#nemo writes

[findingnemosworld]

me when [ insert football player's name ] posts an instagram picture.

( reblog with your faves babe )

#nemo writes #football #football players #hot football players #let me go first #xabi alonso #sergio ramos #dominik szoboszlai #ruben dias #cesar azpilicueta #j*rd*n h*nd*rs*n #( ignore the last one )

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

Beware: Angst ahead. Also, while this particular WIP doesn't have any +18 topic, in virtue of the fact that Vampire the Masquerade revolve around +18 content, all material will be presented as such. Therefore, Minors DNI.

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Laying on the plushy velvet blanket of her canopy bed - one of the few amenities she still possessed from the days of her human life - Dorothea just stared at the ceiling, unblinking eyes that saw far beyond the roof of her boudoir, hands folded in her lap.

Not a single emotion could be seen on her face, immobile in that unnatural stasis that was of her kind.

A pool of complete stillness: nothing further from the immense chaos that churned just beneath the surface.

A rivulet of fresh blood trickled from the side of her lips, running down her neck until it blended with her golden white curls.

She didn’t know how long she had been standing so still, in that inertia that always caught her after each feeding and imprisoned her with her memories.

A soft snoring rose just besides her, distracting her from the solitary journey of her train of thoughts. She slowly turned her eyes to look toward the man sleeping peacefully besides her, enveloped in the blissful afterglow of the ecstasy that the Kiss always brought upon humans.

The blood always quenched the ancestral necessity of the curse of her kind, but did nothing to erase the emptiness that left behind.

His soft hair fell like a curtain over his face, hidden against the soft down pillow.

Eyes still unblinking, Dorothea broke from her inertia and raised her hand; hesitant, almost trembling, she caressed those black curls away from the man’s face, hoping against hope to see a glimmer of what her memories always showed her. But that face was wrong, completely different from what she expected: the curve of the jaw was not as defined, the zygomas not as sharp, his skin far lighter, his lashes not as long, the nose not as straight, the eyes not as upturned and, when they were staring at her, not dark and sweet, but blue and cold.

It wasn’t him.

She felt like heaving, a whole rock sitting on her stomach, a tightness in her throat that just wanted to find release in purging.

The blood had been to her taste, coppery with undertones of nutmeg and the spumescent aftertaste of all the alcohol in his system, irreverence and joie-de-vivre, and touch of spiciness that every Spaniard carried with themselves.

The vessel provided had indeed been delectable, as it always was when the preys that succumbed to her resembled the one man always in her memories.

Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling of utter disgust that had encompassed her, a feeling akin to the time she had made the mistake of feeding off the wrong type of blood, as a fledgling, when she hadn’t figured out what her type was yet .

Silent as a cat and in need of complete loneliness, she rose from the mattress and slipped a plum-colored robe on her naked body, the smooth fabric softly caressing her skin. Careful to not look behind, she left her master bedroom, mindful to lock the door behind to avoid any possible escape.

She would get rid of the man later.

With quick, inaudible steps, she reached the opposite side of her suite, where her boudoir was located, the only room in the sleeping area of her apartment that didn’t have obscuring blinds.

Without thinking, she put on some music from her own personal playlist, the only thing that could help calm her soul. As the notes started to rise in the sweet air of the evening, she took a deep breath, trying with all her might to will her memories away.

She didn’t want to.

She never wanted to will them away.

But she had to.

She sat on the small ottoman by the window and leaned against the windowsill for a while, laying her cheek on her crossed arms, eyes lost as she watched the world outside of her haven.

Snow was falling ever so softly, in an elegant dance that almost seemed to invite her to twirl around under the gentle flakes.

But she couldn’t.

Not now.

Not ever again.

Suddently the soft rendition of a cover of “Iris” hummed in Dorothea’s ears, the soft voice of the singer and the gentle notes of a guitar enveloping her in the soft penumbra of the boudoir, as she rested her head against the frame of the window.

“And I'd give up forever to touch you Cause I know that you feel me somehow You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be And I don't want to go home right now

'Cause all I can taste is this moment And all I can breathe is your life So and sooner or later, it's over I just don't wanna miss you tonight

And I don't want the world to see me 'Cause I don't think that they'd understand When everything's made to be broken I just want you to know who I am”

“I wish,” she murmured to herself.

“Never knew you were a Goo Goo Dolls appreciator, Dorlé,”

A gentle voice, warm as a late summer wind - one she would recognize among thousands - spoke behind herself. Dorothea turned her head slowly, giving the man that had just entered a long cold look.

Arno Dorian was standing tall against the frame of the door, his long dark hair hanging on the side of his face, enhancing his already otherworldly beauty. Dressed as sharply as ever, Dorothea could have been inclined to think that he was about to go to the club on the Strand - his favourite hunting ground.

“Just because I gave you permission to come and go in my abode as it pleases you, that does not mean that you can avoid to knock before entering, Arno. I could have been naked for all you knew.”

The man gave her a knowing look: her sulkiness could signify only one thing.

"Feeding night?”

“Yes, as if you weren’t in the known already! And as such, I must apologize but I am not inclined for social call of any kind tonight, not even from you.”

A small smile of sympathy touched his lips.

“Had it been any other night, I would have been the first one to block the passage of any visitor to your haven. But, as much as it cross me having to bother you when you are at your most fragile, You will heed my words, Dorlé. Because I am not here in vest of your sibling but as your Sheriff, my Prince.”

Dorothea’s expression transmuted from miffed to suddenly alert. If he was addressing her by her title, even in the privacy of her abode, she could not ignore his silent demand to be received.

“Speak. What happened?”

“Earlier tonight we had a breach in our Domain, just outside the perimeter of Saint Paul.”

“A rogue Lasombra?”

“Worse.”

Arno handed her a small object: a calling card, not so dissimilar to the one that she herself had seen used by her own father when she was still alive. Dorothea took it and her lips thinned in a grimace of irritation as she recognizing the symbol filigreed on the heavy coarse paper: a rook holding a knight in its talons, bright yellow against a murky green background.

On the other side of the card, there was only one word: "tonight".

So garish.

So presumptious.

She knew precisely who was sending her that invitation.

“The galls and gumption of not even penning a proper invite! To say nothing of the lack of protocol! I am in no mood to meet that barbarian, tonight, nor any other night for that matter, and certainly not without him taking a bath first.” She wrinkled her nose at the memory of the stench of the Thames that always seemed to hang to the Baron like a tick to a dog’s coat. “Have my Senechal do the honors and oversee this affair as he sees fit, and have him report to me once the meeting is done and over.”

Arno shook his head with resignation.

“I am afraid it won’t be possible. Monsieur Kenway is…unavailable for the night, my Prince. Besides, the Baron reported that he will speak to no one but you, and made it quite clear that he won’t take no for an answer.”

Fighting the impulse to roll her eyes, Dorothea stood up with a fluid movement and sat at her vanity. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, scouring for something only she knew about, before opening a small wooden box containing her perfumes and dabbing the sweet orange flower fragrance along the side of her neck.

“Always so aggressive in his ways, so disrespectful of the Traditions that have uphold this whole Masquerade ever since the coming of the Dark Father. I see the past century has not helped assuage his temper nor made him any wiser than when he was fledgling jumping around the roofs of London. His unruliness is what caused his own downfall in this wretched unlife,” she murmured in annoyance, starting to brush each of her golden white curls with meticulous care. “I always had a soft spot for his sister, you know: as much as she disliked me, I always thought her rather reasonable and quite agreeable. We were similar under many aspects. I was even given permission to Embrace her. She would have made for a fine Senechal in our Court, had it not been for that encounter with a Garou,”

Raising her gaze, she glanced again toward Arno, her eyes as cold as the winter wind that was blowing just outside the window. “Did he mention any particular reason for his haste?”

Arno hesitated for a moment, long enough for Dorothea to notice.

“He did not say his motives but-”

Dorothea narrowed her eyes, turning toward him.

“-But your instinct tells you that there is something there.”

“Correct. I have known Jacob-“

The young woman hissed and snarled through gritted teeth.

“Do not utter his name here!”

“Forgive me, Prince. For a moment, I forgot,” he murmured softly. “As I was saying, I have known the Baron for as long as you have, but never had I seen him so..distressed. Considering that he was willing to risk his neck coming straight into our domain in person, without any mediator, I gather that whatever is worrying him, it might have the potential to be a danger for us as well.” He weighted his next words carefully, before speaking.” It could be worth listening to what he has to say.”

Dorothea let out a long breath.

There was truth in her Sheriff’s words, a truth she didn’t want to agree with, at least not wholeheartedly.

She hadn’t spoken to the Baron in over seventy years, not since the Blitz in the 40s, not a single word passed directly between the two of them.

He had tried - oh, if he had tried to speak with her.

But she had closed herself to any form of dialogue with him.

Up until that point.

As her mind was frantically running around, trying to find an anchor to center her thoughts, she pursed her lips even more: she was nervous. Anxious.

He made her nervous.

The idea of seeing his face again, hear his voice again, rendered her nervous.

And there was nothing in the world that she hated the most as feeling nervous.

Yet, she could not risk the safety of her Court because of her uneasiness.

“Very well, then.” She murmured, taking one of her own calling cards and a plume and starting to carve an invitation with impeccable calligraphy. ”With Haytham absent for the night, I will have to ask you, my Sheriff, to give the Baron my answer and bring him my invite to join us at the Elysium at the next full moon.” She said, underlining the last three words with voice that didn’t allow any kind of rebuttal.

If he wanted to meet her, so be it.

But it would be on her own terms.

Suddenly, her eyes lit up and a satisfied smile spread on her face.

“Might be a good idea to extend the invitation to the Italian Triumvirate as well.” she chuckled.

Arno furrowed his heavy brows, his lips turning thin in displeasure - something that didn’t elude Dorothea.

“Does this displease you, Arno?”

“The idea of having the Italians in our sacred abode doesn’t truly sit well with me. And to have a Anarch come into our sacred abode and wreak havoc? Even less so.”

Dorothea finished penning the invite, apposing her signature with fanciful swirls. Then she gave it to Arno.

“He will behave, I am sure. A proper scoundrel he may be, but even the Baron knows better than to break the Fifth Tradition in my Elysium. He asked to speak with me, but considering his lack of... specification of any particular condition, we will make those conditions for him. And if he won’t speak with anyone but me, then, I say, have him come to us. It will be also an occasion to show that our strength lies in our unified bond, and what better occasion to showcase this if not during one of our gathering?”

Arno’s mouth quirked in a grimace of disagreement.

“Ahh, I see. So, now it is indeed my Primogen talking to me now, not my loyal Sheriff. Very well, Arno of the Clan of the Rose: what is it that is causing that deep wrinkle on your forehead?”

“Lucia. Why calling upon her as well? One renegade at the time is enough.”

Dorothea smiled benevolently, flashing her fangs as she did so.

“Because you see, brother of my soul, there is something that you do not know about the Baron.”

Arno raised his eyebrows, silently asking her to continue.

Dorothea chuckled, but there was no warmth in her laughter.

“Something happened in his early days as Kindred, something that left him with a level of aberration for the Tremere that rivals only the hate the Tzimisce have for them. He swore on his sister’s grave that he would never allow any of the Thaumaturges to even come close to his territories, let alone associate with him. And it is not only this, oh no! If he “just” abhors the Tremere, he is absolutely terrified of Lucia for the hand she had in what he had witnessed.”

Arno nodded, his long hair brushing his cheek as he did so: he could definitely see why Jacob would be terrified of Lucia, if the rumors around her coincided with the truth. (……………)

“Very well, if this is all, I will leave you return to your duties-“

“I….this is not all, my Prince,”Arno stood where he was, his eyes turning even darker than what they had been when he was alive.”I saw you today, not long before sunrise. Outside of that studio, waiting under the rain.”

She gripped the brush in her hands, catching herself at the last moment so not to pulverize it, her jaw tightening.

“Your point?”

“I am not one to tell you what to do, my Prince, nor would I ever fathom your motives. But the Court will start asking… questions, if they were to get a hint of why you have gathered such keen interest in a particular kine.”

Dorothea didn’t answer, not right away at least.

She took a long breath, even though she didn’t need to.

It just felt like something she would have done, had she been human.

Human.

Something she hadn’t been for more than 150 years.

As if on cue, she felt The Beast stirring up withink, somewhere deep in her abdomen, brushing its sharp talon against her still heart, its breathing hot against her neck, whispering, a soft, seducing murmur ever present in all her waking moments: a monster constantly lurking for the mere hint of weakness to exploit and destroy whatever humanity she had still left in her.

She touched the small ampule hanging over her breasts, the blood turned dark by the decades past.

All that she had left of him that still somehow anchored her to her last remnants of who she had been once alive.

“How long have you been following me, Arno?”

“Long enough to notice a pattern in these “excursions” of yours, Dorlé, and long enough to know that what you are doing to yourself will only cause your soul to wither further away. He is not him.”

Dorothea’s face stood still, her eyes never leaving the man’s own brown irises, not a single emotion transpiring from either of them.

But no amount of temperance and composure could stop the single tear -carmine, pristine like a ruby, the only tears their kind could shed- rolling down her cheek before she had the time to stop it.

“You are wrong,” she whispered, as the man she had know her entire undead life came closer to her and gently patted away her tear with his handkerchief. “I know that it could not be possible, that it should not be possible. But Arno, you know - you know why I cannot be deceived. I know what I saw. I know what I heard. And it was real. Real.”

The man let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping a little at the thought of the man that had been his brother in all but blood.

“Dorlé… you said it yourself. It cannot be possible. Mathias-“ Arno swallowed hard, the lump in his throat gripping. He hadn’t uttered that name in almost a hundred years, and the pain was still too much to bear at the memories, the very same that, he knew, haunted Dorothea each time she fed. “Mathias is gone. He is in God’s arms now, and no matter how much this man resembles him, he is not him.”

Grief screamed inside Dorothea’s chest, her own anguish shrieking in her ears, an echo of her own voice that reached from across the mists of time. She felt Arno’s hands on her shoulders, as he rested his brow against hers, locking eyes with hers in the hope to force both their minds to block the memories of the last moments of Mathias on that Earth.

“Arno, I beg you to understand…you have seen him. I know you have. He has his voice. His eyes, his hair, his hands..his smile! Even his scent resembles the one he used to have! Everything that made me human, everything that moved me when I was still alive is screaming at me that the man I saw was him, returned to me! How can I ignore such call? How can I-”

Arno’s brown eyes softened in pity.

“You cannot. And I cannot stop you from doing what you think it is right for you, Dorlé, even if it pains me to see you in this state. But the Court might not share this sentiment, and you know that.”

She closed her eyes, lips stretching in a grimace of pain. None of the stillness of their kind was to be found on her face, but all the pain of sufference that belonged to humanity.

“Do you ever wish to be able to dream again?” she asked.

Arno lowered his face, shutting his eyes to keep at bay his own pain, always threatening to overflow from his unbeating heart.

He decided to listen to her instead: it was easier to focus on her pain than face his own.

Her memories, she would often say, were her most prized possession and her most lethal weapon, sharp as the edge of a double knife.

And yet he knew that being an active participant of her shared pain was a right she had bestowed only upon one person in her unlife, and he was one that person.

He still remember, clear as if it had happened the day before, when he found her, still a fledgling, hidden in the catacombs beneath Paris, scared to her wits, with no memories of who her Sire was nor how she came to be welcomed in the Embrace.

Yet, as they started to walk the Earth together and he brought her deeper and deeper in his world, they came to consider each other the brother and the sister that neither had had once alive.

The fact that fate would have soon joined them by the same kind of pain, born out of the same sufferance, was also the reason why he knew he was the only person in the entire world that she trusted completely with her thoughts.

“No. Not really,” he murmured, closing again the door of the bedroom. “When I lay down and await to plummet into the nothingness, I feel all memories coming back to me, clearer than I wished them to be. And I don’t want them. I don’t want that pain anymore. So no, I don’t want my thoughts to be anything but what I choose to think about, and dreams have the pesky peculiarity of coming unsummoned.”

Dorothea nodded as she listened carefully, her gaze turning sad as a small smile touched her lips.

“I am grateful for the lack of nightmares,” she whispered. “Although the memories of them are dimmer than I remember, they used to plague my mortal life. But the nothingness still terrifies me. You know, when I was alive, I always believed that through dreams we could somehow return to the people we lost. Eyes meeting eyes even if it is never to touch again. I hoped to see Mathias again, to find the comfort of his embrace at least when I am drifting away. But after having been turned-“ she sighed as she looked up to the ceiling. “How cruel it is having to face this emptiness alone for all eternity,”

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MONDAY DRAFT?

MONDAY WIP?

MONDAY "ALMOST ALL CHAPTER"?

I have no idea how to call this post, just that OMG I AM SO HAPPY TO BE ABLE TO SHARE IT WITH YOU ALL.

Again, it's just a draft, and while I do multiple revisions of all my drafts while writing, sometimes mistakes escapes me, so please bear with me <3

I am sorry for the angst festival, but I PROMISE THAT IT BECOMES A BIT SWEETER. While I can write angst quite easily, I can't not reward everyone with FLUFF.

Well, I hope you will like this, just as much as I loved writing it! (and omg the fun I had to design the banner! I am such a sucker for vampire stuff, honestly).seriously, I went like a train while writing this, and it hasn't happened in FOREVER!! SO I TRULY HOPE YOU WILL LIKE THIS!!

--Nemo

#Nemo Writes #Vampire the Masquerade #Assassin's Creed Syndicate #Jacob Frye #vtm #Arno Dorian #Dorothea Starrick #Mathias De Beaumont #my ocs #my writing #my crossover #vampires #oh yeeeeees #ocfairygodmother

[nemossubmarine]

Title: Ties That Bind (Trazyn/Orikan, rated E, 54k words)

Summary:

A matter of debt has been raised in the Awakened Council concerning Trazyn the Infinite and Orikan the Diviner. They have not repaid the gifts in the eve of their nuptials during the Flesh Times. One problem though, they are not married. Trazyn and Orikan have to work together to convince the Awakened Council of their statuses as bachelors. Should be easy, right? Somewhere in the deep, dark past, the Last Seer of the Necrontyr sees a coming end. Is there anything to do to stop it?

A/N: Another year, another Big Bang, same old divorced coots. Hope you enjoy!

#wh 40k big bang #warhammer 40k fanfic #trazyn the infinite #orikan the diviner #orizyn #warhammer 40k big bang #nemo writes #love these two #had a lot of fun writing them again #and also writing about necrons is always fun #(ever think about necron kids? cos i certainly have!)

[mrsluthordanvers]

Supercorptober 2022

I did write a couple one-shots for supercorptober2022 but never posted. Better late than never, right!!

I had hoped I’d have more to post but writers block is still kicking my butt. I’m gonna leave it as unfinished bc I want to try to keep doing prompts in hopes of breaking through this block. So in no particular order, here you go!

Day 1 - Summer

Read on AO3

Kara loves every season. In fall the air feels fresh and crisp and perfect for flying. There’s cozy drinks and cozier sweaters. There’s halloween and thanksgiving - the beginning of all Kara’s favourite holidays and the perfect excuse to get together with friends and family. In winter there’s a sense of quiet that blankets the city, everything sounds softer, more muffled in winter. There’s ice skating and hot chocolate, and the city lights up in all different colours the closer it gets to christmas. There’s a sense of hope and new beginnings that comes every year at New Year’s that Kara absolutely loves. Then there’s spring with all the new life starting to come back, and the sun starts to get warmer and Kara knows that summer is right around the corner. The season of sunbathing as she floats on the wind. Late night bonfires and camping and surfing.

Kara loves every season, but she can’t think of any season she loves more than summer right now.

Not when Lena came already dressed for their impromptu trip to the beach. Objectively, she knows they all agreed to leave first thing this morning so it was unlikely that Lena would have a reason to come dressed in her trademark skirt and heels. But it never occurred to Kara that meant Lena would come dressed in something else instead.

It never occurred to her that going to the beach with Lena would mean going to the beach with Lena in a bathing suit. That it would mean seeing Lena in a bathing suit.

The bathing suit in question is relatively modest - a black one piece with a scooped neck. It’s the stark contrast against porcelain skin and the sheer cover-up tied around her waist that has Kara slowing to a pause midway through pushing her surfboard into the back of the jeep. Her hands slip on the smooth surface as she takes in Lena’s loose waves, her fingers twitching with the desire to sink into the dark locks and find out if it feels as thick and soft as it looks.

She can’t pull her eyes away as Lena pushes her hair back with her oversized sunglasses to meet Kelly with a hug and a laugh. Her eyes dance in the morning sun as she laughs at Kelly’s antics as she tugs at Lena’s skirt, turning her cheeks a lovely shade of pink.

Kara’s so busy watching Lena she completely misses Alex trying to load a second surfboard around her until the end accidentally hits her in the head.

“Hey!” Kara pouts as she rubs the back of her head dramatically and scowls at her sister.

“Oh come on, you barely felt that.” Alex brushes her off as she gives the surfboard one more shove and dusts off her hands looking proud of herself as she inspects the trunk.

Kara sticks her tongue out at the back of her sister’s head, blushing when she catches Lena watching her with a raised brow. Kara helplessly shrugs a shoulder as she tries not to look too embarrassed, grinning when Lena chuckles and turns back to Kelly.

She manages to finish loading her surfboard before she's distracted again. This time she stares at Lena without really looking at her, her figure becoming a blur in the background as she imagines Lena stretched out under an umbrella thumbing through a magazine. Probably something sciency that makes Kara want to try to distract her. She's so caught up in her daydream of all the ways she could distract Lena that she doesn't see the real one approaching her.

"Kara?" Lena's voice bleeds together with her daydream.

"Kara." The sharper tone makes Kara blink, slowly focusing on Lena's concerned face."Alex asked if you're ready to go. Are you okay?"

"Yup. Yeah. Peachy." Kara freezes, her back ramrod straight and eyes wide. "Not pea- yes, yeah, I'm ready. We should go."

Kara wrenches the jeep door open and waits expectantly for Lena to climb in. She tries not to watch as her friend slides across the seat before she clambers in without a thought, leaving Alex standing on the driveway holding out the set of keys she had begged Alex to give her earlier that morning.

"I don't think she cares about driving anymore." Kelly whispers dramatically as she fails to smother a smile and gives her wife's arm a loving squeeze.

Day 10 - Ice Day 12 - Evening Day 6 - Leaves

#supercorp #supercorptober2022 #supergirl #nemo writes #four is better than none right? right!? #god I hate having writers block #I just want to write in peace please and thank you #couldn't decide how to drop them all bc I usually do each prompt as a post bc they are so short #but I figured this was as good a way as any #might post the other ones here later

[nem0-kn0ws-n0t]

Like a Fool, Like a Soldier 

“Don’t worry” Cleo says, her voice calm and light as she leans against her axe, staring Pearl down. Like a hunter looking down at her prey. “You’re safe for now.”

.

.

.

“Don’t worry” Cleo says, her voice calm and light as she leans against her axe, staring Pearl down. Like a hunter looking down at her prey. “You’re safe for now.”

There was no one else around. Scar and Bdubs had bounced back to their base to inevitably plot something terrible, Big B was who knows where and the only other people they could see were the Bad Boys on top of their mansion doing….something. Truly, for all intent and purpose, they were alone. With each other.

Pearl should look away from those blood-covered eyes, from the too-sharp teeth peaking through a threatening smile, but she can’t. There’s something about Cleo that draws her in, that keeps her attention focused on the older woman at all times. Something addictive about her, that Pearl never seemed to be able to get enough of.

“Oh, good!” She chirps, making sure to smile her most innocent grin. Not that she expected her to fall for it. She gets a deep chuckle back from Cleo, who sends her fiery red curls flying as she shakes her head. What a pretty sight.

“That is, of course.” Suddenly, Cleo is no longer a few blocks away from Pearl but right by her, right in her personal space, her diamond axe held loosely in between grey fingers. Her perfume is strong and the only thing Pearl can smell. It smells distinguished and classy and so distinctly like her. It’s a great smell.

Cleo bends down slightly to whisper directly in her ear. “Until I get bored, of course.” Her red lips are just barely brushing her ear lobe and Pearl can feel her breath on her ears; it’s hard for her to think of anything except how close the other woman is to her right now.

There’s something laced in those words that Pearl doesn’t quite know how to interpret, but there’s not much going through her head at the moment, what with the afternotes of the perfume still lingering in the air. The words tumble out of her mouth with little thought. 

“Um.” Well, not the most eloquent thing she’s ever said.

Cleo giggles sharply and pulls back a bit so she’s standing just a bit further. Just far enough that Pearl could reach out to her. “Like they say, not great decision-making.”

“Am I your…bored..filler?” She’s not looking at the other woman anymore, her eyes fixed on the neon pink strap of her unitard. She’s not even sure what she’s saying. “Is that what that is?”

“No!” The word is harsher than the entire conversation has been so far, spite out and strong and slightly panicked. They snap the brunette out of her daze. “No, no, no, no.” Cold hands reach forward to grab her jaw, muffling any of the noises Pearl makes with the palms. Their eyes lock. 

It’s funny. In a weird way, Cleo’s eyes being lined with blood only seems to make them glow more. Pearl can admit that the woman in front of her is breathtaking at the moment. Almost out of her control, her eyelids flutter halfway down, leaving her to peer through her eyelashes as she leans even more into the gentle hold.

“I respect you, like a bunch,” Cleo mutters, her eyes flickering between Pearl’s eyes and lower down her face. She feels her breath catch in her throat at the sight. “Cause you know, you’re…” Her eyes flicker from her lips to her eyes and then to something just over Pearl’s shoulder and whatever she sees makes her flinch back from their position.

Pearl is suddenly snapped back to reality, her center of balance removed from her and she stumbles a few steps forward as she tries to compose herself. A hand unconsciously goes up to her lips in a daze. Did she misread the situation? Did she not-

“ Funny” Cleo lands on, through gritted teeth, her eyes glaring daggers above Pearl’s shoulder. If looks could kill- Her gaze softens as it slides back to Pearl. “ But-”

Pearl cuts her off, straightening herself up and pointedly not looking at the redhead. “Oh thank you, I appreciate that.” The words were meant to come out harsher than they did, but Pearl cannot bring herself to muster up the hurt that should come with the clear rejection. She says her statement out of good humour, bitting back any harsher comments with a small smile.

Cleo doesn’t seem to take it as that, however.

The laugh escaping Pearl’s lips is genuine. She lets out a tense breath at the same time as Cleo and sends her her most gremlin smile, wide and gap-toothed.

“And you’re feral!” She rushes to add, her hands twitching around the axe as if to illustrate her point. “ And that’s good! And I can appreciate that.”

“I give wet cat vibes.” She announces proudly, shrugging her shoulders as if to say ‘what can I do?’. Cleo only takes a second before bursting into laughter as well. 

And she disappears back into her Clockers’ base, leaving Pearl confused, worried and excited for the following interactions. A wide grin blooms across her features without her even trying to stop.

“Yeah…” She gasps out between chuckles, whipping away a tear as her laughter settles down. Her mouths form into a content smile, staring directly at Pearl with an affectionate gaze. Pearl goes to shrug her shoulders again but stops to lean closer as Cleo leans forward with a smirk.

“And I’m going for Mad dog vibes.”  She whispers, her eyes, firmly locked on something, or someone, over Pearl’s shoulder again. The younger can’t help but stare at her with round eyes at her statement.

“Oh?”

Cleo smirks and leans forward to pat her affectionately on the cheek. “See you later!”

Oh, this will be fun indeed.

#Limited Life #pearlescentmoon #zombiecleo #f/f romance #they're flirting and dangerous #The wetcat/feral dog dynamic #they gave themselves that dynamic #All the quotes are actually what they said your honour I just infered the actions #pearlecentmoon/zombicleo #nemo writes

[sweetface-the-dollbaby]

Feeling cute, might finish boys don’t cry

#nemo writes

[feeshies]

too early to make assumptions, but the fact that disney is rewriting captain nemo's backstory in their upcoming series so he steals his submarine from the english instead of building it himself feels gross to me

#jules verne didn't write 5 billion words of nemo explaining the engineering behind the nautilus for it not to be his creation

[prokopetz]

Okay, so: in early drafts of Jules Verne's 1870 novel Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Captain Nemo is a Polish guy bent on revenge against the Russian Empire for the murder of his family in the January Uprising. Verne's editor objected on the grounds that Russia was a French ally at the time of the book's writing, and in the actual, published version of the story, Nemo's national origin and precisely which empire he's pissed off at are left unspecified.

Later, in the 1875 quasi-sequel The Mysterious Island, Nemo is retconned as an Indian noble out for revenge against the British for the murder of his family in the Indian Rebellion of 1857 – basically the same as the original plan, simply substituting a different uprising and a different empire. Verne's editor raised no objections this time around, because fuck the British, right? Though Twenty Thousand Leagues and The Mysterious Island aren't 100% compatible in their respective timelines, this version of Nemo has customarily been back-ported into adaptations of Twenty Thousand Leagues ever since.

Now here's the funny part: perhaps as a jab at his editor, Verne made a specific plot point in Twenty Thousand Leagues of Professor Aronnax repeatedly trying and failing to figure out where the fuck Nemo is from. At one point his attempt to pin down Nemo's accent is frustrated by Nemo's vast multilingualism. At another point, he tries and fails to trick Nemo by quizzing him about latitude and longitude.

(To contextualise that last bit, at the time the book was written, there was no international agreement on which line of longitude should be zero degrees, and many nations had their own prime meridians; Aronnax hoped to identify Nemo's national origin by calculating which meridian he was giving his longitudes relative to. Nemo, however, immediately spots the ploy, and announces that he'll use the Paris meridian in deference to the fact that Aronnax is a Frenchman.)

The upshot is that at no point in the course of any of this Sherlock Holmes bullshit does Aronnax ever bring up the colour of Nemo's skin as a potential clue. In light of the book's publication history, this is almost certainly simply because Verne hadn't decided that Nemo was Indian yet. However, taking into account The Mysterious Island's retcon, it retroactively makes Aronnax the least racist Frenchman ever.

#media #literature #twenty thousand leagues under the seas #captain nemo #jules verne #writing #history #metatextual wankery #violence mention #death mention #racism mention #swearing #twenty thousand leagues under the sea spoilers #the mysterious island spoilers #spoilers

[ibrithir-was-here]

So I’m really really enjoying @mayhemchicken / @lxgentlefolkcomic ‘s comic “The League of Extraordinary Gentlefolk” which is everything I wanted the Moore comic to be (e.g. actually faithful to the characters personalities in the canon books) and so of course I had to design a fancy cover for it xD

The profiles are of the characters that have been said to make up the main team in the comic (not all have shown up yet) but there’s Irene Adler-Norton on top, the two happily married Harkers side by side beneath her, the Invisible Man in the middle with Dr Seward on the right and Dr Jekyll (with the shadow of Hyde) on the left and Capt. Nemo in the bottom!

Please go check out the comic @lxgentlefolkcomic , it’s on its first chapter and already soooo good!

#my art #league of extraordinary gentlefolk #other people’s awesome writing #webcomics #Dracula #jonathan harker #mina harker #jonmina #irene adler #Sherlock Holmes #captain nemo #20000 leagues under the sea #the invisible man #Ashley Griffin #dr seward #jack seward #dr jekyll and mr hyde #victorian literature #literary crossover #Victorian literary crossover #the king in yellow #book covers #book cover designs

[camels-pen]

(Nami, about Zoro, to an amnesiac Usopp)

"Oh c'mon, he's a swell guy. When things aren't so hectic he laughs as loud as anyone else." She elbowed his arm. "He'd smile and drink you under the table in no time."

Usopp stared at the imposing, frowning man with the piercing gray eye. "I think he'd put me through the table, actually," he whispered.

The gray eye turned on him. "Not unless you give me a reason to." Usopp did not squeak, but he did find solace in hiding- no, observing- behind Nami's back.

The man sighed, his frown turning softer. Sadder. "I'm not gonna bite."

Not unless you want me to.

The thought was foreign and abrupt, sliding through his mind without hesitation nor full substance. There one moment, gone the next.

Usopp blinked a few times. "...I didn't know that was a possibility," he said, voice slow and dragging. He shook his head a little, bringing his voice back to its usual anxious pep. "How do I know you're not just tricking this poor girl...?" Something didn't feel quite right about that. Like if anyone was to be in charge of trickery and scams it would be this 'Nami' instead of the scary man.

The man shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling far slower than they should. "You don't."

Nami growled. "Hey-"

"What? He's scared shitless, nothing I say is gonna help." The man turned, making to walk off. "I'll help the cook restock the pantry or something." The pantry was restocked earlier that morning. "Yell if you need me."

Wait, Usopp wanted to say. Please stop, you don't deserve to lock yourself away just because I did something stupid. Come back and try again, I'll be better this time- do better this time- just wait-

Like water through a sieve, the thoughts slipped away.

The man left.

"Zoro's really nice," Usopp said. "Stupid, but nice."

Nami gasped, turning to grab Usopp by his shoulders. "Did you remember something? You remember Zoro?"

Usopp blinked. Stared at her close proximity. "Er, what are you talking about? And who's Zoro?"

Nami sighed, slumping against his chest. "No good, huh? Well no worries on that, we've still got Robin's theory that-"

Usopp hardly heard her explanation, his gaze glued to the galley door. Despite the lack of appetite, he found himself craving a snack.

#one piece #zosopp #usopp #roronoa zoro #nemo the writing ho #woaw late night writing returns! wild how that just happens sometimes #anyway have some amnesiac usopp for ya

[anlian-aishang]

You gift him a new tie to wear, he puts in on immediately. Only for you to pull him nice and close with it later.

Like the lecture hall has been emptied after the last class of the day, you grab the fresh, pristine, new tie right near his throat and and twirl it around your hand so it's a solid hold, and yank on it to bring him forwards. He gets a cute little blush cause you're being so up front about it (which could be unusual) but it's for your benefit as much as his, really.

After all, change is as good as a holiday, right?

Have been screaming about this inbox for over a year and only tonight was my brain able to respond with some words.

tags: [professor] levi ackerman x [wife] reader, smut [foreplay], modern AU, fem!reader word count: 1400

Watching him lecture to a hall of hundreds, it was hard to believe he was your husband. Just this morning, he had brewed you a pot of coffee, wearing nothing but glasses and briefs. So opposite to the professor before you now: black slacks ironed, button-down tucked perfectly into them, sealed with a leather belt - one you remembered using in less academic contexts.

Levi’s voice was uniquely stern, one you seldom heard at home, almost as if he was trying to frighten the undergraduates into remembering every word out his mouth. He could feign all he wanted, but you knew just how deeply he cared. Office hours that often ran overtime: Ackerman never turned away a student at the door. When he finally did make it home, his nights were sleepless: staring at the ceiling, praying that his students were meanwhile studying. He was convinced that he was more anxious for the final than they were - their futures relying on their grade, on their comprehension, on the quality of his teaching, no matter how distantly. 

Maybe that’s why the veins were standing in his neck, why his hand gripped the chalk so tightly, why those ice-blue eyes snapped glances at the clock so often. You shivered in your back-row seat and felt warped back to your first encounter: longing for him to look at you, terrified that he would. Suddenly, you felt the fear of the students, yet in good company of his fangirls. Greatly outnumbered, you were sure that if they knew the marital status of the classroom’s intruder, violence would ensue, and they would promptly audition to serve as her replacement. So ridiculous, you giggled to yourself - at least you had tried to, but someone managed to hear.

“Please,” although his voice was far from pleading as Professor Ackerman spotted you in the crowd. Glaring through black bangs, “contain yourself.”

Audible was the turn of everyone in their old, wooden chairs. All eyes on you felt miniscule compared to his, which still - after all these years - took your breath away. With his students’ attention off of him, Levi tossed you a smirk. Then, with half an eye roll, Ackerman turned back to the board, “Right, as I was saying…”

// // // 

He had warned you that the line would be long, but silly you had not thought about what to do with yourself during that time. You were the only “student” who had brought a purse instead of a backpack, whose notebook was merely a planner’s extra pages, who had not worn sweatpants to the last lecture of the semester. Awkwardly, you paced in the back and made yourself a shadow, aiming to give privacy to the students, their professor, and their last-minute questions. 

Maybe it was the anticipation of what would happen after they left, but you could have sworn that those students were taking their sweet time. Eyeing his wedding ring? Eyeing something else? Soaking up every second with him? Vying for some favoritism before grades were submitted? Your thoughts were ridiculous, but your heart inexplicably tightened. Levi would have scoffed if he knew how you felt, especially given all the times he had referred to them as “snot-nosed brats.” Nevertheless, your pacing burst free from the background: heels clacking loudly, echoing through the near-empty theater, and by proxy - shoving the last students out of the room. 

“Good luck.” By one hand on the podium, Levi pivoted out from behind and waved to them on their way out, “And don’t forget to-” but you had shut the door behind them before he could finish.

With arms crossed and a sour look, you made your way down the aisles, a thwartless pace to the professor. He placed one hand on his hip and teased, “Ah - coming to apologize?”

Right hand slithered over his shoulder, left hand met it at his nape. A brief swipe of his undercut before crawling back down his chest. Palms over his pecs, lungs breathing heavy underneath. Levi tilted his head and stared, “I have to ask, little Mrs. Ackerman, was something funny? Or were you just trying to distract your classmates?” Slender finger traced under your chin and beckoned your gaze to meet his. “I take discipline very seriously, so please - explain yourself.”

“Oh, I just… you know… this class is so boringgg.” You flashed an obnoxious grin, donned an even more obnoxious voice. “I thought I’d just scroll on my phone a bit, cause I mean, when are we ever really going to use this stuff anyways?”

Between your words, your touch had deviated. Fingers delicate as they traced down his sleeves, familiar with all the muscles they hid, until interlocked in his hands. With that hold, you lifted him to your lips. Tongue danced between his chalk-covered digits, lips circled them clean.

Filthy. The clean freak held back his swears, a heavy exhale instead. He bit his lip, biting back a sultry smile. Shaking his head, the pinch of your chin tightened. Snide, “Afraid I have no choice but to give you an F.”

Falsified shock, your lips parted with a gasp that made his pants tighten. Fingertips drifted even lower, following the sewn threads of his shirt. Nails hiked over his nipples and gave a pair of split-second pinches, drawing a stiff arch of his back, at last pressing him to your front. The man shuddered against you, but that did not stop your pursuit. Knuckles hooked through his belt loops and pulled him even closer. At your sex, you could feel him grow: hard, warm, throbbing, though his calm expression gave little indication. As his erection grew, though, his composure was inversely related - as he would put it. Leaking tip met the bottom of his cold belt buckle, his inhales turned sharp. Frustrated grunts as his swell bargained with the confines of his linens. Music to your ears, you felt he deserved some too. 

One hand cupped the back of his neck, the other his length. Snapping his ear to your lips, where teeth scraped, words soothed: “Oh, Professor Ackerman,” with a high-pitched whine and breathless sigh, you kneaded his cock in your grip, “wouldn’t you at least consider giving me a D?”

Before he could react - laugh, choke, or even ask himself did I hear that right? - you grabbed his tie and yanked him to your lips. The satin of the accessory and that of his kiss were a perfect match, exactly what you thought when you bought it. The heel of your hand rode the curve of his nape, fists made in his locks, angling him right where you wanted. Black tea and mint in his taste, you longed to sweeten it with your cream. 

The force he matched you with - you believed he wanted that, too. Brows knit in determination, Levi’s tongue began its own expedition down your throat, teeth sandwiched your lip, prying you open for all his desires. Maintaining the kiss, you hastened to strip each other free. 

At an agonizing pace, you undid his buttons and pulled on his zipper. You were either clumsy or sadistic to fumble with him the way you did: scraping over his slit, dragging his precum along his length, making him extra vulnerable to the evening air when you finally unleashed him. Your delicate touch incited the opposite in him: an unwavering speed he undressed you with. Hem of your shirt to your collarbone, your nipples hardened fast in sudden exposure. Bra hooked loose by one hand, neck squeezed by the other. In a handful of seconds, your only coverage was the love marks on your jawline. 

Pulling away from the kiss, you opened your eyes to a completely different person: no longer the calm and collected Professor Ackerman, but his tender alter ego. Bright blush and disheveled hair, polar to his pale complexion and standard gel. Instead of his commanding speech, embarrassing breaths echoed down the hallway. Perfectly pressed clean clothes had turned wrinkled in strife, damp with overstimulated sweat, especially at his middle. 

Levi’s exhales became your inhales as he struggled to regain his breath. Trembling in your arms, he shook his head and sighed, “Is this why you bought me a tie?” And made some crazy excuse to come to work with me today?

A low chuckle, it was your turn to reciprocate the eye roll. With a quick jerk, you swiped the tie out from under his collar. A lazy swing of your new lasso, “Let’s put this thing to real use.”

// masterlist //

#everybody say thank u nemo #levi #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #professor ackerman #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #anlian writes #alias's #my writing #smut #oneshot #2023

[findingnemosworld]

so luton, when you went up against us you turned into real madrid, but suddenly you can't score a goal against united 🤨

#nemo writes

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

IT'S A DANGEROUS GAME

Prologue - The Accord

“At the touch of your hand, At the sound of your voice, At the moment your eyes meet mine,

I am losing my mind, I am losing control, Full of feelings I can't define.

It's a sin with no name, Like a tiger to tame,

And though no one's to blame

It's a crime and a shame

And the angels proclaim It's a dangerous game… It's a dangerous game.. Such a dangerous game…”

'It's a Dangerous Game"- Jekyll & Hyde

Luscinia cracked her eye open, hissing when a golden ray of sunlight coming from outside met her face.

She propped herself up on her elbows with a slow movement to look around the room, a cascade of her dark cobalt blue hair falling over one her face in a disorderly veil, her head throbbing with each pulse of her heart that, for some reason, was throbbing in her ears rather than her chest.

She shouldn’t have had all those Lestallum cocktails the night before. And she most definitely should have not accepted Libertus’ dare, damn him and his ability to get under her skin.

She knew that by accepting to play along, she was in for one hell of an hangover, the morning after, but she just couldn’t let him get away with all his idiotic insinuations about her and Nyx.

Didn’t matter that he was actually spot on in his thinking, for once in his life.

It was none of his business and that bet was still very much a matter of principle to her.

She never withdraw from a gamble. Never. Even if that meant waking up to a pounding headache, dryness in her throat and a grogginess that made her just want to put her phone on plane mode and hide in her bed for a whole week.

But, she thought, she didn’t have a whole week, not even if she wanted to.

And her last night of debauchery deserved to be celebrated in grand style.

Yeah. Her last night.

She turned her head -slowly, careful not to shake the bells that were already ringing incessantly in her skull- and the mouth of her stomach cramped almost painfully as she looked at the nightstand on her side of her bed.

Months and months of planning stood behind her, weighting on her like the sky on Atlas’ shoulders.

And after today, if all were to go according to her plan - and it had to go as she envisioned - she would have to forgo so much.

That was the way of the accord.

That was part of the price to pay, a price she herself had set up.

Rolling on her back with careful attention, she rubbed her eyes with all the intent of willing the grogginess away, when she suddenly felt a warm, callous hand caressing her cheek with tender care.

She turned just to see the young man lying in her bed, awake and looking at her with a warm twinkle in his blue eyes, accompanied by a mischievous smile on his lips.

“You are up, Sleeping Beauty,” Nyx murmured, his voice as soft as ever.

“Barely, and with every intention to go back to sleep, if this headache won’t kill me first.” she croaked back. ”Gods, I need a painkiller. How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough to discover that you snore whenever you are drunk,”

Luscinia snorted, giving a feeble slap to his bare shoulder.

“If it didn’t hurt so much, I would roll my eyes at you, Soldier Boy,”

Nyx laughed, dipping to catch her lips in a soft kiss.

“Want some coffee?” he murmured in between the kisses.

“Only if you make it. I won’t get out of this bed non even if Cor himself were to bust my door open and bring all the Crownsguard to drag me out of here, and sure as hell I won’t take the chance to just fall and make even more of a fool of myself more than I probably already did yesterday.” She murmured, expecting him to deny that something like that happened. When not a single word came from him, she turned to look at him, eyes wide. “Oh Gods, I did make a fool of myself yesterday, didn’t I?”

Nyx bit his lower lip, barely stifling a laughter.

“Does challenging every Kingsglaive at the the Chocobo’s Lounge to a duet at the Karaoke and fucking up all the lyrics count?”

“Fuck!” she hissed, wanting to hide her face in the pillow.

“You and Libertus did an “amazing” cover of “Love Shack”,”

“Bloody hell, I'm screwed”

“And when “YMCA” started, you managed to drag Tredd and Axis with you on the table,”

Luscinia muttered another curse, feeling her cheeks turning purple, as her brain started to work properly again and she was recalling all that had happened the previous night.

“I can’t help but feel that you are enjoying yourself thoroughly with this, Mr. Ulric,” she grumbled, poking his cheek as she tried to regain some composure.

Nyx chuckled at that, before speaking again.

“That's not even the best of it. In the end, I don’t know who cried more between you and Luche, with “My Heart Will Go On,””

Luscinia’s face blanched.

“Please, Nyx, tell me no one took a video,”

If her brother were to get his hand on any video of her drunk and singing all sort of songs - and badly at that, she was sure-, she would have to go directly to her father and ask to become an hermit.

Nyx bit his lip again, not even trying to hide his mirth, and Luscinia could not suppress a small shriek of frustration.

“Ok, that’s it! I won’t get out of this room ever again! Seal all the entrances of this apartment and LOCK ME IN!” she grumbled, covering her eyes with her bare arms.

But shame was not the only thing she wanted to hide. With each passing minute, sadness was starting to creep up, running its icy fingers to her throat with all the intention to grip to it mercilessly and choke her in her tears.

The morning was not even done yet, and she was already missing those moments with all her being.

“Drown everything, Cinna,” she thoughts, pursing her lips. “Drown everything.”

She heard Nyx chuckle again, his voice low in her ear and that felt like a jab to her heart.

Soft, fluttering kisses tickled her collarbone, following the line of her neck, his lips lingering on her pulse for a moment longer than normal before brushing her jaw with sensual sweetness.

“But, if it can be of consolation, you won the bet with Libertus,”

She gave him a small smile.

“Meager consolation. But I appreciate you tell him. Now I will never stop tormenting him with this.”

“That’s my girl,“ Nyx whispered between one kiss and the other. ”You know… your bet with Libertus got me thinking, yesterday night.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I know that when we started this whole arrangement together, you and I, we discussed with each other that we didn’t want any commitment, that what we are now would not go past this bedroom…but I wouldn’t mind cross the threshold with you and going “official”,”

“Official?” Luscinia asked, raising her arms to look at him, eyes wide. She didn’t like where the conversation was going. “What do you mean?”

“You and I, Luscinia…you know, making things official. Becoming more than just bedmates...becoming a couple. I think-“ he took a small deep breath, as if to find the right words. “I think I’m falling for you.”

Luscinia tensed at those words, her whole body turning rigid before she could stop herself. She was grateful for the darkness inside her room, the dusk dimming the fear that was written all over her face, because she realized that she was not able to put a mask of neutrality as she always did.

“You’d better not, Soldier Boy. Nothing good will come from that,” She just answered with a small nervous laughter. “I’m a difficult woman, and you know that with my work, I might disappear for months,” “ And nothing good would come from a broken woman that has sworn off love from her life. I am a broken empty cup,” she thought, lips quivering as she fended off memories that were coming uncalled for.

Nyx laughed, not catching the tension in her voice.

“What if I were not afraid by the challenge? What if we can make this work?”

Even in the sweet penumbra, she could see his gaze softening as he looked at her.

She could hear the hope in his voice.

“Oh No. No no no no,” she thought, pursing her lips, her jaw tensing to the point of pain. “He is serious.”

She felt her heart thundering in her chest at those words, blood flushing to her cheeks.

She had to call to all her strength of will to keep her breathing normal, to stop herself from allowing her thoughts to run wild.

He should have never said that.

It should have never happened.

It was supposed to be something simple, between them.

They had agreed to that simplicity when they had found themselves wrapped in each other’s carnal embrace in a secluded corner of the Kingsglaive’s Headquarters, drunk on the concupiscent desire that had been brewing in the deepest part of their bodies for months after their first meeting together; the same desire that was to be the only thread they should have allowed to connect one to the other, a passion of the senses not murked by any emotion, if not lust.

She realized that she was holding her breath, as she looked at him, her thoughts frenzying like sharks that had just smelled blood in water.

Please, don’t give me that look.

I want you.

I want-

But I can’t give more.

I don’t have anything more to give.

I am No One. Broken. Empty.

I belong to Insomnia.

You belong to someone that can give you all the love that you need, Nyx.

Not a broken woman.

She swallowed hard, letting out another nervous laughter.

“We are both too hangover to discuss about this. Let’s drink some coffee, and once we are both sober again - completely sober - we will see.” She murmured, giving him a small kiss on the nose before plopping back on the pillow.

Nyx gave her a long look, but this time, his expression was absolutely undecipherable. Without adding a word, Luscinia felt the man putting back his boxer and standing up, closing the door behind him as he found his way to the kitchen.

Left alone with her own thoughts, Luscinia realized that she was gripping to the dark satin sheets as if her all life depended on that graps. Releasing them, She took deep breaths, hoping that it would help clear her mind completely and would give chase to that pestiferous sadness that was so unwelcome.

She knew he was disappointed in her response, probably confused - or worse - resentful about her trying to evade his question with her lukewarm excuse -because she knew he knew damn well that her hangover was just an excuse to postpone that discourse.

They were friends. They had been friends for years, and bed companions for a period almost as long….why wasn’t it enough for him?

And more importantly, how did she not catch a hint that his feelings for her were growing stronger in his heart?

And what about her feelings?

Oh Gods, she thought. No. No. Stop now, Luscinia.

She turned rigid again, shutting her eyes and her mind door, before she were to start threading in waters she had no intention of even taking a peak.

Even if she had feelings for him - and she stop herself from thinking about, even before she could entertain the possibility - she would never act on them.

There was too much at stake, for too many.

The Accord.

The Accord was all that mattered now.

She wished she could explain to him, because she knew that he would understand then, bound by honour and loyalty just like she was.

But she couldn’t.

And she wouldn’t.

Secrecy was second nature to her, and the one rule she never -ever- failed to follow, no matter the personal costs.

Her father himself had ingrained it into her since a young age; It was all she had known since she began working for Lucis’ Intelligence.

And yet, she hated that she had hurt him.

She hated it with all her being.

The lump in her throat threatened to choke her again, as a tear rolled down her cheek, wetting the pillow.

Yes, she definitely still had too much alcohol in her body.

She never cried.

Never.

She bit her lip until she tasted her own blood, knowing that her physical pain would subjugate the ache in her tired heart.

Ding.

A muffled ringing sound came from her nightstand, catching her attention.

A text.

Taking one last deep breath, Luscinia dried her eyes, before turning her entire focus to the message that had just arrived. She stretched over the bed and opened a secret drawer on the side of the nightstand, where a burner phone was hidden from sight just beneath an old file.

No number.

She didn't needed it, though.

The context made perfectly clear who the sender was.

“I accept. I expect the signed document to be delivered to me by you - in person - in Altissia. You know where. Don’t take too long, Mrs Chancellor.”

Luscinia’s eyes widened at those words, her sentimental woes momentarily set aside as her head started to spin so fast she was grateful to be already lying on her bed.

Cold blood rushed to her temples, as fear and gratification melted into one bubble of emotions that left her both elated and absolutely terrified.

It was done.

Dear Gods, it was done.

It was over. …

Oh Gods, it was truly over now.

“Calm yourself, Cinna,” she murmured, patting her cheeks to get back to her senses. “There is still work to do,”

Her mind was a cauldron of thoughts, bubbling away, threatening to boil over if she didn’t compose herself. But she needed to calm down. She couldn’t allow herself to dwell on every single thought that was threatening to break her even more than she already felt broken, lingering dreams and wishes that, now she knew, she would do well to lock under key and never open ever again.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on what she always did whenever she felt like spiraling: she put herself in motion and redirected her attention to the work ahead.

Quick as a whip, she jumped off her bed, and started to recover her stockings and clean underwear, before rushing to her her wardrobe and produce a freshly ironed pinstriped dress out of it.

She needed to hurry.

Once she was completely dressed, she took the same burner phone, she dialed the first number that came up in her recently called.

“Come on, pick up, pick up, pick up,” she murmured, starting to pace the room while brushing the knots out of her hair.

“Pavus?”

Luscinia smiled hearing her codename.

“Yes, it’s me. Thalassa, listen well: the Hatter has answered. I need you to bring the documents up to the Penthouse for the Master to see them. It needs to happen no later than tonight.”

A short silence followed. For a moment Luscinia thought that Thalassa had hung up on her.

“Dear Gods, you truly did it.” she heard her whisper under her breath. “Are you...are you alright?"

“It doesn't matter how I am feeling, Thalassa. I need you to focus: clear his schedule and bring him the documents. The entire file. Send me a thrill once he is alone at the Penthouse and I will take care of the rest.”

“Copy that.”

The phone went silent once more.

Luscinia reread the text again and again, and each time she felt a cold shiver run up her back. She could almost hear his voice, pronouncing those words.

“Luscinia? Is everything alright?” she heard Nyx calling her. “I heard you talking at the phone,” She turned to look at the man, and her heart dropped, sitting on her stomach like a sack of bricks. There was something so endearing in having him standing at the door, mussed unbraided hair, a cup of freshly brewed coffee in each hand, as he looked at her with worried eyes.

If they were a couple, would he do that everyday?

Each day waking her up with a kiss, like a princess of the fairytale of old? Spending the mornings in bed together and share what happened to each other at work? Planning a life together?

Her stomach gripped with the same ferocity as before.

Focus, Luscinia.

Let it all go.

Leave it all behind.

It’s all over now.

“Yeah,” she whispered with a small smile, grateful that she was finally able to put her mask again. “Something came up at work and I’m needed at the Citadel.”

He nodded, his blue eyes turning sad.

“ 'Was kinda hoping we could spend the day together, today. But work is work,” he murmured, and with a melancholic smile, he offered her the warm mug. “You better drink this first, then. You’ll need the all the caffeine you can get,”

Luscinia barely managed to muster a feeble “thanks” as she took the coffee and drank it all in one go, uncaring that it burnt her tongue.

It was dark and bitter and strong as a slap across the face.

Altissia’s finest espresso, with just a dash of cinnamon and cloves that brought out the toasty flavour.

She looked at him, heart fluttering in her chest.

He always remembered how she liked her coffee.

He always remembered to put it in her favourite Moguri mug, the one with the broken pom pom.

Ever since she had told him the first time they had slept together.

Please, don’t do this to me, Nyx. She thought, trying to keep her lips from quivering.

Please.

I beg you.

“Will I see you again soon?” he asked, and Luscinia couldn’t ignore the hopeful tone in his voice.

She shook her head, offering another sad smile in return as an apology for breaking that hope.

“I don't know," she murmured in all earnest. "It might take me a few hours or all day, and if they decide to give me the assignment, it will take longer than that. You know how it is by now.”

He nodded, his face turning in a mask of solemnity.

He indeed knew.

“Go then. I wouldn’t want your superiors to give you some flak for being late. We will talk more about us-“ but he stopped himself, as if to ponder his next words. “We will talk again once you are back,”

Luscinia called upon herself all her considerable strength of will to maintain a neutral expression.

But it was too much even for her.

She brought one hand behind his neck, caressing his dark hair and tiptoeing, she planted a long sweet kiss on his cheek, uncaring about the bristles of his 5 O’clock. She kept her eyes shut, terrified that if she was to meet his gaze again, she would not be able to block the tears that were pounding behind her eyelids.

It was her silent apology for not having an answer for him.

Her silent “thank you” for all that he had done for her in all those years.

Her silent goodbye to all that could have been.

“Take care, Soldier Boy, ” she whispered against his skin, inhaling his cologne once last time before dashing outside the door, without looking back.

Be safe.

*****

“Come on, come on, come on,” Luscinia grumbled, tapping her foot with impatience as the elevator sped up toward the last floors of the Citadel.

She had waited all day for Thalassa’s call to arrive, all day spent pacing around town like a ghost, trying to find a distraction among all the memories that were weaved in all the places where she had hang out through out all her life, ever since she had joined the Royal family.

She had wandered aimlessly, letting her feet bring her around without stopping anywhere for more than a few minutes, terrified that the call of home might overwhelm her and make regret her decisions.

Terrified that, if she were to catch even a glimpse of something that might remind her of Nyx, she might be tempted to turn on her heels and go back to her apartment, running from her duties.

No.

Never.

“The Accord is all that matters. Insomnia is all that matters. It’s all that will matter.” she war repeating to herself even now, muttering under her breath, in her solitary ride in the elevator.

The small chime of the elevator’s bell brought her focus back on the task in front of her. She was at the last floor.

The Penthouse.

“It’s showtime.” she murmured.

She squared her shoulders and straightened her back, tilting her chin with certitude. Her face smoothed, almost transforming under her iron will as she canceled all traces of any sentiment she might have hold earlier, molding instead a mask of absolute inscrutability.

Taking a deep breath - the deepest one she could muster - she pressed the button that would bring her to the King.

The doors opened in front of her with a silent swish, welcoming her to the antechamber where armchair of soft leather were disposed elegantly for the visitors that were to wait before being received by His Majesty.

It was completely empty now, but she had expected that much, considering the time of the evening.

“Sire?” Luscinia called, her voice echoing against the tall wall of the King’s studio.

A small pang of melancholy came knocking on her heart’s doors as she found her way to the main room where the King held his private correspondence.

It had been years since she last entered that studio, years since she had to rely a news of that magnitude. She always left the reports in Thalassa’s safe hands, the only one she trusted to deliver any document that needed discretion and confidentiality, knowing that she would do the job quick and well.

Not this time.

The Accord was her brainchild.

This time, it fell on her to speak with the King.

She saw him, seated at his desk as per usual whenever his duty required him to partake in bureaucratic affairs. His hands were clasped together against his lips, his green eyes focused on the thick report sitting in front him as he combed through the sentences with meticulous attention.

Luscinia narrowed her eyes, and immediately recognized the file that the King was studying.

She felt her heart flutter, as a cold realization -a final awareness that her plan had come to its final stage- seeped through her vein like ice.

She had moved all the pieces, prepared the chessboard with painstaking finesse.

It was now or never.

He had to agree to the Accord.

He had to.

“All that staring and concentrating will give you more wrinkles than a crumpled piece of paper, Sire,” she said, raising her voice just enough to catch his attention.

King Regis looked up from the papers, the tense mask around his eyes not leaving him despite Luscinia’s attempt to bring some levity to the almost saturnine atmosphere.

He didn’t move, didn’t do anything to make her understand his mood of thoughts. He just kept staring at her with such keen attention, she felt as if he could see right to her bones.

Finally, he waved his hand, silently signaling her to approach.

Luscinia did as she was told, still not daring to utter a word until the King spoke first.

For a moment, she saw a shift in the man’s posture: his shoulders slumped just a little, his back not as straight as it had been a few seconds earlier, almost as if another weight had been placed on his already fatigued shoulders.

He was tired, she could see it in every little movement he made.

The King sighed, as if to confirm Luscinia’s intuition. He still held his silence, but now his weary eyes were looking at the young woman with resignation.

Luscinia returned the look with a neutral one of her own, almost feigning ignorance as to why she had been summoned.

But she knew why he had called upon her and she would not be the one to start that conversation.

Another minute ticked by, in the perfect still air of the studio.

Then, the King finally spoke, breaking the silence.

“What have you done, child?”

His voice, despite the tiredness of its tone, had a hidden sharpness in its words.

Was it anger, for having acted in the darkness? Resentment, for having chosen without consulting him first?

Or perhaps…was it worriment for his own blood?

Luscinia stood perfectly still, hand clasped behind her back, not allowing any emotion to trespass the barrier she had risen as she cleared her voice to respond with solemnity.

“What was needed for Insomnia and Lucis. I only had the welfare of this kingdom and the security of its citizens in mind, Sire. You yourself have imparted me with this lesson since you welcomed me to the Citadel. I am a Daughter of Insomnia and our Kingdom’s main Ambassador. My life’s only purpose is to serve the good people of this Kingdom by any mean necessary.”

Regis sighed, leaning against the back of his leather chair, bringing a hand over his eyes.

“What reason did you have to act in secret, going as far as to act behind your King’s back, without his knowledge?”

Luscinia maintained her air of neutrality, ignoring the sudden uneasiness that had started to crept into her chest.

“Despite having been advised the contrary -and believe me about this, Sire, I have been advised to not act as I did- I deemed secrecy necessary and acted accordingly. It was my own work, and the responsibility for it - for good or worse- is mine alone. I knew that you would have not…considered my point, if I were to come to you with this proposal. I needed time to gather enough evidences so that you could see the benefits we are to harvest, once you are to lend me your support.”

King Regis moved his hand from his eyes and raised his eyebrows, and gave the woman a long look.

“And whose support were you looking for, Cinna? The King…or your father?”

Luscinia pursed her lips, jaw tensing at the sound of her childhood nickname.

So, now he was wearing the Father’s mask.

She always found it was easier to deal with him as her King rather than her dad.

Much less complicated, with far less emotions involved and to deal with - something Luscinia always dreaded.

She let the question hang between them for moments that seemed to tick by as slow as hours.

In the end, she decided to play his game.

She unclasped her hands and slumped her shoulders ever so slightly, allowing her posture to relax. She even allowed her voice to turn softer - a daughter’s voice.

“Both. I need you to warrant me your support, Papa, both as my King and as my father. Did you read my report?”

Regis pursed his lips, brows furrowing as his attention was brought once more to the thick pile of documents sitting in front of him.

If Luscinia didn’t knew him any better, she could think that he looked almost forlorn.

“I did. In its entirety.” A sour smile graced his lips. “I must admit, Luscinia, I was impressed with how meticulous it was. It must have taken you weeks to gather all the data and verify their credibility.”

“Months,” she confessed in a whisper, rolling her eyes. “The Chancellor has the tendency to be erratic and hard to locate, when he puts his mind at it. He made my job much harder than it needed to be.”

Regis raised from his chair, helping himself with the cane that was always at his disposal, and slowly made his way toward Luscinia, his eyes never leaving hers.

Despite his stern expression, she could see something else hiding there as well: fear.

It was enough to take her aback: he had never showed fear to her. Not once.

“You are playing a dangerous game, Luscinia. The man seems to act like a fool, a buffoon strolling around without a purpose, but there is a reason he has been Chancellor for so long.” He murmured, allowing his worry to seep through his words. “Aldercapt relies on him in ways that extend way past his office’s duties.”

They exchanged a knowingly look.

“Then you know why I acted in secrecy and came to you when all that was needed was your signature to formalize this accord. The Empire is almost at our gate. It has devoured almost all of our territories. It’s planning to take over Insomnia as well, and they won’t stop until they do. I know you can keep the peace a while longer with the Wall-“ she stopped, her jaw tensing at the thought and its implications, trying to push the sadness down, locked away with all that was already under key in her heart. It was no time for sentimentalism. “-But regardless of this, Father, we need to act quickly. This could be the best compromise to at least stall the attack the Empire is planning and give us the time to actually work from the inside.”

Regis’ lips stretched in a wide smile, that hid none of his feelings for the stubborn woman in front of him. Sometimes it felt like looking in a mirror.

“Is that…a smile of pride, Sire?” Luscinia asked, amused.

“I have always been proud of you, daughter.” He murmured with kind voice. “ You have given me reasons aplenty. You know, perhaps…perhaps I should have been more forward and express my pride more openly. Maybe you would have had no reason to actually go behind my back to strike this agreement. However, I must admit that now my pride for you is overshadowed by a far greater concern for your own safety.”

The dark-haired woman tensed at his praise. She never knew how to respond to those affection, especially when that validation came from her father. While she never doubted his love, she was not always sure about his esteem toward her.

Hearing those words made her feel more more like an awkward adolescent rather than the self-assured woman she was.

So, she just cleared her voice, offering the King a somewhat embarrassed smile, redirecting the conversation on the matter at hand.

“Uh…No-no need to fret nor concern yourself over me, Father. I know what I am doing. Besides, I have been fending off for myself for as long as I can remember. You told me that it was the reason why you assigned me to Intelligence. I will get through this as well. We all be far safer and richer for it,”

The Kings frowned, his lips tightly pursed at her words.

“The Chancellor will never trust you, but will expect...the fulfilment of duties from you, may the Gods curse him a thousand times," he spat out the word as if they were poison in his mouth, and before he could stop himself, her wrapped his daughter in a hug. "You will be alone, constantly surveyed, all your correspondence monitored and possibly censored; Whenever you decide to travel, you will be followed around under the excuse of being escorted, and they will not allow you to be back to Insomnia alone - if they even will allow you to come back to us.” The King’s eyes filled with profound pain at the thought. “Cinna… you will be a prisoner in all but name. You will be a nightingale in a cage.”

Luscinia’s smile softened at his worry.

“You shouldn’t have read me that story so often as a child,” she joked, allowing herself to bring one hand to her father’s arm to comfort him. “You needn’t worry, Father. I haven’t earned being called “The Escapist” for nothing. Besides… I am not afraid of what they will do to me. I will fulfill my duties, whatever they might be. Considering what we know about their intention - their real intention - I just hope that this will help buy some time to you…and to Noctis,”

It was Regis’ turn to return the soft smile.

“You had been a good sister to your brother.”

She shrugged, shaking her head with sadness.

“Not good enough. If I could do more for him, I would. I truly would. But this is all I can do for him, to try and keep him safe. My gift to him. I will be the most loyal subject to him when he will become King, although I hope this won’t happen for a long time still. I will be his eyes and ears in the Empire. But until then, this is all I can do to protect my home and my family. Grant me the support needed to go through with this, Father.” She took his hands in hers, her gaze as resolute as it always was. “Trust in me.”

Regis sighed, his chest feeling constricted in a grip of guilt and worry, as he lowered his head.

Without another word, he walked back to his desk, each step feeling as heavy as if lead had been attached to his limbs, dragging him against the floor.

He sat back and took his pen, stopping his hand from the slight tremor that ran through his fingers.

He looked at his daughter one last time, and all he could see was the young child that would always come in his office and shyly asked to be read her bedtime stories, the child whose curious eyes would try and read whatever document he had on his desk because, all she wanted, was to help her papa with his homework.

How those years had flew by so fast, he still didn’t know.

How that bashfulness had transformed in steel resilience, he didn’t know either.

Yet it was all there, in the confident woman that stood tall and proud in front of him: a woman that loved her family to the point of sneak behind her father’s and king’s back, to strike an accord that would put chains to her hands.

He sighed one last time.

Then, with steady hand, he apposed his signature on the document in front of him, just beneath where his own daughter’s signature stood.

The official finalization of the Accord: Insomnia’s proposal of the arranged marriage between Chancelor Ardyn Izunia and Ambassador Luscinia Lucis Caelum, Daughter of Insomnia.

Bloody hell, I am done.

Don't ask me what happened or how I managed to finish the Prologue of this, because I myself am still wondering about it.

I just found myself thinking about my handsome bastard, and before I knew it, here I was pouring down word after word, while also making a moodboard banner for it .

But omg I am invested in this now.

INVESTED I SAY.

Well, I hope you will like this. <3

Sorry about the angst though.

It will happen again lololol.

--Nemo

#Final Fantasy XV #Final Fantasy #Ardyn Izunia #Ardyn Lucis Caelum #Luscinia Lucis Caelum #nyx ulric #ArdynxOc #It's a dangerous game #Nemo Writes #ocfairygodmother

[nemossubmarine]

Title: Keeping Time (Trazyn/Orikan)

Summary: Something is haunting the galleries of Trazyn the Infinite. It starts with a single medal disappearing and then reappearing out of place. Soon time itself is starting to crumble around the galleries, and unfortunately enough Trazyn knows exactly who to ask for help; Orikan the Divine, the last Seer of the Necrontyr.

Though Trazyn's galleries give him a headache even on the best of days, Orikan agrees to help; partially out of curiosity, partially because if something were to destroy the galleries, he'd definitely want to have the first row seat.

Becoming trapped outside time inside the galleries is not the kind of thing that would mend the fraught relationship between the two ancient scholars. Unfortunately that is exactly what happens.

My Warhammer 40k Big Bang is out! With awesome art by @becauseihad-too! If you like old gay robots bickering (and who doesn't?), check it out!

#nemo writes #wh 40k big bang #trazyn the infinite #orikan the divine #warhammer 40k fanfic #warhammer 40k big bang

[mrsluthordanvers]

Supercorptober 2022

Leaves

Imagine Kara and Lena sneaking pictures of each other.

Read on AO3

It’s not uncommon for Lena and Kara to sneak pictures of each other. Both of their phones are filled with pictures they’ve taken of each other over the years.

At first it’s just Lena casually snapping photos of Kara and their friends during game nights. One or two of them popping up in the superfriends group chat much to everyone’s delight. Lena manages to keep herself out of most photos until she and Kara start dating.

Once they start dating, Kara notices Lena’s camera is pointing in her direction more and more often. It doesn’t take long before Kara is holding up her phone in silent question, laughing when Lena rolls her eyes fondly and holds a position while Kara quickly takes a picture.

It becomes somewhat of a habit after that. The two of them simply snapping pictures when the moment strikes.

Kara with a potsticker halfway to her open mouth.

Lena wedged into the corner of their couch reading a book in a pair of sweatpants and thick rimmed glasses.

Kara in their bedroom buttoning up her shirt in front of the window, back lit by the rising sun.

Lena lounging in the tub with an excessive amount of bubbles, a glass of wine dangling from her fingers, and her feet propped up along the corner.

Even now, when Kara is running late to meet her wife she can't fight the temptation to snap a photo of Lena.

Her fingers drift to her pocket the moment her eyes land on Lena sitting on their park bench. Her wife hasn't spotted her yet, her chin pointed in the opposite direction as Lena watches a little girl be happily pulled along by a dog much bigger than herself as her parents follow a short step behind.

She's dressed in a designer knit sweater and brown leather boots that go over the knees of her jeans, looking much more cozy than she has any right. The sun hasn't quite started to set yet, casting Lena in gold as it catches in the yellow leaves around her.

Kara barely has time to snap a picture before Lena is lifting her tea to take a sip as she looks around. Kara knows she's been spotted when Lena smiles and lifts her hand to pat the empty spot on the bench beside her. The moment she sits Lena's cool fingers wiggle against her ribs until they settle in the crook of her elbow and she’s pressed up against Kara’s side with a sigh. Her free hand using her cup to motion towards the little girl now holding onto the leash with both hands stretched in front of her as she runs behind her dog.

"She makes me think of you as a kid." Lena smiles, laughing joyfully when Kara pokes her in the ribs in retaliation.

Day 1 - Summer Day 12 - Evening Day 6 - Leaves

#supercorp #supercorptober2022 #supergirl #nemo writes #I know I technically shared the ao3 link to this yesterday but I don't care #I'm posting anyway bc I can and bc I love it and I am trying to inspire myself to write more lol #comments and tags feed me #enjoy! #happy supercorp sunday #or monday if i'm posting that late for you

[nem0-kn0ws-n0t]

I know the kindest thing (Is to leave you alone)

Maybe that's why he's sitting on his dock, barefeet in cold water, fishing for something he's not even sure he needs in the middle of the night.

He feels a sigh coming up his throat. If only this would help.

OR

Insomnia vs hermits caring for each other, fight On AO3!

The moonlight reflects off of the water, giving it an impression of stillness. The waves lap lazily against the shore and against his legs, but he can barely feel them anymore. The stillness of the scene seems as if in direct contrast with the discordant thoughts in his head. Maybe that's why he's sitting on his dock, bare feet in cold water, fishing for something he's not even sure he really needs in the middle of the night.

He feels a sigh coming up his throat. If only this would help.

"Is anything biting?"

He doesn't jump, thank you very much, but he does flinch at Gem's voice. A glance back over his shoulder reveals her to be in her pajamas, a bathrobe thrown over for modesty and her hair in loose braids falling over her shoulders. He turns back to the water and shrugs his shoulder.

"I think they're asleep."

Gem hums noncommittally and comes closer, to where Grian can almost feel her behind his back.

"Probably tired from all that swimming, makes sense."

Grian doesn't deign to answer, calloused hands clutching the fishing road tighter, his eyes never straying from the bobbin.

Time passes. Perhaps minutes, perhaps hours, hard to tell this early.

He feels her shift slightly and the next second, a heavy woollen blanket is dropped over his shoulders. He startles, already turning back to her, only to be greeted by a flask held out to him. He meets her green eyes above the steam, confusion meeting amusement.

"Take it" She pushes the flask closer to him, forcing him to grab onto it to prevent a spill. "It's cold out here."

He's about to question it before the smell reaches him- and Gem just handed him hot chocolate. The good kind too, probably nicked or bartered from Doc (probably nicked, that man is possessive over his cocoa mix). He blinks stupendously.

"I'm not a child." Tumbles out of his mouth before realizing what he's saying. He winces inwardly at the words- being tired has always made him more snappish than usual. Before he can apologize, Gem cuts him off with a giggle.

"Course not." She pats him comfortingly on his shoulder, over the warm orange blanket that is indeed keeping him warm. He hadn't even noticed how cold it'd gotten before being covered. "That's why it's the *good* kind."

A second whiff at the flask reveals a familiar fermented note to the sweet aroma of cocoa. Ah, some of Keralis's flair as well. How...sweet.

"Thank you." He bites out, now cradling the flask against his chest. Gem simply smiles at him and straightens back up.

"Of course." She brushes off her robe. "Have a good night, Grian." She remarks over her shoulder as she turns back towards her boat.

He watches her until she climbs back into her boat, until the lights dim once again in her bedroom before taking a sip of the cocoa. The warmth seeps into his body, into his soul, dulling some of the harshest thoughts. He feels a smile tug at the corner of his lips.

"Good night Gem."

~~~

Somehow, being rocked to sleep by the sea is not nearly as soothing as it should be. The waves lapping against the deck and the slow consistent creaking of the wood tangle to create a haunting type of lullaby, one that simply can’t lull Gem to sleep.

She feels herself shifting again and again, trying desperately to lean into the day’s exhaustion but nothing works. Sighing, she gives up and sits up, digging her palms into her eye socket and letting out a groan.

She cannot afford to be this picky about sleep this early in the season. Not when she needs to be up at the crack of dawn to keep grinding away at her projects.

With a huff she gets up, dragging her blankets over her shoulders and picking up the lantern. Maybe some fresh air will do her some good.

Slowly, groggily, she makes her way to the bow and drapes herself half haphazardly over the railing. Here, staring out into the open waters, she feels almost at peace. There’s something almost hypnotic about the repeated movements, the ups and downs of the boat as it bobs on the river. Here, under the dark sky and the silver of the moon, adrift on the ship, time seems to slip away from her. No responsibilities, no projects, nothing important. Just back and forth and back and forth and-

“Maybe you should get away from the edge” an amused voice calls from behind her “before you fall overboard.”

If Gem wasn’t as drop-dead exhausted, she probably would have jumped. But she did startle, jerking back a bit too hard, momentarily losing her balance.

“Woah!” The voice calls out before warm hands settle on her back, steadying her. She blinks a few times, before shooting a glance backwards only to be met by familiar blond curls. She takes a moment to place them.

“...Grian?” The answering chuckle confirms his identity.

“How out of it are you?”

Gem hums noncommital, slumping forward to lean her arms on the edge, chin resting on her forearms.

“Can’t sleep.” She mumbles, eyes trained on the horizon. His hands shifted until he was rubbing comforting circles on her back.

“And so you decide to fall asleep on the edge of the boat instead.” The smile is clear in his voice “Makes sense.”

Gem shrugs “It’s soothing” Grian chuckles again, hand coming up to massage the back of her neck. A noise builds up at the back of her throat in contentment and she lets her eyes drift shut, just for a second.

Grian hmms, non committedly.

“Alright, scooch over.” The gentle hands turn back to her shoulder and ever so softly, she feels herself shifting around until she’s curled against a warm shoulder, a heavy woollen blanket draped over her shoulders once again. Blearingly, she opens her eyes, only to be met by twinkling eyes and an easy smile.

“What are you…” She mumbles out, curling slightly more into the warmth, a yawn cutting her off.

“Making sure you don’t fall overboard.” Comes the hushed answer, an arm snaking around her waist. Gem hums, eyes already slipping back closed. She does manage to shimmy her blanket over his shoulders as well, enveloping the both of them into a warm cocoon. This close, she can smell the sea salt and fresh wood smells clinging to his fabric, a smell somehow comforting. Somehow soothing.

Somehow, all her earlier reluctance to sleep evades her and she feels herself slowly drift off.

The chest under her rumbles one last time.

“Good night, Gem.”

#hermitcraft fanfic #fanfiction #hermitcraft smp #Grian #geminitay #Grian & Gem #silly little thoughts #friendship #but mostly ambiguous #read it however you wanna read it friend #art is to be perceived #not told #cross posted on ao3 #nemo writes