#/someone take him to the beach this man needs to be by saltwater desperately

[rerairude567]

Quick Drabble:

Fandom: FFVII

Ship: Reno x Rude

CW: M/M, mentions of sunburn, small argument for those sensitive to scolding in a fanfic

Character creds and locations go to Square Enix and Tetsuya Nomura. Plot is mine.

Heartburn

Reno and Rude had been working non-stop for weeks, taking on one mission after another. They were in desperate need of a break from the Turks lifestyle, and so they decided to take a vacation to Costa del Sol. They had heard about the beautiful beaches and the tropical atmosphere, and it sounded like the perfect place to unwind.

As they arrived at the hotel, Reno couldn't help but feel excited. “We’re finally here!”

“Someone’s excited…,” Rude teased, adjusting his sunglasses upon his face.

After checking into their hotel, they quickly changed into their beach attire. Reno opted for a pair of black swim trunks and a red tank top, while Rude went for simple navy blue swim shorts and a white t-shirt. They both grabbed a towel and made their way to the beach.

Under the brilliant sun, the coastline glimmered with pristine sands, kissed by the gentle caress of waves. The tang of saltwater mingled with the sweet scent of sunscreen, enveloping the bustling beach in an atmosphere of leisure and vitality.

Amidst the kaleidoscope of tourists and locals reveling in the balmy weather, Reno and Rude sought out a secluded patch of shoreline, eager to immerse themselves in the inviting embrace of the cerulean sea.

Setting down their towels and belongings, they ventured towards the lapping waves, anticipation coursing through their veins like a tide of anticipation.

Rude insisted that Reno put on some sunscreen, but Reno stubbornly refused.

“Come on, Reno. You don't want to get a nasty sunburn,” Rude groaned, trying to reason with his companion.

“I'll be fine. I don't need any sunscreen,” Reno replied, dismissively.

Rude shrugged it off for now and followed Reno into the water. They splashed around, trying to cool off in the hot sun. Rude even convinced Reno to look for some sea shells with him, something he had always enjoyed doing as a child. They laughed and joked as they searched for the perfect shells.

After a while, Rude suggested they play frisbee. Reno was hesitant at first, but Rude's infectious smile convinced him to join in. They tossed the frisbee back and forth, with Rude showing off his impressive throwing skills. Reno, on the other hand, struggled to catch it, making Rude laugh.

But as the afternoon wore on, Reno started to feel the effects of the hot sun on his fair skin. He began to complain about the heat and how his skin was starting to burn.

Rude couldn't help but palm his forehead. “I told you to put on sunscreen, Reno. Now look at you,' he scolded.

Reno's mood quickly turned sour, and he started to bitch about the sunburn. Rude tried to ignore his friend's complaints, but eventually, he had enough. “You know what? I'm going to the bar. You can stay here and continue to complain,” Rude finished, clearly annoyed.

Reno watched as Rude stormed off, his broad shoulders tense with anger. He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that he had ruined their day at the beach with his stubbornness. He quickly packed up their things and followed Rude to the tiki bar.

Rude was sitting at the bar, sipping on a cold drink. He didn't even look at Reno as he approached.

“I'm sorry, Rude. I should have listened to you about the sunscreen,” Reno apologized, feeling genuinely remorseful.

Reno shifted uncomfortably, his fingers fidgeting with the wrapper of the Cactuar ice pops he had bought on their way to the bar.

“I know I messed up, man. But I got us these," he said, holding up the colorful treats like a peace offering. "Thought they might make up for it, you know? Us, chilling by the beach, enjoying these bad boys together."

Rude finally glanced at Reno, his expression softening at the sight of the ice pops.

A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes before he sighed and reached for one of the treats. "You're impossible, Reno," he muttered, his tone tinged with exasperation and fondness all at once.

Reno's face broke into a sheepish grin as he handed Rude the ice pop. "I know, but I promise I'll listen next time," he said earnestly, hoping to mend the rift between them and salvage what was left of their day in paradise.

Reno smiled back and nodded, grateful to have such a patient and caring friend like Rude. They spent the rest of the evening at the tiki bar, enjoying each other's company and watching the sun set over the ocean as they snacked on the tasty treats.

As they headed back to their hotel room, Reno couldn't help but feel grateful for this unexpected vacation. Not only did he get to relax and unwind, but he also got to spend quality time with his best friend, Rude. And as they walked hand in hand, the warm tropical breeze blowing through their hair, Reno couldn't help but think that this was the perfect end to a perfect day.

[vannahfanfics]

Our Fate, Tied to Crystal

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Fairy Tail

Characters: Millianna, Sho

It was devastatingly beautiful— the mirror-glass sea stretching in all directions around Millianna as she stood on the foundation that once held the Tower of Heaven. Her eyes were lidded as she stared up into the blue sky, envisioning the crystal structure that she and her friends had slaved over for years on end. It was remarkable, how in an instant , it had shattered into diamond dust— just blipped out of existence with only bedrock a few inches below the saltwater to serve as its legacy. That, and their painful memories, of course. 

Truthfully, Millianna was not quite sure why she’d wandered back to this empty place. She, her friends, and the Fairy Tail mages were resting in the nearby port town. After recuperating for several days, Millianna had been permitted to mosey about the area— yet her feet had carried her here, to this graveyard of misguided ambitions and lost time. Perhaps Millianna’s heart was not yet ready to let go, to accept the sobering reality that she’d nearly led the most important people in her life to ruin. 

Millianna’s eyes watered, and she hung her head. Her chin thumped lightly against her chest as the tears slipped down her cheeks. They pooled on her jawline before dripping down, splashing into the water below. Ripples propagated from the tiny droplet, disrupting the perfect stillness of the sea. 

“What am I going to do now?” she whispered to the heartless breeze. It ruffled endlessly over her, plucking at her clothes and her short orange-brown hair. Wrong as it may have been, the Tower of Heaven had given her purpose. Her reason for living was now just as much dust as the towering figure, lost to the wind. Millianna had nothing. 

“No,” she refuted with a small sniffle and wiped furiously at her eyes. No, she still had something very precious. Though Simon had been lost, Millianna still had the others— Erza, Wally, Sho. Her heart fluttered as she thought of the cheeky blond boy. 

Yes, Millianna still had something very precious indeed. 

Her titillated heart sunk in the next second. Sho had told her earlier that morning when she’d visited his room that he intended to travel the world and learn all there was to know. He’d looked so excited, eyes sparkling as he stared out the window into the great beyond. Millianna wanted to feel happy for him, be overjoyed that so soon he’d discovered something new to sustain him. Yet Millianna could only feel apprehension, and it was more for herself than anyone else. Everything she knew seemed to be slipping through her fingers, like the fine grains of sand lining the beach behind her. Soon, Millianna really would be left with nothing, and then what would she do? 

Millianna heaved a sigh. It caught on the wind and floated up, up, and away to join the shattered hopes and dreams floating in the clouds in the sky above. She raised her head to look out at sea again; the ripples had stilled, the water smoothed like sleek glass— as if the crystal tower had just melted into a thin sheet atop the salty brine. 

Millianna raised her eyebrows as small waves hit the back of her bare ankles, rippling around her feet and disturbing the water again. She turned to see Sho wading out onto the water-covered platform, his pants tucked above his ankles to keep them dry. Millianna’s throat bobbed as he approached. The emotions rushed up inside her throat, sticking there and threatening to suffocate her. 

“I found you at last, Millianna,” Sho smiled. His smile had always been so gorgeous, white and perfect and laced with boyish charm. As he flashed it at her, her heartbeat quickened in her aching chest. She found herself spellbound by its simple beauty, so she said nothing as he joined her in the middle of the ruined tower base. “What’re you doing out here?” 

Well, a question begets an answer, so Millianna had to speak this time. 

Millianna looked to the horizon, where the two expanses of blue joined into a line of forever. She sighed again, and the sea breeze whisked it away just as it had everything else of Millianna’s in recent days. 

“I’m just thinking about the future,” she admitted quietly. She heard the rustle of Sho’s clothes as he slipped his hands into his pockets. “For better or for worse, most of my life was here in the tower… and now it’s gone.” Her eyes watered as the apprehension and hopelessness bubbled up inside her to a boil, and again the tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked back to him. “I don’t… I don’t know what I’m going to do .” 

Everyone was leaving. Simon was dead. Jellal was imprisoned, and Erza was returning to Fairy Tail. Wally and Sho were yielding to their wanderlust. Yet Millianna had nothing, no place to go. Was she doomed to make this place her grave, to bury herself in the remains of the Tower of Heaven and become one with the sea? She’d always fancied a tragic end steeped in romance. Perhaps that was the only path left for her. 

“Millianna.” 

Oh . Millianna liked it when he said her name like that, with a voice soft and genuine. It set a shiver to her skin, pleasurable tingles making her hair rise just so slightly. It called her like a siren, swinging her gaze from the endless ocean to the boy smiling softly at her. Sho reached out to gently put his hand on her arm; it slowly slipped down, traveling over her skin before he settled in her hand. Their fingers locked together effortlessly as if they’d always belonged together. When he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, she felt her worries melt away, down through the soles of her feet to wash out in the water. 

Her eyelashes fluttered as she regarded him miserably. She felt it breaking, the barriers she’d erected to protect herself in the Tower of Heaven. With the structure nothing but crystal dust and fading memory, what need did she have for them anymore? The truth trickled out little by little, flooding her being with bittersweet longing. 

“I’m going to miss you, Sho. So much.” 

“I’m going to miss you too, Millianna—” he started with an understanding expression, but she interrupted him with an exasperated huff. Her free hand teased frustratedly through her hair, and the nervous twitches of her body sent the ripples spreading over the glassy water again. 

“No, you don’t understand! It’s not like— it’s not like how I’ll miss Wally or Erza. It’s different with you!” She was yelling at him now, tears streaking down her cheeks, as the emotions she’d suppressed for so long burst forth like water from a wearied dam. Sho only gaped at her. Suddenly, the raging storm vanished, exhausted from beating upon the shore, leaving her with cold, hollow loneliness and fear. Hanging her head, she squeezed his hand tight. “I love you, Sho.” 

The sea breeze rippled past them. Its lithe fingers plucked at the folds of Millianna’s dress and Sho’s dress shirt and slacks to fill the air with gentle ruffling. Sho was silent for a moment, a moment that stretched on forever; just as Millianna began to wonder what was going through his mind, he sucked in a deep breath and then exhaled. 

“I know, Millianna.” 

Millianna felt the lump re-form in her throat at the nondescript answer. As her face screwed up in a mixture of confusion and trepidation, Sho smiled sweetly and tenderly cupped her cheek with his hand. She immediately burrowed into his palm, savoring the softness of his skin against hers. Her teary eyes fixed on his face, committing every aspect of it to memory. 

“I’m sorry, Millianna, but I can’t reciprocate.” 

Millianna jerked back, an expression of hurt blooming on her panicked face. Sho hurriedly grabbed her wrist to keep her from fleeing, and despite every instinct within her screaming to run, she forced herself to stay and listen. She clung to the frayed thread of hope that there was an unspoken “but.”

“I can’t reciprocate now ,” he clarified slowly. “I need to become someone worthy enough to have your heart.” 

Millianna looked at him incredulously. 

“What makes you think you aren’t worthy of it now? Sho, I—”

“Please.” His gaze was soft with affection yet troubled— desperate. “I’m not proud of the person I am right now. I know it’s a lot to ask, and you don’t even have to accept, but— please. Let me grow to be a better man for you. Will you wait for me, Millianna?” 

Millianna’s eyes shook as she held his tender, loving gaze. How could she refuse when he looked at her like that, like she had his whole world in her hands? A selfish part of her wanted to refuse, to demand he stay here with her— but she silenced that discontented child. Exhaling with a small smile, she nodded. 

“Yes, Sho. Of course. I’ll wait as long as you need.” 

“I’m glad, Millianna,” Sho said, visibly sagging in relief. As Millianna began to try and memorize every feature about him again, he fished something out of his pocket. “I know it’s going to be hard… So I got this.” 

He handed her a small lacrima. With eyes wide with wonder, Millianna held it up, mesmerized by the sunlight refracting over its crystalline surface. “We’ll still be able to talk!” he explained excitedly when she looked back at him. He looked sympathetically at her then, as the disappointment must have etched permanently into her face though she tried to seem optimistic. “I know it’s the most ideal arrangement… but I hope you understand.” 

“Of course I understand,” she sighed and hugged the lacrima to her chest. She smiled wanly at Sho. “It will take some getting used to… But I understand that you want to separate yourself from this place, Sho.” She looked around the platform, the gravestone marking the death of that chapter in their lives. Sho slipped his hands in his pockets and raised his eyebrows at her. 

“What do you think you’ll do?” 

Millianna mulled over it for a moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek. With Sho’s lacrima, she no longer had the desire to give up. At this point, only one option was afforded to her. It didn’t seem like a bad idea at all. 

“I think I’m going to join a guild.” 

“I think that’s wonderful, Millianna,” he grinned brightly. Millianna preened at his approval. He took his hands out of his pocket again, moving toward her, and she anticipated the embrace. As his arms wound around her, she snuggling into his form, closing her eyes and inhaling deep to savor the spicy scent of his cologne. He tucked his face in her hair and mumbled, “I’m gonna become someone you’re proud of, Millianna. I swear it.” 

“Silly,” she laughed as tears leaked from her eyes again. “I’m already proud… But you can always make me prouder, I guess.” 

For so long, their fates had been tied to the crystal composing the Tower of Heaven. That crystal was no more, mere diamond dust traveling the ocean currents to realms unknown. Their fate was tied to a new crystal now. As Millianna and Sho slowly meandered back to the town, she clutched the lacrima close to her body, eager to embrace the new chapter in her life that it heralded.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[shannygoatgruff]

The World Over - Part III

Catch Up Here

Genre:  Vikings/GOT Crossover Fan Fiction

Overall Rating: MA – violence, language, strong sexual content 

Summary: Ivar the Boneless and Daenerys Targaryen find themselves unlikely allies. But each has something that the other needs to get them what they want. He has the tactical skill to take her all the way to King’s Landing. She has the dragon army that will give him all of England, possibly Norway. Will they be each other’s savior or demise?

Middle Child Problems 

Ivar felt his bare skin scraping against the grit below him.  His eyes slowly opened, but he couldn't focus on anything. Nothing in his body seemed to work. He wanted to take a deep breath, but he couldn’t. He needed to cough, but he couldn't do that, either. Panic suddenly settled in. 

Gasping for air, he tried to fight back against those who dragged him. Damned crippled legs. If only they worked, he would have been able to thrash them around and create enough force to alert someone that he needed to be turned on his side.

Ivar was going to drown on dry land.

"Wait! Stop!" Hvitserk's voice rang out amidst a cacophony of moans and groans. "He needs help." Running to reach his brother, Hvitserk saw Ivar's face turning blue, and the panic-stricken look in his eyes. He quickly turned his brother on his side and began pounding on his back.

Ivar coughed harder than he had ever in his life. Tears streamed from his eyes as an ocean full of water escaped his lungs. He took in audible gulps of air in between coughs before he rolled onto his back.

"Thank you, Brother," Ivar extended his hand to Hvitserk who in turn helped him slowly get into a seated position. He looked along the shoreline for any remnants of their fleet. "How many boats survived?" He asked breathlessly, straining his eyes against the sun to look out into the ocean, "Hvitserk?"

Shaking his head, Hvitserk licked his lips. "Was he on the boat with you?" 

Quickly darting off, Hvitserk went back to the water's edge. "Was he on the boat with you? Ivar?" He yelled back to his brother. Frantically scanning the beach, he called out, "Ubbe! UBBE!"

Ivar began to crawl along the beach and overturn driftwood and other debris as it washed ashore. "Ubbe!" He cried out. He was weak. His arms felt like they were about to give out at any second. Crawling on the sand was a feat within itself, but doing so immediately after almost drowning, made it almost impossible. His muscles were still starved of oxygen. His head was swimming.  Neither is breathing nor heart rate had yet to return to a normal rhythm. Now and again, he still coughed up saltwater but, it didn't matter Ubbe was somewhere among the wreckage.

It was no secret that Ivar would have killed any one of his brothers for his ambition. He was Viking, after all. But let it never be said that he didn't love them. He would chase any man or god throughout all of Midgard to avenge his family; that included Sigurd. His death had been an accident. 

He just wished his brothers saw things his way and valued him as more than their burden. He wanted to be treated as their equal - as one of the Sons of Ragnar. He didn't want to be the little brother that they had to cart and carry around. The one that no one listened to. The one that they thought was too reactionary. He wanted their respect and their love. 

"Ubbe?" He happened to glance over to see Hvitserk running into the water to overturn a floating body. Ivar couldn't bear to see if that body belonged to Ubbe. 

It couldn't be Ubbe. He knew that in his broken bones.

Crawling away from the water, Ivar continued to overturn driftwood. He happened upon a pile of wreckage and started to riffle through it until he finally discovered a body. He sat up and pulled his legs around in front of him. Using as much strength as he could, he turned the limp body over on its side. "He's here. Hvitserk! Help me, he's here!" Ivar tried to move his own body out of the way to lay Ubbe flat. 

Noting the huge gash on his head and a wooden stake embedded in his stomach, his brother did not appear to be breathing. "Ubbe? I've got you, Brother," he said softly, cradling Ubbe's head.

"Is he alright?" Hvitserk asked out of breath, as he ran over to where Ivar sat. He helped get Ubbe flat and assessed his damages, "Ubbe. Can you hear me?" Falling to his knees, Hvitserk put is ear to Ubbe's mouth checking for breath sounds. Is this the air or him breathing?

"Is he alive?" Ivar asked, trying to see around his brother's head. "Hvitserk?" He pushed his brother to side and began to slap Ubbe's face. "Wake up, Ubbe. Odin did not see us victorious in Wessex to have you die here." He looked around briefly to get a sense where here was.

Hvitserk touched the stake that impaled his older brother and noticed how anguish danced on Ubbe's face. "He's alive," he said hurriedly, looking up at Ivar. His brain scrambled trying to figure out what to do next. "We need to remove this. I'll try to find something to keep him warm. Keep pressure here," he pressed his hands just to the sides of where Ubbe was hurt, to show Ivar where to hold.

"You need to find some herbs to fight a fever," Ivar said, holding his hands on Ubbe's body. If he could walk, he would have run to find the herbs himself. He was not a healer by any means, but he had spent enough time with Helga to know what herbs would fight fever and which ones would fight infection.

Hvitserk didn't want to leave Ubbe. He was not only his brother but also his best friend. He didn't know what was worse; leaving Ubbe, who might die while he was gone, or leaving him with Ivar. He loved his little brother. There was so much about him that he admired; his strength, tenacity, and keen mind were just the small list of attributes he could name about Ivar. But as much as admired him, he also felt consternation. Ivar was not to be trusted. He had this rage that boiled just below the surface and when he was piqued, his anger knew no bounds. "I'll be back soon. Take care of him, Ivar," he said.

Running at breakneck speed, Hvitserk made his way from the shore to a slope. 

He needed to find a forest or thicket of some kind. Although he had limited knowledge of herbs, he knew what to look for to make a salve that would save off infection from Ubbe's wounds. How he wished he had spent more time with Floki and Helga as a child. But, as it were, he was too busy running around with Ubbe and desperately trying to raid with Ragnar.  Ivar was the one that gained all of the benefits of herbal, spiritual and blood magic from the elders. But, Ivar's body couldn't carry him as fast as Hvitserk's could.

Did he even know what to do with the herbs when he found them? Short of chewing them and placing them into the wound, he wasn't quite sure what else there was. He had been hurt and healed numerous times as a child and on the battlefield, but he had never been the one doing the healing. He always had Ubbe for that. His older brother was the one that took care of him. Ubbe took care of all of them. With Björn being so far apart from them in age, he seemed more like an uncle while they were growing up. They didn't grow close until they were all grown men. It was always Ubbe that acted like the oldest brother – he was the glue that kept them all together. What would he do if he couldn't save him?

Hvitserk couldn't afford himself time to think that way.

Finally, he made it to a clearing. He walked quizzically and found himself at the edge of a stone pier. The pier overlooked a lake. and just on the other side of that lake was a city. Putting his hand on the hilt of his sword, he anxiously looked for any signs of vegetation, while keeping a close eye on the people across the water. He needed to stay out of sight. He didn't want to alert anyone to their location; especially with more than half of their fleet presumably missing at sea and the other half wounded on the beach. Hvitserk took a few steps back to hide in the shadows as he watched the people mill around.

He had no idea where they were. Judging from the way they were dressed they were not English or Frankish. Even the low-born people of Wessex and Paris didn't wear clothes like these. Besides, the weather was much too warm. And, there was no way they landed in Scandinavia. These people weren't Viking. They didn't look, smell or feel Viking. Maybe they had made it to the Mediterranean with Björn?

"Not now," he chided himself snapping out of his revelry. Fully concentrating on his mission, he ran from the pier and found a dirt road. He ran for a solid five minutes looking for something, anything that he could use to help Ubbe. Exhausted, he stopped and looked behind him to see how far he had gone. Then he turned back to see how far he still had to go. Before long, he found himself turning around in a complete circle. He let out a frustrated cry toward the sky. He was going to fail. His brother was going to die. "Freyr, please."

When he opened his eyes, he looked down to see a fine-tipped blade pointed at his throat. Swallowing hard, Hvitserk held up his hands.

"I don't want to kill you, but I will," A girl, standing stock still, said. Her round brown eyes never leaving his green orbs as she held him at sword point. She never flinched or drew herself into a fighting stance. Instead, she remained calm and carried on her conversation. "Who sent you?"

Hvitserk looked at the small girl who couldn't be more than five feet tall, nor a year or two younger than Ivar. She didn't seem to be afraid of him. Her sword hand wasn't shaking, nor did she seem to blink while talking to him. But she should have been afraid. He was far bigger and stronger than her, and the sword she held was a thin thing. How much damage could a puny weapon like that do? He glanced around quickly to assess if there were others with her. When he didn't hear or see any other movement, he assumed she was alone.

He raised his hands slowly and looked her in the eye. He couldn't understand the words she said to him, but he spoke to her anyway. "My brother," he panted, "I have to help him. I need herbs."

"I can't understand what you're saying," she said looking Hvitserk in the eye. He was almost a foot taller than her. Handsome enough, with a gentle face. Blond hair, green eyes, with a thin mustache and the beginnings of a beard. He was young – somewhere between the ages of her brothers, Jon and Robb. His clothes were strange. Maybe he was a Wildling that had escaped from the other side of the Wall, and made it all the way to Braavos. "We have a problem. I need to leave Braavos and you've seen me. You could tell them I've left. I can't have that." Tightening her grip on Needle, she pushed the blade tip ever so slightly into the fleshy part of his neck, enough to draw a small trickle of blood. The sight mesmerized her.

Hvitserk smiled at the way she stared at him. She seemed captivated. He always seemed to affect women. Even young, skinny, doe-eyed girls, who were trying to kill him, it seemed. Only, she wasn't trying to kill him. She wasn't attacking; she was trying to scare him. That was her first mistake.

In one fluid motion, he grabbed her sword by the blade, cutting his hand in the process. He pulled her toward him hard enough for her to bounce against his chest. He quickly spun her around disarming her, pressed his forearm against her neck. As she started to pull against him, he pulled out his sword and held it against her face. "I will slice your head from your shoulders if you don't help me."

Settling herself, she took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. "A girl has no name," Arya Stark said aloud and went with Hvitserk willingly.

"What is this, Hvitserk? I send you to get herbs, you come back with a girl?" Ivar looked at his brother confused. He watched as his brother pushed the small girl down onto the sand next to Ubbe. "Is she a healer?"

Arya surveyed the scene. They looked to have been shipwrecked. In total, there were about 20 men and women, possibly more, all strangers from what she could tell. From the pieces of their boats that had washed ashore, she had never seen anything like them before. She didn't understand the language they spoke or their crude weaponry. They had to be Wildlings. They certainly smelled like Wildlings. But, what were Wildlings doing this far south?

"She was the only person I found," Hvitserk bent down next to the trio. He snapped his fingers in front of the girl's face to bring her attention to his brother. Watching her closely, he shrugged at Ivar, "I grabbed her and brought her with me."

"Ubbe does not need a woman! He needs to be healed," Ivar could feel his blood start to rise. Did Hvitserk think this girl was going to fuck Ubbe back to health? "Did you at least get the herbs?"

Arya looked at the young man sitting on the ground for permission before she touched the sleeping one. When he looked upon her with piercing blue eyes, she lowered hers to look at the other's injuries. She noticed he had a large gash on his head. The wound wasn't actively bleeding but it would need to be sewn. She had already noticed he had an object sticking out of his belly. That would need to be removed immediately or he would be dead in a matter of hours.

This was not in her problem. She was supposed to be leaving Braavos, not getting involved with a bunch of Wildlings. But what if were Jon that needed help and someone left him for dead? She would want someone to take pity on him and show him kindness. It wouldn't have to take long. There was a Maester in Braavos that she knew - she could easily procure mustard seed, nettles, and bread mold to make a poultice to stop an infection and get Milk of the Poppy to ease his pain. She could be in and out before Jaqen H'ghar or The Waif could find her to continue their Game of Faces.

Shaking his head in defeat, Hvitserk refused to meet Ivar's eyes. He could tell that tell his youngest brother was giving him that look. That, I don't believe you look. "I couldn't find anything. All I could find was her. But she should know where to find herbs." He pointed at Arya, "I can't understand her and she can't understand me. I brought her here to show her that we need help."

Ivar carefully looked at the girl for some sign of recognition. Was she going to help Ubbe? Was he able to be saved? Did she know how?  She wasn't giving away anything with her face. She kept her thoughts and emotions very closely guarded but did not appear to be afraid. 

She was young and small, and very plain. She must have been poor judging from the simple frock she wore, perhaps a slave. Her shoulder-length brown hair looked greasy and her large brown eyes were huge in her sunken face. If Ivar had to guess, this mousy looking girl was probably a beggar with no home and no family. This girl would not be too much of a problem.

"So, let me get this straight, Brother. You went to find herbs but instead, you found a girl. And you brought her here to our camp, where we are temporarily defenseless. So she can go back to her people and tell them where we are, and they can come back with an army?" Ivar looked at Hvitserk, the back to Arya. Did he have to do everything, himself?

Ivar took a deep calming breath, "It's alright, Hvitserk." Turning his head back to Arya, he gave her a beautiful, warm smile, "After you save my brother, I am going to kill you."

Please let me know if you wish to be tagged on this story

[mnemememory]

storm and sea

Fjord has spent his whole life believing in something bigger than himself. He’s looked out onto the ocean on a cold, wet day and thought: If it wants me dead, then I’m dead. There isn’t much point in hiding from the sea. Sooner or later, it’ll get you.

His hands are calloused from climbing the rigging, rope burning through his palms. The wooden deck creaks like an old man on a bad day, but it’s the only home Fjord has ever cared for.

“You’re going to do good things,” Vandran says, and he smiles. Fjord listens to every word, watches everyone in the room do the same. Vandran is good at getting people to listen. He’s better at getting people to talk.

Fjord can’t refute him, but there’s something niggling at his gums. He files down his tusks bloody and waits for them to grow back with sick, furious impatience. Eating is a challenge. If Vandran notices that Fjord swallows down too-salty stew while avoiding anything harder than an overboiled potato, he doesn’t say anything. The only ones stupid enough to do so get a broken nose.

Is this how good people behave? Fjord wonders, knuckles raw and chest heaving. He doesn’t think so.

…

…

It gets easy. That’s the thing: it gets so easy, and by then it’s wasted potential.

He’s never had anything like this – it’s power, it’s prophecy. Fjord has always been meant to do good things, and here is the proof. A sword that wills itself into existence and an ability to put a face to his multitude of voices. Fjord isn’t angry (Fjord is furious); Fjord doesn’t exist. Here is a fancy human nobleman, tall and haughty. Here is a stooped beggar gnome, desperate for food. Fjord is so many people.

Fjord smiles at people and they don’t flinch away. Fjord files down his teeth and spits out globs of blood and it’s painful, it’s penance, it’s – something. Fjord wonders if Vandran would have approved. Fjord wonders why he cares.

He gets into fights, because underneath the new layers of skin he’ll always been green. It’s something stupid – some men, harassing a pretty barmaid. Let’s get out of here, one of them is saying, leaning over her. I know a nice place we could go – I could pay you so much more than what you’re making here, little thing –

Fjord doesn’t know what happens next, because it’s a blur. He kills them.

The barmaid gives him such a tired look when their bodies fall to the floor, sizzling. It’s late, but not late enough to attract the usual evening crowd: there’s still a speck of sunlight riding low in the sky, burning itself out against the ocean. Fjord can’t look away from the two dead men on the ground, at the spark of light that had shot from his hand to their chests.

“I could have handled it,” the barmaid says, stepping over the men and going around the bar. “Get rid of them yourself. You’ve got ten minutes before I get the guard.”

Fjord has never killed someone before.

He looks down at his hands, and they’re still crackling with residual energy, sparks flying out from his fingernails. There’s a kind of static-y quality to his skin. When he touches the wall, he gives himself a small electrical shock.

“Seven minutes,” the barmaid calls out.

Fjord takes one of the bodies by the leg and starts to drag it out onto the street.

There’s a lesson in all of this, somewhere, but he’s too tired to find it. He isn’t wearing his face (Fjord is almost never wearing his face, now, even though it drains him to almost nothing), so all he has to do is jump into a corner and switch strides. It’s easy. It’s frighteningly easy.

Vandran would have disapproved.

Fjord clutches onto that thought like a lifeline, fingernails sinking in deep. He has so many things he wants to say to his Captain, but most of all he wants to know what he would do in this situation. Fjord has killed two men and it sits low and hard in his gut. Fjord has killed two men and he needs to learn how to control this – whatever it is – inside of him, or he’s going to go insane.

(Or he’s going to do it again).

Fjord leaves town and he doesn’t look back.

…

…

A magical sword doesn’t save him from iron manacles and branding irons.

It doesn’t save Jester, either, or Yasha. Fjord hangs his head heavy in the chains and feels his tusks jutting out into his lower lip. He wonders how many people he’s killed now. He wonders if Vandran would have let this happen.

“It will be okay,” Jester whispers. They’ve broken her fingers again, left them hanging purple and raw inside the cuffs. Her tail, too. Fjord wants to scream. “They’ll find us.”

“I was kind of hoping they wouldn’t have to,” Fjord says in Vandran’s voice. It’s a good voice – low, and soothing. He thinks they both need some low, soothing voices right this minute. “Kind of hoping we’d be out of this by now.”

In the distance, Yasha lets out a low wail.

Fjord looks away from the door. He couldn’t summon his sword even if he wanted to: what good would it do? Nothing. Useless. He needs to get out of here. He needs to get both Jester and Yasha out of here before something worse happens.

He just – can’t.

It’s a slap to the face, his weakness. He hasn’t felt this way since he woke up on the sandy beach, sunburnt cheeks and bloody shell-punctures mixing into the saltwater.

“They’ll find us, Fjord,” Jester says. Her eyes glitter with unshed tears.

Fjord gives up. “I know they will, Jessie.”

…

…

There is so much power in a single step.

Fjord walks up the stairs, and up the stairs, and up the stairs, and –

Vandran isn’t there.

Fjord wakes up.

…

…

I don’t like being a hostage.

It’s dead reflex, the way the nothingness of it forms at his fingertips. Fjord has a lifetime’s worth of weakness to act on, and so much blood to atone for. Fjord talks with Vandran’s voice and it sits heavy on his tongue. His face won’t match up, the expression flat. Fjord has always been a good actor, but he’s missing the beats.

He walks forward. “You need me,” he says, slowly. “More than I need you.”

Nothing.

Fjord smiles. He presses the blade deeper into his own chest. He imagines, faintly, that the metal scrapes against the stone orb still somewhere inside of him.

This is power. Fjord cuts out the infection and bleeds it dry. Fjord sets his voice to his face. Fjord throws away the sword and watches it burn to ash.

He is empty.

[namedforthefirst-blog]

@loudhaoleinatie | drabble/starter

“Mellie!” The doctor was just closing her car door when she heard the pitter patter of young feet running towards her and the excited squeal of the little girl she’d come to pick up from her mother. Turning to face her, Melinda flashed her genuinely bright grin before scooping Grace Williams up into a warm hug, smiling over the smaller shoulder at Danny’s ex-wife, who was bringing out Grace’s little travel bag.

“Danny called ahead and told us he was going to meet the two of you there,” Rachel spoke as she walked over and handed the younger woman the bag. Mel put Grace back down and took the bag to put it into her car.

“He is in the middle of a case,” Mel confirmed with a soft sigh, watching Grace kiss her mother goodbye and race to the backseat of Mel’s car, buckling herself in. “He said to take her to the beach, have a girls’ trip until he meets us there. I’ll be by her side the whole time.”

“I know. Danny speaks of you often. If he trusts you with our daughter, so do I.” The two women grinned at each other before Mel returned to the driver’s seat and headed back down the driveway. “Gracie, you ready for the beach?”

“Yeah! We can go swimming and surfing and shell picking and…” Melinda laughed as the girl rattled off every possible thing they could do once they got to their little “stay-cation” spot on the other side of the island. She was truly her father’s daughter…incredibly intelligent, talkative, and kind. That was how their car ride went for the rest of the way, the soft ambiance of the radio in the background as they chatted about the beach and about Mel’s lack of surfing skills. Grace assured her that she’d teach her everything she knew, though.

“We’re here, Gracie.” The girls stepped out of the car, staring up at the sweet little bungalow sitting beside the white sandy beach. Melinda pulled out their bags and went to unlock the door, laughing as a blur of brunette hair ran by her into the vacation house to claim her bedroom and change into her swimsuit. Pulling out her phone, she snapped a picture and sent it to Danny with a “We’re here. <3″ text, smiling adoringly at her phone as she sent it. 

Two days later, after many hours of sunshine and seawater, Mel and Grace were out on the sand, making a sandcastle together and trying to build it as high as they could. They talked about Danny and about Mel’s job, and she answered every question about medical knowledge that Grace threw at her. She asked her how she felt about her dad, and Melinda easily told her the truth. She loved Danny, and she wasn’t ashamed to say it, nor was she hesitant to be honest with the girl she’d grown so fond of. 

“I’m hungry, Mellie. Can we go in and eat?” 

“Sure, sweetie! Sun’s starting to go down anyway. We can go in and check in on Danno, see what he’s up to.” With that, they took a few pictures by the finished castle and a few of them together on the beach splashing around and laughing before putting on their shorts and shirts over their bathing suits and heading back inside the bungalow to relax and unwind for the evening. She was just finished closing the back sliding door after Grace had walked inside behind her when she instantly noticed something was off. There were items that were moved and the living room was in total disarray, as though someone had been searching for something. 

“Danny? Babe, have you wrapped up your case early?” she called out nervously into the house.

“Hi, honey...” A man that was certainly not her boyfriend came walking into the living room from the bedrooms, an unstable smile that quickly turned into a frown crossing his face as he stared at the doctor and then at the little girl. Todd...last time she came face to face with him, he had broken several of her ribs, and she had called the police on him. He was in jail...he should have still been in jail...How...why had the authorities not informed her that her ex-fiance was out of prison?

“My God...” 

“My Mel...my love...I-I wanted to come and see you...talk to you...but then I see this girl with you, who looks like you...” Mel’s eyes dart to Grace, who could instantly tell something was wrong by the look on the older woman’s face. “Is this your daughter, Mel, sweetheart? Were you...were you unfaithful to me?”

“Todd...I-I don’t know what you’re talking about...you shouldn’t...you shouldn’t even be here. Gracie...c-come here...get behind me, little kala.” She put out her arm towards the little girl who began to quickly move towards her, but Mel’s ex slammed his fist down on the glass table, shattering it and startling both of the girls. 

“DO NOT LIE TO ME!” he roared out as he pulled up his bloody fist, and Mel took Grace in her arms, pressing the frightened child behind her protectively. “DID YOU CHEAT ON ME?”

“T-Todd...stop shouting, please...you’re scaring her...W-We can talk...we can talk...just the two of us...o-okay? Just let..let me go put her to b-bed...”

“No. Neither of you are going anywhere...” His voice dropped to a dangerously furious low tone as he reached in his waistband and pulled out a gun, prompting a sharp intake of breath from Mel as she realized how his dark obsession had increased since being imprisoned. “Not until I get some answers.”

“Mellie?” Grace’s tiny voice behind her was terrified, and the doctor took a deep breath as she squeezed the girl’s smaller hand soothingly. “W-Who is that?”

“He...He is someone I knew a long time ago...but he did some very bad things, Gracie. He hurt me.”

“Someone you knew?!” Todd began to advance quickly on them, and Mel backed them up towards the back door, keeping Grace from his view. “I loved you...I put a ring on your hand! I was going to have you for the rest of my life, Mel! And all you had to do was listen to me!” Behind her back, she pulled out her cell phone and handed it discreetly to Grace, who took it in her free hand and hid it. She knew what to do in these kinds of situations thanks to her father. Mel hurriedly grabbed the cutting board on the counter and threw it at her ex’s head, turning and pushing Grace to the door before throwing it open.

“RUN! Go, Grace! Call HPD! Get to the neighbor’s house! GO!” she pleaded two seconds before Todd grabbed ahold of her neck and dragged her back inside. Grace screamed Mel’s name but did as she asked, racing towards the other houses on the beach as she pulled out the phone and dialed the HPD, explaining to them what was happening and begging for them to hurry. Thank goodness Mel had shown her the address and had told her what to do in case of emergency while they were there.

“Todd...T-Todd, please...” He was not paying attention to her pleas as he pressed her against the wall, his fist with the gun slamming repeatedly into the wall beside her until it formed a hole. There were tears streaming down her cheeks as she visible flinched from him, the terrible memories of the previous time she’d seen him racing through her mind once again as she glanced around for anything that could help her. 

“She isn’t m-mine...please just...calm down. Calm down, okay?”

“Do NOT tell me to calm down...” Striking her hard across the face, she sunk down to the floor clutching her throbbing cheek with a groan of pain. He stepped over her and skimmed his fingers along the mark the handgun had left on her face, almost appearing sorry.

“Mel, honey...I don’t want to hurt you...I don’t mean to...I just want the truth...” His fists curled as the anger flickered back on his face, replaced by his false sense of sympathy and security. She’d seen that look too many times. It was his mask, his way of lying to the rest of the world, convincing them he was a good man and a good fiance when in reality? Monster did not come close to what he was.

“Is Danny the bastard you’ve been screwing? Is he the reason you put me away? Hmm?” His hands slid down her sides, touching her after so long but watching as she shrank away in terror and disgust. It only made him angrier. She looked up into his eyes and shook her head.

“You...Y-You hurt me, Todd. You alm-almost killed me...I met Danny...a-after you were in...jail...”

“What...did I say...about lying?” Smack. Her cheek throbbed twice as hard with the second strike, and he stood up to land a well aimed kick against her ribs. 

“S-Stop...pl-pl...” Mel couldn’t breathe. He flashed the gun dangerously close in her face. 

“I don’t believe you. That little girl...she shouldn’t be here...but it’s okay, darling. Don’t worry...she won’t come between us. She won’t be a problem after today...we can go back to how it was before...you’ll come home with me. And it will all be okay again.” He walked out the back door with the gun in his hand, and Melinda managed to scramble to her feet, eyes glancing around until they caught on the meat tenderizer on the counter she was planning on using for the steaks. She had to get to Gracie. She had to keep her safe.

Stumbling quickly outside after him, seeing the way he was stalking towards the girl running out on the beach towards the next house over, hand clutching the phone she was crying into as she called for HPD and her Danno, Mel’s desperate need to protect the sweet, innocent girl surged inside of her, and with an enraged yell, she tackled the man to the sand, knocking the gun from his grip and grasping her makeshift weapon, preparing to use it on him. He grabbed her around the throat and flung her down, tugging her by the hair towards the ocean, where he shoved her down into the water even as she fought back against him.

“WHY COULDN’T YOU LOVE ME?! WHY WASN’T I ENOUGH FOR YOU??” he screamed irrationally as he pushed her head beneath the water. Saltwater filled her nostrils and lungs, and she tried to blow out through her nose as best as she could. “SHE HAS TO DIE FOR US TO BE TOGETHER!”

“Mellie!! Mellie!” In between gasps of air when he’d yank her up to shout at her, Mel could hear the concerned shouts of Danny’s daughter on the beach seemingly getting closer as if she was running back to help her. Todd released his ex and turned to face the girl, determined to get to her this time as Grace realized his attention had turned back to her. She turned and began to run from him, and Mel knew she was not going to allow Todd to touch a single hair on Grace’s head. Not while the doctor was still alive.

“Gra...ce...” she sputtered before she remembered the tenderizer and grasped it tight, hurling her arm upwards and making contact with her attacker’s head. He fell backwards, and she climbed on top of him as she choked and hacked up the water. And then the maternal instinct to protect Grace kicked in, and she went on the offense. Every time he yelled, every time he pushed her into the walls or threw her down the stairs. Every time he blamed her for not cooking what he wanted or accusing her of not spending enough time with him. Her memories fueled her wrath at the man who’d threatened the young child. She began slamming her fist into the dazed man’s face as she could hear the sirens wailing up the street, but she just did not want to stop anymore.

She kept swinging and kicking and hitting him in every way she could, breaking bones and dislocating his shoulder in the process, her clothes stained with blood from the both of them, until suddenly the police were pulling her off of him, and she halfway collapsed into the waiting arms of Chin Kelly. His arms wrapped around her as her rage quelled and became replaced with both the rising fear of facing her greatest nightmare mixed with relief that the police had arrived, and Grace was now safe. Mel’s aching shoulders wracked with sobs as she broke down, clutching Chin for dear life as she tried to explain herself through her tears. He kept murmuring that she was safe, that it was all right, picking her up and carrying her back towards the police cars where Grace had run to as soon as she had heard them driving up. Sgt. Lukela checked Todd’s pulse and told them he was unconscious but still alive, and that a group of HPD officers now surrounded him with guns drawn in case he woke up.

“Mellie?” She immediately climbed out of Chin’s grip and limped to the girl, falling to her knees and taking the scared child into her arms, holding her as close and as tight as she could, stroking her face and hair in relief.

“Grace...you’re safe...it’s all right...that horrible man will never touch you...he will never hurt you...”

“Us...He’ll never hurt us, Mellie...Uncle Chin is here now. Danno will come.” Grace curled deeper into the doctor’s embrace as Melinda began to cry again, the compassion of Danny’s daughter truly touching her as Chin dialed Danny’s number to tell him what had happened, his hand moving to clutch Mel’s shoulder in comfort as he smiled down at the girls in utter relief. They’d gotten there in time. 

[kiruuuuu]

Blitz/Rook oneshot in which they’re on the beach. (Rating G, fluff fluff fluff, ~1.6k words) - written for @magehir because it’s been too long since I wrote your favs being adorable 💕

.

Coming to the beach was a good idea, Blitz concludes. Even if it might not be the beautiful Mediterranean sea and even if they’re not in as desperate a need for a splash in the cool water as they were the week before when they half-heartedly made plans until Sledge actually looked up the shortest way to the sea from Hereford, it was still very much a brilliant idea. Blitz was hesitant at first since he’s not someone who prefers going on vacations to the beach, he’d rather explore the rest of the world and marvel at all the wonders it offers, so an accumulation of sand on Wales’ shores isn’t high on his list of must-sees – but they’re only staying for one weekend anyway. Besides, everyone else’s good mood is contagious.

Not everyone was interested, not everyone got the chance to join them and so they’re mostly comprised of the GSG9, SAS and a few others who share small holiday apartments into which enough beds have been crammed that they house up to five people each though they’re admittedly so crowded it’s hard not to trip over each other when they’re all present. Blitz is rooming with the younger operators, namely Mute, Rook and Glaz, the trio which sticks together like glue, Mute with biting yet entertaining sarcasm, Rook with unending enthusiasm and Glaz with fierce loyalty and patience. The German has become fond of them and watching them desperately trying to protect their sandcastle is a joy.

They earned some mocking remarks upon Glaz announcing the three of them would spend the better part of the afternoon engaging in an activity more suited for kids, though when Smoke jokingly called them manchildren, Mute drily countered that they at least don’t literally start crying whenever a wasp lands on them and successfully prevented all further attempts at making fun of them by simply pointing out an easier target. Blitz could barely hold back a grin whenever someone made a buzzing sound near Smoke’s ear.

So the younglings were free to buy spades and spend an inordinate amount of time on planning where to actually erect their pleasure palace, judging the markings of the tide but also keeping a future thrill in mind of having to defend it against the rising flood – if they built it where the sea wouldn’t reach, there’d be no danger, yet if they built it too low they’d risk being overwhelmed too early. This is when Blitz left them to it, wishing them the best of luck and gallivanting off with Sledge and whoever his friend dragged along.

When he came back a few minutes ago, he was greeted by an impressive structure, the design undoubtedly decided by Mute though the other two decorated and adorned the plain sand with seashells, algae, cuttlebones and even a dead jellyfish on a throne overlooking their efforts. And as sightly as it is, right now it’s being threatened by the approaching tide, every other wave filling up the first moat around the structure and clogging the drain with more sand, necessitating Rook to try and shovel it free in between jumping away from the saltwater with a shriek.

“How long do you think it’s going to hold up?”, Blitz addresses no one in particular, hands pushed into his pockets as he watches the bustling from only a few steps away, a smile playing on his lips.

“As long as we don’t give up hope!”, Glaz replies passionately and reclaims one of his feet which had begun to slowly get stuck in the wet sand.

“I’m never giving up”, Rook adds with a decisive nod while aggressively paddling the water out of the moat with his spade, “if need be, I’ll go down with it.”

“The moat won’t do much like this, we can try to build an impromptu wall and re-dig it while it holds off the waves”, Mute suggests and immediately begins delegating, starts to dig with a ferocity he’ll indubitably feel the next day. “Did the others bore you to death or did you come here to laugh at our efforts which will be inevitably in vain?”

“Neither nor”, Blitz responds. “James and Seamus wanted to go drinking in a local pub and are currently part of a shirtless push-up contest which I did not want to be part of.”

The digging stops, as expected. The three throw each other a series of meaningful glances that amuse Blitz to no end while a wave, uncharacteristically unnoticed, tears down the small lumps of sand designed to be a wall but ending up as a sad excuse instead. He feels his eyebrows rise the more pained Mute and Glaz glance at their companion who eventually rolls his eyes with a sigh. “Go ahead, then.”

“Which pub?”, the young Brit wants to know and Blitz readily gives him directions, acutely aware of how nonchalant Glaz is trying to look. “Ta, I owe you. Let’s go, pine cone.”

Blitz extends a hand and accepts Glaz’ spade, watching after the two hurrying up to the promenade from where he came just a few minutes prior.

“You’re a bad liar”, Rook tells him and he doesn’t need to turn around to hear the grin in his voice.

“I was telling mostly the truth.” The Frenchman’s cheeks are an endearing shade of red and Blitz’ follow suit despite how much he tries to suppress it. “They weren’t shirtless though. Still, the two will probably get an eyeful regardless.”

“And you get to protect Queen Squishy with me. Come on, start shovelling.” They both pick up the pace, Blitz familiarising himself with the feel of his tool first before he begins complying with Rook’s orders. The sea is moving in more insistently now, daring them to divert their attention for a second so it can flood their shoes but they manage to stay alert for now. During a lull in conversation which centres mainly on their immediate task and sometimes includes tangents about the trip itself, Rook looks up and asks quietly: “Did you really just want to spend some time alone with me?”

They both know the answer to it – how could they not when it’s this multifaceted, pre-emptively provided by a series of conversations begun casually in the presence of others and ended sometimes in the dead of night, in hushed voices, in one of their flats because they somehow stuck together like velcro and separating would’ve been too much effort for too little reward. And so they gravitated along before realising that no, normally, people don’t talk about their favourite childhood cartoons while lounging on the floor, propped up against perfectly fine furniture and trying to throw M&Ms into each other’s mouths. The answer is comprised of shy glances, standing just a tad too closely, faces lighting up for no reason other than seeing a certain name in their phone’s notifications. It feels flighty but isn’t, it’s a bird which returns when called but otherwise stays just out of reach. And Rook just called it to make sure it’s still there.

It is. Blitz nods. “I did”, he says. “And I still do.”

The swears Rook shouts across the beach when the first cold splashes get absorbed by his socks make Blitz laugh so much he has to stop trying to save the second moat for a few seconds. It doesn’t take long until he, too, notices his soaked trouser legs caked with wet sand and from then on, it only goes downhill. Walls fall after being eroded by the merciless sea, moats are flooded and ornaments washed away despite their best efforts. Blitz’ arms hurt and he tastes the salty air on his lips, grimaces at the way his shoes start squelching after a while. Queen Squishy sadly witnesses the fall of her kingdom, bravely awaiting the moment she, too, gets carried away by the neverending flood.

He gets caught up in Rook’s joyous energy nonetheless, smiles at his squeaks and yelps, grins whenever he lets out a heartfelt curse and soon they’re both giggling and dramatically narrating the castle being swallowed by The Deep, describing in detail how some residents spontaneously develop the ability to breathe underwater and realise this is where they belong. This is where they should’ve been all along.

And they look at each other with a spark in their eyes.

Eventually, they fail. It was inevitable when they chose their spot, allowing future generations of sandcastle builders to try their hand at the impossible and though the whole endeavour should feel futile, has an air of nihilism to it, there’s more. Because while it seems as though all they have to show for an entire afternoon is sand in Rook’s hair, wet feet and aching muscles, memories can’t be quantified nor seen. And so the result is rich and worth all the effort.

“She got a burial at sea”, Rook says wistfully. “Befitting a monarch.”

The grin they share is pure and familiar and knowing and Blitz’ gaze is drawn to the way the young man’s lips bend around his next words even though he catches none of them, his brain too preoccupied with a question – a question which, once having entered his mind, demands immediate satisfaction, declares itself highest priority and so Blitz has no choice but to give in. He does not yet think of returning to their tiny flat, taking turns in the shower, washing off the sea clinging to them and maybe having some time alone still. He does not yet consider the possibility of cuddling in a bed or leaning against each other on the sofa.

Because right now, he’s content with knowing that yes, Rook’s lips do, in fact, taste of salt and sun and intimacy. Just as he thought.

[yellowmagicalgirl]

Weight of the Waters

AU: Claire doesn't make it back from when she retrieves the bridge from the shipping container in the ocean. Rated T for semi-graphic descriptions of drowning. There’s some very vaguely implied Toby/Claire if you squint. Credit goes to @infographicisminetocommand for giving me the idea.

Read on FFN

Toby hated the ocean. He had hated it since before he could spell the word hate because it was what had taken his parents from him. As a kid, there had been two things that terrified him to no end: storms and being submerged in water. It had been a struggle for Nana to convince him to take baths. As soon as he was able he started taking showers instead. However, it had been fourteen years. Toby had thought he had gotten over his fear, but then the universe proved him wrong.

Toby stayed where they had retrieved the pieces of the bridge until Steve began to stir. Toby had deleted the video from his phone (no need to ruin Jim's name for something he had no affect on). He had had a plan for when Claire finally made a portal to send herself back. However, even with his gravity hammer Toby didn't think he had the strength to send the bully back to Arcadia, so he grabbed NotEnrique, and ran to where they had stashed the bikes. He contemplated giving NotEnrique the glamour mask, so that Claire's parents wouldn't worry, but decided against it. He still needed to pretend to be Jim, and maybe Claire had made a portal straight to her bed so that she could sleep it off. Or maybe he hadn't been the best emotional anchor and she was somewhere in the woods. He left her bike so that she'd know where to get it and tried not to feel like she was dead. She had once said to save his anger for the Darklands, back when they had thought everyone – well, everyone but AAARRRGGHH!!! – was going there to rescue Enrique as opposed to just Jim. Toby figured he may as well honor Claire’s wishes as best he could.

He was able to keep pretending that there was a chance Claire was still alive until he arrived home. He was about to say something to his Wingman when he remembered. In just over two weeks, Toby had lost two of his closest friends, and Jim was nearly a third. He had almost lost NotEnrique as well. It sucked, knowing that for hope of rebuilding the bridge and getting Jim back meant that, just like his parents, Claire had to die in the middle of the ocean.

"Why?" Toby asked the emptiness of his room. If he had a chance to get Claire back, would he have traded away Jim? Jim was his best friend, but only people like Angor Rot, Nomura, Bular, and Strickler deserved to drown, and even those were iffy. Jim had decided to go to the Darklands without them, but Claire had decided to send herself and NotEnrique into an unknown location.

His room wasn’t empty, however. Gnome Chompsky walked out of the dollhouse and stared up at him. Toby remembered back to when he had first met the gnome. Jim had been smaller; all of their problems had been so much smaller back then, even if they hadn’t felt like it. Toby let out a sob as he remembered how he was going to drown Chompsky and then hide the remains using the garbage disposal.

“I’m so sorry, you didn’t deserve that,” Toby cried, not sure who he was speaking to. Did it matter though? None of them deserved drowning. Not his parents, not nearly NotEnrique and Chompsky, and certainly not Claire.

Claire saw Suzy Snooze float upwards towards the top of the shipping container in a dead man’s float. It wasn’t just a matter of if she could muster the anger to save her friend anymore. It was ow a matter of if she didn’t act now she’d be losing her other brother after finally getting back her first one.

She couldn’t lose anyone else.

Saltwater burned her eyes as she opened a portal to Toby and another, larger rupture opened in the side of the shipping container. As NotEnrique passed through the portal to safety, Claire swam to a crate slipping away from its trajectory. She pushed it back into place; her body slipped through the rupture. She tried to swim back through it, even though her limbs felt heavy and exhausted from the vast number of portals she had made.

The portal closed once the crate was through, leaving Claire stranded in a dark abyss. In some ways, it was not unlike where she had found herself when she had taken the Staff from Angor Rot. There were a couple major differences, however. She had been weightless, and a light had filtered through the area from where she and the assassin had passed through. Also, she could breathe there. Here, there was neither light nor air to be had, and the weight of the water around her threatened to crush her.

Claire’s fingers twitched along the edge of the staff. Her fear had saved NotEnrique, why couldn’t she use fear to save herself? As the lack of oxygen burned her body, anger burned her mind. Anger at the staff that refused to obey her, at Steve for calling Jim a fake even though the bully couldn’t have known the extent of Jim’s heroism, at herself for not having practiced more. Were she more practiced, she might’ve not risked them drowning. Anger at Gunmar and the goblins and Strickler and even NotEnrique for kidnapping her brother, anger at her parents and herself for letting him get kidnapped, anger at Jim for going to the Darklands in the first place because it was everyone but Toby’s fault that she was drowning!

Claire opened her mouth to scream. Maybe her anger needed multiple outlets as opposed to just the Staff if she was going to make it out of here alive.

Just as natured abhorred a vacuum, water rushed into her mouth before she could realize her mistake. She tried not to cry, not to open her mouth or inhale through her nose even as her body begged for air. The lack of it and the pressure of the water felt like she was splintering along her jaw, up her fingers, and outward from her eyes.

Claire opened her mouth again, and this time she felt a sticker substance than saltwater exit at the same time as the last bubbles of carbon dioxide. Briefly she tasted bitter iron, but the taste of salt overwhelmed her. She fought against the undercurrent to bring both hands upon the Staff as one last call for it to help her, one last desperate attempt to save herself.

Anchor. She needed someone or something to anchor herself to but thinking of anyone was so difficult.

She thought she saw the area near her hands and the Staff grow darker than the choking blackness that surrounded her.

Claire gasped for air as she pushed herself above the waves before collapsing on the rocky shore. She coughed weakly as the cold air and feeling of wariness hit her, reminding her of the seawater clinging to her clothes. She coughed, and a mixture of saltwater and a black liquid came out. Once again, the tastes of salt, iron, and a bitterness not unlike the 100% baker’s chocolate Jim and her Papi had in their respective kitchens filled her mouth. As she brought her hand up to rub at her mouth, she frowned. It was as if the veins in her fingers and hand had turned black. Was that what she had coughed up? Blackened blood? When she wiped her chin and jaw, the skin felt oddly grooved.

Where was she? She doubted she had been close enough to shore that she could have drifted upwards to shore and lived. However, neither Arcadia nor Guadalajara were exactly coastal, and she didn’t have any poignant memories of beaches that she’d dwell on in times of crisis. The only pond, lake, or similar body of water that she’d care so deeply about that it would appear in her dying moments was currently trapped in the Darklands.

Claire coughed once more before a yellow light appeared at the corner of her vision. The water evaporated from Claire’s clothing, hair, and lungs.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Child.” Claire looked up to see a woman in golden armor levitating in front of her. “You have a rather strong grip on the Skathe-Hrün. It took a bit of time for me to get to it so I could save you.”

She extended a hand tipped with armored claws to Claire. The sight of it, as well as the woman’s words about the Shadow Staff, made Claire more uneasy than she had when she had first washed ashore.

“You’ll probably have questions, but you’ll want to rest first. I know just how much damage drowning does to you,” the woman said.

While she had been taught not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Claire also had been taught to trust her instincts and be cautious when accepting a favor. According to her mother, often times what looked like a good deal would have strings attached. Claire’s instincts were telling her to make a portal and go home before her parents could realize she wasn’t there. She was already going to be in enough trouble since she had ditched school. However, she didn’t have the strength to try and make a portal to Arcadia. The staff might not even be hers to command at the moment. Claire looked up at the woman’s masked face to ask to be sent home. Instead, she couldn’t help but notice just how similar the woman’s eyes were to Toby’s.

Claire took the woman’s hand and let herself be led away.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

The Seal Lullaby: Chapter 12

Ao3 | My ko-fi

Thanks so much to everyone who gives me support and encouragement with this, especially my fantastically talented beta readers @minky-for-short and @childofdustandashes and my amazing friends @oversaturated-ocean @purearcticfire @brainypaperbullets @lookatvanessasface @arya-durin-51 @hollywoodx4 @kilocurican

Alex realised, as he watched his family grow, as he shifted through college applications with Philip and learned what certain times in the month not to touch Angie’s stuff without permission and to make sure the kitchen was well stocked with hot chocolate and kissed and murmured to Eliza’s belly every night, that he was never going to stop worrying about his kids. Whether he still had to change their diapers (which he was getting very good at doing one handed, saved time) and remind them with rain boot went on which foot or he stayed up until midnight pretending to Eliza and himself that he was really, really invested in this Civil War documentary so he could meet them coming in from their first high school party. Some of it was the kind of worries he heard the other parents talking about on the afternoons he’d spend leaning against the school railings, on his own, humans tended to avoid him when he didn’t have Eliza with him to wind her arm through his and help him feel like he belonged there. Something in his eyes, she reassured him one day when he was feeling sad about it, after he’d seen a few words passed between two of the younger moms less used to him, words even his ears couldn’t pick up but they came with hard lined mouths and raised eyebrows. Never a good sign. Eliza let him rest his head on her bump and stroked his hair and reassured him that it was just his eyes.

“You just look so…focused,” she’d smiled gently, leaning down and kissing his temple, “Like you’re thinking such deep thoughts. People just don’t want to interrupt you.”

That had made him feel a little better but still, as he waited for those of his kids too small to be trusted to walk home on their own (Philip elected to walk home on his own, Alex knew fine well, so he and Theo could go down to the beach and kiss) he couldn’t help but feel like he was eavesdropping without meaning to. Standing on the fringes like a badly cast extra in a play where he didn’t know half of his lines, someone shoved on from the wings and the last minute, shuffling his feet until little Johnny would come sprinting out with his too big backpack and Jamie’s eyes would brighten just from seeing his Pops across the yard and Alex would find his place in it all again.

Still, it was good to know part of his life sat somewhere on the axis of normalcy, that he could pretend, as he pulled his grey sweater closer around him even though the day was unusually warm for Oregon because the seawater in his blood made him cold, that he was a normal human man with a normal heartbeat and a social security number and a wedding certificate. Who had some job that didn’t involve pouring out his soul, where he sat in a cubicle and, what, looked at numbers? Went to meetings? Made mood boards? It was half unsettling, half stimulating to feel like that.  It helped that the other parents around him were also fretting that their sons stayed up too late or their toddlers ate too much sugar or didn’t look where they were going when they crossed the road.

Though it never lasted long. It never could, not when the possibility of a life so different none of these people could even imagine it when their minds were at their freest lay just within his reach. Physically at least, mentally what was left of his skin might as well have been a threadbare cotton scarf from the back of a junk shop with no more magic than anything. Right now, the sound of two heartbeats sending bright red pearly blood in a healthy rush under Eliza’s skin, sounding like the sea itself, powerful and natural and very pregnant, was all he needed to satisfy his wanderlust.

The invisible but undeniable wound in reality that separated him and the mothers and grandparents and scant few fathers, in Alex’s opinion, was a peculiar thing. And none of them would ever know it.

How didn’t they see it?

But then he had to stop worrying about that, he only ever worried about things like that when he was alone and here were his boys, his AJ and Jamie and Johnny, sauntering and hurrying and sprinting respectively over to him though they all knew they had no choice about the huge hug from their Pops, regardless of their varying levels of enthusiasm.

Basic mathematics and simple facts of biology told him he couldn’t hold all of their hands as they walked home, as much as his heart ached to. So instead Johnny clung to his back, stroking his fingers, still adorably chubby with fading baby fat as his body lengthened and his proportions fell into place, through his dad’s hair. Babies always seemed to have a fascination with Alex’s soft dark hair, at the perfect length for grabbing.

Jamie held the hand of his dad’s that wasn’t weighed down with too many heavy schoolbags for a normal man his age to really carry but he lifted them easily. AJ opted out of the whole affair with a wrinkle of his nose, keeping a teenage respectable distance up ahead, though Alex’s quick, sharp eyes didn’t miss how his namesake stooped halfway along their meandering path home to pick up a smooth, palm sized rock of a somehow instantly calming slate grey, shot through with exposed veins of deep green sea glass where the endless churning of the waves had hurled two things never meant to mix into one beautiful object. Alex didn’t need to ask his son to know that the stone was for Angie, to add to her collection of the pebbles and trinkets she kept so she could run the edges of her thumbs along the worn places and smooth parts when her breathing got fast and her sweat ran cold and her heartbeat got too quick to bear.

Maybe his little girl felt some kind of kinship, an understanding, with those stones who were also wearied from a long and difficult journey with an uncertain end. Or maybe she aspired to be like them, to have all her hurt and torn and vulnerable parts heal smooth and clean or be patched with something that sparkled beautifully. Either way, they brought her some modicum of comfort and Alex loved AJ so much in that moment he couldn’t speak, for finding Angie another moment of peace along the shoreline.

Another thing his eyes, trained and honed to sharp points by days spent in water so dark and thick he’d once wondered if the night sky had begun to run like candle wax and drip into the sea, another thing they didn’t miss was how AJ’s ears picked up a little, how he stood a little straighter when his reaching for the stone he’d decided must be Angie’s brought him in reach of the sea. Alex could almost see ethereal fingers of salt tinged, bitter air, reaching for him, seizing his attention, pulling him off balance.

He couldn’t help it, he bristled. Instincts that weren’t as buried as he’d like to pretend rose at the threat to his pup and pulled his lips back from his teeth a little and tensed his muscles so Johnny blinked dolefully, made his black pupils widen and fill and leak until they flooded most of his eyes with darkness.

And a solid, heavy pounding in his heart that thickened the lining of his throat with acidic, tarry fear, beating a single word, no, no, no, no, no-

But the moment passed so quickly it was almost anticlimactic, in a way. But Alex would take anticlimactic, he’d take it with desperate enthusiasm and breathless relief, he’d claw at it until the joints in his fingers broke. As long as there was that tiny, daring, contemptuous smile on AJ’s face, so slight Alex couldn’t even say if his son was aware of it himself, something so youthfully disrespectful, something that said, ‘ not this time’.

Hopefully not the next time either, or the time after that or any time.

Alex honestly wasn’t that worried, as he watched AJ lazily toss the stone from one hand to the other, catching it deftly like it’s path through the air behaved according to his playful wishes rather than any law of physics before stowing it away in his jacket pocket.

He wasn’t quite sure what it was.

Maybe his wanderlust tainted blood became diluted for every baby he and Eliza had; maybe the stranger currently growing under and rounding out his wife’s skin so beautifully right now only had a sixth of the saltwater than ran through poor Philip’s veins. Maybe Alex had proven himself with his first sacrifice, the one he’d made for his eldest son that he was willing to make for every one of his babies but prayed he’d never have to (not least because he wasn’t sure his skin held enough material, he wasn’t exactly the biggest of guys, physically) but maybe the debt had been paid and the scales had been levelled with just the one. Maybe it was just a numbers game, like whatever precise, three decimal point percentages determined which of their children got Alex’s ability to fold his tongue in three different places or Eliza’s uncanny knack of licking her own elbow with her unusually long tongue and Philip had simply drawn the scrap of paper with the black dot staining it.

Alex didn’t want it to be that, that concept terrified him, for there to be a roll of the dice marring every time he and his Betsey made something so beautiful. Of course, there always was, a million different near misses and sidestepped eventualities for diseases and mishaps on the cellular level that even Alex, with all of the medical texts he devoured, didn’t have names for. But this was one more immediate. One he knew he was solely to blame for.

No, for all the evidence that was stacked against it, as much as it went against so much of what his tired, permanently shadowed eyes had seen, Alex wanted to believe life had just given him a break.

Whatever it was, wherever this little quirk of fate had come from, whether or not Alex would continue to worry for the rest of his life about it, none of his other children felt the same pull to the sea Philip had. For them, it was something they barely recognised, that they couldn’t pin down enough to name. Waking up every morning with the scent of salt in their noses from the breeze wriggling its way in through the cracks in the windowpanes sated it just fine.

Alex was dizzyingly relieved by this, so grateful he could barely stand it. He’d have torn his pelt to shreds for that, for his children to have a normal childhood. Instead, he’d been given it as some gift. He could count his gifts on one hand; Eliza, his children, his mother and the life she’d given him. This. And they still felt like so much more than he deserved.

Of course, he knew Eliza’s genetics had a lot to do with it, her calming influence, the sense of peace she seemed to have that she shared so selflessly with everyone she met. Alex made sure to praise every inch of her, her glorious human body where he could taste the unfailing lushness of greenery between her thighs and the tranquillity and immortality of the earth in the hollows of her neck and the agelessness of the stars on her tongue, whenever he found the opportunity. So unfamiliar, so contrasting with his own makeup but he loved it too much for words. He knew he had more to thank her for than he could ever know, the ability of his children to make their homes on land, to find peace in a way he never would, was the least of them.

Eliza was his world, his entire planet and he worshipped her accordingly.

Satisfied, watching AJ return to the path, kicking up sand idly with the toe of his boots in blissful witlessness to the forces moving around him seeking to pull him in one direction or the other, Alex let himself drift back into the immediate. He re-tuned his mind to what was happening around him, his ears back to picking up the gentle, happy babble of Johnny perched on his shoulders. His youngest never seemed to fall silent, having taken the longest of all of them to find his voice and learn to talk he was now apparently making up for lost time, narrating every little detail like he was just so happy to be here. Alex was in love with it, often sitting the little boy on his lap while he worked, letting him give his own often hilarious interpretation of what his Pops was writing. Honestly, his ideas were often a lot better than what Jefferson ended up publishing.

“So, I’m gonna sleep forever and ever ‘cos there’s no school so that means no alarm clocks,” Johnny declared, bunching and un-bunching his hands in Alex’s hair, enjoying the softness and the scent of it he’d forever associate with comfort and home, “So I’m gonna wake up with the birdies and then me and mama gonna have pancakes for breakfast and I can have as many blueberries as I want, gonna eat a million blueberries!”

“Oh really?” Jamie sounded bemused, nodding and smiling his way enthusiastically through his little brother’s babble though he must hear it from first thing in the morning when Johnny woke up in the bed next to his own until the little boy fell asleep, “That’s a lot.”

“Yes!” Johnny nodded proudly, “A million million blueberries an’ then AJ’s gonna take me to storytime at the library- “

Up ahead of them, AJ stiffened immediately at the sound of his name, turning quickly on his heels with an expression Alex rarely saw on his namesake’s face. Uncertainty. Even worse, silent uncertainty.

“Is he?” the corners of Alex’s mouth twitched upwards a little, “But doesn’t mama always take you to storytime? And I seem to remember AJ saying he’d rather backflip off the end of the pier wearing nothing but his gym socks than get up before ten on a Saturday morning.”

Johnny frowned a little, his young face wrinkling up at this wobbly piece of pavement jutting up and ruining the perfect logical path he’d constructed, “But he said he would, he said he’d take me so I could hear the one about the billy goats again, that’s my favourite! He promised!”

AJ blushed a deep and intense crimson, one Alex recognised well, having felt it’s burn on his own face many, many time. AJ did nearly everything exactly the same as Alex, so many little physical quirks and idiosyncrasies he saw in his son like the weirdest mirror ever.

“Look, I said I’d take you and I will, okay?” he hissed, narrowing his eyes at his littlest brother, “So shh!”

Alex tilted his head, growing more curious by the second, almost in perfect timing with his smile growing harder to hide, “So I suppose we’ll be fishing you out of the dock sometime around noon on Saturday then?”

AJ gritted his teeth, “It’s no big deal…”

“Just trying to help your mama and me out?” Alex smirked, “Cos that doesn’t sound like my boy. Maybe there’s another reason you’re super eager to get to the library at nine o’clock on a sunny Saturday morning…”

AJ stared resolutely at his scuffed shoes, his shoulders tense, “I just wanted to, okay?”

Alex hitched Johnny up a little higher, experiencing one of those moments of clarity that make children firmly believe their parents are omniscient, “And I’m just saying that I think the reason you so desperately want to…is maybe the very nice young man from your class that reads to the children and volunteers behind the counter.”

AJ went even redder, if that were even possible reaching colours that probably went right off the visible spectrum, “No! Course not! I barely even know him, why would I…that’s just…you don’t…oh, shut up!”

He reeled around and stomped off for home at twice the pace, just a stone’s throw up ahead, with the back of his neck still blazing and his posture wired, all of it telling Alex that he had hit the mark. Not that he minded in the slightest that his son was so clearly crushing on the sweet young man who gave up his weekend mornings to read picture books to children and process late fees, who wore a silver star of David around his neck proudly and complimented Johnny on whatever unusually patterned pair of socks he was wearing every single day. Nothing about that situation brought him anything but delight.

He himself had felt a flutter of the heart when he stumbled across a word in a book one day, a description that he felt he’d known all his human life but had never heard it verbalised until that moment. Bisexual. Devoted to one, not because of her gender. A desire just for beautiful people, one way or the other. Eliza had smiled when he’d excitedly shown her, after he’d finished his rushed, ecstatic explanation and she’d come to him the next day with three strips of bright cloth sewn together, colours that seemed to just go together and mean something just by being adjacent, forming an upraised fist, a straight back, a proud and bold smile just by standing back to back. He’d hung the flag up in his office and even now, when it was fraying around the edges and getting a little dusty, much in the way that the years were carving their mark on Alex’s face, it still brought a spark of pride and self whenever his eyes caught it.

All he wanted was for his children to feel the same. Whatever gave them that spark, whatever shape it took, whatever title it carried, he just wanted them to find it. And maybe AJ had found it with his library boy with the carefully written nametag that read ‘Elijah.’

“Whassup with AJ?” Johnny tilted his head, the little heart shaped face and rounded cheeks he’d inherited from Eliza creasing in brotherly concern.

Jamie gave a knowing sort of look and Alex grinned at him, putting a finger to his lips.

“Don’t you worry about your brother, Johnny boy,” he reached up and took hold of his littlest son’s hand, “He’s going to be just fine.”

He had to tell Eliza about this.

-

Years could pass, the world could turn as often as it liked, go up and down and even sideways but people in small towns would always talk.

Why would they ever stop, when the Hamilton family, rattling around in their cottage by the sea that, despite the fact it had been gladly utilised to within an inch of its life, somehow still deserved the title of folly, provided them with so much material?

Not that they didn’t like them, gossip was never intended as malicious as it was passed back and forth across the bar or the gingham laminated table covers at the café or the dented, scratched Formica of the diner. It was part of living there, there was nothing but fondness in it. This was how affection was shown in such places, through raised eyebrows and critical remarks and discussion, the way people would get in groups to pick apart their favourite books or dissect much appreciated films. People talked about how the librarian really needed to stop letting his cats wander around the stacks, shedding on all the sofas and knocking the reference cards all higgledy piggledy but to any out of towners, they boasted proudly of their many feline library assistants, showing off their library cards with inky paw marks as the signature. The people talked about how the old woman who spent her mornings combing the beach, indifferent to the weather like a well-seasoned veteran grandmother unmoved by the temporary tantrums of their beloved charges, armed with a surprisingly deadly and well cared for pickaxe. As she broke apart the limestone shores and scaled the cliffs in search of fossils, her neighbours would tut and roll their eyes and bemoan that they’d be calling in air support to save her old bones from certain death any day now. And yet, they listened with equal enthusiasm to her breathlessly excited descriptions of the treasures she’d uncovered, to the difference between ammonites and trilobites, her hastily scribbled replications of complicated evolutionary trees on the back of the napkin that had previously been wrapped around the postman’s scotch on the rocks. They even threw her a party in the church hall when one of her papers was accepted into whatever journal published such things, none of them even had a clue.

And they talked about the Hamiltons.  

No, in the small seaside village that seemed to have reached a kind of stasis of its own around the nineteen forties, aesthetically at least, the unusual, slightly isolated family were well loved. Respected even, protected and conferred over in much the same fashion as the townspeople talked about the various myths and legends specific to their little hamlet.

Because that’s what they were, really. In a strange kind of way that not even the townspeople themselves could really put their finger on (not that it was in any of their natures to go finger prodding, more to accept what was there at face value), it was like a paragraph of one of the leather bound tomes full of the area’s fireside stories had floated free, perhaps knocked loose by the idle paw of one of the cats, caught on some breeze and materialised in real life.

Ethereally beautiful parents, living secretive, secluded lives, appearing as if by some magic hand in hand along the beach at dusk or sat together on one of the benches at the tiny communal park, very, very occasionally emerging for the evening in the town’s one restaurant. Eliza did spend what little free time she seemed to have trying to get involved with the community’s bustling life, as friendly and infectiously sunny as ever, apparently only growing more beautiful as motherhood and a little maturity suited her. It was as if she just radiated a pure and uncomplicated certainty that this was where she was supposed to be and what she was supposed to be doing, an unshakeable contentment with everything around her. Every child in the town who had had her as a teacher thought her one of the most wonderful people in the world, none of them left her classroom without getting some kind of sense that being compassionate, being gentle was the right way to be. For this reason, maybe others, the pride all the residents felt was perhaps a little stronger for her than it was for her husband.

Sure, Alex was pleasant whenever he was run into at the store or at the library or on one of his long walks, the guy could talk for hours. But there would always be something…distracted about him. Like he was too aware of everything he did and said, like he was trying to follow a long and complicated script from memory but only at times. At other times, it was the complete opposite, he was so vague it was a little disconcerting. There seemed to be nothing behind is eyes, or at least something buried so deep it looked like nothing.

Things were different when he was seen with Eliza or with the rest of their family, as he was ninety-nine per cent of the time. Then he was just like any other devoted father or husband, often leaving conversations half-finished when one of his little ones dragged him away to join in their game or not looking like he saw much beyond his adored wife, more often than not resting her head on his shoulder, her arm wound around his waist.

He was still a fond figure, a treasured fixture of their place by the sea. But, even at his best, most human moments, Alexander Hamilton was considered an ‘odd one’.

One of the things most discussed, most poured over, most satisfyingly eyebrow raising, was just how many children Alex and Eliza were planning on having, whether they were going to keep going until they could stage their own family production of the Sound of Music or until the foundations of the lopsided cottage they somehow continued to make work for a family so large actually gave way. It was almost like the tides or the return of the swallows, with a regularity not too stringent to be called clockwork but with a loose pace and beat of its own, Eliza would turn up at the town’s little grocery store or the crafts shop to get more wool or the bookshop she and Alex and their children loved, in a dress more shapeless than usual or jeans clearly borrowed from her husband; soft, forgiving shoes even if the near constant rain had left the ground outside more in common with a swamp than anything else, a cardigan so careworn with holes in the sleeves and under the arms but was clearly a treasured item that had its flaws forgiven when great comfort was needed. There’d be no change in her shape, not yet, the evidence would be in the way she carried herself, the knowing light in her eyes like the Mona Lisa, like she had a secret she wasn’t sharing with anyone else, the way a soft, indulgent smile seemed to be the default setting of her face. Or else, her shopping cart full of nothing but peaches, cookie dough that was clearly never going to see the inside of an oven and cans of whipped cream gave the game away fairly quickly. If Alex was with her, further proof would be found in the way he kept a tight perimeter around her, never willingly moving more than arms length away from her, stealing more kisses and gentle touches of her hair than ever before.

Everyone in the village had learned to recognise the signs, like the well-recognised ciphers of a coming winter; the leaves shrivelling and losing their footing in the way Eliza started piling it on top of her head as it thickened, the first careless spill of frost in the shadows under her eyes. But of course not a word was said until the bump was actually visible and Alex was going around what always seemed like every single individual with a pair of eyes in a five mile radius, excitedly showing them the sonogram. Then it was weeks of watching Eliza blossom and flourish, a living Demeter in chord dungarees and hiking boots, listening to the existing Hamilton children chatter excitedly about their new sibling and draw pictures for them in the corner of the tea house when they came along with Alex for his early afternoon caffeine hook up, seeing Alex’s smile grow surer and more easily seen.

And then there would be another name to remember.

Oh, they were just grouching. They were just grumbling in the same way they did every time it rained and every time the sun shone with too much heat and every time there were leaves or snow on the ground, the way they just did.

All the little Hamilton’s were fondly thought of by pretty much everyone in the village. Though it had to be said they were a little like dryads, appearing out of nowhere, going about their own little businesses, following their own unseen paths and then dematerialising just as quickly. Those who caught glimpses of them most often learned where the scattered, aimless threads of their daily wanderings tended to converge and overlap and tangle into knots of time. It was possible to catch them, sometimes, if the wind was in the right direction and you knew the tricks.

For example, Jamie could usually be found sat in the smallest table, right over in the corner of the tea house, at the chair with no cushion and a leg that wobbled but it was always the one he chose, even when Rosie casually mentioned that she could keep one of the plush, obese couches over under the specials board free for him if he liked? Jamie always politely shook his head, turned back to the homework or the Lego model or the sheet music or the book that was occupying him that day in silence. Though, occasionally, on the days he was apparently feeling especially brave, he would go up to the glass counter that held the cakes and pies and other pastry gems Rosie’s girlfriend, Jessie, made so lovingly, press his wondering eyes to the cool surface and quietly ask what different ingredients she’d used, courteously suggesting alterations or changes with the respect of a fellow savant. Jessie adored him, Rosie guarded him and no one was surprised when, the Saturday after his sixteenth birthday, after his usual customary glass of iced tea, he slipped on an apron that seemed to fit him perfectly, picked up a notepad and tucked a blunted pencil behind his ear and got to work.

However, if it was Will you wanted to find, the quiet, contemplative young boy who followed on Johnny’s heels and whose hair was always in his eyes, getting caught in the joints of his glasses, then the place to try was the small plaza outside of the town hall. He would habitually brave the rain with his usual easy indifference to anything but his handful of interests, somehow manoeuvring his awkward angles and jutting joints into spectacular breakneck tricks on his battered skateboard off the architecture there. Little Will was rarely seen without pastel coloured band aids laddering his skinny legs, usually with motivational slogans written on them by his older sister, and he seemed to wear them like badges of honour.  Either he was risking life and limb on the village’s only and slightly regretted flirtation with the sweeping curves and flowing lines of eighties design, flirting with a trip to the ER on a skateboard with mismatched wheels that looked like it should have collapsed into splinters a long time ago or, if it was Saturday (or his mother was anywhere near) he would be volunteering at the tiny animal shelter on the outskirts of town. That was his true second home, where a light seemed to come on in his eyes and he seemed able to stand a little bit straighter than usual, working some kind of magic through his fingertips to soothe half feral cats who hissed and spat at everyone else or nervous puppies who only freed their tail from between their legs and stilled their frightened shaking for him. He never asked for any pay, any kind of compensation for what he did. All Will seemed to want in the whole entire world was for no one to touch his skateboard and to see the animals. That was all he asked for.

It was a surprise to everyone in the village, no one more so than Eliza and Alex when, out of the blue, almost without thinking, like it had crept up on them, their seventh child turned out to be a little girl. They’d all hear the story of how an exhausted Eliza refused to believe Alex when he tearfully informed her that the tiny little squalling baby in his arms, loudly experiencing her very first sensation of the outside world- the gentle, protective touch of her father’s hands, was a girl. Even she couldn’t believe that they’d finally broken their streak of Y chromosomes. She was even more shocked, so much so that, by all accounts, she burst into fresh tears, when Alex grinned through his own calm weeping to tell her than she was going to be named after the greatest and most wonderful woman he knew. Her mother.

Of course, it would be as scandalous as a grandparent having a favourite grandchild for anyone in the village to love one Hamilton child more than the others but, if pushed, if really, really pushed, there was a good chance many of them would say little Liza. Not only because she was an angelic thing, all sunset coloured skin and bouncing black ringlets and her mother’s beaming smile as well as her name. Also, more for the entertainment factor, for how many times they’d seen the toddler waddling down the main street at a surprisingly fast pace, usually in some state of undress or wearing more clothes than was strictly typical or perhaps holding the glasses her Pops ended up getting quite reliant on later on in his life, with Alex himself a few paces back, trying desperately to catch up with her. Alex was known for being fast, quick on his feet, but somehow his daughter was always faster.

The villagers felt themselves off the hook once Liza started preschool, surely seven was more than enough? Privately, they’d all thought that maybe five or even six had been enough but each to their own.

But no, apparently, Alex and Eliza wanted to go for the even number.

Though, along with the fact that Mrs Adam’s Christmas decorations were a little flashy this year and that the library fees were getting a little extortionate, weren’t they, it was a well-established fact in that corner of the coastline that Rachel Hamilton was an absolute treasure. Smiling so prettily with such a genuine, innocent warmth, eyes that looked older and seemed to hold so many more depths than a two-year-old would be capable of, usually seen lovingly following her mother, always stooping to lightly brush any flowers she past. Not pick them, never pick them, she’d hate to keep them for herself. Just to touch them with the curious pads of her fingertips, a greeting and a question and maybe even an answer in one little gesture.

Nearly a year after Rachel arrived, Eliza got the sense that there were a lot of eyes on her, a lot of loaded questions, a lot of glances. They only stopped after she casually mentioned to the florist that she and Alex had made the decision that their family was the size it had always meant to be. She didn’t use the phrase, not in front of the sweet old gentleman she chatted about gardenias and gypsophila with, but in her heart, she felt it; their pod was complete.

The moment the words were out and into the collective ears of the village, Alex looked up from his desk sharply, frowning, wondering if he’d just imagined that distant sigh of relief that sounded as if it came from a hundred mouths at once?

Though change was rarely a good thing, in the eyes of such granite carved, salt burned people. What would they talk about now, that they’d lost the swelling population of the brightly coloured, lopsided cottage growing down by the shoreline? Even a family with a goddess for a mother, an alien for a father and dryads for children could only provide so much material. But it was sweet to see, after all, to see a collection of people so loved and loving, protected and protecting, working in their own strange little ways and yet in perfect harmony with each other’s. It was just that they’d miss the excitement they brought, that’s all.

After everything that happened next, in the months that followed, the excitement that came crashing down on the Hamilton family, the townspeople would feel a pang of guilt.

[auroraxrp-blog1]

AURORA is pleased to introduce Kim Jihun known as Kimchi, a Uncommon Abyssal Merman not affiliated to AURORA. He is 120 years old, but looks around 30 years old. Currently working as Source, at a Saltwater Life Aquarium. He likes things that remind him of the sea, night time, things that glow in the dark, seaweed crisps but is not very fond of people who mistreat their fish, fishermen with the big nets that catch dolphins, tuna fish, laying on the beach (to get a tan. Why. He doesn’t get it). Wanna know more about him, make sure to pay a visit !!

–GENERAL

name: Kim Ji Hun

alias: Kimchi (more of a nickname, honestly)

age: Actually 120, appears/pretends to be 30.

affiliated: yes or no ?

if yes, headquarter: n/a 

years they have been part of AURORA: n/a

are they a mentor within the headquarter they belong to: n/a

race: Abyssal Merman

race description: Abyssal Mers are quite alike to regular merfolk, however they have an additional set of stiff fins that grow at the small of their back, to help navigate through deep ocean currents. Due to their homes being in the farthest depths of the ocean, their skin, even while in human form, is very pale, and can, after centuries of being deep beneath the ocean, even be white or translucent.  Their tails are often opalescent, but are usually creamy white, with tones of purple, blue and green in them. Their eyes are also dark, mostly pupil, in order to take in as much filtered light as possible. After living for nearly 150 years, many Abyssal Mers gain the ability of bioluminescence, small pricks of light beginning along the edges of their tail fins, warding off most predators. These also begin to glow at the tips of their fingers when they reach 200 years of age. This effect is not seen in younger aged Abyssal Mers because being dark keeps them safe from many predators while they’re young.  These quiet folk tend to band together in tight-knit clans that don’t stray into the shallows, believing themselves a more evolved race, and better than the generic mermaids of yore.

occupation: Sources fancy saltwater fish for aquarium owners. (He uses his ability to transform in order to meet with buyers at a pier near where he’s made his home).

unique features: Has several circular scars from where he’s had barnacles grow and then been torn off of his skin. Usually around his shoulders, but he has one on his waist, near where his tail begins that is quite large. He also always wears an amber stone on a strange metallic chain.

class: uncommon

Kimchi has spent quite a lot of time in order to make money in the shallower water, as his tail has gone a bit dark blue, to preserve himself from the sun. It has also caused him to be able to see less well in the dark of the deep sea, as such, he would probably not be able to survive for long periods of time in deep waters anymore.

–POWERS & WEAKNESSES:

main power: water

magical abilities: Can absorb water through his hands, like a sponge. (ex. From the ground if it’s damp, from plants, and in desperate situations (high emotion situations) from other beings). Can transform into human form for about 24 hours (varies due to outside factors due to weather/climate. The drier the air, the shorter the time he can be out of the water). Has an amulet that extends his out of water time by an additional 24 hours, regardless of climate/weather.  He can also communicate with aquatic beings (including animals) that are highly intelligent.

non-magical abilities: Is good at identifying fish that would do well in aquariums, rather than simply identify by the species. Knows a little fighting skill, but is better at running away from a fight.

weaknesses: Using his absorption power makes him physically tired, and when/if he absorbs from beings it makes him tired to the point of passing out/fainting, usually immediately afterwards or if he’s able to focus enough, about five minutes afterwards. Within his human form, he’s exceedingly accident prone and clumsy, almost to the point of it being comical (he can however, dance quite well, as it reminds him of swimming). If he doesn’t return to the water within the amulets extended 24 hour period, the amulet crumbles, and he’d have to find someone to make him a new one. Although he can talk to some of the higher-intelligence sea creatures, he often feels bad because he has no way to ask the fish that he captures for his work if they’re alright with being pets, which bothers him quite a lot.

–PERSONALITY:

likes: things that remind him of the sea, night time, things that glow in the dark, seaweed crisps.

dislikes: people who mistreat their fish, fishermen with the big nets that catch dolphins, tuna fish, laying on the beach (to get a tan. Why. He doesn’t get it)

positive traits: soft-hearted (he’s likely to help if you need it),  is charming (which leads to persuasiveness),  independent, intelligent, empathetic.

neutral traits: Experimental, familial, progressive, sarcastic, unaggressive.

negative traits: clumsy, impulsive, a little naïve, vain, stubborn.

mental state: Social anxiety in large groups (10+ people), due to being on his own for several decades.

personality description:

As a young mer, Kimchi was insufferable when it came to being self-confident and even to a point, rude. He was always able to find someone who would tell him yes in regards to something he wanted, and he knew exactly who to go to for whatever it was that he wanted. Though that charm remains, he’s calmed down quite spectacularly over the years. Now, he uses his charm only when necessary, knowing that having good people skills help him in business more than in personal life. He’s oddly kind, however, still remembering that upbringing he experienced from his clan, he wants to be able to repay their kindness, even if it is to someone else. Though, part of this is a base instinct to be helpful as well.

He is curious, almost to a fault, and once something piques his interest, he’s hooked. This can range from finding things to exploring areas, to learning things about people. It means that often times he puts himself at risk by being too focused on his curiosity to realize that he needs to go back to the water. He would probably benefit from having friends to remind him of these types of things, but he’s pretty absent socially unless he’s super curious about someone. This makes him seem awkward a lot of the time, and anti social. The rest of the time he cracks dirty jokes and lives in a pool of sarcasm, making him seem as though he feels he’s better than everyone else, which is quite the opposite of how he actually feels. He hides easily behind the mask of self-confidence, not sharing his self-doubt to anyone. It would take someone very special to break through the walls he’s built up.

–BIOGRAPHY:

place/realm of birth: Born in this realm, in the farthest depths of the Pacific Ocean.

date/era of birth: Born July 15, of 1891.

if half-breed, parents: n/a

if water being, nature: Salt

biography description:

Born to a woman who never even planned on staying around, of a man who was too important to be having a child with the likes of her, Kim Ji Hun was born unappreciated and disliked. That didn’t improve as he grew, his mother quickly realizing that the child would end up even more beautiful that she was, and quickly got rid of him. So at the ripe young age of 40 years (still such a child in the eyes of those around him, he was left to his own devices. He took advantage of his status though, the one left behind, and quickly found that it was only in his own home that he wasn’t wanted. He spent his childhood raised by the mantra that it took a village to raise a child. For once, he was surrounded by people who cared about him, and by people who wanted him to thrive. They wanted that, that is, until he began to show interest in the world above. He was told again and again, that the shallows, that is to say: normal merfolk, were just that. Shallow and unimportant when it came to the world. The world above the water wasn’t even spoken of in his clan, more than simply taboo, interest in it was an evisceration of what it was to be mer.

He quickly learned ahead of his peers, and found himself with more free time than the rest, and that found him venturing out on his own, his curiosity like that of the catfish, only settled when he’d explored every inch about something. When it came to the world above, there was no satiety to come from his explorations, and when he began to notice the differences between what he’d been taught and what he’d come to know, was when the real trouble began. He’d come back from exploring a reef, and found the leader of their clan waiting for him, casting him out from the people he’d known for his entire life, from those who kept him alive from a young age. He’d taken the few things he cared about, and left, traveling not to the shallows where he wouldn’t be accepted either, instead to the reefs, and the very shallows, learning his abilities to stay above water, to turn human, even if only for a while. He made a home there, near to the world he’d been taught to hate, and slowly learned to love it, if only just a little. It didn’t take long for him to realize the reasons why his clan hated the world above, and yet there were good things too, and he quickly found that the good outweighed the bad. He wanted nothing more than to continue to learn and explore, and was willing to do whatever it took to do so.

The witch had offered him the amulet, at what he assumed was a reasonable rate, and soon he’d found himself exploring every inch of this world that he could reach within the time he was allotted. It wasn’t as much as he’d hoped, and he was still too nervous to not return home every night, basking in whatever newness he’d found. It didn’t take long before he found he needed a source of income, and although he’d always swum among them, the fish that lived in the reef were plentiful, and every once in a while if one or two of them went missing, no one noticed, excepting of the bank account that Kimchi had set up in his name one afternoon. Some of the more rare fish kept his account filled for days, and he was happy to continue his explorations. It turned into buying a car so he could travel further, and eventually he found another body of salt water. It was a surprise, but a happy one, and he basked in the new possibilities. No longer was he tied to the ocean on the other side… there was a new wide world for him to explore on this side of the land, and explore it he did. He learned new things, found new people and made a new home, on the water, where he built a home that had direct water access, his bank account accruing interest as he aged. He was happy when he finally looked old enough to own a home of his own, and didn’t get odd looks as he entered and exited. He’d learned a lot about himself and the world around him, and he only hoped he was able to stay in this place for a long while.

[rrrawrf-writes]

stuff i wrote at work 6

been in a bit of a banner mood lately. which is good bc he deserves so much more than i give him.

Banner had thought - had hoped, had prayed - that the ocean would be different. That he could stand to slip into the water without fear. But now he stood barely waist-deep, with little waves soaking the stomach of his shirt, and choked.

The next thing he knew, he had flung himself on the rocky beach, dry-heaving against a large stone and desperately clawing his way out of a veritable flood of memories - of being forced under deep, rushing water, the breath pushed out of his lungs by someone’s knee or fist, and held there until he was just a second away from drowning completely. Then he was pulled from the water, for just one precious moment of air, before they shoved him back into the river -

Stupid. Banner slammed his fist into the rock, flinching as the skin broke over his knuckles. Slumping down, Banner leaned back against the pitted stone and stared out across the ocean. The setting sun tinted it gold and pink; it was the kind of sunset poets wrote about. Banner wished he could enjoy it.

He was the son of a fisherman. The only parts of his childhood  Banner hadn’t spent in the sea or on a boat had been spent learning how to fight, like every other Eolan child in the village.

Now, he couldn’t even look at anything deeper than a puddle without bile rising in his throat.

He rubbed his face, unsurprised to feel tears rather than seawater running down his face. Banner sat there long into the night.

Three days later, he thought he would try a boat.

His father didn’t go out much anymore; his legs hurt too badly to manage a day of fishing. Banner’s older brother and his brood generally brought in a large enough catch to support them all. Between that, and the money Banner and his sister sent home, Tad and his wife managed a comfortable enough life, spending their retirement mending the village’s nets and sails, and tracking fishing grounds.

They still had the very same boat, though, that Banner had learned to navigate on as a boy. It was barely more than a skiff, suitable for lone fishing trips or teaching a thoroughly stupid child how to sail.

Banner felt just as stupid now as he had been twenty years ago. The water was a little choppy, but not so much that he couldn’t have handled it. He shoved the boat off long after all the fishermen had left, and he hoped no one was watching.

Nerves and lack of practice made him clumsy; Banner hadn’t gotten very far at all from the beach when he had turned the boat broadside to a wave he wasn’t watching. He was too preoccupied with stifling flashes of anxiety that came every time he looked at the water.

And so, of course, his inattentiveness dumped him in the water, like a forest boy who had never dipped his toe in a tidepool.

Banner was a strong swimmer. It was more instinct than conscious thought  that drove him back to the land, and safety. He hadn’t realized he’d reached dry sand until he was a good fifteen feet from the ocean.

He was coughing up saltwater and tears  when he realized that someone was watching him after all, and she was laughing her head off.

She at least retrieved the boat for him. Banner clenched his jaw as he sat bare-chested in the sun and waited for his shirt to dry.

“I cannot believe I just saw you tip over with my own two eyes.” Stephi cackled as she dropped carelessly next to him. She was soaked now, herself, but hardly seemed to mind. “Ha, you were always bragging about being a better sailor when we were kids - good thing the army got you before the navy did, eh?”

His sister elbowed him in the ribs with a wicked grin; Banner looked away, closing his eyes with a sigh. If the navy had conscripted him instead of the army, he wouldn’t be having this problem. Hell, he had been planning to enlist himself in the navy, before the army recruiters swept through the coastlines and took away every unmarried, able-bodied young man (and most of the women). Banner’s older brother had wedded just in time; Stephi had been just too young. She wasn’t to be outdone, however - while Banner was given the unglorious task of hunting bandits in the inland forests, Stephi enlisted herself. She somehow managed to become a member of the palace guard in Kydrei, of all things. Stephi lorded it over her brother every chance she got, as if seeing nobles on a daily basis made her better than him. He didn’t think she had seen a lick of real combat in her entire life.

In all fairness, though, Banner didn’t want her to.

“It’s been a while,” he said quietly, avoiding the real reason for his incompetence. If it had been anyone else, he thought he might get over it - but Stephi would never let this go.

“You looked terrified,” she gleefully went on. “Like you’d never been in the water before - haha, you should have seen yourself! Flailing in five feet of water, like a baby -”

“Let it go, Steph.”

She laughed again. “’Let it go,’ are you kidding me? That was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. You shot out of the water like a cat someone dropped in the well -”

“Stephi.”

“The army’s ruined you, Banner.” Stephi stood up again, brushing sand from her wet clothes. “First, you wouldn’t let us chase off those damned Cord merchants, and you roll over and show your belly every time one of those occupying bastards so much as look at you. Now you can’t even take a little salt bath without crying.”

Her laughter turned scornful; Banner’s face reddened when she asked, “When did my brother become such a dragons-cursed coward?”

Banner stood up and punched her in the face.

“I thought the two of you had grown out of all the petty squabbling by now.” Esseril set down a bowl of stew in front of Banner, before taking a seat across the table. Banner felt his black eye, shrugged, and looked away from his older brother. Stephi had given just as much as she had gotten; they were both bruised all over, now, and she had stormed off in a raging temper once they reached the village.

“She’s frustrated,” he said. “Can’t really blame her.”

Ess arched his eyebrows. “I can, and I will. She’s been riling up everyone in the village with even a little temper - she’ll get herself killed if she doesn’t rein herself in.”

Banner didn’t answer. He hadn’t realized that the land Eola gave to Cordell after losing the last war included his own village, not until he had reached the coast for a well-deserved leave of absence. Many families were talking of leaving, moving a little farther north until they were back in Eola proper. Many families’ youngsters, with Stephi at the head, were talking about driving the Cords out.

The silence trundled on a little longer, as Esseril enjoyed his late lunch without his many children to pester him, and Banner poked at bits of potato and fish, not really hungry. Finally, Ess sighed and pushed aside his bowl.

“Stephi says you capsized,” he murmured. Banner scowled, his face flushing with embarrassment. “Look, I - I appreciate a level head, Banner, you know I always have. But… there’s something wrong with you. I wish you would tell me about it.”

Banner stopped pretending to pretend he was eating, setting aside his spoon. It was a long, long moment before he spoke again. Esseril waited with the warm patience Banner had always admired, and tried to emulate. “I was - I was taken prisoner, in the war,” he said quietly.

Esseril took in a quiet breath. Banner stared out the window, refusing to look at his brother’s face. He knew that Ess wouldn’t be so cruel as to look down on him for being captured, but he couldn’t take the chance of seeing anything like pity or contempt. 

There wasn’t much he was allowed to explain to Esseril, and even less that he wanted to talk about. Another minute crawled by before Banner admitted, “They thought - I had information. They would take me to - to the river, and -”

He cut himself off, looking down at the table. Esseril reached over and tentatively placed his hand on Banner’s wrist, giving it a comforting squeeze when Banner didn’t draw back.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “You don’t need to say anything else.”

Banner nodded gratefully. There had been much more than the river - the Cordellans had beaten him and worn him to exhaustion, and beyond, but the river had been the worst. Banner had loved the water; now, he couldn’t even take a boat out. It felt like betrayal.

After some time, he managed to start eating again. A little after that, Ess asked, “Does Stephi know?”

Banner snorted and shook his head. “She nearly whipped poor Lia’s boy the other day, just because his mother was from Cordell. No - if she knew, she’d try to murder the Cords in their sleep, and get herself flogged to death.”

Stephi would never let such a crime against her brother go. Banner appreciated her loyalty, even if the two of them still got into fistfights whenever they spent too long in each other’s presence, but he needed her to let this go. He hoped to be made captain when his leave was up; with that added money, he and Ess could afford to move their parents and all his little nieces and nephews up the coast, away from what had been given to Cordell. Stephi would get over it, eventually. She had to return from her leave in just a week and a half.

Hopefully, Banner and Esseril could keep her from leading a revolt.