#crystalline caverns | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

party-hearses · 6 months

Text

go ahead and cry, little girl

pairing: joel x f!reader (no use of y/n)

rating: explicit, MDNI 18+

word count: 2.4k

summary: daddy makes everything better.

warnings/tags: explicit smut, pwp, established relationship, softdom!joel, pre/no outbreak (up to you baby), brief mention of alcohol, daddy kink, pet names (baby, baby girl, little one, little girl), dacryphilia, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, size kink (big joel is big), overstimulation, creampie. lmk if i’m forgetting anything!

a/n: i said i needed to have the feelings fucked out of me, right?

huge thank you to @bastardmandennis for letting me cry and be dramatic about this, and @nostalxgic for beta-ing, and always being excited about what i’m working on 🖤

You’re two cocktails deep when Joel’s keys turn in the lock.

Anxious muscles carry you to meet him at the door, the overhead lights in the entryway low, cloaking you in shadow.

It startles him, a sharp hiss spit from between his teeth when he nearly bowls you over.

“Shit, baby. Scared me.”

He snaps the door shut behind him, massive frame silhouetted by the broken rays of light coming through the distorted glass.

“Daddy,” you whine in response, fingers already tugging on the cuff on his jean jacket, coaxing it off him.

It’s all he needs to hear.

Immediately, the jacket is on the floor, forgotten, and his hands are cradling your face tenderly.

“You need daddy?” he soothes, lips ghosting your own. You nod, doe-eyes wide and swimming with tears, bottom lip quivering in a pout.

“Baby…” he presses his mouth to yours hungrily, swallowing your pathetic hiccups, letting the way the tip of his tongue slides along the line of your lip finish his sentence. He opens you up for him, licking into you with a different kind of urgency, his tongue massaging hot against your own.

Open palms follow, slipping over the the sensitive flesh of your throat, thumbs tracing crescent moons into your jugular.

Your blood hums under his touch — blooms hot across the plane of your chest, thickens with anticipation. It would be too much, if it wasn’t exactly enough. If you didn’t need it.

His hands fall further, reassuring and insistent, until he’s scooping you up against him, one hand curved against the swell of your ass, fingertips edged just under the lace trim of your panties, the other splayed flat at the small of your back. You cling to him, arms locked around the heft of his neck, face nuzzled into the slope of his shoulder.

“Did my sweet baby have a bad day?” he mumbles into your hair, footfalls heavy in the narrow emptiness of the hallway leading to your bedroom.

You sniffle in response, tears still pinching at the backs of your eyes. He hums a condolence, a promise to make it better, into the delicate shell of your ear.

His arms tighten around you as he drops his body to the bed, positioning you securely in his lap. Absentmindedly, you grind down against him, desperate for him to have you now. To feel only him.

But you know he’ll take his time, given the way the hand on your back crawls up your spine to cradle the base of your skull in its palm. He laces his fingers in the roots of your hair, tugging just enough to tip your head back and meet your gaze.

Crystalline tears stream down the round of your cheeks, the torrid relief of finally being in Joel’s arms overwhelming. A small smile plays across his features when he sees them, eyes a cavernous, pooling black. He brings your face to his mouth, snaking his tongue out to catch the falling drops.

“You’re so pretty when you cry, baby girl.”

You whimper, writhing against his hold — a feeble attempt to roll your hips against his hard length eliciting a pitiful laugh from him.

“No, little one. You know the rules. Let daddy take care of you.”

Another hiccup, more tears, and a supplicant nod follow his command. He purrs against you, hand roaming around the gentle curve of your thigh to your center, where his thumb strokes soft lines across your throbbing clit. A reward for your capitulation.

You squirm under his ministrations, a dark pool of slick soaked across the material of your panties. His pressure remains consistent; practically feather-light and sumptuously tortuous.

The combination of soft lace and calloused skin drives you wild — makes you cant your hips forward, chasing his touch. Even though you know better.

He clicks his tongue against his teeth, tsk tsk, before skimming his other hand down the span of your arm to capture both your wrists in one massive palm behind your back. The muscles in your thighs quiver, knees dug into the bed on either side of him, overextended from the precarious act of balancing on his lap.

You flex your arms against his grasp, wiggling your ass for some kind of leverage. His grip only tightens — pushes forward to arch your body towards him, to press your chest flush to his.

“Little girl…” it’s a warning, his voice dripping as wet as your tears against the dip of your collarbone.

All you can manage is a broken mewl in the shape of his name, letters italicized and underlined with earnest desire. You know it’s exactly what he wants — to break you open completely, flesh and muscle and bone softened into something perfect and pliant.

“Need you, daddy. Need you,” you plead quietly.

His thumb strokes faster, harder. The zipper of his jeans bites into the place your thigh meets your pelvis, the sting of it sending shivers through you when he raises his hips.

“Say please, baby. Ask me nice.”

You don’t need to be told a second time.

“Please, daddy.”

He hums in pleased approval, pausing to skate the angle of his nose against the cut of your jaw.

“Let me undress you, little one.” He tugs your arms back, cupping your ass to steady you as you straighten your legs to shakily stand.

You watch the pull of his biceps through half-lidded eyes as he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of your panties, laving tender kisses across your belly as he eases them down to your ankles. Your fingers clutch his disheveled curls for balance as he does, every graze of his skin against yours dizzying.

His hands slide back up your calves and thighs, languorous and reverent, beard scratching sinful against your softness. The clench of your cunt is persistent, slick dripping down the flesh of your thighs without your panties to stop it.

Your lashes flutter closed, bitten lips popping open as you let the feel of him consume you. It’s the sweep of his fingers that you focus on as they climb up, up, up, bypassing the place you need his touch most, to delve below your t-shirt.

He cups the fullness of your tits there, swiping his thumbs across your sensitive nipples before rolling them to taut peaks between his deft fingers. Sparks of pleasurepain wind through you when he pinches and pulls at them, soft moans decorating the space between your bodies.

The shirt comes off, then, his need growing to mirror your own, his touch more urgent — more desperate. His mouth finds your nipples immediately, sucking each into his mouth to swirl his tongue around the tight buds one at a time.

You tug at his curls gently, heat curving through your limbs. You’re soaked, cunt walls fluttering around nothing, head tipped back and chest heaving. Am I broken enough yet, daddy?

Pulling off your swollen nipple with a pop, he’s up and shucking his own clothing off as fast as you’ve ever seen him. It’s less than a minute before he’s got his arms wrapped around you, hauling your smaller body up the length of the bed to situate your dripping core directly over his mouth.

Your head swims, hands scrambling for purchase on the lip of the headboard before you’re even able to fully process the shift. He wastes no time in hooking his arms over your thighs, spreading you open above him, big brown eyes alight as they watch you flush and squirm.

He licks a broad stripe through your folds slowly, savoring the taste of you. He repeats the action, your fingernails digging divots into cheap wood with every lap. It’s only when you rock against his face rhythmically that he speeds up, pointed tongue flicking against your aching clit expertly. He circles it once, twice, three times before suctioning his lips around the bundle of nerves. The change in pressure makes you buck against him involuntarily, body trembling as he holds your firmly against his mouth.

It’s inescapable, but it’s everything you asked for.

Fingers pressing bruises into your thighs, he doesn’t let up licking figure eights into your folds, nudging his nose against the blinding ache of your clit.

“Daddy, daddy, daddyyy,” you cry, the tense stretch of your muscles ready to snap.

“I know, baby girl, I know,” he coos in response, words tangled by his tongue’s exploration of your velvet center. He dips it further inside you, collecting your slick on the flat of the muscle to drag it back up to your oversensitive bud.

Every nerve ending in your body lights up iridescent, heat swirling up the column of your spine. It’s the oblivion that you’ve been begging for since Joel walked in the front door, and your limbs tremble with deliverance.

He licks you through the aftershocks, tongue unrelenting against you. You whimper, hypersensitive, dropping one hand to card through his sweat-damp hair, a gentle insistence for him to slow down.

But he’s in control, and he knows he’s in control, so he drives his tongue into you as far as he can before laving short, quick strokes over your clit. You’re helpless to it, only able to push down against him, to let him draw another orgasm out of your quaking cunt.

Your second orgasm approaches too quickly, your body overwrought and writhing, slick flooding Joel’s waiting mouth. The noises he’s making are downright obscene, slurping like it’s the first meal he’s had in weeks, cheeks and beard sticky with you.

Panting brokenly, tears welling up in your eyes again, you try to pull away. He doesn’t let you, eyes blazing when you look down at him desperately.

“Cry for me, little girl.” He draws his mouth back just enough to ensure that you hear him — that you understand him.

“Da—” you choke out a sob, knowing that he won’t let you go until you obey.

“Cry for me, and I’ll fuck you like the good girl you are.”

Your drag your bottom lip between your teeth, throat closing around the pleading moans hanging in the warm air of the bedroom.

The tears finally fall, streaming and stormy, down your burning cheeks. Faster than before, the stress and anxiety of the day finally ripping free from the cavern of your chest.

Like he knew exactly what you needed, more so than even you.

They’re heaving sobs, now, a combination of intense relief and overstimulation, Joel’s heart beating hard and angry beneath you. He moans against your pussy, determined to undo you completely, lapping at your clit with reckless abandon.

And there you are again — your third orgasm ripping through you so overwhelmingly that your entire body goes slack, slick spilling down the corners of Joel’s mouth, matting in the length of his dark curls. You succumb to it completely, to him completely.

“There she is, little one. There’s my sweet baby girl.”

And you are — sweet and pliant, overly-sated in the most erotic of ways, and you know without seeing that Joel’s erect cock is absolutely weeping pre-cum.

He doesn’t need to exert much effort to flip you over, to settle you against the pillows, to pose your supple limbs exactly as he wants them. All you can do is watch him through glassy eyes, tear-stained cheeks flush and glistening, the smallest of watery smiles pulling at the corners of your mouth.

Ghosting a knuckle over your soaking center, he leans forward to pepper your jaw with warm kisses, something akin to adoration glowing in his amber irises.

“Okay, baby girl?”

You meet his scorching gaze, nodding demurely. Yes, daddy. Of course, daddy. Take what you need, daddy.

Slipping two fingers into your tight heat, Joel works you open with little resistance. It doesn’t matter how many years you’ve been together, taking him in his entirety is always a stretch. He crooks his fingers to meet that spongy spot inside you, soft strokes making your eyes roll back in your head. But it’s less urgent, less demanding.

The gentleness with which he touches you makes you feel warm all over, a soft roll of your veins under his hands.

But as gentle as he’s being now, you know he needs just as much as you did, pupils blow-out with lust, breathing shattered.

As soon as he draws his fingers out of you, you lift your hand to his length, running the tips of your fingers along the underside of his twitching cock. He swallows hard, rocking his hips forward, allowing you to grasp him in your palm. A strangled groan follows, always so sensitive to your touch.

“Put it in, daddy.”

He drops his head, curls flopping into his eyes, while he grips the base of his cock in his hand to ease the head, flushed a furious red, into your entrance.

You sigh contentedly, already feeling stretched and stuffed as your warmth swallows him inch by inch. No one has ever filled you like he does, has ever undone you like he does.

His hard length disappears inside of you, your walls gripping him impossibly tightly. This is your favorite part — the part where you adjust to his size, where the hint of a painful sting wanes into something utterly delicious. Something you can’t live without.

The thrusts are slow at first, his speed gradually increasing as your pussy pulses around him. Soon enough he’s pumping into you in an allegro tempo — mirroring the quick, bright pace of your heartbeat. You push into his thrusts, running your fingernails over the sticky flesh of his ribcage above you.

He’s so much — hips snapping against you, cock massaging your walls salaciously.

“F-fuck, baby girl,” he stutters, driving into you harder, licking a hot stripe of the column of your throat. He nestles there, nose pressed just below your ear, soft growls snapping from between his teeth. “Gonna c-cum.”

“Cum for me daddy,” you purr, thighs tightening around him, sucking him in deeper. He grinds down into you, pulling out only enough to slam back inside, the tip of his cock nudging your cervix.

One more buck and he’s done for, spilling thick inside of you, filling you completely. He snarls a string of dark moans and expletives, drawing his hips back just to push inside again, edging his cum deeper into you.

It’s perfect.

He collapses to the side of you, chest rising and falling raggedly. You automatically curl into his side, pleased when he wriggles his arm beneath you to stroke his fingers across the curve of your ass.

“What do you say, little girl?”

“Thank you, daddy.”

#joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic

3K notes · View notes

earthstellar · 5 months

Text

One thing that I really liked in IDW 2 was the concept of Going Immersant.

Given the immensely long average lifespan of Cybertronians, it makes sense:

If nothing kills you, and you live long enough to have experienced all of what you feel you reasonably can in this lifetime, and you feel content with the life that you have had, and it seems time to retire--

--Why not return your knowledge and the entity of your self to the core of your planet, where your energy and your components can be reused and your memories and knowledge can be subsumed into the greater whole?

Plug in with the stray cables that stick out of the cavernous expanses deep beneath the surface of Cybertron, let yourself get situated, and allow yourself to daydream as the crystals grow around you and gradually consume you. It is not painful. It is a process of sharing.

Each daydream then enters the great memory bank of Primus, at the heart of the world, the core of life itself for your species. Your experiences become part of the eternal record of experienced Cybertronian life. You join your God himself, frame and processor, as you combine with him within the physical form of your planet.

Primus created you, and as you are subsumed into the crystalline forms that surround you, you will go on to sustain Primus in some way. An unending cycle.

Perhaps you feel something, leeching up from deep within the crystal mass, some unique energy meeting you halfway, the cables that snake their way into your ports like vines carrying some ancient data, older than yourself, older than the Rust Sea, older than the Hydrax Plateau, older than the Titans.

Maybe you cannot decipher it, yet. But it comforts you. It reminds you that you are not alone, after your visitors have gone. Where there is digital noise, there is something to produce it. You will meet it soon--

--After countless years of a peaceful rest, knowing that at the end of your endlessly long existence, your life will go on to benefit others.

And for as long as you are able, you still remain present, as well. Just not above, on the surface. For some time, others can still come and visit, speak with you, consult with you-- Although as your memory banks purge into the greater whole, you begin to falter in this waking realm.

And that is OK; To rejoin with Primus and re-enter the Well of All Sparks as an ancient elder, a repository of experience and wisdom, is to become a teacher to all. Even in peaceful, gradual death-- And even then, your energy and materials and thoughts remain somewhere, deep within the planet.

Returned. Recycled.

Eternal, in some shape or form.

It's just a really beautiful concept.

Without any natural death, Cybertronians have the option to simply return to Primus, return to the core of the planet, in a half-waking state.

At peace, gracefully and with intent.

All of what they have experienced and all that they are, all of their memories and feelings, all of the metals and compounds that make up their frame and armour and protoform, all of it can be taken in and absorbed.

The option is there, to emerge once more.

But for most, this is the final calling.

To go immersant is to enter peace, to become a living state of meditation until the very end for you as an individual. To have full agency over how you pass on, to make the decision and consciously know. To be happy with that. To relax into your fate, as you see fit.

To make the decision to be recycled, to contribute all that you are, to return your energy to the crystalline matter that fuels your world and your people and your God, who in turn fuelled you and will thus go on to fuel all those subsequently churned out by the Well.

To merge with your living planet on an atomic level, on an esoteric level.

I wonder if the fully immersant aren't dead in the traditional sense. Perhaps they are offline, to those in this world. Perhaps their frame is vacated as their data is absorbed. But that data is not lost, necessarily.

It's just a very beautiful end of life option for Cybertronians, and I do hope the concept is revisited in some form in the future.

#codexa #idw transformers #idw 2 #orion pax #idw orion pax #maccadams #maccadam #just thinkin'#cybertronian culture #immersant

903 notes · View notes

clanborn · 5 months

Text

Origins of the Bay Clans: Stone and the Lynx (Part 2)

The tracks led inland, further than the cats of Stone’s little clan had yet dared to travel. She followed the river upstream, skirting the thrashing current as it threw itself against the banks. The forest grew denser, the hemlocks thicker, the sharp peaks of the mountains taller, casting the valley in deep shadow. All was silent but the river, and the sound of strange, buzzing bird calls that rang eerily through the trees. Though her heart trembled, Stone trekked on, her pawsteps guided by purpose and the tracks that still sat unmistakable in the mud.

Stone had never followed a river to its origin, had never even thought of it as a possibility. Water–rivers, oceans, rains–lived outside the boundaries of a lifespan, within birth and death. Rivers weren’t something that just began, or ended, they simply cycled–at least, that’s what she had believed.

After hours spent unceasingly hiking through the valley, Stone emerged from the edge of the treeline. The pebbled ground spread flat in front of her, before abruptly spiking upward to form the range of mountains. Two peaks pierced the sky, and nestled between them was a landform unlike anything Stone had ever seen. The river rushed forward from the base of a giant white slope, a crystalline mass carved deep with blue crevices.

The wall shone like a piece of the moon itself, bleeding into the valley, its essence spilling into the forest before winding its way to the Bay. As Stone drew closer, she realized with a shock that the structure was made of ice, frozen solid despite the warmth of late spring.

She halted at the river’s edge, looking upon the structure in wonder. Was the moon made of ice? Had a shard of it fallen from the heavens upon the mountains? What else could create a fortress so massive, so imposing yet nurturing, whose icy waters fed the land and the bay?

These questions swam through her mind, but she tossed them to the side with a flick of her ears. For now, the answers were unknowable, and she must remain focused on her task.

She shook out her pelt and continued her path: the ground now had turned to gravel, and she tracked by scent instead of footprints. The slope turned steep, then rocky, a gray mountain face broken only by patches of unmelted snow and determined shrubs. Below her, the mass of ice gleamed, stretching out beyond the peaks like a blinding white sea.

As she continued along the mountainside, she noticed an opening in the cliff face, a dark entrance where the ice field met the mountain. She quickened her pace until she reached the cave entrance, standing on the barrier of darkness. Here, the scent she was tracking hung in the air, strong as ever, leading her into the blackness. She slipped into the cave without a second thought

Inside was a large cave, and she quickly crossed the open stretch of ground to the back, where a darker shadow lay. A tunnel.

Curiosity drove her forward, driving away any fear she might have felt. Down into the tunnel she tread, deeper and deeper into the veins of the mountain. For ages she was guided by scent alone, and the narrow tunnel walls pressing on all sides. An eternity of darkness.

Finally, Stone saw light, a blue glow that softly spilled into the end of the tunnel. Her footsteps quickened, and the cat entered into a cavern. Her breath hitched as she stepped into the light, awed by the sight before her. A medium sized cave rose around her, walls of smooth, layered stone arcing above her. The stone was washed with blue, for one wall was made not of rock, but entirely of ice. It was a deep, rich blue, as sunlight filtered down into the fragment of icy moon.

Within the ice wall’s bubbles and cracks hung an even stranger sight. A giant skeleton, ancient and fragmented, was trapped frozen in the ice, the remains of a creature Stone had never seen before. Though it’s thick bones and long, curved fangs were utterly unfamiliar, something in Stone knew it had once called itself catkin. A forgotten ancestor.

In front of the ice, sitting still and gray as the rocks around it, was a towering feline silhouette, its tufted ears outlined by the cold light. Stone’s fellow, wild catkin cousin. The Lynx.

The Lynx turned its gaze towards her slowly, expectantly, like it had known about her presence even before she did. Stone approached it, wary.

“I admire your tenacity, cat” Its voice was a gravelly purr. “I thought you’d stop at the treeline.”

Stone skirted the wall carefully, keeping several pawsteps of distance between her and the creature. “Why did you assume that?”

The Lynx wrinkled its nose in a wry smirk. “Well, look at you. You’re an imitation of a cat. This wilderness is unfit for your kind.”

Stone flattened her ears, attempting to keep her voice level. “What exactly do you mean?”

“You call yourselves ‘cats’, yet your kind feeds by human hands. You have grown small and thin-furred, distant from your nobler origins. You can only survive in little packs, reliant on the work of others, unable to face nature with your own merit—A true ‘cat’ walks in solitude, you know nothing of the sort.”

Stone looked beyond the Lynx to the ice wall behind it, where the massive bones of their great ancestor lay suspended in time. “You say my kind has fallen, but have yours not? Have you not also grown smaller than this god, your fangs short, your bones thin? It too lived in solitude, yet here it lies, dead, its life unremembered by its catkin. You mock my community, but we have lived this long despite this lands’ harshness, and will continue to do so.”

The Lynx’s smug expression faded, and its gaze grew intense as it stared at Stone. “Even gods die, housecat. The only thing life guarantees is an ending.” It curled its lip. “Your ‘community’ is not exempt from this.”

Stone met its eyes, unwavering. “If we are catkin, what bars me from the same powers you possess? Surely I can learn to survive by your means, surely I can find access to your blessings.”

The Lynx almost laughed, but the scoff caught in its throat. It narrowed its eyes, suddenly thoughtful, the smirk creeping back up its muzzle.

“Maybe I can offer you a taste of godhood, little cat. The lives of my predecessors run through me, from the tip of my tail through all ten of my claws.” The deity sat back on its haunches and held up its massive paws in demonstration. For a brief moment, its claws twinkled with a faint light, like stars plucked straight from the sky.

“One of these is mine, of course. But I have nine to spare.” It tilted its head down at her, its fangs gleaming in the blue cavern light. “Provided I deem you worthy of them.”

Stone raised her head in challenge. “What would make me worthy?”

The Lynx paused to consider, eyeing her up and down.

“To you alone I will grant these lives, thus you alone must face me.” The lynx narrowed its eyes. “Prove to me your will and strength, and defeat me in battle. If I submit, I grant you these lives, and the chance to explore this bay with greater distance between death and yourself.”

“Your loss, of course, will cost you your life.” It dipped its head towards her. “Is it a deal?”

Stone paused, hesitant, her heart fluttering in her chest. How could she face this creature in her state, small in stature, weary from her climb, completely alone? Despite her apprehension, her curiosity was stronger. There was only one chance for an opportunity like this, and even if she declined, what would stop the Lynx from killing her anyway?.

She nodded once. “I accept your terms.”

The lynx nodded back. Its fangs flashed. It stretched its claws.

They leapt into battle.

Stone was swift, but the Lynx was strong and skilled. It battered her with massive paws, slamming her into the cold rocky floor. Stone dodged and weaved through its attacks, but the cavern was small, and every leap Stone made seemed to send her into another faceful of claws.

Her opponent threw a powerful swipe, tossing her against the ice wall with a thud. Back against the blue glow, Stone crouched low, struggling to catch her breath. Her strength was waning, and Stone knew with every moment her chances of victory grew slimmer. Her paws shook slightly. The Lynx had noticed her waver, and began to pad towards with calm, sure steps. It smiled–it was eager to finish her off. How could she win this?

She thought of the cats–the clan–she had left behind, who likely waited anxiously for their wayward leader’s return. Would they falter without her guidance? Would the glimmer of hope she had lit in their hearts snuff out with fear? If only she could lead them to the majestic moon glacier, show them the ethereal ancient glow of the blue cave, renew their spirits with wonder at the wilderness they were trapped in. Stone suddenly stiffened, steeling herself as she lifted her gaze back toward her foe. Though she fought alone in the cavern, her mind conjured the presence of her clan behind her. She would not die here. She would die among the cats she had befriended, who had banded together in their time of need. The cats she needed, who needed her to return alive.

With a burst of vigor, Stone launched herself toward the lynx’s head, her weight and confidence catching it off guard. She clung to its face, slashing its ears, her momentum sending it crashing hard into the floor. It flailed its huge paws, but Stone stood steadfast upon its chest, pressing her own paws down forcefully against its throat. Her claws dug in, blood welled up around her toes. The lynx grew more panicked, struggling wildly, its breath stuttering in strangled gasps. Stone pressed harder.

“St–Sto-”

Stone leaned close into its face. “Do you yield?”

The Lynx thrashed its head, attempting to nod frantically. “Yg-Yes!”

Stone slowly lifted her paws, releasing pressure off the creature’s throat. It gasped for air, then shoved her off its chest, throwing her to the floor. She scrambled to her paws, watching the Lynx heave. After it had caught its breath, the Lynx pressed its paw deep into the stone floor. It did so with strange power, impressing into the rock like it was mud, leaving the crisp outline of its giant pawprint. It beckoned her over. Its breath was hoarse. “Come.”

Stone approached the Lynx. She eyed it warily, nervous that it would decide to ignore the deal and kill her anyway. But it didn’t move as she stood above it, her paws settling on the edge of its pawprint, which seemed to sparkle slightly in the dim, cold light.

The Lynx glared up at her, its cool demeanor vanished, its eyes blazing with controlled fury. “Touch your nose to the floor,” it growled. “You will receive your reward.”

Carefully, Stone dipped her head down, until her nose brushed against the floor’s icy chill. For a brief moment, all was still.

Suddenly, she was blinded by overwhelming light. The force of the glare threw her head back, and her vision was assaulted by an oppressive blur of color and noise. Images flashed in her mind, landscapes, memories, creatures she has never seen before. Each streaked by, too fast for her to fully process the scenes. Waves of emotion crashed in her, sending her reeling, thrown into a raging sea of grief and joy and fear and wonder. She felt all of time as it had crept by, millions of years of the past and future stretched out infinitely, lived all at once in a single instant. She felt everything. She felt nothing. It was the most agonizing pain she had ever experienced, swept in a flood of sheer euphoria. She knew places and beasts and times she had no name for, all lived through and known by the catkin before her. It was the longest moment of her life, but as she crouched, trembling, blinking her eyes back to the sight of the blue cavern, she realized only seconds had passed.

The Lynx had stood, and had begun moving toward the cave’s exit. It turned to look down at her, and Stone returned its gaze, panting heavily, her fur on end and buzzing with strange energy.

It was silent for a moment. “You now have eight more lives to live along with your own. More than any little cat has had before. Your blessing and your curse.” It lulled thoughtfully, its expression had settled back into its neutral stare.

Its voice was cold, though laced with an undertone of contempt–and perhaps, Stone thought, respect. “Do not treat this victory lightly, Stone. Every day you live here will be another test, another gamble with your life. Living here is a game with no winners, and you and your fellows can only stall the march of nature for so long.”

The lynx turned, padding toward the exit. “The gods here will meddle where they like, and though you have bested me, I can not guarantee my kin will be deterred from entertaining themselves with playthings like you.”

The god stopped in the entrance, then glanced back toward her, its face in shadow.

“Good luck, Stone. You will need it.”

It disappeared.

For a moment, Stone stood alone in the blue cavern.

She was not Stone anymore. Something had changed within her, the Lynx’s stars sat heavy in her chest, glittered on her whiskers. Just as an icy piece of the moon had fallen to the earth and become one with it, fragments of the stars had melded with her being. She was Stonestar, and her pelt glowed with the new (old?) lives that settled under her fur.

And she was alive. More than she had ever been before.

And it was time to return to her clan.

#oops wrong blocg #this one is more of a written story #im more of a visual storyteller than an author so hopefully it reads ok #oh also this is the version of the story that’s been passed down through the clans #so it’s been embellished and should not necessarily be taken at face value #since stonestar was the only one there and this was many decades ago #lore #stone #stonestar #my art #the lynx #warrior cats #alaska clans

573 notes · View notes

justblades · 1 year

Text

⌕ TEAMWORK MAKES THE DREAM WORK, 18+

⟢ CHARACTERS : blade x afab! reader x kafka WC : 1.5k

⟢ WARNINGS : EXPLICIT, MDNI. 3some, bondage, spitting, degrading, cunnilingus, squ!rting

⟢ SUMMARY : getting it on with blade, kafka suddenly walks in on you two and . . . joins in the fun

"blade." you coo to the navy haired's ears, rocking your hips in an attempt to ease the pain of depravity pooling in your body. you were stuck straddling his right thigh, hands propped up to keep you stabilized.

he doesn't response, more so his puff of deep breaths were his only replies. crystalline tears start to well up in your eyes, carnal desire searing from your taunting gaze. your clit starts to throb for some attention, evident from how much you've been making friction with your exposed cunt against blade's lap - tongue stuck out in hopes of your yearning to be quenched by the stellaron hunter.

panting like a bitch in heat, it was all too much for blade to restrain. in actuality, his bulging erection was starting to ache, aching for it to be smothered with saliva and to be provided some company as well. he reaches his limit and so he quickly removes the bandage wrapped around his forearm and swiftly slithers it around your wrists— tying you with the makeshift of a binding. a yelp escapes your lips, feeling the object tighten its hold on you.

if anything, it's a win-win. you successfully managed to rile up the male so that he can tend to your needs, going through such far lengths such as this. blade immediately goes for the nape of your neck to forcibly make you seal a kiss with him, an open mouthed sloppy one so currents of pleasure and shock ride on your skins. "since you want it that bad, there's no going back." his deep voice chimes into your ears, a coy smile playing on his lips.

"do me however you like." with an instant approval, blade lets out a guttural chuckle, amused at how much you're obsessed with his dick that you're giving up your last remaining bit of dignity for him. "i'll fuck you to death then."

suddenly, the door of the confined room busts open— revealing a lady too familiar for the both of your visions. with the dim lighting glinting at her black, circular sunglasses, as if in unison, the both of you utter her name. "kafka." for someone like kafka, she was not one bit fazed at the scene unfolding before her stature. her curiosity only thrived, trekking towards the both of your figures.

"you really are a charm." she mumbles from your back, gloved hands tracing each detailing of your wrinkled clothing. as if the time comes to a standstill and your hearts were nothing but clocks, they continue to tick endlessly, striking every line and numbers for many laps already. "bladie here won't show his vulnerabilities to us and yet . . you've got him wrapped around your pinky."

kafka's next movement stirs the concoction of confusion brewing further in your conscious selves. she seats herself beside blade and leans forward to your face, her lifeless two hued irises fixate on your bewildered expression. "show me what you're made of." and with that single sentence, she envelops her soft lush lips onto yours.

your heart performs a somersault upon her action, unable to register everything happening but it definitely felt blissful. her gloved hands brush on your stomach, escalating up to where your clothes' buttons are placed. the dark magenta strands tucked behind her ear eventually came undone but kafka pays no mind as she finds herself basking in such sensation as soon as she tangles her soft tongue with yours.

saliva with a tang of sweet cherries, it makes a perfect mix with yours although you also previously exchanged sloppy kisses with blade earlier. kafka deepens her reach inside your wet cavern, the pigment of her baby pink lipstick rub on the margins of your lips. blade quickly catches on as he plays with your clit, the bandages wrapped around his hand become drenched from how hot you were feeling - being stimulated from both your upper and lower lips makes your body jolt with pleasure and shockwaves of excitement.

"i- i can't breathe." you protest as you were being smothered with kisses— to which

kafka immediately withdraws from your face and wipes her chin clean with a handkerchief she happened to carry. "we're just getting started." on e again her falsely sweet voice sounds into your ears.

with ease, she snaps the buttons of your top open, making your tits spring free as well as your nipples becoming perked at how the wintry air caresses the sensitive parts. the only heating source as of now are kafka and blade's lips, they were both quick with it as they fiddle their sticky tongues around your hardened buds.

blade was aggressive, almost as if his intention is not to pleasure but to devour you. he roughly squeezes and cup your right breast while kafka was the complete opposite. she lightly nibbles on the part all the while lathering her spit with it. meanwhile you were a moaning mess, throwing your head back as more of cloudy white liquids seep out of your cunt's folds.

"you're about to cum that fast?" she queries, eyes now widened, carefully scrutinizing the beads of arousal dampening blade's bandaged fingers. "well, what do you think about this then?" you fix your posture and trail vision back to the dyad and witness them engaging in a french kiss, making noises that were sloppy and naughty, mewls of pleasure mostly slipping from kafka's throat. as if you were inebriated with lust that it fills your system, ". . i feel hotter than before."

an alluring chuckle erupts in the room just after she breaks off the kiss, "no wonder bladie took a liking to you, you're a full on slut." as kafka uses such a degrading term to describe you, you were uncertain how to feel about it. all you know is that the male is behind you, holding you down and the other stellaron hunter is currently in front. she descends to your position, a kittenish smile sits on her lips.

your pussy was then intruded by two unfamiliar digits, accompanied by it was her warm tongue - pleasuring your slit with utmost skill. your back arches, knees folding at how it felt rhapsodic, better than how your clit was being toyed around by blade. kafka doesn't halt but only quickens the pace, sucking your folds in as if her mouth was a black hole and you're nothing but a mere planet to conquer for the lady.

more of your libido levels spike up once blade forces to you to face him with his fingertips on your chin, inviting you to exchange more of those open mouthed kisses. there were too much liquids flooding the both of your tongues that you couldn't help but gulp a good amount, to prevent getting messier than intended.

not for so long, a feeling of climax throbs on your clit. kafka quickly picks up this detail, sucking and fingering you all at the same. "i'm cumming!" you squirm under her touch as stream of liquids spring out of your hole, drenching the hunter's hair and clothes.

"okay, bladie's time to shine." with hasty shifting of positions, you find yourself on top of the male as you ride his throbbing cock while kafka sits on his lips, vis-à-vis with your lustful figure. the three of your clothes were strewn across the floor, and with a rapid thrust, kafka catches your lethargic body, nestling her face in the crook of your neck.

blade's girthy cock twitches from the confinements of your velvet walls, it pulsates everytime your pussy spasms from his shape. the navy haired was unable to supress his guttural moans, sending vibrations through kafka's cunt to which she bucks her hips for more sensation.

kafka now continues to mark your skin with her love bites, canines burrowing deep as well as sucking on your sweet spot— earning her more of your messy moans of satisfaction along with squelching sounds from blade's dick pistoning into your slit.

"bladie's toy is such a whore . ." she whispers in between her lustful kisses, words libidinous as ever. upon hearing it for the second time, you were addled at first how to feel but now you're more than certain. being degraded makes you drift into euphoria, into ecstasy, into the seventh heaven.

both of the stellaron hunters' whimpers signaling release echoe inside the four walls, as well as yours which was the loudest - followed suit by more strings of gratification springing out of each of your holes. the whole place was littered with busted, creased clothes as well as pools of cum, leaving a pungent scent that wafts into the air to which anyone could've guessed correctly from how strong the smell was.

at this point, sweat covers the entirety of your fatigues yet satisfied body, it glistens from the faintest lighting. kafka leaves a peck on your cheek with a pseudoinnocent smile playing on her lips, "i shall get going then. you can continue your episode with bladie now." as quickly as she bid her farewell, as fast as a lightning does the other stellaron hunter graces your vision.

"i'm not done with you yet."

my masterlist !

#kafka #kafka x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader smut #kafka smut #blade x reader #blade x reader smut #hsr x reader #blade honkai star rail

2K notes · View notes

anantaru · 1 year

Note

How about jealous reader with kuni?

cw. [ex]plicit, jealous! reader, established relationship, fem! reader

kuni was as pretty as a drawing— or a picture made by the most finest camera of fontaine. beautiful, bewitching, pretty— there were many ways to accurately describe your boyfriend‘s alluring demeanor.

but in your own very eyes, they still did not do him any justice.

consequently, you, in all respects, did not mind the eye twitching chit chatters behind your back you oh so happen to catch onto every once in a while— how, another clique of people you only knew distantly, would slowly walk past your boyfriend and afterwards gush about his darling face and his beauteous traits.

his lustrous eyes and the color— which was hypnotizing in its own rights, reminding them of how he‘s idly behaving and how damn strong he was said to be according to the other rapidly growing news chumming about the mysterious man wandering around sumeru city.

but, snap out of it, not to lose sight of the fact that in actuality he was all yours— yours, yours and yours. but for some annoying, irksome ground you wanted to show him, as if he wasn't already aware of it— even though scaramouche knew and did not require you to prove nor demonstrate anything of that sorts to his person.

thus far, you kept it to yourself— that brewing, gut-wrenching feeling manifesting in your belly and littering into your bones, remained concealing by yourself until it all shattered right into your face.

now, you hover over him, saddened with your mind everywhere but where it should be— clumsily glissading your hands over his pale chest before raking your head down. you think he notices that something wasn't right but you hope he doesn't after all.

at your own pacing, you ghost over his jawline before placing your lips on top of his, for once sealing the insufferable distance between your bodies and stealing a couple kisses from your lover.

"i hate it." you admit against your own volition, it's almost as if something metaphysical forced you to say it out loud, though you're moaning into his mouth as he skillfully bottomed his hips deeper into you, erratically slapping his erection into your worn out hole.

"i hate it when they talk about you!" but then, it hits him and scaramouche opens his eyes at your baffling words— which had also been confusing him greatly as he carefully reduced the flow on his hips to pull your face off his, observing your with sorrow drenched expression.

"ah— wait!" even with him trying to decipher what was going on with you, he catches himself flinching into your lips again when you jerk your cunt into his length, walls twitching experimentally, like a second pulls enclosing his throbbing cock.

"who— fucking who talks about me?!"

breathing slowed, you pout at him, unintentionally reliving the innumerable days you had witnessed people attempting to get with him, with scaramouche; your boyfriend, soulmate, your life.

it was sad— but more embarrassing if you were actually truthful to yourself, that you let someone so insignificant as a random person‘s words influence you this much that you‘re still thinking about it even while your boyfriend was in the midst of fucking the broad daylight out of your skull.

"those girls." you sniff, messily shoving away the crystallines sticking onto your doused lashes with the back of your hand. but before you can catch a breather from your own damned psyche, scaramouche curls your body close to him, your hips now muted— though his cock would rest and skim into the cavernous pits in your pussy, but mellowing down your rise and falls.

"they always talk about you." you hiccup again, kissing his lips once, twice— one more, trying to hide the fact that you were tremendously jealous right now, of everything and all, it's not even 'just' those people, you began to doubt yourself and if anything, that's what worsened the whole setting.

scaramouche‘s face was ridden with confusion still but he did not say anything right away— right now, he thinks the most important was you, as always— to aid you, to kiss and drink your tears away and keep you warm, plugged into his chest.

genuinely, he had no clue who or what you were talking about, but if he learned one thing from being in a relationship with you; it’s that whatever is happening in either of your lives, you're battling it together, as one entity.

yet still, did you already forget that he‘s absolutely in love with you? or lets rephrase that, shall we? scaramouche was obsessed with you, downright and shamelessly crazy about you. that you‘re the only person that crosses his mind hour on hour, night on night?

he opens his eyes, he sees you, he closes them, he sees you.

"i don‘t care." he spoke upfront to be certain to get his point across.

yet scaramouche needed to show his disinterest in more ways than a simple sentence— in an immediate chain of reactions, he was flaunting you on your back so he‘d be the one to tower over your pretty frame.

you're his, you're his and his, he thinks about it, knows it and wants to imprint it into your insides and out.

"i don‘t care about anyone." he drawls back, using his skilled tongue to plant a wet line on your collarbones before shutting down your worries by a swift hurdle of his hips in you, bringing one of your legs over his shoulder as you tremble under him by how good of a position he had you in, how almost feral, he uncontrollably claimed your sopping cunt with the relentless tempo on his hips.

"i only care about you." he smacks his cock forward again and again, "you, you, you." and he muses in tune with each thrust— fuck, again and he wants to make you cum so badly his cock was beginning to ache, then twitch in you, from both excitement and the pinpointed drags of his heavy cock rubbing over your inflamed insides.

"so stop thinking about it, hm?"

with the impact now being significantly larger, your breasts bounced in keeping with his newfound, reckless energy— and you cry out his name with a sweet, satisfied smile on your lips.

#scaramouche smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #scaramouche x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x you #genshin drabbles #genshin impact drabbles #genshin impact scaramouche smut #genshin impact scaramouche x reader #wanderer smut #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader smut #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #𖤣𖤥𖠿𖤣𖤥 thirsts'

2K notes · View notes

bornulhuu · 7 months

Text

On a distant desert moon that circles some giant barren planet is life to be found. The moon spins in such a way that gives it short days and long nights lit by the infinite stars. Small crystalline plants emerge from the sand and in the caverns and holes hide boneless organisms, that scurry around their old god.

Chagrtontu wallows and hides in the sand pits during the day, and awakes during the night to gaze upon the stars. Her small boneless servants clean around her and bring her pre-digested food and an occasional small crispy critter. In return, the old god keeps order and protects the small life forms, as well as giving them her special dew secretions that cure diseases.

It is a small and insignificant world, but the old god and its followers are contempt with it.

#monster design #great old one #bornulhu art #creature

234 notes · View notes

suguwu · 6 months

Text

gothic romance au, hints of vampire!zhongli, gender neutral reader.

wc: 1.4k

minors and ageless blogs dni. divider by @/cafekitsune.

there is a house upon the hill.

the garden it sits in is lush, though the roses are ruined now, their petals dashed against the dirt. they eddy in the rainwater, pearly pink and swirling around like little sailboats caught in the wind. the house cranes towards the weeping sky, the parapets gone dark with the rain, all slick, old stone. it should be a hulking beast, massive as it is, but there's an elegance to it, the curve of a dancer's back.

and there is a light in the window.

you step carefully over the puddles, dancing between the little ponds of them. the scent of wet loam washes over you as you make your way through the garden, thick and earthy. your pace slows as the house draws near; something flickers through you, a guttering candle. still, you move onwards, ducking into the entryway that frames an imposing door. you search but there is no doorbell.

you rap your knuckles against the old wood instead, the sound deep and hollow. you've just barely withdrawn your hand when the door swings open, a golden hue spilling forth, a baptism of light.

it matches the eyes of the man in the doorway.

they're the color of amber shot through by sunlight, striking in a way that makes you ache. they're beautiful. he's beautiful, you realize, as he blinks slowly at your bedraggled form.

"hi," you say, heat rising to your cheeks. "my car broke down, a bit down the road. i was hoping i could use your phone?"

"you must have come far," he says, looking out into the rain, where the trees have become mere shadows in the gloom. "and in this rain, too."

you shift. "uh, yeah, i guess," you say.

he hums and you think of the crash of waves upon the shore, the whisper of the pebbles it carries back into the mouth of the sea. "i see."

"could—could i use your phone?"

he focuses on you, his golden eyes knife-edged, the type of gaze that flays you down to your marrow, and a shiver curls up your spine.

"my apologies. please come inside."

"oh, i could just use your cell phone—"

"i'm afraid i only keep a landline," he says.

you falter for a moment. he meets your gaze again and a small smile flickers on his lips, a sickle moon curve. his eyes gleam.

you step over the threshold.

he closes the door behind you; it clicks into place quietly, but it echoes through you like the toll of a dour bell.

"this way," he says.

you follow him deeper into the house.

"my name is zhongli," he tells you. you give him your own name in return, and he says it, rolls each syllable of it over his tongue as if he's tasting it. a hint of a smile settles in the corner of his lips, tucked away like a secret. "it's a lovely name."

"um, thanks."

he sweeps down the hallway; you quicken your pace to match his long legs. you glance around as you go, taking in the thick wallpaper, lushly patterned with swooping swallows, and the portraits in their elegant frames, their eyes glistening in the low light. you shiver and push a little closer to zhongli.

he comes to a halt before a door and gestures you in. "i'll fetch you a towel," he says. "you must be cold."

a shiver runs through you as he says it, the chill of the house finally sinking through your skin. "thanks," you say. "i appreciate it."

he nods. "of course."

you watch as he strides down the hallway, elegant and purposeful, like each movement is thought out. the tail of his jacket disappears and you turn back to the door he'd left you in front of.

the handle is ornate and crystalline; it reminds you of a spider's web in moonlight. you twist it and come away with a pattern pressed into your skin; you trace your thumb over it as you step inside.

the room is cavernous, a maw of a thing. something unfurls inside you. the phone—a rotary phone, of all things—is tucked away on a writing desk, next to a rolodex. you flip through it, the sound of the paper loud in the quiet room, and find a tow truck company.

you trace your fingers along the desk as the phone rings. you wince as you knock a few papers loose, but can't help but peek at the elegant handwriting staining the page. you read a few lines of it—a beautiful poem, with a few words slashed out of existence with an angry pen—before the line clicks on.

the tow truck dispatcher is kind, but it will be hours before anyone can make it to you.

you tell zhongli as much when he returns.

"ah," he says, handing you a towel, a huge, fluffy cloud of material. "i was afraid that might be the case. you must stay until they arrive."

"i don't want to put you ou—"

"it is no trouble," he says, his eyes gleaming. "stay."

he guides you to the chaise, a large hand cupped over the small of your back. you can't feel the heat of him through your damp clothing, but you can feel the weight of his touch, an anchor dragging through the depths.

"i'm afraid i'm unused to having guests," he says, settling down on the chair across from you. "but i may be able to provide some sustenance if i look hard enough."

"it's fine," you say. "thank you, though."

"of course."

you play with the edge of a nearby pillow; it's silken and slips through your fingers like water.

"the poem," you say. "did you write it?"

he raises a brow.

your cheeks heat. "sorry," you say. "i saw it when i was on the phone."

he smiles softly. "you need not apologize," he says. "but yes, i wrote it. would you like to hear more about it?"

you blink. his amber eyes shine in the light, a firefly flicker. "sure," you say. "if you don't mind."

"i do not."

he spins out his poem, each word perfectly placed, and starts to explain his thoughts behind it. his voice is calm and sonorous; it echoes through you, settles into your bones. you blink, eyelids drooping, and see the smallest flash of teeth across the way.

you don't remember falling asleep.

zhongli wakes you when the tow truck arrives. his touch is gentle, but it flashes through you like cold fire, sending you jolting up. he steadies you with one large hand.

"i apologize," he says. "i didn't mean to frighten you."

"oh my god," you say. "i fell asleep?"

"you did."

"i am so sorry," you say, cheeks hot. "that was so rude of me—"

"it's of little consequence," he says. "you were exhausted from the rain and the walk. i do not mind."

"i'm still sorry."

he smiles. "come," he says. "the truck is out front."

the two of you pause in the hallway, at the threshold of the door. zhongli watches you, his honey-gold eyes glowing like the sunset.

"thank you," you say. "i don't know what i would have done without you."

"you're welcome," he says. "go on, now. the truck won't wait forever, i'm afraid."

"thank you again," you say, pulling on your shoes.

he says something, low and rumbling, but you can't quite grasp it.

"what?"

"good luck," he says. you blink. "with your car."

"thanks," you say, and then you're out into the rain, darting into the tow truck's cab.

as the truck pulls out, you glance back at the doorway.

there's a flash of gold.

you turn around and direct the driver to your car.

the next night, you dream.

you dream of the burning silver of a shooting star; of the slate-gray teeth of the hungry sea. of a house that pierces the sky like a blade. of amber shot through with sunlight.

you're damp when you wake, the dream having seared through you, and you are up far before the sun.

you start the car with no destination in mind. the road is empty; the signs flash by like streaks of lightning, until they give way to the woods.

the air is cool and scented with petrichor; it nips at you, a warning bite. you ignore it and gaze ahead of you.

there is a house upon the hill.

you start up the path.

#genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #bee writes genshin #.zhongli

123 notes · View notes

comicaurora · 10 months

Note

What did Erin dream about?

exploring a cavernous pitch-dark enclosure with strange crystalline walls while an ominous unseen voice whispered rhyming couplets at him

#asks #aurora

169 notes · View notes

merakiui · 1 year

Text

[vii.] ᵏⁱˢᵐᵉᵗ ᵏⁱˢˢ

serial killer!jade leech x female!reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, brief mentions of death/murder chapter vi│chapter vii (you are here)│chapter viii

Today’s Schedule: Breakfast at 8. Supply shopping from 9 until 10. Read the next two chapters in Criminal Law and Logistics from 11 until 12. Take notes. Lunch at half past 12. (At some point, organize materials for school within the next hour. Arrange a story regarding the internship before calling Mother. Free time between the hours of 1 to 5 (possible outing with (Name)?). Begin dinner at a quarter past 6. Bathe by 7 and prepare for bed by 9 (10 at the latest).

Riddle peers at the white notebook in his lap with a disappointed frown. It’s a simple life planner with vermillion carnations stenciled on the front like floral bloodstains. Inside, the pristine, cream-colored pages are blotted with black ink. He’s crossed out and corrected a few lines, adding notes when necessary—keep empty parcels for Rosa’s maze or forward that new recipe to Trey—and for all of the unsuspecting fastballs life hurls at him he has never once strayed too far from his carefully crafted schedules. Never once…until today, that is.

“Two hours,” he mumbles, his blank stare fixed on the police station sitting beyond the confines of his car.

With the sun positioned so high in the pastel sky, nearly at its peak with midday summer heat, he concludes that he has already wasted his morning away, foregoing shopping and studying in favor of talking to the authorities.

And for good reason, he reminds himself, a balm intended to soothe the irritating sting brought on by the disturbance. This is important. It’s worth the interruption.

He could fret over it, huff and puff like a dragon readying to spew wicked flames, but doing so will get him nowhere. It will not return the hours he’s lost, nor will it bring him any closer to a fraction of the truth regarding your sudden, untimely disappearance. He resolves, while chewing restlessly on his pen cap, that it’s best to remain composed in situations like the one he’s found himself in.

Calm and objective, he thinks, scribbling over the time slots he had marked at the beginning of the week, so certain nothing would interfere with his schedule. There are far greater things at stake than missing a day’s worth of plans.

He leans back in his seat, humming thoughtfully. The past two hours must have gone by in a blur, for he feels weightlessly detached, as if surfing upon a smooth wave, led along by some other force that is not his own internal compass. It’s been a while since he’s felt this way. Often, when his mother would lecture him about the many high expectations she had for him, he would retreat into the corners of his mind, safely content with tuning out her howls of hatred. This response came naturally with each passing year, a necessary safety net that caught him before he could fall. Using this method, everything else that came with her also became easier to stomach. Like the bland, too-healthy meals he’d learned to choke down as if they were not-so-fine wines matured with delusion. An acquired taste, some might say, but even with that optimistic outlook Riddle would never wish flavorless foods on his worst enemy.

The officer who interviewed him was the same officer who met him at the beach the night he stumbled upon the body with you. In fact, he recognized Riddle as soon as he stepped into the room, a notebook in hand and a water bottle in the other. He’d set it on the desk, offered his hand to him (he’d taken it hastily, and for some reason he wondered if his nerves would make him look guilty), and then the officer pulled his chair towards Riddle, situated away from the desk that separated them like a cavernous pit. Riddle knew it was goodwill—to put his fears to rest and build rapport like it was a glass house, perfectly transparent so that it would display every crystalline truth.

“Back again,” he said after introducing himself as Officer Rayne. Briefly, Riddle pondered how one might spell that surname—R-A-I-N or R-A-Y-N-E? Perhaps even R-E-I-G-N or R-E-I-N? “Any more visits and you might become one of us.”

He didn’t understand the joke—was it intended to be humorous, or was it meant to lessen the tension that blanketed the atmosphere?—so he didn’t laugh. But he did produce an awkward smile, shrugging dumbly. Sitting before an officer in uniform, not restrained or reprimanded in any way, felt eerily forbidden. Every infraction Riddle had ever committed weighed heavy in his chest like a pile of stones, each one gradually sinking into the trenches of his stomach, and he was nearly on the verge of admitting every misdeed in a messy tangle of a rant. He swallowed thoughts of his most recent and longest crime to date and, still feeling like a timid boy who knew nothing of the real world, looked at Officer Rayne.

He was going to say something—have you found any information regarding (Name)’s whereabouts?—but the question felt foolish. They wouldn’t know when they haven’t even begun looking. Instead, he clamped his mouth shut with a sigh, soothed with the knowledge that they would begin a proper investigation soon.

Luckily, Officer Rayne filled the awkward silence. “I hope it was okay for me to catch ya while you were making your report. Been meaning to ask a little more about the body, but I suspect that’s not why you came here today.”

‘Catch ya’ and ‘suspect.’ Using those words while I’m completely innocent… Now that was a little funny, morbidly so, and he almost smiled at the irony.

Riddle nodded and, his apprehensions at a low simmer, asked, “Did you…learn more about the body?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

He’s doing that thing, he thought, unimpressed. Being intentionally vague. Does he think I’m untrustworthy?

“Well, you’re correct. I wasn’t here for the body and I’ve already told you everything I know, so I can’t answer any more questions regarding that matter.” He allowed the previous topic to roll off his back like water, feigning nonchalance—but asking that question made it seem otherwise—and felt himself slip over the edge of consciousness, words coming far too easy this time. “It’s been more than twenty-four hours since I’ve heard from my friend. Today marks the fourth day of no contact. I’m worried something’s happened.”

Officer Rayne clicked his pen, put it to paper, and said, “I take it you’re willing to fill me in on the details, then?”

“More than willing.”

As if the thread of sentience had reached its fraying point, it snapped and with it Riddle fell into that empty void he’d cherished so much in his youth, his body entirely there, but his mind and soul elsewhere. Vacant and distant. Packaged in a neat box and ready to be unwrapped at the slightest shove into an environment that was far more comfortable and colorful than the dull, dismal interview room.

When he’d passed the lady at the desk—the one he’d given such a hard time before and the one who’d sat through the filing process—she nodded her farewell. Only then, when Riddle stepped into the blinding bright of the outdoors, did he return to his body.

He stares at the list he’s created in his agenda, surfacing from the momentary rumination, his bottom lip between his teeth.

Important Information to Consider

(Name) and her temperament leading up to the disappearance.

(Name)’s history with disappearances. (Did she run away again? Spontaneous vacation?)

Our connection as friends.

Why I moved to the city.

How long I’ve been in the city.

What I was doing the day of (Name)’s disappearance.

What (Name) was doing the day of the disappearance.

The last time I talked to her. (phone call on Tuesday morning)

The body under the boardwalk.

The Devil’s Delight.

Other connections (Cater, neighbor, glasses-wearing fellow/potential partner, other coworkers from previous and current jobs, friends from university?)

What the above were doing the day of the disappearance.

????

I should’ve paid closer attention, he thinks woefully. I shouldn’t have shut off like that.

The tip of his pen waltzes circles around the question marks. “Focus,” he whispers, glaring at the page as if doing so will cause a helpful clue to materialize.

I remember telling him her phone is still on because every time I’ve called it rings and rings before going to voicemail. It’s possible they can trace it…or something tech-related like that.

Riddle sets the pen down to run a hand through crimson locks, heaving an exhausted groan. This is, by far, the worst puzzle he has ever had the displeasure of piecing together. It would be tolerable if the image he’s trying to assemble wasn’t so uncertain and frightening, shrouded in a gloom that may spiral to depths he hasn’t even considered. This puzzle doesn’t even come with a box, so he can’t possibly follow along with the portrait either. He’s working from scratch.

It’s not a complex landscape puzzle. Don’t treat it like one, he thinks, shaking his head, strands of hair falling between his fingers. Although if it was, I’d know exactly where everything goes and in what order it should be arranged. But this has all sorts of weird pieces. A mutilated corpse missing vital organs. A murder investigation. Whatever information Cater’s withholding. The incident reports. A missing person. What am I not seeing?

He skims his list once more until he reaches the sixth bullet point. At the time, he had only called to find solace in your voice, as you were the only one who could sympathize with the horrors that had swiftly descended the night prior. It did a world of good to talk as if nothing had ever dissolved your friendship—as if all that had transpired in the Rose Kingdom long ago never drove that troublesome wedge between the both of you.

But he’s matured a considerable amount since then, and so have you. Adults can be civil (most of the time). He can be civil (usually). And if it weren’t for that tell-tale edge in his voice he would have seemed flawlessly unruffled and he could have conversed naturally—or as naturally as one possibly could after being kept awake with spine-chilling dreams of a dead man. Saturday was supposed to be the day in which you would show him around the city, get him acquainted with your favorite haunts, and bake a strawberry tart in the comforts of your apartment together.

Together. As old friends.

Today is that day, but you aren’t sitting beside him in the passenger seat, rattling off locations and directions while he agonizes over which way to go: “Is it left or right, (Name)? Stop laughing and be clear!” he’d gripe, his hands curled on the steering wheel, and everything would be normal. Instead, he sits alone in an empty vehicle, his planner in his lap, pen at his lips, and is left to sift through what were once mundane, unimportant recollections. Everything, even the slightest shift in mannerism, matters now that the circumstances have changed.

I should’ve just agreed to come over that day. Then none of this would have ever happened. If I wasn’t so stubborn… If I wasn’t so scared… He shakes his head. No, that’s not it. Regardless of what I could’ve done then, it might not have had a significant impact. (Name) was already busy, so we would’ve had to part ways eventually. She had something to do when I called… A run. Right, she invited me to go on a run because she exercises.

He’s halfway through writing this fact when his hand halts, pen poised on the page.

“The run,” he whispers, as if it’s some terrible revelation. “Great Seven… The run!”

It occurs to him in a flash. You suggested he accompany you and he had declined as politely as he could, and then you offered he could walk as an alternative because, in your exact words, “Azul does that sometimes.”

Riddle hastily adds something else to the list in his agenda, perfect cursive unraveling with the frantic, jerky motions of his hand.

I wasn’t the last one to talk to her and neither was Cater. He even said she had gone on a dinner date the night prior to her disappearance, and he was gratingly evasive when I pried for more details. Following that logic, if she didn’t voluntarily disappear, the one she met for dinner would be my top suspect. Either them, or her running friend. This Azul fellow…

There’s only one Azul he knows.

Riddle fumbles with his phone, hands trembling as theories swell like a rising tide.

He wouldn’t, he thinks, but then he hesitates. Would he?

It’s been ages since he’s communicated with most of his peers from Night Raven College. In fact, he’s really only kept in touch with Trey and Cater over the years. Deuce often sends him a message every month or so to check in or to discuss and exchange career advice, but other than that everyone else has gone their separate ways, linked only by the sticky, near-invisible strands of social media. Riddle doesn’t use his. Ever. It still has the posts he made to mend Cater’s abysmal studying regimen, and if it was capable of accumulating physical age it would certainly have its fair share of dust and cobwebs by now. As he scrolls through the accounts of those he’s following, grey eyes roving usernames and profile pictures, he considers the best and the worst of this situation.

On one hand, he’s entirely wrong and the Azul you mentioned is not the Azul he knows. On the other hand, he’s entirely right and the Azul he knows is connected to you in some strange, unsettling way. He’s really hoping it’s a third possibility: He’s merely overthinking the matter and everything he’s considered up until this point is a jumble of false complications.

His search yields nothing fruitful. Unfortunately, Azul’s account is not amongst the few he’s following. Riddle may not know Azul as well as he knows his closest friends, but he’s certain Azul wouldn’t abandon social media when it has so much potential for plentiful business connections. Either that, or he just never followed him when they were classmates. The latter seems more likely. Riddle has never been able to wrap his head around the intricacies of social media etiquette and he certainly has no need for it.

Cater had once instructed him in the art of many trending things—the art of the selfie, the art of the filter, the art of the block button—and so Riddle knows a few things about the online world. Very basic things, and most are rules and social protocol regarding a phenomenon he’ll never be able to grasp. Apparently, if you’re stalking someone’s page, you never like a post that’s dated by years. Apparently, you’re intended to file the facts you glean from invasive observation for later use. The mere concept sends a shiver of repulsion up his spine. He’s not a stalker or a cyber-stalker or a Magicam fanatic like Cater, but he is a novice sleuth (as of now) and that sits much better on the tongue than any of the previous titles.

Riddle finds Cater’s profile, clicks on his list of followers, and types Azul Ashengrotto into the search bar. And, miraculously, Azul is there, but his account is private and Riddle finds himself at a digital roadblock.

“Private,” he mutters; it comes out hateful, a nasty word. “Of course you are.”

Despite that, he still makes note of the username in his agenda. He writes, Possible personal account? Multiple accounts? in perfect, slanted cursive. And then, just to be thorough, he writes the number of posts made and the follower and following counts beside the theories.

“How in the world would you know her?” he questions Azul’s profile picture—a generic photo of an ocean sunset. “And, more importantly, why?”

Perhaps he’s the one who took you on that dinner date, that cursed voice in the back of his skull pipes up. Riddle musses his hair and heaves another sigh, but as much as that supposition stabs him through with a horrible ache he has to take it into consideration. A date… If Azul truly does play some role in this and was potentially the last person to meet with (Name) before her disappearance, that would make him a prime suspect.

Potential Suspects

Azul (supposing it’s Azul Ashengrotto and not someone of the same first name)

Cater (on account of suspicious behavior)

(Name)? (supposing this is intentional? Voluntary?)

He’s in the process of writing the Leech twins’ names when his hand stills. They aren’t always glued to Azul, and they aren’t being forced to stick around like loyal sentinels. The last he heard of them, they resolved to return to the Coral Sea after graduation on account of familial obligations. Riddle had always heard the shudder-worthy rumors that they came from a ruthless crime family, but in spite of all of that the twins had always acted more like clever nuisances or intimidating bullies rather than callous criminals. Of course it was a different story if you found yourself at their feet when you broke contract terms, but even then they kept within socially acceptable boundaries. Most of the time. As loath as Riddle is to admit it, it’s admirable that they’re able to break things silently. After all, if your jaw is too shattered, you’re sworn to secrecy until it’s repaired.

With great certainty, the pen strikes through the words.

Potential Suspects

Azul (supposing it’s Azul Ashengrotto and not someone of the same first name)

Cater (on account of suspicious behavior)

(Name)? (supposing this is intentional? Voluntary?)

Floyd Leech (on account of connection to Azul)

Jade Leech (on account of connection to Azul)

“Ah. Well, maybe it’s too early to rule anyone out…” His pen is at his mouth, tapping out a steady rhythm. “But, really, what business would those three have with (Name)?”

Unable to pluck a reasonable answer from thin air, he slouches in his seat and then, realizing his horrid posture, straightens at once. Riddle drags a hand over his face, exhales slowly, and lowers his hand after a minute of quiet reflection. The police station looms ahead and he glances between the familiar brick-walled building and the notes in his agenda. Logically, he should walk right back inside and share what he’s written to aid in the investigation.

“It’s important you keep a clear head during all of this,” Officer Rayne had told him as the interview had reached its conclusion. “We appreciate any and all info you’ve got, so don’t be shy to give us a ring.”

Riddle thinks he might have protested then. Something about how it felt wrong to sit around and do nothing. Something about feeling like he owed you. Something about wanting to disprove those reports. Something about building a better profile for you. Something about…something.

“You’re doing plenty.” Officer Rayne smiled and indicated the notepad, which detailed all of the information from the hours-long conversation. “This situation’s out of your hands, and we wouldn’t recommend you do our work for us. Best let us handle the rest.”

Again, he opened his mouth. A grievance must have come tumbling out.

“By filing a report and talking to me today, you’ve done a great deal of service. Don’t blame yourself for being unable to do more. What else could you have done? These things are unpredictable.”

Things, Riddle thought with a frown. What a casual way to refer to a disappearance.

He stood from his seat and Riddle followed his lead. At the doorway, he extended his hand and Riddle took it, shaking it firmly. “If your friend contacts you, let us know right away.”

Riddle nodded and stepped out of the room.

“And don’t let it get you down. We’ll find your friend.”

One way or another, he expected to hear, but he was already walking away.

In the few minutes he spends ruminating, he manages to assemble a new list. Riddle peers at it, unsure of when he started writing and when he stopped thinking.

Priorities

Get in touch with Azul.

Question Cater more thoroughly.

Return to (Name)’s apartment and ask neighbors for any information.

Continue transcribing any and all findings.

Look for clues that might point in the direction of where (Name) went.

Create a timeline up until the disappearance and keep track of the number of days missing.

Transfer the above and all new information into a notebook.

Again, his eyes fall upon the police station. He wonders if there’s a rule that forbids normal citizens from doing investigations of their own. It can’t hurt to want to gather some proof for himself, right? He won’t cross any laws so long as everything’s within legal bounds, and if more than one person is working on the case it might even speed up the process. After all, aren’t two brains better than one?

And if there is a rule, he thinks as he reverses out of his parking spot, I certainly didn’t hear about it.

Turning onto the busy road, Riddle drives further from the station towards a far-off horizon spotted with wispy strands of cloud.

His first objective: Find Azul.

Microphone in hand, Cater stands in the center of a soundproofed room and announces in an energetic tone, “My dearest, most loyal besties, a big TY for coming! As a newly formed band, our first order of business is to celebrate with cute snacks, cute drinks, and even cuter company!” He punctuates that last part with a playful whistle and a wink.

In response, the two men sitting in the neon pink booth raise their glasses high. Both are filled with a sparkling substance, one so vermillion it’s nearly blood itself and the other a vivid orange. Lilia has ordered a Crimson Whisper—a delightful strawberry and raspberry margarita accompanied with a lime wedge and a skewer of sliced fruits. Kosher salt lines the rim, and under the dimmed lights it twinkles like pinpricks of diamond. Kalim’s beverage is known as the Tropical Tryst Twist, and it’s a fizzy tangerine and lemon cocktail decorated with a blue paper umbrella. A few ruby-red cherries are nestled amidst the ice.

Cater makes it a mission to familiarize himself with his favorite karaoke bar’s menu, but despite every food and drink combination he’s come across (some photographed and strung up on his social media and others admired from afar) he cannot stomach the sweetness. So for tonight—like most nights—he chooses something that is, as his sisters would often say, “so not cute.” Beer is his go-to, even if his carefully curated Magicam feed is adorned with photos of pastries and sugary drinks galore. Peel back the pretty wallpaper and you'll find the dollhouse is not what it seems. But festering in rot is so not cute, and so for this reason he plasters the bitter with beauty.

Fortunately, tonight is not a bitter night, and unlike the boring drink in his hand he still raises it to toast with the others. Their glasses join with a resounding clink.

Kalim pulls his drink away first, bringing it to his lips for a long sip. “This is exciting!” He sets it down on a coaster and beams, radiating raw joy. “I’ve never been in a real band before! Oh, we should publicize it, right? I can get my dad to help with that. He’ll be our first fan!”

Cater chuckles awkwardly. “Loving the enthusiasm, Kalim. Super-duper cute! But we need songs before we can start putting ourselves out there.”

Lilia hums his agreement. “I suppose what we’ve produced thus far wouldn’t exactly qualify as a true song.”

“At least it’s something… Oh! What if we took one of our short clips and extended it? Maybe add a few other instruments and beats so it feels like music you’d want to stop everything you’re doing and dance your troubles away to! Something summery and sweet!”

“Ooh, brilliant idea, Kalim. I wouldn’t mind giving it a shot. You never know until you try.”

“Right? Right?! Everyone likes to dance, and you need fun music to create fun energy! We could definitely do it.”

Their eyes flit to him now. Cater twirls the microphone in his hand, humming as he considers it. It’s a lot of work to produce music, and they often fooled around during club hours when they were in school. But they’ve done it before. Granted, thirty-second previews of sound can’t quite make it to trending if they aren’t captivating enough. Things like that aren’t anything to write home about, or so he often thinks when he browses the list of unnamed tracks cluttering his laptop’s home screen.

Cater’s grip on the microphone tightens. He smiles, slackens his shoulders, and flashes a cheerful thumbs-up. “Cay Cay’s got a plan!”

“Oh my.” Lilia’s eyes sharpen with curiosity. “If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say you’ve gathered us here for the sake of this very plan.”

“Discerning as ever, Lils! That’s right. I was actually hit with some crazy inspiration recently. And because of that…” He lowers his voice conspiratorially. “A drum roll, if you would be so kind.”

Kalim laughs and slaps his hands upon the table. Lilia follows suit until they’re both pounding on it, the force rattling the macaron pyramid they ordered earlier. Cater, invigorated by their support, swipes his phone from off the table, flicks it on, and scrolls through his song drafts. He turns his screen towards Lilia and Kalim with a dramatic flourish.

“Behold—my soon-to-be magnum opus!”

They peer at it, and then a duet of awestruck oohs fills the room.

“This is shaping up to be very exciting.”

“Wow!” Kalim whistles, impressed. “I can’t believe I’m looking at lyrics for a potential song! Aha, you’re so cool, Cater!”

“Aren’t I?” he boasts, lowering into the booth across from them, a picture-perfect portrait of nonchalance. “I call it ‘Kismet Kiss,’ and it’s a song about fun feelings! It sounds kinda pop idol, but hear me out! We can find some way to work punk-rock into it, or we could hit everyone with an idol song and then ease into rock.”

“Like a sound buffet!” Kalim plucks a macaron from the tower and pops it in his mouth. “I think that’s a great idea. I’m down if you are, Lilia.”

“I wonder if we’d be able to handle so many genres at once.” He takes a slow, contemplative sip from his drink, a smile spreading on his lips. “I certainly look forward to experimenting. Is that not what youth is all about?”

“Well, don’t keep us in the dark! Let us hear your lyrics!”

“It’ll sound really yikes if I sing without any music, so give ‘em a read and lemme know what ya think! The Cater Inbox is open for criticisms! Constructive only, please and thank you.”

Cater passes his phone to Kalim, who takes it in his hands and sidles closer to Lilia so both can read simultaneously. While they peruse the lyrics, Cater taps out an anxious rhythm against his half-empty pint glass.

Kismet Kiss! - Cicada City Lyrics

I could never tell you

Of the feelings locked in my heart

For they’re twisted and thorny, but a special work of art!

It must be fate or destiny

Maybe even cosmic chemistry

Look only at me, me, me, me, me!

And soon you’ll begin to see…

Why is it that you gaze at me with such sincerity?

It’s kinda weird

Because suddenly everything’s so sparkly

Brightness blinds me eternally

You take my hand in yours and lead me astray

Hey~

Won’t you turn my way and promise you’ll stay?

Woohoo!

We share a bittersweet kismet kiss

Under a silver moon, where all is heavenly bliss

A cutely curated kismet kiss

Trapped in the confines of a moon-mired abyss!

It's as if the tarot has foretold,

That I’ll follow you wherever you go

No matter what, it’s a clingy kismet kiss

And now the skies have darkened with mist

The fortune says it’ll rain

I wonder if it’s a reflection of all this pain

Since everything has become so very

Otherworldly and strange

What are the secrets you keep,

When you think I am asleep?

Leaning in to lo-lo-lo-love you!

Forevermore, it’s brand new!

All these moods

You match my fake attitudes

Astral planes,

They rise and fall

You’re a jellyfish witch who knows how to enthrall

A sculpture of elegance in a crumbling hall

Oh dear, you’ve gone and collared me

And I can no longer say I feel free

Hey…

Whatever happened to the sugar strains in your veins?

Woohoo!

We share a bittersweet kismet kiss

Under a silver moon, where all is heavenly bliss

A cutely curated kismet kiss

Trapped in the confines of a moon-mired abyss!

Our very own kismet kiss

Painted in hazy constellations you’ll miss

If you can’t open up your eyes

And confront your star-spotted demise!

There’s an uncomfortable silence that thickens in the air, and Cater counts the seconds it takes before it’s disturbed by Kalim’s gasp. Eleven seconds.

“You wrote this?”

Cater curls his fingers into a tight, self-assuring fist, nails pricking his palms. “Sure did. Penned by yours truly and everything! It’s still not finished, though. I’m always going back to edit, but so far that’s the most coherent draft I have. So whatcha think? It’s totally cute, yeah?”

“It’s very telling,” Lilia praises with a cryptic grin. Cater doesn’t like the wisdom discreetly woven into his next words. “You can learn a lot from the speaker in the song. Some truths are best expressed in writing, after all. When we put pen to paper, left alone with but our wrist and brain, we’re usually very honest with the page.”

As always, you’re a mystery, Cater thinks with a thin smile. Maybe I shouldn’t have shared it so confidently.

“It’s a masterpiece! Seriously, this is poetry and art and everything else! I love it! Oh! Did you write it with anyone in mind? You said you had some inspiration, right? I’m always getting inspired when I see the sun or clouds shaped like animals or even when I’m eating sweets! But what about your inspiration?”

Cater uncurls his fist to take his phone from Lilia’s outstretched hand. “Riddle said a really cool line a few days ago and it kinda stuck with me.”

It’s not a total lie.

“Ah, that’s right. You’ve mentioned before that he took up a position at your workplace,” Lilia muses, flicking his wrist to swipe three macarons from the tower with magic. They float over lazily and he opens his mouth to receive each one with a delighted hum. “How is he faring?”

“He became Mr. Manager in under two weeks.”

Kalim laughs. “It was also like that at NRC, wasn’t it? Sounds just like Riddle to go for the top spot!”

Cater waves his hand through the air dismissively, suddenly disinterested in the subject of this conversation. “DD’s become Heartslabyul: The Sequel ever since he joined.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not not a bad thing?” He slumps in the booth. “I mean, it’s cool to work with an old friend, but Riddle’s so…Riddle. He just never eases up, you know?”

“I think it’s fun! Maybe I should work there, too! Ooh, wouldn’t that be cool? We could all work with Cater. It’ll be like club meetings all over again!”

“That sounds super-duper sweet, but I don’t think we’d get any work done if that were the case.”

Kalim deflates with a nervous chuckle. “Ah, yeah… You make a fair point.”

“I surmise Riddle wouldn’t be very keen to work with all three of us. That boy has always been too diligent.”

Cater gazes at him from over the rim of his glass. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Lilia quirks a sly smile, amused to have his own words pointed right back at his throat. “It’s unhealthy to have too much of anything. After all, excessive diligence leads to perfectionism taken to extremes.”

“Isn’t that just the cutest description for our ridiculous Riddle?”

“I dunno,” Kalim says, shrugging. “It’s kinda admirable, don’tcha think?”

“Perhaps.” Lilia commands another macaron with ease. He bites half of it this time, the other half suspended in the air. “Even the most debilitating obsessions stem from some unique form of admiration.”

“Oh? Is that experience talking, Lils?”

Cater’s eyes are sharper than a sword when they pierce through the faerie sitting across from him. A fanged smile is the only response he receives just as Lilia closes his mouth around the remaining macaron half. Crumbs flutter to the floor. And just before he can pry a little further—dig into him with a verbal knife and fork—his mobile phone chirps out a happy ringtone, thus disturbing the tension stretching taut between them. Cater holds Lilia’s gaze a moment longer before surrendering and peering at his phone. He doesn’t have the forethought to stifle his annoyed groan.

“You totes jinxed it!” He flips his phone towards them to show Riddle’s icon on the caller ID.

Kalim lets out a hearty chortle. “We really did! Hey, why don’t we invite Riddle since he’s calling? We have enough macarons for him, and if we run out I’ll just order more. Does he drink, Cater? We can order something before he gets here!”

“Oh, you’re way too nice! Although Riddle’s a pretty busy guy… I don’t think he’d wanna intrude. Maybe next time?”

“But he’s always welcome! The more the merrier.”

“I could ask, but I’d hate to bother him if he’s already busy. That’s never cute.”

Drop it, Kalim. I don’t want Riddle here.

“Oh?” Lilia cocks his head to the side just as Cater’s phone rings a second time. He watches him hurry to switch it off. “If it’s important, don’t let us get in your way.”

“It’s fine.” It comes out harsher than he intended, so he laughs and plucks a macaron from the tray. The sweet remains in his palm. “I mean, come on! I see enough of Riddle already. He can just tell me what he wants the next time we’re on shift, or he can text me. Calling is so old school nowadays.”

“But if he’s calling you more than once…” Kalim’s lips curl into a concerned pout. “If it’s a secret, I’ll cover my ears.”

“No, no. Really, it’s A-okay! He’s just been a little cray ever since (Name) disappeared.”

The oxygen in the room seems to slither away and suddenly he can’t breathe. Or, more realistically, he’s forgotten to take a breath when Kalim and Lilia fix him with stern looks.

“Oh my.”

“(Name) disappeared? That’s not good!”

“It’s not a big deal. She’s always getting lost and found, so she’ll come around eventually.”

“You don’t seem very worried,” Lilia notes, brows furrowed.

“Should I be?” Realizing how frigid that sounds, he chuckles airily. “I mean, it’s normal for her to go ghost for a few days. She’s been like this for years now. It’s nothing new.”

“Still, isn’t that scary? Aren’t you afraid she might’ve gotten into trouble or worse?” Kalim insists, nodding in agreement with Lilia’s earlier observation.

Cater blinks, allowing their words to seep into the very pores on his skin. “Um, well, I guess it’d be concerning to people who don’t know anything… But trust me on this. I know (Name). She’s probs living it up with her pseudo-boyfriend.”

“Well, if you say so.” Lilia shrugs, but those carmine hues remain centered on his phone as if awaiting another call.

“Shouldn’t you file a missing report? What if she isn’t with her boyfriend? Or, uh, her not-boyfriend?”

“Guys, I promise she’s finer than wine!” To prove it, he pulls up your Magicam profile, scrolls through the feed, and clicks on an older post. The photograph in question is a view of the expansive ocean from a cruise ship’s deck, glossy wood railing displaying two half-empty drinks: a mojito and a daiquiri. “She cut all contact with me for, like, a few days, and I went to file a report because I thought something had happened. But then she posts this just as I’m leaving the station, and so I had to go back in there and let ‘em know it was a false alarm. It totally harshed my vibes! I looked like I was crying wolf and that is so not the mood!”

Kalim peers at the photo. “Looks fun, but why didn’t she tell you where she was going?”

“She never does.” Cater shrugs and pockets the device just as another call comes in. Thankfully, it goes right to his voicemail. “That’s just how she is.”

“Does that upset you?”

Cater raises a brow. “I’m not her babysitter, Lils. Besides, besties don’t have to tell each other everything. It’s not part of some bestie code or anything. We’re not sworn to each other in some blood pact either. She lives her life and I live mine. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”

“Aw. But sharing secrets makes a friendship so much stronger,” Kalim says, slouching in the booth. “Jamil knows some of my secrets! Like that time I accidentally swapped the salt and sugar. He’s the only one I’ve ever told. Ah, wait! I’ve just told you and Lilia… Pretend you didn’t hear that, okay?”

Cater pantomimes locking his lips and tossing an invisible key. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Not that it’s anything criminal.

“It follows me to the grave! Swapping the salt and sugar is an offense punishable by death, after all.” Lilia chuckles, though Cater suspects his amusement stems from another place. He’s definitely guilty of that exact mishap.

“If I’m being honest,” he starts, and that first part is already a lie, “I don’t think (Name) wants me to know about her life. Or, more specifically, her super-secret not-boyfriend.”

“Why? Are you curious?” Kalim cocks his head to the side.

“Obviously! Dude’s, like, megarich! Of course I’d be curious. Who wouldn’t?” Cater taps a painted fingernail against the macaron in his palm. “Every time we talk about him, she keeps it real vague. Sometimes I think this guy’s just fiction. TBH, if I had rich arm candy, I’d flaunt them all the time. No offense, Kalim.”

“Huh? Why?” He blinks in confusion. “Isn’t it good to feel proud of someone you like?”

“Well, this situation is slightly different, isn’t it?” Lilia asks, looking to Cater for confirmation.

“Based on the data I’ve acquired,” he says, raising a finger and putting on a professional voice that earns him laughter from Kalim and a grin from Lilia, “I can confidently theorize that there’s more to their little game of give and take. Because, really, how much loveless sex can you possibly have before the feels start seeping through?”

“But she never claimed to harbor feelings, or am I assuming incorrectly?”

“It was the opposite, actually. She told me she was breaking up with him because he couldn’t hit the right spots.”

Lilia raises his hand to his mouth, shielding a razored smile. “Dear me. That’s no good.”

“Or maybe,” Kalim posits, “it has nothing to do with sex. Maybe he can’t hit the spots in her heart.”

Cater stares, realizes he’s staring approximately ten seconds later, and forces himself to laugh in disbelief. “(Name) in love? Please, Kalim! She’d never.”

“How do you know? If there’s a connection, but it isn’t reciprocated…” Kalim shrugs and stuffs a macaron in his mouth, continuing his next words with a muffle: “I’m just guessing. Actually, I just thought it felt right, you know? I don’t know your friend—but I’d like to one day—so I can’t say that’s why she did what she did, but not everyone has the same spots. Maybe she wanted more from him, but he couldn’t give it to her.”

“Kalim, you know I appreciate you and your pure heart, but good dick and love are two separate things. You can love good dick, but good dick can’t give you love if the relationship isn’t built on it to begin with.” Lilia cackles at the phrasing, but Cater adds in a clipped tone, “I know (Name). It had nothing to do with love. It’s just convenience.”

Kalim pouts. “Then, if she really didn’t love him, what if he loved her?”

“Oh? Is this a sudden twist in the suspicious soap opera? I’m on the edge of my seat.” Lilia interjects, eyes wide, hands spread like he’s a magician who’s just performed a magnificent trick worthy of applause. “The youths of today are so creative. Back in my day, you could pierce your lover with Cupid’s arrow if you sang a love song, wrote flowery poetry, or defeated a rival in a bloody battle for the heart!”

“Lils, that’s so medieval…”

“Far from it! Even today, love songs and poems are still quite popular. Sometimes the battle part applies. Or am I a century behind?”

“That’s funny! You’re so silly, Lilia!”

I don’t think he’s joking, Kalim…

Lilia tilts his head, blinking owlishly, a smile spreading on his face. “I’m happy to entertain.”

“Listen, if he loved her, I wish him the best of luck. (Name) makes herself hard to love. I should know. I’m her bestie, after all. Maybe that’s why she’s ghosting us. Things got too lovey-dovey and she had to set sail. She’ll be back in a day or two once she’s returned from her boring little island of loneliness.”

“I suppose patterns are easier to predict once you’ve fallen into them…”

“Right? You get it, Lils. She’ll be fine. Everyone will be fine! (Name) just needs her space, Riddle needs a chill pill, and we need to get back on track. So! ‘Kismet Kiss,’ yeah? It’s a good debut song, right?”

“What if he didn’t give her a choice?” Kalim blurts, and both heads turn in his direction. He fidgets, his fingers curling into his jacket. “I guess… Well, it’s scary to admit, but what if she really did disappear and Riddle’s worries are totally valid?”

“You think she got kidnapped?”

“Um… I’m not saying that…”

“He’s saying it, but it’s at a frequency we just can’t understand. Like subliminal messaging.”

“Lilia!” Kalim squeezes his eyes shut with a groan. “You’re gonna jinx it!”

“That’s what Riddle thinks happened. I keep telling him it’s nothing like that, but you know how he gets. Once his mind is made up, it’s hard to change it.”

“Riddle’s not wrong in thinking the worst.”

“Yeah! Riddle’s always been so sensible, so I trust his judgment. Your gut never lies, after all.”

“But he’s wrong this time, okay?”

“How can you know for sure?”

What is this, an interview? Give me a break.

“I just know.” Green eyes sparkle under neon lights, no longer pits of gloom set into his skull. “Her pattern’s easy to follow, Lils. And I used to burden myself with the worst of the worst, but that’s so not cute! I’d rather chalk it up to her usual behavior than think she’s lying in some dark ditch, hacked to pieces.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say, Cater…”

“I’ll admit it does paint a rather grisly image.”

“You think?”

Kalim stares, his mouth foolishly agape.

He shakes his head, tutting, and holds his finger up to his lips. With a wink, he says, “The worst becomes ten times cuter when it’s absurd! There’s no way she’s in a ditch. We’re in the city. Where is anyone gonna find the nearest ditch when everything’s all concrete and steel?”

Lilia hums, but Cater surmises he isn’t buying the cheery assurances. In fact, the more he tells himself these things, the less he believes them. “If you say so. I shan't push it further.” He lifts his glass with magic and brings it to his lips to finish what’s left. “The worst lies are often, as you usually phrase it, ‘addictively adorable,’ so perhaps you aren’t entirely wrong either.” Blood-red liquid tilts towards waiting lips. “Your friend may not be in a ditch, but she might be enshrouded in a gilded falsehood.”

Cater opens his mouth to reply and is promptly interrupted by the ringing of a timer.

Kalim gasps and scrambles to silence it. “Has it already been two hours? No way! We haven’t even had a chance to sing yet!”

“I suppose old habits die hard.”

“Aah, this really is like club meetings all over again…” He smiles fondly, his eyes glazing with reminiscence. “I guess it can’t be helped. We always have things to talk about when we meet up!”

Lilia grins and bumps shoulders with him. “You’ll never be short of conversation topics with me.”

“I believe it!”

They glance at Cater. He blinks back at them.

“Then should we call it a night? Jamil’s probably wondering why I haven’t gotten back to him yet… Oh, right. I forgot to tell him we were hanging out tonight. Haha! Oops!”

How can you be so carefree? I’d like to know your secret.

“As much of a night owl as I am, we’ve long overstayed our welcome. Perhaps we’ll meet again tomorrow? We can discuss your song and goals for the band then. Travel is not a challenge for me, though I assume you might be a little busy, Kalim?”

“It’s complicated, but I can definitely make time for you guys! You’re my friends and I wanna hang out! Next time, we definitely have to invite Riddle and I’ll bring Jamil, too!”

No, it’s not being carefree. You’re just careless.

Cater flashes them a smile that’s just as empty as his eyes, yet it seems to do the trick. Either that, or Lilia just doesn’t wish to verbalize his observations. “Totally! We’ll get to it when we get to it.”

“I look forward to it. I think Cicada City is shaping up to be quite the shining star with a promising future.”

“Ooh, shining stars! I love it! We gotta talk about outfits, too.” Kalim pops up from the booth. “Ah! But before that, you should talk to your friend, Cater. Make sure she’s okay. I hope she’s safe.”

“As do I. Better to be safe than sorry, as they often say.”

Cater nods. “Yep, yep! You can count on Detective Cay Cay! I’ll get to the bottom of this mystery in no time.”

The macaron in his hand is subjected to a brutal crushing.

This is so not sweet. I completely forgot to take pictures for Magicam.

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere jade leech #yandere jade leech x reader #serial killer jade #death row undertow #death row undertow chapter seven

206 notes · View notes

snavian · 5 months

Text

NEW POLL because the previous one has made me very curious!

#deep rock galactic #i know magma core and hollow bough are the most hated ones but i don't hear people saying which biomes they enjoy much

54 notes · View notes

prismaticpichu · 21 days

Note

On one mission, Sephiroth feels a strange calling. That night, he wanders away from the group and begins searching. When he finds the cave behind the waterfall, he is immediately stunned by what, or rather who, he finds.

Ooooohooooooooooooo *rubs stubby paws together*

I’ma do both a Drabble and a regular answer bc this is a juicy one! 💕

Sephiroth wasn’t sure how the words left him, those two ghostly syllables that seem more like a shallow breath of air than actual speech. He wasn’t sure how he formed the thought in his mind—when the seeds were planted, where they came from, or how they flourished into the wraithlike realization that had overtaken him like a possession.

Instinct.

Pure, raw, undeniable instinct.

He reached out, numb, like a child wanting to grasp the stars in their hand. Like floating in a dream.

And yet, as his hand met the crystal, nothing had ever felt so real.

“M… Mother…?”

He knew.

And now… :3c With a little EC sprinkled in!

The calling isn’t like the eerie, painful tugs on his psyche that he feels at night, or the bitter chills that sometimes crawl down his spine and fill his mind with dark and bitter impulses. No. Not this time. This time, it’s… different. Sweeter, almost. But not in a cloying, manipulative way, trying to seduce him with its velvet timbre. It is just…

Different.

And unlike those callings he heard so often at night, Sephiroth follows.

He quietly breaks away from his troop in the dead of night, knowing at least two other First Class SOLDIERs are there, and follows the calling to gushing waterfall. But the calling doesn’t stop there: what he’s looking for doesn’t lie in the water, isn’t something that’s going to come streaming down from the cascade. He has to keep going. He has to.

He continues to travel forward, unflinching, and walks right through the waterfall diving Corel and Nibelheim.

The cave is towering, brilliant, astonishing—a valley of luminous blue gemstones jutting out from all directions and setting the cavern aglow in its phosphorescent embrace. But it’s what’s in the heart of the cave that earns Sephiroth’s attention—that causes his eyes to widen and his heart to twist and throb and shrink and burst all at once.

A woman, encased in a crystalline structure.

Beautiful brunette hair.

A pearl necklace.

Holy white clothing.

Sephiroth’s breaths rattles, and he continues to walk forward.

His nerves have frosted over, glazed under ice and frost. He doesn’t even feel the limb move as his hand slides into his coat pocket, the one nearest to his palpating, twisting heart, and takes out the photograph.

He brings it before his eyes.

He lifts it up.

He holds it in front of the crystal, the woman, Her…

And sees that they match.

When Genesis and Angeal finally find Sephiroth, having searched for him in a frightened, concerned haste, they find their friend’s head pressed against the crystal—whispering, shuddering, crying… Pleading in a voice too quiet for them to understand, something of a blend of an apology and a wish and a promise.

The one thing they do hear, they do catch, comes out in choke so deep and raw that the entire cave seems to shudder.

Three words they never thought they would hear Sephiroth utter.

“I love you…” Sephiroth chokes, and brings his voice down to inaudible as the tear rolls down the crystal. “I hope you’re proud of me, Mother.”

#sephiroth #ffvii #ff7 #final fantasy vii #drabbles #pichu writing #lucrecia crescent #dhdhdhjd #<3 #asks #ty!!#jenova #ever crisis

24 notes · View notes

rabbitbakery · 10 months

Text

The queen and her subject <3

I can explain 👁👁 I’m gay an I’ve been hyper fixated on this silly lil goddess I made soooo I’m dragging you all with me >:)

(NEEDED CONTEXT: a Crystalline is the species that Iris is, they rule over villages similarly to kings?? Think goddess but with crystal. Also she can like, make crystals???? It’s hard to explain but I promise it’s better shown than told.) all of Iris’s lines will be in purple

(warnings: yandere behavior, arranged marriage, kinda violence? It’s implied ig, big woman, like so much fluff) do not seek a relationship like this EVER in real life capish. Your a female in this too bth ———————————————————————

Divine, all knowing, and all seeing. Those were the words to describe her. The being who oversaw your small village was a Crystalline, an Amethyst one at that. She was seen as the most gorgeous being in all of your region! So why was a lowly geologist like you being summoned to her cave?

Deep, deep into the woods was a plentiful cave full of amethyst and other wondrous artifacts. This is where she made her home. Her name was Iris, she watched and ruled your village. You yourself were eager yet frightened to enter the cavern, no soul has ever been summoned to her home for good reasons. But you couldn’t help but the wonder what you could have possibly done? You were a good, hardworking, and friendly member of the community. You have done no wrong from what you know! Which only left one simple question, why were you being summoned?

As the guards escorted you, faint humming could be heard throughout the forest. As you we approaching closer and closer to the cave, the humming became louder and louder, almost to loud. Your walking slowed a bit in fear, but a small shove from the men kept you moving. Upon arriving, a beautiful cave is presented to you. Amethyst sprawls from the women, covering the walls and ground in the beautiful crystal. As she sees that you have arrived, she stops humming and turns slightly to address you.

“Hello there my dear! I hope the journey here wasn’t too strenuous!”

The woman in-front of you was… for lack of a better term massive. Not in a derogatory way of course, just quite literally massive. She was at least a hundred times your height and width. She was always referred to as a gentle giant, but you thought the villagers meant she was a bit on the tall side! As you’re trapped in your, quite surprised thoughts, one of the men pipe up.

“ I assure you we were gentle with her your liege.” A disappointed sigh was heard from the woman, clearly not happy with the answer given to her.

“You’re aware I oversee EVERYTHING that happens in that village correct?”

Seems the men failed to inform her of them breaking into your home and dragging you by your hair out. You’re gonna have bruises for weeks from how they handled you.

“Your liege I can-“

“I suggest you keep quiet, boy. I’m not exactly in a “merciful” mood this evening.”

Iris’s tone was enough to sent shivers down all three of you and the men’s spines. A few agonizing seconds pass before the other knight speaks up.

“My liege, if I may?”

“Make your words well spoken boy, I don’t have time for this.”

“Why did you request her?”

Thank the stars you didn’t have to ask, you think in your state you would have fainted at the thought of speaking.

Another sigh is heard before she gives a snappy remark back.

“She is to be my wife, do your men not recall that conversation? Or are you all too incompetent to understand anything I say?”

…

WHAT? Why weren’t you informed of this! You can’t be her wife- you’re not prepared! You know next to nothing about being a spouse!

You suppose the look of your face gave yourself away, as she speaks once again.

“You all told her she was to be married to me, correct ?”

“…”

“Oh thank the STARS she is in this room because if she WASN’T!”

Sharp jagged shards of amethyst rapidly spread from her feet and surround the men, who were now standing in-front of you. The amethyst is only about as tall as their boots, but it sends fear into both the men’s hearts, their body language reflects such. Her pupils turn into small slits, similar to a snake. She withdraws the amethyst shards from the men once she sees your fear.

“My apologies my dear, you two leave now”

They didn’t need to be told as they high tailed it outta there right as she said. You almost wanted to stop them, ask what was happening. The fear of upsetting her stopped you from doing such.

“My deepest apologies for how those pigs handled you my love! I can assure you that their actions will not go without punishment.”

“…May I my liege?”

“Of course my dearest.”

“…What is… happening?” The confusion in your voice was evident and you were shaken in your boots.

“Ah yes, I suppose an explanation is in order hm? Well as your aware I be requested your here for us to be wed! I’ve been keeping a close eye on you for quite some time~” Iris cooed gently, her voice much lower then before. Your not quite sure what she meant by “keeping a close eye”. Has she been stalking you!? You suppose that would explain your situation, but why?

“My liege, why me in particular? I’m no noble or Crystalline.”

“Oh my love, your so much more to me then that, the day I saw you at the moon rabbit festival I knew it was fate.”

Every year your village hosts a moon rabbit festival, to celebrate the many rabbits and bunny’s who wander your village. Rabbits are very sacred to your village, so Iris would attend every year to help decorate and give blessings. You had a stand selling the many crystals and gems you’ve collected from that year. You thought your liege was keeping a close watch on you, maybe too close even. But you thought nothing of it, merely a illusion in your eyes.

“My liege, I beg you to reconsider! I truly am not spouse material!”

“Oh hush my dear, that’s blasphemy!” Iris proclaimed with a chuckle. As she did, her tail curled around you, trapping you in-front of her.

“I’m not letting such a beautiful flower wilt under my careful watch~” She gently picks you up without warning, causing you to flinch a little. She holds you gently in her palm and brings you to her face, nuzzling you.

“I love you more than anything my darling, and I’m not letting my opportunity to be your wife slip from my palm.” With that, she gives you a kiss on your head, leaving you warm and fuzzy inside. Still holding you, she stands up from her perch and walks deeper into her home.

“I suppose I should show you where you’ll be residing from now on hm?”

She strolls deeper and see into her cavern. It was much bigger than it looks from the outside, yet still as beautiful. Crystals and silver adorned the walls of the abode, shimmering as Iris walked. She cradled you in her arms, occasionally looking down at you with a loving gaze and a warm smile. Her pace slow and steady, her hold firm. This felt… wrong. Your not used to so much attention, positive attention at that. You simply couldn’t handle it! Luckily you wouldn’t have to wait for long as you see a room off of the hallway like stretch of cave. To your left was a separate cavern, a bolder covering the entrance. Iris effortlessly pushes the bolder out of the way and enters the room.

“Here is our bedroom! You’ll be here for a bit before we have our wedding, sorry there aren’t anymore rooms my dove, I’m not quite finished creating the rest of our home just yet.”

The room had the same amethyst coating the walls, the ground a purple rug with shimmering bits in it. The walls had some shelves made of stone, on them were things that you weren’t quite sure what they were, but they looks expensive. And too the right was a small nest of very large purple blankets and pillows, all shimmering with the same shimmering bits as the rug. All you could do was stare in amazement, you hadn’t the money to even lay eyes on these things, let alone live near them. Iris gently set you on the mound of blankets and sat down to your level, setting her head in her arms. A loving stare poured into you, all you could do is curl up and try not to look stupid.

“Oh my dear, what am I too do with you~” She gently nudges a strand of hair out of your face with her finger and tilts your head up to meet her eyes. After a few seconds of you desperately trying to avoid eye contact, she takes her hand and pulls you into her arms, embracing you in a warm hug. Faint purring is heard from her throat as she crawls into her nest and lays you next to her.

“We should get some sleep my dear, I have to plan tomorrow, and I’m sure you’ll want to be well rested.”

She says as she pulls you into a tight hug. You wiggle a bit, her giggling and holding you tighter in protest. You eventually give up and drift to sleep. Unaware of the obsessive eyes watching over your every move.

“Goodnight my sweet, I promise you’ll get adjusted soon~”

57 notes · View notes