’ve met them, but you never got to talk to them for long with Hawk pulling you away to make out.

You grin when you see him waiting in the driver’s seat of his beloved Jeep. All the windows are down and he gives you a nod when he meets your eyes. You get into the passengers, reaching over the seat to give him a soft kiss.

“Hi,” you greet, admiring how his biceps look in a tank top.

“You just got here and you’re already checking me out?” Hawk teases as he starts the engine and pulls out of your driveway.

You blush and turn your eyes to the road. “You just look good, that’s all.”

You don’t see, but his cheeks also tint pink. “Well you look hot and if I wasn’t driving I’d be checking you out too,” he muses, playing off the fact that your compliment didn’t just give him butterflies.

Your heart jumps when he grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers, giving it a kiss.

The pacific coast highway is your favorite place to drive by. The ambience of the palm trees, the pretty houses, and the surfers is just perfect, and you wonder if anyone could ever be unhappy living in Malibu.

As you sing along and dance to a song on the radio, Hawk sneaks little glances at you as he drives. You do notice, but you just pretend you don’t.

He thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, with the wind from the windows making your hair fly everywhere. How the sun in your eyes made them lighter than usual. How you get the lyrics wrong, but you’re shameless about it and you sing even louder. The way you smile at him when you catch him looking at you and the excitement you get when you point out the cute dogs on the street.

He loves you so fucking much and he could watch you for forever. He wishes he could.

-

“I’ll take Y/N,” Miguel smirks, and you roll your eyes at the game he’s trying to play.

“I hate you so much,” Hawk hurls the ball at him, but Miguel ducks out of the way.

You guys are playing volleyball and they’re the “team captains” picking who they want on their teams.

“Fine, Sam’s with me. Since you took my girl I’m taking yours,” your boyfriend taunts at his best friend.

“She’s not my-”

“Shut up, just pick someone.”

The sun’s rays feel good on your skin as you guys passed the volleyball over the net, making your cheeks rosy and sunkissed. You’re starting to warm up to Hawk’s friends, and they’re all really just a bunch of sweethearts. They make you feel like a kid again with their banter, and it’s refreshing.

You can’t seem to look away from your boyfriend during the game, and sometimes your team groans when you miss the ball because you’re too busy drooling over him. But you can’t help it; his shirt is off and his abs are crafted by the gods. His competitiveness, even in beach volleyball, made you melt.

“Mine!” you call, and jump to hit the ball that Demetri set you, downwards to the other side. It was a hard hit, and you feel proud of yourself for it.

But apparently, it was unexpected, and it landed straight at your lover’s head before he could react.

You cover your open mouth with your hands in shock, trying to stifle the laughs that wanted to escape.

“Y/N, I think you’d better run,” Miguel laughs.

Your boyfriend looks at you with a playful glare, walking to bend under the net to get over to your side.

You scream in fright when he starts walking faster towards you, and you run away towards the ocean.

“I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me!” you giggle out of breath, looking behind you to see him still chasing you, with no intent of stopping.

You realize there’s no way you can outrun him and you’re already tired, so you stop to catch your breath. Unfortunately his karate training gives him an advantage.

Once he reaches you, he picks you up with his arms around your waist and you squeal in surprise. He throws you over his shoulder so your head hangs down and your view of the world is flipped. You try to wriggle out, but his hold on you is too tight as he walks towards the shore.

“No no no! Don’t you dare!” you yell, seeing his feet start to dip into the sea. He starts to swing you back and forth to gain momentum, until he lets go. You’re in midair for a moment, then you hit the frigid saltwater and go underneath the tide.

You hear his muffled laughing from underwater and you see the distorted shape of his face and red hair. He sounds so happy.

You finally lift up your head to the surface to breathe and quickly jump on him before he can even think.

You both go under this time, and your arms are wrapped around his neck. There’s a moment of serenity; only the sound of the moving tide between you two as you look at each other with saltwater eyes. You stick out your tongue at him and he lets out a bubble of laughs before holding onto you and pulling you both back up for air.

“Look what you did,” Hawk smiles at you, still holding you close. You’re cold from the water but his warmth keeps you from shivering.

He looks really pretty. The freckles on his cheekbones are more apparent from the sun’s love and his eyelashes are darker from being wet. Your favorite shade of blue, his eyes, match the water below you, reflecting the image of your face.

“Me? You threw me in first,” you argue, but you can’t really focus on what you’re saying because his prettiness is too much to handle.

“Only because you hit me in the face!” He laughs, squeezing your sides and making you squirm.

“Maybe you should’ve been been paying attention! But then again, I’m just too good,” you sigh playfully, and he squeezes you again, this time making you push away from him.

“Your beauty was just so distracting,” Hawk grins, pulling you back to his chest. He starts pressing kisses all over your face, and you wrap your legs around his waist.

It’s a perfect day.

a/n: so cuuute right! maybe a little cheesy but i luv it. im catching up on requests yayyy feel free to send me any feedback and more requests!

#cobra kai imagine #cobra kai hawk #cobra kai x y/n #cobrakai #cobra Kai #eli moskowitz #eli moskowitz x y/n #eli moskowitz imagine #eli moskowitz x reader #hawk #hawk cobra kai #hawk imagine #hawk x y/n #hawk x reader

[love-and-monsters]

Polyam Alien Merfolk

GN reader X M mer-alien X F mer-alien, 6,743 words

Crashed on an alien planet and taken in by a couple, this story was uh, pretty self-indulgent for me. Not sure if anyone else is going to like it but I liked writing it.

CW: mentions of being in a cult and descriptions of family death and cult behavior.

“Is it like, alive?”

The voice was soft, coming from just over your head. Something sharp prodded your side. You groaned.

A second voice came from closer to your feet. “Sounds like it’s alive.” This voice was rougher, raspier, though also higher pitched than the first voice.

“Is it hurt, then? We can’t move it if its hurt.” The sharp thing poked your side again. “What if it’s really badly injured?”

Dimly, you were aware of sunlight against your face. Most of your body was covered with your skintight flight suit, but your face was exposed, and, from the feel of it, entirely covered in sand. Actually, given the grittiness in your mouth, most of your insides were coated in sand as well. The hard rock of nausea in your gut told you that you had probably swallowed a decent amount of sand too. Your lungs felt like they’d been aggressively sandblasted. Every breath stung like needles.

“Then there’s nothing we can do and it’ll die,” the second voice said. “It doesn’t look injured. I think. I mean, I don’t know alien anatomy, but everything looks right, doesn’t it? No blood. Nothing’s sticking out weirdly.”

“Internal injuries!” the first voice insisted. “What do we do? A doctor’s not going to know what to do about this.”

The nausea that had been churning in the bottom of your stomach abruptly kicked up a notch. Apparently, your body had decided you were awake enough to retch. Automatically, you twisted onto your side, abdominal muscles heaving, and a gush of fluid poured out of your mouth.

For the next minute or so, you were thoroughly occupied by vomiting. The nasty tang of saltwater mixed with bile filled your mouth and your injured lungs screamed for air every time you heaved. Finally, you were only dry-heaving and coughing into the sand. Somewhere nearby, you could hear the soft rush of waves against shore.

Groaning, you slumped onto your back once more. Sand shifted and crunched as you moved. Your head was clear enough to start putting the pieces together, though. You remembered… a space battle. Your little fighter had been hit. It had fallen.

“Hey.” The first voice was speaking again. You turned your head toward it. “Are you feeling better now?”

The speaker was covered in mottled scales, a dark green-blue near its back and a pale whitish color on its belly. From the waist up, it was humanoid, with a fairly human-looking face, large, fan-like fins along the back of its head and trailing down its back, and finned hands. From the waist down, it had the long, slender and finned body of some kind of sea snake. All of its fins had ruffled, fancy-looking edges and they were flushed a striking shade of red. Next to him was a slightly larger creature of the same species. This one had smaller, much duller fins and a slightly chunkier, rounded frame.

You tried to respond, but all that came out of your throat was a groaning hiss. The first speaker cocked their head at you. “Can you not speak? Could you not do that before or were you hurt?”

“Maybe that’s how it speaks,” the second speaker said.

“No! I’ve seen videos of them before, they speak like we do.” The second speaker rolled their eyes. The first speaker ignored them. “Hey. Hey! You okay? Blink twice for yes!”

You stared at the first speaker. They tilted their head back at you. “No? Not okay?” How were you even supposed to answer that question? You didn’t feel particularly hurt so much as pretty uncomfortable, but you didn’t feel totally put together either. After another moment of consideration, you made eye contact with the first speaker and carefully blinked twice.

“It’s okay!” they cried in utter delight. “Look, see?”

“Then we can move it somewhere. Get the interstellars involved. Go for the head, I’ll get the legs.”

“Why do you get the legs?” the first speaker whined. The second speaker ignored them and seized you by your ankles, hefting your legs up onto their shoulder. The first speaker, grumbling quietly, heaved your top half up.

Despite looking like sea creatures, they navigated the sandy dunes with a surprising level of ease. Within a few minutes, you were being set down on the wooden floor of a tiny, one-room building. The floor was flat underneath you, but you could see a slope leading into the ocean. The home was partially open, allowing for a smooth integration between water and land.

“Can you sit up?” The first speaker carefully lay you against the wall so you were in a seated position. “Naerie, can we get some water?”

The second speaker, Naerie, appeared holding a small, wooden cup. She passed it over to the first speaker, who held it to your mouth. “Here. Drink,” they said.

You sipped slowly. It wasn’t as pure as the water you were used to on your ship- it had a strange, slightly plant-like taste to it. Still, it was water and relatively clean, and it helped focus your mind and soothe your throat.

You leaned away from the water glass and cleared your throat. It was still sore, but it was functional. “Where am I?”

“It speaks,” Naerie said. Their voice was mildly surprised.

“Yeah. It does,” you said. “I… remember crashing here.”

“We saw that,” the first speaker said. “Well, we saw you fall into the ocean and dragged you to shore. I think your suit absorbed most of the impact?”

“They’re designed for kinetic redistribution.” The first speaker nodded, though their expression was entirely devoid of understanding. “Um. That means they’re designed to spread impact shock away from my body. I’m probably bruised, but I shouldn’t have broken anything.”

“I’ve never seen a human before,” the first speaker said. They lifted one of your hands, toying with your fingers curiously. They seemed fascinated by your lack of fins. “Not in person, anyway.”

“Yes. You’re quite a… reclusive species.” Naerie’s lip curled. A sliver of ice-cold worry dropped into the pit of your stomach. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“It-” An abrupt rush of memories cut your voice off. You remembered running, barely able to feel your limbs through the numbness of fear. You remembered navigating a tiny fighter ship with numb fingers. You remembered flying and flying, not toward anything, but just away, away, away. And then watching the slow failure of your ship’s systems, feeling the ice cold of space leech into your cabin, the thinness of the air. The certainty that you were going to die, cold and alone in space and that somehow, that was entirely better than being where you had been.

“Oh, hey. Shh, shh.” Scaled arms wrapped around you, tugging you against a warm chest. The first speaker was hugging you, nuzzling their face against your head. “It’s okay! You’re safe now.”

“I’m alone,” you said, voice choked. Tears spilled down your cheeks. “I swear. I’m alone. No one’s with me. I didn’t mean to come here. I’ll leave.”

“You don’t have to leave! It’s okay!” The first speaker tugged you into their chest and glared at the other. “Naerie! Be nice! It’s okay, shh, shh.” They rocked back and forth, pressing your head to their chest. “You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

“If you’re alone, then I suppose it’s fine,” Naerie said. They seemed unsettled by your sudden tears. “All right. Terraso, let them lie back. We should get a good look at them, make sure they’re not hurt.”

You ended up wearing only the thin undersuit of your flight suit while Naerie probed at you delicately. In the end, it was determined that you were likely badly bruised, but not seriously injured. As Naerie prodded at your body, Terraso prodded at your mind by conversing cheerily. Names and pronouns were formally exchanged, and you learned that your rescuers were a couple, and lived on their own on the outskirts of a large city.

“I don’t suppose you have anywhere to go,” Naerie said, glancing you over. “You lost everything with your ship, didn’t you?”

You nodded. Technically, the only thing you had lost was a second set of clothes, but they didn’t need to know that. “I know how to live on my own.” Not really true, but you were pretty sure you could figure something out. “I can-”

“Absolutely not!” Terraso reared up on his long, serpentine lower half. “If you don’t have anywhere to stay, you should stay with us.” He turned, looking pleadingly at Naerie. “We can’t just kick her out.”

Naerie, despite her cool nature, didn’t seem keen on kicking you out either. Her brow puckered as she looked you up and down. “No, I suppose not,” she said. “You look as though you’re one missed meal away from starvation.”

You laughed. “It’s fine. I’ve missed plenty of meals before.”

Terraso and Naerie stared at you. Apparently that statement wasn’t as reassuring as you’d expected it to be. “You’re staying,” Naerie said. “Tomorrow, we can go into the city and see if we can get you set up with a life preserver pass. It’ll at least let you stay for a couple of months.”

“Life preserver pass?” you repeated.

“It’s like an emergency citizenship card. For people who end up planetside on accident, and are having trouble getting back home. If you get a citizen to stick up for you, you can get a life preserver pass until you figure out how to go home again,” Terraso said.

“That’s the simplified version. There’s a little more to it than that. Terms and conditions and all that. But you don’t need to know that to fill out the paperwork,” Naerie said.

Terraso rolled his eyes and leaned close to speak in a stage whisper. “Don’t mind her. She works for interplanetary governmental communications. Lots of paperwork.”

You nodded. “What do you do?”

“Oh. Mind the house, mostly.” Terraso rolled onto his back, swishing his tail idly.

You stared. “Mind the house?”

“You know. Cook, clean, make sure everything’s all nice for Naerie when she comes home,” Terraso said.

You mulled that over. “You don’t have a job?”

Terraso shrugged. “I mean, I keep everything in the household running. That’s kind of a job. When we have kids someday, I’ll take care of them.” He gave Naerie an eager look. She smiled back at him. “Didn’t they have house spouses where you came from?”

“Everyone worked,” you said. “Both my parents. All my siblings. If you had time to relax, you had too much time on your hands.”

Naerie and Terraso exchanged a look. “Where did you say you were from again?” Naerie asked. Her voice was soft, like she was talking to something easily spooked. You bristled at the implication.

“I’m from the Unity Formation,” you said. Naerie looked at Tarraso. He shrugged.

“Okay. Well. You’ve been through a lot. Why don’t you let Terraso take care of you for a while? I’ll start getting things set up for going into the city and getting you a life preserver pass.” They exchanged a couple more significant looks as Naerie slipped into the water at the other side of the house. It seemed strange, but you were too exhausted to care. You slumped back against the wall.

“You want anything to eat?” Terraso asked. There was a forced, cheery note in his voice. “You really are skinny. It’d probably be good for you to eat.”

It was clear he was trying to distract you, but you were hungry enough to allow it. “Sure.” Terraso grinned and started rummaging through cabinets, chattering cheerily all the while. His voice rose and fell like a wave. After a little bit, you didn’t even hear the individual words anymore. Just the soothing sound of his voice.

The next morning, Nearie provided you with some clothes. They were toga-like, made more for her legless species than yours, but you accepted them regardless. They covered everything important, anyway. Terraso fussed over you until you had eaten nearly two large helpings of breakfast. Feeling uncomfortably full, you left with your companions for the city.

The city was built much in the same way as their house- partially submerged, with other members of the alien species slipping in and out of water with ease. However, you noticed a few other land-walkers, like you, walking easily through the part of the city that was on land.

Naerie noticed you looking. “This city’s one of the more progressive ones. It’s the only interstellar spaceport, so we get a lot of other species here. Not many humans, though.”

You shook your head. “That’s okay.” A hulking, bladed creature strode by. You tried not to stare. There were more species here than you’d ever seen in your entire life. Gawking at them would probably not make a good first impression. Naerie saved you by slithering up to the front door of a tall, stately building and gesturing you inside.

It was several hours of bureaucratic wrangling before you could leave the building again, this time with a subdermal implant marking your status as a temporary citizen. You toyed at the small bump on your skin. It was designed for easy removal, but you couldn’t stop prodding at it, barely holding in the urge to rip it back out. The feeling of something like that under your skin again was unsettling.

The next stop was the shopping district. There were a few small, out-of-the-way shops that catered to bipeds, and you left laden with new clothes. The variety was amazing- you had never seen so many different kinds of fabric in your life, or so many rich, vibrant colors. It was almost overwhelming.

“Is this all right?” you asked as the three of you left the shop. “It must have been expensive. I can try to pay you back-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Naerie said, waving her hand in your direction. “Temporary citizens get a small stipend to fund their lives here until they can get stabilized or off planet.”

“Oh.” You looked down at the clothes. “And you’re okay with me staying with you? I don’t want to be a bother. I-”

“I think it’s exciting!” Terraso cut in. “I’ve never really interacted with a human before.”

Naerie smiled warmly at him. “Terraso’s always been fascinated with aliens. And, regardless, we’re not the sort of people who throw those in need out on the street.” She gave a disdainful sniff, displaying her opinion of those sort of people.

The city glittered with glass spires as you headed out of the shopping district and into an area that smelled mouthwatering. “Want to get some lunch?” Terraso asked. His body bumped lightly against yours as he spoke. He had a habit of doing that, freely letting a hand rest on your side to pressing his shoulder against yours. You nearly jumped every time he touched you. The casual nature of it was surprising.

“I’m not hungry,” you said. “I had a lot for breakfast.” Not to mention that lunch was more of a holiday treat than something you ate every day.

“That was quite a few hours ago,” Naerie said. “You don’t eat much, do you?”

“I’m used to having only two meals a day,” you said, an edge of defensiveness creeping into your voice. Terraso and Naerie exchanged looks again.

In the end, Terraso convinced you to try some sort of fried plant that was apparently the city’s specialty. It was far richer and oilier than anything you’d ever eaten before, and you had to nibble it slowly. Terraso chattered amiably about the city- apparently he was something of an architect nerd and could list off a few interesting facts about most buildings, even the ones that didn’t look particularly impressive.

By the time you had returned home, you were exhausted, and your stomach was in revolt over the fried food. You spent most of the night hunched over their toilet while Naerie and Terraso alternately checked on you.

“I’m really sorry! I didn’t think it would make you sick,” Terraso said, tucking a blanket over your shoulders. You retched once more, bringing up thin bile. “I’ve seen humans eat that stuff before, so I just thought…”

“Maybe I’m allergic to it,” you suggested. Terraso made a chirruping noise of surprise.

“You weren’t gene treated for allergies as a kid?” he asked.

“Was I what?”

“Gene treated? You know, they do the histamine test and then they correct mast cells and…” He stared at your confused expression. “It’s standard medical procedure. Nobody gets sick or dies from allergies anymore.”

You shook your head. “We didn’t have it, I guess. I might not be allergic, anyway. I’ve never had anything like that before. Mostly, we had nutri-slurry.”

Terraso fussed with the edges of the blanket, twisting it between his hands as he tucked it around you again. “Did you grow up on a station in deep space?”

“Er.” You paused. “I grew up on a station.”

“You’re supposed to have one year planetside for every four years on the station. And more to eat than nutri-slurries.” Terraso’s tone was less scolding and more concerned. He gave you a look with his big, soft eyes. “Are you feeling any better? Less sick?”

“I’m okay,” you said. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine.”

“Mm. I don’t believe you,” Terraso said. “You seem like one of those people who won’t admit to being sick even when you’re a fin’s thickness from death.”

“Being sick isn’t an excuse for missed work,” you mumbled. The memorized phrase jumped to your lips before you had time to even think about it. Terraso’s expression flickered for a moment before smoothing back to kindness.

“You don’t have any work to do right now, so why don’t you just rest?” Terraso curled his tail beneath him and smoothed the blanket between your shoulders. “Get some sleep. I’ll stay here.”

You were too weary to protest. Instead, you snuggled further under the blanket and closed your eyes. Even the twisting of your stomach wasn’t enough to keep you from the warm embrace of sleep.

Gradually, you settled into a sort of routine with your rescuers. You woke in the morning, ate breakfast, and Naerie would go to work. Then Terraso and you would take care of any household chores that needed doing. Given that there were two of you, it took much less time than usual, and Terraso would usually spend the rest of the day teaching you about the local culture. It was overwhelming at times, the level of variety that was present. So different from your home, it made your head spin.

As you got bolder with your questions, you noticed Naerie and Terraso exchanging looks more often. You just started calling it the Look in your head- you would say something about your home and they would give each other the Look. The Look usually meant the next few minutes would be full of awkward tension, while Naerie and Terraso circumnavigated the topic.

The first few times the Look occurred, it was strange. After that it quickly made its way to annoying, then straight up frustrating.

When they exchanged the Look after you spoke about the oddness of the local week-long festival, you put your foot down.

“If you think I haven’t noticed the two of you sneaking glances at each other every time I mention something from my home, you’re wrong,” you said. Terraso froze like a kid sneaking extra slurry. Naerie, on the other hand, seemed entirely unaffected. She put her utensils down and steepled her fingers, as best she could with webbed digits.

“We weren’t intending to keep anything from you,” she said. “But… ugh, I’m not going to dance around the reef anymore. Where exactly did you come from? You crashed here looking half starved, you usually refuse to discuss your old life, except cryptic, concerning details, and everything seems to suggest you crashed here on accident while running away from something. So. What were you running from?”

“I’m not a criminal,” you said. It came out far more defensive than you intended. Terraso sucked in a breath through his teeth and tried to play intermediary.

“We don’t think you’re a criminal! We don’t! That wasn’t what we were suggesting. We’re concerned, though,” he said, his voice softening. “We want to know that you’re safe. You don’t talk about your life before you came here. We’re just worried about you.”

“I’m fine.” Your voice was sharp, automatic. Defensiveness bristled all over you, like quills. “There is no reason to be concerned. I am still able to complete my duties.” Terraso blinked and he and Naerie exchanged the Look. “And stop doing that!”

“We didn’t mean to upset you. We’re only trying to look out for you.”

“I have been doing fine,” you said. “Please. Leave it.” Your voice shivered at the end. You swallowed. A shiver of fear rippled down your spine and dug into the pit of your stomach.

Terraso lifted his hands and spread his fins. “Hey,” he said, his voice lowering. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. You’re all right.” He moved slowly toward you until he was within touching distance. Despite being close enough to hold you, he just extended his hands, like he was waiting for you to make the first move. “Breathe. Just breathe. You’re safe. I swear you’re safe here. Just wait for a moment until you come back to us. Okay?”

The soothing rise and fall of his tone relaxed something in the back of your brain. Your chest loosened and the trembling fear in your gut eased. Tentatively, you reached out and touched his hand. His fingers closed around yours, loose enough that you could pull away if you wanted to.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Naerie said. She was speaking in the same soothing register as Terraso, though she was somewhat less practiced at it. “I’m just worried. I want to know that you’re okay.”

Her voice was unbearably tender on the last word. Terraso’s thumb traced along the back of your knuckles. The combination of two, tiny, kind actions made something in you, something that had barely been holding steady all this time, crack.

Sobs shuddered through your chest. Terraso made a quiet cooing noise and you slumped blindly, fumblingly, into him. Naerie slipped around him to rest a gentle hand on your back. For several moments, they held you up as you cried.

Somehow, you weren’t entirely sure how, you ended up on the floor, cradled between Naerie and Terraso. One of Terraso’s cheeks rested on your head. Naerie was rubbing your back up and down in slow, loose circles. “Feeling better?” Terraso asked quietly.

“I think so,” you said. Despite the tension releasing in your chest, you couldn’t get your fingers to relax on Terraso’s arm. He didn’t mention it. “I- I know you’re worried.”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Naerie said. “I shouldn’t have pushed it.”

“No. I know I should talk about it. It’s… not happy, though.” You took in a deep breath. Terraso nuzzled you comfortingly. “It’s… I spent most of my life on the Unification Centralized space station. My parents joined when I was two. It was supposed to be this… utopia, I guess. A self-sustaining space station. But it wasn’t that. Once you were on the station, you couldn’t leave, and you had to work for the greater good. They said that all the time. You needed to work for the greater good. If you weren’t working, if you got sick, it meant you weren’t strong enough, that there was something wrong with you. And that was life. You worked and you tried to keep on the good side of the leadership, and if you didn’t you were in trouble.”

Naerie was looking at you with a combination of worry and horror. You glanced toward her face, but you couldn’t maintain eye contact. “I… left. My little sister- she was born after my parents joined. She got sick. Really sick. They said that she was being… I don’t know, punished for something.” Tears stung at your eyes, but your emotions had become manageable enough to repress them. “She died. Because we weren’t allowed to get help for her. And I didn’t know where to go after that but I knew I couldn’t stay there.”

“So, you left,” Terraso said. “That must have been terrifying.”

“It wasn’t, really,” you said. “I mean, it was. But it all seemed really far away. I didn’t want to die, but I guess I figured that staying there was a death sentence anyway, so it didn’t matter. I just… I had to leave. I had to.”

There was silence for a few minutes. Terraso rested his head on your shoulder. Naerie’s arm lay across your shoulders. Their touch felt stabilizing, grounding, like it was what was pulling you to the planet, not the gravity.

“I’m sorry,” Naerie said. “I’m sorry that happened to you. And I’m sorry about your sister.”

“Thank you.” Your voice grated in your throat. You cleared it a few times.

“How did you come here?” Terraso asked. “Did you just pick a planet to go to at random?”

You snorted. “I didn’t even get that far. I just tried to go in a different direction from the space station as fast as I could. I used one of the little space hoppers, the ones that are only supposed to be used for short travels. They don’t have onboard navigation systems.”

“That was reckless,” Naerie said. “You could have died. You almost did die.”

You shrugged. “I know. Like I said, I wasn’t really all that focused on surviving. I just wanted to get away.”

Terraso hugged you. His tail swung up, loosely wrapping around your waist. Naerie petted your head absently, though her gaze was distant.

“Please focus on surviving now,” Terraso said. His voice came out soft enough that it was almost a murmur. “It’s… scary to hear you talk like that. Like you don’t care if you live or die.”

You brushed your hand along his head, prompting his fins to stand to attention. “It’s okay. I’m feeling better now. It’s easier, with you two here. Like I have something to live for.”

Naerie smiled at you. Her eyes softened, glittering with emotion in a way you’d only seen when she looked at Terraso. Something in your chest tightened and loosened in the same moment.

“I have a suggestion,” Naerie said. “You have never experienced anything like the festival before, have you?” You shook your head. Naerie smiled. “Well. Why don’t we go out? It will be a good experience for you to have fun.”

Terraso perked up, lifting his head off your shoulders. “Yes! We haven’t been to one of the festivals in so long and it’s so much better with someone who hasn’t been before! You’ll love it.” He straightened up, tail coiling and uncurling with enthusiasm. “Only if you want to go, of course,” he added, looking at you with uncertainty.

“I’ve never been to one before,” you said, “so I won’t know what it is you’re supposed to do…”

Terraso grabbed your hands, squeezing them in his. “You’re not supposed to do anything except have fun! It’ll be good, I promise! And if you’re not having a good time, we can just go home.”

“It’s true. There’s no reason we can’t come back if you aren’t enjoying yourself,” Naerie said. “I think you’d enjoy it. And I think I’d enjoy seeing you have fun.”

“Okay, okay. If you both are so excited, then we’ll go. I just need a minute to get ready-”

“Meet us outside in ten,” Naerie said. She slipped underwater with Terraso, presumably so they could both get ready themselves.

Ten minutes later, Naerie met you outside. She flicked her fins casually in the faint sunlight that filtered through the clouds. “Terraso will be along in a moment. He likes to dress up.”

“Dress up?” The concept of getting into fancy dress to go places was still a bit of a foreign concept to you. Everyone had worn the same uniform in your old home.

“He likes the festivals,” Naerie said. “You’ll see.”

Almost as soon as she’d finished speaking, Terraso emerged from the sea, squirming in excitement. His fins seemed a brighter shade of red than usual, though you weren’t sure if he was slightly flushed or if it was an effect of the bright gold piercings he’d applied. A few of them even had red, fluttering cloths attached to them, giving the impression that he had more fins than he did.

“Are we ready to go?” he asked. Naerie smiled, linking one of her arms through his. The way her eyes roved over his body almost made you blush.

“We were waiting on you.” She reached out and, to your surprise, linked her other arm through yours. You tried not to look too surprised. As strange as it was, you didn’t want to do anything that might make her let go.

The city was enveloped in brilliant lights when you arrived. Aliens and natives alike were out in the streets, laughing and talking and shouting amongst themselves. The air smelled of a hundred different things, all delicious. Stalls were set up all over the streets, most of them with various pieces of art or food or souvenirs for sale. A few of them seemed to be offering some sort of lessons in art or dance or other such things. It was almost immediately overwhelming. Not negatively overwhelming, but it took you a moment to process everything.

“You should decide what we do first,” Terraso said. He looked at you with bright, eager eyes. “See anything you like?”

“Er,” you said. There were a lot of things that looked interesting, but you couldn’t sort out what a lot of them were, much less what you would enjoy.

“Terraso,” Naerie said. “Why don’t you pick first? We’ve been here before, after all, so we should be guides.”

In the end, Terraso dragged you over to some sort of simple game that consisted of tossing small balls into several different containers. You tried a couple of times, but the game was a lot more difficult than it looked. After quite a few tries, Terraso managed to score enough points to receive a stuffed toy resembling one of the many eel-like creatures that lived in their oceans.

“Here!” He thrust it into your arms, smiling triumphantly. You blinked down at it, a little confused.

“I don’t need this?” you said. “You don’t even have stuffed animals in your house. Why were you so intent on winning it? I don’t even think it’s particularly well made.”

“That’s not the point!” Terraso said, still grinning broadly. “The point is winning! Especially winning something for someone else!”

“He loves those games,” Naerie said, leaning over to speak quietly in your ear. “He’ll spend all our money on those things if we let him.”

You looked down at the stuffed toy in your arms. It looked pretty wonky, honestly. “Why? You could probably buy one of these for pretty cheap. Why spend so much money to win it? There’s no point.”

Naerie smiled slightly, eyes glittering. “Of course there’s a point. It’s to have fun.”

Naerie ended up drawing you over to some art booths. There were some live demonstrations, even things like glass blowing. You were fascinated by the careful motions, the way the demonstrator was able to twist blazingly hot glass into delicate shapes. Apparently taking into account how fascinated you were, Naerie practically shoved you into the arena the instant the demonstrator asked for a volunteer.

The demonstrator was kind and gentle as he helped you through the moves. In the end, you had a small replica of an undersea plant. Apparently you had a knack for shaping glass and the demonstrator insisted that you have another lesson when you came to pick up the piece from him.

“Perhaps there’s an apprenticeship there for you,” Naerie said as you rejoined her and Terraso.

“An apprenticeship?” you repeated. It hadn’t been something you were considering.

“Just a suggestion,” Naerie said. “You seemed to enjoy it and he seemed like a good teacher. I was only thinking- you’ve been here for a while. Perhaps it’s time to start… setting down roots?”

Her voice was delicate, gentle, but you could feel the intensity behind both her and Terraso’s gazes. It was true- you’d been living with them for a while, but you hadn’t really made any preparations to fend for yourself. You’d just been sort of floating.

“It’s something to think about,” Naerie said, putting a soft hand on your arm. “You don’t need to think about it right now.”

Your stomach picked that moment to interrupt. Terraso burst into high-pitched giggles. You glared. “Maybe we should get something to eat,” he said. “Something that’s not too hard on your stomach.” You pulled a face. They’d never forgotten your incident after the fried food and, in all fairness, you couldn’t either. Your stomach had adjusted to some of the heavier fare, but you were still prodded to nausea by anything with too much grease.

Naerie ended up picking some kind of grilled plant matter skewered on a thin wooden stick. Terraso practically crawled over her back as she took the sticks from the vendor. “Here, here, take it,” she said, passing him the stick. He bit into it delightedly, tail wriggling. She offered you one as well and you bit into it tentatively.

The fruit was sweet and salty in equal measure, with just a bit of bitterness from the char. You practically ripped into it, eating it with a ravenous fervor. Within a minute, it was gone.

Naerie laughed. “We’ll have to get you some more of those,” she said. She held out her own stick. “Here. You can have a bit of mine, too.”

You paused. Naerie had already taken a few bites out of it, and she was holding it out to you like she was just expecting you to take a bite while she was holding it. Somehow, that idea came across as almost unbearably intimate. A flush started to creep up your face. Still, Naerie was looking at you with expectance. Maybe you were overreacting? And even if you weren’t… you wanted to. Slowly, you leaned forward and took a delicate bite of the sweet fruit.

Naerie smiled. “Good?” Her voice had taken on a melodic tone, one that made your blushing even worse. You nodded slowly.

“Good,” you said. Terraso smiled and winked at you over Naerie’s shoulder. You looked down at the ground, flustered. “Er. We should, er. Keep going, right?”

The rest of the night was spent wandering the festival, attending the booths and activities. There was more to experience than you’d ever seen before- rides and shows and games all in a riot of colors. At some point, Naerie had pressed alcohol into your hands and you’d started drinking. Terraso was in a similar drunken state, giggling and flopping around, his slithering unsteady.

When the three of you made it back home, all of you were tipsy, bordering on drunk. Naerie was the most sober, but that wasn’t necessarily saying much. She managed to get both you and Terraso in the door before she slumped against a wall, giggling faintly.

Terraso was wrapped around you like a scaly rope, tightening his grip every time you tried to wriggle free. His head was pressed into the side of your neck, fins tickling lightly against your skin.

“Tired,” he mumbled. “Go to bed.”

“You can go to bed, if you want, but you gotta let go!” you said.

“No!” Terraso nuzzled further into your neck. “I want to sleep with yooouuu.”

“I can’t sleep underwater. I’ll drown,” you reminded him.

“Then I’ll sleep up here,” he declared. He lifted his head from your neck and, with some effort, focused his attention on Naerie. “Come on! Come sleep with us!” He made grabby hands at her, then started giggling. “Ooh. Sleep together. Ha ha. We shooouuuld.”

The double entendre made your cheeks grow warm. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” you said, trying to gently pry him off of you. That only made him cling tighter.

“But Naerie said she wouldn’t miiind,” Terraso said. He tilted his head, hanging off of you so he was looking at Naerie upside down. “Right? You said you wouldn’t miiiiiiind, Naerie.” He looped his arms tighter around your neck. “You’re so nice and pretty.” He hiccupped. “And- and- I love yooouuu.” His face was almost completely buried in your neck, muffling his voice. “I love you and Naerie and I wanna be with both of you! Naerie agrees!”

You looked up at Naerie. She was staring at you with wide eyes. It was hard to tell with her species, but you were pretty sure she was blushing. “He’s very drunk,” she said apologetically. “He tends to be, er. Very open when he has too much.” She held her hands out. “Here, I can take him and make sure he gets to bed okay.”

“Noooo!” Terraso wailed. He wrapped around you as tightly as he could. “Not goin’ anywhere!”

Perhaps you also had gotten a little tipsy, because you were feeling unusually bold. “I don’t mind,” you said. “If he wants to stay with me, that’s fine. He can sleep in my bed tonight.”

“Yay!” Terraso mumbled from his position against your shoulder. Naerie seemed conflicted, but she helped you and Terraso into bed. Despite how awkward it made things, Terraso was very insistent on not letting go of you at all.

“What he was talking about before,” you said as Naerie helped you into bed. “That stuff he said, about…”

“About the sleeping with you?” Naerie asked. She sounded unusually unsteady. “Yes. It was. I’m sure he wouldn’t have said anything if the drink hadn’t rendered him completely senseless.” Despite her words, her tone was affectionate. “We didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t,” you said hurriedly. Terraso moaned and somehow managed to snuggle closer to you. “I like you. Both of you. You’re the first people who’ve ever been really nice to me. And you’re both so sweet and Terraso’s funny and you’re so caring- I don’t think I could ever find anyone better.”

“I was hesitant to approach you about it,” Naerie said in a slow, uncertain voice. “I didn’t want to make you feel pressured to be in a relationship with us because we’re the ones helping you. But we… have discussed it. Polyamorous relationships are fairly common among our species. We’ve been interested.”

“I’ve never had any kind of relationship before,” you said. “Not a romantic one, anyway. So I’ll be a little new to this. If you’re still okay with going through with this?”

Naerie smiled and leaned closer to you. One of her hands lingers on your face. “I think I would be interested in teaching you. And I’m certain you couldn’t drag Terraso away with wild therians.”

“It’s true,” Terraso mumbled into your shoulder.

Something in your stomach fluttered. “If- if you’re sure, then.”

Naerie smiled. “I could not be more sure,” she said. She leaned in, then paused, your faces less than an inch apart. You realized she was waiting for you to make the next move. It took you a moment to steel your confidence, then you leaned in and pressed your lips to hers.

The kiss was clumsy and uncertain, but it managed to be good nonetheless. When you broke apart again, you were giggling giddily.

“Perhaps you need practice,” Naerie said, a faint smile playing with her mouth.

“I’ll help,” Terraso declared. He pressed a sloppy kiss to the corner of your mouth. Naerie laughed, easing him off of you and into bed. His tail wrapped around your leg insistently, though, and there was no way you would be able to pry it off.

“I suppose we’re staying up here tonight,” Naerie said. Terraso nuzzled into your side with a happy sigh. Naerie smiled. “He’s happy, at least.”

“I’m happy too,” you said. Naerie looked up at you, eyes soft with affection.

“Yes. I am too.”

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