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dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth · 5 months ago

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Stars and Seas: A Drowned Tale

Years ago, I made a short story titled "The Drowned", which featured Matthew and Lyrus, a Human and a Merfolk variant called "Drowned", who fell for one another and became eternal lovers.

I'm happy to say that, years later, I have a continuation of this story just as well! Stars and Seas: A Drowned Tale features the former side character Ilias, and a new character, Thompson.

Story below the cut.

Words: 4468

Days off for Thompson were extremely rare. Hospice required constant attention from the nurse, but ever since Matthew was discharged, the man found himself with more free time than usual. Matthew was the main resident to whom Thompson was assigned, and without any new residents since, the nurse had little to do.

With a full free weekend, Thompson decided to visit the boardwalk on the edge of town. It was the location’s prime attraction, with a small amusement park and multiple boardwalk games. Pizza, chicken, fries, burgers, you name it and the stalls sold it.

Alone, Thompson wandered across the wooden planks, looking at various carnies who called to families with their children, friends with their friends, and couples with their lovers.

Yet there he was.

Alone.

The man’s heart grew heavy, but no less he walked toward one stall, and pulled out the wallet in his pocket.

“What can I get you, sir?” the lady asked.

Thompson looked up, and pointed to a bag of green cotton candy. “I’d like that bag please,” he said. “Is debit ok?”

The woman nodded, reaching to pull the bag off its hook from the overhang. “That’ll be five dollars,” she said. “Anything else you need?”

“Actually yes. May I please have a bottle of water?”

“Sure thing!” The woman set the cotton candy down, then turned around to a small fridge, and opened it, pulling out one bottle of water. “Alright, that’s another four dollars, so your total comes to nine!” She scanned the two items.

Thompson pulled out his card, and placed it against the machine. Once it beeped, he returned it to his wallet, and input the pin. The machine rang a gentle tone, and he nodded, then grabbed his food and drink. “Thank you, ma’am. Have a great day.” He forced a smile to her briefly.

The woman nodded. “You, too.”

Turning away, Thompson located a table in the distance, just outside the amusement park. With even steps, he made way toward this.

Two young men stood outside the park entrance, fumbling for cash to pay the fee.

“Damn. Guess we spent more at the diner this morning than I thought,” the smaller man said, chuckling.

The other smiled, and kissed the first. “Worry not, my dear. I’ve got this covered.”

Thompson’s heart sank even deeper hearing this conversation. Two men. In love. Yet here he was still alone. He glanced toward the lovers briefly, then stumbled.

“Lyrus, I told you to stop covering me!”

“Well really it’s my father covering us both.”

Turning toward the two young men, Thompson quickly approached. “...Matthew?” he asked.

The smaller man turned around, his mouth immediately falling agape upon seeing Thompson. “I–you… Thompson?!”

“Yes!! It’s me!!” Thompson cried, a smile coming to his face. He reached for Matthew, wrapping his arms around him gently. “Oh my god!! Look at you!! You’re–you’re completely healthy now!!”

Smiling warmly, Matthew returned the hug to his old nurse, nodding. “I am!! I feel great!!”

Thompson separated from him, and looked upon the young man who now stood. He stood. Matthew’s legs were riddled with cancer before, and left him confined to a wheelchair for the most part, save for good pain days. But Thompson looked at Matthew’s wrist.

Upon it was tied a single small bracelet of seashells, the rope made of dried seaweed.

And Lyrus’s wrist held one just the same.

Thompson nodded, smile never waning. “Healing is a magic in and of itself, isn’t it?” he asked.

There, Matthew stumbled slightly. “Wh–what do you mean?”

“Getting better in any way. It seems to bring people together, doesn’t it? You two have each other now, and that’s incredible. It’s perfect. The magic between you both seems to have done more than modern medicine ever could.”

Matthew fell silent, his blood running cold.

But Lyrus stepped up, smiling. “You know, Thompson, sir. Matthew has told me much about you in the time we’ve been together. I was hoping to meet you someday.”

Thompson smiled gently. “I’m honored to meet you all the same, sir. And I truly wish both of you a great eternity together. Even though… I’ll likely never see Matthew again.”

“Perhaps there will be more meetings,” said Lyrus. “You never know what the future holds, after all. Things change. People change. That is the magic of life.”

Nodding, Thompson’s smile now waned slightly. “Well… I hope you both have a great day. And a safe return home. May the tides pull you to safety.”

Lyrus bowed to him. “And may they never tempt you into the depths all the same.” He pulled Matthew into himself. “Come on, hon. Let’s keep our little date going.” Together, he and Matthew handed the cash to the person at the front gate, and entered inside.

Thompson sighed, and walked to the table. Situating himself, he opened the bag of cotton candy, and began eating it silently. Pondering. His heavy heart beat slowly and painfully against his chest, and he turned to look at the beach, its gentle waves lapping away at the sand as children played about, and people of all ages spoke and smiled.

But Thompson himself frowned, for he was alone as always.

Forever alone…

====================

That evening, Matthew and Lyrus returned to the castle of Limrias. As both sat together at the table alongside Ilias, they ate their dinners as a family.

But Matthew seemed oddly quiet. His gaze was distant, almost as though the man focused on something beyond the present.

“Are you alright, hon?” Lyrus asked.

“...No.”

“Talk to me.” Lyrus put one webbed hand on Matthew’s shoulder, and reached the other to brush his hair behind a finned ear. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s… it’s Thompson. From before,” Matthew said, sighing. “He looked… I don’t know. Sad? I could feel it. All his sorrows flowed into me like they were my own. I know Drowned can feel connections to one another through the bonds we have. But can a Drowned do the same with a Human?”

“It’s possible,” Ilias said. “You and Thompson had a great deal of investment in one another before you became Drowned. Those feelings of love still remain, and through your love for him, it’s very likely you could feel a bond between yourself and him as you would any other Drowned.”

Matthew nodded. “Thank you. I just… I wish I could help him. He always seemed so happy when he was around me, but I know he’s been through a lot. He never told me what he experienced, though.”

Ilias cut into a filet, and stabbed it with his fork. “Is he still nearby? Still at the boardwalk?” He placed the filet piece into his mouth, and began to chew it.

“Maybe. I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”

“Because I’d like to meet him, and thank him for having cared for you all these years,” Ilias replied. “He seems as though he could use such thanks, and he should know you’re in good hands now.”

“Dad, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Lyrus asked. “He knows Matthew and I are Drowned, but that’s dangerous enough in and of itself! Do you really want to risk revealing yourself, our king, to him?”

Shrugging, Ilias stabbed the last piece of his filet. “If he already knows about us, then what’s the harm in showing him myself?” He bit into the piece, and swallowed it, setting his fork and knife down. “You two go enjoy yourselves for the night. I’ll be back by morning. Promise.” The king smiled at his two boys, and swam from his chair, then pushed it in. Without another word, he exited the room.

====================

Upon the beach, Thompson sat solitarily, knees to his chest as the waves crashed in the distance, their extended falls reaching the man’s feet. The water kissed him softly. Thompson reveled in what little peace this brought him.

Looking up into the horizon, boats and ships sailed across the night, far out into the dark, every star above illuminating their shapes.

How he longed to leave this land and see the world as those people did… Maybe things could be better elsewhere…

Thompson sighed, burying his head in his knees, shoulders dropping.

“Quite a sight, isn’t it?”

The man jumped, and looked up. There, his eyes fell upon a tall, broad man, roughly his own age, whose hair and beard appeared black and salt-worn, hints of gray running through their lengths. He smiled kindly to Thompson.

“Mind if I take a seat?” the man asked.

Thompson scooted to his right, shaking his head. “No, please. Go ahead.”

Bending down, the stranger sat carefully, placing his hands against the sand to steady himself as he lowered into a sitting position. Upon both his wrist lay two gorgeous bracers of seashells, tied in place with colorful seaweed.

Thompson’s eyes widened at their sight. However, he remained silent.

The stranger gazed up at the stars meeting the sea afar. “Matthew’s told me lots about what you’ve done for him. I’m grateful. For you. For all your care and help given to him over the years.”

“You’ve done more for him than any medicine could have,” Thompson said .

“I don’t mean just medically, but emotionally as well.” There, Ilias smiled kindly, and turned toward the Human. “He’s struggled a lot. Learning to be part of a family when he’s never had one is certainly a difficult thing. But he tells me he learned what he could from his love for you. Matthew always tells me you’re the father he never had.”

“Well I’m not much to go by. I don’t have a family, either…”

Ilias raised an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

“No. It’s a long story. You wouldn’t care for it, I promise.” Thompson sighed heavily, his demeanor lowering into sorrow.

Pausing a moment, Ilias readjusted himself. “I’ve got time. And Matthew is worried. He tells me you’re sad. I see it in you that you are. Maybe talking would help ease the burden?”

Thompson shook his head. “I can’t. It’s no use. I’ve spoken to therapists for decades now, and it doesn’t do anything to make this better… Not what with I’ve been through…”

“Well… what about talking to a friend?”

Pausing a moment, Thompson glanced toward Ilias, eyes wide. He saw, there, the king’s kindly smile, and welcoming self, so genuine and gentle. How could he say no to this man? Regardless, Thompson looked away, shaking his head again. “It’d be wrong to burden another with my troubles. Especially a king…”

Ilias chuckled a little. “Friends exist to carry the burdens of one another in part. Nobody can make it through life alone. And if you do not tell me now, I will continue to visit each night you’re here until I gain your trust enough that you speak. It wouldn’t be right in my heart or mind to let such a great and kindly man as yourself suffer alone.”

“Why do you think so highly of me?” Thompson asked.

“Because you kept Matthew safe. And Matthew has opened my heart to trusting once more.” The king took a deep breath. “I spent more than a millennia distrusting Humans. They’ve proven to be enemies of my people for ages now, polluting our home and using it for selfish gains. But Matthew and Lyrus fell for one another more than a year ago now. And I’ve seen since then what good Humans are, and what good they bring. Lyrus, my son, was so lonely and broken until he met Matthew. Those two healed each other’s hearts and lives, and their love has, in turned, healed me.”

Thompson’s eyes nearly welled with tears now. He gulped the sadness back. “Love is… it’s something I’ve not had in a very long time…” His tears began to fall.

Ilias lifted a finger, and the teardrops shifted from Thompson’s face, floating away toward the sea.

Eyes wide, the Human watched his sorrows move from himself and join with the water beyond. He shook his head. “I’m… a lot like Matthew in a sense… I, too, love men. I’m how he realized his own sexuality. But my parents–my entire family both immediate and extended–they shunned me for what I am. They called me a disgusting whore, and threw me into the streets. I tried to go back! I tried so many times!! But eventually they moved, and I never knew where to! I had nobody and nothing!!

“My boyfriend at the time, he proposed to me, and we were planning our wedding. We found out he was pregnant, and both of us felt ecstatic! The future was bright, and we’d just gotten an apartment together here in the city. But… this hardly lasted…” Now Thompson’s tears fell in a large stream, and the man sobbed violently, clutching his knees to his face as he pressed his forehead into both harshly. “Kevin, he–he miscarried. Just a few weeks into the second trimester. We were devastated, and the doctors found out why this happened.

“Kevin had late-stage ovarian cancer. He was dying. And no amount of medicine would ever help save him…”

Ilias’s face dropped, his heart sinking into an abyss of sorrow. He reached for Thompson, but retracted his hand before it could touch him.

Thompson tensed, biting his lower lip harshly. “I was alone. I had nobody. No family. No partner. No love. And I tried. I tried to find someone else! But I’ve been broken!! My sorrows are too great, and my pain is immense! Nothing makes it better! Nothing!!” He rammed a fist into the sand, trembling. “I’m lonely… I’m broken… And I see no reason to keep going. Ever since Matthew left, there’s been little hospice work to do. It’s like I’m not needed anymore. Nobody needs me, and I am needed nowhere. I can’t keep going like this…”

Shifting toward the Human, Ilias sat on his knees and wrapped himself around the balled-up Thompson, hugging him softly. “You’re needed. Always. That I promise.”

Thompson sobbed, his heart weighing itself down into the depths below. "If I fell into the ocean to my death, far away from any land, would the world even notice? Would I be forgotten?"

"The ocean would remember," Ilias replied. "The waves would carry your soul forever with their every rise and fall. The very creatures which live within it would see your descent, knowing another joins them but not in life. They would mourn. The sea is seemingly paired with death, but we can only take so much tragedy before it becomes too much. Perhaps this is why the Drowned were created. To prevent such sorrow from ever taking over."

"But I am not worthy of mourning. I'm nobody. And I am worth nothing. Not even life." Thompson shook rapidly, tightening his fists.

"Has the world truly taken so much from you that you've forgotten how to receive all the same?"

The Human shook his head. "I'm not sure. I don't think I've ever been given anything in my life before..."

Ilias grasped one of the Human's hands, and stood up. "Then come with me a moment. I wish to give you something."

Thompson shook his head. “Please. Don’t–”

“You need to see this. Please. Just come along.”

With a scoff, Thompson pushed himself upright, shaking his head, standing to meet the king. Gently, he was pulled toward Ilias. Into him.

Ilias held Thompson close and walked toward the water, then into it. Once deep enough inside, the long mer tail formed, and fins extended from his wrists and ears. His green eyes glowed bright against the darkness, clearly made to peer through the depths of the seas. Here, he clutched Thompson softly, and carefully began to swim out. Away from the shore.

Thompson watched as the sand grew further and further away until it no longer remained visible. He spoke not a word, just letting his sorrows run rampant through himself.

After several minutes, Ilias stopped, and shifted Thompson in front of himself. Here, the king smiled warmly, and pointed upward toward the vast, starry sky.

Tears streaking his face still, the Human looked up where the king pointed.

"Centuries ago, sailors used the stars to navigate the oceans, and cross them safely. All the same, those stars told stories and gifted them to children who looked at them in hope,” Ilias said. “No matter where you are in the world, the stars are always there. No matter where you are in the world, the water is always there. Nature is inherent. It's eternal. Hope and safety are always here. Waiting for you to find them. You only need let the world guide you."

Thompson gulped his sadness down again. "Then why? Why has my life led me away from the world? Why am I so blind to the future that I can't even see it?"

"When you spend forever in the dark, it hurts to look at the light. But it's there no less.” Ilias looked Thompson in the eyes. “I am here."

The Human’s mouth fell agape. He shook his head. “N–no.”

“Why not?” Ilias asked. “Why not accept love for a change?”

"I... I can't. How can I ever love again when I will lose you, or you will lose me? I couldn't bear to be with a man who has two sons, knowing you’ll all live forever and I won't–that you'll all be of the sea, but myself of the land. I am nothing compared to you! I am... nothing… Even as a person, I am nothing..."

"You are a great man with a great heart as vast as the seas," Ilias said, holding Thompson tighter now. "I never thought I would feel this way for a Human, but all the same, every Drowned was once Human. We aren't so different."

Thompson hiccupped, shaking. His aching heart seemingly sank into the ocean itself as he remained within it, held by the king.

"When a Drowned Embraces a Human, their love is gifted all the same. A bond is forged between the Drowned who makes another. These bonds create families. Parents, children, lovers, siblings. They are eternal and endless. There is no breaking the bond of two Drowned who’ve joined together. And they feel everything between one another. Joy and pain. Love and fear. Any and all emotion is shared.

“But I feel it all, even without such a bond between yourself and I. Your sorrow is great, and your pain greater. You fear and you grieve, but I am here. And I love. I love you, Thompson. Sweet Baris. I wish for nothing more than to see you happy–to see your smile and know your joy not as my own, but for you to feel yourself. You deserve happiness. I can bind us together in eternity beneath the very waters in which we tread, and I will hold you as my own. You will never be alone again. I promise."

The torrential tears dripping from Thompson’s eyes began to fall into the ocean. "I’m not worth it… I never will be…What have I done that's worthy of this?" he asked. "To gift me not just any Embrace, but yours? Why?"

Ilias smiled gently, pressing into the Human, holding him closer. "Because you are you. And all are worthy of love for the mere fact that they live. And I love you. The world takes so much that we often forget we can give all the same.

“Just as well, none must be worthy of the water's gift to receive it. One must simply embrace its love as their own. And I know you long for love. But look no further. We are here. Together. Between the stars that guided us to my kingdom, and the seas in which it resides. Please. Come home with me, Baris."

Thompson sobbed into the king now, harsh and ugly. "But... Matthew. He doesn't need me anymore. He has you. All the Drowned."

"That doesn't mean he can't use more love. You need it all the same. And if he does not welcome you then know that I do. I will be the one who brings you home and gifts you the Embrace." Ilias leaned in, and kissed Thompson on the cheek. "I will bind us together in eternity, and hold you as my own. You'll have a family–two sons, Matthew and Lyrus–and of course, me. Loneliness will never reach you again. Of that I swear."

Thompson trembled, trying to breathe but he couldn’t. He shook his head, sobbing harshly. “Does it hurt? Letting the magic take you?"

"No. It's peaceful. Your very soul is engulfed in serenity, and you know, in that moment, you're forever saved from all death and sorrow."

With a harsh cry, Thompson clutched the king dearly, clenching his eyes shut. "Please... Please just help me!!" he begged. "Make this stop! Take my pain away! Please..."

"I can give you what you need to make it leave in time. It will not fade immediately. But I will be there every moment you need someone. I will always love you, Baris. That will never change." Ilias smiled warmly. “You will learn to live in peace, not rest in sorrow. Let your mortal pains wash away into the sea. It’s time to come home.” The king lifted his hand to Thompson's heart, pressing it against him. The palm began to glow, and he shifted his face to see Thompson's, meeting the man's lips with his own which he kissed gently while pushing him backward, leading them both below the water.

The glow began to overtake Thompson, who kissed Ilias back, a warmth spreading from his heart through his entire body. The very tears upon his face washed away into the sea which now held him completely. And the man welcomed it.

As the glow intensified, both lovers remained connected for a long moment before Ilias backed away, shifting his hand off Thompson.

Slowly, the bright illumination faded from the man entirely as he lay within the king's loving embrace. And there he rested, a long, finned tail now in place of legs, and matching fins upon his wrists and ears. Gills opened from his sides, and he breathed through them, taking the water into his very being, merging himself with it at long last.

Ilias smiled. "Welcome home, my king."

Thompson–Baris–opened his eyes and looked at himself. Now Drowned, he gazed upon his new form in silent awe, examining the long tail and strange fins, the webbing between his fingers. And there, a feeling of serenity filled himself, overtaking his entire being. Baris sat upright, and threw himself into Ilias, clutching the king tighter, a wholeness and unity of sorts driving him toward the man.

A unity with his lover, Baris realized. A unity with his future–with the very seas in which he now lived and breathed.

Both parting slightly, Ilias’s smile only grew. "You are the greatest man I have ever met, and I will never be far from you. Even if I am, our eternal bond will hold us together. I feel your elation. The relief in your heart. And I am happy all the same. You’ve needed this for ages now, and it is yours to keep. I’ll make certain you never lose it."

There, a smile formed upon Baris’s face. He kissed Ilias passionately, deeply, holding the king against himself as he wrapped the long tail around his lover, pressing into him. “Thank you. Thank you, my love. My king. I… I love you. So much.”

“Please. Call me Ilias.” The king smiled, joining his tail with Baris’s, and both held one another for a long moment in silence.

Minutes passed, and finally Baris unlatched from his lover, shifting backwards. He looked at himself entirely now, and chuckled a little, smiling.

Ilias looked puzzled at his lover. “What’s funny?” he asked.

“I… I just realized a slight problem."

"Oh?"

"I can't swim."

Ilias suddenly burst into laughter. "Oh, gods! That is quite a problem, now isn’t it?” He grinned, and pat Baris’s shoulder gently. “Well there's no time like the present to learn. It's not that hard. I'll show you."

Baris grasped the king’s hand, who led him down into the depths, flicking his tail gently while keeping his and Baris’s arms parallel to themselves.

After many minutes, Ilias let go, and motioned for Baris to follow him.

And without missing a beat, Baris continued. Swimming close by. Swimming.

He was free.

The Drowned cut through the water with ease, as though the very universe parted to let him and Ilias pass, and both made their way toward a glistening, large kingdom with ornate bridges and city buildings spanning across the entire ocean floor.

This was the beauty of Limrias.

====================

Within the castle, Matthew and Lyrus lay within one another’s arms in their bed together, cuddled up smiling and content. Both looked outward from the window to the kingdom far below, then to each other, their minds at ease and their hearts entwined in love.

However, a knock came to their door. “Lyrus? Matthew? Are you awake?”

Ilias, they realized.

“We are! We’re coming!” Lyrus called. He helped Matthew up, and both held hands as they swam to the door. But Lyrus grasped the handle, and pulled it open.

There in the doorway, both smiling, hands together, Ilias and Baris tread as one. As Drowned.

Matthew’s eyes welled with tears. He charged Baris, and threw his arms around the man, squeezing him tight and pressing into him. “You–you’re–”

“I’m home,” Baris said, leaning into Matthew gently. “I’m grateful. For all of you. I owe you everything.”

“You owe nothing but to love your life,” Matthew said. He looked up at Baris. “Please. I know you’ve been hurting. I know you’ve been sad. But give this a chance. It’s going to get better now. We’ll all make sure of it.”

Baris nodded, smiling even more. “I know. I will. I promise. I will live, with you, and we will always be together. My heart is open to love, and I have that of Ilias. And I couldn’t ask for anything greater.”

Lyrus swam toward Baris and Matthew, putting one hand on each. “You have my love all the same. Gods know my dad needs it more, though.”

Everyone laughed, and leaned in, hugging one another.

And there, Baris felt it. The bonds between all of them. Each person of this family loved him, and all the same he loved them. Their feelings flowed through one another as though part of each other despite each belonging to different people. They were united. And nothing would ever tear them apart, for, nature’s love in the stars and seas had brought them together at long last.

#writing #my writing #short story #short stories #mermaid #merfolk #gay #modern fantasy #original fiction

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fanficwritingcentral · 3 months ago

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Chapter 3 of Dinner dates (AO3 link)

Summary: Percy comes home to something he never wanted to know.

Notes: Had another thought for this one! Don't worry, Percy is not traumatized (much), only slightly. He'll be ok, probably better if he had some dinner tbh.

Enjoy 😘✌️

Percy had it all planed out for what he'd do when he got home. He'd have dinner with his mother and Paul, he'd have a shower, he'd go then go in his room, IM Annabeth and then go to what better be a beautiful peaceful sleep.

He deserved it.

However, the second he opened the door all thoughts of his plans instantly shriveled up and died.

"What is happening." Percy said, his body going numb and refusing to believe what he's seeing in front of him.

"Percy, sweetheart, you're home," his mother said with a smile as she stood up from the couch and came to hug him. Percy's arms automatically wrapped around his mother in response, but he couldn't take his eyes off what was in front of him.

Paul waved to him from the couch.

Percy gave a little wave back.

"Mum," Percy whispered into her ear, "why are they here?"

'They' referring to his father, Poseidon the God of the Sea, and his step mother, Amphitrite the Goddess of the Sea, who are sitting on the couch with Paul. His father also looks to be sitting really close to Paul, infact if his father was to move his leg just one more centimetre their knees would be touching.

His mother drew back from the hug and brushed a hand through Percy's hair, "they're here for dinner sweetie." She said with a smile.

"Dinner?"

She nodded, "Dinner."

Percy looked back at the group of the couch who seemed to be giving him weird smiles, "and why is-," he stopped and frowned, "dad why are you sitting that close to Paul?"

"My son, I think-,"

"Wait," Percy cut his father off and looked back at his mother, "and mum why were you sitting super close to Lady Amphitrite?"

His mother bit her lip and looked back at the group then back at him and gave a little sigh, "Percy," she said, "I think you know."

Percy shook his head and stepped back from his mother letting her hands fall off him. "No."

"Percy." His mother called softly.

He shook his head again, "this is not happening, this is a dream, a really bad nightmare. I must of done something to piss off Morpheus."

"My son, I swear to you this is no dream." His father called from the couch.

Percy closed his eyes and covered his ears, "this is not happening." He whispered to himself.

He felt a light touch on his arm and opened his eyes to see Lady Amphitrite in front of him, her ocean blue eyes stunning him for a moment, "Percy," she said, "would it be so bad?"

"My Lady," he said, "I mean no disrespect but yes."

He stood even further back, "I need to go," and ran to his room and locked the door. He tried not to think about the muffled conversation he could barely hear through it.

He quickly went to make a rainbow with his humidifier and lamp and sat of his bed.

"Oh Fleecy, do me a solid," he called and tossed a coin into the rainbow mist, "please show me Annabeth, wherever she may be."

Annabeth's face soon formed in the mist.

"Annabeth," he called/cried, "help me."

"Percy, what's wrong, what's happened?" She said looking worried with her hand twitching to her dagger.

"This is the worst day of my life," he said and ignored his stomach grumbling, Gods he was so hungry.

"Seaweed brain what do you mean?"

"My parents are dating!" He said and face planted into his pillow and groaned loudly.

"Sally and Lord Poseidon?"

Percy lifted himself slightly from the pillow, "no, well yes but I mean Paul and Lady Amphitrite too."

"Percy, what-"

"All four are dating each other!" He said with a pain he's sure no one has felt before and let his face fall on the pillow again to groan into it.

"Oh Seaweed brain."

Percy groaned again.

#fanfiction #pjo #fanfic #sally x poseidon #poseidon x paul #sally x paul #sally x amphitrite #poseidon x amphitrite #paul x Amphitrite #percabeth #Poseidon #sally jackson #paul blofis #Amphitrite #percy jackson #annabeth chase

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addamvelaryon · 2 years ago

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DEAD THINGS IN THE WOODS. DEAD THINGS IN THE WATER.

I was once again thinking about how Patchface has a tendency to say some rather odd things, and if you view the phrase "under the sea" as an indication of death/afterlife, the things he says take on a more sinister connotation:

Patchface rang his bells. “It is always summer under the sea,” he intoned. “The merwives wear nennymoans in their hair and weave gowns of silver seaweed. I know, I know, oh, oh, oh.”

— A Clash of Kings, Prologue

Patchface was capering about as the maester made his slow way around the table to Davos Seaworth. “Here we eat fish,” the fool declared happily, waving a cod about like a scepter. “Under the sea, the fish eat us. I know, I know, oh, oh, oh.”

— A Clash of Kings, Prologue

“Under the sea the old fish eat the young fish,” the fool muttered at Davos. He bobbed his head, and his bells clanged and chimed and sang. “I know, I know, oh oh oh.”

— A Storm of Swords, Davos V

They found Her Grace sewing by the fire, whilst her fool danced about to music only he could hear, the cowbells on his antlers clanging. “The crow, the crow,” Patchface cried when he saw Jon. “Under the sea the crows are white as snow, I know, I know, oh, oh, oh.”

— A Dance With Dragons, Jon XI

Patchface jumped up. “I will lead it!” His bells rang merrily. “We will march into the sea and out again. Under the waves we will ride seahorses, and mermaids will blow seashells to announce our coming, oh, oh, oh.”

— A Dance With Dragons, Jon XIII

“Under the sea, men marry fishes.” Patchface did a little dance step, jingling his bells. “They do, they do, they do.”

— A Dance With Dragons, Jon XIII

Patchface drowned but survived under mysterious circumstances:

The boy washed up on the third day. Maester Cressen had come down with the rest, to help put names to the dead. When they found the fool he was naked, his skin white and wrinkled and powdered with wet sand. Cressen had thought him another corpse, but when Jommy grabbed his ankles to drag him off to the burial wagon, the boy coughed water and sat up. To his dying day, Jommy had sworn that Patchface’s flesh was clammy cold.

No one ever explained those two days the fool had been lost in the sea. The fisherfolk liked to say a mermaid had taught him to breathe water in return for his seed.

— A Clash of Kings, Prologue

The previous passage almost seems to echo the following:

He had been the thirteenth man to lead the Night’s Watch, she said; a warrior who knew no fear. “And that was the fault in him,” she would add, “for all men must know fear.” A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Fearing nothing, he chased her and caught her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her he gave his soul as well.

— A Storm of Swords, Bran IV

That's not the only connection that exists between the merlings and the white walkers:

Mormont was deaf to the edge in his voice. “The fisherfolk near Eastwatch have glimpsed white walkers on the shore.”

This time Tyrion could not hold his tongue. “The fisherfolk of Lannisport often glimpse merlings.”

— A Game of Thrones, Tyrion III

Which of course reminds me of Cotter Pyke's ominous letter to Jon Snow:

At Hardhome, with six ships. Wild seas. Blackbird lost with all hands, two Lyseni ships driven aground on Skane, Talon taking water. Very bad here. Wildlings eating their own dead. Dead things in the woods. Braavosi captains will only take women, children on their ships. Witch women call us slavers. Attempt to take Storm Crow defeated, six crew dead, many wildlings. Eight ravens left. Dead things in the water. Send help by land, seas wracked by storms. From Talon, by hand of Maester Harmune.

Cotter Pyke had made his angry mark below.

“Is it grievous, my lord?” asked Clydas.

“Grievous enough.” Dead things in the wood. Dead things in the water. Six ships left, of the eleven that set sail. Jon Snow rolled up the parchment, frowning. Night falls, he thought, and now my war begins.

— A Dance With Dragons, Jon XI

Dead things in the woods. Dead things in the water. Here's the description of the white walkers and the merlings:

Will saw movement from the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the wood. He turned his head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches stirred gently in the wind, scratching at one another with wooden fingers. Will opened his mouth to call down a warning, and the words seemed to freeze in his throat.

[...]

A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took.

— A Game of Thrones, Prologue

They tell of pale blue mists that move across the waters, mists so cold that any ship they pass over is frozen instantly; of drowned spirits who rise at night to drag the living down into the grey-green depths; of mermaids pale of flesh with black-scaled tails, far more malign than their sisters of the south.

— The World of Ice and Fire, The Shivering Sea

Pale and black and grey-green. All frozen.

There is also this similarity of both being said to lay with human women to sire terrible offsprings:

He remembered the hearth tales Old Nan told them. The wildlings were cruel men, she said, slavers and slayers and thieves. They consorted with giants and ghouls, stole girl children in the dead of night, and drank blood from polished horns. And their women lay with the Others in the Long Night to sire terrible half-human children.

— A Game of Thrones, Bran I

An even more fanciful possibility was put forth a century ago by Maester Theron. Born a bastard on the Iron Islands, Theron noted a certain likeness between the black stone of the ancient fortress and that of the Seastone Chair, the high seat of House Greyjoy of Pyke, whose origins are similarly ancient and mysterious. Theron’s rather inchoate manuscript Strange Stone postulates that both fortress and seat might be the work of a queer, misshapen race of half men sired by creatures of the salt seas upon human women. These Deep Ones, as he names them, are the seed from which our legends of merlings have grown, he argues, whilst their terrible fathers are the truth behind the Drowned God of the ironborn.

— The World of Ice and Fire, The Reach

We know the dragons are contrasted against the white walkers, but perhaps the merlings are too:

The big man looked out toward the terrace. “I knew it would rain,” he said in a gloomy tone. “My bones were aching last night. They always ache before it rains. The dragons won’t like this. Fire and water don’t mix, and that’s a fact.”

— A Dance With Dragons, The Dragontamer

Although no one can say for certain exactly what kind of creatures Euron (who, while not exactly THE NIGHT KING, is still very Night King coded) plans on summoning from the sea, but perhaps the merlings are part of his plan.

#valyrianscrolls #asoiaf #dragons #merlings #white walkers #the others #patchface #euron greyjoy #meta #asoiaf meta #text #I would say I'm back on my bullshit but I never did leave it #though this time I'm writing out my thoughts on this a bit more comprehensively #honestly if the merlings are the white walkers of the sea it would confirm quite a few theories of mine #also grrm is a genius but we all knew that #can't believe this idea came to me because I was originally thinking about 2 very unrelated (but actually still very related 🤭) characters

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jungle-angel · 2 years ago

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A Selkie in the Sunshine State: Part 1 (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: When you were young, you had heard tales of the seal people. Many thought you were completely crazy, until you met one for yourself. You just didn’t know how much it would change your life for the better.

Tagging: @lt-bradshaw I know I’ve gotta do a taglist but I’m completely inept with technology and with this hellsite in general (lol).

Key West, Florida

You stepped out into the bright Florida sunshine, feeling so much more at ease now that you had all the time in the world to yourself. Sunshine, sunscreen and sandals....you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Moving to Key West had been the best decision you had ever made, getting away from the cold winters in your hometown and far, far away from the things that bothered you day in and day out. Your health drastically improved with the tropical sunshine, your eating habits had gotten better and you could walk to and from work with no problem. Hell, you were finally able to wear all those pretty clothes you loved that would have normally had to be packed away during the winter.....but here, you could finally be yourself. Your wonderful, free, self.

Down to the white, powdery sand beach you went from your little cottage, the turquoise and peach pink shuttered little structure facing part of the street with its little white picket fence and porch while the back faced the ocean. The turquoise and teal water gently pulled in and out off the beach, the smell of salt and sunshine tied together in the breeze. Today was sure to be perfect. You had a feeling that you just knew that everything about today would be perfect.

All along the shores you went, gathering shells and sand dollars, the water washing over your feet as you stepped over a small pile of seaweed. Your eyes suddenly fell to a yellow-green piece of something in the washed up weeds, something plastic with thin threads that formed a diamond lattice.....part of a ripped up drag-net.

It wasn’t uncommon that you found something like that. Every now and again, you clipped up those pieces along with empty soda can rings to make sure no sea critters became their unfortunate victims. Yet something else caught your attention from further down the beach, something that sounded like crying.

You rushed to the commotion, following the noise until it grew louder and louder when you suddenly laid eyes on what was making the noise.

“Oh buddy, I’m so sorry, c’mere, you’re ok.”

It was a little grey monk seal with thready little rings of white around its eyes. The poor little thing bawled and cried, tangled in the drag-net that had washed it up on shore, the seaweed hanging from it like clumps of dark green hair. You clipped away at the tough, plasticky threads with the Swiss army knife you kept in your pocket, trying painfully hard not to hurt the little guy who squirmed and wriggled.

“Ok, ok, you’re almost out,” you cooed to the seal.

No sooner did you cut the last plastic thread that something frightening and strange unfolded right before your very eyes. The seal’s skin seemed to drop away like wet cloth as flashes of a pale, human form were revealed. The seal skin hung from one shoulder, a wet, bedraggled mess as the figure kept his hands planted in the dirt, coughing and spitting up water. Your breath stilled as you reached out your hand to touch his well-muscled back, your movement slow and tentative, fearing that when he turned around, he’d instead be some hoary, razor-toothed horror of the deep.

Your hand had barely touched him when he let out a loud gasp, both of you startled by it all. You instinctively clamped a hand over your mouth, in complete disbelief at the man who faced you. He wasn’t some terrifying humanoid from the darkest depths of the ocean. His eyes were of the deepest cerulean blue, the features in his face soft and shy looking. His chin and pencil thin lips wobbled a little, from what, you had no idea. His hair was a soft, dark blonde that grew lighter in the midday sunshine while perched on his nose was a pair of wire-rimmed aviator glasses......birth control goggles as the airmen from Pensacola would call them.

“I.....you.....what are you?” you stammered.

“Miss please I.....I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I just.....”

You were still tentative to even speak as the grey seal skin fell from his shoulder. The only noise you could remotely hear was the gentle slapping of water. “No, I should be the one who’s sorry,” you told him. “I didn’t....I didn’t know.”

The young man cleared his throat, the sunlight making his unusually pale skin a near blinding white. “I um....I would stand up but.....”

“You have a cut somewhere?” you asked.

“No it’s.....it’s a little more complicated than that Miss uh.....”

“(Y/n),” you answered. “My name is (Y/n). You?”

“Bob,” he answered.

“Bob?” you said, chuckling a little. “I’ve never heard of a selkie named Bob before.”

Bob’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening like a guppy gasping for air. “How do you....?”

“I read alot,” you admitted. “C’mere, I’ll help you up.”

“Oh (y/n), please, I don’t think you want to do that,” he said, turning bright red.

“And why not?”

“I’m.....I’m naked.”

You blushed a little too, a snicker escaping your nostrils. It wouldn’t have been the first time you saw a man naked nor would it be the last time. You took his hands in yours, instantly aware of a strange, warm sensation rippling through you. Not a bad one, but something warm and comforting.....just like home.

“How about this,” you said, biting your lip and trying not to cast your eyes downward. “I have plenty of clothes back at the house. You can borrow them until we can get you some new ones.”

“Thank you,” Bob chuckled.

He picked up his seal skin, shaking the sand off its damp surface before he wrapped part of it around his waist and followed you back up to the cottage.

#top gun maverick #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #dagger squad #lewis pullman #lewis pullman x reader

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aylen-san · 4 months ago

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Continuing education

Elwing led Maglor to the seaside. The sea was calm, its waves gently lapping against the sandy shore, and the evening sun painted the water in golden and pink hues. A fresh sea breeze carried the scent of salt and seaweed. Here, amidst this grandeur of nature, she felt closer to her roots and the wonders she had once experienced.

They stopped at the very edge of the water, and Elwing, holding Maglor’s hand, looked into his eyes. The damp sand beneath their feet was pleasantly cool, sticking to their bare feet and creating a sense of unity with nature.

— Over there on the distant shores, — she began, her voice troubled and profound, — I first experienced the wonder of transformation. This experience changed me forever, and I want to share it with you. But for this, you will need not only knowledge but also a strong will and a pure heart, — Elwing did not want to recall the events that led to the transformation.

Maglor listened intently, his eyes burning with curiosity and determination. He felt as if he were on the brink of a great discovery and was ready for it. Elwing allowed the past to fade into the background for now, focusing on the lesson. If he succeeded, he would be able to fly with Eonwë and spend even more time with him.

Elwing continued to speak about the magic of transformations, her voice soft yet penetrating. She explained how important it was to understand not only the physical form but also the inner essence of the bird he wished to become. Maglor absorbed every word, his mind working at full capacity, trying to remember all the details and nuances.

— You must not just imagine the form but also feel it, become it on a soul and mind level. To begin, close your eyes and imagine that you are a bird. This is a deep fusion with the nature of the being you wish to become. You must feel how the bird breathes, how its wings cut through the air, how its heart beats in its chest. Only then can you become one of them. — I will try, Lady Elwing!

She let go of his hand and took a step back, giving him space to concentrate. Maglor closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to connect with the nature around him. He listened to the sound of the waves rolling over the sand and imagined what it was like to be part of this vast sea.

Maglor closed his eyes and tried to picture the flight of a bird, recalling everything he had learned from observing birds. He felt the wind, heard the cries of seagulls, and smelled the salty sea. But nothing happened. He opened his eyes and sighed in disappointment.

— This is harder than I thought, — he said. Elwing smiled, but her smile was tinged with sadness.

— It does not come right away. You need time and patience. It’s late already, stay with me tonight; the shore can be treacherous at night. Maglor hesitated for a moment, during which a thick fog began to roll in along the path leading to the tower. For a moment, he thought he saw a figure vaguely resembling an elf. "Is it Ossë?" — flashed through his mind, but who it was Maglor did not know; it was probably just a trick of the fog. Eonwë had warned him to be cautious with the sea and had sternly advised him to avoid the sea Maiar.

It seemed he would indeed have to stay with Elwing. But now he was beginning to worry about why she had been so angry with him at first, and why — Maglor was afraid to ask.

He turned his gaze to Elwing, who was still watching him, her face once again taking on a serious expression. Maglor felt an indescribable tension between them related to his past, but he could not understand its source.

— Lady Elwing, — he began, gathering all his courage, — I feel that I caused you much pain in the past, though I do not remember it. It is hard for me to understand, but I want to know what exactly I did. Please, tell me so that I can atone for my sins.

Elwing sighed, her gaze softening but still filled with pain. She was silent for a long time before responding.

— You were one of those who attacked the Havens of Sirion and took my sons, Elrond and Elros, — she finally said, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. — You were the cause of my pain and suffering. I lost my family and my home because of you and your brothers.

Maglor felt a chill run down his spine. He did not know what to say; his heart ached with pain and remorse. He had never known what exactly he had done, but now, hearing it, he understood why Elwing had been so angry with him.

— I do not remember this, — he said quietly, lowering his head. — But I sincerely apologize for everything I have done. I want to atone for my sins and help you as much as I can.

Elwing looked at him, her eyes filled with conflicting emotions. She saw before her not an enemy but a young elf seeking forgiveness and redemption and help in learning.

— It is not easy, Maglor, — she said more gently. — But if you truly wish to atone for your sins, you must be prepared for a long journey. Let’s start with lessons. Perhaps, in time, I will be able to forgive you.

Maglor nodded, understanding that it would not be easy. His eyes suddenly stung with self-reproach for his past, for the fact that Maglor felt not only that he was to blame but also that Elwing and someone else very important to him were involved. But above all, he was pierced by a longing for the two little half-elves, inexplicably dear to him, and resentment mixed with love for someone very high and red-haired.

Elwing noticed how Maglor’s face changed and shifted her focus from her own feelings. She saw in him not just an enemy, but an elf who also suffered from his past, even if he did not remember it fully. In this small elf, she saw not only guilt but also a sincere desire to make things right.

— Maglor, — she began softly, extending her hand to him, — I understand that this is not easy for you. We have both lost much in the past. But now we have a chance to start anew, — she said this more to herself than to him, wondering once again why Manwë had sent Fëanor’s son to her.

— Thank you, Lady Elwing, — he said, his voice trembling with emotion. — I am ready to learn and work on myself. I want my father to be proud of me.

Elwing stood with her head bowed and sighed heavily. Her eyes were shining with tears she had struggled to hold back. It was difficult for her to accept the thought that Fëanor's sons were not absolute monsters but had human qualities as well. Tormented by conflicting feelings, Elwing tried to understand what had led them to turn against their own kin.

It was easier for her to think of them as heartless servants of the enemy rather than acknowledge that the attack on the Havens of Sirion was not entirely their fault. Elwing was tormented by the thought that she should have ensured her sons' safety and sent them to Círdan or Gil-galad, declaring an evacuation. Perhaps she should have tried to negotiate with Maedhros and Maglor? Why did they attack and draw their swords against their own kin?

These questions had troubled her for many centuries and now resurfaced from the depths of her mind. But alas, she could no longer get answers — Maglor did not remember this episode of his past life, and Maedhros and Ambarussa were long gone.

— We will start with lessons, — she said, rising and smoothing the folds of her light dress, — and then see where this path leads us. Remember, you promised to learn not only transformation but also the culture of the Sindar.

Stealing Maglor directly from Elwing, as he had done with her sons, would likely be impossible. After all, this was Aman, the sacred land where rules and laws were much stricter. Here, surrounded by immortal elves and under the watchful eyes of the Valar, such actions would not go unnoticed. But convincing him to stay with her? Oh yes, she would try!

Elwing mentally calculated how best to approach this issue. A faint smile played on her lips as she imagined how she would subtly influence his decisions. Perhaps she would start with tales of her people’s traditions and history, showing him the beauty and wisdom he had never known. Her home was full of artifacts and relics, each with its own story to tell.

She might invite him to stroll through the quiet forests and shores of Aman, showing him the beauty of these places. Perhaps she would teach him to sing Sindarin songs. Their melodies and words would penetrate his soul, awakening something new within him, something he had never known. In the past, Maglor was renowned not only as a warrior but also as an outstanding bard.

Every action of his, every step, every glance, she would guide in the right direction. His trust in her would grow with each passing day, and soon he would begin to see her not just as his enemy but as a mentor, friend, and even family. He would start staying longer and longer, first for one night, then for several days, and eventually for weeks.

Elwing was confident that, over time, he would want to stay with her. He would realize that he had found something here that he could never find among the Noldor — true understanding, acceptance, and peace. And then she would know that her plan had succeeded. Wouldn’t it be the best revenge against the Noldor and even against Maglor himself, when he remembers the past, to make him a true Sindar and tame him, just as she had done with her sons?

#art #lord of the rings #the silmarillion #tolkien #fanfic #maglor #kanafinwe #macalaurë #elwing #birds #silmarillion #feanorians #feanorion #lort #silm fic

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mothduchess · 1 year ago

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The Crown of the Sea

Off the shores of a grey-haired kingdom, far from the ragged bluffs of yore... This is a kingdom of the waves, where the seafoam carries royal decrees and the thunder is law. Long have the fishers and the swarthy dock folk managed their ruler's temper - a man can starve a town, but the sea can drown a soul. Hardened by ages of salty water they have become known as fearless, unbowed! ... But some fishing stories are told in the hushest of tones. No orc sized catch, no daring escape. Only the tales of two glowing orbs wraped in fog accompanied by a stench so fowl fish rise to the surface dead in the eye. But a king will never accept a power that is not his own. Never will a king even consider, that nature is not at his whims. Curling wisps of cloud grace the waters on a pale-lit night. On this mistborn evening, the regents meet; the royal vessel from the old crown, emblazoned with its sacred insignia, sails upon the crashing sea. The king and his son, the sovereign and his begrudging heir, dare sail across the sea for clandestine operations for the good of crown and coffers. His majesty's advisors told him not, it'd be risky. His seer said he'd find doom, but he didn't listen. His very son, normally tied of tongue out of spite and fear, spoke. The king answered in defiance. "To the sea! No man of this line will fear that sea, for we are kings of this realm!" He proudly proclaimed. And thus there they are - two souls and a captain, sailing in a royal skiff. The king's arrogance was unmatched, for no mortal could lay a hand upon him, and the sea had no mortal to challenge. This was true. But dear reader, please do take this warning close. There are things more harrowing than a mere man. The sea churns about the boat as curtains of cloud billow about. The captain scrambles to the forefront of the boat. Her visage pales in shock, stepping aback. "What devilry is this?!" Cries the King. The son looks upon confused at the sudden shift in the storming sea. The crashing tempest drums against the boat, announcing the call of its dark master. A shape, dozens of feet tall and wide, rises from the crashing foam. An unearthly noise screams through the sky as water peels from the shapes body. Bone decorated in the royal robes of the sea made of seaweed and studded with age old barnacles. Fiendish claws and putrescent wings glimmer with unhallowed magics, the mist squirming betwixt them. A tail decked in rotting fins lashes the waves into shape behind it. And perched atop a winding neck, a singular unsettling skull, a draconic visage bereft of skin with only two pale glowing wisps set into its sockets and a gnarled crown of dark coral. The Sovereign of the Sea has come to bear, their stature dwarfing the puny vessel. Their subject the storm follows their silent whims and raises the vessel to meet the gaze of this abyssal regent. In a tongue older than grey, they speak.

"You dare claim this sea? Your arrogance claims to stretch from sky to sky, and yet here you are. Your progeny, a pale shadow that abhors your image. And a captain who holds more wisdom than you ever commanded. I see you, for what. You. Are."

A claw picks up the monarch, and flings him high into the clouds!

"A blight! A sickness so new and ravenous! It is time that the sea claims a true crown! I will take your farms, I will take their souls, and they shall bow to me, bow to your child, and spit curses unto your name for all time. And I will damn you to WATCH."

Jaws of oblivion snap shut around the King as he falls into the unliving gullet of the sea sovereign. His soul becomes trapped in the coral, his wails echoing in the seaweed. As the dragon revels in the fearful hatred of the deposed, they turn their sights onto the son. And, wisely. Rightly. The son and the captain bow to their superior, gilded crown in hand.

#flash fic #lich #sea monster #dark fantasy #I asked people if I should make a story about a giant #a kraken #or a lich. They said yes.

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istumpysk · 2 years ago

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Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: The Drowned Man (Aeron II) [Chapter 19]

He had run before the Crow's Eye as if he were still the weak thing he had been, but when the waves broke over his head they reminded once more that that man was dead. I was reborn from the sea, a harder man and stronger. No mortal man could frighten him, no more than the darkness could, nor the bones of his soul, the grey and grisly bones of his soul. The sound of a door opening, the scream of a rusted iron hinge.

I have to say, you still seem a bit frightened.

+.+.+

On the crown of the hill four-and-forty monstrous stone ribs rose from the earth like the trunks of great pale trees. The sight made Aeron's heart beat faster. Nagga had been the first sea dragon, the mightiest ever to rise from the waves. She fed on krakens and leviathans and drowned whole islands in her wrath, yet the Grey King had slain her and the Drowned God had changed her bones to stone so that men might never cease to wonder at the courage of the first of kings. Nagga's ribs became the beams and pillars of his longhall, just as her jaws became his throne. For a thousand years and seven he reigned here, Aeron recalled. Here he took his mermaid wife and planned his wars against the Storm God. From here he ruled both stone and salt, wearing robes of woven seaweed and a tall pale crown made from Nagga's teeth.

This is fun! A female sea dragon feeding on krakens, and drowning whole islands! The Grey King slayed her! Bones turned to stone! The jaw became a throne! The tall pale teeth used as a crown! Weee.

(It's probably the bones of a random whale, but whatever.)

+.+.+

Aeron paused where the doors once stood, pulled the cork from his waterskin, took a swallow of salt water, and turned to face the sea.

um.

+.+.+

All night he prayed, for when the god was in him Aeron Greyjoy had no need of sleep, no more than the waves did, nor the fishes of the sea.

I'm calling a big fat unreliable narrator on that one, Dam-phair.

+.+.+

The Drowned God wakes, thought Aeron. He could hear his voice welling from the depths of the sea. I shall be with you here this day, my strong and faithful servant, the voice said. No godless man will sit my Seastone Chair.

Maybe give that a second listen.

+.+.+

Aeron's voice thundered like the waves. "But who? Who shall sit in Balon's place? Who shall rule these holy isles? Is he here among us now?" The priest spread his hands wide. "Who shall be king over us?"

A seagull screamed back at him.

BRAN?!

+.+.+

"I am Gylbert Farwynd, Lord of the Lonely Light," the lord told the kingsmoot.

[...]

The Farwynds there were even queerer than the rest. Some said they were skinchangers, unholy creatures who could take on the forms of sea lions, walruses, even spotted whales, the wolves of the wild sea.

There's ironborn wargs?? Bwahahahaha!

I'd warg into a lobster and march that thing right into my pot.

+.+.+

Lord Gylbert began to speak. He told of a wondrous land beyond the Sunset Sea, a land without winter or want, where death had no dominion. "Make me your king, and I shall lead you there," he cried. "We will build ten thousand ships as Nymeria once did and take sail with all our people to the land beyond the sunset. There every man shall be a king and every wife a queen."

I'm going to pee my pants.

+.+.+

His eyes, Aeron saw, were now grey, now blue, as changeable as the seas. Mad eyes, he thought, fool's eyes. The vision he spoke of was doubtless a snare set by the Storm God to lure the ironborn to destruction.

Grey, then blue? Val, is that you?

His eyes probably aren't changing colour at all, Aeron is just being Aeron.

Now I'm wondering if Jon is seeing deep blue sunlit eyes that aren't actually there.

+.+.+

The gull screamed loudly above them, and landed atop one of Nagga's ribs as the Lord of the Lonely Light made his way back down the hill.

Wait, I was joking before, is this seagull actually Bran or Bloodraven?

Why did you bring up wargs, George?? HMM???

+.+.+

Aeron Damphair stepped forward once more. "I ask again. Who shall be king over us?"

"Me!" a deep voice boomed, and once more the crowd parted.

The speaker was borne up the hill in a carved driftwood chair carried on the shoulders of his grandsons. A great ruin of a man, twenty stones heavy and ninety years old, he was cloaked in a white bearskin.

[...]

"I can't count how many hands I've smashed to pulp with that hammer," Erik said, "but might be some thief could tell you. I can't say how many heads I've crushed against my anvil neither, but there's some widows could. I could tell you all the deeds I've done in battle, but I'm eight-and-eighty and won't live long enough to finish. If old is wise, no one is wiser than me. If big is strong, no one's stronger. You want a king with heirs? I've more'n I can count. King Erik, aye, I like the sound o' that. Come, say it with me. ERIK! ERIK ANVIL-BREAKER! ERIK KING!"

[...]

"Stand up, Erik," she [Asha Greyjoy] called. "Stand up and I'll shout your name with all the rest. Stand up and I'll be the first to follow you. You want a crown, aye. Stand up and take it."

Elsewhere in the press, the Crow's Eye laughed. Erik glared at him. The big man's hands closed tight around the arms of his driftwood throne. His face went red, then purple. His arms trembled with effort. Aeron could see a thick blue vein pulsing in his neck as he struggled to rise. For a moment it seemed as though he might do it, but the breath went out of him all at once, and he groaned and sank back onto his cushion. Euron laughed all the louder.

Lovers' quarrel.

I'm giving this speech a 6/10.

I'm giving the takedown by Asha a 9.5/10.

I'm giving Euron's laughing a 10/10.

+.+.+

"Who shall rule the ironborn?" Aeron Damphair called again. "Who shall be king over us?"

Men looked at one another. Some looked at Euron, some at Victarion, a few at Asha. Waves broke green and white against the longships. The gull cried once more, a raucous scream, forlorn.

Can it please be Bran? It's important that Bran watch and learn how to win a democratic vote.

+.+.+

The Drumm came next, another old man, though not so old as Erik. He climbed the hill on his own two legs, and on his hip rode Red Rain, his famous sword, forged of Valyrian steel in the days before the Doom.

[...]

He drew Red Rain and told them how Hilmar Drumm the Cunning had taken the blade from an armored knight with wits and a wooden cudgel.

People on the messages boards believe the sword originally belonged to House Reyne. I don't know, don't ask me.

+.+.+

"Who shall be king over us?" the priest cried once more, but this time his fierce black eyes found his brother in the crowd. "Nine sons were born from the loins of Quellon Greyjoy. One was mightier than all the rest, and knew no fear."

Victarion met his eyes, and nodded.

Excuse me, it's illegal to advocate for your candidate at the voting booth.

+.+.+

Victarion waited till they quieted, then said, "You all know me. If you want sweet words, look elsewhere. I have no singer's tongue. I have an axe, and I have these." He raised his huge mailed hands up to show them, and Nute the Barber displayed his axe, a fearsome piece of steel. "I was a loyal brother," Victarion went on.

Look at my hands! Of course Victarion would give the most lackluster speech of all time.

I'm surprised someone isn't feeding it into his ear.

+.+.+

When Balon was wed, it was me he sent to Harlaw to bring him back his bride.

You have experience with fetching wives? Good to know. Also, why is that a good reason for you to be king? Lol.

I'm giving this speech a 2/10.

+.+.+

With that his champions began to chant: "VICTARION! VICTARION! VICTARION KING!" Below, his men were spilling out his chests, a cascade of silver, gold, and gems, a wealth of plunder. Captains scrambled to seize the richest pieces, shouting as they did so.

[...]

But it was not Euron who put an end to the shouting, it was the woman. She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled, a sharp shrill sound that cut through the tumult like a knife through curds. "Nuncle! Nuncle!" Bending, she snatched up a twisted golden collar and bounded up the steps. Nute seized her by the arm, and for half a heartbeat Aeron was hopeful that his brother's champions would keep her silent

Had to include the italics on the woman.

You know what's crazy? I'm convinced Dam-phair would prefer Euron over the woman.

+.+.+

Victarion loomed above all of them save Andrik. His brother wore no helm, but elsewise he was all in armor, his kraken cloak hanging golden from his shoulders.

"It was good of you to bring such gifts to my queensmoot, Nuncle," she told Victarion, "but you need not have worn so much armor. I promise not to hurt you."

Every time I'm told Victarion is wearing a lot of armour, I'm forcing you to read it.

+.+.+

Asha turned to face the captains. "There's no one braver than my nuncle, no one stronger, no one fiercer in a fight. And he counts to ten as quick as any man, I have seen him do it . . .

Liar.

+.+.+

though when he needs to go to twenty he does take off his boots.

That I believe.

+.+.+

"Daughter?" Asha slipped a hand beneath her jerkin. "Oho! What's this? Shall I show you? Some of you have not seen one since they weaned you." They laughed again. "Teats on a king are a terrible thing, is that the song? Ralf, you have me, I am a woman . . . though not an old woman like you. Ralf the Limper . . . shouldn't that be Ralf the Limp?" Asha drew a dirk from between her breasts. "I'm a mother too, and here's my suckling babe!"

I have to be honest, I'm cringing a little bit.

+.+.+

They pushed past Victarion's three to stand below her: Qarl the Maid, Tristifer Botley, and the knight Ser Harras Harlaw, whose sword Nightfall was as storied as Dunstan Drumm's Red Rain.

I love that all these irrelevant houses have Valyrian steel swords, while Tywin had nothing.

It's too bad he didn't know about Jaime giving his away.

+.+.+

"A wolf is not a kraken," Victarion objected. "What the kraken grasps it does not lose, be it longship or leviathan."

"And what have we grasped, Nuncle? The north? What is that, but leagues and leagues of leagues and leagues, far from the sound of the sea? We have taken Moat Cailin, Deepwood Motte, Torrhen's Square, even Winterfell. What do we have to show for it?" She beckoned, and her Black Wind men pushed forward, chests of oak and iron on their shoulders. "I give you the wealth of the Stony Shore," Asha said as the first was upended. An avalanche of pebbles clattered forth, cascading down the steps; pebbles grey and black and white, worn smooth by the sea. "I give you the riches of Deepwood," she said, as the second chest was opened. Pinecones came pouring out, to roll and bounce down into the crowd. "And last, the gold of Winterfell." From the third chest came yellow turnips, round and hard and big as a man's head.

[...]

"Peace," said Asha. "Land. Victory. I'll give you Sea Dragon Point and the Stony Shore, black earth and tall trees and stones enough for every younger son to build a hall. We'll have the northmen too . . . as friends, to stand with us against the Iron Throne. Your choice is simple. Crown me, for peace and victory. Or crown my nuncle, for more war and more defeat."

I understand this is the best party platform, but I don't think it's a great strategy to show everyone how worthless capturing Sea Dragon Point and the Stony Shore has been, right before you promise them that land if they make you queen.

I'm giving this speech a 5/10.

+.+.+

"VICTORY!" shouted Rodrik the Reader, his hands cupped about his mouth. "Victory, and Asha!"

"ASHA!" Lord Baelor Blacktyde echoed. "ASHA QUEEN!"

The two best ironmen, who are sure to live long prosperous lives.

+.+.+

Asha's own crew took up the cry. "ASHA! ASHA! ASHA QUEEN!" They stamped their feet and shook their fists and yelled, as the Damphair listened in disbelief. She would leave her father's work undone! Yet Tristifer Botley was shouting for her, with many Harlaws, some Goodbrothers, red-faced Lord Merlyn, more men than the priest would ever have believed . . . for a woman!

Had to include the italics on a woman.

I'm choosing to believe Asha purposely split the vote with Victarion so Euron can win and kill Dam-phair. That's high level thinking on her part.

+.+.+

Men began to shove at one another. Someone flung a pinecone at Asha's head. When she ducked, her makeshift crown fell off. For a moment it seemed to the priest as if he stood atop a giant anthill, with a thousand ants in a boil at his feet. Shouts of "Asha!" and "Victarion!" surged back and forth, and it seemed as though some savage storm was about to engulf them all. The Storm God is amongst us, the priest thought, sowing fury and discord.

Ants!

Good call, a savage storm is definitely about to engulf you all. Two.

+.+.+

Sharp as a swordthrust, the sound of a horn split the air.

Bright and baneful was its voice, a shivering hot scream that made a man's bones seem to thrum within him. The cry lingered in the damp sea air: aaaaRREEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

All eyes turned toward the sound. It was one of Euron's mongrels winding the call, a monstrous man with a shaved head. Rings of gold and jade and jet glistened on his arms, and on his broad chest was tattooed some bird of prey, talons dripping blood.

aaaaRRREEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

See, now this is a well-run campaign.

10/10 already. Substance? No thank you. Give me sizzle.

+.+.+

The horn he blew was shiny black and twisted, and taller than a man as he held it with both hands. It was bound about with bands of red gold and dark steel, incised with ancient Valyrian glyphs that seemed to glow redly as the sound swelled.

aaaaaaaRRREEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

It was a terrible sound, a wail of pain and fury that seemed to burn the ears. Aeron Damphair covered his, and prayed for the Drowned God to raise a mighty wave and smash the horn to silence, yet still the shriek went on and on. It is the horn of hell, he wanted to scream, though no man would have heard him. The cheeks of the tattooed man were so puffed out they looked about to burst, and the muscles in his chest twitched in a way that it made it seem as if the bird were about to rip free of his flesh and take wing. And now the glyphs were burning brightly, every line and letter shimmering with white fire.

Shit, I'm not ready for the horn. Low expectations please.

Unlike that fake ass sword, I don't think there's any glamour happening here.

The horn was as warm and smooth as the dusky woman's thighs, and so shiny that he could see a twisted likeness of his own features in its depths. - Victarion I, ADWD

The horn is warm, and does real damage to those who use it.

+.+.+

The hornblower's breath failed at last. He staggered and almost fell. The priest saw Orkwood of Orkmont catch him by one arm to hold him up, whilst Left-Hand Lucas Codd took the twisted black horn from his hands. A thin wisp of smoke was rising from the horn, and the priest saw blood and blisters upon the lips of the man who'd sounded it. The bird on his chest was bleeding too.

Euron claims he died.

"Cragorn's died, you know."

"Who?"

"The man who blew my dragon horn. When the maester cut him open, his lungs were charred as black as soot." - The Reaver, AFFC

The following might be accurate.

"A true tale." Moqorro turned the hellhorn, examining the queer letters that crawled across a second of the golden bands. "Here it says, 'No mortal man shall sound me and live.'" - Victarion I, ADWD

+.+.+

Euron Greyjoy climbed the hill slowly, with every eye upon him. Above the gull screamed and screamed again.

Bran, shhhh. Let it happen.

+.+.+

Asha's champions stepped aside, and Victarion's as well. The priest took a step backward and put one hand upon the cold rough stone of Nagga's ribs.

Body language experts tell me Euron Greyjoy has already won.

+.+.+

The Crow's Eye stopped atop the steps, at the doors of the Grey King's Hall, and turned his smiling eye upon the captains and the kings, but Aeron could feel his other eye as well, the one that he kept hidden.

Does he have a fully functioning eye under that thing?

+.+.+

"Crow's Eye, you call me. Well, who has a keener eye than the crow? After every battle the crows come in their hundreds and their thousands to feast upon the fallen. A crow can espy death from afar. And I say that all of Westeros is dying. Those who follow me will feast until the end of their days.

I think all of the Bloodraven x Euron talk is overblown, but I understand why it exists.

+.+.+

"We are the ironborn, and once we were conquerors. Our writ ran everywhere the sound of the waves was heard. My brother would have you be content with the cold and dismal north, my niece with even less . . . but I shall give you Lannisport. Highgarden. The Arbor. Oldtown. The riverlands and the Reach, the kingswood and the rainwood, Dorne and the marches, the Mountains of the Moon and the Vale of Arryn, Tarth and the Stepstones. I say we take it all! I say, we take Westeros." He glanced at the priest. "All for the greater glory of our Drowned God, to be sure."

For half a heartbeat even Aeron was swept away by the boldness of his words.

Euron Greyjoy promising things he'll never deliver. A true politician!

A lot of people have theorized that instead of binding dragons to people, the horn actually binds people to Euron, because Aeron is swept away by his words. I don't believe that for a second.

+.+.+

The priest had dreamed the same dream, when first he'd seen the red comet in the sky. We shall sweep over the green lands with fire and sword, root out the seven gods of the septons and the white trees of the northmen . . .

Not this god damn comet again.

He dreamed a (prophetic?) dream when the red comet first appeared in the sky: fire and sword will sweep over the land. Tee-hee.

+.+.+

"I know as much of war as you do, Crow's Eye," Asha said. "Aegon Targaryen conquered Westeros with dragons."

"And so shall we," Euron Greyjoy promised. "That horn you heard I found amongst the smoking ruins that were Valyria, where no man has dared to walk but me. You heard its call, and felt its power. It is a dragon horn, bound with bands of red gold and Valyrian steel graven with enchantments. The dragonlords of old sounded such horns, before the Doom devoured them. With this horn, ironmen, I can bind dragons to my will."

Semi-canon sources suggest he's lying.

The dragonlords of Old Valyria did control dragons with horns,

The dragonlords of old Valyria had controlled their mounts with binding spells and sorcerous horns. - Daenerys X, ADWD

But according to the World of Ice and Fire mobile app, he didn't find this horn amongst the smoking ruins of Valyria.

I have questions.

If he's lying about that, what else is he lying about?

If the warlocks had a horn that can bind dragons to people, why didn't they use it when she was in Qarth?

If this horn can bind dragons to people, why in the world would Euron give it to Victarion? Please.

+.+.+

The mutes and mongrels from the Silence threw open Euron's chests and spilled out his gifts before the captains and the kings. Then it was Hotho Harlaw the priest heard, as he filled his hands with gold. Gorold Goodbrother shouted out as well, and Erik Anvil-Breaker. "EURON! EURON! EURON!" The cry swelled, became a roar. "EURON! EURON! CROW'S EYE! EURON KING!" It rolled up Nagga's hill, like the Storm God rattling the clouds. "EURON! EURON! EURON! EURON! EURON! EURON!"

Even a priest may doubt. Even a prophet may know terror. Aeron Damphair reached within himself for his god and discovered only silence. As a thousand voices shouted out his brother's name, all he could hear was the scream of a rusted iron hinge.

Don't even judge me, it's okay to laugh at Dam-phair. It's encouraged.

Final thoughts:

The ironborn invented democracy.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #affc #the drowned man #aeron ii #dam-phair

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husbandohunter · 3 years ago

Note

Mermaids exist in stardew, yes? So imagine a mermaid farmer for Zhongli, Kaeya and Diluc it could be in Yandere setting or not. I just wanna know their reaction when they found out and how it’ll effect their relationship. Will it brew angst, love, or both

Part of your world [Genshin x Mermaid!Reader]{Stardew Impact series}

Synopsis: You came from the sea and he takes you through a journey of what it was like to live on land despite your differences.

Genre: Fluff

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Zhongli

"I threw in Childe because I had an idea for him xD It's fluff month so everything is going to be happy from now on >.>"

=============================

{Diluc}

It was a hot summer day when Diluc first found you lying unconscious ashore. You had just swam far and wide from the ocean world, the climate deemed unideal for your case. With no one else around, he took the initiative to help you out of your situation.

He shortly found out by the slight appearances of scales gracing your legs that you were neither a human or someone coming from the town nearby. As legendary as mermaids are, Diluc wanted nothing to do with you. His beginning plan was to find your relatives and send you out of his house (Additional work isn’t welcomed when he has so much already). However, you latched onto him pretty quickly since he was the one who saved you.

Here stands a human, a creature that you always wanted to interact with, in your perspective he may look a little stern but he must have plenty of knowledge to offer based on all the antiques he owns.

The only problem was that you two had no way to communicate. Different worlds meant different languages. Whenever Diluc told you that you couldn’t stay, all you did was tilt your head and whenever you tried expressing what you wanted to say, well, normally bubbles would come out of your mouth since they were an indication for your words.

He gave up on trying to kick you out and simply allowed you to take residence as long as you stayed out of his workaholic life. You would tend to his farm while he was absent on other matters and feeding animals in the barn (a lot to do but a win-win situation now that you were able to discover what it was like to live on land at the same time). Though you were also a handful, most of the time Diluc had to excuse himself from his desk when you thought the rake was some sort of hair brush and he forbade you from using the bulldozer. Quite honestly you caused him a lot of stress. He spent most of his hours teaching you and before he knew, it was already a habit of his.

The only words you knew were three words. If you wanted to eat you would say ‘fish’. If you were thirsty, you would say ‘water’. If it was anything else, you would say ‘Diluc.’

He allows you to take long baths since he knows how hydrated mermaids must stay at all times. Orders a pool to be built in his front yard (at least this way helps him save his costly electricity bills). Diluc also borrows books from the library museum for you to read, anything that you would find interesting, (mostly they were about alphabets and picture-based stories (it felt like he was raising a child).)

Easily gets worried when you step into town with him, he keeps a watchful eye in case you collapse and extra bottles when you need a drink. Most of the time, he had to keep an eye on you since you had the natural instinct to waltz into whatever interested you, such as dancing in annual festivities (which you dragged him along of course). It was how he grew attached to your presence because you truly knew how to appreciate the world around you when he himself was too busy to do so.

Two worlds merged and he was learning how to live in yours too, how you perceive things. Building sandcastles, collecting seashells, listening to the echoes resounding within them. Activities he thought were unnecessary suddenly gained the meaning he had lost long ago. Diluc grew too fast at maximum speed, trying to get as many things done as he could, until he was pulled back by the emotional waves of your kindness and compassion, onto the shore he failed to live on. How ironic reality can be.

{Childe}

Everyone knew how much Childe loved to fish. He sets out at sea every evening to capture a batch of flounders, hopefully stumbling upon a legendary one.

In a way, he did. Just not what he expected. What he pulled out of the waters seemed to be a human-sized fish sitting upon the other residues caught in between. ‘A mermaid…?’ he thought, still digesting the fact in front of him. (No wonder the net felt so heavy).

At the same time he wanted to take you with and sell you for a good price but knew how mad Tonia would get when she found out. So he lets you go free. The thing is, you swam behind his boat and followed him back to land. This was how your relationship with Childe started, to this day he continues to jest upon that memory.

Tonia took most of the responsibility to coach you about human life. One of them was table etiquette, before you ate with only your hands which caused a mess. Childe would laugh hysterically at it until Tonia reminded him, “This is also what happens when you use chopsticks, big brother.”

Teucer invites you to basically anything since you have so much patience. Childe shortly realizes that he was soon going to be replaced as the eldest caretaker and you couldn’t even talk at that time. So it was only fair that he included himself in the circle while interacting with your way of communicating: sign language (Surprisingly, he was naturally good at it. Though his movements are rather exaggerated and...ungraceful).

You were nice enough to accompany him to his fishing tasks and soon enough became your daily activities. Childe takes the lead as you follow him from the side, sometimes he lets go of the steering wheel and allows you to push the boat instead (he kept a note to himself that in your mermaid mode, your strength multiplied by a large number). Other times he felt a little risky and decided to jump in the ocean with you for a swimming session. It worried you immensely but your anxiety subsided when you saw how much fun he was having and for the rest of the time, you both explored what the ocean had to offer.

Childe used to be a fish-cook enthusiast. Not anymore (since that day you cried when glancing at the flounder dish he placed on the table). He had to stick to seaweed or any other plant-based meals with a little bit of meat but too much would cause your stomach to churn. Since his siblings complained at the sudden change, he had to make a separate meal plan for them. With a mermaid in the house was certainly high-maintenance indeed.

Cuddling with you in front of the cracking fire blazing under the chimney was one of the calmest moments indulged himself in. He often chooses the life where the waves crash constantly, anticipating a thrilling storm that comes ahead. But you were just a lull at the sea, the mediator he needed in times where his siblings needed a mother-figure. Sometimes he fears that you would leave him and return to where your true family lives but he was grateful that you chose him above all else. He was grateful that by chance, he captured you at sea. One thing he loved about life was the unpredictability the future brings, including the blessings. Even if you were a creature from far away, in your presence he felt like he was truly at home.

{Kaeya}

When the tides rose above his head, Kaeya was sure that he was done for. The surfboard he recently stood upon slips off beneath his feet and he falls into the ocean’s merciless waves. No oxygen, no time to catch his breath amidst the impact, his eyes were slowly closing and the last thing he saw was the sun’s light beyond the heavy surface, along with the murky visual of someone swimming in front of it.

Although he almost drowned, the idea of being saved by a pretty mermaid makes up for the fact (He has a natural tendency to flirt at anything eye-catching even if you were an outlandish being). You on the other hand was confused by his advances as you couldn’t understand a word he was saying, hence you swam away.

Those beginning days when you chose to explore the land, Kaeya remembers how much trouble you had with walking using your new legs. He had to hold both your hands while leading you forward, he found it rather cute when you tighten your grip the moment you felt that he was going to let go (he was only bluffing of course but you still hissed at him). Still, Kaeya ensures that you don’t fall to the ground, he catches you in time when you collapse while laughing, “You’re doing great sweetheart.”

In return you teach him how to read the ocean’s movements so that he won’t drown again. Kaeya spends more time around the beach since he knows that the water bodies are where you were most comfortable with. He tells you that you always smell like saltwater whenever he buries his face in your hair, perhaps that was how he grew attached to the ocean as well.

In summer seasons there were several days where you had to sleep in his bathtub because the air was so dry. As a mermaid, he had to tolerate many of your unique quirks, in this case he had to deal with showering in cold water since you took up all the electricity. Another case was your wine tolerance, no one could challenge you to a drinking contest when your body could sustain large amounts of liquids. Kaeya sometimes jokes if you could turn him into a merman like those in fairytale books so he can have the same experience. You take it as a joke while he was also being half-serious.

When you have to take a temporary trip home, Kaeya visits the dock every evening and waits for you to come back, trying to see any signs of your colourful tail. He glances at the ocean he grew to love, knowing where he stood is as far as he could go and anywhere beyond the boundary was out of his reach. So many people left him in his life and even though he knew you wouldn’t do the same, he still worries. Uncertain if you would abandon him too.

Your existence became the center of his life the moment you chose to walk upon land with him. Side by side, through small hurdles the seashore and hurdles as big as the wave that almost killed him the day he met you, Kaeya keeps them all as if they were the most precious treasure a pirate could find. It didn’t matter if you were different from everyone else because despite your tail, all he could see was you.

{Zhongli}

While Zhongli strolls along the sandy beach, he follows the alluring sound of your singing voice. You sat upon the rock while humming along what seems to be an old folk tune, similar to what Guizhong once sang. The man folds his arms and closes his eyes. Many years have passed since he last heard something like this, “Your voice, it’s very lovely.”

He was a geologist who worked by the museum, collecting different types of rocks and seashells that would wash up shore. You became very familiar with his daily routine that before he pays a visit to the beach again, a pile of interesting rocks would be waiting for him by the docks. It was a gift. And Zhongli would bring snacks like seaweed soup as an accommodation for your kindness.

Unlike Kaeya, when you couldn’t walk because your legs were too weak to be used, Zhongli helps you with every step along the way even if the trip was a slow one. He even offered to have you carried when he saw you were having too much trouble but you insisted on trying. The whole trip that usually took ten minutes was a three hour walk.

Even though he knew many things, your language was not one of them. However he was willing to learn. Both of you have study sessions regarding each other’s culture. For you it’s the way humans drink with cups because of Zhongli being a tea fanatic himself, he even showed you how to hold a tea cup properly. You taught him how to swim since he had been so occupied on land that swimming never crossed his mind. Thankfully he was naturally good at it due to his tall stature (albeit a little scared when diving into an environment unknown and different to him).

Zhongli loves the way you sing and he would ask every time he wanted to read a book. Either under the tree on a warm spring day or on the couch when it was storming outside. Although he intended to get some reading done, Zhongli can’t help but fall asleep. You didn’t want to wake him up (and you could carry him if you wanted to thanks to your mega-mermaid strength) so by morning, you’d find yourselves in the same spot and your lap feeling numb.

Earth and sea were separated for a reason so that the creatures may stay upon the place where they belong. That wasn’t enough to separate you from him though. Zhongli would travel to the sea to see you and you mustered the courage to walk upon the hard surface of land. The two were only parts of the world but together they are part of the world, connected to form a whole new life.

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strangerthings4theories · 4 years ago

Text

The First Rule of Analyzing Stranger Things: The Upside Down Is Symbolized By Water

I’m not kidding. This symbolic relationship is so important to the show that I consider it the foundation for everything else... including my assertion that Billy is alive.

Wherever water shows up - rain, baths, showers, pools, the ocean - the Upside Down is not far behind. Nine times out of ten, the pattern holds true. And if I went through every example, this post would be HELLA LONG. So I’ll just hit a few highlights...

1) The Upside Down is designed to look and sound like the deep sea.

As someone who’s fascinated by the deep sea, I freakin’ love the Upside Down’s design. Walking through the place is like walking on the ocean floor. Stuff that looks like barnacles and seaweed covers everything. Spores float through the air like the particulate matter we see in the ocean. In S1, Hopper and Joyce even wear "dive suits."

The music and sound design emphasize the deep sea connection. Billy’s trip into the Upside Down gives us the perfect example. If you listen carefully to the sound in the scene, it creates an underwater ambiance. When Billy first steps out of the phone booth, we hear wet, squishy sounds. Every other sound has heavy reverb, and we hear no high frequencies, just low ones, as if the soundscape is muffled by water.

So yeah, the Upside Down’s likeness to the sea is pretty obvious. But the connection affects more than the way the Upside Down looks and feels. It even affects key plot choices.

2) El first encounters the Upside Down in “the bath.”

In S1, we get a series of flashbacks showing El’s training in the lab. Her training culminates in her meeting the Demogorgon and opening the first gate into the Upside Down.

Remarkably, she doesn’t even hear the Demogorgon until she’s in the water tank. The first time she runs away. The second time, Brenner forces her to approach it, and all hell breaks loose.

Symbolically, she’s being submerged in the Upside Down. That’s why she meets the Demogorgon in the tank. Later in the season, when she wants to project her mind into the Upside Down, she uses a kiddy pool to recreate the tank (aka, she’s symbolically submerging herself again).

3) Barb encounters the Demogorgon in the Harringtons’ pool.

The scene begins with Barb perched on the diving board, dipping her feet in the water. Then the Demogorgon shows up, Barb flashes into the Upside Down, and... well. We all know what happens next.

(This scene creates a parallel with Billy that is extremely significant. I’ll explore it at length in another post.)

4) Will’s “dead body” is found in the water.

The people of Hawkins aren’t aware of the Upside Down. When Will’s “body” is found, his death is chalked up to drowning. Thankfully, we as the audience are in on the secret; we know Will’s alive. HOWEVER, his drowned “body” being pulled from the water represents the threat he still faces: the Upside Down has taken him, and he could very well die there.

The threat is underscored by my next example...

5) When Hopper and Joyce rescue Will, he’s portrayed as having (almost) drowned.

“He’s not breathing! He’s not breathing!” Joyce cries. As Hopper pumps Will’s chest, he talks her through giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Finally, Will jerks upright with a gasp, all to the tune of “When It’s Cold I’d Like to Die” by Moby.

I don't want to swim the ocean I don't want to fight the tide I don't want to swim forever When it's cold I'd like to die...

Literally, Hopper and Joyce just saved Will from the Upside Down. Symbolically, they pulled Will from the water, then gave him CPR like a lifeguard would.

(The lifeguard connection is HUGELY IMPORTANT FOR BILLY OMG, I’LL TALK ABOUT THAT IN THE BARB POST)

Other details of the scene support this reading. Will’s vest makes it look like he’s wearing a life preserver. Meanwhile, the library around them looks like a shipwreck on the ocean floor. There’s even a “porthole” in the background.

6) When the Upside Down takes Heather, she’s portrayed as being dragged under the ocean.

We start with El finding a bathtub full of ice. Already we have the association with water - cold water. Then Heather pops out of the tub, begs for help, and gets sucked back down. After that, we’re hit with one of the most significant visuals of the show: Heather disappearing into the green-tinged darkness, reaching for the surface, as El screams her name.

Again, we see that being taken by the Upside Down = drowning. Tragically, no one reaches Heather in time to save her.

7) Billy's first experience of possession is surrounded by water symbolism.

When Billy wakes from his nightmare about the Upside Down, his eyes reflect the pool like he’s seeing water all around him. Not coincidentally, he looks like someone splashed him from the pool while he was asleep. Gasping for breath, he stumbles to the pool showers and literally submerges himself in water. Here, the Mind Flayer scorches through Billy’s mind, making His presence known for the first time.

It’s here that the Mind Flayer forces Billy to claim his first victim. Soaked from the shower, Billy attacks Heather and pulls her into the stall with him.

Symbolically, he’s been dragged into the ocean too. We’re left wondering if he’ll ever escape.

»»————-　✼　————-««

These are just a FEW of the many, many examples I could use. Like I said, wherever water shows up, the Upside Down isn’t far behind. This rule applies to rain, bathtubs, pools, even glasses of water at times.

With a little deduction, the rule also gives us a back door into a crucial revelation.

Billy is alive, and he’s coming back from (or through) the Upside Down.

More on that soon~~

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove is alive #stranger things #stranger things theory #stranger things analysis #film analysis #the upside down #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #stranger things 4 #ohbillyboy #billy is alive meta #the mind flayer #eleven hopper #will byers #stranger things meta

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lifeofkaze · 2 years ago

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Hat-Hunting

Summer Break Challenge, Day 2: Hat

Carolyn Nyberg x Bradford Pendleton

Find all the stories of this challenge here. Bradford Pendleton belongs to my favourite @kc-and-co. This challenge was created by the wonderful @usernoneexistent

It was the hottest day of the summer so far, and the beach was crowded. Because of the heat, everyone venturing outside had opted for as little and light an attire as could still be considered appropriate. To Carolyn Pendleton, comfort came second on her list of priorities. It took more than a few rays of sunshine to make her appear anything less than poised and perfect.

She had chosen to display her new hat today. It was big and cream-coloured, with a light green hatband that matched the colour of her dress. Following the latest trend, it was adorned with two giant white plumes, which were gently stirring in the sea breeze. Despite its delicate look, the hat was surprisingly heavy. The pins with which it was secured on Caro’s head were pulling at her roots, giving her a slight headache. She braced her shoulders and raised her chin higher; thus was the price of being fashionable.

Her husband Bradford Pendleton, who was walking next to her, gave her a sideways glance. “Is everything alright, my dear?”

“It is,” Caro replied. “Only a matter of slight discomfort. It will pass before long.”

She wanted to add something but had to duck when something small and white suddenly darted past her, close to her face. Caro startled, looking after the seagull that had almost hit her. It turned and made for her again, opening its bright, yellow beak and snatching the rim of Caro’s hat. Caro cried out as the seagull took off again, ripping the hat - including the pins and a good few strands of her hair - clean off her head. She gasped, trying to get hold of the thieving bird, but it was already out of her reach.

“Can you believe this?” she asked Brady, outraged at the audacity of the bird. “It stole my hat!”

“Maybe the plumes made it appear a suitable companion,” Brady chuckled. His laughter died when he saw his wife slowly raising her eyebrows at him. He cleared his throat. “What I mean is, this behaviour is utterly unacceptable and shall not be condoned. I will retrieve it for you immediately.”

Caro’s look changed into a sceptical one. “Are you quite sure about this?”

Brady huffed indignantly. “It is merely a bird. What is the worst that could possibly happen?”

Not heeding Caro’s doubtful expression, Brady set off after the fugitive seagull. He stepped off the wooden walkway, immediately sinking into the tiny, colourful pebbles that made up Brighton’s beach. He stumbled, cursing under his breath as some of them went inside his shoes, but he was not to be deterred by something trivial as stones in his socks - he had a bird to catch.

The seagull had already flown a good bit ahead, Caro’s hat dangling from its beak. Brady dashed after it, pebbles flying to all sides as he made his way across the beach. He tripped several times and apologised profusely as he stumbled right through a haphazardly built stone castle of two loudly protesting children. But nonetheless, the distance between him and the seagull steadily decreased.

When he was almost within reach, Brady lunged at the bird sitting at the edge of the water, but the seagull was quicker. It took to the air, still in possession of the hat, and Brady hit the ground face-first, a wave of cold seawater washing over him a mere second after.

Spitting out a mouthful of seaweed, Brady raised his head and looked after the bird and its prey. It was leisurely flapping towards the water, and Brady cursed the seagull, his pride, and his wife’s wretched hat.

Suddenly, the seagull froze mid-air. The hat fell from its beak and zoomed back towards the beach, right into Caro’s outstretched hand. With the other, she was holding her wand. Brady’s hunt for the hat had taken them to a barely frequented part of the beach. Caro must have followed him and - out of sight of prying eyes - had made short notice of the hat thief.

The seagull - robbed of its quarry - had dropped into the water and emerged a moment later with an angry squawk, but Brady found himself distinctly lacking in compassion. He rose to his feet, brushing the dirt off his beige linen suit. Caro was doing the same with her hat, securing it on her head with another flick of her wand.

She looked at her husband with a raised eyebrow and a smirk she didn’t even bother hiding. “Merely a bird, huh?”

Her eyes settled on the stains on the light fabric of Brady’s jacket. “Let’s go home, shall we? I’m sure Mitzi will know a way to salvage this suit.” She righted his lapels and her smile softened. “I would hate for you to never wear it again. It is looking too good on you.”

Brady only hummed, embarrassed by his crushing defeat. With a sigh, he offered Caro his arm and they made their way back to the walkway. When they had reached it, Brady paused.

“You will not tell Mitzi about this, will you?”

Caro laughed lightly, a sound that made Brady smile every time he heard it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, darling. Did anything out of the ordinary happen?”

“Nothing, dear,” he smiled and put the one lock that always fell out of Caro’s hairdo back in place. “Nothing extraordinary whatsoever.”

#hphl #hogwarts legacy #carolyn nyberg #bradford pendleton iv #bradlyn #summer break challenge 2022

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thewinedarksea · 3 years ago

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pirate

ft. discussions of the pirate gods between a young alexei and an even younger sajaa.

The Noveran port was always a busy, bustling affair. Every trade route from Nioro to Valais and out to the warm, wet land of Sajaa’s own home country passed through it, forming a nexus where merchants met to swap gold for brass, silk for coffee and dyes. Workers thronged along the shore, and more moved along the long wooden docks that jutted deep into the harbor. Billows of white sails rose above them like clouds laid low on the horizon. Even from Sajaa’s perch on one of the empty piers, yards away, the sound was deafening, the cries of sailors and hawkers and ordinary citizens forming a storm of sound that rolled and crashed over the entire city.

She ignored it all. It was not the docks that captured her attention but the water they were built on: the waves dark as wine and foaming with magic, capped with white spray that glistened when it was flung into the air. Movement flickered beneath the water. A scale here, a luminous eye there, a flash of teeth, serrated and razor-sharp, glimpsed in a break between waves.

Creatures, only. Not gods.

She had made that mistake when she’d first arrived, and gales of laughter had haunted her for weeks afterwards. Here, the gods were amorphous, fluctuating beings shrouded in legend, glimpsed only by their chosen few. There were no temples, no paintings. Even the Archives’ vaults held nothing crafted in their likeness.

The lack only whetted her curiosity, made her want to try and fashion her own image. They would be something wild, she thought, as free and untamed and strange as the ocean. Her mind conjured a body of smashed kindling and bones stripped pale and shining, seaweed threading through it like veins. Perhaps its smile was formed of teeth plucked from the carcasses of sea monsters.

She’d just bent forward to try and examine one of the creatures for a more accurate rendering when—

“Plotting your escape from here?”

Sajaa startled upright so quickly that she nearly fell off of the quay. A hand caught her sleeve, pulling her away from the edge and then lingering, warm on her elbow. It was Alexei, his mouth in a small smile, the hood of his robes thrown back to expose his face to the sun. The light turned his fair hair impossibly fairer, the strands a halo of white around his face.

“Careful, Sajaa,” he chided gently. “If you fall in I’d have to come in after you, and I can’t swim.”

A blush rose in her cheeks, painfully hot. She ducked her head forward and prayed the robes hid her face. “Sorry,” she said. “I was just thinking.”

“Deep thoughts, I’m sure. May I join you?”

The quay was deserted save for the two of them and some squabbling gulls, but she moved aside regardless. Alexei stepped up beside her, matching her pose—arms folded into the trailing sleeves of his robes, his shoulder brushing hers companionably. He didn’t ask for the real reason she was out here. He never did. Just stared out across the water and waited, as if he had nothing else more pressing to do than to watch the tide go out with her.

The silence stretched, and stretched, and stretched, until she was desperate to break it and its imagined awkwardness.

“I’d like to meet one of the pirate gods,” she blurted. The moment the words escaped her she wished to draw them back; they were so childish, so young. Surely Alexei, with his calmness and gravity of manner, had never contemplated such things.

He didn’t seem to mind, though; only tilted his head to one side. “Which one?”

“Any of them.” She searched her mind, grasping for the tales she’d overheard. “The Salted Lady, perhaps.”

“Our Lady of Salt,” Alexei corrected. “She’s not a drink. I didn’t realize you had any interest in them, Sajaa.”

No judgment hid in his words, his voice smooth and gentle as it had been when he’d coaxed her out of hiding after the other initiates had laughed her from the hall. He had been the only who had not mocked her. Who had explained to her, later, in the hushed quiet of the library, how the gods of the sea functioned in Novera.

She gave him a shy shrug.

“The ocean is strange. I want to see what gods it would spawn. Or who would spawn the ocean,” she amended, conscientious of differing theologies. “I’m sure it’s not very interesting to you, though.”

“Not necessarily. When I was a child, I was very fond of stories about one of the pirate gods.” Alexei’s voice was low, almost swallowed by the distant clamor. When she glanced at him his eyes were fixed on the long, blue line of the horizon, narrowed against the sun. “My mother’s sister was a sailor, once, years before I was born. She used to claim she’d traveled all the way to the end of the world and peered over the edge. Certainly she’d met enough pirates to bring tales of their gods back to us.”

Alexei so rarely spoke of home, and even less of childhood. Sometimes it was difficult to remember he had been a child, a boy with scraped knees and tousled hair. No—even as the image took place she corrected it, rewriting the details. Alexei would never have scraped his knees. He was too careful for that by far. The hair, though, yes; and perhaps a book clasped in one hand, the sharp knife of his nose buried deep in its pages.

The thought made her smile.

“Which one?” she asked.

“The Mariner.” He laughed, and the sound of it settled to burn, warm and low, in Sajaa’s stomach. “Although our name for him is closer to ‘Ferryman,’ or perhaps ‘Guider.’”

He fell silent and Sajaa watched a clump of seaweed drift past (hair for her god-body), waiting patiently for him to gather his yarn. When he spoke again his voice had taken on the sing-song slant it gained when he spoke to her of history, or the culture of this strange country.

“According to the stories, he travels the sea on a raft fashioned from a boat so old that the name of it has passed out of history. He has a lantern that burns through any fog and that, if followed, will guide even the most lost of pirates home. The pirates believe every storm survived, every fall that does not end with death, every rope that holds and guard avoided and passage successfully navigated is due to his influence.

“They also say,” he added, voice taking on a wry quality, “that he binds the souls of sailors in knots of ribbons to keep them safe from harm. I never understood that one; I’d bother my aunt about what he did with them until she made up some lie to appease me and sent me out to play.”

“He sounds nice.”

“Not everyone who guides, Sajaa, can be trusted. Least of all a pirate.”

There was a bitter edge to his words that surprised her, and when she looked up at him she found a stranger, instead, one with a face remote as a marble statue, his mouth flat and unsmiling. It unsettled her. She wanted, suddenly, desperately, to bring him back to her, to put a smile on his face and a laugh in his words. To turn him back into her friend.

“I will meet the Mariner, then,” she told him, “And I will ask him what he does with the ribbons, so that I may tell you the truth.”

He didn’t laugh at that. But he did smile again, the right side of it higher than the left, the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“Come, Sajaa. Enough talk of pirates and their gods.” Alexei flung his arm around her, drawing her to him until the red of their robes bled together and they were a single creature of two heads, one dark and one light, reflected wavering back in the water. “I have a task that needs doing in the real world, and I could use your assistance.”

One last glance at the ocean, at the deep, luring dark of the waves, and then she turned her back on it and pushed deeper into the mundane hum of the docks, steered by Alexei’s arm sure around her shoulders.

#when i started writing this i was like wow sajaa seems so awkward here. it's bc she's like 13. baby baby murder archivist #this is full of references i Will be calling back to in the book proper. that said no one look too closely at the mariner the divinity is #still a wip #mine #my writing #that sea book #tsb writing

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ultimatetrashyfanfic · 3 years ago

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I’ve been really into Komahina lately. This started off all lighthearted but then became a bucketload of Komahina hurt/comfort. Just because I think Nagito needs more people to care about him. This is post-hope arc when they are just trying to be normal again. - Circle

Also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33992074

Warning: descriptions of injuries (nothing serious but requires stitches), blood, some spoilers for SDR2 game and the anime.

Nagito wasn’t surprised when his bad luck struck that day. He’d been having too much of a good time. He’d come to expect this, to feel a wary tension whenever something nice happened because he knew the bad was now right around the corner.

At least this time the luck had affected himself rather than the other Ultimates. The morning had been so happy and relaxed, the perfect conditions for Nagito to let his guard down. He was so grateful to be invited on the beach trip with Hajime, Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi. They’d acted like it was no big deal, like they had no idea of the gravity their invitation held.

“You want to hang out with a nobody like me? The Ultimates are so generous, I don’t deserve such-” Nagito started, but then Hajime put a hand over his mouth, Kazuichi stuck his fingers in his ears and Fuyuhiko told him to shut the fuck up - but all three did this fondly.

It was easy to grow accustomed to the beach when living on a tropical island, but it seemed especially beautiful that day. Blue sea and white sand shimmered with a special sort of exotic glamour - though perhaps that was down to the three other men laughing along and acting like he was equal to them. It was absurd, really, that these Ultimates should give him any attention. He was about to voice this very thought, but then Hajime took Nagito’s hand without hesitation - without a hint of shame - and the words died away. A strange warm feeling bloomed in his chest, heavy and unfamiliar.

Hajime must’ve sensed he was getting overwhelmed, because he led Nagito back up the beach while Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko went swimming. Or at least Fuyuhiko went swimming; Kazuichi paddled and ran for the shore whenever a strand of seaweed brushed against his leg. Hajime spread their towels out in the shade of a palm tree, lying flat and gesturing for Nagito to do the same. “Come on, get in the shade. I know how easily your skin burns.”

“Don’t you want to swim too, Hajime?” Nagito asked, flopping down. He let his head fall back onto Hajime’s stomach, making his grunt softly.

“No, it’s okay. I could tell you needed some peace and quiet.”

Nagito frowned. Hajime was doing that much more often, seeing through his smiles and cheerful comments to the truth inside. Nagito knew he should be happy, grateful even. Hajime wanted to know him better. Hajime wanted to understand him. So why did it make Nagito feel so raw and vulnerable, like Hajime was scrubbing away a layer of his skin?

“You shouldn’t have to miss time with your friends for someone like me,” Nagito said. “You were nice enough to bring me along. That’s more than enough.”

“What, do you think I’m going to chain you to a tree like a dog while we have fun? I’m not missing out on time with anybody. I’m spending time with you, Nagito. Because I want to. I like to. Right?” Hajime said, his voice exasperated. But then Nagito felt a hand in his hair, clumsy yet gentle, and he knew Hajime wasn’t really upset with him.

Nagito felt the weird feeling come back, itching insistently. He forced himself to give a lighthearted laugh. “You’re so inspiring, Hajime. You have hope for everyone, even miserable wretches like me.”

“Nagito.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

Nagito did as he was told. Hajime started idly fiddling with Nagito’s hair, taking hold of one wild curl and pulling it straight, then letting it bounce back. Nagito wasn’t sure if he liked it or not, nervous giggles tickling the back of his throat. This wasn’t them. They weren’t tender and gentle and soft. They weren’t sweet words and walks on the beach and fingers running through hair. Their relationship was messy. They were angry outbursts and nightmares and holding onto each other too tightly, too long.

Nagito remained tense for a long time, but Hajime didn’t speak again. His hand continued moving through Nagito’s mop of hair until - finally - he felt the man sigh and release the tension in his shoulders. With the warm sun on his face and his head bobbing slowly up and down to the rhythm of Hajime’s breaths, Nagito felt his eyelids droop. And the nightmares didn’t come this time.

Hajime must’ve slept too, because they were both woken by a splash of icy water over their faces. Hajime yelped and sat upright so hastily Nagito tumbled off him onto the sand, spluttering in shock, wet hair plastered to his face.

Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi loomed over them with empty buckets, grinning impishly. Hajime lifted his sopping fringe with one hand to glare at them, and they both burst out laughing.

“You two were sleeping the day away! We didn’t want you getting dehydrated.”

“It was Kazuichi’s idea,” Fuyuhiko said.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Hajime growled.

“It wasn’t! Fuyuhiko started it,” Kazuichi said, but he was giggling like an idiot and it was clear he was lying.

Hajime stumbled to his feet, hauled Nagito up and snatched Kazuichi’s bucket from his hands. “Right, come on, Nagito. Payback.”

Hajime started running to the shoreline, dragging Nagito along. Fuyuhiko made for the sea too, and Kazuichi, who was now without a bucket, ran to the right of the beach, clambering over the slick rocks by the cliffs to hide.

“I’ll go after him,” Nagito told Hajime. “I know there’s only two buckets but I could… throw seaweed at him, I suppose. He seemed afraid of it in the water.”

Hajime snorted. “Yes, do that! That’s hilarious. I’ll get Fuyuhiko.”

“No you fucking won’t!” Fuyuhiko yelled.

So Nagito ran down to the side of the beach too. The damp black rocks appeared every low tide as the sea retreated, leaving behind a selection of tiny pools filled with small fish and anemones and little crabs. The rocks were covered with seaweed and very slippery, and Nagito was barefoot. He should’ve known better - he was used to watching out for potential hazards - but Nagito knew Gundham and Sonia had been down there on several occasions to study the wildlife in the rock pools, and neither of them had been sensibly dressed. Sonia was even in heels, for God’s sake. Surely the rocks couldn’t be that treacherous.

He wasn’t thinking properly. It was just nice to finally be able to act silly and do stupid stuff with people who seemed to want him around, even if they were just being kind. Nagito had never been in a water fight in his life. He was kidding himself he was normal.

So he clambered over the slime-covered rocks with reckless abandon, barely pausing to breathe. He had his eyes on Kazuichi in the distance, and he didn’t notice the small rock pool until he was slipping into it, his right foot sliding over sharp rock and rough barnacles. The pain and the shock of the icy water screamed all the way up his leg and his knees gave way, sending him falling onto his behind in the pool with a splash. He sat still for several seconds, the sole of his foot screaming.

Kazuichi had originally started laughing when he saw Nagito fall, but his expression clouded when Nagito didn’t join in. Usually Nagito smiled after his clumsy moments and said something about his bad luck being a stepping stone for hope later or some similar bullshit. But this time Nagito didn’t smile. He didn’t attempt to get up. He just sat there, face blank.

“Hey,” Kazuichi called, slowly creeping over. He still wasn’t quite sure if this was a trick. He didn’t want to get a face full of seawater. “You alright?”

Nagito didn’t react. He didn’t even blink. Kazuichi moved closer, coming right up to the rock pool and bracing himself. Nagito didn’t try to splash him. He just sat, blank-faced, twirling one finger idly in the water and making pinkish swirls with the… sand? Silt? Kazuichi couldn’t tell what it was floating in the rock pool, but it didn’t look sanitary.

“You should probably get up. That looks pretty dirty,” Kazuichi advised. “And you’re getting your pants wet. What’re you doing anyway? You’re not gonna go weird on me, are you?”

“I… think I may require Mikan, when it’s most suitable for her. I wouldn’t want to bother an Ultimate with my petty issues,” Nagito said calmly.

“What? Why?” Kazuichi said, alarmed. “Did you hurt yourself when you fell?”

As if in answer, Nagito lifted his right leg out of the water. Kazuichi’s eyes went wide when he spotted the huge gash on the sole of Nagito’s foot, gushing blood at a terrifying pace. He looked again at the murky pinkish water and suddenly understood.

“Oh my fucking God! Fuck, shit, what do we do?” Kazuichi cried in a panic. “Don’t just sit there playing around in your blood, you weirdo! Shit, HAJIME!” Kazuichi yelled back down the beach, waving his arms at the two men in the distance like he’d been shipwrecked.

They approached warily, not taking the situation seriously. “This better not be a trick, Kazuichi!”

“I’m not playing the game anymore! Komaeda is bleeding to death over here!”

“What?” Hajime cried, picking up the pace.

“Bleeding to death is rather an exaggeration,” Nagito said. “You’d need to lose thirty to forty percent of the blood in your body to even fall unconscious.”

“I’m not going to ask how the hell you know that,” Kazuichi mumbled.

Hajime and Fuyuhiko climbed over the rocks, staring in horror at the big cut on Nagito’s foot and the rock pool growing cloudy with blood.

“What did you do?!” Fuyuhiko cried. Nagito opened his mouth, but Fuyuhiko was looking at Kazuichi.

“I didn’t do anything!” Kazuichi cried, looking wounded. “I think he slipped or something. I found him just sitting there.”

“It was nobody’s fault but my own,” Nagito said, his voice the calmest among them despite the fact that he was the one gushing blood. “I was tempting my bad luck. I should be thankful I’m not worse off.”

“What’s he on about?” Kazuichi asked Hajime.

“His luck cycle thing.”

“So something bad is gonna happen every time we’re nice to him?” Kazuichi said. “That sucks. Should we like… shove him over first before we invite him somewhere? Will that cancel it out?”

“Kazuichi, stop fucking talking,” Fuyuhiko snapped.

“I didn’t mean a hard shove or anything…”

“Shut up.”

“We need to get him to Mikan,” Hajime said firmly, hooking his hands under Nagito’s arms and carefully hauling him out of the rock pool. “Ugh, you’re all soggy.”

“Yes, that tends to happen when you fall into water, Hajime,” Nagito said, smiling. Not quite a nice and happy smile though.

“You should probably carry him,” Fuyuhiko said. “Otherwise he’ll get sand in the cut. And he can’t hop all the way back. You should keep his leg elevated above his head to reduce the blood flow.”

“How am I meant to do that?” Hajime snapped. “Dangle him upside down from his ankles?”

“I was only trying to help, asshole.”

“You’d all be terrible first responders. We’ve made no progress whatsoever,” Nagito said. Hajime and Fuyuhiko told him to shut up in unison.

Kazuichi was grimacing at the growing pool of blood under Nagito’s foot. “He has a point. He’s bleeding a lot, guys. We should probably do something.”

“He’s on a ton of medication. Lots of them have blood clotting as a side effect, so he has to take blood thinners. That’s why it’s… bad,” Hajime explained. He sighed, scooping Nagito up into his arms, cradling him like a bride.

It was still far too easy to hold him like this; Nagito’s eating habits were pretty disordered. On bad days he wouldn’t eat at all. Hajime had thought it was sheer obstinacy, but when he’d forced Nagito to have lunch it had come back up again so quickly Nagito hadn’t even reached the bathroom in time. They were in Hajime’s cabin too, which made it worse. That was one of the few times Nagito grew visibly angry with him. He was usually so careful to keep a smooth, happy mask, smiling and chuckling when he was nervous or upset or scared. Hajime never pressured him to eat when he said he couldn’t again.

“Is this okay?” Hajime asked, trying to shift his arms to lift Nagito’s injured foot as high as possible.

“Are you going to carry me over the threshold, Hajime?” Nagito said, smiling.

Hajime could feel his cheeks growing warm. Wow, that was not good. He didn’t want to react physically whenever Nagito teased him, or he’d just tease much more. “I’ll drop you in the ocean if you’re not careful.”

“Who says chivalry is dead,” Fuyuhiko muttered dryly. “Now hurry up, we need to get help. Take Nagito back to your cabin, Hajime. Me and Kazuichi will go hunt down Mikan.”

Kazuichi usually moaned if anyone tried to make him dash around in the hot island sun, but he just nodded. “Yeah, we’ll find her. Try not to bleed to death, okay Nagito?”

“I’ll do my best.”

They ran off together, and Hajime carried Nagito across the sand towards the cabins. Nagito had his arms wound around Hajime’s neck, his face peering over his shoulder. “We’re leaving a trail of blood. Like that old fairy story.”

“What?”

“Some children leave a trail so they don’t get lost in the woods. I remember that part, but I can’t think of the title. It was so long ago…”

“Oh, you mean Hansel and Gretel. And they left a trail of breadcrumbs, you weirdo, not blood.”

“And there was a woman in that story who was a cannibal…”

“She was a witch. She was keeping the kids to cook and eat them.” Hajime was starting to think properly about some of the fairy tails they’d all grown up with. They were actually pretty dark when you thought about it. Trust Nagito to bring that to his attention.

“Never mind that. How’re you feeling? You’re bleeding an awful lot. And it must hurt.”

“You don’t need to worry about a nobody li-”

“Nagito, if you don’t give me a real answer I really am going to drop you.”

“No you’re not.” Nagito spoke with such calm confidence that Hajime had to clench his teeth to hold back a snarky retort. Okay, maybe Nagito was correct. Hajime wouldn’t just dump his injured boyfriend on his ass in the sand. But that didn’t make his tone any less annoying.

“Ah, you’re pulling a scary face, Hajime! Are you growing tired of me yet?” Nagito asked, starting to laugh.

Hajime sighed. He’d been hearing that line a lot from Nagito, as long as they’d been dating and well back into their friendship too. Are you tired of me yet? Whenever it was Nagito’s turn to wake gasping from a nightmare, whenever he grew so ill and weak he could barely move and Hajime had to walk him to the bathroom, whenever the phantom pains from a hand no longer there kept them both up at night, he’d start. Ah, I’m such a burden. Why are you here, Hajime? Why do you care about a nobody like me? Aren’t you tired of this? Aren’t you tired of me?

He always kept his voice light and easy, but Hajime sensed there was must be some sort of truth behind the questions. Nobody repeated something over and over like a parrot unless the same thoughts were swirling non-stop in their own heads. Hajime knew Nagito had been alone most of his childhood, forced to take care of his own problems. Now he seemed to baulk at the idea of help or support of any kind, like Hajime was going to play a cruel joke on him and shove him away at the last second.

“I’m growing tired of you saying that,” Hajime said. “Come on, let’s just get inside. And no more woe-is-me speeches, right? I keep telling you, I want to help.”

“You’re so kind, Hajime.”

“I’m not kind. I’m not doing it because I’m kind,” Hajime said irritably. “I’m doing it because I want to. Because I care about you. Okay?”

Nagito didn’t respond, just smiling calmly. Hajime wished he could peer right behind those eyes and see what really went on in Nagito’s head. He sighed and sat on his bed to wait for Mikan. As he was still holding Nagito, he ended up perched on Hajime’s lap, but he didn’t attempt to move. Hajime felt the tight frustration in his chest ease and he carefully wound his arms around Nagito’s skinny waist. Too skinny. Fuck, they needed to find something Nagito could eat even when he felt ill.

“I’m dripping blood on your carpet,” Nagito whispered, his head still resting on Hajime’s shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter right now.” He peered over the side of the bed. “You’re still bleeding a lot. Are you feeling okay? You’ve gone pretty pale.”

“Just a little light-headed, Hajime. Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I’m worrying about you. Stop testing me, Nagito. I care. I’m not leaving, I’m not annoyed, I’m not sick of you. Please stop it,” Hajime begged.

Nagito went silent again. There was a strange expression on his face, brows furrowed, almost irritated - but before Hajime could question him there was a knock at his cabin door and Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi burst in. They were dragging Mikan between them, one on either side of her like bodyguards.

“We found her!” Kazuichi cried. “Is Komaeda okay? Because we don’t have spare blood if he needs a transfusion or something.”

“Who the fuck has spare blood?” Fuyuhiko snapped. “He’ll be fine. I’ve seen guys bleed way more than that and still live.”

“Well, the peace and quiet in here was nice while it lasted,” Hajime muttered. He smiled at Mikan apologetically. “Sorry for dragging you over here at such short notice, but I think he needs stitches.”

“I don’t want to cause trouble. I would never tear an Ultimate away from their work with my petty desires and-” Nagito’s string of self-deprecation was swiftly cut off as Hajime’s clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t listen to him. Please, can you help him?”

“Of course,” Mikan said. Her smile was nervous, but Hajime didn’t think it was anything they’d done - Mikan always seemed nervous. She’d had the forethought to bring a case of supplies when Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi dragged her across the island, so she knelt on the blood-spattered carpet and took hold of Nagito’s ankle.

“Y-yes, it’s quite a deep gash, but it’s not very serious. You’ll need stitches and you won’t be able to get them wet or put weight on your right foot for at least a week,” she explained, snapping on rubber gloves.

“Looks like Hajime will be doing a lot more carrying then,” Fuyuhiko said.

“Does Peko carry you when you get hurt?” Kazuichi teased, then yelped as Fuyuhiko thumped him hard.

“I’m going to clean the wound. I want you to take a deep breath, Nagito. This will be painful,” Mikan said. Her usually shaky voice seemed much firmer and more assured when she was talking about her medicine. Her clumsy hands grew confident and graceful as she worked, carefully cleaning, stitching and bandaging the wound while gently reminding Nagito when to breathe and warning him when something was going to be painful. She put so much effort into making him as comfortable as possible - an Ultimate trying to help a nobody like him! Nagito wanted to show Mikan how thankful he was, how wonderfully selfless it was to treat him like a worthy patient, like an equal - but his throat ached so badly he could only choke out a “thank you” in an almost inaudible voice.

And it wasn’t just Mikan; Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko stayed too. They peered over Mikan’s shoulder while she worked, having to be reminded several times to back off. Kazuichi pulled faces whenever the wound was revealed and Fuyuhiko teased Nagito for managing to slice his foot so badly in a fall most people could’ve laughed off uninjured, but it was clear they cared too. They did their best to offer help.

“I’ll bring dinner for both of you tonight,” Fuyuhiko said. “Probably best if Nagito rests in the quiet. He might be feeling shitty from the shock.”

“I’ll make you some crutches, Nagito,” Kazuichi promised. “Crutches that work on the sand too so you can still go to the beach with us.”

They were being so nice… and all Nagito wanted to do was shove them out the door. The tightness in his chest was growing worse and worse, like somebody was slowly tightening a belt over his ribs. He was dangerously close to shattering, and that was something he couldn’t do now. He needed them out. They cared too much. He hardly dared blink or speak in case it all came bursting out.

Nagito moved closer to Hajime as Mikan fixed the bandages on his foot, his lips so close they brushed Hajime’s ear. “Make them leave. Please.”

He couldn’t say any more. He wanted to explain, wanted to make Hajime realise how urgent this was, how close he was to being vulnerable around three people he was not ready to open up to in this way. Hell, it was still hard even to show Hajime, the man he literally shared a bed with.

Nagito’s eyes were burning. He felt a surge of panic. Oh God, Hajime, please get them out of here…

Perhaps Hajime heard the strain in Nagito’s whisper, perhaps he felt how tense his body had grown against him, but - miraculously - he seemed to understand. He carefully eased Nagito onto the bed, thanked their friends for their help and reassured everyone Nagito would be okay now, he just needed some rest and some peace. Nagito stopped listened. He was barely blinking. He managed to smile and nod until Hajime had ushered Mikan, Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko to the door, then Nagito rolled over and hastily buried his face in a pillow.

Hajime finally convinced his friends they’d both be fine and closed the door with a sigh of relief. He turned back to the bed, not too surprised to see Nagito lying on his stomach with his face hidden.

Nagito was all mixed up when it came to emotions; bad situations had him laughing and smiling, positive reinforcement had driven him to tears several times now. With Hajime. Nagito refused to cry in public. Sometimes it could be really inconvenient too. Since they’d all woken up and decided to try to undo all the terrible things in their past, everyone was trying to be nicer. And trying to be nicer to Nagito if he was feeling particularly weak or tired or ill that day was fatal. He’d start tugging on Hajime’s hand, gently at first, but the tugging would grow more frantic as he struggled to retain control. Sometimes Hajime had to interrupt people mid-conversation with some silly excuse to save Nagito’s pride. Once he’d run out of ideas and made out to Akane that he had a sudden and urgent need to use the toilet. That had actually made Nagito laugh when he’d calmed down.

It wasn’t ideal, but Hajime couldn’t help being thankful that Nagito trusted him more than anyone else. Trusted Hajime to whisk him away when he needed help, and trusted Hajime to hold him while he wept silently, face hidden in his jacket or covered with his hands - even Hajime didn’t get to see his face when Nagito was in that state.

So Hajime didn’t comment when he saw Nagito soundlessly weeping into his pillow (hopefully Nagito’s pillow anyway. Hajime didn’t want tears and snot on his own pillow). He didn’t ask what was wrong. He simply walked to the foot of the bed and took hold of Nagito’s ankle, examining Mikan’s handiwork. The white bandages were almost the same colour as Nagito’s skin, and his exposed toes were icy cold.

“You should put some socks on,” Hajime noted.

Nagito, predictably, didn’t move, so Hajime grabbed a pair from the dresser. “Are you going to cooperate?”

Nothing. Hajime sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and grabbing hold of Nagito’s leg. “Honestly, I bet even Sonia never had anybody to put her socks on for her and she’s royalty. Come on, bend your leg. Help me out a bit.” Despite his grumbling, Hajime eased the socks on with scrupulous care, being especially delicate with the injured foot. “There, your majesty. Surely that must feel better.”

Nagito still didn’t make a sound. Hajime moved to stretch out beside him on the bed, a hand resting between his shoulders. “Hey,” Hajime mumbled. “It’s alright. I know it’s hard, but they care about you. It’s not a bad thing.”

“They shouldn’t care. I did terrible things,” Nagito said, his voice so muffled by the pillow it was hard to understand him.

“So did I. So did everybody here. We’re all trying to make up for that.”

“I don’t deserve love.”

“That’s what you tell yourself. It’s not the truth.” Hajime very gently eased Nagito off the pillow into his arms. Nagito immediately hid his face in Hajime’s chest, but he didn’t pull away. He clamped a hand hard over his mouth to keep the sobs inside.

“Don’t,” Hajime said firmly, taking hold of Nagito’s hand and trying to pry the fingers away from his lips. “Stop holding it all in. I think that’s partly why you keep getting overwhelmed so often. You never let go.”

Nagito didn’t give up, wrenching his hand free and slapping it right back across his lips - but not before a single gasping sob had escaped. It was the first time Hajime had ever heard him make a noise while he cried. Nagito screwed up his face immediately, wincing.

“No, that’s good! Fucking fantastic! Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m cheering you on for crying, but here we are,” Hajime muttered. He took hold of Nagito’s hand once again and tried to prise it away. “Come on, we’re on the right track. It’s just us here. Our door is locked, nobody expects us at dinner. You’re safe, okay? You’re not a burden. I don’t think any less of you. Please…”

Hajime yanked Nagito’s hand away, keeping hold of the wrist this time. Immediately a loud sob burst out, another chasing on its heels so quickly Nagito barely had time to draw breath. And the floodgates opened. He gasped and wheezed and sobbed, soaking Hajime’s chest with tears and spit and snot, clinging so tightly to Hajime’s arms that his nails left little crescent moon shapes in the skin. And Hajime never complained. He held Nagito tight, whispering encouragement into his hair, warm hands rubbing between Nagito’s shoulder blades - holding him together, anchoring him against the darkness that swirled inside Nagito’s head.

Nagito wasn’t sure how long he spent sobbing desperately into his boyfriend’s chest; it felt like hours. He cried until his head throbbed and his throat ached. He cried for his friends, struggling themselves to shake their pasts as Remnants of Despair. He cried for all the people they hurt and tortured under Junko’s brainwashing. He cried for the parents he could only remember from photographs. He cried for the childhood dog who’d died in his arms. He cried for himself, for his lifetime of loneliness, his bad luck driving people away out of fear. And he cried for Chiaki.

All the while, Hajime held him. Hajime let Nagito drip all over him for an eternity, and when the sobs finally, finally started to fade away, Hajime brought him a bottle of water and held a cold cloth to his puffy eyes, wrapping an arm around him and pulling Nagito against his shoulder. “I learned this from Mahiru. She does this for Hiyoko when she’s been crying. It’s meant to stop your eyes getting all red and sore.”

Nagito nodded, far too emotionally exhausted to speak. He sat helplessly while Hajime fussed over him with tender but clumsy hands, dabbing his face with tissues and smoothing his messy hair off his forehead. Nagito stared blankly ahead - and then felt two warm hands grip his cheeks. He was forced to stare into Hajime’s heterochromic eyes.

“Hey…” Hajime’s soft tone was a complete contrast to his firm stare. “I’m so proud of you, Nagito.”

It almost brought the tears back. Proud of him? For what? For having a tantrum like a baby?

Hajime recognised his expression. “I’m proud of you for feeling. I’m not good at this mushy stuff and I know you’re not either… but it’s just so good to finally see you letting yourself hurt openly like that. I’m really fucking proud of you.”

Nagito’s chest hurt again. He pulled Hajime’s hands away from his cheeks and held them, squeezing as hard as he could manage. It took several tries before he managed to speak, tasting salty tears on his dry lips. “Next time you feel bad,” he whispered, his voice low and hoarse, “I’ll put your socks on for you too.”

Hajime laughed - and Nagito finally found himself smiling again, though his face was still blotchy and tearstained. They’d be okay. They had each other to put their socks on when they were having bad days.

#danganronpa #danganronpa sdr2 #danganronpa 2 #post-SDR2 #komahina #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #kazuichi soda #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #hurt/comfort #injury #mod circle #post-hope arc #spoilers warning

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blackirisposts · 3 years ago

Text

Walking Upon the Cliffs

Fueled with pain, longing, and wine (always a good combination) I rise from depths of fabric and trauma and present to you all a small token of feels and thought. *************

Pairing: Loki x Reader (No references to gender for Reader)

Word Count: 1233

Read on AO3 HERE

Warnings and Notes: Trigger warning for some unalive feels and illusions to doing so. This is a bit dark and sad but it ends with the soft fluff that I know a lot of you except and enjoy from me.

Needless to say, things have been *hard* in many more ways than I can count, but, who’da thunk it. My main man Loki, pulls through in the end to bring you this sad and sweet little flick-let thingy-ma-bob.

Please be kind to yourself and others and, of course, enjoy.

p.s.- hjarta, means heart unless I’ve fucked that up royally, in which case, I apologize.

*************

You wander aimlessly through the night, like many a night before. Tonight, you go by foot, leaving your trusty steed at home, not wishing to wake him in the chill of the autumn moon.

Your feet continue, your mind gloriously numb for once. The chill of the changing seasons hangs in the air, taking the edge of your senses away. It bites at your nose and cheeks, unconsciously you wrap his scarf around you tighter, burrowing into its warmth. Your foot falls stagger as you imagine his smell on the cloth. It’s been gone for longer than you care to admit, but if you breathe deeply enough, maybe, just maybe….

Time passes. Or maybe it doesn’t but you find your way regardless. There’s worn path in thick, clumping grass now. Your feet follow each other while leaving you in a dream like trance.

You’re up to the cliff face. The one where you saw him last.

“I miss you.” You exhale into the wind that stunts your pace as it picks up the edge of your cloak. “I miss you, and there’s no way for you to know.”

You move forward, the toes of your boots teasing the edge, the line of safety blurred with your tears. The urge to jump, dive, fall into the icy depth below is the most real thing you’ve felt in what feels like an age. Your feet feel weighted of iron and lead, the muscles of your legs unmoving and unwilling. The idea falls for you, from you, with the breeze, stinging your eyes as you shake your head.

“There’s too much room.” You state with a frown. “It’s not the silence. The lack of your voice, your laugh, your steps. The scent of your clothes after a long day’s journey. No. There’s too much room at home, without you. That hurts most of all.’

“It’s started getting cooler. The sunlight is less and less each day. And that makes me miss you more. I want to curl up with you, by the hearth, or in our bed. Touch you face with my fingertips, smiling and knowing you’re back and here to stay. I want to kiss you and not have to pull away for you to leave again, but only when our lungs burn and demand oxygen. I want to reach out in the dead of night and feel the steady heat from your side of the bed. Be lulled to sleep by its comfort. I want to feel the curl of your arm around my waist, the brush of your lips against my skin; both of us half asleep and at complete ease.”

Tears cascade down your cheeks, silenced by the upturned wind.

“I miss you, love. I miss you so much.”

A sob rips from your chest, catching in your throat. Frigid fingers curl into loose fists, too cold to close properly, gloves left at home in your haste-less grief.

“I miss you.” You try to shout. After a deep breath, it comes out as a strained whisper.

Return to me. You wish to say in a yell, a shout, anything loud enough so that the rest of the world will join you in your tears, your sorrow, to be felt by all for but a moment.

The reality of your broken voice on the air only floats mourning syllables of longing indistinguishably onto the rocks of the shore below.

Your eyes blur, stinging with the renewed salt of your tears.

Time has passed again, you note, as your eyes blink you slowly back to the present. The stars have moved in their ghostly haunt of the night sky. The first of the sun’s rays begin to threaten the calm you’ve finally found in this abandoned piece of the world; colors begin to stir and stretch about you.

A hand eases onto your shoulder, squeezing gently as you mentally shun the contact.

“I’m not going. I can’t. Not without, not without—” Your voice gives out, your strength finally leaving you. Your legs buckle and arms wrap around you, holding you to a solid form.

They shush you, as you sob: tears and half cries carried off on the wind.

“I can’t.” you finally form words. It becomes your chant, an odd comfort. “I can’t. I can’t.”

The breeze picks up again, becoming strong in its own right. On it you smell the turn of the tide, the salt, the seaweed, the sea life along the beach…. And, and something more. A distant memory. It rushes back to you. Warmth. Cinnamon. Birch… with an edge that’s dark, burnt, you’d know it anywhere.

With eyes closed tight, your hands drift to the ones that hold you, squeezing tentatively, afraid that in your fatigue they will slip away and be just a dream like so many that have haunted you for so many uncountable nights.

“Please, be real.” You whisper. “Please, please be here. Be real.”

‘Darling.’ You hear, or possibly imagine. You’ve imagined it so many times. His warmth, his voice, the comfort and love that drip from it for only you.

With a shudder that doesn’t come from you, you hear it again.

“Darling.” A pause, a heartbeat, a life time. “Please, open your eyes. Let me see you.”

You turn, eyes fluttering open, fingers clawing, clinging to the leather and cloth in front of you. “You.”

“I’m here, my hjarta, I’m here.”

“You’re, you’re—”

“Very, very real, love.” His smile goes to his eyes, the corners crinkling as his thumbs wipe away tear trails from your cheeks. “Very, very much missing you.”

“Where, will, how, would you—you’ll stay?”

“For you, with you. Forever, dove.”

His wraps his arms and cloak around you, grounding you and warming you a fraction. He presses a kiss to your forehead, murmuring words of sweetness, of kindness, of how he’s missed you, longed for you.

“Not a day has gone by where my heart has not broken for not being at your side.” He whispers into your hair line.

He holds you until the sun is shining, its golden rays peak and dance behind clouds to gleam off the sea. The world feels more vivid in his embrace. His cold fingers gently hook under your chin, drawing your face to his.

“Kiss me, kiss me and let today mark the beginning of our time uninterrupted. For not a day shall go by where you do not walk by my side. Not a day, where I cannot ease your pains, make you smile that delightful grin I adore above all else. I’ve been a fool to be away for so long. I love you, ardently so. Please, still be mine.”

Tears renew themselves in your eyes and threaten to fall at his words as your head nods. “A fool indeed, Loki, beloved son of Laufey, forever my fool. I love you.”

“I love you” it comes a laugh and a cry. His lips ghost along yours, his voice a strained whisper, “I love you, don’t ever stop telling me that, I love you my dear.”

Dawn’s light envelops your entwined forms on the cliffs edge as his scared lips touch yours, softly at first, the brush feeling as it did the first time. Moving more fervently, you press into each other, the ache of time apart palatable as tongues touch, and sighs of stolen breaths paint the morning breeze.

*************

p.s. ten points for **insert house of your choosing here** if you also said “I’d know him anywhere.” Cuz I cannot not have that float in my head at those words.

#Loki #Loki x Reader #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #loki fan fiction #loki fic #loki x gn!reader #loki x gender neutral reader #Loki x male reader #Loki x female reader #no spoilers #this does as it will much like Loki

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samstree · 3 years ago

Note

how about 'void' for the word prompts??

Creatures of the Night (3)

Geralt goes to the coast alone after Jaskier marries Valdo. He can't escape the past. Or rather, Jaskier can't escape him.

(endgame geraskier, background valdo/jaskier, angst, eventual infidelity, implied depression)

AO3 | Previous: [1] [2]

The coast smells of fish and seaweed.

It’s not unpleasant if one admires it from a distance, like watching a sunset from the grassy cliff or dipping toes into the water a little. The coast is mild and vast, the calmest part of the continent.

Geralt embraces the sea, letting the scent of candles and jasmine fade from his nostrils. It’s been too long, months already. Too long for him to cling to that scent and that night. He needs it gone from memory.

He fails.

The smell of fish and seaweed and blood is everywhere when Geralt emerges from the waves, a sea serpent’s head in hand and an apology by his lips. The villagers sigh in silent acceptance. They knew the fishermen were beyond saving anyway. Still, he ignores the gash on his arm and grieves with them for a moment.

He forgets, just for a moment.

Dripping a bloody trail up the shore, Geralt nods to each family member of the lost men. By the end of the line, he meets brown eyes and golden hair, a lopsided hat and a fur-lined cloak.

Valdo Marx.

Geralt drops the head, his arm tingling with blood loss.

“You are a hard man to find, White Wolf.”

The cold wind ruffles Valdo’s hair, tangling up his fashionable curls. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes that Geralt doesn’t like. Yes, bards can be just as dangerous; Geralt has learned a long time ago.

“And what brings you to me?” he asks, meeting the other’s man’s gaze.

“I believe you already know.”

Geralt nearly wavers.

“Do I?”

“You left early that night. At the handfasting.” Valdo paces around Geralt, who’s only realizing the other bard stands a tad taller than him albeit having a much slenderer build.

“It was a long party.”

“You were bored by the most important party of your best friend’s life?”

Bards. Must they speak in circles all the time?

“What are you saying, Marx?”

Valdo’s footsteps halt in place, the danger in his eyes burning anew. “I know what you said to him.”

In his long life, Geralt rarely feels shame so heavy. He breaks eye contact with the other man, fists clenching before settling by his sides. Perhaps this is where he loses Jaskier completely. Running away to the coast isn’t enough. This is where he needs to promise to never see Jaskier again and let him live a peaceful life with his husband. Geralt opens his mouth to make the promise, except—

“I know what you said to Julian on the mountain, how you broke his heart. I was the one who had to pick up the pieces.” The bard clenches his jaw, breathing deep. “The state he was in, I swore to myself that I would never live to see it happen again. Seeing him hurt once is enough, and yet…”

“What?” The implication makes Geralt’s stomach sink. “Is Jaskier alri—”

“You don’t get to ask me if he’s alright.” Valdo steps into Geralt’s space. Somehow, a troubadour almost makes a witcher cower under his fury. “You drove him away, and then you dared to come back. You behave like he’s a puppy to summon at your whim and then kick out once you tire of his bark.”

“I don’t—”

“You said something to him that night. Essi told me so, and Julian hasn’t been the same since. He deflected my questions and defended you, but one can only guess. Was wishing for destiny to take him off your hands not enough? Did you have to come all the way back to his side just to drive in the knife?”

“No, of cour—”

“Don’t play dumb with me, witcher! What did you say to him that night?”

“Nothing!” Geralt bites out the words. A lie. “I didn’t say anything.”

No wonder Jaskier wants to protect this man. Geralt can see it now, the devotion of Valdo Marx, archnemesis of Jaskier the bard for twenty years. And yet, Valdo was the one to offer him a shoulder to cry on when he was shunned by Geralt, a supposed friend for twenty years.

“Forgive me if I find it hard to believe. Historically, you shouldn’t be trusted when it comes to Julian’s heart.” Valdo’s heat is dying down into disgruntled acceptance.

“Just tell me if Jaskier is alright.”

Geralt is so close to begging.

He just might. For Jaskier. Again.

“You want to know? What, do you care?” Valdo scoffs. “No, he is not! He went down the same path soon after. If anything, it’s only worse now. Last time he cried and cursed, tried to drown himself in wine. But at least there was something. But for the past months…he wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t speak. There’s nothing when I look at him. Nothing. Only a void.”

The waves rumble in the distance, lapping at the shore. The coast can’t erase the anguish poisoning Geralt’s every thought either. Not when he’s inadvertently hurt Jaskier.

His love hurt Jaskier.

“If it wasn’t you, perhaps…” Valdo says reluctantly, watching a seabird pass by. “It wasn’t easy to convince him to come, even though he always dreamed about the coast back when we were young, romanticized it in so many songs like a fool. But when I heard you were here, I had to come and find you, and leaving him alone in this state wasn’t an option.”

Geralt wants to flee like the coward he is, but the hope fluttering in his stomach is a powerful thing. “He is here?”

“He’s here. And if you indeed didn’t cause him any harm, Geralt of Rivia, I loathe admitting that you might be my last hope. The relationship between you two is something I’ve never understood, but even I can’t deny you’ve known him in a way no one else could.”

Geralt can’t believe the words he’s hearing, words he doesn’t deserve.

“You are asking me to…help?”

“To speak to him. If you still care about him in any way. “Funny I came here not sure whether to strangle you for hurting the man I love or beg you to save him.”

The bard turns to leave, his coat flapping. Geralt pauses for a moment before following.

He needs to fix it. If his confession sent Jaskier into a downward spiral, Geralt needs to fix it somehow. He can stop loving Jaskier. Yes, he can stop so Jaskier can finally be free of him. It’ll only feel like ripping his heart out of his chest. He’d stop, even if it kills him.

“It was never my intention to hurt Jaskier.”

Defending himself in front of Valdo is a moot point, and the mock from the troubadour is an answer enough.

“It’s what he believes too. The idiot is kind and terrible like this,” Valdo sends one last look at Geralt before they begin the ascend, the silent threat looming in his brown gaze. “Try anything like the mountain again, there won’t be anything left of you for the fish to eat.”

And Geralt is wise enough to believe that.

The two miles he walks behind Valdo stretches into infinity, and at the same time, nothing at all.

On top of the cliff, Jaskier’s silhouette stands straight, frozen in place like a statue, or the loneliest painting on earth. Geralt can only see his back, but he can already tell Jaskier is too thin. He doesn’t even stir when Valdo drapes the coat around his shoulders and coaxes him out of the trance.

And then, Jaskier is turning around, cheeks pale and eyes so blue.

Geralt’s world begins and ends at the same time.

Thanks for the prompt my dear! <3 I wonder how many people are team Valdo... Hmm.

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod

Feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #implied depression tw #valdo marx #protective valdo #pining geralt #hurt jaskier #eventual infidelity #cheating #endgame geraskier #requited unrequited love #geralt x jaskier #the coast

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oh-for-fic-sake · 4 years ago

Note

Henry finding his Little hiding in the master closet, crying her eyes out because she misunderstood him saying he wanted a new Little.

Oh sweet jesus! I have to admit this was good practice, im not one for angsty stuff but this turned out okay i think? I hope you like it

Warnings: DDLG, Angst, Fluff, Swearing, Tantrums

You hid on the stairs, standing on them so your eye were level with the floor of the landing.

Things were different since you come back home.

You'd been visiting your parents for two weeks to help out, they had moved to France inspired by the chateau renovations so packed up and moved into a huge castle like home.

Renovating was harder then they expected and needed some extra hands so you decided to help them out.

Its the least you can do when they were going to let you and henry get married there for free.

But then another lockdown came and you had to return home four days early, but it couldn't be helped, your parents sent you packing not wanting you to be stranded in France for months on end.

Henry had been too busy to come, saying he needed to stay home and sort out a few important things.

You'd been home just over a day and had noticed the house was different.

Well not the whole house, but there was no trace of any of your little things anymore.

Henry was busy running about the place chasing up phone calls and deliveries, he said he was late and still had too much to do and that he was sorry then locked himself in the office.

With brings you to now, alone confused and upset. So you decided to go and cuddle up in your nursery and wait out what ever had your daddy occupied.

Slowly you tip toed past the office hearing henry raise his voice growling a little.

You would have stopped and asked him if he was okay, but he got mad when you eavesdropped, it usually landed you on the naughty step.

You passed the office's cracked open door with ease, it'd be best to ask later. Besides the office wasn't a nice place, it was boring and you only ended up in there if you were bad and about to be spanked real bad! Its where your cane lived.

You scrunched your nose as you got closer to the nursery, the smell of paint and sawdust filling your nose. It was an awful stink!

Still you pressed forward stepping into the room.

You froze and suddenly felt sick to your stomach.

The room was bare, your toys and stuffies all packed in boxes in the corner.

Your crib was gone, the blanket fort, changing table everything!

The walls were now a pale seafoam green with sea otter stickers on them, tall seaweed stickers dotted about the room.

This wasn't your room! This wasn't your nursey!

You gasped panicking looking around feeling your tummy drop and twist, a lump in your throat.

They pink princess blinds gone, your drawings no where to be found.

There was nothing of yours in here! Nothing at all.

You crumpled to the floor as you spied the wall that once held your name in cute cursive stickers on it. They too were gone, removed and the wall painted over.

You shook your head trembling, you hadn't come in here yesterday, you'd come home and gone straight to bed you were tired it'd been hell getting home.

You stepped backwards out of the forign room on the verge of tears.

You sniffled rubbing your eyes and padded down the hall again unsure what all this meant.

"Yes... Yes I know-No of course I haven't told her!.... Yes I know change is hard for littles but she'll be okay, once I explain things she will be fine, she's a tough cookie" henry huffed down the phone irritated. You crept closer to the door and listened closer, perhaps spying with once will help reassure you. Because this must be a misunderstanding.

"yes well I want to move on, everytime I go in there... Its not her room never has been they are two completely different littles both in age and personality, I didn't- I never changed it until now... Honestly I'm sick of the sight of it, we all need a fresh start once in a while" henry explained with a sharp bite to his words.

You froze on the spot, two different littles? He had two? You didn't know that.

Your heart pulled painfully in your chest as you got an image of a faceless yet beautiful 'proper little' who liked nappies and bottles!

You bit your lip and shifted trying to hear more clearly, because this didn't seem right, you couldn't belive

"I was hoping to have it done before she got back and sort of ease her into it on the way home but then the lockdown.... Yes well I just think of this as a new start- like having a brand new little... I'm excited to begin again! This time its for real and I'm pouring everything I can into it..."

"I really do love her, so so much and this is it for me. I've tried so hard to make this happen but now.. I don't want to upset her but we need this, its been a year now and.. I don't know maybe I'm selfish but I want this to be my littles room, my true little girls home you know? Not the other one"

"so do you think it'll be here today? I'll send y/n out with Kal when you bring it round, no point having a little misunderstanding before i can explain things properly, yes okay.. Okay i will see you this afternoon, bye"

You covered your mouth at the way his voice picked up, he was happy... And he was replacing you.

You jumped up running down the hall trying not to let him hear you crying.

You found yourself in the closet sobbing your heart out cursing him as you curled up in the corner shutting the door behind you with a loud slam.

Not that you cared, you were far to upset, slowly pawing at your clothes tugging them off the hangers.

You watched through blurry eyes as your hands tugged and bundled the clothes wiping your face on them as you tried to pull yourself together and pack your stuff knowing you would be sent on your way very soon.

You bawling was halted as the closet door was ripped open a panicked henry standing there panting, clearly he had been running.

"oh-god baby what's wrong?! What's happened princess-"

"NO! NO YOU DON'T- LE-LEAVE ME ALONE!" you shouted at him sobbing your heart out.

Henry frowned at your anger and despair. Then crouched down in front of you.

"baby what's wrong love? I got here as fast as I could- are you hurt? Why are you so upset babygirl?" he pleaded wide worried eyes looking you over trying to see what had made you cry so bad.

"N-NO YOU JUST-FUCK OFF YOUR NOT MY DADDY! YOUR NO'MY DADDY! YOUR A LIAR AND BAD-IM GOING HOME- GONNA GO TO FRANC WITH MUMMAND DAD AND-AND LIVE IN A CATLE AND FIND A REAL PRNCE-" you screamed at him sobbing louder.

Henry frowned and tried you coax you out of the closet unsure what the hell had gotten into you, it wasn't like you to throw such a tantrum.

"hey nugget that's not very nice baby, here come here and lets talk-" he spoke hurt and upset as his hands moved to tug you out of the closet.

You growled and snapped your teeth at him and began smacking him aiming for his, hands face, legs anything you could reach wanting him to leave you alone.

"HEY! Whoa what the hell is wrong with you young lady? Now you get your butt out here now!" henry snapped managing to capture your wrists and tug you out of the closet as you screamed and thrashed.

"NOOO NO NO YOUR NOT MY DADDY! YOU-R NO'm-my daddy your not!" you shouting became a broken sobs as henry picked you up and laid on the bed with you tucking you into his body wrapping himself around you.

You stayed like that crying into the pillow tugging every so often trying to free yourself from him.

"now do you want to explain where all this is coming from?" he asked getting upset with you as you wouldn't explain what was going on instead you just cried harder.

After a few more minuets of henry shushing you and kissing your head you calmed enough to start explaining.

"y-you don't wan'me!" you muttered as you wept still unable to fully stop your crying.

"wh-what?! Oh baby what do you mean I don't want you? I love you!" he implored quickly unsure where this was

"liar, you said- to the man that your movin' on and stratin'gain an- an my room! Daddy my stuffs gone! And and-lemme go! Your not-your mean!" you whimpered before getting all worked up again choking on your own sobs and began fussing again trying to get away once more.

"alright alright now that's enough. You silly girl were you eavesdropping again little one? This is why daddy has told you not to eavesdrop! You only heard half of the conversation-" he began scolding quietly realising what had happened.

"i heard 'nouhg" you cut him off snidely

"you heard nothing, you silly girl. Daddy isn't getting rid of you, or your things- well not everything" he huffed having just about enough of this tantrum already.

"I'm redecorating your nursery for you. I'm ridding the house of my old little! Dumping all her furniture and getting you your own customised stuff" he said makeing you pause and rub your eyes craning your head to look back at him.

"wh-wha?"

Henry sighed and gave you a pointed look.

"see you might think you heard enough but you didn't, daddy in making a cute little seaside nursery, that why their are sea otters on your wall, their your favourite animal aren't they?." he chided speaking slowly to be sure you were listening.

"w-well yeah b-but my names gone?" you blubbered quietly starting to feel silly for your out burst.

"because daddy was painting the walls poppet and your names on your new crib that's coming today, this was a surprize for when you come home from France... Your own brand new nursery for a toddling little, not a baby-baby..." he hummed softly kissing your shoulders.

You sniffled and mewled before quickly spinning around to face him and then began crying into him feeling guilty. He was doing something nice and you ruined it!

Henry chuckled but held you close hushing you sweetly pressing kisses to your head as he soothed you.

"here come with me" he urged standing picking you up taking you into the office.

You squirmed and clutched at him tightly worried he was gonna spank you for being naughty, eavesdropping, hitting, biting swearing and batting? That was quite a tally.

Instead henry sat on the chair and logged into the computer.

"here see? This it yours and coming today" he said motioning to the screen showing an incredibly beautiful lightwood crib your name carved into the head and foot board with tiny wave detailing and a small pattern of shells on the rim.

"see, your my true little and as such daddy wants to make it official by making you your very own sea side themed nursery, with new toys and furniture and blankie! Starting fresh this time with everything all centred around my perfect little one!" he hummed kissing your head as you sniffled and panted.

"s-so your not- gettin' rid of me?" you whimpered looking to your lap.

"god no! We're getting married! Your my babygirl and I'm your daddy! I'll always be your daddy... I'm sorry to have scared you poppet, i just wanted to surprize you but.. I should of warned you shouldn't I?" henry sighed twisting you in his lap and snuggling you.

"n-no i should've asked and not been bad daddy... Sorry... You can spank me for bein' bad"

"... Although you do deserve a spanking for spying and bratting... Daddy will make you a deal, you help me finish your nursery and I will ignore your naughtiness." he offered holding out a pinky to you.

"r-really i can help?" you asked quietly twiddling your fingers shyly feeling more and more guilty for your behaviour as the seconds ticked by.

"yes poppet, you can help" he said rubbing your back with a little chuckle as you leant into him.

"and no spankin'?" you asked slowly

"not unless you want one to make you feel better" he agreed, but he knew sometimes you didn't want to be let off, sometimes you were to upset with yourself and wanted him to correct you.

"No.. I don't want a spankin daddy.." you said warily glancing at the small space behind the large money tree, the plant hiding your cane just out of view.

"okay then it's a deal, no spankings in return of some hard labour!" he teased and hooked his pinkie around yours making it a real deal then kissed you and squeezed you tight groaning.

"such a silly nugget, you should know by now daddy loves you too much to ever leave you, noone-absolutely no one can ever make me as happy as you!" he assured you feeling a lump form in his throat, he couldn't wait until you were married, then maybe you'd stop all your worrying, you seemed to have this strange idea that you wasn't good enough. Or little enough.

You liked cribs and sippy's and pacies occasionally bottles- when you were ill mostly but not nappies or that type of care. You were a three to four.

"i love you daddy, you are my daddy... I was mad" you anounced quietly nibbling your fingers shyly almost using them to hide behind.

"i know baby, but thank you it means the world to hear you say that, now lets go make some lunch then make a start- we have to stain the skirting board on the back wall before your crib gats here" he said standing up with you setting you on his hip and began moveing though the house.

You rested your face in his neck breathing him in, that had been the most terrifying moment you'd had in this relationship! The thought of him leaving you after you sharing so much with him was your worst nightmare.

All you could say was that from now on, you really wasn't going to eavesdrop anymore. If you had questions you would ask instead to avoid things like this in the future.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x little!reader #ddllg blog #oh-for-fic-sake ask #oh for fic sake headcannon #henry cavill imagine

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