#i like making old men into meek little creatures

[sortasoh]

Could it be a picture in my mind... ...Here for just a moment then you're gone

[baleriontheblackkitten]

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys I

Ah, Dany! A thirteen year old girl who owns nothing, not even herself, and will go on a crusade to allow other people to own themselves. A meek, frightened creature who only wishes for a simple, normal life where she can be free to just be, who will embrace leadership not because of the glamour of it, but because she wants to make the world a better place for the people who have nothing just like she had nothing.

A part of her will always long, deep down, for that simple normal life with no pressures and no responsibilities. But that's not an option for her - or it doesn't seem that it could ever be - because she is the blood of the dragon, the culmination of a long line of people cursed by prophecy, saddled with a responsibility that's a double edged-sword. Prophecy allowed them to survive the Doom of Valyria, but they swapped that doom for another doom, the poison that came with being the leaders of Westeros.

Dany is what is left of that, just like the Targaryen house were what was left of the entirety of Valyria. And with being the survivor comes the weight of destiny.

But this is really soon to discuss all of that lol. We're just meeting little scared Dany. But actually even this very first chapter already features what she desires, what she truly wishes for herself, although she knows it could never happen: be one of the common people around her, carefree, just allowed to be themselves and live their lives. My ideal endgame for Dany would be for her to eventually retire from leadership, after achieving the closest thing to a lasting condition of peace and freedom for her people. But we'll talk about this later on...

Viserys! Believe it or not, he's one of my favorite minor characters. Not in the sense that I like him as a person, but because the more I think about him, the more I want to chew on glass. It's easy to look at his abuse of Dany and dismiss him as just an asshole, but he's such a tragic character, and when you really think about it, he never really had a choice to become anything but his bitter, cruel self. Just like he never really had any choice at all, a plaything in the schemes of powerful men. And when you learn that he was never intended to be reinstated as king - when it all clicks into place, when Illyrio's weird, risky plans are revealed to be perfectly reasonable as Viserys was never supposed to get out of his Dothraki adventure alive, when you realize that Viserys was a decoy and was fed lies and delusions his entire life - his story becomes horrific.

His story becomes the story of a boy who lost everything - his family, his home, his things, his sense in the world - and was used, trapped inside a golden cage of lies, for the power games of other men, until his role in the game was done and he was discarded.

And you wonder how much he believed in the delusions because he was arrogant and conceited and stupid, and how much he had to believe in the delusions, how much he made himself believe because he had no alternative to survive. Is he bitter because the Usurper took everything away from him? Or is he bitter because he knows, deep down, that the promises of helping him get the Iron throne back are false? That he has no allies, really, and has no chances and no choices? Is he bitter because he has no hope, no matter how much he forces himself to believe the empty promises and the lies?

And his behavior towards Dany is so very human. He has control over nothing - nothing except his little sister. She is the only thing he can exert control over, and of course he'll direct the anger that stems from his grief and powerlessness over her. And the sexual abuse of her is somewhat justified in the logic of his world, a world where marital rape is not recognized: all his life he and Dany have lived under the assumption that they were going to marry. Viserys sees her as his future sister-wife, expecting they would officially get married when she would be older, or maybe when they'd get back to Westeros to celebrate the wedding there. It's quite natural for him to see her body as his propriety… and it gets sad when you realize that his concept of what a husband-wife relationship is like comes from his parents' relationship. His behavior with Dany is modeled after Aerys' behavior with Rhaella, and how could it be any different?

This, of course, doesn't mean I justify Viserys' abuse. Dany's journey of learning to stand up to him is glorious! He is a trash excuse for a human being, but a trash excuse for a human being that is the result of a tragedy.

Alright, let's actually look at the chapter now.

For the first time we leave the North, and we leave the Seven Kingdoms entirely… but only physically, because the Seven Kingdoms haunt the Targeryen siblings, and the Targaryens subtly haunt the Seven Kingdoms, even if the current regime would not want you to think too hard about it.

Her brother held the gown up for her inspection. “This is beauty. Touch it. Go on. Caress the fabric.” Dany touched it. The cloth was so smooth that it seemed to run through her fingers like water. She could not remember ever wearing anything so soft. It frightened her. She pulled her hand away. “Is it really mine?”

Oh the irony. Dany frightened by soft fabric that feels smooth like water, she who will walk into fire and ride dragon scales. Of course it's not the fabric itself that scares her: she is intimidated by the luxuriousness of something she does not feel adequate for. Worth of.

Is it really mine, she asks: she's a girl who has never owned anything. The idea of owning something, especially something valuable, is alien to her. We'll learn soon that she's never even owned herself - her own brother is selling her. She's his propriety until she becomes another man's propriety.

There's an additional layer to the "is it really mine" line, because the dress is meant for her, but it's not hers. Viserys calls it a gift, but Dany understands what Magister Illyrio's gifts are. Dany was thirteen, old enough to know that such gifts seldom come without their price, here in the free city of Pentos.

She's supposed to play the part of a princess. Which… she is, but she's never been. The little sister of the beggar king. At this point, the fact that she comes from a line of kings, that royal blood runs in her veins, that dragon blood runs in her veins, mean nothing for her. Her brother is the dragon, the rightful king, she's just a girl.

“Illyrio is no fool,” Viserys said. He was a gaunt young man with nervous hands and a feverish look in his pale lilac eyes. “The magister knows that I will not forget my friends when I come into my throne.” Dany said nothing. Magister Illyrio was a dealer in spices, gemstones, dragonbone, and other, less savory things. He had friends in all of the Nine Free Cities, it was said, and even beyond, in Vaes Dothrak and the fabled lands beside the Jade Sea. It was also said that he’d never had a friend he wouldn’t cheerfully sell for the right price. Dany listened to the talk in the streets, and she heard these things, but she knew better than to question her brother when he wove his webs of dream. His anger was a terrible thing when roused. Viserys called it “waking the dragon.”

Dany is perfectly aware of the reality of their situation. She seriously doubts that her brother is ever going to be reinstated as king in Westeros. She thinks of Viserys' ideas as "webs of dream". She knows. Does he? Sure, he doesn't seem to mingle with common people and hear what they say like Dany is said to. I can imagine him living in his own bubble. But how realistic is it for him to live constantly inside a bubble, when they've spent thirteen years moving around Essos, living off the hospitality of others? I personally don't think he's that naive or stupid. I think that his naiveté is a survival tactic - he's hanging off a thread. If he were to accept the reality that his dreams are futile… he would just shatter. Which is what happens to him with the Dothraki, after all.

He is also full of contradictions - right now he seems overjoyed at the prospect of gaining an army through selling Dany to Khal Drogo. He later tells her he'd glady have her fucked by Khal Drogo's entire army and their horses if that means he gets his army. But we'll later learn that he has a breakdown over it, that he tries to get Dany's maidenhood before Khal Drogo does… He just seems detatched from reality in a way that is definitely not mentally sound. He wants the army that will gain him Westeros… but that's hardly real to him. What's real is Dany's body.

Dany could hear the singing of the red priests as they lit their night fires and the shouts of ragged children playing games beyond the walls of the estate. For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future and no feast to attend at Khal Drogo’s manse.

Oh Dany's wistful dreams of a life as a nobody who has nothing but is free! This will return, when she wistfully half-wishes that she was not the blood of the dragon, that she did not carry the weight of the responsibilities that come with that. No past and no future - no ancient prophecy, no destiny, no intergenerational curse, no dragon dreams, no responsibility to save the world. She doesn't even know about all of this yet, all she knows is that she has a role to play as her brother's sister, foreshadowing of her promised role as the last Targaryen.

“Our land,” he called it. The words were like a prayer with him. If he said them enough, the gods were sure to hear. “Ours by blood right, taken from us by treachery, but ours still, ours forever. You do not steal from the dragon, oh, no. The dragon remembers.” And perhaps the dragon did remember, but Dany could not.

She does not feel like a dragon yet...

Yet sometimes Dany would picture the way it had been, so often had her brother told her the stories.

In Bran's chapter, he mentions with affection how their father tells them stories of the age of heroes and the children of the forest. In Dany's case, it's her brother that has the role of storyteller in her life, and who's so passionate about the stories that Dany can visualize them perfectly.

We are also presented for the first time the story of Robert's rebellion from the other perspective. From the first chapters, the reader would be ready to accept the Starks and their friends as the good guys. Ironically, Ned himself will have a journey of coming to terms with the fact that his friend Robert is not the hero he liked to think him as...

There's a little detail I didn't remember from my first read - that Dany was born nine months after her mother and brother fled King's Landing for Dragonstone. Meaning, by the time the Rebellion started, no one even knew of her existence. Heck, she didn't exist yet, and was conceived at the last moment, while the Usurper's armies were already moving towards King's Landing. It also gives Rhaella and Viserys nine excruciating months in Dragonstone as the Rebellion rages on, and then Rhaella dies in childbirth, and then the garrison on Dragonstone decides to hand the children to Robert (and meet the same fate as Elia's children), except a handful of loyalists save them and bring them to Braavos. How terrifying must have all of that been for Viserys?

They had wandered since then, from Braavos to Myr, from Myr to Tyrosh, and on to Qohor and Volantis and Lys, never staying long in any one place. Her brother would not allow it. The Usurper’s hired knives were close behind them, he insisted, though Dany had never seen one.

Oof, Dany sort of doubts the reason they were always moving being fleeing from assassins. More like, they were guests, and their welcome in the house of each host would end after a while. Then again, I'm sure that Robert's hired knives were an actual danger for a while at least (the fact that when Dany gets pregnant he wants to send assassins after her suggests that there were no assassins after her at that point, which suggests that a number of years into his reign, his power solidified at that point, the Targaryen kids no longer left that dangerous and no longer worth wasting money for.)

What will be Dany's reaction when she learns that Viserys and herself were the decoys, waved around Essos for Robert's assassins to chase after, while the actual person who was meant to be reinstated on the throne was a different, secret boy? It doesn't even matter if Aegon is an actual Targaryen or not. If I were Dany I would be aghast of what was done to her and especially her brother, fed false promises while another boy was raised to be king.

In another passage it is said that the final nail in Viserys' mental state was selling their mother's crown, the very last thing they had left. I wonder who bought it. Some rich Essosi that just liked the idea of owning a unique item, or maybe that just liked a pretty crown. Or maybe someone who bought it with a more specific goal? Will this crown ever reappear in the story? Probably not, it just represents how the "beggar king" had to give everything away and lost even the last link to his mother and family history. Still, I wonder where it is.

Viserys wants the Seven Kingdoms and the royal wealth back. Dany just wants her childhood back. But really, they both want the same thing. The Seven Kingdoms and the silks and jewels are Viserys' lost childhood.

Slaves come to get Dany ready. "There was no slavery in the free city of Pentos. Nonetheless, they were slaves." Such a little but powerful line.

They filled her bath with hot water brought up from the kitchen and scented it with fragrant oils. The girl pulled the rough cotton tunic over Dany’s head and helped her into the tub. The water was scalding hot, but Daenerys did not flinch or cry out. She liked the heat. It made her feel clean. Besides, her brother had often told her that it was never too hot for a Targaryen. “Ours is the house of the dragon,” he would say. “The fire is in our blood.”

Ehe. Also the first mention of the "cleaning" effect of heat, like the purifying dragonfire that she'll dream about later. Dany, her dragons, and fire are purifying forces in the narrative, burning away corruption and metaphorical dirt and rot.

Her journey will be a journey to understand that fully, to realize that her dragons are not mere weapons of destruction and death - destruction can be good if what you destroy is bad, and heat is life.

Love the golden collar imagery.

A princess, she thought, but she remembered what the girl had said, how Khal Drogo was so rich even his slaves wore golden collars. She felt a sudden chill, and gooseflesh pimpled her bare arms.

She is being sold as a slave, and while Drogo's slaves do not actually wear golden collars, her golden collar represents that she is property of men, who are exchanging her like an object.

It's also sad how the worldview she's been taught sees her future husband as a savage, while her own blood is the pure, precious blood of her Valyria, and how this union contradicts what Viserys has always told her. Viserys is obviously disgusted by the idea of a "savage" having her, and yet he's selling her... it was not his mother's crown that was the last thing he ever owned, it's her sister. Now he's selling the last link to his Targaryen ancestry, his only family member left. It's no wonder he has a breakdown.

“The realm will rise for its rightful king. Tyrell, Redwyne, Darry, Greyjoy, they have no more love for the Usurper than I do. The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children. And the smallfolk will be with us. They cry out for their king.” He looked at Illyrio anxiously. “They do, don’t they?”

So confident he acts, but he's not. Funnily enough, while it's not true that the smallfolk are ardently waiting for his return, he is not wrong about many noble houses not having any love for the current regime, and definitely not wrong about the Dornish.

Dany knows that Illyrio's words are false. It's not like the truth about his plans will come as a surprise to her - she already can tell there's no actual plan to reinstate Viserys as king. But she does not know the extent of that falseness yet.

Dany noticed that her brother’s hand was clenched tightly around the hilt of his borrowed sword. He looked almost as frightened as she felt.

Funnily enough, what's scarying Viserys right now specifically is an Unsullied.

Dany is represented right away as living in a world of slavers and slaves, one where the line between free and enslaved is sometimes clear and obvious, sometimes thin and ambiguous. She is not considered a slave, she has slaves taking care of her, but she belongs to other people. They call her a princess, but she's being sold.

Daenerys looked at them all in wonder … and realized, with a sudden start of fear, that she was the only woman there.

Say whatever you want about GRRM, but I appreciate him including this very specific feeling.

We're now introduced to ser Jorah Mormont, a sudden link to Westeros that distracts Dany from her current fears.

The irony of ser Jorah's past is obvious - he has left Westeros because he dabbled in slave trade, to eventually end in the service of a girl whose mission will be to end slavery. But this bit offers us some little further insight about this world and slavery.

“The Usurper wanted his head,” Illyrio told them. “Some trifling affront. He sold some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver instead of giving them to the Night’s Watch. Absurd law. A man should be able to do as he likes with his own chattel.”

Of course Illyrio, a slaver, has a slaver perspective. For him, it's normal to sell human beings and there's nothing wrong about participating in the slave market. But this line gives us an additional layer: from the perspective of a foreigner, the Night's Watch is made of slaves. Criminals get caught and handed to the Night's Watch - so what difference does it make if the nobleman under whose autority they were caught chooses to give them to someone else?

This leads us to make some reflections. A man sworn to the Night's Watch cannot leave it, lest he is sentenced to death - like a slave who runs away from his master. Technically one chooses to join the Night's Watch, but it's obvious that that's a façade for most. There's men to pick the Night's Watch over being sentenced for a crime, there's boys from noble houses with too many heirs.

And yet it would be incorrect to call the Night's Watch a form of slavery, as its members are not chattel. This is where Illyrio is wrong - nobody in Westeros is chattel, even though the living circumstances of some look similar to a slave's in the eyes of an external observer.

And yet, the men of the Night's Watch are not free men at all. Not coincidentally their narrative foil is the free folk... in whose eyes, all Westerosi are slaves. Of their lords, of their king. All Westerosi bend the knee to someone else.

That, I assume, will be the final challenge of Dany's journey, where her journey will meet Jon's.

Let's get back to where we were. We also meet Khal Drogo, who looks younger than Dany expected him to be, and a quite impressive looking man. Viserys calls him "Aegon the Dragonlord come again" which is another sign of his mental system of contradictions. The man whose queen the Targaryen princess is going to be, must be some kind of Targaryen king. And yet Viserys is the Targaryen king, he's supposed to be the new Aegon here, but he's not.

“I don’t want to be his queen,” she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. “Please, please, Viserys, I don’t want to, I want to go home.” “Home!” He kept his voice low, but she could hear the fury in his tone. “How are we to go home, sweet sister? They took our home from us!” He drew her into the shadows, out of sight, his fingers digging into her skin. “How are we to go home?” he repeated, meaning King’s Landing, and Dragonstone, and all the realm they had lost. Dany had only meant their rooms in Illyrio’s estate, no true home surely, though all they had, but her brother did not want to hear that. There was no home there for him. Even the big house with the red door had not been home for him.

Dany has no home, Viserys does, and that's the tragedy of each of them. Viserys longs for a home he's lost, Dany longs for a home she's never had. His home is a strange place for her that she's never seen, the places she's ever felt at home in have always been strange places for Viserys that he's never felt at home in.

Her brother orders her to smile and stand up straight, and

Daenerys smiled, and stood up straight.

For the entire chapter, in her inner monologue, she's been Dany. Now she becomes Daenerys, almost a character for Viserys' sake. She is not Daenerys Targaryen yet, she is not the blood of the dragon yet. She is a girl that plays the part of the Targaryen princess for other people's sakes. Her journey in this book is a journey of becoming Daenerys Targaryen for her own sake - no longer a character she is forced to play, but her most authentic self.

[itsclydebitches]

I've been cleaning out my Google Drive lately (monumental task) and came across the beginnings of an old Attack on Titan fic I never finished — and never will. So I thought I'd post it as a oneshot 👍

This was him then. The titan child.  

Monster. Threat to humanity. Deceiver. Shape-shifter. Fiend. Corporal Levi had heard a hundred names for this creature before they’d even reached the dungeon’s outer walls. It was only when they were doors away that he finally got a name. 

“He’s Eren Yeager,” Erwin said. He flipped continuously through a folder so stacked the binding was beginning to creak. “Belongs to the 104th training squad. Graduated fifth in his class with no particular skills listed, though there is a note that he is, and I quote, ‘strong headed as a bull with his balls on the line.’ Nice.” 

Levi snorted. 

“Hmm,” Erwin continued flipping. “Hails from Shiganshina. His Mother died right after the wall was breached. An eyewitness report from a Garrison soldier says that her legs were crushed when her house collapsed, then she was eaten.” He shook his head. “Eren saw everything while they were making their escape.” 

“Incompetent,” Levi muttered. 

“We lost sight of him for a while, until he entered the training corps. Four years later he’s defending Trost and, hours after that, emerging from the neck of a seventeen-meter titan.” Erwin shut the folder with a snap. His face was grim in the hall’s torchlight. “Thoughts?” 

“You’re the strategist. I’m just here to gut the fucker if he turns.” 

“Humor me.” 

Levi shrugged. “Only two options, really. Either he’s a meek little boy, hollow from his mommy’s death and still shitting himself after his first battle…”

“Or?”

The two men turned the corner, reaching the final set of stairs. Below there was a creature shackled and locked in a cage. Two MPs stood guard. One of them, a pudgy girl with a permanent sneer to her lips kept sneaking fearful glances behind her. 

“Or he’s the most terrifying, manipulative thing humanity has ever seen.” 

Levi made sure his voice rose all the way back to that MP. As the two men descended into the darkness he reveled in her nervous looks, the sweat beading along her brow. Let the pigs squeal. Levi knew what to expect. He had nothing to fear. 

What else could this world possibly throw at him? 

Nothing new Levi decided, not two minutes later as he leaned against the wall. This titan child was exactly that—a child—huddled beneath his blanket like he thought it could keep him safe from the world. Levi saw the way he kept his knees bent, just a pride’s breadth away from pulling them up against his chest and hiding there. This monster continually strained against the chains shackled to his arms (stupid then too) and his eyes flit every which way, unwilling or unable to meet their gaze. Levi would bet new gear that it was the latter. 

“Tell me, Eren... what do you want?” 

To get free. Maybe. Levi watched the kid’s head bow low, weighted under who knew what kind of crap. What did a half human-half monster desire anyway? Better question: would Erwin even consider giving it to him if he knew? No. Levi turned his attention to the other monster in the room, the one who could lie with a smile  and didn’t seem to have any tells. Levi admired the sharp edge of Erwin’s comfort and missed when Eren’s head shot back up. 

“I want to join the recon corps,” he said. “And kill as many titans as I can.” 

… From meek to bloodthirsty in the span of a breath. Interesting. 

Levi took new stock of the situation and nearly cursed himself out loud, because those details suddenly didn’t seem so childish or stupid anymore. This thing was restless beneath its sheets. Not hiding, just biding its time. The strain in the muscles of its arms wasn’t foolish exertion but rather the need to keep moving, stay sharp, do something, even when stuck in captivity. It’s eyes flit to specific spots—exit, MPs, the knife in Erwin’s boot—and Levi felt an unwelcome kinship rising up in the center of his chest. He’d looked like this before, in the bowels of the underground. He could look like this again if need be. 

There was similarity between them. Levi could use that. 

He heard his own voice as if from far away, announcing that he’d take responsibility for this beast, he’d accept its application and, if need be, put it down like the monster it was. Yet when Levi spoke something astounding happened: the monster went back to being a boy. He saw relief and then fear flood back into those eyes and Levi had to grip the bars with all his might. It looked like intimidation, but it felt like dread. 

What was this boy? 

When they were done Levi and Erwin passed back through the MPs, the woman with sweat on her brow keeping secrets bobbing in her throat. They wouldn’t stay there long. By sundown she’ll have told every false friend and inept colleague about the monster who claimed to want to kill his own kind… and how Humanity’s Strongest believed him. Levi had a sudden, awful urge to slit her throat before those secrets could escape. 

But that was just impractical. Messy too. 

“What are you thinking?” Erwin asked him quietly.  Of course. Of course he wouldn’t be swayed just by what he’d said to the kid. 

Kid?

Levi chose not to answer. Not in any way Erwin would understand anyway. “Anything else in his file?” 

There was. Erwin flipped to the very back where amidst bullshit psychological evaluations there was one note scrawled in a familiar hand. Keith’s chicken scratch was an insult to sight, but at least he had something interesting to say: 

Don’t underestimate this one. Bound to be fatal. 

“Huh,” Levi said and shoved the folder back at Erwin. 

As they left the dungeons Levi put the titan-child out of his mind… or at least he attempted to. It was still there, shifting between each thought, taunting him with possibilities he hadn’t seen since the man beside him beat his ass and then offered him a job. 

This one wasn’t simple either. 

Good. Humanity couldn’t survive on simple.

[adamwatchesmovies]

The Village (2004)

It’s been seventeen years since I saw The Village. As I pressed “play” on my DVD player, I wondered how knowing the ending would affect my experience. The good news is the film is memorable, well-acted and well-shot, with an excellent score by James Newton Howard. Unfortunately, none of it feels like it matters. This movie completely falls apart under any kind of scrutiny, almost like it was built backward to support its own shocking ending - an ending that essentially gives the film zero re-watch value.

In the small, isolated Pennsylvania village of Covington, everyone fears “Those We Don’t Speak Of”: creatures in red cloaks who live outside the perimeter of torches surrounding the village. These monsters are drawn to the colour red and fiercely guard their territory.

Though the premise would lead you to think The Village is a horror film, it isn’t. Not really. Most of the picture deals with the villagers living typical 19th-century lives. The only abnormal thing is the prevalent fear of real monsters at night. Ivy Elizabeth Walker (Bryce Dallas Howard) pines for the meek and gentle Lucius Hunt (Joaquin Phoenix). He shows his affection by avoiding her as much as possible. This makes Ivy’s sister Tabitha (Jayne Atkinson) think he might accept her advances. So far, nothing scary. The young men have fun daring each other to taunt “Those We Don’t Speak Of”, except Noah Percy (Adrien Brody), whose developmental disability means he still acts like a child. None of it seems like anything more than superstition, even with (or perhaps because) Noah Percy can enter the surrounding woods without any apparent fear of reprisal from the monsters. Meanwhile, the village elders all appear to harbor secrets about the past, all hidden inside large black boxes. Now we're talking about something a little creepy, but still not terrifying.

The plot begins when the balance between the village and the woods is disturbed. This is where writer/director M. Night Shyamalan shows off his filmmaking skills. There’s a scene where Lucius steps into the surrounding woods and sees one of “Those We Don’t Speak Of”. The camera doesn’t quite follow his field of vision - it moves a fraction of a second slower than it should. We get a fleeting glimpse of the red-cloaked creature. In that moment, Shymalan transports us into that forest. The terror we feel seeps deep inside our bones - all without really showing you anything. Still, it doesn’t quite turn into a horror film. It’s difficult to pinpoint what sort of mood this picture is going for, and I mean that in a good way. It makes you wonder what’s coming next.

It’s impossible to discuss a second viewing of “The Village” without examining the multiple twists in the second half. First, we learn “Those We Don’t Speak Of” are fabrications by the elders, that the one that’s to be feared is actually Noah - he discovered one of the elder’s costumes - and, most shocking of all, that the whole film takes place in modern day. The village was founded as a way for the elders to start their lives over, away from the evils of the present. There is a nugget of an idea there. There's something to be said about the extremes grief will push us towards (all of the elders suffered hideous tragedies in their past lives) but it’s tainted by a cheap twist. If none of the elder’s children know the outside world, why mark the tombstones with old-timey dates except to fool the audience? It gets extra contrived when Ivy - who is blind - is sent into the woods to fetch medicine. It's so she can travel outside without learning the village's secret. Come on. I know the elders have sworn never to venture outside (I guess no one misses toilet paper) but if they’re making up their own world, why not make one up that includes modern medicine and other comforts? Oh wait, I know. It’s so the movie can have a twist ending, so it can fool those watching.

I can understand someone focusing on the themes of grief in The Village and calling it a good film. There is something here about how determined people can be to run away from their lives and prevent themselves from moving on in the process. I just don't know if you can call a film successful when your positive review requires you to ignore its preposterous ending and all of the contrivances inserted only to trick the audience. It’s a well-made film; moody & tense, with good performances, a terrific score and excellent camerawork. Unfortunately, they all sit upon a foundation of saltine crackers. (On DVD, August 7, 2021)

[fettsvette]

Under the Crimson Moon

You have your period and feel gross. Boba Fett wants to fuck. A little blood never stopped the greatest bounty hunter in the galaxy from doing his job, and doing it damn well.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader Words: 7.2k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Menstruation/blood kink, penetrative sex

Can be found on Archive of Our Own here.

Mando’a terminology:

   cyar’ika - Mando’a term of affection meaning sweetheart, darling, beloved

  -

  “If I want you to do something, girl

We both know that you will

I’m a dirty old man with a dirty set of dreams

Take off that dress if you wanna keep it clean...”

  ‘Up in Them Guts,’ Brendan Kelly and the Wandering Birds

   -

You hadn’t known he was coming until he’d actually arrived.

 One minute, you had been in a deep sleep, wrapped in the warm blankets that shrouded the king-sized bed, and then suddenly, you were wide awake. Because you’d heard it, and you knew in your heart of hearts that it hadn’t been the lasting echo of a dream.

 The sound of heavy bootsteps and the unmistakable jangle of spurs echoed in the crisp night air, emanating down the hall towards your bedroom doorway.

 You sat up quickly, blood roaring in your ears and your heart pounding wildly in your chest, and your head snapped towards the entryway, illuminated only by the moonlight flooding in through the bay window. 

 And there he was, stepping out of the deep midnight shadows with that slow, methodical walk that seemed to encompass his very being: Boba Fett, the greatest and most feared bounty hunter to ever live.

 And your lover.  

 If you didn’t know better, you would’ve sworn he was a statue of some ancient warrior, carved from marble and brought to life by a warlock’s spell. The way he stood unmoving and ramrod straight, just staring at you, always sent a thrill down your spine, his expression unreadable behind the darkened, T-shaped visor of his helmet.

 But still you groaned - not out of arousal, the expected reaction to the presence of the imposing yet entirely irresistible man who was currently gazing at you - but out of annoyance. You squeezed your eyes shut, almost willing him to disappear, to take the hint, by the time you opened them again.

 His timing couldn’t have been worse.

 “Boba, please go away ... ” You grumbled pathetically under your breath, cracking an eye open to look up at the silent figure clad in dark green armor, looking at you expectantly. You heard him let out a sharp hiss under the helmet, and he gave a start, his head snapping downwards, and you just knew he was glaring at you murderously. You had no idea how he’d heard you from all the way across the room, but he had.

 “ Oh ? What’s that , girly? You don’t like me anymore?” He stalked forward slowly, and the question came not with a teasing edge nor with an air of apprehension, but with an icy lilt to it. It chilled your blood, and it occurred to you that you may have just made a huge mistake in telling Boba Fett himself to fuck off. As much as you enjoyed the sexual satisfaction you got from these illicit romps with one of the most dangerous men in the known universe, the confident realization that he could potentially grow angry or bored enough to dispose of you at any time without even batting an eye absolutely terrified you. He was a bounty hunter, after all. At the same time, though, that same fear excited you beyond the wildest depths of your imagination. He’d shown you time and time again just how deadly he could be, and yet you had never turned away when you’d had the chance. And there had been plenty of those times. 

 “ No ! Boba, no. I - I s-still like you. Of c-course I still like you. But…” You began, stuttering and stammering like a nervous child, but stopped abruptly when Fett took another step forward, spurs clanking again. He either didn’t notice the effect his brief intimidation had on you, or he didn’t care. You assumed it was most likely the second one.

 “ There’s a problem. ” Fett wasn’t asking you. It was a statement. Maybe another time you would have attempted to lie your way out of it just to save yourself the embarrassment that you knew was coming, but tonight you couldn’t even find the energy to attempt it. 

 “I can’t tonight. I just... can’t .” You murmured, almost tearfully defeated, gingerly sitting up in the bed to take a better look at your nighttime visitor. You could see yourself reflected in the viewscreen of his helmet, disheveled from sleep and sickly-looking, although you didn’t know if that was a trick of the moonlight or a sign of your current condition. Despite the intense cramping in your belly that was overtaking most other sensations, you still felt a flutter of longing travel to your loins upon seeing Boba Fett. How badly you wanted to grab him by that clunky belt and drag him down onto the bed next to you, free him from his trousers, and ride him until you found your release, but your body wasn’t in agreement with your wishes in the least bit. You took a deep breath, and steadily looked him in the eye.

 “ I got my period this morning. ”

 Silence. Not even a tilt of the dented helmet, a gesture you sometimes received after making references that he didn’t understand.

 Feeling your cheeks aflame and slightly embarrassed by the lack of response, you tried again.

 “...I’m menstruating, Boba. You know… moon blood? The curse? I don’t know if that’s a thing that happens to people where you come from, but I’m bleeding out of my vagina and I feel fucking miserable and -”

 Fett cut off your babbling with a sharp gesture through the air with one hand, the other settled nonchalantly on his hip as he shifted his weight. He let out a gruff sigh that lifted and dropped his shoulders in an almost comical display of exasperation. 

 “I know what it is. I’ve been with enough humanoid females in my lifetime. Is that supposed to change our plans tonight, little one?”

 It was your turn to go silent. You should have known something venomous and snarky like that would’ve been his answer. And of course he had more experience than you, he was older - by just how much, you weren’t exactly sure. He’d never shared his age, and you didn’t ask. He barely spoke as it was. And you still had yet to see his face. He’d never offered to show you, however, as if it were some closely guarded secret only he was the keeper of. And you didn’t dare try removing that strange, heavy helmet of his yourself. Boba Fett had never hurt you, but you felt if you were to reach underneath the sharp edges of his armor, peel it away from the complicated, mysterious creature underneath, there was no telling what he would do. 

 Hell, you had never even seen this man’s face and yet you had let him fuck you within an inch of your life . You’d never been ‘that kind of girl’ before you’d met him, upsetting everything you thought you’d known about yourself and the universe around you, but here you were. And here he was. 

 But his comment about being with other women in his past still spun ‘round your head like some mad arachnid’s twisted web, and made you wonder if he was presently doing this very same dance elsewhere - in other cities, on other worlds. 

 ‘ If this is just a physical thing, no strings attached… ’ You found yourself brooding as you watched him languidly stalk over to the window next to your bed, tilting the green and red helmet upwards and search the night sky for things you could only vaguely guess at if you tried, ‘ Then why am I jealous of something I don’t even know is really happening? ’

 “I just thought...you wouldn’t be… into that ...” You finally replied, meek as a mouse, and instantly trailed off once you realized you had no idea what else to say to him on this matter, your face burning. You should have been overwhelmed with desire at Boba wanting to fuck you this badly, but you found yourself apprehensive and shy - over a little bit of blood . It was times like this that you couldn’t fathom why a man from outer space, an intergalactic cowboy like something out of a comic book, had fallen from the sky and had chosen you.

 His head turning slowly in your direction, Fett marched back towards the end of your bed, his hands gripping the leather belt at his waist.

 “Your condition doesn’t matter to me. It’s a basic bodily function. Have you forgotten, foolish girl? I take what I want, when I want it .” He intoned brusquely, and your eyes widened, a delicious chill crawling up your spine, and you felt your cunt clench at nothing. The crimson tide had come in, and he still wanted to claim you.

 Usually, you talked enough for the both of you. Now you found yourself utterly speechless. 

 There was silence while he stood at the end of the bed, and you goggled blankly at him. Fett was challenging you. He showed no signs of leaving, or of heeding your apprehension in the least bit. He just continued to stand there and stare mutely, stubbornly standing his ground. Damn it.

 He had played this strange game several times before after one of your numerous meetings, lingering after it had become clear that you were way too fucked out to stay awake any longer. He’d never forced you into a situation that you hadn’t been game for, but he always seemed to want to make sure you knew who exactly owned you - or your cunt , at least.

 So he hung around. You’d mostly hear him pacing the room, sometimes quietly rummaging through your bookshelves as if in a library, but more often than not, he would sit himself in the chair across the room, large gloved hands gripping the armrests and well-muscled legs spread mockingly wide, reclining back and holding a silent vigil over you as you fell asleep. He was always long gone when you awoke, although once there had been some sort of dried flower left behind on your nightstand, dark red petals with a metallic tint to them - quite obviously nothing that had grown on this planet. You had asked him about it the next time he had shown up, after an excruciating three month absence that he re-emerged from with several more dents in and copious chips of paint missing from his armor. He had gruffly feigned any knowledge of the gift, his focus only on the flower between your legs. The dried one, however - the little token of his appreciation or whatever you wanted to call it - stayed pressed inside one of your favorite books. 

 As a reminder.

 Boba hadn’t moved in a while, still penetrating you with his eyes through that damned visor, when you finally decided to give in to him. You wanted him. Badly. Your reproductive system was in full rebellion against the idea and you felt fucking gross, but you weren’t sure you cared any longer. You needed him, couldn’t resist him. Hadn’t you read somewhere that orgasms were supposed to help relieve menstrual cramps, anyway?

 You bit your lip and let him have his way. 

 “In that case, Boba… I think I might feel a little bit better if you fucked me.”

 The self-satisfied, smug chuckle came like a rumble of thunder.

 “Well, well… that’s my good girl. ”

 He was across the room in the time it took you to blink. 

 Boba was extraordinarily light on his feet for a big man, and he was on top of you in the span of a breath. Rough leather gloves formed a vice around the muscle and bone of your wrists, pinning your arms above your head. You let out a shriek of surprise rather than pain - while his grip was firm, it didn’t necessarily hurt - and he answered with a low growl, kneeling on either side of your hips. He used one huge hand to continue pinning both of your wrists down, the other masterfully unclipping the heavy armor of his codpiece. You let out a near-hysterical giggle as Boba tossed it to the side and it unceremoniously hit the carpeted floor with a harsh thunk , smiling even broader as he brought the same hand up to rest against your cheek, stroking the flushed skin there.

 “I told you, girl. I always get what I want, when I want it . Tonight isn’t going to be an exception just because you’re cycling and feeling sorry for yourself. If you’re not going to cooperate with me, nice and easy... too bad .”

 Gooseflesh broke out all over your body at his words. You were absolutely fucking drenched for him already, and you wished he would just hurry up and take you already, tear off your panties and fuck into you until you were screaming yourself hoarse. You still weren’t sure of where exactly the man who called himself Boba Fett had come from, or why he was here , or why he’d chosen to mark you for his territory on this shitty little backwater world. Fucking hell, you didn’t even really know this man at all, did you? All you did know is that you were addicted to his touch, and despite your initial hesitations, you were practically begging for it now. 

 Boba used his free hand to slightly peel back the blankets concealing your thin nightie and period panties. With a contented hum, he lazily reached out to trace a thick gloved finger right along the line of your slit, and you let out a high-pitched, keening whimper, your hips twitching up involuntarily towards his touch. Boba clucked his tongue disapprovingly and shook his head at you, sighing and looking up towards the ceiling.

 “How pathetic … is that really all it takes to make you fall apart for me, sweet girl?” Boba teased, releasing his grip on your wrists momentarily in order to fully pull the covers off the bed and toss them onto the floor. It only took those few seconds for you to take him unawares, weaseling out from underneath his looming form and using both hands to forcefully shove him backwards. Caught off guard by your unexpected show of strength, Boba fell on his back with a startled grunt, which was immediately followed by a groan as he watched you crawl on top of him. With shaking legs, you straddled his waist and positioned your heat right over his generous crotch, planting your sweaty palms against the reassuring coldness of his armor, and began to sloppily grind into him, dropping down to lie flat against his abdomen as you continued.

 Trying to conceal his own quiet moans underneath his helmet, Boba allowed you to frantically grind your hips against the growing hardness in his trousers for a few more moments, one large hand cupping your ass and the other on your undulating back, holding you steady as you hectically rocked back and forth, up and down. You whined pitiably and grasped at the grooves of his breastplate like a drowning woman before his tolerance towards your juvenile ministrations finally ran thin. As you went to roll your hips against the outline of his length yet again, Boba grunted bestially and grasped you by the waist, pushing you off of him roughly so that you went tumbling onto your back next to him. Your chest heaving, you looked sideways at him with heavy-lidded eyes, your cheeks burning with desire. The dark helmet slowly tilted to the side as Boba stared at you, and you heard a disgusted scoff echo from within.

 “That’s enough, you. Kriff, you’re a desperate little thing, aren’t you? Rutting in my lap like a loth-cat in heat and I’ve barely even touched you. Is that what you want, princess? Do you want me to touch you?” He purred mockingly, reaching down to lightly stroke your outer thigh with a gloved hand, briefly squeezing the soft flesh there and leaving fingermarks in his wake. You let out a throaty groan and thrust your hips towards his retreating hand, needing to feel his touch on your body, on your core.

 “I need you to touch me, Boba, plea-” He reached out and grabbed you by the face, squeezing your cheeks together hard enough for it to almost be painful, and you let out a squeak as he tightened his grip, turning your face towards his.

 “Oh no, little one. It’s not going to be that easy to get what you want from me, not after the way you carried on earlier.”  He lowered his helmet until the forehead of it was touching your own damp one, and as you stared into the blackness of his visor, you found yourself wondering what color Boba’s eyes were, and what he would do if you were to reach up and pull that big green bucket away from his face. Before you could even truly consider it, though, he loosened his grip and released your cheeks. You exhaled sharply, a rush of cool air gradually taking the place of the rough leather on your skin. 

 Boba sat back on his knees, and grabbed you under your arms, hoisting you up and pivoting your body so you were now hanging off the bed, your feet dangling several inches above the floor. He lowered you slowly, making sure your feet were flat on the ground before he let his hands leave your sides, fingers purposefully trailing and pressing into the supple, pliant flesh of your still-covered, swollen breasts as he withdrew. The sensation of his trace along the tender tissues set your nerves on fire, and your nipples hardened to an almost excruciatingly painful degree. You considered reaching out to snatch one of those gauntleted wrists and plant his hand right on your tit, willing him to knead and squeeze and flick at the oversensitive bud at its tip, but were brought back to reality by a sharp smack to your ass. 

 You yelped, grabbing at your backside and whirling around to see Boba sitting on the bed, staring at you. He had taken his gloves off, and had swatted you with them, both forming a makeshift crop in his calloused hand. He let out an amused snort at your look of shock, and patted the palm of his other hand with the fisted leather.

 “Go to the ‘fresher and clean yourself up.” You sensed by the edge to Boba’s voice that his patience was running low, and he gestured vaguely to the doorway with a jerk of his head. His rugged timbre crackled through the vocoder of the helmet, adding an even more ominous tone to his speech. He reclined on your bed, his ankles crossed nonchalantly, armored form looking massive and mind-bogglingly out of place as he lounged back against the pillows. It would have almost been a comical sight if it hadn’t been for the heady arousal you could sense in his gaze. 

 “And take that kriffing absorbent out while you’re in there. I want you nice and wet and open for me.”

 You felt your heart sink right to your cunt at his last words. Stars, you were fucking dripping for him. A wave of liquid heat that had nothing to do with your cycle had pooled between your legs, and you felt your knees buckle as visions of what intense pleasures this man might put you through tonight swam in your mind. You shambled to the bathroom on legs that seemed to be made of gelatin, breathing heavily through your nose, trying to keep calm as you wiped away the sweat that had accumulated on your body in an attempt to make yourself somewhat presentable. You splashed your face with cold water to keep yourself from falling faint at the knowledge of what was to come, glancing at yourself in the mirror briefly. Your eyes were glassy, your pupils blown wide, almost completely black in the harsh light. A fresh round of cramps erupted in a band around your groin, and you were starting to think you’d die if Boba didn’t fuck you soon. Resting one leg on the toilet seat, you shoved your panties to the side and slowly removed the offending menstrual cup that you had inserted before you’d retired for the night, hastily discarding it in the bin. You didn’t care if it had tipped over and made a mess, you’d clean it up in the morning. All you cared about right now was getting back to Boba and feeling him twitch and throb inside of you.

 He was waiting for you when you re-emerged, immediately rising to stand on the side of the bed. Beckoning you with the crook of a finger, he held out his hand to you as you practically ran towards him. As soon as the pads of your fingers had made contact with his, he spun you around to lie flat on the bed, head propped up behind the pillows, feet planted on the mattress and your legs spread so that he had a perfect view of your damp panties. Whether it was blood or arousal or a mixture of both, you weren’t sure - free-bleeding had never been your ‘thing’ and you weren’t sure if you liked the feeling - but as Boba climbed back onto the bed, openly admiring the wetness between your legs, you began to think that maybe it was something you could get used to. 

 He yanked down your underwear in one deft movement, grabbing hold of your calves one by one to remove your panties from around your legs, and tossed them to the side, where they landed in a crumple. He immediately leaned forward to spread your wet lips apart with his rough fingers, and you heard a sharp intake of breath come from underneath the helmet. It was barely audible, and you could tell that it had been involuntary from the way he had attempted to cut it off before it had even truly escaped. You flung one arm across your eyes, blushing furiously as you felt two thick fingers shallowly dip into your folds, swiping upwards briefly to gather some of the slick gathered there, then retreating just as quickly, before you could buck your hips into the welcome presence.

 “ Such a dirty girl …” He cooed darkly, and you opened your eyes cautiously just to see what exactly he was talking about. He perched above you on his knees, gazing at his own hand, the one he had just been briefly exploring your wetness with. 

 His fingers were coated in blood - your blood, your menstrual blood - and he was smearing the red between his thumb, index, and middle fingers, as if utterly fascinated by it. His helmet briefly dipped down to his fingers as he greedily inhaled your most secret scent, and the low groan he released made you throw your own head back in an echo, fire traveling from your slick cunt throughout your body. Your cry came out much louder than anticipated, and his head immediately snapped up, his hidden eyes boring into you. You embarrassedly tore your eyes away from the darkened visor and noticed the impressive bulge straining at the crotch of his flight suit, along with the telltale damp patch that could only mean his cock was already weeping precum - fuck, this was turning him on. 

 He moved forward once more, brushing your legs further apart with a swat of the backside of his other hand and, resting his palm atop your shaking knee, almost calculatingly smeared the blood from his fingers along your inner thigh, back and forth, until the digits were nearly clean. You noticed a bit of dried redness still staining his skin, and the sight made you dizzy with arousal. 

 You threw your head back against the pillows once more and whined morosely at the mark your essence had left on him, offering no resistance when Boba grabbed you by your elbows, easing you onto your feet in front of his own kneeling form. 

 “Up you get, girl. Come on.” 

 You looked down at him, slightly puzzled as to exactly what he was doing, until he sharply prodded the backs of your knees with his arm, causing you to stumble forward. He caught your fall by positioning one thick thigh to rest between your legs, and you landed with your sopping core pressed directly against the grey fabric of his flight suit. Upon realizing your situation, you clutched at his biceps and buried your face in his neck with a muffled groan, every fiber of your being going into restraining yourself from fucking against the expanse of hard muscle. Boba Fett had remembered what you liked best, and he’d weaponized it. 

 “Go on. Ride my thigh, little one. Make yourself nice and slick so you’re ready to take my cock inside of you. You’ll probably have to cum at least once before you can handle it - I'm too big for you, aren’t I? ...But that’s what you want, isn’t it? My cock in your pretty little pussy?” Boba asked sweetly, his tone oozing with sarcasm. He jiggled his leg ever so slightly, and a shockwave of pure pleasure coursed through your veins, and you couldn’t help but let out a strangled squeal. Your calves shook in a futile attempt to hold yourself still despite it, to not give in to what he expected of you.

 Boba had another idea though. He growled and clutched at your hips and began forcefully dragging you back and forth across the coarse material of his pants, causing you to emit a wail that echoed throughout the room. Boba hummed, satisfied with the effect his domination of your movements had on you, and lowered his head so that he was whispering in your ear, the sound delightfully harsh and metallic through his helmet’s vocoder.

 “What was that, precious thing? You love fucking yourself against my leg like the needy little brat that you are, I know you do… now say it . Answer me, girl.” Boba punctuated his order with a slap to your ass, aggressively driving the muscle of his thigh up into your quim.

 “Y-yes, Boba…” You weakly murmured, hiding your face against his shoulder, thighs clenching around his upper leg like a vise, your hips finally - almost involuntarily - thrusting into the meat of Boba’s thigh in time with the rhythm he jerked them back and forth with. “I… I l-love fucking m-myself on your thigh…”

 “ Very good …” Boba chuckled darkly to himself as he continued to bounce his leg up and down while guiding your hips with his firm, strong hands, reveling in the soft grunts you let out as he controlled your riding of his thigh. He began flexing his quadricep to usher your impending orgasm along, occasionally pressing the tops of your thighs down to create more friction against your clit, friction you desperately needed as you chased your first release.

 Your hips started to stutter much sooner than you had anticipated and you locked your arms around Boba’s neck in a death grip, lifting your face away from its place pressed against his breastplate to look into his eyes through the blackness of the T-shaped visor. Boba pinched the tip of your chin with his index finger and thumb, keeping your head in place so you were forced to meet his gaze as you came, his other hand planted firmly on your waist as he continued to shove your body back and forth.

 “Come on, sweet thing. Cum on my thigh for me,” Boba encouraged as your grunting turned into high-pitched whines, spaced out with every push of your hips into his leg. Wriggling yourself in small circles and grinding your clit into the rough flak of his flight suit, you tipped your head back as you were finally pushed over the edge. Your inner walls clenched around nothing, devastating waves of pleasure rolling through your cunt and up through your clit as you rode out your orgasm. Boba didn’t slow his ministrations in the least bit, continuing to pump his leg up and down, holding you tightly in place as the spasms finally began to slow down and your clit became horribly oversensitive, until he finally allowed you to push yourself away from him, falling back onto the bed, panting loudly.

 Trembling and shivering from the orgasm that had ripped cataclysmically through your body, you laid back on the bed, chest heaving violently, legs splayed and arms thrown limply above your head. You opened your watering eyes briefly to look at Boba, and they widened considerably when you saw that he was curiously running his fingers over several incredibly noticeable stains on the thigh of his flight suit.

 Incredibly noticeable dark red stains. More like streaks, actually, following the line your pussy had made rutting against his thigh as you had sought your climax on the thick canvas.

 You felt the warmth drain from your face, slightly horrified and ready to sink into the floor out of embarrassment. You’d been bleeding like a stuck pig all over his leg as he’d forced your orgasm out of you, and you hadn’t even realized it.

 “Oh, Boba … I…” You began, rising up on your elbows, trying to think of what to say to placate him so he wouldn’t reprimand you for ruining a part of the armor that he cherished more than most other things. He was staring at you, unmoving, and that’s when you noticed his hands were actually shaking . The heat immediately rushed back to your face tenfold, and your cunt grew even warmer, your own arousal coating your inner thighs anew at how much of a mess you’d made of this man, in more ways than one.

 “ Filthy girl. I’m going to fuck you hard for that.” The words came out in a feral snarl, and suddenly his hands were around your throat. You let out a gasping whoop as the air was forced from your lungs, although he wasn’t choking you hard enough to cause damage. The moderate pressure on your windpipe sent black spots to your vision, your own hands coming up to scrabble at the backs of his, more out of longing for his touch than a desire for him to stop, and Boba knew your limits by now. It ended soon enough, his iron grip relaxing almost as quickly as it had begun, and you gulped in fresh air. He ghosted the backs of his fingers over your exposed neck for a moment, wordlessly making sure that you were okay, and you pressed a chaste kiss to his knuckles as he dragged the digits over your mouth for a brief moment. Another growl left his lips as you did so, and your hammering heart flipped in your chest as you felt him still quaking from just how horny he was, how eager to finally take you.

 Boba hurriedly unbuttoned the fly of his trousers, his normally deft fingers stumbling in his aroused rush to free himself. You couldn’t imagine just how turned on he must be to completely lose his cool like this, and it dazed you to comprehend that he was like this because of you . He finally shoved aside the rough material and pulled his cock free. You’d seen him too many times to count, but that first glimpse still sent your mind reeling. He was fucking huge. A perfect eight inches, ever-so-slightly curved to the right, veiny and deliciously wide, the glans plump and dusky pink and already slick with precum. He’d gone commando under his flight suit, and you found yourself wondering if he did all the time. You hoped so - it was fucking hot .

 “Boba, wait - are you absolutely sure you want to do this? It’s… going to... make a mess…” You said weakly, grasping at his bracer with your trembling fingers and feeling as if you might faint as he lined up his considerable girth against your entrance. You felt the fat head of his cock against your lips, and it was like every nerve-ending in your body was fucking screaming at the tease.

 He paused for a moment, sitting back and studying you intently, slowly pumping his engorged member and spreading glistening precum over the velvety, blunt head with a still-bloodstained thumb. A taunting rumble emanated from under his helmet, and his length twitched in his hand. Leaning down to cup your face with one hand, the other on the root of his erection, hot and hard and throbbing against you, you could hear the smirk in Boba’s voice.

 “Oh, princess… I’m a bounty hunter. A little blood has never scared me.”

 He entered you without any further warning, one deep, agonizingly slow thrust, and it felt like you were being ripped apart from the inside in the best way. No matter how many times you’d taken him, no matter how drenched and ready you were for him, Boba Fett’s cock was massive , the biggest you’d ever had. Tears sprang to your eyes and you wrapped your arms around his neck, knees involuntarily drawing up so that you could wrap your legs around his still-clothed waist, wanting him closer and deeper despite the initial burn. He bottomed out just as he was starting to hurt beyond your threshold, just as you were considering asking him to stop, letting out a deep, low groan as his balls and the dark patch of curls surrounding them made contact with your skin. You could feel the seam of his trousers against your ass as well, the knowledge that he hadn’t even bothered to take off his pants in order to fuck you sending a thrill up your spine.

 And then he started to move.

 Boba pistoned his hips back and forth at a near-frantic pace right from the start, already grunting with the exertion, and you knew that he was trying his hardest to keep some semblance of rhythm, to not mindlessly fuck into you like a wild animal, solely focused on chasing his own orgasm. Your whole body moving with every thrust, your cloth-covered tits bouncing as he slammed into you, you looked down between your bodies and watched his thick cock slide in and out of you. Your walls squeezed and fluttered urgently as you noticed the wet sheen of your blood coating his member as he plunged deeper and deeper into you. He dragged his cock out of you until only the head was still sitting inside, then rammed back home - once, twice; you began to lose count as your mind became hazy with the pleasure.

 “Take the helmet off.” You found yourself gasping out, and Boba stopped as if he’d been frozen in time. He pulled his head back slightly to stare directly into your eyes, holding his body still above you.

 “Please,” you continued, “I want to see you, I need you to kiss me, I need to see your face, pleaseplease please, Boba-“ You chanted as if in prayer, stopping mid-sentence as you realized just how still he had become. 

 Boba gave no discernible reply, either audibly or physically, but you could still feel his surprise through your hands, the taut muscles under your touch having suddenly turned to stone. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. Panic rising in your gut, you expected him to pull himself from inside of you and push you away, to disappear into the night never to be seen again, you began to utter a quiet “I’m sorry, Bo-“ when he shushed you with a hiss, and reached down between your bodies to press his index and middle fingers to your clit, rubbing slow, lackadaisical circles over the swollen nub. He chuckled from somewhere low in his chest, both at your pleading to see his face, and your renewed mewls of ecstasy at his teasing fingers.

 “Hush, little princess. Some other time.”

 With that, he pressed his fingers into your waist and lifted you off your back with ease, scooting himself to the edge of the bed so that his legs were hanging over the side, your own positioned on either side of his waist so that you were sitting flush in his lap, your thighs pressed firmly to his, his pulsating member buried deep inside of you. Boba gave you a moment to settle in his lap and adjust to the new position, then wrapped one arm around your waist to keep you from tumbling backwards and began slamming into you with an almost murderous intensity, his other arm reaching between you and covering your pussy with his hand, using his thumb to rub frenzied circles into your engorged clit, periodically pinching and flicking. You bit back a scream and your walls clenched painfully around his cock, and buried your face in the scratchy material protecting his throat. Your head tucked underneath the lip of his helmet, you could hear Boba panting and letting out throaty little moans, the sound unaltered by his vocoder at this angle, and the rasp of his true voice made you squirm with delight, grinding back against the sharp, shallow juts up into your core.

 You felt a dampness forming on the material beneath your slack-jawed mouth as he fucked up into you; knowing that you were drooling right onto his clothing, completely cock-dumb and at the mercy of the man jackhammering into you, seemed to set off fireworks within your core. You heard a whining noise, steadily growing louder and higher-pitched as it went on, and it took a moment for you to realize that you were making that sound. Your second orgasm was building faster and faster, your own movements becoming hectic and sloppy against his rhythmic thrusting, and you persisted crying out wordlessly, rocking wildly on Boba’s lap. He continued to pound into you, growling and grunting like a beast, and that’s when you began to scream in earnest, the blunt tip of his cock finally scraping against that sweet spot deep inside your core, again and again and again. 

 Boba brought one hand up to stroke your cheek as his aggressive thrusts bounced you up and down in his lap, a soft shushing noise emanating from underneath the helmet. When that didn’t work to stifle your cries, he clamped one hand over your mouth, squeezing your face with the force of it.

 “There you go, little one. That’s it, come on… cum on my cock. Let me make you feel good…” He murmured, thrusting up into you one final time and grinding his hips in a semi-circle as he did, his glans catching against the spongy patch deep inside you again, finally setting off a volley of apocalyptic spasms throughout your cunt. You clenched painfully around Boba, your pussy fluttering, your entire body shuddering and heaving with the waves of pleasure rolling through your system. The orgasm dragged on and on as Boba continued to grind into you and you shrieked into his hand, tears rolling down your cheeks from the intensity of it. His thrusts were too overstimulating, bordering on painful, as the spasms finally began to ebb, but Boba’s movements had become increasingly erratic, his own grunts louder, and finally - with a muttered curse in a guttural language you didn’t recognize - he harshly yanked himself out of your still-spasming cunt and pressed his cock against your belly. Streaks of Boba’s cum spurted up, leaving his mark all over the front of your nightie. When he was sure his cock had been milked for all it was worth, just before he began to go soft, Boba quickly lifted your ass up with one hand and sank you back down onto him, causing you to gasp and rut against him several times in your overstimulated state. He stilled you by wrapping an arm around your waist, resting his chin atop the crown of your hair, both of you completely exhausted and unable to even consider a second round anytime soon.

 For a few minutes afterwards, you were pliant and vulnerable in his arms, your cheek pressed against the cool armor of his breastplate, shivering both with delight and the aftershocks of your climax. Boba’s own chest heaved as he attempted to catch his breath, his fingers running up and down your back, occasionally wiping the sweat and tears away from your face. You found yourself clinging desperately to his shoulder pauldrons, silently willing him not to move, to finally stay the night by your side. Neither one of you spoke, but you didn’t need to. You could have fallen asleep in his lap like this, legs dangling on both sides of his hips, his cock still inside of you, a strangely comforting sense of fullness. 

 It was too good to last, of course. With a relaxed sigh, Boba shifted, slowly lifting you off his cock. He left your opening with a wet pop , a mixture of pinkish menstrual blood and both of your arousals dribbling down the inside of your thigh as he flopped you down on the bed, stretching lazily as if he hadn’t just fucked your brains out. He stalked off to the bathroom without a word, probably to wash your blood off of himself. You closed your eyes for a moment, almost on the cusp of sleep and still sniffling from the tears your powerful orgasm had brought on, when you heard soft bootsteps returning from the other room, followed by the feeling of a damp cloth between your legs, gently cleaning your wrecked sex. You sighed softly at the unexpected sensation, and hummed contentedly when the cloth was removed and a warm hand settled itself over your lower belly, kneading the sore flesh there. 

 “Feeling better, cyar’ika?” Boba asked, and his tone made your heart ache. This affection was something fairly new, and you gave an affirmative, sleepy murmur in response. He had never called you that name before - he’d never even called you your actual name before - and you wondered what it meant, but knew you would only receive a brooding stare if you deigned to ask. You were too tired to consider it, anyway. You doubted you could stay awake for much longer.

 The hand withdrew from your tummy, and as your eyes fluttered closed, you saw Boba standing over you, looking every bit the fearsome warrior. He reached out and tapped his fingers under your chin delicately, and you heard the sound of spurs moving across the room, away from your bed.

 “ Good. ”

 He was gone in the morning, of course. 

 It had been silly to think maybe you’d open your eyes and see him sitting in the chair across the room, waiting for you to wake up.

 The only sign that someone else had been there at all was the delicious ache between your legs that always lasted for several days after one of Boba’s visits and the lingering scent of post-coital musk in the air, as well as a few bloodstains on the sheets and dried cum on your nightshirt that you hoped would come out in the wash. 

 And last night’s underwear had mysteriously vanished.

 You thought you had a vague idea of where it might’ve ended up.

[svtntntn]

part of your world (2/2)

little mermaid!au

inspo: the little mermaid, both the disney version and the classic fairytale but make it somewhat similar and different at the same time

a/n: a long overdue piece

you long for life above the surface and get your wish when you make a deal with the infamous witch of the sea

[ part one ]

——

"The First Kingdom's economy is built upon the sea it lives by. For years, the source of income and wealth here has relied on fishing and creating inventions using hydraulic power." Soonyoung drones about the history and economics of the First Kingdom but you're barely listening to him and he knows it.

You wobble on your two feet as the ground changes from bumpy, embedded stones to the familiar warmth of the grainy beach sand, your grip on Soonyoung's hand being the only anchor keeping you upright as your eyes focus strictly on placing one foot in front of the other. His other hand holds your shoes for you as your face contorts in fascination of the different textures, his eyes darting between you and the street in front of you both in order to properly guide you around town. He stays on the main street's stone and mortar road while you drift off into the sandy edges of the beach.  

The baby steps you started with have definitely improved since the day you washed to shore, your coordination becoming much more easier to manage and balance at the same time. The amazed smile on your face doesn't slip by unnoticed by Soonyoung, who watches you with a matching wide smile.

You'd be walking alongside Chan but given his role as king-to-be in less than a month's time, he was commanded to attend a strict schedule with his mother and father.

So much for fulfilling the sea witch's bargain.

You shake your head at the thought of becoming trapped by the evil witch and glance up at your surroundings, taking in the fresh air and the open stretch of land around you, reveling in the sights the water could never give you. There's a putrid scent in the air and you squint as you sniff around, noticing a man standing at the end of the nearby pier, his body bent over a large barrel off the end of the dock.

You smack Soonyoung's shoulder repeatedly and point in the mystery man's direction, your hits becoming more and more aggressive once Soonyoung snaps out of his reverie. "Huh?"

You make an 'X' with your arms defiantly and motion the man dumping but the more time you try to explain the situation, the more time is wasted. As he tries to comprehend your actions, you're already rushing over to the pier, your bare feet scratching against the worn wood of the docks.

You yank the sleeve of the man dumping waste into the water, pulling his arm back from pouring the barrel of waste into the ocean. "What the—excuse me, Miss! Let go of me!" He sets the basin down on the ground in disgruntlement.

He starts yelling at you as you try to argue back, narrowing your eyes at him as you mime through the motions of an argument with him, his voice overpowering the lack of your own. Soonyoung reels you back and quickly placates the man for a moment, a meek smile on his face.

"Excuse me, sir! Sorry, I apologize for her—she can’t.... you know?" Soonyoung makes a talking motion with his hand, before whispering to the townsperson. "She lost her voice not too long ago—it's a very fragile situation, really. Her voice before though?" He scrunches his nose fondly before shaking his head, "I actually couldn't tell you." He deadpans.

You smack his shoulder and point at the nasty waste barrel, "but sir, if you could please stop dumping your shop's waste into the oceans, that would be much appreciated. The ocean is not the place to throw such foul items away, it'd be much better if you're able to throw it away by the proper waste and recycling site. Please sir, for the good of the country! For our economy, for the creatures living below us! You wouldn't want to be feeding your family poisoned fish, would you?"

The man grumbles and carries his barrel off the docks, giving you a dirty look once he passes you. You keep your head held high and avoid him, relaxing only when the townsperson leaves you and Soonyoung alone on the pier.

"(y/n)," Soonyoung tips his head back in resolve and lets out a deep sigh, "you can’t keep going up to people and stopping them from trashing the waters." He mutters to you, kneeling down and carefully putting your shoes on for you. You two begin walking off the pier and starting for the main street into the marketplace, waving to the kind men and women manning their stalls and bow in respect to them. "Some people aren't as kind or obedient to the kingdom's rules."

You give him a mean glare as you hasten your step, making Soonyoung trip over the cobbled streets as you basically drag him by the arm, "(y/n)! (y/n), slow down! Why are you so mad? It's just not as strictly enforced as other laws, there's other issues going on in the kingdom."

You desperately want to shout at him—how the environment is crucial to our basic living, how would you like it if people just dumped waste on your bed or in your food—but you can't.

Your feet come to a complete stop as Soonyoung catches himself from falling over, unlinking your arms to cross your own across your chest. He slowly catches his breath before turning to you, "Hey, turn that frown upside down."

He tries to pull the corners of your lips into a smile but you refuse to budge, "(y/n), c’mon." You shake your head and close your eyes, the pout on your lips making Soonyoung bite his lip in disbelief. "Ok, there’s not much I can do personally considering this is not my kingdom, but I'll talk to Chan about the waste and the dumping. Maybe he can enforce stricter laws and their consequences."

Immediately, one of your eyes opens and peeks at him, scanning him up and down to call his bluff. Soonyoung gives you a smile and starts walking along the street, turning around and finding you frozen to your spot with your pinkie finger reaching out towards him. "Pinkie promises? What are we, in grade school?"

You narrow your eyes towards him and he sighs deeply, capturing your pinkie in his and falling down on one knee in front of you in grand fashion, "I, Kwon Soonyoung, promise to talk to Chan about the unforgiving, despicable acts of waste mismanagement going on in the kingdom by the sea. If I fail to do so, I am at the mercy of (y/n)'s silent, yet deadly wrath. So help me," he winks up at you and you shake your head with a smile, nodding to the agreement of his promise to you.

You ignore the way your heart races at the slightly embarrassing but genuine and grand fashion of Soonyoung's theatrics, not even caring who is staring at you two in the street.

Soonyoung pulls your interlocked fingers to his lips but you pull your finger out of his before he can kiss your hand. "Happy now?"

He stands up and brushes the gravel off his pant legs before reaching for your hand again, "Ready to circle back? Chan's probably waiting for us."

~

"5, 6, 7, 8—stop! Keep your form straight and proper, remember to engage your center, Chan. Don't puff your chest out so much, relax your shoulders. No, press them down!"

Another crack of a cane against the ground reverberates through the courtyard, distracting you from your solo adventure around the castle. You begin to peek into the courtyard of the castle's garden from a window, using the ruffled curtains to hide yourself from view.

Chan's arms are wrapped around a young woman you've noticed with him before, one of his many tutors everso ardently by his side. Another woman—this time, a much older woman sternly looks on at the two with a sour expression, her wooden cane deftly smacking the ground before she shouts at the pair—or Chan, moreso.

You watch Chan and his tutor move in sync, watch them move with such grace and control, skating all over the courtyard in one fluid, continuous motion. It was as if they were swimming, flowing through the water with such poise and elegance you've only witnessed when you were down below.

"Ah, etiquette and dance lessons.” Soonyoung's voice shocks you, causing you to jump behind the curtain and nearly knock over a porcelain vase off its pedestal. You clutch the vase close to your chest and stare at Soonyoung. "Not fun when your teacher is nearing death and smacking you with her cane every two minutes. Chan's gotten it easier considering she strikes the ground instead of him."

You raise your eyebrow and Soonyoung points to the woman past the glass pane, the same woman that's been reprimanding Chan. "That’s Miss Kwon, Chan’s dance tutor. She's more like a crazy dragon lady though."

You hear the same surname and try to draw a line between the elderly woman and him.

"No relation, I would know," Soonyoung promises, a curious smile on his face as you let go of the curtain. He mimics an old lady voice along with her mannerisms, making you shake your head. "What were you peeking here for? You've danced before right? Don't tell me you don't know how to dance…" You don't make any sort of movement or denial. "Wait, you have never danced before—how?"

You slowly shake your head, shrugging as you peep through the curtain again and stare at how the woman and Chan float around the open garden, how their moves effortlessly flow together.

Suddenly a hand is wrapped tightly around yours and you're pulled into the empty foyer of the castle, the newest pair of shoes Chan purchased for you squeaking against the floor.

"I'll teach you, don't worry. I won't yell as loud as she does." He winks, unbuttoning his jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves. You awkwardly tug at the hemline of your borrowed dress, the length concerning you as you yank it lower.

"(y/n), let me." Soonyoung brings you close to him and ties his jacket around your waist, covering you modestly before straightening his own posture and grinning at you, "ready?"

Soonyoung takes your hand in his and places your hand on his shoulder, gently wrapping his other hand around your waist. You immediately tense up being so close to him, preparing to move when he does but he freezes, waiting for you to relax. "Don't be so stiff—dancing is all about letting the music carry you, letting the song move you. Don't think about it too much."

You nod and shake out your nerves, staring down at your hand in his, already knowing your palm must be drenched in a nervous sweat before you feel a hand tip your chin up, "Don't look at your hands or your feet, just keep your eyes on me. I'll guide you."

Soonyoung slowly instructs you to move one leg back and you do as he says, taking another step back with your other foot once he shifts towards you. The multitude of simple directions guides you around the foyer, your hair swaying to and fro to the melody of the silent song Soonyoung sings.

His eyes are a deep set brown shade, full of warmth and comfort, you think to yourself, mindlessly staring into the dark orbs. Everytime you sway to the right, his face is lit by the pure rays of sunlight entering from the high windows of the foyer, his eyes sparkling with specks of orange around his pupils.

You're so focused on his eyes that you don't even register the change in Soonyoung's next set of instructions, nearly face planting on the stainless, pristine tiles. Reflexively, your hands scramble to reach out in front of you, waiting for the impact but you open your eyes and realize Soonyoung's arms are safely clasped around your waist.

"You're safe, (y/n). I got you." Soonyoung chuckles, bringing you up to your feet. "Let's try that again. This time, don't get distracted, okay?" The soft look in his eyes nearly hypnotizes you again but you nod feverishly and readjust your frame.

You avoid his eyes this time as you concentrate staring at his ear instead, your mind solely listening to his voice and the different directions carrying you all around the room. Soonyoung snickers at your intense staring contest with his ear, giving you one last instruction before pausing in the center of the room. "This last move is simple, I'm gonna lift you up into the air. All you just need to spread your arms wide, got it?"

He slowly moves his hands down and you tense up, immediately smacking his hands off of your waist, "I'm not going to try anything, (y/n)! What, are you ticklish?"

You give a warning glare as Soonyoung keeps eye contact with you, "I got you, I got you. These hands aren't going anywhere else. I’m not gonna let you fall, I promise."

You purse your lips and hold out your pinkie to him, smirking when he rolls his eyes and winds his own pinkie tightly around yours, "Have you no faith in me, (y/n)?"

Before you know it, you're floating in mid-air as Soonyoung's strength suspends you up above his head. He tells you to spread your arms wide in the air like a bird and you can't help but laugh at the mere thought of acting like so.

You are—yet, were as opposite as a bird as you could be.

As you're suspended in mid-air, you can't help but think that it feels like one of those moments you dreamed when you were younger, the ones that your friends gushed in between lessons when they talked about the stolen moments with their crushes—the moments where their breath was taken aback and their heart stopped and felt like it was going to explode all at the same time.

Soonyoung sets you down on your feet and his hands linger around your waist, his eyes stuck on the amazed smile on your lips, "That wasn't so bad was it?"

——

The bell tolls loudly in the background as a gavel hits the base of its platform, the beat echoing into all corners of the grand chamber as the chatter and cacophony dies down. "Everyone, everyone—thank you for your input and I truly do appreciate your feedback in appearing here today. But I'm afraid because there is no unanimous decision, we will have to reconvene in a day's time. Please stay safe and recharge and refuel before you leave the premises."

Chan keeps a poised and regal demeanor even as the older political heads grimace and sneer silently at him, painting a faux smile on his face as they filter out the room. He can already imagine the curses and insults they're chanting in their heads as they leave, wanting nothing more than to retaliate back at them.

Several figureheads on his side shake his hand and promise their allegiance to him and his future agenda before they leave the room, giving Chan assurance as well as room to breathe and relax—just slightly.

The minute the last of the politicians leave the room, Chan collapses and sits back in his chair, slouching and stretching his limbs. At the sound of the chamber doors opening and closing, Chan peeks one eye open before shutting his eye closed again, "Jeonghan, I'm not in the mood to talk right now."

"I'm not talking politics with you, I'm already drained from that three-hour session." Jeonghan groans as the young king-to-be lazily yawns, mumbling incoherent words under his breath. "So who is that girl hanging around you and Soonyoung?"

Chan turns his head in an awful attempt to avoid the royal but Jeonghan nudges him in the leg, "I asked around and people are saying you found her on the beach? In the ocean?"

"You come all the way from your kingdom to ask me about (y/n)?"

Jeonghan isn't even surprised with the slip-up of the mystery girl's name, smirking instead. "(y/n), (y/n)... that's a nice name. Very uncommon around these parts."

Chan opens one eye when the door to the conference chamber is pulled open but relaxes when he notices Soonyoung's figure race to Jeonghan. "Jeonghan! I'm surprised to see you here, all the way from the Fifth Kingdom. When did you arrive here?"

"When the soon-to-be-crowned king calls for a very important meeting with all the royal figureheads in the surrounding area, you simply have to answer at his every beck and call." Jeonghan teases.

"Was Seokmin here?" Soonyoung murmurs quietly whilst distractedly glancing out the window towards the ocean. He spots on you walking along the shoreline, splashing the water with your feet and dipping your fingers into the crystal clear water.

There's a small smile on his lips that only Jeonghan notices, to which he slyly takes a peek out the window as well.

"Seokmin wasn't, actually—he mentioned something coordinating his kingdom's festivals or something of the like." Chan sits up and runs a hand over his face, "you worried about him? Worried he’s doing a terrible job?"

"The Third Kingdom's three-day sun festival started yesterday." Soonyoung notes fondly, ignoring Chan's questions. He pauses and glances off into the distance. "You should send some flowers over, that’s what your father did last year."

"I will." Chan affirms before checking his agenda and glancing at the time. "I have five more minutes before I have to head down for another meeting, so please let me be." He closes his eyes in an attempt to rest before another storm of politicians and advisors hound his ear till lunchtime, but his royal guest and best friend continue their ramblings.

"People have been gossiping around town and in the castle about her, that she must be one of those ocean lovers or something. Like those people, 'one with the sea.'" Jeonghan raises his hands to quote the rumors and shrugs, "but I heard that she's the reason that there is a new bill on anti-dumping laws in the ocean? About how there's going to be a new task division focused on cleaning the toxic waste from the sea? Is that true as well?"

Chan stirs in his chair, but Soonyoung cuts in with a look towards Jeonghan. "The toxic waste is something that's been on the kingdom's list of reforms for ages. And people shouldn't be gossiping about her, end of story. She's just another person like you and me, a person shipwrecked from her home and trying to find her way back."

"Back to the sea, exactly what everyone's saying! Don't you think it's suspicious that she always focused on the ocean? Walking on the beach, cleaning the waters, protecting it? What if… what if she's a siren? A mermaid of some sort!" Jeonghan devises, tapping his chin with his finger. "Remember those myths your mother used to tell us, Soonyoung? When she used to read to you and Seokmin and I? What if—"

"What if what? She’s going to lure us to our deaths? Kill us as we sleep?" Soonyoung scoffs, "Han, those were fantasies, those were children's stories. They’re not real. (y/n) doesn’t have a tail, she doesn’t have a voice to kill us with, she doesn’t even need her voice to seduce you or me or anybody—she could probably do it on looks alone! She's definitely not a siren, she can't be a siren."

Soonyoung freezes when he realizes what exactly he just said, his eyes stuck on Chan as he waits for some sort of teasing or reprimand from him and Jeonghan.

But to his surprise, Chan's eyes open and merely check the time before excusing himself to another meeting and Jeonghan raises his hands in surrender. He looks out the window one more time and notices you sitting in the water, serenely still as your legs point straight in the direction towards the sun, your dress damply clinging to your skin.

The long fabric flounders out past your feet while the rest cling to your legs and upwards, giving Soonyoung an illusion of you as those childhood creatures, those fantasies he forgot about long ago.

You couldn't be, there was just no way.

It's only when you stand up and start to walk back to the palace on your human legs does he shake himself out of the thought.

——

You wave to the drifting boat as you stand on the wooden pier with Soonyoung by your side, watching Chan sail off onboard a ship to a neighboring island just around the corner. Another one of his kingly duties in maintaining international connections and treaties meant he was going to be away from you.

Meaning another week with Soonyoung by your side.

Not that you could complain about him anymore, nor did you want to—he was by your side more often than Chan and that was something you had to be careful about.

The stipulations of the sea witch's agreement said you were to marry a prince of a royal degree, which was something Soonyoung definitely did not retain.

Unless there was something he wasn't telling you.

But how could he be a prince if he spent literally every waking moment with you—where were his royal duties, his army of diligent assistants and servants by his sides? His booked schedule with chamber meetings with far-off royals and politicians and figureheads of different kingdoms? 

Where?

You shake your head as you direct your questioning gaze towards the ship and back to Soonyoung, silently asking him why he wasn't accompanying his best friend on the ship.

Soonyoung seems to read your mind and shrugs, "I don't like ships. What? I can't not like something?"

You mimic his same actions and shrug your shoulders with your lips pursed, remembering back to the time you saved him and Chan when the ship underwent the dangerous storm. He didn't look like the type to refuse adventure or to have motion sickness onboard a large boat—he was there, ruffling Chan's hair and watching the sailors in merriment with his broad, toothy smile.

The same smile you saw when he danced with you in the main castle's lobby.

The same kind of smile you wanted to see at the end of the day, the kind that made you feel at home.

You're too caught up in your thoughts that you nearly miss Soonyoung's retreating figure already nearing the main street of the kingdom, bowing to passing elderly men and women and helping them carry their baskets to their open stalls.

You rush to catch up to him and take one of the handles of the large basket from him, splitting the weight between you too as the elderly woman talks about the newest products within the marketplace and all the gossip between the stall owners.

Soonyoung continues to help the townspeople setting up their stalls and opening their shops to which they pinch his cheeks affectionately and offer him their special of the day, "I-it's alright! I'm happy to help, really it's alright."

You manage to help pull him away from the kind vendor with a thumb pointing back towards the market and a smile on your lips, tugging on his arm and looping it through yours as you both wander around.

With your arm through his, him leaning close to you to explain the different products and shops within the small neighborhood, and the blushing smiles on both your lips just as people push you two closer together when passing by, anyone could think you and Soonyoung could be a young, newlywed couple.

As you two wander through town, you and Soonyoung end up back by the main road near the ocean's shores and stop to notice children skipping rocks down the water. The grey pebbles hop along the water before sinking further down in the ocean, the young kids cheering before another competes against the previous.

You and Soonyoung walk further down the street before Soonyoung goes closer to the bank and picks up a stone in his hand. "Skipping rocks is a skill."

Your attention is captured as Soonyoung fondly shakes his head with a grin.

"My mother taught me and my brother how to skip rocks, and how to get the most skips out of a single pebble." He tosses the smooth stone in his hand before sending it down the water with four, nearly five skips in its wake. "Anything you throw must be thrown with intention, focus, and power. This advice can be applied to any object, but for the sake of everyone’s health and well-being, let’s keep it to rocks on the water."

"If you intend for it to skip decently far, you have to focus on the rock skipping that far and then you wind your arm back, turn your body forty-five degrees and..." Soonyoung reenacts his own words and again, the stone skips five ripples down the path. "Your turn."

You try once and the rock breaks the surface and sinks in its one spot, the small ripple echoing out from the landmark till it fades out. You pout before grabbing a bigger rock this time, rotating it with a single hand as you focus on your well-intended target.

"Hey hey hey, it's alright. Take it slow, you’re winding your arm wrong, think of the pathways that your rock will take from location A, your hand, to location B, the water." He comes behind you and wraps his arms around your own, his body molding to your tense frame.

You can't help but think back to your dance lesson with him, his hands wrapped around yours, guiding you around the room, and just his entire being being far too close to yours. You steady your breath and relax slightly as your heart beat skips faster and faster.

Soonyoung helps you skip the second pebble in your hands and he grins, "See! Three skips, not that bad. It takes more practice... Seokmin and I—after so many days, we could get rocks to skip across this entire pond and reach the other side! We'd just stand at opposite ends and skip rocks back and forth." As you turn your head to listen better, your cheek presses against his and he then realizes how close he is to you and quickly separates himself, "ah, sorry."

His hand is still on your wrist when he pulls away and once he realizes, he sheepishly lets go, mumbling another apology. You don't respond as you stare out into the distance, your body carrying you closer to where the cerulean waves meet the sand, your toes feeling every grain of sand beneath your feet. The refreshing waves feed into your soul, the chill of the water heightening your senses and you just wish you could open your mouth and sing.

But given the current situation, you simply lower yourself and sit right where the water washes on the sand, bending your knees and resting your head on them. Soonyoung apprehensively sits down next to you, removing his shoes and pushing them aside, "so… any reason you love the water?"

You look at him blankly. "I-I mean… you're always here: by the shoreline, by the water's edge, and you always turn up here on the shore. Don't you hate the one thing that separated you from your family?"

That was my own choice, you think. You press your lips together and shake your head, wrapping your arms around your legs tightly and staring up at Soonyoung in question.

He picks at a water-logged branch on the sand, picking at the thin, fraying stalks, "I don't hate the sea exactly, I just… My mother—she was on a ship visiting her own mother, my grandmother but... the ship never made it there." He gulps and blinks away his watery eyes. "It was too dangerous to try and send out another search party after a couple days, so they just gave up."

"I only go across the waters if I absolutely have to… and Chan tries to distract me when I'm on there but even the last time I was on a ship, it didn't end so well." Soonyoung mumbles, his eyes avoiding yours. "After that, I just… keep my distance."

You nod your head and place a hand over Soonyoung's, a sad smile on your lips as he blinks away the glassy stare in his eyes. He flushes and gives you a grateful nod, "my family's been doing well for themselves since it happened… I mean, my brother—technically stepbrother, but we're very close—he's doing well. We mourned together but I wanted to leave town and he let me go. I chose to come here to hide from the memories, the pain, the everything and yet, I'm just one step closer to the thing that took my mother away."

Tears leak from the corner of his eyes and he lets out a slight groan when you rub his shoulder reassuringly. "Sorry, I didn't mean… to overwhelm you with too much." You ardently shake your head and instead wrap your arms around him comfortingly, motioning your hands in small circles on his back.

You lay your head on his shoulder as he takes deep breaths, calming himself and laying his head on top of yours. The waves lap back and forth against the sand in a delicate lullaby, the hum of the waves crashing into each other serenading you to sleep.

Moments pass and you're just so comfortable where you are with him by the water, you're thisclose to falling asleep on Soonyoung's shoulder right before he taps you gently, waking you up with a soft smile.

You stand up slowly and blink away the tired haze from your eyes, not even realizing Soonyoung's wrapped his jacket around your shoulders till you curl into the warmth of the sweater to hide from the chilling winds.

"(y/n), let's go back home." He carefully tangles his hand in yours, tugging you back towards land, back towards the roads leading back to the castle.

You trail behind Soonyoung's dancing figure sleepily, watching him joyfully bend and glide to a song that only he knows. His rambunctious amount of energy keeps you focused on the walk ahead as the night grows longer. The street lamps drown his body in a hollow, yellow light, illuminating his moving silhouette with every turn and hit he commits to.

"(y/n), join me!" Initially, you shake your head while clinging to Soonyoung's jacket but he stops in place, refusing to budge with a persuasive smile as he holds your hands in his.

You slip your arms into the sleeves of the jacket with a bite of your lip and try to replicate the same amount of grace and fluidity he has in your moves, basking in the glow of the streetlights and reaching above you towards the moon. You jump carelessly along the street's path and without a single care in the world—until you land your foot in an awkward position against the road.

You crumple to the ground and there's an aching pain in your ankle, a shot of lightning echoing in the ball of your joint. You cry out, but there's nothing but a strangled groan from your lips that catches Soonyoung's attention.

He quickly rushes over to you and frantically dotes over your foot. "Are you okay? Is it your ankle? Did you just land weird? Can you move it?"

You whimper slightly as you lift your foot and roll it around in a slow circle, the pain still resonating beneath your skin but not feeling it hurt too, too much.

"You might have just landed on it weird, so it might just ache for a bit." He rests your ankle down and plops himself on the road with you, folding his legs underneath himself. "We can just stay here till you're ready."

You try to fight him and prove to him you're alright to walk but putting weight on it hurts even more, causing you to collide back down and into Soonyoung's lap. The sudden weight into his lap surprises him, but his arms reflexively wrap around you.

"(y/n)..." He clears his throat and your warmth in his arms puts him at ease for some reason, confusing him all the while his heart races as you're frozen in his embrace. Soonyoung gulps and he can't help but flicker his eyes down to your lips and back up.

Soonyoung can feel himself gravitating towards you, his head tilting ever so slightly and his eyes slowly drooping closed. You pause before closing the distance, your lips brushing against his tenderly as your hand presses against his chest softly.

The sensation grows a field of butterflies in your stomach, your heartbeat racing as Soonyoung cradles your cheek in one hand, his lips gently fighting against yours in tandem.

"W-we… I can’t do this." Soonyoung stammers while he abruptly stands on his feet. "I’m sorry." You nod remorsefully as he helps you up to your feet, adjusting his jacket on your shoulders before sending you a tight smile. Soonyoung offers his arm to you and you loop your arm through his, staring at the road ahead with your head cast down.

"(y/n)! Soonyoung!" Chan lights up when he sees you both enter the castle doors, "I was about to send out a search party for you both!" The tension between you two is present as Soonyoung wordlessly moves past Chan and up the stairs. "Everything okay?"

You nod and motion to going upstairs to your chambers for the night, rubbing at your head and eyes wearily to escape the questioning—not that you can answer much.

Once you crash into the warm embrace of the cushy blankets and pillows adorning your bed, you want nothing more than to fall asleep just as you are, hugging the jacket around your shoulder closer to you and falling asleep with a smile.

——

The internal battle in your head rages on as you're dressed to the nines in a glowing blue gown, your hair pinned up and decorated with shining diamonds and dainty pearls. Your reflection reminds you of who you were a month ago, as the body of the navy dress clings to your figure and flares out at the ends of the fabric, mimicking the tail of who you once were.

Chan's grand coronation ball granting him the throne meant it was the last day of the month, the last night to relish the two legs you were bewitched with, the last time you'd be able to stand on land.

There was no way you'd be able to fulfill the conditions of your contract, to marry Chan and become his queen? Not when you were in love with someone else. It'd be wrong. It'd be downright unfair and cruel.

If tonight was to be your last night on land, you'd spend it cheerfully, you'd spend it as if you were coming back the next day.

You wipe a single tear trailing down your cheek and turn to the room you called your own over the past month, everything neatly in place and just as the moment you entered it. Your satchel rests on the covers of the bed, the flap pushed back and exposing your treasured items brought from home. You rummage through and find the necklace you unearthed forever ago, the star pendant still as brilliant as you found it under the water, if anything it was shining brighter than ever.

You clasp the necklace around your neck and rub the star thoughtfully with your thumb, a sigh escaping your lips as you notice the picture peeking out of your satchel.

The family in the photo beams up at you and you're instantly reminded of the day you found it under the waters, smothering the photo into your satchel just as Seungkwan went on reprimanding you. You stare at the two boys in the picture, both proudly smiling with shaggy dark hair and their mother grinning proudly with her arms around their shoulders.

You hope you'd do the woman justice in wearing her necklace, in keeping it safe around your own neck rather than having it lost in the sea forever.

A thud knocks on your door and you see Soonyoung on the other side when you crack the door ever so slightly. He clears his throat, "(y/n), would you do me the pleasure of accompanying me down the staircase?"

Through the ajar door, you notice Soonyoung dressed up with tons of medals and pins adorning his chest, one of which is a gold plated crest of a shield right over his heart. The crest reminded you of the one you had seen all over the flags inside the castle, except that was Chan's family's royal crest that had been passed down from generation to generation, signifying their noble heritage.

This one on Soonyoung’s chest looked completely different from Chan’s but yet very similar.

"(y/n)? Are you ready?" Soonyoung waves his hand in front of your face with a small smile, laughing at your blatant staring. "What? You've never seen me all dressed up? Are you implying I look like a slob when not like this?"

You yank the door open and lightly hit his shoulder, taking offense to the words he's putting in your mouth. "I'm kidding!"

Soonyoung stares at you in amazement as you shut your door, a smile on his lips, once he quickly bows and offers his arm to you, "May please I escort you down?"

You curtsy in your gown as best you can and loop your arm through his own, matching his pace before you two stop at the top of the staircase, an announcer waiting by with a microphone in hand.

Just the sight of the hundreds of people standing about in the ballroom with their eyes on you makes you feel right at home—or right back in your home. The amount of times you’ve been required to attend your kingdom's royal balls or sit in the royal booth with your father during simple processions and proceedings has conditioned you to straighten your spine, square your shoulders and smile abashly at the string of politicians and powerful figures in attendance.

But the unfamiliar eyes of all the land people, of royalty above the surface has you quivering.

"And now presenting Pri—"

You block out the announcer's voice just as Soonyoung nudges his elbow and turns his head towards you slightly, his voice whispering in your ear, "These steps are steeper than normal when you have hundreds of people watching—take your time. You got me."

Just a single look at him loosens all the tension in your body and you can't help but feel unafraid with him by your side.

"—escorting Lady (y/n)!" You present your best smile at the sound of your name and Soonyoung nods to you to start walking down slowly, going at your pace and maintaining a strong anchor for you to rest on.

He switches hands with you to rest his arm slightly above your waist, his fingers hovering right at your hip but not touching you at all as you both make it to the floor and bow to the royal public and wait along the side.

All the bodies surrounding you seem to be of royalty from all over the country, men and women dressed up in their best clothes and glistening crowns and medals adorning their sashes. They all hold themselves rather highly, some smiling out of courtesy and relaxing their faces once you make eye contact and some holding stern looks of regality and nodding in acknowledgement.

There's a thunderous round of applause when the crown prince to the throne is announced and Chan makes his way down the golden staircase with the woman you remember from his dance lessons on his arm, an adoring smile on his face and his shoulders proudly square.

The woman is elegantly dressed in a matching gold and white dress that captures her as a beautiful queen-to-be, a radiant, mature aura that plays off Chan's charms.

You turn to Soonyoung while connecting your eyes to Chan and the future queen, to which he whispers, "Chan's tutor's the second daughter from another kingdom, a lesser known kingdom, but a kingdom nonetheless. Since she's always been by his side, they've been fond of one another and Chan needed a queen, so there you have it. Proposed last night in the drawing room."

For some reason, the news isn't that all heartbreaking to you. If anything, you feel… elated for Chan, happy for him and his new queen.

Chan’s suit looks tailored perfectly to his figure, golden pins and medals strapped to his chest next to his family crest plated right over his heart. He welcomes you with open arms before bowing to you, "(y/n)! You look... magnificent."

You blush under his gaze and Chan quickly greets Soonyoung before being swept away by the masses of royal men and women wanting his attention for a talk or a dance. Just as the royal coronation starts and the music begins to fill the hall, a man steps in front of you with a bold smirk.

"Excuse me, Lady (y/n)." The strange man bows before you and takes your hand in his, kissing the back of your knuckles daintily. "I am Prince Mingyu of the Second Kingdom, would you be so kind as to honor me in a dance?"

You look at Soonyoung and he nods, staring into your eyes reassuringly. "It’s your choice." He leans in closer to your ear, "Mingyu’s a good man, I trust him. Just be careful because he’s rather clumsy sometimes."

You snicker before calming your laugh, taking Mingyu's hand and swiftly moving to the center of the room, joining other couples in the song and dance of the night.

You manage to get through the dance with nods and smiles answering Mingyu’s abundance of questions for you, most of which he answers himself talking in circles. You know your eyes are not focused on the man dancing with you at all, moreso trying to find the one man you wished to be dancing with, the man who taught you how to dance and skip rocks, the man who managed to take your breath away in a matter of weeks.

The song ends thankfully and you bow to Mingyu for the dance, him regally floating off to find another partner and you making a straight line to collect yourself a glass of water by the tables.

As you linger on the outskirts of the ball, you overhear the politicians and figureheads speak and laugh freely, sipping on their flutes of champagne as they gossip about the newest, ongoings of the world and who's courting who behind closed doors.

Their etiquette and speech reminds you of royals back in your kingdom under the surface, all the merpeople with their high-ranking titles and grand personalities. You've had to sit in on countless dinners and balls and ceremonies recounting every small detail about the northern kingdom and their lack of sustenance growing in their fields, the southeastern kingdom's gossip about their prince flirting with all the royal princesses in the east, and most of all, your own kingdom's issues about all the toxic waste and malicious dumping from the surface in your territory.

At least with Chan passing the newest set of anti-dumping laws on his land, your kingdom can rest peacefully without inhaling toxins polluting the waters or finding waste settled outside their homes.

And in at least two hours, you'll have to leave the surface and become a prisoner to the sea witch for all eternity to come.

"(y/n)? Are you okay?" Soonyoung clears his throat and you nearly choke on your water as he appears before you. You nod and he warmly offers you his hand with a grand flourish of his arm, "(y/n), may I have this dance?"

With your hand in his, Soonyoung leads you straight into the middle of the dancefloor and formally bows before you, stepping up to you proudly and wrapping one hand around your waist and the other in your hand.

Once you take Soonyoung's hand and place your other on his shoulder, you're well aware of all the eyes on you, all the whispering and confused glances thrown in your direction. "Hey hey hey, eyes up here. If you're gonna step on my feet, at least look at me."

You immediately look to Soonyoung with a shake of your head and he smirks, "Then prove it to me. Time to show off those dancing skills of yours."

Soonyoung carries you around the room and leads the way, a proud smile on his face as you keep up with the rhythm of the music, the enchanting melody playing in both your ears. He squeezes your hand in his and you can see a slight blush on his cheeks when he makes eye contact with you, the tips of his ears a flying red color.

He leans in closer as you spiral into him, your back pressed against his chest and his hand holding yours tightly, "(y/n), you're beautiful."

Your heart flutters as he spins you around once more and gently releases your hand from his, bowing to you once again as the music dies down and there's a round of applause for the musicians coming from all around.

Soonyoung claps in unison but his eyes never leave you, a fond look of amazement and wonder before you as your heart skips a beat again. You can't help but want to melt into him and forget about what's to become of you, but you can't.

His smile contorts into a look of confusion as you stand there silently before you shake your head and wrap your arms around him tightly, pouring all you can into this single hug, this final encounter with Soonyoung.

A tear trails down your face as you pull away from him, a smile blooming on your face. Soonyoung immediately wipes them away and holds your face in his hands, "(y/n), what’s wrong? Is everything alright? Why are you crying?"

You notice the clock ticking away behind him as an announcer commands the attention of the entire ballroom, averting your eyes to him and his announcement of the crowning ceremony commencing in several minutes.

Your feet carry you out of the center of the ballroom and towards the outskirts of the room, ignoring Soonyoung's calls for your name, looking extremely concerned for you as a man walks up to you two. "Sir, Prince Chan is requesting your presence across the room. The crowning ceremony is going to begin soon."

"I'll be there in a moment." His eyes never leave yours even as he dismisses the man, his hands holding yours. "(y/n), what's wrong?"

You shake your head and his expression doesn’t change, still asking you softly what’s wrong. The staff from before returns and reminds Soonyoung sternly of the time before he pulls you further aside.

"Stay here?" Soonyoung squeezes your hand, but you shake your head apologetically. "Please? I'll find you right after the ceremony, promise. I have something to ask of you."

You try to shake your head no but Soonyoung’s eyes plead with you to stay. "Promise me, (y/n)?" He holds out his pinkie to you and you let out a smile despite the tears leaking out. You decide to carefully wrap your finger around his and just as the staff pulls his shoulder once more, Soonyoung nodding as he backs away compliantly, "I'll find you."

Soonyoung disappears into the crowd and the world feels so much colder, so much smaller once your hand falls to your side. The bells toll once again and you can't escape the ticking clock reminding you of how much less and less time you have left.

You begin to make your way towards the main exit of the ballroom, the ends of your gown gathered in your hands tightly before you hear your name called out behind you. You search around for the voice but it’s not at all familiar to you as someone races up to you and formally bows.

"Yes! Lady (y/n), correct? I apologize for the commotion but I wanted to have a moment of your time before you left, it’s a pleasure to meet you," a man chastely presses a kiss to the back of your hand before standing up straight once more. "I heard you’re a woman of few words and yet you’ve managed to steal away my brother’s heart. And that’s saying a lot considering he says a mouthful."

You tilt your head in confusion at the brown haired man, his face unfamiliar to you. His formalwear is almost identical to the ones you've seen all night, save for the crest over his heart that looks almost exactly like Soonyoung's. "Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Lee Seokmin, I'm Soonyoung's brother—technically stepbrother, but we're very close."

Seokmin endearingly rambles as you tensely chuckle, your eyes distracted staring across the room at the clock nearing the last fifteen minutes of the night. He clears his throat to gather your attention and your eyes snap to his.

There's something about his eyes that seem very familiar, but yet you can't recall him at all.

"Pardon me, but where did you get that necklace?" Seokmin's eyes are glued to the pendant around your neck. "That star, it looks… beautiful."

Your hand goes to the necklace and you press your lips into a small smile, vaguely noticing the glazed look in his eyes as you take a defensive step back when he reaches for the pendant.

"Seokmin, what are you doing?" Soonyoung cuts in front of you defensively, pulling you behind him in concern. The clock's hands shift once more as you look in confusion between the two men.

"Sorry, I-I thought…" Seokmin pulls Soonyoung away from you and whispers to him, "her necklace, it looks exactly like Mom's necklace! Did you even see it? I'm sure that's her necklace, but I haven't seen it since the day she left. It should be sitting at the bottom of the ocean."

"It should be, shouldn't it…" Soonyoung mumbles decisively, he turns to you but you've already disappeared. "Where did (y/n) go?" Soonyoung scans the room and hurriedly rushes out to the steps of the palace, looking left and right for you. Seokmin follows him and stands on the steps, staring at Soonyoung's panicked state. "What did you say to her?"

"Nothing!" Seokmin raises his hands innocently. "All I said was that her necklace looked familiar, that it's beautiful! I didn't say anything else to her… she looked out of it for some reason, is something wrong? Where do you think she's gone?"

Soonyoung has a stroke of realization as he rushes down the stairs of the palace, ignoring his brother calling his name as well as Chan's staff shouting for him. He nearly rounds the corner before running into a security detail posted outside the castle's doors, about to run off into the street but pausing when he notices a weapon on his belt.

"Can I borrow this?"

——

You slowly make your way down the sandy banks of the ocean, the creme-colored moonlight lighting the way as the sand filters through and around your feet. The water that flows around your feet is shockingly cold, but the chills send a sense of familiarity through your spine.

Off in the distance, you notice a cluster of water take form and there she is, the sea witch to whom you bound your soul to. She gives you a resounding welcome, "Why there she is! The future queen uniting both the land and sea at once—cheers to a bright future! Oh, wait," she despicably pauses. "Something isn’t right here, is it? Tell me what happened, princess." She asks in faux innocence.

You grit your teeth and keep your head low, staring at your toes curling around the wet, sticky sand and watching the water wash over them. Above you, there's a blanket of rain descending from the sky, a light mist turning into heavy raindrops. "Silly me! How can you tell me if you don’t even have a voice, here—open up." A whip of water wraps around you and your head is tilted back, your vision filled with the sea witch pouring the essence of a golden tube into your mouth.

Your throat immediately feels dry and raspy as you gasp for air, the whip of water releasing you and your knees buckling under you in shock. You begin to cough and you hear the audible sound of your voice coming through once you pop your ears.

"(y/n)! (y/n)!"

You hear a disruption in the cacophony of the waves around you, turning your head to see Soonyoung rush into the water, his decorated jacket abandoned on the sand as the waves angrily slosh around his hurried footsteps. His white shirt is already soaked from the downpour of rain and the water crashing back and forth from the shore.

"Please, just one moment! One moment and you can take her." Soonyoung pleads, tears in his eyes as he desperately reaches for you, his hands practically clawing his way through the water. "Please! If she’s already doomed to be yours, let her have a chance to say goodbye to me! Please, I beg of you! Just one minute with (y/n)."

The sea witch scans Soonyoung and you swear there's nothing good in the brief twinkle in her eye but you're dropped from her grasp and into water. "Fine, peasant boy. One minute and that’s it." She sneers, "Say your goodbyes."

As you resurface from the water, there's a heavy feeling beneath you and there's a flick of your tail breaking the surface and keeping you afloat. You swim your way back up the shoreline, your tail a shimmering cobalt shade in the dim moonlight. You're immediately wrapped into Soonyoung's arms as he stands solidly in the shallow water, attempting to pour your warmth into his shivering body. "Soonyoung—what are you doing? You shouldn’t be here. You should be back at the castle."

His eyes light up the very second your voice trickles out of your throat, the saccharine melody familiar to him. "It's you. It's always been you."

Although your voice sets him at ease, he can still feel his heart race urgently, his time with you ticking. "I knew something was wrong earlier, everything tonight felt like you were saying goodbye but I can’t let you go. Not when I just found you."

"It’s been you all along, you saved me then and you’ve saved me now, (y/n). I-I love you, I know it’s too much too fast, but I can’t deny how I feel about you. Every touch, every look, everything spoke a thousand words and you didn’t need to say a single one," he confesses. "You can’t leave—not now. I don’t know what kind of deal you have with her but I don’t care."

He carefully shifts away a damp lock of your hair matted against your skin, staring into your eyes tenderly, as if a single blink and you’d disappear right in front of him.

"Marry me." Your eyes widen in shock as he breathes out his proposal to you, "I-I don’t care if you’re a human or a mermaid or a squid or a fish," you tearily laugh at him as he stares at you in amazement, "I want you, voice or no voice, legs or tail, I don't care—I want all of you if you’d have all of me. Marry me, (y/n). In sickness or in health, hell—even if you disappear right now, I'll forever cherish the moment you've said 'yes' to me."

"But—" You shake your head in disbelief and Soonyoung wraps his hand in yours, his eyes locked solely on you. The tears welling up in his sharp eyes meld with the raindrops falling all around you both and just staring into his eyes, your breath is taken away. "Yes Soonyoung—for rich or for poor."

"For underwater or on shore, I’ll forever be yours." He finishes his vow by holding up his pinkie finger to you, making you gasp in delight once you connect your finger with his.

Your lips touch his and suddenly all your worries melt away, all your tears feel the same as the raindrops striking your face and you’re suddenly stuck in a world where it’s just you and him—the man you completely and whole-heartedly fell in love with.

There’s an agonizing pain that pulls your attention away from Soonyoung and you feel it down in your tail, the same excruciating feeling of your tail splitting into two. You dare to look down and there’s the water rising and falling on the skin of your bare legs, the sea foam prickling your newfound limbs with their sudsy bubbles, the icy droplets of rain pounding against your skin.

You don’t even have a moment to rejoice when a voice tears you apart, "W-what? How did you—" The sea witch plunges toward you and disdainfully picks you up by the shoulders with the creation of two large waves. "H-he is not the crown prince of this kingdom! You betrayed me, Princess!"

Soonyoung stands above the water and madly screams, "I am a prince! I am Prince Kwon Soonyoung of the Third Kingdom, successor to my late mother’s throne! I am and always have been!"

"How dare you!" The suction of the witch's tentacle rapidly wraps around your ankle and drags you back into the water, your hands fervently reaching out to Soonyoung.

Soonyoung rises from the water and lunges himself towards the sea witch, a dagger aimed toward her before a tentacle takes a hold of him by the waist.

"You really believe that small dagger is supposed to hurt me? You fool!" The sea witch snarls as the knife drops into the water, washed away into the waves.

"Maybe in exchange for your legs, dear Princess—I’ll take your dearly beloved. I’ll take him on a tour of your home! Yes! The King would surely want to see what kind of man you’ve chosen to marry! A land dweller! The ugliest of men—no, a monster among men!"

"They’re not monsters—they never were! The only monster here is you!"

Soonyoung points at the hilt of the small blade being carried closer to the shoreline, "(y/n)! The dagger!"

You quickly push yourself up to your feet and run towards the blade, your legs feeling rigid and sore from your recent transformation. There’s a cold, slimy limb wrapped around your ankle and you fall to the ground, seeing one of the sea witch’s tentacles tethering itself to your leg and pulling you away from the sand, away from the base of the dagger. "Princess! You made a deal! Don’t you know if you break the rules, there are consequences?"

You turn and see Soonyoung wrapped in her clutches, his body bound by the sea witch’s limbs and yet, he still is trying to kick and claw his way out to get to you. Your heart crumples as he struggles against the powerful waves and you can't bear to even think of him captive under the sea witch's rule, yanked down to the waters you resided.

"Y-you’re right. There are consequences to broken rules." You breathe out, steadying yourself against the heavy descent of rain falling all about you. "I’ll go with you if you let Soonyoung go. I'll honor my contract to you."

Soonyoung calls out your name and violently thrashes about, the frigid rain blending his tears into watery raindrops. "It’s okay, Soonyoung." You approach him as he's lowered in front of you and you reach out to touch his cheek, "it's okay. I'll be okay."

You press your lips against his, pouring everything you can into him before you feel a slimy tentacle wrap around your legs and drag you into the water, now a spiraling whirlpool into the deeper trenches of the ocean. The farther the sea witch pulls you, the deeper the whirlpool becomes, and the more the debris gathers into the sea.

The sand and gravel around you rushes into the whirlpool and there's a glow of something in the waters—the handle of the dagger glittering against the sea witch's bewitchment of the waves.

You stretch yourself as far as you can, wriggling your fingers in reach for the dagger as the water floods itself around you. You kick your legs angrily and push off the tentacles, launching yourself for the knife and wrapping your fingers around the handle firmly.

Another arm wraps around your shoulders and you instinctively fight against it, puncturing the slimy arm with the dagger precisely. The sea witch screams vehemently and you take the moment to swim closer and puncture her in the chest. 

The dagger settles into the sea witch’s body and suddenly the whirlpool settles as well, black liquid trickling out of her wound as she crumples into the waves, her entire being seeping into dark seafoam and melding with the ocean waters.

Your body desperately urges you for a mere second of air as you work and fight your way up from the trenches, shutting your eyes and letting your mind take over once you break the surface.

The ocean now reflects the color of the navy blue skies, a cloudless night since the sea witch's evils have died off with her. You bob your head above the water and start for the shoreline when you hear a familiar voice yell for you, a voice desperate to find you.

"(y/n)!" Soonyoung's voice is hoarse as he stands waist-deep in the waters, waddling deeper as he rushes towards you.

"Finally." You gasp as you wrap your arms around him, a sense of relief filling you up as you drink him in again. He holds you close to him and clings to you like the very water you come from, that you need to survive.

"Finally, my queen." Soonyoung grins as lifts you out of the water, your laughter clear as night whilst his arms stay wrapped securely around your waist as you slide lower and closer to him, a smile on your lips once you kiss under the glow of the moonlight.

The water surrounding you and him is all but calm—the moonlight flickering against the splashing of water towards one another and the peals of giggles and whispers between you both.

Your feet are dancing against the wet pavement as Soonyoung's jacket rests on your shoulders, his sash tied to keep the article from revealing your ripped dress and his fingers interlocked with yours. The medals on his jacket are hanging on by their single pins, some misshapen and fallen off, but you know he could care less about it. You cling to his arm and stop in your tracks, "you know what I just thought about?"

He tilts his head just enough and his face is illuminated even in the dark, his brown eyes focused solely on you, along with a questioning hum on his lips.

"Before I left the coronation, you promised you would find me… and you did."

If you could keep that exact smile on Soonyoung's face forever, you would. If you could hold his hand forever, you would. If you could be with him forever, you would.

Maybe this is what it meant to be part of this world—to feel this, to feel this way towards someone, towards anyone.

Soonyoung tugs you closer and smiles into you, "I always will."

.

[space-------kid]

My second request! Sorry this took a while, anon! And thank you so much! have a great day, too, and please stay safe~ 😄💕💕 

Ah, you’re in luck, anon! Akaza is the only demon I think I’ll be writing for

me: *looks at fic*: why must i be cruel--

A/N: Hanakotoba is briefly touched in this fic. It’s the Japanese form of the flower language.

[5 slots are still open for one-shot/headcanon requests:  ✎ ✎ ✎ ]

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺ 

𝓽𝓸 𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓮𝓪𝓴 (𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓲𝓽𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯) 𝒜𝓀𝒶𝓏𝒶 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺   

               The command he receives is simple: travel to the south – where the land meets the sea – and kill the wealthy man who helps support the Demon Slayer corps. He knows how missions like this show how important his role as the third Upper Moon is, how he is always deployed for special cases such as this one. He mostly follows without question, and that is why that man lets him off scot free for refusing to kill and devour women.

               Akaza doesn’t understand it himself, why he insists on letting such delicate creatures exist. Something in his gut tells him that it’s wrong, though – he can kill all the men for all he cares, but he must leave the women alone.

               Douma teases him a lot for it, and Akaza’s hatred for his fellow demon grows ever stronger with each passing of the moon.

               The sand under his feet is pristinely white, soft and cold. Pale yellow eyes – marked with his status within Kibutsuji Muzan’s closest circle – take in the sight of a waxing moon, marvelling at how something unreachable and untouchable will remain forever unchanged for centuries to come.

               He stops pondering. You have a mission to complete. The reminder resounds strongly in his mind, in his own voice and not Kibutsuji’s. With his master and creator so far away – masquerading as a human somewhere in Tokyo – Akaza knows he is free to dilly-dally without compromising his mission and angering that man.

              The way the water glimmers in the moonlight reminds him of a pair of exquisite floral eyes that look up to him with kindness and adoration—

              Where did that come from? He asks himself, eyes wide with surprise. But the image – a memory or a delusion, he cannot decide which is which – leaves his mind just as quickly as it comes and Akaza is left gazing at the sea dispassionately.

              The sound of the sea is calming. Maybe he’ll decide later on if he likes it or not.

              Trivial. It doesn’t matter.

              And so Akaza turns his back on the sight of gentle waves and soft sand under his feet.

--

              The next command from his lordship brings him to a village located on the foot of a mountain, and it is where he finds himself facing a distraction.

              The heat of the day has been lulled down by the cool summer breeze the early evening has brought on, and Akaza’s sharp hearing picks up the sounds of a busy crowd amid the chirping of cicadas in the forest. He scales down the mountain and, hidden by the dark and the trees, witnesses the town brightly lit up with numerous lanterns and the cheer of the villagers.

              “It’s the summer festival,” his mind supplies him with the information in the voice of a soft-spoken female. A faint whiff of a battle spirit and the rustle of grass alert him of a sudden company he does not wish to have, and Akaza spots a human woman clad in a flowery kimono standing a few meters where he is hidden.

              Blessed (or is it cursed?) with supernaturally heightened vision, it doesn’t escape the demon’s notice how the woman’s shoulder shake every now and again in time with the wavering of her battle spirit. Luck seem to be on her side, for while Akaza hates being in the presence of weak people, he equally despises the thought of killing and eating women such as her.

              He must have looked away for a second because when he returns his gaze to her, she is already looking at him.

              “Hello.”

              He blinks at the sound of her voice. It resembles the voice in his head just now, and he realizes a little belatedly that it is the woman’s voice he’s heard earlier and not his thoughts.

              It catches Akaza off-guard that this pathetic, sickly, measly human woman has already known of his presence without his own knowledge. The fact irks him, but he reins in his annoyance in favour of stealth and his identity’s secrecy. He chooses to remain hidden in the shadows when she fully turns around to face him.

              Shadows are cast on her face as she stands against the light, but Akaza can easily make out a pair of intelligent [colour] eyes, a pallid complexion, and [colour, length] hair softly swaying with the breeze. The ends of her pale lips are curled up in a gentle, meek smile that sends a pang of unknown longing for someone in the past in the demon’s chest.

              He expects to see flowers in her eyes for reasons unknown—

              “Why do you hide like a thief in the shadows?” she asks him curiously, her eyes narrowing as she tries to peer at him through the darkness.

              Well, he is a thief, but not the kind that she expects. Akaza commands his body to turn back and leave, but he finds himself moving towards her instead when her frame is wracked by a series of hoarse, rattling coughs.

              He watches, fascinated, as the woman lifts both hands to her mouth to stifle her coughs. Her body shakes both with the effort to control her breathing and coughing. Before Akaza knows it, his tattooed hands are already placed solidly on her shoulders to help her steady herself.

              Under normal circumstances, Akaza will remain uncaring even if the woman before him coughs her brains and lungs out. It is her fault – and her parents – for having such a weak, sickly body. But something inside him, buried under a century’s worth of Muzan’s influence and killing, tries to claw its way out because he has to help her, she’s sick, and he has promised her that he will watch the fireworks with—

              Something hisses in the air and, seconds later, the sky is awash in dazzling multi-coloured lights. The woman shifts in his hold and cranes her neck to look up, the fireworks illuminated in her [colour] eyes. Akaza, on the other hand, stares mesmerized at the lights reflected in her eyes.

              They stand together in silence until the last of the fireworks has faded into nothingness. Again, Akaza realizes a little too late that his hands are still on her shoulders, and he frowns at the way he reluctantly lets her go. She, however, smiles up at him in return.

              “Thank you,” she softly tells him. “I should head back now, Grandfather must be worried about me – will you come, if it’s alright with you? You look like a traveller, and I can help you look for a place to stay for the meantime.”

              Akaza’s mind doesn’t register any of her words. Why is she not commenting on his appearance? Surely, she should’ve asked him about his complexion, the marks, and his strange eyes by now – their close proximity offers her every opportunity of taking in his physical appearance. Hasn’t she noticed anything, or has she been too engrossed with the fireworks to even care?

              He demands instead, “Give me your name.”

              Why is he asking her, she’s not strong, not even worth remembering--

              She is startled by his straightforwardness, but is quick to hide it. The woman takes a step back and bows her head in greeting.

              “I’m [full name].”

              The demon tests her name in his tongue and narrows his eyes when she smiles at him in confirmation.

              Akaza’s frown deepens and he turns his back to her wordlessly.

              “Go home,” he tells her. “You said there’s a man-eating demon in the mountain–“

              “What about you?”

              The demon stills in the gentle worry in her voice, the sound striking some sort of semblance of someone who has been buried in the deepest recesses of his unconscious. Akaza doesn’t understand the way [Name] seems to be reminding him of someone he has forgotten about, and it makes his throat hitch with a mixture of anger, despair, and helplessness. Akaza chooses anger for he is more familiar with it than the weakness entailed by the other two. He is strong, and he despises the weak—

              He disappears wordlessly in the blink of an eye, leaving [Name] alone to her devices.

--

              His target hides himself within walls of wisteria trees, and Akaza is forced to prolong the stakeout and to find ways on how to get the man out of the protection of the accursed blossoms.

              He sees [Name] during the day, frolicking in the forest in search of medicinal herbs with an old man (must be the grandfather she’s mentioned) while he hides in the shade where the sun cannot penetrate through the thick canopy of trees. Akaza studies her whenever he sees her. Her interaction with the elderly human shows kindness and gratitude, with tenderness seeping through whenever the old man fusses if she lets out a few coughs and draws short breaths. [Name] also displays the excitable vigour of someone who has finally been allowed to leave the sickbed after being bedridden for far too long.

              Just like Ko—

              The comparison with someone he cannot remember doesn’t know sends a wave of disconcerted nostalgia in Akaza’s veins.

              It grows ever stronger when, one day, [Name] notices him watching her from afar. Her grandfather’s presence is somewhere else in the forest, leaving the two of them unsupervised like a pair of spellbound children.

              “It’s you again!” [Name] exclaims with a wide smile and waves at him. “You left without saying a word that night during the summer festival – does that mean you’ve already found a place to stay in?”

              She is overwhelmingly loud for someone so sick, expending energy as if she has too much to spare. Akaza scoffs openly when, in her haste to reach him with a blinding smile on her face, [Name] hacks out a rather violent cough.

              Perhaps the gods have been feeling rather mischievous and in favour of him today, for the sky is overcast with thick, dark clouds that prevented even a thin line of sunlight to slip through. And just like the display in the summer festival, Akaza’s body moves in autopilot as his hand grasps her wrist and carefully tugs her under the cover of the trees (the demon doesn’t fully trust the gloomy weather – the gods have been proven to be traitorous when they’ve taken those people from him).

              “Be careful,” Akaza finds himself reprimanding [Name] as his free hand rubs comforting circles on her back to help her coughs to abate. She peers up at him through her eyelashes with watery eyes, embarrassed and apologetic, and the sight takes the breath out of the demon’s lungs.

              K…yu…i.

              “T-Thank you—“

              The emotions in her [colour] eyes turn into curiosity as she stares openly at his face. He doesn’t know if he should feel satisfied or not when recognition finally dawns on her face.

              Akaza decides on the latter when he sees the fear in [Name]’s eyes gets replaced with confusion.

              They pull away from each other, the demon ready to leave at the first sign of a distressed call and the human frantically wringing her hands the longer they stare at each other.

              “Y-You… um…” she starts, and Akaza hates the absence of terror in her soft voice. “You didn’t happen to… um… eat any of the villagers, did you?”

              “What if I ate one? Can you do anything about it?” Akaza asks back, frustration bubbling in his throat. What is wrong with this human woman?

              “I can’t, but…” A straightforward reply, uttered with the knowledge of her own capacity and limitations. [Name] meets his irate gaze and tilts her head to the side like a confused puppy. “You… um… didn’t answer my question…”

              Gods, he’s disliking her with every word that comes out of her mouth.

              There has been another demon in the mountain before Akaza arrived. It has been quick to depart from its hunting grounds for good upon seeing the words and number carved in his pale yellow eyes.

              “So what if I ate them?” he lies, just so he can get rid of her.

              [Name]’s searching eyes probe his, [colour] orbs deep in thought and Akaza feels as if she is picking him apart – from skin to muscle to bone and down, down to his very core. There’s something to her know, with the way her back straightens, her hands stilling their frantic movements, and the way a knowing smile lights up her face.

              “What’s your name?” she asks this time.

              “Why would I tell you?”

              [Name]’s smile softens and she turns her back to him, probably to go back to the task she’s left behind. Akaza watches as she picks up her basket and faces him once more.

              “So I can properly tell you that you’re lying,” [Name] responds. She bows at Akaza and leaves before he can muster another reply, and the demon forgoes threatening her.

              The weak cower at the sight of any demon, much less telling one that it lies.

              It’s not strength, whatever she has just displayed. Akaza tries to convince himself that as the sound of her footsteps finally disappear. It’s plain stupidity, the never-ending human folly her kind possesses, nothing more.

               (Strength, however, is not restricted to physical capabilities alone.)

--

              Akaza’s target makes the mistake of leaving the protection offered by the wisteria trees in the middle of the night.

              He shadows the human as the latter hurriedly makes his way past the village, the scent of crushed and powdered medicinal herbs strong and bitter in the demon’s sense of smell. The man seems to be on a mission himself, and Akaza decides on killing him after he has conducted whatever business he has to attend to in the middle of the night.

              Accompanying the target is another human, this one old and rather familiar.

              The pair arrive at a humble home near the mountain itself, with Akaza on their tail. After disappearing into the house, the demon perches himself on the nearest tree, his sharp hearing picking up the sounds of the old man’s frantic pleas to Akaza’s target and the familiar coughs and wheezes wracking a frail body.

              [Name].

              Akaza has to stop the confusing urge to come to her side and… what? Take care of her? Because she’s sick?

              Where is this coming from? There is nothing to remember anymore – may it be forgotten memories as a pathetic human or his centuries’ worth of life as a demon. So where…?

              “You didn’t happen to… um… eat any of the villagers, did you?”

              “What’s your name?”

              The complete lack of fear of someone who knows that their illness might take their life at any given moment.

              “So I can properly tell you that you’re lying.”

              (Bravery in the face of death is strength in and of itself—)

              Akaza returns to his hiding place in the mountain. He convinces himself that he doesn’t do it out of mercy for his target. [Name] is proving to be rather… interesting, and having her die from her illness sooner rather than later sends bitterness in the demon’s tongue.

              Tomorrow night, he tells himself. He won’t be so lenient any longer.

--

              With his target dead, Akaza finds himself being summoned back into the Dimensional Infinity Fortress. To his anger, Douma is also present when Muzan demands his presence.

              The second Upper Moon is quick to sling an arm around Akaza’s shoulders, rainbow eyes filled with interest. Akaza is quick to retaliate, swinging a fist to Douma’s face with the intent to kill, when he hears the latter sniff at him like a dog.

              Douma is quick to regenerate his smashed head, laughing at the short fuse Akaza always holds for him.

              “Why, hello to you, too, Akaza-dono!” Douma greets him in that annoying, gentle voice that reminds Akaza of [Name]’s in a twisted way. “I can’t help but notice that you smell faintly of a girl! Well, sort of…” Upper Moon Two lets out a delighted gasp, eyes wide with fake happiness as he gazes at Akaza from head to toe. “Does that mean you finally ate a girl?”

              “I should head back now, Grandfather must be worried about me – will you come, if it’s alright with you?”

              “You didn’t happen to… um… eat any of the villagers, did you?”

              “You didn’t—“

              “Speak again, and I’ll turn you to paste,” snarls Akaza at his fellow Demon Moon, absolute hatred flashing in his eyes at the insinuation, [Name]’s smiling face floating in the forefront of his mind. “I dare you.”

              “Ahahahaha! How harsh! And I thought you’re finally acknowledging me as your best friend by eating a girl—“

              Akaza is stopped short from making good of his word when the sound of Nakime’s biwa fill the atmosphere. The two Upper Moons are quick to fall on their knees when Muzan appears.

--

              It has been a month since he last saw [Name], and Akaza is genuinely surprised that he remembers a measly, sickly human girl when he only devotes himself to remembering the strong.

              Against his better judgement, the demon is back to walking the same trail he’s taken on the few times he has crossed paths with her on this particular mountain. Within the darkness offered by the trees, he is back to watching [Name] do her chores of gathering medicinal herbs. And against that same judgement, Akaza finds himself talking to her and (now) awkwardly rubbing her back whenever she is assaulted by the rasping coughs that shakes her fragile frame.

              He finds it both hilarious and unbelievable, the way he – a demon – freely talks to a human. Inconceivable, yes, but here they are. Talking quietly like lovers afraid to be found out by two disapproving sets of parents.

              Lovers?

              Akaza is stumped by the comparison he has just made.

              With the absence of her presence, Akaza thinks back to the times when his mind drifts back to [Name]. Is she getting enough rest? Is she overexerting herself? Has his previous target’s absence affected her well-being? Is she wandering in the forest, looking for him?

              He’s missed her voice and presence without him fully realizing it, with nothing to trigger his thoughts of her for him to remember.

              Perhaps, in some twisted, capricious way of the gods, he has taken a liking to her?

              “Akaza,” the demon tells [Name] amid the lull in their conversation. He feels her gaze on her so he averts his. “I am Akaza.”

              He risks a glance at her and secretly marvels at the way her smile shines brightly through the pallor of her sickness.

              “Thank you,” she says, and never has he heard his name uttered so sweetly, “Akaza.”

              She must be out of her mind, holding a polite conversation with a demon in the middle of the dark woods.

              No, he tells himself. They both are. And strangely enough, Akaza doesn’t find it as distasteful as he first thought it to be. He doesn’t find it strange anymore when he rubs her back or when he puts his hands on her shoulders to steady her when she coughs. It seems all natural to him now, a long-buried routine he has now come to master again.

              The time they spend together, no matter how brief, opens a new experience for the demon. All his life, he thinks that all he will ever care about is Muzan’s plan in annihilating any and all obstacles in his path.

              He has never anticipated that [Name] already acquires a position in Akaza’s list, quickly and dangerously coming close to getting the top spot.

              “You don’t have to do this for me, you know,” [Name] tells him kindly, and Akaza can tell that there is no unspoken accusation in her words such as you’re a demon, taking care of one sickly human won’t erase the deaths you have caused. He knows her by now, knows how straightforward and blunt she can be just like the day she’s told him that she might die anytime soon.

              Akaza scoffs at her and flicks her forehead, mindful of his strength and the fragility of her skull. [Name] yelps in pain and pouts at him while she rubs her abused forehead.

              “The weak doesn’t have the right to complain,” says Akaza with a scowl. “The only thing they are good for is to submit to the strong.”

              “And yet here you are – a demon looking after a human while she gathers herbs for herself and her grandfather,” she retorts back, her smile crooked with teasing that only serves to prompt a raised eyebrow from Akaza.

              Silence joins their company once more. The sun is sinking in the horizon. Beside him, [Name] looks up at the darkening sky and watches – amazed – as the stars finally appear one after another. He feels one of her warm hands on top of his and he looks at her, quickly captivated by the soft and grateful smile she is giving him.

              “Thank you, Akaza.”

              He goes away to complete another mission, a wordless promise of his return mirrored in the gentle way [Name]’s gaze follows his retreating form into the night.

--

              When Akaza returns to [Name]’s village, the place is busy once more for another festival.

              He seeks her in the place they first met but finds himself bereft of her company. The demon heads to her home to look for her there, but he only finds the old man – her grandfather – offering three sticks of incense to a picture of [Name] in the middle of a shrine filled with flowers. Despite his status as a demon, Akaza knows a little about Hanakotoba, and he is quick to determine her feelings as described to him by what is shown in her shrine.

              Cherry blossoms, reflecting [Name]’s kindness and gentle nature. Peonies for her bravery, in the face of her numbered days because of her illness. Anemone for sincerity.

              Yellow camellia for longing, red for love (and perishing with grace), and white for waiting – for Akaza?

              “You’re always waiting in the forest, day after day and night after night,” he hears her grandfather mutter in grief. “Always talking about an unusual friend who cares for you. And then our woodcutter neighbour finds you dead under the trees with a look of longing on your face. Oh, [Name]… his heart will surely break when he returns to find that you have already crossed the Sanzu Bridge…”

              (Just when he is almost ready to tell her that he cares for her.)

              A strong sense of déjà vu fills Akaza. Has this happened before, him leaving someone he cares about and returning only to find them taken by Death?

              The sight of a single red spider lily – what that lone flower speaks of – in front of [Name]’s portrait has Akaza’s confusion melt into violent rage.

              Never to meet again. Lost memory.

              Abandonment.

              Blood paints the shrine in a violent splatter, and Akaza flees back into his master’s fortress with a promise he intends to fill.

              [Name]’s kindness and soft smiles. Akaza cares for them – cares for her.

              Never again.

.

.

.

[hwasong]

contract | p.sh

Prologue : why do you need me?

Demon! Seonghwa x Contracted! Reader

When the flames consumed your household, they consumed yourself. The thick, grey fog wrapped around your being like a serpent and desperately sucked out every bit of oxygen from your body. Your mother and father’s burnt and decaying bodies still engraved in your mind. The thought of it makes bile raise in your throat.

At this time, your young 10 year-old self flipped a switch in your brain. No longer could you even bare the thought of being happy in the future. It seemed distant. Like a feeling you had never felt before. How could you overcome this? How could you rebuild yourself from the crumpled and dirty child sitting barely metres away from your home that was consumed by flames.

You didn’t have time to think however, before a hard object came in contact with the back of of your skull and encasing your vision in darkness.

What year is it? You wouldn’t be able to even guess correctly. It feels like a punishment for every bad thing you’ve ever done in the past 10 years. Or maybe it’s 17? At this point, you’re not even sure what age you are. The only thing you know is that you were kidnapped in 1882.

Everyday is pure torture. After branding your back with one they’d use for cattle, you’d get beaten almost every day. Blood and dry tears cake your body in it’s disgusting metallic scent. Sometimes you wonder if you’re treated worse just because you’re a noble.

But tonight was the last straw. After being trailed and defiled by the masked men who laughed at your pain and tears - you’ve broke.

With all of the anger in your little being, even in your unconscious state, you’ve summoned a deal. A contract.

It started off in a dimly lit room. You’re still in the cage that the men have locked you in but behind the bars, watching as a black mass approaches you.

“Who are you?” Your voice is meek. Throat sore after all of the screaming and crying done prior. Strangely, you feel safe talking to the mass.

It slowly transforms into the silhouette of a human. No distinct features besides a pair of blood red eyes and a sharp, demonic smile. It’s feet click against the floor with its heels tapping in sync.

“Who am I?” It teases “You summoned me” It’s deep and distorted voice surrounds you. Every word it speaks and every step it takes sends a shock through your body.

“I summoned you?”

It laughs “Yes, my dear”

You mind stops working as it finally approaches the cage, bending down from its tall height to look at you.

“Don’t you want a strike a deal? I’ll do whatever you wish..” it trails on, one of its long and sharp fingers carefully tracing the supple flesh of your cheek “in return for your soul”

Surprisingly, it’s words don’t scare you. This creature would do whatever you want and in the end you are released into the afterlife. The sweet, sweet afterlife.

“I’ll do it” you clench your eyes closed as it steps away. Your fingers curl in your lap as you think about it.

“Just tell me what you want, little one”

Quickly, your eyes shoot open and you grasp the cold metal bars with determination in your orbs. The mass seems to like this as it steps closer once again.

“I want you to help revenge my parents and kill everyone who has wronged me!”

It chuckles and strikes a hand down onto your chest, right above your heart.

It burns, God does it fucking burn. You scream as your skin is carved into.

���I’m sorry my dear, but we have to seal the deal with my insignia”

[thedailyimagines]

Imagine being the descendant of Victor Frankenstein, and working alongside Gabriel Van Helsing.

Description: Though the threat of Dracula was gone from the world, there were always other supernatural threats. Who better to help Van Helsing than the granddaughter of one such legend?

.

This is bending the Van Helsing universe just a little, where Victor Frankenstein isn’t as young as he is portrayed to be in the movie. Otherwise everything takes place after the movie.

~~~~~~~~

“So. Plovdiv. Bulgaria. What exactly is in the city?” Gabriel Van Helsing walked alongside Cardinal Jinette, crossbow resting against his shoulder.

“There’s been reports of attacks in the city, mostly at night. Our sources say that while nobody has died, the injuries are not of human nature. There has been requests for help.”

“And you decided to send me. I assume you want me to take Carl?” Jinette shook his head.

“No. Friar Carl will be busy with another assignment. You’ll be headed to an ancient library in the city. Hopefully you can find some information on the attacks there. The locals say the attacks have happened in the past, and there might be records of them.” Van Helsing stopped and gave the Cardinal a confused look.

“So if Carl isn’t going, who is?” Jinette kept walking and Van Helsing had no choice but to follow. Soon the two came to the entrance area of the church, where a woman sat writing in a journal. When she saw them, she shut her journal and held out her hand to shake. Cardinal Jinette took her hand in both of his, shaking it in greeting.

“Van Helsing, this is Y/n Frankenstein. She’ll be going with you to Plovdiv.” Y/n’s smile twitched downwards slightly at the mention of the Frankenstein name.

To Van Helsing, she didn’t seem like she could be related to the creator of the monster. Of course, every account he had read about Victor Frankenstein claimed that the scientist was a madman whose loved ones and family died because of his actions. This woman looked like a school teacher.

“So the church finally invested in a necromancer? Have to say, usually it’s the Big Guy who does the reanimating.” The woman scowled and crossed her arms. Cardinal Jinette shook his head in annoyance. Of course Van Helsing would joke about holy miracles in a church.

“And I’m a scientist, not a witch. I assume you know the difference.” Van Helsing raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“Well excuse me Madam Frankenstein—”

“Lavenza.”

“Pardon?”

“I go by my grandmother’s maiden name, it attracts less attention. Her name was Elizabeth Lavenza.” Jinette began apologizing profusely, but Gabriel just shrugged nonchalantly.

“Alright then, Madam Lavenza.”

“You could just call me y/n. I’m not married nor a spinster. Not yet anyway.” Van Helsing turned to the cardinal.

“Explain to me why she’s coming with me?” Cardinal Jinette shook his head. Van Helsing was really going to complain his whole about taking the scientist, wasn’t he?

“Because she can translate the texts you’ll need, at a much faster rate than you could hope to.”

<—>

The hot sun beat down on y/n’s head, and she was glad she had chosen to wear lighter clothes. Glancing over at Van Helsing, she almost winced in sympathy. The man was decked out in his usual heavy leather gear, which while offering protection from the sun was no doubt unbearably hot.

“See something you like, Miss Lavenza?” Y/n rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat in the cart. The man was still refusing to call her by her first name.

“I was considering if I should ask you if that’s the city we’re headed to, and if you were beginning to suffer from heat exhaustion. All that heavy leather can’t be comfortable in this heat.” Van Helsing chuckled and tilted his hat to shield his face from the sun.

“You almost sound concerned.” A small huff came from y/n, and she pulled her journal out of her small bag.

“Considering you’re the expert in getting around the city, I’d prefer not to lose you and be stranded.” Van Helsing just turned to the cart driver and began talking with him. Y/n began writing in her journal, making note of the city and the sites around them.

When they arrived at a small church, a meek looking man greeted them. Compared to Gabriel, y/n noted in amusement, the pastor was tiny. He guided the two visitors to the old library beneath the church and left them. Neither y/n nor Gabriel noticed how the pastor’s eyes lingered hungrily on the two of them.

<—>

Sighing and rubbing her eyes, y/n looked down in frustration at the book in front of her. Translating it from Latin to German was easy as breathing for her, but sometimes there were random words thrown in that were of a completely different language and it was slowing y/n down.

Across the room, Van Helsing was tossing books to the side if he didn’t deem them useful. It slightly annoyed her to see the delicate books thrown aside so carelessly, and y/n briefly wondered who had taught the monster hunter his manners.

“If all you’re going to do is throw books around, you can leave.” Van Helsing scowled at another book, and as if to rub it in y/n’s face, tossed the book down the aisle between the shelves.

“No.”

“What? Think the scary monster is going to come after me?” Y/n laughed and adjusted her reading glasses, fixing Van Helsing with a stern look. “I’m not a child, Van Helsing. I can look after myself. Besides, didn’t you state that this library was sanctified by your church?”

The dark haired man opened his mouth to argue, then closed his mouth and shook his head.

“Don’t stay up too late. We’re leaving early tomorrow morning.”

“I’m touched, Van Helsing. You do care.” The monster hunter snorted, taking a lantern with him as he left the library. Y/n turned back to the book in front of her and cracked her knuckles. It was time to get back to work.

Not even an hour into her work, a scratching noise came from one of the aisles. Y/n quickly turned her head towards the source. The area between the shelves was too dark to see, and against her better judgement y/n took a lantern and walked down the aisle. Dust motes floated through the air, and y/n raised her lantern a little higher.

A loud growl came from in front of her. A large, dark mass emerged from the darkness and another growl rumbled from its throat. Y/n’s mind took two seconds to register what she was seeing before she booked it for the exit. The monster howled and gave chase.

“Shit shit shit shit!” Her mother would have been horrified at her use of language, but right now y/n could care less. Her mother could come lecture her when she wasn’t being chased by a monster four times her size. Said monster crashed through the bookshelves in front of her, and y/n screamed and changed direction.

“GABRIEL!”

<—>

Gabriel was halfway up the stairs to the exit when he heard the loud crash. He half wondered if y/n had knocked something over, or if—

“GABRIEL!”

That didn’t sound good. Taking the stairs two at a time, Van Helsing all but flew back into the library. Shelves were shattered and books lay in pieces everywhere. And there was y/n back to a wall as something huge closed in on her.

“Y/n!” Gabriel grabbed the closest thing to him, an unlit torch sconce, and flung it at the monster. The beast didn’t even flinch, but it turned slowly towards Van Helsing. With a roar it lunged at the seasoned monster hunter, who dodged and ran for cover. He found y/n with a book, ready to hit whatever came near her.

“It’s me! It’s just me!” Y/n lowered the book slightly.

“How did that thing get in here?!?!” Van Helsing shook his head and handed his crossbow to the scientist.

“Take the crossbow, and shoot it!” Y/n jerked back in surprise, almost dropping the heavy weapon. She shoved it back at Gabriel.

“I don’t know how to shoot a crossbow!” The monster hunter gave her a disbelieving look.

“Seriously?”

“I’m a fucking scientist, not a bloody monster hunter! I study the human body and it’s different functions!” Gabriel rolled his eyes. Of course she couldn’t fight. She could translate dead languages seven ways to Sunday, but not fight.

“Fine. When I say go, you need to make a run for the exit. Keep running and don’t look back.”

“What about you?” Gabriel prepared a crossbow bolt.

“Is that concern I hear, Miss Lavenza?”

“Yes.”

“Then thank you. Now get ready.” Y/n took a deep breath, and got into position. Van Helsing stood up and sprinted away from y/n. Once he deemed himself far enough, he quickly shot two crossbow bolts into the monster. The beast howled and whirled to face the monster hunter.

“Run!” Y/n sprinted towards the exit. Van Helsing kept the beast occupied with his crossbow. For a brief moment, he saw an open wound on the creatures underbelly.

The creature reared up again, and Gabriel fired a crossbow bolt at the wound. The monster howled and staggered, clawing at it’s chest. Finally, it fell to the ground. With a spasm it began to shrink, until it was a middle aged man covered in black goo.

“Gabriel?” Van Helsing turned to find y/n standing at the exit, armed with nothing but a fireplace poker from the church above.

“I thought I told you to run.” Y/n stepped into the library, staring with wide eyes at the the goo-covered man.

“I—wait, isn’t that one of the church’s men? The one who showed us the way here?” Gabriel gently turned the man over, finding that it was indeed the pastor of the church.

“Shit.”

~~~~~~~~

I don’t own the above gifs, all credits go to the owners.

[mpregstoriesetc]

Slime and Punishment - deviantart

Vik’Tor, being an alien and all that, found himself learning new things about Earth every day. Like how it was fine for men to go topless in public but not for women, or that it was inappropriate to talk about your sexual exploits with strangers. Strange. Luckily, due to his meek personality, he managed not to embarrass himself too much.

More to the point, there were so many things from his culture that he took for granted, but humans had no knowledge of! He was the only Torran on Earth, at least as far as he knew: the rest of his tribe generally turned out to be warmongering morons, and they only took interest in visiting planets when they wanted to conquer them. Things were peaceful here, and he’d found a cozy little town that accepted him.

Now he was working odd jobs, mainly to figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He was only 29 moon-strides old, after all...he had plenty of time to discover his passions. Today’s job was filling in for a rich family’s gardener. Apparently the man had been struck by a car and flattened like a pancake, and someone needed to take over while the doctors were reinflating him. Vik didn’t mind the work: in fact he quite fancied a good day of honest labor. But, come lunch time, he was positively famished.

He tucked into a double-decker mustard and eggplant sandwich and swiftly downed a concoction of his own creation, lemonade and Bloody Mary mix. Others found his tastes revolting, but he loved finding new flavor combinations. The real star of the show, however, was dessert…

“Pardon me, but what is that you’re eating,” came a soft feminine voice from behind him. “I simply must know, it smells so wonderful!” Vik turned around, locking eyes with a slender young woman with caramel-colored skin. Or perhaps it was a particularly short man. He wasn’t sure which, nor did he know if it even mattered.

“Ah, this?” Vik remembered just in time not to talk with his mouth full, and promptly swallowed. “We call it korrupa, it is a traditional dessert amongst the Ulvions.” He held it up: a shimmering orb of green that seemed to have a life of its own.

“Oh, so that’s what your tribe is called? Fascinating.”

“Well,” said Vik awkwardly. “Not exactly. My people conquered their planet and slaughtered all of their men.”

“Oh.”

Even with his obvious lack of social skills, Vik could tell the conversation was grinding to a painful halt. “Well, the good news is that it is quite easy to get korrupa delivered. Did you know that this town has one of Earth’s only transdimensional portals?”

The short one shrugged. “I’m not surprised. I’ve lived here all my life and I learn something new about this place.” He fidgeted, looking plaintively at the glossy green glob that Vik was devouring. “Do you mind letting me have a sample of your korrupa? I’ll take just a tiny bit, but my chef’s curiosity is just eating me alive! I must have some!”

Vik paused. “Well, Missus, or Mister, or whatever Earth honorific suits you best, I don’t know if you would be suited to trying some...it is quite filling, and you are quite small.”

This earned a little titter from the short one. “I’ll be able to handle it, I assure you. Oh pardon my manners! I haven’t even introduced myself. Camille, no Earth honorifics necessary.” Camille offered one hand out to shake, the other to take.

“I am called Vik’Tor...but you really must consider! It could be ill-suited to your digestive tract! Or perhaps there would be some other unforeseen consequences…!”

Camille stuck his tongue out cutely, reaching out and grabbing the korrupa. Vik realized then how tiny the Earth creature was in comparison to him; his hands were like a child’s in comparison to Vik’s own, hefting up the wobbly substance and bringing it to his tiny little mouth.

The young man moaned softly, his slender lips wrapping around the korrupa and slurping it up eagerly. Within seconds the shimmering green mass—about the size of an Earth coconut—had disappeared down Camille’s gullet. “Oh! Pardon me,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to eat it all...but it was like it had a mind of its own! Hehe. It was remarkable, though! Absolutely delicious.”

Vik looked noticeably crestfallen at the loss of his dessert but didn’t bring it up. However, something that Camille had said sparked a realization inside him. “Oh, you did not know? Korrupa is a sentient creature, it would be quite accurate to say that it does indeed have a mind of its own. Were you not aware of this?”

Camille’s cheeks went noticeably green at this. “Oh dear. Did I just devour an alien without knowing?”

“Fear not,” said Vik, waving his hands quickly. “They are not harmed by this. In fact, they often reproduce inside warm, damp enclosed spaces. Us Torrans have rather dry insides, so we are not affected much. But I do not know about Earth creatures...”

Said Earth creature went even greener. “Oh dear...oh dear indeed.” His cheeks bulged slightly, as if about to gag. “I might have made a rather costly mistake…” But now Vik saw a truly bizarre sight: Camille’s face starting to glow. Not from the skin directly, but almost beneath it somehow. Most prominent were his cheeks—a bright lime green—which had really begun to puff up now. His lips, starting to run out of room on his face, began squashing into an askew O shape, the tiny opening revealing a growing colony of korrupa inside his mouth.

His belly began harboring the telltale green glimmer of his cheeks, the boy’s shirt quickly becoming near-translucent as the slime found a larger reservoir to reside in. Camille’s midriff, previously so thin as almost to be famished, started to bloat rapidly. Although not quite resembling pregnancy, his stomach was now so round and fertile as to immediately invite the comparison.

Camille gave a throttled moan, the korrupa inside his mouth jiggling as words tried in vain to escape. He gave Vik a desperate look, his hands unsure whether to cradle his burgeoning belly or try and unload the cargo inside his mouth. After a slight hesitation, they chose the latter. But as his fingers tried to pry apart his lips, a thick strand of the sentient goo snaked out and slapped away his hands.

“Korrupa do not like the breeding process to be interrupted,” said Vik weakly. “Although they do have a vested interest in keeping their host alive, so you will not have to worry about bursting or suffocating.” Small solace to Camille, who was now bent over with the weight of his ballooning belly.

His shirt, now so tight and see-through as to be mistaken for plastic wrap, was quickly starting to lose structural integrity. The only factor impeding the growth of his gut was Camille’s thin leather belt, now drawing taut and threatening to bisect his torso. The boy lurched forward, his hair falling over his face; if he could talk, it would undoubtedly be a deep moan of discomfort. Momentarily impeded by the belt, the korrupa moved further south to Camille’s rump, making it expand in much a similar fashion.

“I am aware it is rude to say ‘I told you so,’ but I did try and warn you of possible side effects,” mumbled Vik, avoiding eye contact and twiddling all four of his thumbs. “Had I known this would happen, I might have been more cautionary in my advice.” It brought him no pleasure to see this Earth creature inflate like a balloon, especially considering that korrupa could incubate for quite a while depending on compatibility with its host. Should he try and contact other family members? He knew they’d be around soon; would it look worse if he left Camille? Or if he just stayed there passively? There wasn’t much he could do at this point anyway.

Ping! The belt popped off, sending Camille’s belly wobbling like a bowl full of jelly. It might be mistaken for jelly at any rate: glossy, jiggling jelly that had an unearthly shine to it. It was a near perfect orb of green, only dimpled by his sunken-in navel, hanging off his torso rather awkwardly. It had become so big and distended by this point that it hardly seemed like an actual part of the young man, like a second-rate prosthetic. But there it was in both sets of his cheeks too, drawing his skin tight as more and more goo forced itself inside him. His face had become comically wide, two coconut-sized mounds of glistening green alternatively pulling his lips together and apart as they bounced softly. His behind was starting to catch up, though, his buttocks blimping up and making short work of his shorts.

Camille was short, even for a human, but nonetheless it was a surprise to see his tummy touch the ground. It was certainly less of a strain on his body now that gravity had done its work, but nonetheless he wasn’t exactly happy he’d gotten this big. His rear had already broken free from his shorts; but since Camille’s crotch was awkwardly mashed against his underbelly, his dignity was somewhat preserved. Were things slowing down? He was so enormous now that it was hard to tell.

Vik, having inwardly cursed himself for his inaction, decided to finally take off his upper garment and lay it across the boy’s bare butt. However, one last growth spurt caused the fabric to suck inwards, instantly getting lost inside the cleft of Camille’s ass cheeks. Well, he had tried. The young man could only sit there helplessly, the weight of his posterior threatening to pull him backwards, only anchored by his much larger stomach. Vik didn’t know every detail of domicile etiquette, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t a good idea to be standing near-naked in your backyard.

“Well...I should probably get back to work,” said the alien awkwardly, slowly shuffling away. “I hear your family has a dinner party tonight...it would certainly be embarrassing if the garden was only half-finished.”

And, seemingly unaware of the supreme irony of that statement, went back to planting the petunias. Maybe Camille would share some korrupa once he was done breeding it...

[the-blind-assassin-12]

in the arms of the ocean- one

A/N: It’s a perfect day for sailing aboard the Dawn Treader- another in a spectacularly long line of perfect days, in fact, which is good news because the reason for this particular voyage is of extreme importance. 

Word count: 4,929

Warnings: Caspian’s flawless hair 

Present Day

Caspian stood near the bow, hands flat against the carved wooden railing while the breeze skipped over the ocean. Clear skies and gently rolling waves were all his sharp eyes could see for leagues. It was another fine day for sailing; not a cloud in sight to cast a shadow nor a salty chill in the air to seep into the bones of the crew. We’ve been fortunate so far, he mused, hoping  that the same good fortune and fair weather they’d had up until now would last for the remainder of the journey. But even if the sea turned a cold, choppy gray, or the wind whipped water across the deck, it would be hard to dampen his spirits. Not where we’re going. Not when the reason is to... He smiled at the cerulean expanse before him as he heard the sound of boot soles against the boards behind him. What’s she up to now, I wonder? 

“Your majesty?” A frustrated huff and exasperated sigh from Drinian told him it was something good this time, and he fought the urge to chuckle as he turned to face his friend. 

“Yes, Captain?” He crossed his arms over his chest, lips pressed together and eyebrows raised. 

Drinian’s clear blue eyes flicked up towards the mast before coming back to level with Caspian’s. “It’s...well, she’s-“ Caspian felt himself grin around the sound of your name as he said it, the other man nodding. “I can’t get her to come down.” Again? “Again.”

Bringing his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare, Caspian followed the massive beam upwards. The rich purple sails were full and fat, the intricately embroidered golden lions seeming to dance with the breeze. His smirk grew wider and his eyes continued to climb higher until they fell upon your bare feet, dangling from between the rungs of the crow’s nest. Breaking out in a full grin, he dropped his hand back to his side and faced Drinian again. “She likes it up there,” he said. The other man only frowned sternly causing the King’s smile to falter slightly. “It is the best view.” 

“Aye, your majesty, that it is,” he agreed. “And the most dangerous.” 

Caspian knew that this was true. Of course there were railings to hold onto. There were even ropes that could be used to tie oneself to the mast in case a lookout was needed in stormy or windy conditions. But she doesn’t use them. He sighed, knowing that Drinian’s concern was coming from the right place, but also that you likely didn’t want to hear it. “I’ll talk to her.” He promised. Again. 

Drinian’s frown relaxed, the creases in his sun tanned forehead smoothing back out. “I only want her to be safe,” he said solemnly. I know you do. There were few in the Kingdom of Narnia that Caspian trusted as much as the man standing in front of him, and none that he trusted more when it came to your safety. “With all due respect, if she’s to be the Queen of Narnia,” She is. “She needs to be more careful.” 

Caspian agreed. Aside from serving his people as best as he could, there was nothing in all of Narnia - or anywhere else for that matter- that meant more to him than you, and despite the fact that your daring sense of adventure was one of the things that first drew him to you, he knew that Drinian had a point. Not that Kings and Queens can’t have grand adventures; his own experiences with the Kings and Queens of old proved that they could. But there was a right time to take such risks, and perhaps this voyage in particular, with such a celebratory and joyful purpose, wasn’t the right time. He sighed again, smile still lingering even though he could already hear your stubborn response. He clapped Drinian on the shoulder, thanking him for his diligence in regards to keeping you and that of all those aboard the Dawn Treader safe. 

The salty man had a soft spot for you and the happiness that you brought to his King, but he also had an authoritative reputation to uphold among the crew. Nodding at the conclusion of his discussion with Caspian, Drinian returned to his duties as captain, hurrying away towards where Takos and Timmin were about to start one of their famously physical debates regarding which of them were stronger. “Great blundering buffoons!” The exasperated captain muttered under his breath as he strode towards the hulking Minotaur brothers. 

Caspian shook his head and laughed to himself as he watched Drinian scold the creatures, both of them nearly double the man’s size in any direction. They mean well, and they’ve both proven themselves. They’re just... he looked back up, squinting at your tiny form against the bright blue sky and sighed again, a warmth spreading in his chest, spirited. Which seemed to be a prerequisite for gaining a spot in the Dawn Treader’s crew. Aside from the pair of brothers, two other sailors had joined the ranks of long time crewmen like Rhince and Rynelf; Grivez, a quiet but driven young Telmarine who looked up to Caspian and had worked hard to ensure his placement with the crew. He learned more quickly than any greenhorn Caspian had ever sailed with, catching his sea legs much more easily than the young King had on his first venture out at sea. With nimble fingers that made fast work of knots and rigging, and an eagerness to learn more everyday, Grivez was sure to become a permanent fixture. 

The other new member, Caspian realized as he made his way towards the mast, he hadn’t seen in quite some time. That’s not unusual for him. Not only was he the smallest crewman, but he was also the bravest and busiest, always scurrying off to complete daring and integral tasks. I’m sure he’ll turn up soon with much to report. Brushing his palms off on his trousers, Caspian readied himself to climb, reaching for a rung to hoist himself up with before finding a foothold. Heights didn’t bother him, and he was more than confident that he had the strength necessary to scale the central beam that held up the largest of the sails and the round platform of the crow’s nest. But he still climbed with caution, making it to the top rungs much more slowly than he knew you had reached the pinnacle of the grandest ship to grace the seas. Fearless. She’s fearless and confident and… He paused just a few feet from the opening in the bottom of the platform, where the ladder led up and into the basket from where your legs dangled freely. His lips widened, pushing his cheeks up into his eyes and rounding them with his smile as your voice hit his ear. Confident and competent and... 

“It really is incredible, isn’t it? The sea?” 

Caspian knew how much you loved the sea, how much of your heart he’d have to share with the waves and the wind and the open water. But he didn’t mind, because if he were to have it his way, he would spend more time at sea than sitting on his throne. Your love of the endless blue depths and your willingness to forgo the gowns and gilding of the palace for the boards and oars of the Dawn Treader only endeared you more to him. Who is she talking to though?He didn’t need to wonder for very long though, as a second voice joined yours.

 “It truly is, M’lady!” I should have known. The question of who you were chatting with had also answered the riddle of where the other new crew member had gone. “Incredible and full of potential for adventure!” Just like his uncle, that one. Caspian had always been very fond of Reepicheep, the noblest and bravest of mice and men, and though he tried to remind himself not to be sad, for his friend had chosen to journey past the edges of Narnia and on to Aslan’s country, he had missed his company and was all too happy when Reep’s nephew Cheepimeek had joined the crew. 

Caspian quietly climbed the last few rungs until he could peek up and over the ledge, still hidden below the base of the crow’s nest. Eyes and forehead above the boards, he broke into a grin as he caught sight of the two of you sitting casually with your backs turned to the mast.  Look at them. Though you and the brave little Mouse next to you had been engaged in conversation, neither of you had bothered to pull your awed gazes from the majestic view in favor of eye contact. Before meeting you, Reep had been the only soul that Caspian had known to enjoy the ocean and the freedoms and challenges it offered even more than he did. But in the last year, you and Meek had proven to be of the same ilk, unsurprisingly becoming fast friends. 

You laughed, the sound hitting Caspian’s ear and filling his chest with the warmth of the sun. “You’ve always got your sights set on your next grand adventure, don’t you Meek?” 

You were leaning forward with your legs hanging between the wooden rails, the tail of your blousy shirt untucked from the waistband of your deep purple trousers. A pair of abandoned boots lay slumped in a heap of soft leather behind you, Meek’s needle-thin sword propped up against the cuff of one of them. Your hair hung in a loose braid over your shoulder, and as the reflection of the sun’s light bounced off the water and back up at you, Caspian caught the tell-tale glint of the only piece of adornment he’d never seen you without; a small golden starfish hairpin with a trail of pearls dangling from it. It had been your mother’s, you’d told him once as he ran his fingertips over the smooth opalescent pearl drops. He’d seen you in stunning beaded and embroidered gowns cut from material woven with silver and gold. He’d danced with you as you dripped amethysts and rubies and sapphires, your hair arranged in intricate braids and twists and curls and your lips and cheeks rouged. But as beautiful as you looked when you dressed for courtly functions, seeing you like this, all windswept and wild, made his heart race a little faster, made him take his bottom lip between his teeth, made his fingers curl inwards against his palm. She doesn’t need any of that, this is who she is. 

Though he’d filled his mind with countless more memories and moments since then, Caspian’s memory hurtled back to the day that he met you, as it often did when he saw how at ease you were when you got to cast off the expectations you carried back at Cair Paravel. 

..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  

1 Year Ago 

Though the storm that had caused them to harbor along the shoreline of a strange, unknown island had raged angrily all night long, Caspian’s eyes opened the next morning to bright yellow sunlight streaming in through the thick glass panes of his cabin windows. Sitting up, he realized that the violent tossing of the waves beneath the hull had ceased, slowing to a pleasant and gentle rocking. He raised a hand to comb his long hair back and out of his eyes, all of the soreness that battling the storm had brought him gone now after only a few hours of sleep. How is that..? Confused and half wondering if he weren’t still asleep and dreaming, Caspian swung his legs over the side of the bed and made his way over to the window. Opening it only revealed a rippling expanse of crystalline water and a sky so clear it was absurd to think that it had ever been marred by a single shadow, let alone the pewter toned and rain soaked clouds that blotted out the light. It was as though it were more likely that the storm had been a figment of his imagination than the island appearing out of the storm’s spray.

I’ve never seen the sky clear so quickly after a storm like that. Pushing the window open further, he stuck his head out, craning his neck up and down, side to side to examine as much of his new surroundings as possible. Then again, I’ve never seen a storm like that. From what he could see of the ship from his window, it looked as though aside from the shredded sails, that the Dawn Treader had fared much better than he’d feared. 

Dressing quickly in a fresh pair of light brown trousers and a loose-fitting maroon shirt under a leather vest, he fastened buckles and stuffed his stocking clad feet into a pair of tall boots. Sheathing his sword at his belt and pulling the top half of his hair back with a strip of black material, he left his cabin in search of Drinian and Rhince. We need to prepare a party to go ashore, look for supplies, mend the sails and… 

“Your Majesty.” 

He stopped short of walking smack into Rynelf, one of the longest tenured members of his crew, and with more experience with the wiles of the water in his little finger than most sailors had in their entire bodies. But he looks, Caspian regarded the deep furrows in the man’s brow and the uneasy way that his stony eyes darted from here to there. He looks nervous. Why? Pushing it from his mind and taking it upon himself to clear the man of his worry, Caspian nodded and greeted him by name. 

“Good morning, Rynelf.” 

“And to you, your majesty,” the man nodded back, dipping his head low enough that Caspian was left looking at the bald patch in the nest of peppery gray curls that sat atop it. 

Raising one eyebrow, Caspian placed a hand on Rynelf’s shoulder and he snapped his gaze back up to meet the King’s. “Are you alright?” He’d thought for certain that he had checked with every member of the crew after they’d dropped anchor, ensuring that no one had been injured too badly as ropes and rigging swung and the pitching of the waves had turned the level floorboards into treacherous terrain. Did I miss something? Was he hurt? His eyes raked over the older man before him in search of any obvious signs of injury, and while he found several gnarled scars on Rynelf’s forearms, hands and face, he saw no fresh wounds, no bruising or bleeding.

“Aye, I’m alright, your majesty,” he answered, “I’ve just... “ His eyes danced all around again, flitting from the deck to the hatch that lead to the sailor’s quarters and finally up at the ruined remnants of the Dawn Treader’s once proud sails. What is it? Caspian’s eyes narrowed as Rynelf decided how to continue. “Your majesty, forgive me but in all of my years on these seas I’ve never known a storm to have no eye, nor an island to shift into being from an empty plot of ocean.” Well, I haven’t either but- “I’ve an uneasy feeling is all, your majesty, and I’d be remiss if I hadn’t told you. I know you’re planning to go ashore.” Yes, I have to, we need- “Just take extra care, my King.” Once more his eyes circled their surroundings, as though searching for the invisible source of his unease and coming up short. “Things are changing with the winds and we are in an unfamiliar place.” 

It was strange to see the man so stricken with concern. He’d seen so much it was difficult to imagine something catching him off guard or causing him to outwardly display worry. Removing his hand from Rynelf’s shoulder, Caspian assured him that he would take caution as he went ashore. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to find Drinian and Rhince.” 

He took his leave of the old man in search of his captain and first mate, and within the hour a party of 6 crewmen were ready to lower the rowboats and accompany their King to the white sand of the mysterious island. Oars in hand, Caspian rowed along with his men, his eyes widening with every stroke that cut through the glimmering water. As they traveled closer to shore, the full beauty of the island became clear. Oh, it’s… But he didn’t have the word for what he was seeing; trees as tall as the lower spires of Cair Paravel’s massive citadel, with wide fronds in brilliant shades ranging from emerald to chartreuse, some of their branches adorned with flowers and fruits in colors Caspian wasn’t sure there were names for. Shells and smooth stones littered the coast, more washing up with every breaking wave, and they glinted in radiant jewel tones. Even the air seemed to taste sweeter, more like it did high in the mountains than it should down here, level with the salty sea. It’s beautiful. 

The silence of the men behind him as their oars slipped through the calm water told him that they were just as stunned by the island. He continued to scan the shore for any sign of civilization, but if the island was inhabited, the dense foliage was hiding it’s citizens well. At least from this side. The island didn’t appear to be very large, but the shape of it made it nearly impossible to see much at once, so there was no way of knowing if there was an entire port city built on another coast. Once they reached the shallow lip of the island, 7 pairs of boots splashed into the water, 7 pairs of hands gripping the sides of the rowboat to pull it up onto the sand, and 7 mouths were left gaping at the sight before them. 

Once they’d reached the soft, pale sand, Drinian started splitting the group off into pairs, assigning them different directions to search for food, fresh water, and any supplies that might prove useful in getting the ship back in sailing shape. Two men headed East, two men headed straight into the foliage, and Drinian, Caspian and a sailor named Ropen took the West side, following the curved shape of the island. They kept close to the shore but always kept an eye on the forest, but though Caspian knew that he should feel some apprehension about being in a strange place, every step he took only made him feel more safe and comforted. 

All at once, just as the island itself had appeared, the three men stopped walking as the mast beams of three ships in various states of construction and repair came into view, a small wooden house attached to a shipyard building just a few yards up the beach. There didn’t seem to be any other visible dwellings or businesses. Not quite a port city but… 

“What do you make of this, Your Majesty?” Drinian’s question came from over Caspian’s left shoulder, not concerned, just curious and cautious. 

Caspian brought a hand up behind his neck and squeezed, thinking. It seemed odd that this would be the only sign of civilization- if there were no other inhabitants, who did those ships belong to? “I think we should take a look.” He removed the hand from his neck and gestures towards the ships. “Even if the shipyard is abandoned, there may be things that we can use for our repairs.”

Drinian nodded, and the three of them made their way closer. When they reached the docks and the adjacent building, Ropen and Drinian each circled the structures from opposite sides. Caspian made his way out onto the dock between two large schooners, one hand on the hilt of his sword though it was completely out of habit- he felt less and less threatened with every step he took, the memory of the previous night’s storm seeming to fade the longer he stayed on the island. He admired the gorgeous carvings and impeccable craftsmanship in the fat bellies of the ships, and before he realized what he was doing, he was boarding the one closest to him, running his hand over the smooth railings as he made his way towards the bow. 

“Who may I ask are you, sir?” A female voice called from above, laced with just a hint of annoyance that mixed with amused curiosity. Despite the benign nature of the question, the sudden question startled him. Who said that? His hand closed around the grip of his sword as he crouched a few inches lower and searched for the source of the voice. As though in answer to his unasked question, the voice called again, this time tinted with laughter. “I’m up here.” Caspian straightened up and turned towards the central mast, eyes traveling up and up and up until he spotted your form waving down to him. “Interesting that you feel the need to protect yourself,” You smirked, one hand on your hip and the other reaching to grab onto the netting hanging from where you stood, and in one fell swoop, you swung yourself down with such speed and agility that Caspian worried he might have to catch you else you’d end up as a splattered mess on the ship’s pristine deck. But you landed gracefully just a few steps from him, your bare feet hitting the deck with catlike silence. No one on my crew can do that. I can’t do that, how did she... “When it’s my ship you’ve boarded without permission and not the other way around.” You raised one eyebrow, and it got lost in the unruly tendrils that bordered your forehead. “Now,” you smiled, but resumed your stance from above, one hand on your hip. “Who are you, and what are you doing on my ship?”

“I’m…” Caspian looked over his shoulder to where Drinian and Ropen where jogging down the dock, a third man shuffling along after them. 

You clicked your tongue as you followed his line of sight. “Your men?” You asked. 

“Yes, I-” 

You sighed. “They’ve woken my father.” You turned back to Caspian, taking another step and looking at him fully for the first time. “And you’ve trespassed.” You crossed your arms, but Caspian thought he saw a softening in your eyes, and even though your questioning was somewhat prickly, he could tell that you were more curious than anything. Though you were dressed plainly in an old white shirt tucked hastily into well-fitting pants, he caught the bright glint of a gilded pin securing  your hair in a braid over one shoulder. “So tell me, who are you and why are you here?” 

The older man that followed Drinian and Ropen called out a name- your name- waving his arms. “Calm yourself, daughter,” he called, huffing from the short jog down to the docks. “Unless you mean to threaten our King?” 

Your mouth dropped open and a breath slipped out, and the shocked expression on your sure face, though it lasted only a split second, was one that Caspian was sure he’d remember for the rest of his days. 

.. ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..

Present Day 

Still standing on the ladder, everything below his nose still hidden from view, Caspian smiled recalling that look of shock on your face and how he hadn’t known it then but it had been the first of many looks that you’d give him that would etch themselves into his heart. 

Without taking your eyes from the ocean, you lowered your hand down so that Meek could climb into your palm to scurry up your arm, perching on your shoulder. “The world is too wide and wonderful, M’lady,” he answered, “to not want to see it all.”

“Well,” you sighed as Caspian finally pulled himself up through the floor of the crow’s nest. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you saw him and smiled, then turned towards your shoulder to face your small friend. “I’m glad we’ll get to see it together, Cheepimeek the Bold.”

Pulling himself up through the opening at last, Caspian joined your conversation. “And I am glad that I’ll get to see it with both of you.” 

“Your majesty!” Cheepimeek ran down your arm and bent into a low bow. 

“Hello, Meek, I should have known I’d find you two together.” 

Cheepimeek blushed and fiddled with his tail, though Caspian could tell that he wasn’t embarrassed or frightened that he’d be in trouble. “Ah, yes, well, M’lady is excellent company.” She is. “And I do enjoy the view.” Caspian nodded with a smile. “But I’m certain that there’s work to be done elsewhere.” He scooped up his tiny rapier and sheathed it in the belt at his furry waist. “I take my leave, your majesty, M’lady.” With another bow, Cheepimeek scurried down the netting and out of sight leaving just the two of you and the vast expanse of ocean. 

You turned to greet him with your stunning smile, crooked and imperfect and all for him. “I wondered when you’d be joining us, my King.” 

A dizzy, warm feeling filled him every time you addressed him as your King. It was how most of his subjects addressed him, but there was a difference when it came from you. I am yours. “Oh?” He lifted one eyebrow questioningly as he came to sit beside you. 

You laughed, turning towards him and wrinkling your nose. “Mmhmm. I saw you speaking with Drinian.” Now it was his turn to laugh. “I know how he feels about my…” 

“Adventurous streak?” Caspian supplied with a smirk and you nodded. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer, making sure not to be too bold in broad daylight. You sighed and laid your head against his shoulder, your soft hair tickling the skin above the opening in his shirt. “You would save me the lectures from Drinian if you’d considered listening to them once in a while.” He teased, pulling another small laugh from you. He inhaled deeply through his nose and turned to press a quick, light kiss to your temple, the modest display of affection stirring much less modest thoughts that were quickly quelled when he reminded himself of why he was up here. Suddenly the tone of his voice changed. “You know he’s only concerned for your safety.” 

You looked into his eyes and brought your fingers up to push a stubborn lock of your hair back behind the starfish pin. “I know, Caspian.” Unlike most, you had taken to calling him simply by his name much more naturally, and unlike anyone you made it sound like a song. “But there’s no reason to worry, you know that.” 

Close to you I’ll always be, to keep you safe upon the sea. 

They weren’t quite a memory, and they certainly were not a dream. They were words that had proven themselves to be true your entire life- you had always been safe no matter where you sailed, how high you climbed, or how harsh the storms became. Every ship that you’d ever woven a sail for had been gifted the same protection. You couldn’t explain it, and Caspian knew that some things in this world had no explanation. But he couldn’t bank on the ghost of a phrase, not when it came to the woman he loved, the woman that he planned to marry and have as his Queen. 

He spoke your name and swallowed. “I know.” He nodded and you rested your head back on his shoulder, the hand he had around your waist coming up to trace the pointed edges of the pin in your hair. “But you’re my Queen.” He felt you shiver next to him. Not yet, not technically but… But for all it mattered your heart had already been crowned as his. “And I can’t lose you. Narnia can’t lose you.” He pressed another swift kiss to your warm skin. “They don’t know it yet, but you’re going to be the best Queen our people have ever had. And that means that they need you to stay safe. I need you to stay safe.” 

You let out another sigh and gently wound your arm behind him, mirroring his hold on you. “Well,” you said, “if my King demands it.” 

Caspian smiled, knowing that you knew full and well that he’d never demand anything from you. “He does.” 

Before you could answer, there was a call from below that drew both of your attention. “Land ho!” Takos called triumphantly, followed closely by a second call from Timmin, not to be outdone by his brother. 

The stunning sight of lush greenery and bright flora in the shape of an island loomed on the horizon, and the excitement made your eyes widen, the conversation you’d just been having flying to the rear of your mind as you turned to him, giddy with happiness. “Land ho, Caspian.” You stood, reaching for his hand and pulling him to his feet with more strength than an outsider would think you were capable of. “Home.” 

He smiled and brushed his fingers over the curve of your cheek. “Home.” He nodded, your excitement contagious and chasing the conversation from his mind, too. “Should we go see if your father is in?” 

You bit your bottom lip and smiled around it, then bent down to scoop up your discarded boots, slinging them over your shoulder. “Come on, my King. Let’s go and tell him the good news.” 

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Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tags! Thank you as always for reading :) 

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[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 2 Hobbit Plot Bunnies

Title: A Hobbit’s Tale: Reclaiming One’s Home

Summary:  Role Reversal AU. Prince Bilbo Baggins, formerly of the Shire, has never really had a purpose amongst his people other than to stir up trouble for the displaced hobbits. Therefore, when Gandalf approaches him with a plan to retake the West, Bilbo is willing to do whatever it takes, even team up with a band of dwarven blacksmiths disguised as warriors to take down the Goblin King.

POV: Switches between Bilbo and Thorin

It was a dark and stormy night as a small figure fought his way to a run-down inn in Esgaroth. He tugged his cloak tighter to his person as he pushed his way through the Big People around him to claim a small table near the back. Being so close to Erebor, none of the men took notice of the figure half their size. Once he was settled in with a piping hot plate before him did Bilbo Baggins-Took, exiled Prince of the Shire, pull back his hood.

He could feel the stares even more so now that he revealed that he wasn’t in fact a dwarf. Halfing, Shire-folk. The whispers floated just on the edge of his enhanced hearing, and under the table he readjusted the grip on his long knife. He didn’t really expect anything to happen, but he also knew to be cautious.

Bilbo was able to finish his meal in peace, and pulled out his pipe as he continued to wait on his purpose in coming to this Yavanna-forsaken lake town. He had just lit the bowl and took a couple of deep puffs when a figure in a long gray cloak and equally big hat stopped before his table. He looked up, but the lighting and angle hid the man’s face.

“Good evening.” He greeted with a curt nod.

“What do you mean? Do you wish me a good evening, or mean that it is a good evening whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this evening; or that it is a evening to be good on?”

Bilbo heaved a sigh of relief. “Gandalf.”

The old wizard gave a deep chuckle as he threw his head back, his eyes twinkling in delight.

“Hello, my dear friend.”

“I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me.” Bilbo complained, trying to hide the meek smile around his pipe stem.

“Misplaced in my memories, surely. But never forgotten.” Gandalf affirmed as he sat down across from Bilbo. “Now, what exactly have you done this time to get yourself kicked out of the New Shire?”

“No, no. That’s not what happened.” Bilbo was quick to dispute. “I saw an opportunity to help my fellow hobbits, and I took it. This...is an adventure, not a sentencing.”

Gandalf merely raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Bilbo held the staredown before he groaned releasing a cloud of smoke.

“And perhaps...I did get carried away when I said the Brown Lands would be more green if the men there would just give us control and keep their smelly booted feet off the land and their long noses out of our arses.”

Gandalf chuckled. “Fortinbras didn’t think that was very clever?”

“Oh, my cousin didn’t have much of a problem with it. I dare say the village chief we were negotiating with was ready to strike me down where I stood.”

Gandalf hummed in agreement and part amusement. Bilbo let the silence fester between them long enough for another draw on his pipe before he spoke again, more reverently.

“I know I don’t make it easier on Fortinbras or the rest of my family, but my pride as a Took and as a hobbit is all I have left, Gandalf. I can’t believe they sent me away to get rid of me, and maybe a small part of me thinks…”

Bilbo trailed off staring at the grain in the wood of the table between them.

“Yes?” Gandalf prompted the smaller fellow.

Bilbo shook his head, and the hesitancy in his eyes moments ago was replaced with steely determination.

“The hobbits will return to Eriador. Even if I have to stand alone before the Goblin King himself. I will have my kin living again in the quiet burrows of the Farthings.”

Gandalf gave the hobbit prince a soft look. “The bravery of hobbits will never cease to amaze me. Or perhaps, it is your mother’s legacy I see shining in you, rather than your people as a whole.”

Bilbo felt himself blush as he always did when Gandalf compared him to his mother. 

“Which is why, I do not hesitate to give you this: the last possession she left in my care.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow as he finished off his pipeweed and tucked the wooden heirloom away for another day. He reached across the table to take the folded parchment Gandalf threw down between them. His eyes raked over the map in awe when he realized what it was he had before him.

“Gandalf, this is a map to…”

“Yes.” Gandalf nodded putting his hand over Bilbo’s much smaller one. “And if we are careful and clever, I dare say with this we can see your dream fulfilled.”

Bilbo’s eyes filled up with tears as he shook his head mutely.

“I don’t...I don’t know what to say.”

“Keep it secret. Keep it safe. And while I think it is a fine plan of foolishness to march into your enemies hold outnumbered nearly ten thousand to one, I thought if you wouldn’t mind the company, I have an idea for some hired help.”

“Who?” Bilbo questioned.

“A company of soldiers I’m well acquainted with conveniently located in Erebor.”

***

Thorin had it in his head from the morning he woke up, that it was going to be a perfectly normal day. He had a couple of orders to finish up for cookware from one of the widows in Dale and an axe for Gloin’s son he thought he would begin. He planned to take Fili and Kili out to the edge of Mirkwood on that hunting trip he had been promising for so long. May catch up with Balin and Dwalin over a pint of ale in the tavern later that evening. There was certainly nothing that seemed to suggest he would earn a visit from Tharkun, bringer of grey moods, and yet a couple of hours into his forge, that’s precisely who showed up.

Thorin barely glanced up from the hot metal he was beating into shape, trying to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Most would recognize he was busy, and wait for him at the front of the shop. Not the old wizard it seemed.

“Well, if it isn’t the disturber of peace himself.” He greeted gruffly, his eyes never leaving his work.

“Now, now, Thorin. Is that any way to greet old friends?”

“I wasn’t aware that’s what we were.” Thorin raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well, old friends of your father.” Gandalf was quick to correct.

Thorin huffed a bitter laugh. “Yes, friends. Tell me, is it common to leave all of your friends to the mercy of orcs?”

“That was not my doing, Thorin Oakenshield, but that of your king.” Gandalf remarked gravely.

That, Thorin knew all too well. He grunted before plunging the skillet into the basin of water watching the rapidly cooling metal for imperfections. When he finally deemed it well enough, he pulled it back out and set it to the side before giving Gandalf his full attention.

“What do you want?”

“I’m on a recruiting mission for an old friend. You see, he’s a long way from home and in need of an escort to get over the Misty Mountains.”

Thorin shook his head with a chuckle. “Your friend sounds like a fool. No one steps foot west of the Misty Mountains anymore. Besides, I’m a blacksmith, not a warrior.”

“That’s not entirely true. There are still some settlements to the west out of goblin hands, and I’m sure my friend will accept any help freely given even if that comes with a little rust here and there.”

Thorin resisted the urge to rub a hand down his face and instead scratched at the bottom of his shortened beard.

“Perhaps I’m not making myself plain enough, friend. I will not be coerced into another farfetched scheme of yours. Now away with you, I have better uses for my time than to argue it away.”

“At least hear him out. You may find yourself empathetic.”

“I sincerely doubt it.”

Thorin crossed his arms at that point, refusing to budge on the issue. Gandalf gave him a calculating look before shaking his head as if in disappointment. Thorin was not swayed.

“You’ve changed Thorin Oakenshield, and not entirely for the better. Very well, I will rid you of my company. Good luck to you in your smithing endeavors.”

Thorin merely gave him a nod watching him pass through the settlement on his way to Dale before returning to his work. Dwalin gave him a look, but Thorin shook it away. Seeing Gandalf again brought up dark memories, but nothing that he hadn’t made peace with. He was happy. His family, well what was left of it, was happy. Even if their houses now existed on the outskirts of the mountain rather inside her warmth. This was his life now, and he wasn’t about to jeopardize it for another fullhardy attempt against the goblins.

The rest of the day passed much in how he was expecting it to go. Dis noticed his mood and tried to pry the worries from his mind, but he assured her he was fine. He met the brothers Lin down at the bar, and after his second beer he had nearly forgotten his exchange with Gandalf. That’s when he appeared.

“Will you look at that?” Balin marveled, his voice low.

Thorin and Dwalin were both facing the older dwarf, and therefore couldn’t see what had captured his attention. They both turned in their seats before their jaws dropped in much the same open awe as most of the patrons. It was a halfling. Obvious by the large feet containing bronze curls, and the pointed leaf-shaped ears hidden in hair equally fair. He walked with a pompous air of someone not swayed by the staring and whispers happening around him. He paused for only a moment before squaring his shoulders and marching right up to Bombur who had stopped cleaning the glass in his hand subconsciously as the creature eased its way forward.

“Have you ever seen a halfling before?” Dwalin murmured.

“Nay.” Balin denied with a shake of his head. “Father said he had once before the Fall of the Shire. He said the land used to be beautiful, rich in food the way Erebor is rich in gold.”

The halfling had quick words with Bombur but spun around towards them as if he somehow heard Balin’s soft words. He said something to Bombur with a nod of his head before making his way towards their table. The whole time, Thorin couldn’t take his eyes off him. No dwarf there really could. Thorin fought the urge to smooth down his hair as he set his beer back on the table. The hobbit came right up to him and gave a bow of his head.

“Thorin, son of Thrain?” He questioned.

Thorin only blinked in shock that this near ethereal being with a musical lithe in his voice sought him out. Dwalin gave him a kick with his boot which managed to wake him up enough to answer with a gruff ‘aye’.

“Bilbo Baggins, at your service.” He stated holding out his hand.

Thorin merely stared at it numbly, and for the first time the halfling seemed to lose some of his confidence.

“That is...was I wrong to assume that is a traditional dwarven greeting?”

“Uh, no. Thorin, son of Thrain at yours and your family.” He returned shaking the smaller, softer hand.

Bilbo nodded, regaining the cool detachment once more. 

“Very good. I assume these are your companions?”

“Dwalin, son of Fundin, at your service.” Thorin’s friend eagerly answered shaking the halfling’s hand as well.

“Well met, Dwalin.”

“Balin, son of Fundin, at your service.” Balin picked up after Dwalin.

“Well met, Balin.” Bilbo shook his hand as well. “May I?” He asked indicating the spot next to him.

“Please, Mister Baggins. Can we order you anything?” Balin took over with pleasantries.

“No thank you. I like to keep my wits about me when conducting business.” The odd being was quick to brush off, his jade eyes piercing Thorin.

“Business? With me?” Thorin smirked.

What could an average dwarven blacksmith have to offer a wandering halfling? The little creature bristled in confusion.

“Yes, Gandalf told me you were made aware of this meeting. Is something the matter?”

All of Thorin’s good mood vanished in an instant. 

“You’re Gandalf’s friend.” He accused.

“I hope you are quicker with a blade than you are in a conversation, Mister Thorin or this will be a poor venture indeed. Yes, Gandalf, the man who spoke with you earlier sent me here as was scheduled. Or was I too late to catch you before you were knee deep into your spirits, and the drink had addled your mind?”

Thorin glared at the fiery being wondering what he wanted to be most insulted by: the soft creature’s barbed words or his relation with Gandalf.

[ryanmeft]

My Top Performances of 2019, Part 1

That’s pretty self-explanatory, right?

A couple notes:

I cut myself off at 20. Many deserving performances didn’t quite make that arbitrary cut. Some will be in the honorable mentions section in Part 2. The order is irrelevant. In fact, it is deliberately random. There were a few cases where two performances in the same movie were both great and complimentary, and I wanted to honor them both without using up another slot. So I just combined them.

Last but not least, don’t forget that while writers and directors can’t make movies without actors, without writers and directors actors are just grown-ass adults playing pretend in front of a mirror. That’s also true of designers, cinematographers, key grips, assistants---pretty much everyone it takes to make one of these things. If you really love an actor or a performance, look into the people you don’t see who make it possible, and be sure to mentally send them some appreciation, too.

On with the show.

Elisabeth Moss in Her Smell

While Joaquin Phoenix and Adam Sandler earned a lot of (very deserving) praise for playing men destructing in slow-motion, Elisabeth Moss went almost unseen here as a woman actively shredding herself and her life while holding onto the fading dregs of fame. Playing the wonderfully named Becky Something, she’s a briefly popular rock star whose absolute lack of control and addiction to power destroy her. But that’s not new; it’s so common a theme in rock movies that it’s become a cliche. What makes Becky stand out is the unwavering intensity Moss portrays her with. There is never a moment of calm, never a place to let out a breath.

Eddie Murphy in Dolemite is My Name

After a couple of decades of his early trash-talking persona being de-fanged by appearances in family films, Murphy returns to what made him famous: swearing a lot. But his turn as Blaxploitation icon Rudy Ray Moore is bigger than that. Moore is seen here as a truly ambitious and calculating entertainer for whom cussing and talking about explicit sex is merely a character for the benefit of others. Could it be a subtle comment on Murphy himself?

Thomasin McKenzie in Jojo Rabbit

Scarlett Johansson got the Oscar nod, but McKenzie is the beating heart of this Mel Brooksian satire of the Nazi regime, fierce and vulnerable and never too much of one or the other. From the moment she appears, when you think she’s going to be the typical meek Jewish refugee hiding in a wall panel and she instead lets Jojo know exactly who is in control, she commands the film, leaving us enjoying the whole thing but also waiting for her scenes. After her debut in Leave No Trace was mostly ignored, her lack of awards success here continues to be baffling.

Scarlett Johansson & Adam Driver in Marriage Story

Not that ScarJo didn’t deserve a nomination this year. You cannot look away from her in this unflinchingly realistic story of an imploding marriage---but Driver sure makes you want to. In a gender-narrative-switch, Johansson plays the cool, calculating one, remaining above the fray though, of course, privately threatening to drown in it. Driver is the overly emotional one, relying on instinct rather than reason. When they finally break down and have a knock-down drag-out, it’s both shocking that things disintegrated so quickly, and entirely unsurprising to anyone who’s ever attempted a serious relationship. 

Adam Sandler in Uncut Gems

Despite the fact he’s proven himself time and again to be a fantastic dramatic actor when he wants to be, few people were unsurprised at the unrelenting intensity of Sandler’s performance here. He’s a jewel shop owner and small-time hustler, addicted to the risk and thrill of gambling more than the reward. But that’s a pretty typical character. What makes Howard Ratner unique is that he lever lets us take a breath---the never ending explosion inside his head is manifested by the constant whirl of activity and terrible judgement on the outside.

Lupita Nyong’o in Us

As the hero of the film, Nyong’o is sympathetic and engaging. Yet the highlight of this double role is her evil twin---a twisted, broken psychopath who tells ghost stories that could scar your mind and slowly-but-relentlessly pursues her prey. It’s a testament to Nyong’o’s talent that whenever both are onscreen together, they seem equally real and equally separate. If you don’t think that sounds hard, imagine having to pretend to fight yourself pretending to fight yourself, and make it look good.

Rebecca Ferguson in Doctor Sleep

Look, I’m just gonna be honest here: I might have a little bit of a crush on Rebecca Ferguson, as much because of her until-now underutilized talent as her looks. She’s simply incredibly compelling to watch even in roles that don’t deserve her level of skill. After seeing her as a centuries-old, soul-devouring, child-murdering, vampire-like creature of the night in the latest Stephen King adaptation, though, I…well, still have a little bit of a crush on her. I probably need a better therapist. You know who doesn’t need more help? Ferguson, who with this role takes back the scene-chewing movie villain from superhero films and delivers one of the best of all time. I haven’t watched Doctor Who in a while; do they need a new Master yet?

Antonio Banderas in Pain & Glory

Banderas was a talented actor right from his early beginnings with director Pedro Almodovar. He came to Hollywood, got a few good roles out of it (I’m still a fan of that first Zorro movie), was relegated to the status of a sex symbol, dropped off most people’s radars for a while, and in Almodovar’s latest finally gets the role of his career. He’s an aging filmmaker who suffers from every chronic pain imaginable, unable or unwilling to write and reflecting on a lifetime full of loves and losses. It is a performance that is difficult to describe in words, sublime and subtle let passionate and romantic.

Juliette Binoche in High Life

I usually hedge my bets on statements of absolute fact, but I feel comfortable saying this is the only movie you will ever see in which Juliette Binoche uses a virtual reality machine and ceiling straps to imagine herself having sex with a person in an animal suit. Describing that scene is irresistible, but it is more than mere shock: it’s an indication of the depths of human drives which Claire Denis is willing to explore, and the bravery of Binoche to trust her to do it. Binoche’s character is slimy---an unethical doctor sentenced to a prison spaceship for her gut-churning experiments---but she’s not a traditional villain. Rather, she’s a creature who exists to fulfill her needs, in a ship full of such animals.

Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe in The Lighthouse

Two men, one a rule-abiding rookie and the other a rambling retired sailor, go mad together in a lighthouse. Pattinson plays the younger man, who seems to believe that good intent and staying on the straight and narrow will forgive him past sins. Dafoe is the wizened, tough-but-fair mentor---or at least so it seems at first. He’s actually as cracked and despotic as they come, leaving us with two unlikable people---one who reveals themselves as such and one who becomes so. It is impossible to separate one of these performances from the other. Witness the scene in which they use stories as verbal weapons. It is as sharp as any actual knife fight could ever be.

That’s all for part one; look for part two tomorrow. Or the next day. Sometime this week.

[jadienjaystoriesandart]

Song of the Dragonborn- Chapter 3: The Companions 

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Thomas wanted to hide in on himself more than anything else, him, dragonborn!? And to head out to these graybeards? He shook his head, it sounded crazy, it was downright dizzying to think about. Capable as he was, he wasn’t a hero! Thomas bit his lower lip, sure he could fight alright, but he only got lucky with that dragon. How was he suppose to be anything more than just a guy on his way to Solitude. 

He supposed he could just head to Solitude and put this whole thing behind him. But, something twisted in his gut at that. The thought of Helgan, of all those people. Thomas shook his head again, if he was to make this journey he wanted to be ready. He wasn’t hiding, just training.  His eyes gazed from the bridge to the upside down boat of what was known as the Companions. Mayhaps? Taking a breath he made his way down the stairs heading over the bridges to the area. He gazed up at the building, taking a breath as he walked up and inside into the comfortable air inside. The scent of food made his mouth water, he hadn’t ate much on his travels but he shook his head trying not to think about it.

To his left he watched two people get into a fist fight, and felt very awkward. As he watched someone tapped his shoulder, he turned to see a women, long red hair and war paint on her face. She was clearly nord by her features, but she also looked very capable.  ���New blood eh?” she asked with her arms crossed at him, as if judging him. Her eyes looking him up and down.

Thomas shifted a bit, “Er, yes.” he said finding his confidence again, as he met her gaze evenly. She laughed a bit at that, “Bravery, good, you’ll need it here. I’ll take you to Kodlak, he’ll see about you.” she told him with a wolfish grin on her face. 

Nodding to her, Thomas followed quietly after her and away from the large group around the table into the lower parts. She walked with her head high and shoulders back, intimidating to say the least. Thomas mostly just liked to stay low and not say much.  They neared a door at the far end, “He’s in there, we’ll see if he proclaims you new-blood?” she said looking him up and down before turning and leaving. 

Giving her a strange look as she left, Thomas entered the room, lingering in the back as he heard two people having a conversation. He only really caught bits and pieces of it, trying not to eavesdrop. Something about ‘call of the blood’ and ‘not everyone is happy’ or at least that’s what it sounds like. 

“Ah a stranger comes to our halls!” Thomas looked up to see a man with long white and gray hair in heavy armor with wolves on it. His beard was neatly tied as his eyes gazed into his very being. 

Straightening up, “Hello, my name is Thomas.” he said politely, “I’m here to join The Companions.” he said with as much confidence as he could muster. From what he saw with that nord women they valued bravery and confidence. But, he was also taught to respect elders. While Thomas didn’t think everyone of old age was deserving of respect, he could just sense this man, Kodlak clearly, was one who deserved it. 

“Would you now?” Kodlak hummed at him hand stroking his beard as he gazed at Thomas up and down much like how the red head did. He then nodded slowly, “Yes, perhaps, a certain strength of spirit.” The man he was talking to huffed in disbelief. “Now you can’t be serious Kodlak, I’ve never even heard of this man.”

Kodlak waved his hand, “It matters not Vilkas. Some come here to seek their Fame. Some men and women come just for the thrill of the fight. Others just are famous and wish to join. It matters not, so long as his blade arm is strong and his heart is true.” he commented calmly then turned to Thomas, “Tell me boy, how good is your arm?” he asked.

Thomas shifted a bit at that, “I have alot to learn, sir.” he admits quietly to him. “It’s why I seek to join.” Kodlak nodded to that with a pleased smile, “Good good, you will learn well then so long as you keep your head on a swivel and eyes to Sovenguard.” he promised looking to Vilkas, “Vilkas, why not test out this new-blood. See where we can place him to train with one of the higher members.” he suggested to the man with deep amber eyes and shaggy black hair.

With a nod and hum of confirmation he got up and motioned with his chin for Thomas to follow. Giving a look at that as Kodlak just nodded to him, Thomas turned and followed quietly. Vilkas seemed like a quiet type, didn’t speak as they walked out just giving nods to anyone they passed. And out they went to the courtyard. Thomas felt eyes on him as they got to the yard out back. 

“So the old man wants me to test you, see where you’ll stand for training with us to become a Companion.” Vilkas huffed at that, gazing at Thomas “Two-handed it seems, duel weapons.” he nodded pulling out a shield and sword. “Alright then, let’s see, take a few swings at me. Don’t worry, I can take it.” he chuckled at Thomas, there was no taunting, just a statement.

Thomas nods sobering up, he wouldn’t be meek, this was nothing compared to a dragon after all. Pulling out his weapons, he gripped his leather handles, the weight of them in his hands. And then he lashed out. Vilkas moved fast, but Thomas remained on edge. He turned from the shield that almost bashed his arm, catching it with his blade as the ring of metal was heard. Vilkas laughed at that, as Thomas skidded back and they ran at each other again. Thomas grunted at the force that hit him, but he dug in his feet as Vilkas tried to push him back. The sword reared back, Thomas gazed up then turned sharply as it barely missed his shoulder. He moved his blade down and caught the blade under his. The other holding the shield with the other blade as they held there.

Gazing at him and then grinning, Thomas’s eyes widen as Vilkas moved his foot and knocked Thomas down. The blade at his neck, he gazed up as Vilkas laughed. “Well new-blood you fight well, a bit sloppy on form, but you have fire. You’re still a whelp though, so just do as we tell you.” he mused with a grin, showing sharp teeth. “Here, run a few tasks to cool off from our sparing session.” he handed Thomas his hand, helping him up, then handed him a sword. “Tell Eorlund, at the Sky Forge, it needs sharpen.”

Panting a bit and nodding, Thomas got his sword putting them away in their sheaths. Vilkas nodded patting Thomas’s shoulder firmly before heading to set down for a bit.  Thomas turned and near flushed at the crowd that had gathered to watch their small sparing session. Taking a breath he turned away and walked up to what he knew to be Sky Forge now, trying to ignore the rush in his blood to fight again. That was normal, ever since he was little, the rush to fight and to win. His dad said he had a warriors spirit, but Thomas wasn’t sure that was it. 

Climbing up the stairs, the sun high in the sky, Thomas saw a man working the metal at the forge. Brows creased in concentration and eyes narrowed as the hammer strikes the hot metal. Then, as if sensing him, they turned to him and hum. “What brings you here?” he asked, his muscles flexing as he struck the metal again.  Thomas felt even more awkward about social interaction, “Well, Vilkas gave me his sword to bring to you.” he said holding it out.

Eorlund nodded to that as he took it, “Newcommer then?” he asked with a knowing look at him. Thomas just nodded feeling small inside, this was a bad idea. “Eh, don’t worry about it. They all were whelps once, they just don’t like to talk about it.” he told Thomas clasping his shoulder in a encouraging way. “If Kodlak says you have heart, then I’ll trust his judgement.”

“Thank you.” Thomas felt like some weight was off his shoulders, like Kodlak, Eorlund gave off a wise vibe, but capable in a fight. “Not sure really why I thought to join, figured if I am to make it in Skyrim I’ll need to be better at fighting.”

The blacksmith nodded, “A wise thought, your blade is the only think that stand between you and your enemy. Remember boy, nothing here will show mercy to you, so you shouldn’t either. Between creatures in the forests and people who’d slit your throat for a quick buck, you need to be ready.” he grunted out to Thomas as he treating the blade. “You’ll learn much here, and soon have songs sung about you.” he joked lightly at the last part.

Thomas felt himself smile a bit at that, Eorlund gave him a look. “Remember this though son, every man here is his own, and every women her own. No body rules a Companion. Kodlak is in charge, but a true leader, hasn’t been seen this Ysgamor.” he told Thomas in his gruff tones.

Turning to his blade to be cooled, Thomas watched for a long moment, Eorlund then grunted making him jump. “Interested in blacksmithing?” he asked knowingly with a side eyes. “Er well... yeah kind of.” Thomas admits to him sheepishly. Eorlund huffed, “Be firm with your words.” he said sharply to him, “But, here’s a deal for you. My wife is in grieving, I should be getting back to her. But, I have to finish Aela’s shield. Come back here when the sun is near the right of the city, and if you can deliver it for her, I’ll teach you smithing.” he offer to him.

Thomas blinked at that then nodded, “I can do that sir.”  Eorlund snorted, “Sir? Formal of you, just call me Eorlund or, if you want to be formal, Gray-mane is fine.” he told him. “For now, get to know the city, you look clueless walking about.”

Flushing, was it that obvious? But nodding, he left, walking down the stairs and frowned to himself. Get to know the city? Well, he was Thane now, at least only few knew of that, so he supposed he should. Patton did say to hit him up for a tour if he wanted it. So, he supposed first place to find him would be at the Warmaidens. Walking to the area on the path he always took. Walking up to see  Adrianne working, she looked at him and gave a kind smile. “Well it’s good to see you again, I see your quest is complete.” she laughed heartily, “What do you need my friend?” she asked.

“I was looking for Patton, seeing if he could show me around the city.” Thomas said, feeling more at ease as he knew of her better than most here.  Adrianne nodded to that, “He’s just inside, and I’m sure he’ll love to.” she told Thomas looking at him. “Thomas.” he looked at her before walking in. “I need to ask a favor of you.”

Frowning in thought he walked over to her from the doorway. “You see,” she started. “This is the first time I’ve seen Patton really take to liking a newcommer, sure he’s friendly, but he’s also a very wary person of new people. Took me and my husband a year to get him to open up to us about his past. However, he’s asked around about you to the guards. And, I ask of you this, be a good friend to that boy. He needs someone to rely on in this world.” she told him firmly.

Thomas blinked at that in shock, before smiling at her. “I will certainly try.” he promised. Adrianne nodded, “Good, just keep in mind, you hurt him and my husband and I will have your head.” she said seriously. Thomas looked worried at that with a strained and worried smile. 

“You both really care about him.” Thomas said with a nervous laugh. Sighing heavily, she nodded to that looking wistful. “We’ve always wanted a child. But, taking a blow to the stomach, though healed, didn’t help my chances.” she admits in a sad tone. “The boy came here, lost, confused, and wanting to learn. It wasn’t a challenge, my husband took a shining to him as much as I did. We can only hope to ready him for the world of being a merchant. This was 3 years ago.” she told Thomas.

He gazed at her for a long moment as she smiled, “Why am i telling you this? Because I think you’ll be a good influence on him, provided by husband is right about you.” she chuckled shaking her head. “You best head inside before you miss him.” Nodding, and saying his thanks, he walked inside to find Patton stocking things on shelves. Patton turned to speak but then beamed, “Thomas!” he said happily to him bouncing over. “What you need, the sword doing you well?” he asked.

Thomas smiled brightly, “Yup, I’ve joined the Companions.” he said to him. Patton’s eyes sparkled at that, “Really, that’s great!”

“More than great, Patton, I pegged you for a warrior when you walked in that day.” Ulfberth laughed as he came in with some shields setting them out on the tables. “To run with the Companions is a honorable path.” he told Thomas with a pleased nod. “I’m sure, still learning though and I have freetime.” Thomas turned to Patton, “As I’m a bit unsure, care to show me around the city?” he asked.

Patton smiled looking to Ulfberth, who chuckled, “Go on, I should be good here. Be back by dinner though.” he tells him, giving to them half a loaf of bread to snack on. Patton waved to him smiling happily as he pulled Thomas outside.

“I’ll be back before sundown Adrianne!” he said quickly as she beamed waving to them before going back to work. Patton pulled Thomas forward to an unknown area he hadn’t been in. “This is the City’s Wind Distract, most people live here and near the Cloud Distract, where Jorrvaskr is The Compainons, is the Underkeep, where the dead are housed.” Patton explained happily as he pulled Thomas along pointing out houses and who lives there and a bit of history.

Thomas was smiling as he listened to Patton talk taking up to the market place next as he waved to some of the stales. As they neared one though, with a older women who was talking to two men who were heckling her about her son. “Well we know where he is, he’s a prisoner in my cellar.” one sneered at her, “Face it old women, you’re son is dead, died a traitor to the Empire!” he said.

Something burned him as he near snarled. He walked over to them, eyes cold as Patton stared in shock and worry at that. “While I don’t have a stake in the war,” he began, “it gives one no right to bully the elderly.” he said getting near them with a cold look. They turned to him, “Oh? And what do you care? Another Stormcloak?” the older man asked with a sneer at Thomas.

“I’m just a man getting by, as much as any other in these times.” Thomas crossed his arms, mimicking Vilkas’s posture he saw. “And I don’t think your ancestors would take well to knowing that you spend your time picking on those older than you and wiser at that.” Opening his mouth to retort, but then snapping it closed. Something about this boy felt... strong, as if he was staring at the maws of a mighty dragon. Instead he scoffed, “Whatever boy, mind you tongue or it’ll be cut off.” he jeered before stalking off with his partner.

Thomas watched them leave, most had been staring at them, but some were nodding at Thomas’s words. Something in him gave a pleased hum to see the weak ones run. He then smiled and relaxed turning to the lady behind the stall. “Sorry about that Ma’ma, I don’t like people who bully others, regardless of their status.” he said to her looking at the jewelry she had on display.

Her wary face smiled at him, “Thank you young man, good to see Skyrim still has fine people in it.” she then sighed. “It’s not the first time this has happened to me though “Call me Fralia, I have seen you around here.” she mused to him then smiled brightly. “Ah Patton, showing this nice man around?” she asked.

Patton, once over his shock of Thomas standing up to a Battle-born, “Yes Fralia, this is Thomas.” he said with a smile.  “Well be sure to come back and chat, I do enjoy company.” she said to him with a smile as Thomas nodded waving to her as Patton pulled him along.

“Woah, you’re fearless!” Patton said once away. Thomas gave him a look, “How so?” he asks curiously to that. “You stood up to the Battle-borns, only few do so. They are powerful, money, and were here when Whiterun was founded.” Patton tells him softly.

For a moment, dread pooled in Thomas’s gut, but he pushed it down. “Regardless Patton, it still gives no right to treat people like that.” he tells him. Patton then nodded to that, “Very true, but not many would say it out loud. Many here, even those on the Empire side, dislike their way of bullying people. The Gray-manes, though at odds with them, I haven’t ever seen them start the fights.” he mused.

Nodding to that as they came near the tree, Patton looked upset again. “Something wrong?” Thomas asked him worriedly. “Ah, nothing.” Patton said with a wave of his hand, Thomas gave him a pointed look as Patton shifted “Well... this tree didn’t always look like this, when I came here it was very alive.” he said sadly.

“Shame isn’t it.” Thomas turned to see a healer prestress walk to them. “Hello Patton, showing the new guy around? Rumors already spread about him.” she said with a soft smile.

Patton smiled, “Thomas, this is Diancie Pure-Spring, she is a prestress of Kynareth and taught me how to better my healing magic.” Diancie laughed at that lightly, “Please Patton, you have Kynareth’s blessing with you, she has a path for you for sure.” she smiled at Thomas. “I noticed you asking about Gildergreen here.”

Thomas nodded as she sighed sadly, “Sadly we don’t know why it is dying, possibly she is too far from her mother, Eldergleam.” she told him sadly, “Many used to come here, but a dead tree isn’t really a sign of healing, huh?”

He frowns at that, “I suppose not, any way to save it?” he asks worriedly, knowing many people held religion close in this area of the empire.  “Sadly, unless we find sap from the original tree, it’s hopeless. And Eldergleam isn’t easy to reach, only one blade could do such a thing. But... hagravens own it.” she shivered a bit in fear and disgust.

She then waved her hand, “Worry not, I’m sure Kynareth will show us what to do.” she tells them then turns, “I best head back, come by some time again Patton, many of the wounded have asked about you. You seem to brighten their day.” Diancie smiled at him as Patton nods before taking her leave.

Thomas then looked up, “I best head back, Eorlund wants me to take a shield to Aela.” he tells Patton. The other nods with a bright smile, that doesn’t quiet reach his eyes. “Sure thing Thomas, see you soon.” he says. Thomas walks off but notices Patton looking at the tree sadly.

He hoped his new friend would be alright.

TAGS:

@5-falsehoods-phonated

[xlittlelionhamiltonx]

To Me Belongeth Vengeance

{{happy belated bday, @prodigyofprincetoncollegex !! I love you dearly!}} 

“He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”

Humbly. Is man ever humble? Does man ever trust in God and His divine plan? 

No. No... humankind was yet a child, stumbling with every step and crying loudly when it fell and scraped its knee. Humankind was a mess, unsure and afraid, and continually disappointing its Father... not that He would ever admit to that...

Sacrilege, Alexander. Your Father is purity and honesty incarnate.

And still... people kill. They hurt and they maim and they torture... they do all that they are instructed not to do, and still, they thrive. 

Why do you not strike them down, Father? Why do you let them go on? 

“Ah!” Alexander curls in on himself, one hand pressed against the wound drawn so haphazardly upon his abdomen, the knife in his free hand shaking violently. He has overstepped. He has sinned, if in thought, alone, and he has beckoned this punishment. 

“God does not ask for perfection. He does not abandon His children for their doubts... for their questions...”

Alex perks up a little, blinking his eyes open and focusing on the peaked wooden ceiling above the empty choir loft. Father Burr seems to have foregone the Old Testament. He chooses not to preach fire and brimstone, though Alex knows that is what he lives and breathes. 

“No father could condemn his own child’s curiosity. Our Father is a good Father, brothers and sisters; he would not discourage the wandering thoughts that He, Himself, has made our minds capable of producing.” 

Does He not, then, Father Burr, condemn His children for taking advantage of the capability he has put in our hands to kill? 

Alex is panting, labored breaths, chest rising and falling like the ocean’s wicked tide. He drops his head over to the side, sweat dripping across his features in tiny, salty rivulets. He blinks his dark eyes a few times, clearing his vision as he attempts to focus on the pale, unseeing eyes that greet him. 

“He loves you for being all that you were created to be. He loves your bravery and ambition, your intelligence and your hope. Unconditionally. As only a Father can.”

“He sounds quite convincing for not believing a word of it, hm?” Alex’s hushed question is met with the cold silence of the dead. He regrets that he had to take action here, knowing Aaron abhors such graphic fits of violence. But it is a weeknight mass, quiet and held in absence of the choir, the pianist seated just near the altar so she might double as a reader for tonight’s scripture. 

The man had offered him no choice. Alexander had often seen him sitting upon a bench near the playground adjacent the church, watching the children play until the last had gone home. Alex had noticed, he had felt that familiar dread that raised the fine hairs upon his nape, and he knew that the matter needed his attention. 

His perch upon the roof of the chapel was typically overlooked by all but the priest whom called the sanctuary his home, and even he was keen to leave Alexander to his own devices. 

God’s will. He trusts in God’s will, not in you. 

It is a warm summer evening, but he still wears long pants and sleeves, covering every twisted scar and elegant scrawl painted upon his brown flesh. He is accustomed to the heat, considering where he grew up, and he pulls his sleeves down a little more, hood up as he studies the scene before him. 

It was only his second day minding this odd man, and already his is given justification for his suspicion. But he is not satisfied. He is not pleased with himself for having faith in God’s word. No... when he sees the man approach a young boy, handing him what appears to be a chocolate bar from his pocket before beckoning him away from the other kids, Alexander is angry. He is disappointed and disenchanted and so goddamn sad, so goddamn heartbroken... and he speaks to his Father... his Lord... the one for whom he protects these broken, ugly creatures...

“I cannot fix them, Father. I cannot vanquish all these wayward lambs. My God, you would have no flock left to watch.” He feels the heat behind his eyes and he fights it angrily, clenching his teeth and rising up from his perch. 

“But let thy will be done.” He drops from the rooftop with unnatural ease, crouching only a handful of seconds before he rises and makes his way toward the nefarious acts being committed. 

It takes him only a moment to reach the pair. He ignores the indignant look on the man’s face as he pulls the boy aside and tells him to return to his friends.  The child is already retreating when Alex finds himself in pursuit of the adult, the man having taken the opportunity to run, as men do when faced with the truth.

It could not even be labeled a fight, so short was the struggle. And Alex, left with a limp body and adrenaline pumping, had no choice but to lug the man up to the choir loft. Mass would begin any moment, after all, and he could hardly burden Aaron with a murder committed upon the estate. 

He murmered to the unconscious form as he moved, more than accustomed to this art of deception.

“I got you buddy, just a little further and you can sleep off that Irish dinner of yours...” 

He is grateful that almost no one crosses their path, and that even fewer take much interest in them. They manage to make it in through the back entrance and a quarter of the way up the stairs without incident. But God does work in mysterious ways, does he not?

It is then, surrounded by naught more than the distant sound of lambs eager to atone, shifting in their pews, and that old, musky smell that somehow settles as a permanent guest in well-loved temples, that Alexander’s plans are upset by the sharp, biting tip of a blade.

He cries out only briefly, clamping a hand over his mouth as he throws the man off of him, a pale fist clenching weakly at the fabric of his shirt. 

“Fucking die, you piece of shi-” 

The pervert is making his attempt at another meek thrust toward Alex’s neck, and the raven-haired man supresses the urge to pull back, instead pushing forward, forcing the attacker to stumble back, foot slipping off of the step and throwing him off balance long enough for Alex to land both palms solidly against his chest, sending him toppling down the stairs. 

His body hits the door that closes off the stairway from the foyer, and Alexander hopes that the noise is being drowned out by the chiming of the church bells. He wastes no time catching his breath, rushing down the steps and reaching forward to lock the door as he had neglected to before. A few, deep breaths, he gives the wound gifted him a quick assessment before leaning down and checking the man for signs of life. 

But his eyes are open and lacking the soul’s spark, his chest is still and his neck is bent at a notably unnatural angle. 

“No last rites for you, I’m afraid.” He exhales softly, picking up the fallen blade and tucking it away before gritting his teeth and hoisting the man up and over his shoulder, pushing down the pain of exertion and moving slowly up the stairwell. 

And that was how he ended up here, as he is, flat on his back, gasping for air and contemplating his next move. He had no worries about being rid of the corpse... once he had managed to remove it from this holy institute, at any rate. Which could prove to be a slightly tricky task if he hoped to avoid being discovered. 

“When we bow our heads in prayer and contemplation, I encourage you all to reflect upon the questions you have. What in the scripture gives you pause? Is there a question that you have told yourself one mustn’t dare ask? If so, now is the time.” 

“I have a question.” There is a new voice, deep and gruff and noticeably agitated. The creaking of wood indicates that the congregation is shifting in their pews, turning to identify the owner of this voice. 

“And I am here to help you find the answer, my son.” 

“I sure hope you can, Padre.” The voice is moving, the pews groaning as their occupants continue to follow the man’s path toward the altar. 

“See, I saw someone draggin’ my brother into this church just a few minutes ago, and I took a gander about the place while you was preachin’, but I didn’t see ‘im anywhere. You wouldn’t happen to know how to answer that mystery, would ya?” There are a few seconds of heavy silence, and it seems even the congregation is holding its breath, listening, waiting, right along with Alex. And when the man does speak again, the voice is quieter, more menacing, and the words make Alexander’s heart skip and his blood boil. 

“I hope you do, because I’d really, really hate to have to kill a man of God.” 

Alexander is up in a heartbeat, peering over the rail, doing what he can to stay cloaked by the shadow of the dim loft. What he sees only aggravates him further. The man is huge and looks as rough as he sounds, and he is towering over Aaron, standing mere inches before him. There is a spark of pride in Alex’s chest when he notes how steady Aaron appears, unwavering and unafraid. 

“I am afraid that I have seen nothing out of the ordinary this evening. But, if we were all to assist you, I am certain we could find your brother. Was he ill? Is there a chance this person was attempting to help him?” 

As he speaks, Alex wracks his brain for a solution to this little problem, a way to remain unseen and unheard and still put a stop to this man before he can do anything regrettable. 

“Not a good time to play dumb, priesty.” He moves forward, reaching out and clasping Aaron’s shoulder, stoking the fire burning in Alexander’s belly. 

And he knows what needs to be done. He knows how to save the priest and punish the sinner. And who better to do it than a ghost? What has he to fear? 

He crouches down, crawling to the lifeless body and ripping open the man’s shirt. He retrieves the dagger from his waistband, using it to carve into the man’s chest, no less certain in his action than he would be if it were pen to paper. When he is finished, he tucks the blade away, quickly pulling one shoe from the man’s foot, ignoring the pain and the sweat that is dripping down his face as he drags the lifeless pedophile back toward the railing. 

Once finished, he stands and takes in the scene unfolding on the altar below. It is not favorable, to say the least. The man is still near Aaron, still close enough to be touching him, but now he is staring out at the frightened church-goers, a twisted smile on his lips and a mania in his eyes. Aaron, despite how terrified he must be, somehow manages to look entirely at peace and in control of the situation. 

My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.

He needs to act now. He is the power upon which Aaron relies. He is the deliverance the man has preached. He mustn’t leave room for doubt.

“I will ask you one more time, and only one more, where -”

The words are interrupted by the thud of a shoe hitting the floor, the man’s focus quickly shifting toward the object in question. After a moment of confusion, recognition settles over his features, and he releases Aaron with little thought, moving forward and crouching down to retrieve the footwear. He turns it in his hand, looking around and then, finally, up. 

He hardly has the time to draw in a breath before the heavy body of his dead brother is crashing down upon him, pinning him down and drawing out a pained grunt. Alexander follows closely behind, landing with practiced ease, his hood pulled down over his eyes, head bowed and body crouched low as he speaks.

“Go. All of you.” He rises slowly, aggravated by the stunned silence surrounding him as he moves toward the struggling terrorist. 

“Go now!” A few gasps are followed by the sound of the creaking pews and rustling fabric and hurried footsteps, the people rushing to heed his command. He is upon the violent man just as he manages to push his brother’s body off of himself, his eyes barely able to lock onto Alex’s face before the blade has opened his throat, the blood flowing freely while the man chokes on it.  

Even as the man struggles to hold onto his meager life, Alex has ripped open his shirt and set metal to flesh, sketching out the scripture in violent crimson. 

Ne prohibueritis eos!

He steps away from the quickly dying heretic, setting forth in readjusting the cooling corpse of his equally evil brother, making certain that the first responders to the scene will not overlook His message. 

Mea est ultio.

“Forgive them, Father; they know not what they do.” Alexander turns to meet Aaron’s eyes, the air leaving his lungs when he sees the look on the young priest’s face. 

He had been wrong to do this. He had thought Aaron ready to bear witness to the wrath of the Almighty, but now... 

Aaron looked lost. Confused. Terrified. It wasn’t what Alex had wanted for him. Why did he not feel elated? Why was he not in awe of this divine intervention to which he’d borne witness? 

“Be not afraid, Aaron.” Alex rises. He approaches the stunned man carefully, his own dark eyes made darker by the adrenaline, his heart pounding in his chest and his pain all but forgotten. 

“These animals at your feet... they hunted the purest of God’s flock. They stole innocence and planted seeds of hatred.” 

He can hear the sirens approaching, and he knows he has little time. 

“Aaron.” No more than a whisper. He reaches out and trails his fingertips over the priest’s cheekbone, finally gaining the attention he’s been seeking. Aaron looks at him as though he is only just becoming aware of his presence, reaching up to grip his hand as he shakes his head, eyes quicly assessing the taller man’s body. 

“Alexander - you’re injured.” 

“And time will heal me, as it does all wounds.” He squeezes Aaron’s hand, chuckling quietly when the man seems to remember himself, pulling carefully away and taking a small step back. 

“You need a hospital.” 

“And you need to have faith.” Alex doesn’t regret the bite behind his words, even when Aaron flinches and looks away. 

The sirens are much too close now, and Alexander has wasted too much time tending to the priest’s shaken nerves. 

“Pray tonight, Aaron. When dawn arrives, so, too, shall your answer.” 

He heads toward the priest’s quarters, knowing he can escape from there unseen. He doesn’t look back as he retreats, but he sends up a quick prayer of his own. 

“Let him be loyal. Let him be of good faith. Stay his tongue, and stay my blade. Or, come tomorrow, I shall be anointed in blood once more.” 

[miccatepoztli]

Annoyingly Long and Obnoxious Meta On Ximena’s Magic Aura. 

No editing, we die like men.

To begin, we are going to assume some things.

First: let’s assume that a person’s aura is real and connected to both their personality and heritage. When I say heritage, I don’t just necessarily mean where a person comes from. I mean their parents. Their ancestors. The things that they did and accomplished. Because in my little fantasy headspace, physical blood is important.

Second: let’s assume that this aura can be sensed the same way we sense food, cloth, music, etc. Some people can see auras, some can smell them (like Ximena can), and some can taste them or hear them or physically touch them. Maybe you can even do more than one, but I expect that would be a lot of overstimulation.

Third: let’s assume that if auras are real, and they can be sensed, that they may also be hidden or amplified. A private person or someone who does not want to be noticed (like Ximena) may, in theory, cloak/conceal/hide away their aura from others. If in a situation that requires a certain level of passion (say, intimidating someone during a battle, comforting a loved one, or grieving), one can indeed do the opposite of hide and show others that aura. You can show your enemy the dangerous avalanche of your emotions. You can let your loved one feel protection and warmth. You can have your aura play the sad sounds of your mourning. 

All of these displays of auras is completely abstract, of course, I imagine it’s similar to synesthesia.

Now, let’s get a little more exciting and add magic into the mix.

For this idea, let’s use my general interpretation of what magic is and how it works (because if there’s a solid explanation, then it stops being magic and starts being science fiction): all living things, and even some non-living things that are natural (ex. rocks, dead flowers, sea shells) exude/produce magic. There are magic reservoirs and special areas of the world where magic is stronger. Some places where it is weaker. Magic moves like wind. Like currants. Magic is hella alive. It probably has a conscience.  It is one being and several beings at once.

Certain magic sticks to certain people. It creates somewhat of a symbiotic relationship. Give and take. The magic effects the person, and the person effects the magic. Certain things will come easily to the person because of the type of magic that has attached themselves to them/the type of magic that bends to their will. People who have never broken a dropped phone. People who never forget a birthday. People who have never gotten in an accident. People who always win bingo. People who always have the attention of the people in a room the moment they walk into it. People who always get the last slice of pizza. These are little magicks.

But! Living things includes, of course, humans. Humans can produce magic, but not at the same high rates as other creatures, such as goblins, fae, hulders, mermaids, what-have-you. For most humans, this magic is very difficult to unlock, and most never do it in their lifetimes, instead letting it build up until their deaths when it goes back out into the world (in a Harry Potter or FFVIII verse, the humans who are able to unlock it, are wizards/sorceresses).

So then, a review: Auras are real. They can be sensed. They can be manipulated. Magic is real. It is alive and everywhere. It sticks to certain people. They have strong influences on each other. Humans produce magic too, but it is very small, and hard to unlock. If you can unlock it, you’re Special.

Now, magic becomes physical when a spell is cast. When a potion is brewed. When a sigil is drawn. Turning water into wine, making a sleeping draught, carving runes...You’re bending magic into a shape/form. Creating a purpose. It can also become physical once it blends in with a person’s aura.

It takes time, I think. At first, maybe in infancy (or perhaps even in the womb?), the magic mixes with the aura like oil and water. You can shake them up (lol) for a temporary mix, but they will separate naturally. As time goes on, and the person grows and develops their personality, that same symbiosis relationship takes place with the aura and the magic until they are close to one and the same. The more blended they are, the easier it is for people to control their magic/have it do what they want it to do.

It also means that magic can be physically manifested when blended far enough with an aura. It can be sensed.

It is incredibly difficult to physically manifest your magic. To have it actually physically affect the world around you. It’s even more difficult to control it like this. It’s basically RAW ORGANIC MAGICKS™, and that shit is dangerous when it’s not filtered through spells or potions or any other form of performing magic.

It is also much much easier to sense a person’s magic than just a regular aura.

A person’s magic in physical form can be a lot of things. Fire, electricity, clouds, petals...Honestly this is the part where you should just let your imagination run wild because A) who cares, world building is fun, and B) every person with magic is different. As said before, the aura of a person depends on their personality and heritage. And magic affects the person binded to it and the aura of that person.

So, let’s get to Ximena. Spoilers! For her past, if that matters to you (I’d appreciate it if your muse didn’t automatically know these things unless we discuss them first):

Ximena was born in a cenote through ritual/magical means. From TripSavy: “A cenote is a deep, water-filled sinkhole in limestone that is created when the roof of an underground cavern collapses. This creates a natural pool which is then filled by rain and water flowing from underground rivers. The word cenote comes from the Mayan word dzonot, which means "well."” Ximena was also visited and drowned as a young child by La Llorona in a river after a flood when she went in deep to collect water, as the well she would have gone to was destroyed.

Water is the element of change, of which Ximena knows much about. It is why her magic is very water like. Cool and running/flowing. Dark. If you were able to touch/brush against Ximena’s magic, it would feel like your hand was submerged in running water. Cold. Soothing. But despite the gentleness of the current, it is very unyielding. It’s strong. Persistent.

Her magic feels old and ancient, as many cenotes are. It is also because of her particular family curse, of which includes (among other things) involuntary and often painful immortality. The magic that attaches itself to her has flowed through the veins of her father. Her grandmother. Her great-grandmother. Her great-great-grandmother. And the rest...

It is also old magic because of the (unknown to her for the longest time) powerful protective magicks on her beaded azebache bracelet (a bracelet meant to protect against the Evil Eye/evil intentions), crafted by and given to her by her father as a means of tricking the curse on their family. It feeds her magic.

The magic on this bracelet is much more powerful than hers, and if someone can naturally sense magic auras, they would be able to read the bracelet’s instead of hers. A means of diversion. Protection. Let’s hope she doesn’t loose it. The details of the magic of this bracelet are for another day, another post.

The color of Ximena’s magic is a lovely deep forest green. Healing and natural. Like the earth. A cenote is both earth and water, and this is where they meet. It’s an elegant color that brings about images of comfort and sturdiness. As she grows older and a bit more open/coy, blue will trace slowly into the edges. But only just.

As a result of Ximena’s spirit line, her magic also has an element of lightning. Her family, much more outspoken and spitfire than she, lingers in her aura and magic. When you dip your hand out of the water, it lingers like electricity in your fingers. Tingles playfully. It is also because Ximena is made up of contradictory things. Bold and meek. Just and selfish. Playful and studious. Water and electricity. 

Now the smell: Ximena’s usual scent is just clean laundry. The girl’s hygiene is impecable. She’s a breath of fresh air. Her own musk/sweat/natural scent is mild with strong wood/earth undertones. Her magic smells like citrus and mint. Both plants. Sharp and fruitful. Cool and smooth. Oranges are, naturally, Ximena’s favorite fruit, and one must wonder which affected the other first...Mint is a dangerous plant, as it consumes and grows rapidly over any other living thing in your garden if you’re not careful. It must be contained.

Taste is a little strange, because what person would go into a person’s personal bubble with their tongue out? (insert dirty joke here, lmao, I’m as mature as a 13 year old boy) But in the same way you can probably taste the scent of a steak cooking or taste the after-taste of an iced tea you drank a minute ago, you can taste magic. And Ximena’s magic is tangy. Like ginger beer. In fact, because I’m a bartender, I can tell you exactly what to mix in order to get a good approximation. 1oz Grand Marnier Orange Liqueur, 1-2 lemon wedges, 2 dashes agnostura bitters, shake lightly with ice, pour over ice in rocks glass, top off with half ginger beer, half Prosecco, garnish with mint and orange rind. If you’re not old enough to drink, replace Grand Marnier with freshly squeezed orange juice and the Prosecco with grapefruit soda.

The sound of Ximena’s magic is bells. Her themesong? Classic Mexican folksong: El Cascabel. The url for this blog? It’s the Nahuatl word for bells, literally meaning death metal, because whenever the church bells would ring, it would be for the death of someone. The ultimate goal of Ximena’s family? To be able to one day reach the afterlife, breaking this shit curse. 

Without her magic, Ximena’s aura would probably just be blue. Cobalt blue blending into cornflower blue. It would still feel like water, but less like a river, and more like gentle rain pricking at skin. It would taste like hard candy, similar to a lemon cough drop. It would smell like petrichor. It would still sound like bells.

If you’ve made this this far, I thank you. This will be all for tonight.