#maritime lore

[dr-sciencemachine]

Beware the red sky at morning, sailor, for the Sun is freedom yet the Sea is confined.

And may Davy Jones take your tainted soul, should their Will you ever defy.

[pink-noah]

Can we see your take on a zeus and poseidon modern AU ??

Sure thing… Although I don’t have much lore cries

You didn't ask about Hades, but here,,, EHEHEHEHE

I do have scattered ideas like:

Poseidon could own a tourism or maritime transport company, specializing in trips to exotic islands.

Zeus might be interesting as some kind of influential person or government figure.

Hades could be the owner of a high-end jewelry company

[sh4nksslvt]

Hello, please can I request a Shanks young apprentice x reader apprentice where she has gone many days without sleeping, she is very tired and sleepy, he finds her in the library of the gold Jackson reading one of the books that the dark king forced them to read.

If you're sleepy, you should sleep. If the captain finds out you're not sleeping, he'll scold you. "I'm not sleepy," you whispered, getting up to put the book back on the shelf. When you turned around, you saw Shanks in front of you. "You didn't notice me, did you?" "Adjusting Rader's hair."Do you have nightmares?" "Yes," you whispered. Shanks hugged her tightly to his chest and whispered in her ear."Reader

Sleep, I'll stay with you. The girl fell asleep upon feeling his warmth and Shanks's heartbeat. Shank took her in his arms before she fell to the floor

this sounds cutee!

Where the Quiet Finds You

hanks finds his fellow apprentice in the library, battling exhaustion and nightmares, and offers her the comfort she's too afraid to ask for.

young hanks x young fem! reader | ONE SHOT

tags: sfw, fluff, sleeplessness, nightmares, soft comfort,

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc

word count: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

The ship creaked and groaned with age and travel, a sound that had become a lullaby to those who called the Oro Jackson home. Moonlight poured through the round, salt-speckled window of the ship’s small library, silvering the spines of thick maritime tomes and adventure logs that lined the shelves like ancient guardians of knowledge.

You sat at the far end of the room, curled on a stool with your elbows balanced precariously on the table, chin resting in the hollow of your palm. A book lay open beneath your sleepy eyes, but the words blurred together like waves in a storm. You blinked, fighting the pull of sleep for what must have been the hundredth time that night.

The scent of old paper and salt hung heavy in the air. You shivered slightly, not from cold, but from the exhaustion that crept deeper into your bones with every passing hour. You had stopped counting how many days you’d gone without real rest.

Rayleigh had given both you and Shanks a thick stack of reading as part of your apprenticeship under their wing—navigation theory, sea lore, ship maintenance, historical texts. You didn’t mind the learning; in truth, you craved the structure it gave you. But every time you closed your eyes, the nightmares came creeping in—half memories, half monsters. Faces you couldn’t save. Voices swallowed by the sea.

You were so tired your body hurt.

Footsteps padded softly behind you. Not threatening, but curious. Familiar.

“If you're sleepy, you should sleep. If the captain finds out you're not sleeping, he'll scold you.”

You turned slightly, recognizing the warm, teasing voice instantly.

“I'm not sleepy,” you whispered, even though your voice betrayed you with how hoarse and small it sounded.

You pushed yourself up from the stool, cradling the heavy book like a fragile piece of cargo, and made your way to the shelf to put it back. As you turned around, you nearly stumbled into Shanks.

He was standing right behind you now, closer than you expected, his red hair tousled and sticking out in odd angles. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, his shirt half-buttoned and feet bare. There was a softness in his gaze, not the usual joking sparkle you were used to, but something quieter. Something that felt too big for boys your age.

“You didn’t notice me, did you?” Shanks murmured, reaching out without hesitation to brush a few strands of hair from your face. His fingers were warm.

You looked away.

“Do you have nightmares?” he asked gently.

“Yes,” you whispered, not trusting yourself to say more.

He didn’t speak again for a moment, just pulled you into him with a suddenness that didn’t feel rushed or awkward, just… instinctive. His arms wrapped securely around you, pressing your face into his chest. You could hear his heartbeat—steady and calm, like waves lapping against the hull. He smelled like salt and old parchment, and something uniquely him.

“Sleep,” he said softly against the crown of your head. “I’ll stay with you.”

You didn’t mean to, but your knees buckled a little, and before you could hit the floor, Shanks caught you. He scooped you up in his arms with surprising ease. You were light from not eating properly, worn down by sleepless nights. Your arms looped lazily around his neck as your eyes began to flutter shut.

“You’re not supposed to carry me,” you mumbled.

“I’ll tell Rayleigh I was rescuing you from literary drowning,” he teased, though his voice stayed soft, reverent.

He carried you down the corridor with care, the library door swinging quietly shut behind him. The ship’s wood was cool beneath his feet, but he didn’t mind. In the dim glow of the lanterns, he brought you to the shared cabin you and a few others used, but instead of laying you in your bunk, he sat against the wall, still holding you against his chest.

You didn’t stir.

Shanks looked down at you, eyebrows furrowed slightly. He’d noticed the signs—dark circles, the way your hands shook when holding your sword, how you’d drift off during training and then snap awake, eyes wide and frightened.

He hated seeing you like this.

“I get them too, sometimes,” he whispered, not expecting a reply.

But your breathing slowed, deepened.

You were asleep.

He rested his head back against the wood, holding you like glass. He didn’t know what the nightmares were about, but he didn’t need to. All he knew was that if you were with him, he’d make sure nothing hurt you—not dreams, not ghosts, not even the fear of being vulnerable.

The next morning, the sun broke over the horizon, its light spilling through the small round porthole in the corner of the room.

Rayleigh stood in the doorway, blinking down at the sight of the two youngest apprentices curled together like siblings shipwrecked on a safe shore. He said nothing, just gave a faint smile, turned on his heel, and closed the door behind him.

That evening, after the day’s duties and sword drills were over, Shanks sat next to you on the deck, your shoulders brushing as you shared a piece of bread and a flask of juice.

“You drooled on my shirt,” he said, smirking.

“I did not.”

“You did. Right here.” He pointed to a barely-there damp spot. “You owe me laundry duty.”

You rolled your eyes, but you smiled. For the first time in days, your limbs didn’t feel like anchors. You’d slept all the way through the night.

“Thanks, Shanks,” you said quietly, looking out at the sea.

He nudged your knee with his. “Anytime. You can always come find me, okay? Even if it’s the middle of the night.”

You nodded.

“I mean it,” he added. “And if the nightmares come back... I’ll scare them off with a wooden sword and my dazzling grin.”

You laughed. He looked satisfied with that.

That night, just as he was drifting off in his bunk, he heard your light steps by the door. You hovered there, unsure.

He didn’t even open his eyes.

“Come here,” he said simply, lifting the blanket.

You crawled in beside him, neither of you saying anything more. You nestled against his side, and he rested a hand over your shoulder.

In the quiet of the Oro Jackson, with the ocean humming softly below, you both found rest.

Not because the nightmares had disappeared.

But because you weren’t alone.

[acatinabox]

Incoherent rambling about Antiva and organised crime

Hello, you read it a bunch of times in my disclaimers: I'm Italian. I love lore. Again, I'm not claiming Antiva as Italian, I am just analysing the lore through that lens because it's my culture. I fully recognise that Antiva is a mélange of Spanish and Italian culture, but I don't feel comfortable speaking on behalf of something that doesn't belong to me, so I only stick to what I know.

I've been hesitant to write this up because I find it really hard to express myself coherently. I have very ambiguous but also very visceral thoughts about the way Antivan lore shifted in Veilguard.

On the one hand, I think a refresh of the lore was needed. To me, the idea that one of the most popular fantasy renditions of my culture revolves around the concept that the entire nation is governed by organised crime is... unpleasant. There are so many more interesting things in Italian history, like trade guilds, maritime republics, etc. that like, did we really need that level of stereotypisation? I don't know, I think we could have done with something more tasteful or interesting.

As someone who people in real life have asked if my country was really governed by the mafia, seeing it in my fantasy game is just another reminder that that's how we're perceived abroad. Not a fan of it.

Despite this, I really enjoyed Eight Little Crows and The Wigmaker Job because of the focus on family politics, which is something that is very culturally relevant. At the same time, I was afraid it would lean more and more into the epic narrative of the mafia that has been promoted by American movies that couldn't be further from the reality of organised crime.

But I frankly don't even know what to make of what they did with Antivan lore in Veilguard.

As I said, I recognise that a revision of the lore was needed, and it's hinted at in previous installations. It doesn't come from nothing. Zevran has been cleaning up the Crows via murder for decades now. It must have had some effect. The new guard of Talons is also presented in a more idealistic and politic/trade oriented way in Eight Little Talons, but nothing of that or almost nothing makes it in the actual game. It's handwaved away.

And that doesn't sit right with me.

The previous rendition of Antivan lore was painfully stereotypical, but sadly, it was at least a merciless and raw mirror to look at. It didn't shy away from the fact that it sucked.

What we have in Veilguard is... much more painfully surface level. I don't really know what to make of it.

Nowhere it mentions reform, or a revolution. I think that's the direction they were going but there is no text about this, only subtext.

I can't really come to terms with how the topic was banalised and emptied out until it turned with something so shallow that is more an aesthetic than anything. Like as if we're cosplaying the mafia. And that is unacceptable.

Let me tell you in no unclear terms. The mafia sucks. It's not an aesthetic to be worn. It destroys my country from inside out and I have a stomach ache every time I see it glorified.

It exploits and kills innocents continuously and it poisons my country.

Some real life examples of what the mafia did:

Heading reads: strangled and thrown in the acid. It's about an 11 years old whose only "crime" was to be the child of someone who was in the mafia and testified against it to the authorities.

In 1992 the mafia blew up a highway to make sure they killed a magistrate who was fighting against it. Four people died and 23 were injured.

To this day the mafia is an accomplice of real world slavery and exploitation on top of the plague of drug and weapon trafficking and its businesses are not even a local issue anymore, but worldwide.

As you can imagine it really hurts in a visceral way to see something that still causes a lot of harm to real people being trivialised and made into an aesthetic.

And this is where my semi-coherent thoughts end.

I don't know where to go with this. I enjoyed parts of the crows arc and the more intimate family drama aspect. My rook is unapologetically a crow. I write Antivan lore tidbits because I find it fun.

I just wish we could have had that in a more sensitive or meaningful way. Something that was thematically satisfying.

[astra-ravana]

Looking Into Hag Stones

A hag stone, also known as a witch stone, adder stone, holey stone, or eye stone, is a naturally occurring stone with a hole running through it, usually created by water erosion. These stones have been revered in folklore and magickal traditions for centuries due to their unusual appearance and the belief that they hold protective and mystical properties.

History and Lore

• Ancient Origins: Hag stones have been found across many cultures and continents. In Celtic regions, they were often associated with Druids and used in rites and protection rituals. The Welsh called them glain neidr or “adder stones,” believing they were created by serpents.

• Medieval Europe: During the Middle Ages, hag stones were believed to ward off witches, curses, and evil spirits. Farmers would hang them in stables and barns to protect livestock from being “hag-ridden” or attacked by malicious spirits.

• Maritime Tradition: Sailors used hag stones as protective talismans against storms and sea monsters. They would tie them to the rigging of ships or carry them as personal charms.

Uses

• Protection: Traditionally, hag stones are hung above doorways, tied to keys or bedposts, or carried as amulets to ward off negative energies, curses, or the “evil eye.”

• Seeing the Unseen: A common belief is that looking through the hole of a hag stone allows one to see into other realms—such as the fae world—or to spot spirits and magical beings otherwise invisible.

• Dream and Sleep Protection: Tied above beds, they are believed to prevent nightmares and protect against sleep paralysis or spirit visitation.

• Fertility and Health: In some folk traditions, hag stones were believed to cure illness or enhance fertility when worn close to the body.

In Magick and Witchcraft

• Tool of the Craft: In modern witchcraft and neopagan practices, hag stones are used in spells and rituals for protection, clairvoyance, and elemental magick, especially water and earth-based workings.

• Fae Magick: Hag stones are particularly potent in faerie lore, believed to be keys to fae sight or gateways to the otherworld.

• Charging and Consecration: Many practitioners cleanse and charge hag stones under moonlight, particularly during the full moon, to enhance their magickal properties.

• Divination: Some witches use them in scrying or as focus objects in meditative practices.

The hole in the hag stone represents a gateway or portal—a liminal space that bridges the physical and spiritual worlds. It symbolizes perception beyond the veil, spiritual insight, and protection through awareness.

[anotheroceanid]

the goddess of olive oil thing got me imagining maritime trade as another one of perse athenides domains. Imagine her being known as a protector of merchant ships and eventually merchants in general until she's seen as a god of riches along side pluto/hades. Imagine that leading to people depicting her dripped out in gold and platinum and treasure (was that even discovered yet?) When invoking that aspect of her.

YEEEEEEES

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES

I came up with the olive oil thing because I decided to sit and finally write down the Athenide lore (but I intend to keep it open enough for everyone to play with it whatever the way they want)

It’s a fic that is supposed to feel like you just opened a mythology book or website

[deskgirl]

I’m endlessly fascinated by the new lore from David Jenkins and Con O’Neill that Izzy’s scars are from when he was younger and cocky and thought he knew better than the first mates on the ships where he served. That that’s why even though he carries a whip in season 2 and throws threats around, he never whips crew members.

I had personally been sure it was from a stint in the Navy (voluntary or involuntary) because historically the Navy was infamous for flogging to the point that it was a symbol recognized by other countries as being associated with the British Navy. (Previous post about this with reference links. I highly recommend reading the links about flogging and maritime punishment). I suppose that could still hold true, but now I’m thinking about the themes of Ed and Izzy both surviving and growing up in this toxic pirate environment, and I wonder if anyone Izzy served under was ex-navy.

I do like that this new information about Izzy not taking the whip to crew members is reinforced by the historical precedent that pirates hated flogging and it was rarely carried out by them, often because of their experiences pressed into the navy or serving on strict merchant and privateer ships. It’s one of the pieces of evidence used against the real Stede Bonnet when he insisted he wasn’t responsible for his crew’s piracy after being arrested—during his second pirating stint, he ordered a flogging which would only have been carried out if he held a lot of authority and respect with his crew (that reference is in my previous link too).

I like Con’s idea to give Izzy a rising sun tattoo, but I think the scars served his character development far better, even if we don’t get to see much of them in the show outside of the behind-the-scenes photos. Far more intriguing.

[tootoomanycats]

The Plan

Chapter One: Best Laid Plans...

Pairing:

Gil-Galad x Human Reader Fem

Word Count: 6,415 words

If you prefer to read on AO3 its HERE

Summary: (SET IN THE RINGS OF POWER TV SERIES) (Takes place years before the first episode) As time settles the world’s chaos, Gil-Galad begins to feel an unusual boredom. After centuries of war, his days are now filled with mundane paperwork, the ink on the parchment mocking him with its monotony. When he receives a letter from Master Boat Builder Cirdan, asking for aid for a small group of humans whose ship has sunk, Gil-Galad agrees, recognizing his duty to help. Upon meeting the High King, you are caught off guard by an unexpected attraction. With your ship at the bottom of the bay, you aim to use your charm to secure a new vessel for yourself and your crew. However, as days go by, Gil-Galad's genuine compassion and kindness complicate things. The initial plan to flirt and deceive begins to clash with the genuine emotions that develop. You find yourself torn between the charming facade and emerging feelings for the High King. As the truth looms closer, the question remains—how will Gil-Galad react when he learns the real reason behind your visit?

Warnings:

Mentions of fire

Descriptions of injuries

Descriptions of partial nudity

Reader is not a holy good person.

Two ideots pining and refusing to acknowledge it.

Not Beta Read

(smut stuff will be in chapter two, promise)

Author Notes:

Hello Everyone!

It’s finally here! Thank you for being so patient while I finally got this done and posted. In my overeagerness, I was hoping to get this finished on New Year’s Day, but sadly, life and depression got a hold of me. I have entirely rewritten this chapter and how it plays out over four times. This time, I finally had to reel my worry that this wasn't good enough and just be okay with where it was. Please note that I'm writing this without sitting to very strict guidelines of what elves are commonly like in the book. I am writing Gil-Galad and Elves with the idea that history books and lore always paint figureheads and royalty as if they lived by strict morals and values. And I think it's much more interesting if we see what Gil-Galad would have experienced if he had fallen in love, and it, in the end, was kept secret from history. You'll notice that Elrond isn't going to be in this; that is because at the same time this story is going on- I have a one-shot of what Elrond is doing elsewhere. I am working on it, but I have no set date for finishing it as of right now. As always if you like what you have read please remember that fanfic writers live off of likes, comments and reblogs- we wont admit it but we all have praise kinks. Have you fed your starving artist today?

Tea.

Every night since his arrival in Grey Havens, the Master Boat Builder has made a point to enjoy a cup of tea before heading off to bed. Be it rain, snow, or shine, that cup of tea will always be had.

The weather was sublime this evening: cool temperatures, clear skies, and a calm breeze. Weather being what it is, he opened the workshop’s doors to watch as the sun’s last glow gave way to darkness.

Once the last sip was finished, he reached for the large doors to close them for the night. But as he pulled the last one, a shimmer of light in the water caught his attention; its reflection was unusually bright.

Leaning out the side, hand gripping the door handle for balance, he gasped in shock at finding the source. Just a few leagues away was a double-masted ship- inflamed.

Its bow was raised dramatically into the cool night air, exposing an accumulation of maritime fauna. The vessels aft dragged along the sea bed, echoing whenever it hit high points of rocks. What wood was visible was already ashes or becoming the next fuel source for the inferno. Screams and bodies jumping into the river could be heard above all else.

Running out of the boat house, Cirdan reached the town’s warning bell. Its massive size was stuck from disuse and rust. He kicked hard and kept kicking until his ankle and foot burned in protest, until finally, it groaned in movement. The piercing sound of the tocsin woke and alerted those who lived nearby as he shouted, “FIRE!”

It became chaos as orders were given, supplies packed, and horses mounted. The few elves who could, followed the older one, sprinting to offer aid to the tragedy’s survivors.

——

Wet, freezing, and homeless.

The strength it had taken to carry your first mate from the ship’s bowls to the deck had caused more than one muscle to pull. Short as he is, the man is surprisingly heavy.

Unfortunately, jumping from a burning ship was more manageable than carrying him to shore. As the line of buoyancy and gravity met, a new struggle began as you started to stand halfway out of the water.

Heavy, wet clothes worked against frozen, numb limbs with each soaking step to dry land and out of its icy grip. Ankles almost twisting with each slippery step on the shore rocks before finally collapsing onto soft sand.

A small blessing was the man you had carried came too with only a few short chest compressions. You joined him on the sand once he could fully sit up and catch his breath.

What was left of the crew watched as the top of the crow’s nest disappeared, the bay groaning and gurgling in its consumption. The ship you and many others once called home had been swallowed into the water’s depths.

A hand gently pressed into your left shoulder, its callouses felt through the singed holes of your shirt—the contact causing you to look at the much shorter man. “I’m sorry, Captain. You did your best.”

The words meant well, but instead of commiserating, they reminded you that this was your failure. When the sensation of your throat tightening and eyes misting began, you shook your head. There would be no grieving until a new home was acquired.

Looking back at the shorter man, face composed and emotions pushed to the side. “Do we know where we’ve landed, Sal? I didn’t have time to look at the map; when I saw the opening, I thought it would be the only chance for our escape.”

Sal’s singular green eye widened before looking around the visible area, knowing he would be the only one of you to see in such darkness. “Not sure, we’ve never been this far north before.”

Not good.

Standing up, you internally shivered as the sensation of wet, sandy, cloth peeled from your damp, chilled skin. The only possessions left were on everyone’s backs, holes and all.

A strike of panic set in at that realization. Taking inventory, a hand reached up to count the baubles that adorned your earnings, relieved to feel all was accounted for. Looking down at the blistered and burned fingers, you grimaced at the thought of how bad the pain would be when removing the various roughly smithed rings. One of the bands looked almost embedded past the first few layers of skin, potentially touching bone.

Sal had followed in checking his personage for anything of value, even lifting his eye patch and ensuring that the smooth, unpolished diamond he kept was still hidden in the empty socket.

“We’re going to be stuck on land until a new home can be procured.” Turning, you saw the group huddled together for warmth, teeth chattering as they shivered.

“From here on out, it’s dry land rules and roles. We’re starting from nothing, so best behaviors until that changes.” At the nods given in response, you turned to your first mate. “We need to start a fire; we don’t need anyone dying of hypothermia-“ Everyone froze at a distinct sound.

Hoof-beats.

The sound rumbled further up into the tree line, accompanied by voices that called out, echoing into the fjord. Lanterns swayed and grew brighter with each moment the owners grew closer.

Head snapping back to the others, you whispered, “Remember the rules. No one speaks until I say so.” A groan caught your attention just before Sal almost lost his balance. “What's wrong? Why-“ Pulling your hand away from the back of his head, you felt the warmth just as you smelt its metallic scent.

Your hand was entirely coated in bright red blood from just that moment of contact; a quick glance back at the sand where he had first laid showed a small puddle where the ground's compression had helped to pause the bleeding, only momentarily. “Why didn't you say anything?” you hissed before trying to apply what little pressure your pain-filled hand could tolerate. A gruff whisper was his only response: “Didn't want to worry you.”

“Idiot” was the only word that could be mustered while ideas sprinted in your mind at what to do next. The lanterns were getting closer, the voices becoming more evident each second. It was a gamble, but it was the only possible choice you could see.

“Someone, help us!” Shouting into the night air, voice raising louder with the following sentence. “Pirates have attacked us!” At first, the crew members' confusion read clearly on their faces, until your stern glare made them realize what was happening. One by one, they began clutching various parts of their bodies, crying out and groaning in pain.

Sal chuckled in your arms, shaking his head before he lost consciousness, his full weight now on you to hold up. Once the owners of the lanterns broke through the bushes, they rushed in to help. But it was clear that there was surprise on both parties’ sides when seeing who the other was.

Elves? Just how far north had you drifted?

Cirdan was genuinely shocked at what he and his townspeople stumbled upon. When first spotting the burning ship, the assumption was that the sailors aboard would be his own kind—not humans. As the others rushed to those rolling in agony on the sand, he quickly made his way to where you were struggling to maintain balance while holding a relatively short man.

Finally, you allowed the tears to flow, teeth chattering as the adrenalin began to wear off and what little warmth you had dissipated. “Please, help us.” The older elf’s heart broke at the sight before him, and within the hour, you and your crew had been taken back to town to be tended to.

By midnight, Sal’s head had been stitched and bandaged. Once asleep, the shorter man's snoring rattled the walls of the boat builders' small home. The other members' wounds had been cleaned before special herbs that none of you recognized were placed over them. With no spare rooms, Cirdan was left to care for the ship’s captain on his dining table.

The first rinse to clean the wounds on your palms had not been too painful. But as the elf used various instruments to take out the bits of splintered wood, broken threads of rope, and shattered glass, you began to think that he was torturing you instead of healing.

At another flinch, Cirdan’s focus shifted to take in your exhausted face. The grimacing expression telling how much you were ready to be done with the tedious task before you both. “Almost done. I am pleased to say you will still have full use of your hands.” He whispered.

As everyone else slept, only a few candles lit the small area needed to see as he worked. In search of distraction from the sensitive and tender discomfort, attention shifted to the papers scattered around the table he had you perched on. The first few were just lists and notes, but something caught your eye.

It was beautiful.

Triple-masted, square-cut sales, the hull was designed in such detail that it felt like, with one good shake, it would drop out of the page into the water.

As you became further engrossed with the drawing, you unknowingly leaned further and further. Cirdan looked up, ready to ask you to sit still again. But when he followed where your attention had gone, he smiled softly before gently guiding your palms back into the position needed. Focusing back on digging out a particularly stubborn glass shard, he egged on your curiosity. “If you enjoy that one, you should see the one you are sitting on.”

When a deep blush of embarrassment spread across your face, he chuckled. “Here, let me help.” With the boat master’s aid to lean to the opposite side now, he pulled free the design to lay the now crinkled paper on the table for easier viewing.

Just like the previous design, this, too, was stunning. Were such ships possible to build? Once back to work on your hands, you took the opportunity to shift your attention from the design to begin admiring the unique features of the elf's home.

Intricate hand-carved details were everywhere. Spiraled door handles, doorway arches with such delicate flowers and vines it was a wonder they didn’t break, and the wall next to the dining table was carved from ceiling to floor, detailing a flock of cranes surrounded by tall standing trees.

“Did you design them?” Attention back to the page that had previously been sat on. An idea began to form in your mind at his nod and smile. “They’re beautiful; building something as grand as those must take a lifetime.”

“They are, though I am not sure if they will ever be brought into existence.” The tone of his voice tells of the pride in his creations and the enjoyment of such praise.

Allowing your voice to soften, your head tilting, and your lips turning up at the corners as you spoke, “They’re unique. It's so clear in everything you touch that this is what you were meant to do.”

As you continued, the tips of pointed ears peeking out from silver hair tinged in a faint blush. “Every detail thought through so clearly,” Cirdan gulped as he nervously tried to focus on the task before him.

But the poor boat builder struggled even more when you teasingly smiled while praising his work. “Even your door handles and chairs adorn your touches.” Your eyes locked for a moment, just long enough to see the faint tinge of a flustered blush topping the apples of his cheeks. A single fluter of your lashes and you glanced at his lips for a moment before returning to the pages laid out.

“Um, Y-yes. Yes, I feel such joy and fulfillment in what I do and what it means for my people.” He placed the metal instruments down on the woven cloth that held other items, ones that looked sharper and more intimidating the longer you looked. The response was a murmured thank you as he began placing crushed herbs over the now clean wounds. As the gauze was wrapped around each finger delicately, it was Cirdan’s turn to ask a question.

“I am curious about your ship; it saddens me that I did not have a chance to see its beauty.” The fingers he still wrapped tensed in his hands; at looking up, he saw how the color left your face, eyes turned down; it was clear you weren't there with him at that moment. “Oh, I am sorry,” turning, he brought a warm cup of tea to your lips, your hands still unable to hold anything. “In my curiosity, I did not think of your pain and loss.”

The elves' eyes watched subtly as your lips curled and then relaxed to part, observing how your throat swallowed the warm liquid he had provided. Patiently waiting until you had your fill before putting the cup down and turning back to finish bandaging up to your wrists.

Cirdan finished the bandaging with the last wrap around your wrist. In the time it took to stand, gather the instruments, and look between you and his designs on the table, an idea began to form at the front of his mind. “Is it difficult to ascertain a new vessel in your homelands?” His back faced you as he cleaned the blood from the metal objects in the sink.

His shoulders dropped as your voice broke. “My home is very far from here.” For the second time in the night, the boat master felt his heartbreak at such sadness.

That settles it, then. He had to do something. There was only so long and so little room that Grey Haven’s harbor could offer hospitality, not to mention there being no clear path ahead for you. “What I say next, you must know, is not meant to push you out.” He watches the way you curl into yourself, preparing in resignation already.

“My home is small, not suited to provide the proper healing your crew needs. I will send a message to my king-,” Your eyes widen, shaking your head as you tell him no. But he will hear none of it. Raising a hand to stop your protests, the elf continues, “I will write to my king and ask that he finds it in his heart to show compassion, especially to those that deserve it.”

You tell him you don't know how to repay his kindness; he scoffs and drinks the now-cold tea to hide the blush dusting the apple of his cheeks. The rest of the night is spent playing a few games of chess. It would have just been one, but with your hands being as they are, you kept accidentally bumping multiple pieces around. With each game, the conversation turned back to ships, elven ships.

As the darkness of night began to give way to the first glow of dawn on the horizon, Cirdan excused himself to write the letter that would be sent ahead to Lindon’s Capital. At that same time, you went to Sal. Gently, you slinked into the bedroom so as not to wake the rest of the crew before sitting on the edge of the bed that was so graciously granted to your first mate.

“Sal, Sal!” You voiced louder than planned at the shorter man’s deep sleep, which refused to release him. Finally, the rough shake to his shoulder roused him. “Wha-Whats going on?” With a quick hand over his mouth to quiet him down, you pressed a finger to your lips before whispering. “I have just spent the last few hours speaking with our new friend. He has been very kind.”

You couldn't help but chuckle at the responding wiggling eyebrows, his single eye wide in excitement. “How kind?” You leaned in to reply with a whisper, a wicked smile its companion. “Kind enough to ask if his king would help us.” Sal’s jaw dropped in shock before punching your shoulder. “How in the hell did you pull that off?”

Sitting straight, the back of your hand pressed to your forehead, sighing dramatically before speaking, “Who will take pity on little ole me, a female captain with no ship to call home? My poor crew, so ill, that even elven healers struggle to help them.”

Shaking his head while chuckling, Sal crossed his arms while wiggling more comfortably into the bed’s soft feather pillows. “So what’s the plan?”

Your smirk grew at the question.

———————

With the first rays of morning light, a plan in motion, and rules set in place, you met with Cirdan and the escort outside his home, where a hiccup had already appeared.

You nervously approached the giant beast, flinching back when its large nostrils grunted out a rush of breath. “I’ve never ridden a horse before. Can I not just walk behind?” A sympathetic smile graced the boat master’s lips as the other elf mounted their steed. “Walking would take extra days that your crew may not have. If you are unsure of riding alone, ride with the escort; they will ensure your safe arrival.”

Anxiously, you nodded in agreement, unable to see a different path around the logic presented. A few awkward jumps and one petrified yelp later saw you and the expert rider heading up the road to the capital—the poor elf at the mercy of your fearfully white-knuckled grip in their ribs. The pain in your hands be damned.

Lindon’s Palace

My Dear King,

I write to you earnestly, asking that aid be offered to someone deserving of such compassion. A pirate attack has left my new friend without a ship or home, and a crew suffering from ailments beyond my healing capabilities. The ship's Captain will arrive with an escort so that you yourself can make sound judgments of their character.

Gil-Galad re-read the letter. In his years of friendship with the Lord of Grey Haven, only a handful of times had the elder asked for royal assistance, unlike some of the other stewards of his kingdom, who seemed to lack such abstention.

He sighed when sid-eyeing the pile of letters and scrolls stacked high upon the oak desk, still awaiting answers. Fiddling with the paper’s edge, unrolling it further as he sat in thought, a previously unseen line of penmanship caught his attention.

I suggest conversing over a game of chess; you may be pleasantly surprised as I was in their company.

Your Faithful Friend, Cirdan

With a scoff, he flicked the paper back to its place on the desk's clutter. It had been hours, and barely a dent had been made in the mountain of documents that had arrived the day before.

With his kingdom settling into a gentle rhythm after so many years of war, the High King started feeling something unexpected- boredom. Gone were the days of extreme stress, battle planning, and mourning for his people. Now, they were filled with small pleasantries, mastering crafts, and, unfortunately, paperwork.

Leaning back into the hand-carved chair, fingers rubbed along the pulsing ache of his forehead, pain caused by the hours of eyes straining on documents.

A groan left his chest when an unfortunately familiar warmth spread across the top of a kneecap. The morning’s rays had started to inch into his room, their gentle cares on his vestige announcing that another sleepless night had passed.

Muscles ached and throbbed as he stood to stretch before walking to the window to watch the sunrise. His attention to the sunrise over the horizon was shifted down from his room in the tower at the arrival of a horse carrying two persons.

One was an elf, and the other a human woman. It was hard not to chuckle while watching as her arms shakily reached out to the escort to assist in the dismount from their horse, legs wobbling once on solid ground. As the escort walked off with the creature to announce their arrival, she stayed in place, observing the entry area's flora and white-barked trees.

It was rare to see a human in his kingdom. Even in memory, it was a struggle to gleam the last one and when they came. It was not surprising, as curiosity peaked about the mortal creature that had appeared at random.

That is what he told himself, at least, as his eyes fixated on the wild wind-swept hair that glowed from the crepuscular rays of morning. And repeated internally again, when observing the silhouette outlined from the sheer fabrics she wore when bending to smell a vine of jasmine.

The voice was not repeated a third time when his eyes honed in on the gentle slopes of her bust; nipples pebbled hard by the cold morning's dew. Each movement allowed more and more to be revealed by the fabric's owner. The tall elf’s heart rate panicked at admiring rounded hips that harmonized with the tops of plush, strong thighs and a waist--

When a knock raps at the bedroom door, he jumps, placing a wide palm to his chest, letting out a breath he was unaware was being held. With a final glance back at the woman, he shakes his head and asks the attendant to come in.

“High King, a visitor has arrived from Grey Haven to speak with you. Master Cirdan has sent them.” Gil-Galad froze, and his heart rate, still yet to calm down from moments ago, increased.

A quick glance to the desk where Cirdan’s note sat, as its words read out in his mind. Certainly, she was not the captain he spoke of. What in the world was that blasted boatmaker thinking? The shorter elf’s expression made Gil-Galad realize he took longer than usual to respond.

“I will be there in but a moment. Please see that our guest is attended to until then.” Gil-Galad’s eyebrow quirked as his attendant paused awkwardly, a tilt of his head letting the shorter elf know to speak. “Sire, your meeting with the human may need to wait a few days so that-“ Gil-Galad held up his hand as the memory of sheer fabric flashed away just as quickly as it had appeared.

“Master Cirdan has informed me that the aid needed for the human stands on the direness of time. I will meet with them first during my morning meal; that should allow a better inclusion of my schedule.”

With a swift nod, the shorter elf leaves to inform the morning staff of the changes. In the reflection across from where he stood, exhausted eyes and a stern expression looked back. In a singular sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Just when it seems a moment to himself has appeared, the morning maids come in to prepare a bath and lay out the royal robes.

In toe behind them, the royal retainer began listing the days itinerary, explaining how every minute of the hours were filled with meetings, agreements, and document signatures. With a singular sigh and torpid blink, he turns to take the prepared bath and begrudgingly get the day started.

When an attendant had come to gather you and usher the way to an empty grand dining room to wait, it felt like a small gift.

Palpations had been occurring every few minutes since the moment your feet touched the ground after riding for hours. Hopefully, this would give time to help calm them. Chalking the rapid heart rate up to nerves and still feeling so tired, you reminded yourself that rest, food, and sleep would come eventually. But the plan took precedence over everything, no matter the cost.

The first few minutes were spent sitting at the opposite end of the room’s expansive stone table, until those nerves raised back up—skin itching, and not just on the slowly scabbing wounds of your hands. Legs crossed only to un-cross and then cross again. The liquid in the glass of wine on the table rippled from how hard your knee bounced. When all this did nothing to aid in the growing feeling of unease, you resorted to pacing back and forth, back and forth, until the feeling of dizziness came on.

At the sound of your stomach echoing into the quiet room, you side-eyed the table. The temptation was hard to resist at the site of the varying fruits, cheeses, bread, and dishes for breakfast. While subtle, the aromas still had made their way to your nose.

With a head shake, you continued pacing; by now, you were sure that a grove had been worked into the floor. Glancing back to the chair at the opposite end of the table, a small tremor corded its way from where the palpations started to both of your poor, still wobbling legs. One misstep, one accidental insult, and the plan would be over before it could be put into motion.

With a deep breath, you hoped to calm your heart’s racing; nervousness would not be an ally. Another breath, followed by many more in succession. Still, the beating thrummed with such intensity it felt as if the betraying organ was in your throat, determined to expel itself and do a jig at your feet to taunt you.

Distraction.

Distraction would help, you hoped. Turning around, you desperately tried to focus now on the grandiose tapestry that hung twenty feet in the air. Its textured masterpiece taking so much space that the raw threadbare edges touched the flooring and side walls.

Red, look for something red. Rose bushes came into clarity on the lower section. A breath, this one a little easier- but still, your chest held tight. Animals, find the animals. Swans were flying in the open sky of the fibers- was that a unicorn?

Each detail of the textile artwork helped to distract from the sensation that rattled against your ribs. In a further attempt to add comfort, you wrapped your arms around yourself, desperately hoping to soothe the nerves that struggled to dissipate.

____

Even after the warmth of a bath and fresh clothes, Gil-Galad found his heart rate had yet to slow since looking out the window. Surely it was just another sleepless night of work that made it hard to calm such a tempestuous beating? Obviously, this peculiar feeling was not brought on by how his mind's eye sought to wave the memory of curves, backlit in a warm glow—always right when mental clarity was needed.

When reaching the dining hall, Gil-Galad held up a hand to let his attendant know he would be entering the room alone, unannounced. Cirdan had made it clear that he should make a sound and solid judgment of the Captain's character before making any decisions in the offer of aid. A wisdom he would heed. Speaking would also be better without extra eyes watching. However, it would have been better if his mind had been allowed to think of questions to ask before this moment.

Quietly, the private royal entrance opened, its door only opening for him and him alone. Stone that once lay flat and blended into the wall shifted back, then slid just enough for his size to squeeze into the room—unnoticed. The internal expectation from past interactions with mortals was that his guest would be gorging themselves on the food laid before them. But once inside, surprise met that expectation. The only other chair besides his sat empty, the dishes untouched.

There, at the other end of the room, unaware of his presence, you stood. Elven ears picked up the sounds of deep breathing, eyes watching as your heavily bandaged hands rubbed your arms while swaying gently from side to side. Gil-Galad’s eyes trailed once more to the clothes draped on your figure. Cirdan had dressed you in something so sheer?

Perhaps the boat builder had not realized that the gift offered to you had been- No. Cirdan was too bright and observant to have missed something like this. That old perverted- at the memory of this morning, the realization he had no hill to stand on and judge hit him.

Yet, he could not look away. The tension came back to his chest, and just as it began to crawl its way down, inch by inch, to an area of his body that he refused to acknowledge, panic set in and forced the moment to break.

“You have yet to eat.”

With a yelp of shock, you nearly jumped out of your skin. Turning with wide eyes and a hand to your poor, overworked, thumping heart. Finding the voice’s owner standing at the opposite end of the room.

When first trying to picture what an elven king might have looked like, your imagination pulled from what was known of your own kind. Rulers that were repugnant, rotund, and gangrenous from a life of riches and idleness.

What you did not anticipate was to be greeted with the amused expression of a very tall elf, whose attractiveness you pretended not to feel any way about. It took a moment for the shock to pass before finding yourself. “N-no.” A breath. “No, I felt it would be rude to eat before my host arrived.”

It was as if time had frozen for a moment, two statues unmoving as they visually memorized what was in front of them. Sheer fabric clashed with the opulent, almost excessive layers of gold on the opposite side. Warm brown eyes, unblinking in their seriousness, scrutinized the shocked hesitancy in your own.

When you both tried to speak simultaneously, a polite smile graced his lips as he motioned for you to go first. A thanks would be the best choice, grateful that such a renowned, elven king would spare an hour to hear a poor human captain’s woes. Pleasantries to be embellished so prettily in their bestowment.

Sadly, that option would be ruined by a comically loud growl from your stomach, no doubt retaliation at being teased for so long by such appetizing smells. Gil-Galad watched as your eyes shut laggardly before opening again, now refusing to meet his own from embarrassment.

He gave you a gift of mercy in finding the strength to choke back a laugh. “It would appear that, as a host, I have been discourteous to test the patience of such a considerate guest.” Motioning for you to sit, he continued, “Please, eat. I would ask if you are hungry, but I believe that answer has already been given.”

Unlike the High King, you did not find the strength to choke back a laugh from the jest. When your eyes met again, an expression of mirth greeted the faint blush of your cheeks. Gods have mercy; this was going to be a challenge. The elf barely said two sentences, and already, you were struggling.

Gil-Galad gulped as you pulled up your chair to sit more comfortably; he could not understand the reasons for his nerves. His gaze trailed once more to the unexpected guest across the table, unknowingly unaware of the detail being taken in of your personage.

In the earnings that dangled down to the tops of your collar bones, polished beads of sea glass glowed, backlit by the candles behind you. Indigo-dyed whalebone and sea urchin spines brandished with petrified beads of amber hung on uneven lengths of fishing wire.

Rough and raw cut jewels adorned roughly smithed mental bands, assorted in the widths of rings that hung from your neck while your fingers healed. He would admit that such ornaments are much more maximal and eclectic than is commonly seen of his own kind.

His heart rate, which had just calmed, began racing again as he watched your lips part, tongue welcoming a bite of food. His vision tunneled to take in greater detail when your brows knit together in pleasure as the flavors danced across your palate.

Blinking, he pulled himself out of the hyper-focus when reaching forward to grip the golden handle of a wine glass. Trying to calm the returning tension he had felt when watching you from when he first entered the room. This was going to be a problem.

Light filtered off your fork, hand tremoring in hunger as the choices become overwhelming. It felt as if the room was getting darker and hazy around its edges. Cirdan had offered food when playing chess, but between the pain in your hands and the nausea from still coming down from the adrenalin of survival, any thought of eating was quickly turned down.

On top of that, the ship had floated for two days into the fjord without a bite of food or water. To say you were starving was an understatement. It took every ounce of self-control not to gorge like a wild animal after the first bite into a roasted pear with salted honey, its juices bursting in your mouth.

“Lord Cirdan wrote that your ship and crew were attacked by pirates and are in further need of aid.” The question caught you off guard, cheeks chipmunk-ed out at trying to fit as many roasted butter beans into your mouth as physically possible. Peeking up, it was obvious the elf knew exactly what he had done from the smirk that pulled from the edges of his lips.

As desperate as you were to swallow your way out of this, chewing was the only option. Could you simply spit out the beans? Yes, but that would only cause further humiliation for him to watch the act. Quickly grabbing the napkin laid under the other silverware, you covered your lips and cheeks as you chewed quickly, jaw clicking from the strain.

When finally able to get the last bit down to respond, another question was put forth. “What exactly happened to your ship, the- what was its name?”

Cirdan had been correct in knowing his king would hold no punches in the judgment of your character. Gil-Galad knew that his questioning was starting to get under your skin. And what better way to begin seeing someone for who they are than by seeing how they handle their frustration?

As the minutes passed and no response was given, his eyebrow raised expectantly. Were you trying to formulate a lie? At the tilt of his head, his eyes hardened. “Are you alright?”

You chuckled hollowly, feeling a spark of enjoyment in watching Gil-Galad’s expression change to irritation as you spoke. Two could play at that game. “Only waiting to see if there are other questions, Your Majesty. I do not wish to offend such a curious mind by interrupting its thoughts.”

Gil-Galad knew that if he were here, Elrond would snort out his wine. It appears that the High King would also be judged on how his temper would be handled. Raising his palm, he gave the motion to speak.

With a deep sigh, you tried to calm the frustration that had been brought forth. “My crew and I were set upon by pirates three days ago; their cannons tore holes into the hull of my ship. By some miracle, we escaped from being boarded, but in our escape, I had steered us into a waterway that none of us recognized.”

When no interruption came, you continued. “Lord Cirdan had seen my ship just as it began taking on more water than we could bucket out.” It was unnerving being watched so intensely, warm eyes unblinking in their judgment of every word uttered into the air. “He was kind enough to offer aid. But he realized we have no way of getting home, at least not any way that would not take years on foot.”

Still not a blink from the scrutinizing gaze, you gulped to wet your now cotton-dry throat as sweat dripped down your neck. “Asking for help is not something I have any practice in. But for the people that depend on me, I will do anything in my capabilities to see that they survive.”

Silence stretched between you both. Gil-Galad contemplated your tale, sight now set on the wine glass before him. When speaking of your crew and their care, he could sense no lies, but why was his gut tightening, waiting, and expecting? It felt as if something was missing. Perhaps speaking of such a harrowing escape was not something you wished to delve into further detail.

Or -gods forgive him- the tightening that was felt had nothing to do with your words, and more to do with the internal befuddlement trying to be ignored since your arrival.

You watched as golden fibers wrapped around the barrel waist in front of you strained against expanding ribs. A deep, belly-filled breath was exhaled slowly and quietly in contemplation. As his lips parted to speak, the dining room’s doors opened. The shorter elf that first guided you in giving a small bow.

“High King, I apologize for the interruption, but the lords are gathered and waiting for you.” Whatever tension that had been building was broken instantly. Fresh air from the outside corridor wafted in, and both of you took the opportunity to breathe.

The sound of chair legs scraped against the floor as he stood, an air of equanimity held in his stance as he stared down at where you still sat, slouched back into your seat. “Please forgive my sudden departure. I would like to continue this discussion later this evening if you are amenable to the offer.” He continued at the single nod you gave while walking over to his attendant.

“Please see that our guest is given a room and fed.” At the bow of the shorter elf, the two of them slowly walked out into the hall, leaving you to watch as the door closed behind them. Once Gil-Galad was certain that you could not hear, he leaned down to whisper one last order. “And see to it that she has…warmer attire prepared. I would not wish for our guest to take a chill from the temperature tonight.” At the hesitant bow given before the shorter elf left, Gil-Galad realized he was not the only one struggling whenever what you were wearing was seen.

Once alone, he sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose. It had only been a singular hour of the morning, and already, it was obvious that the day would be as long as it was stressful.

I have this idea that Gil-Galad is never truly content. War? -Hate it. Calm and tranquil? - Bored out of his mind. So when this Captain comes around he both loves and hates how hes feeling. I'm working on outlining the next chapter but it may take a bit before its edited and posted. So please be patient. Love you all and hope you enjoy and are surviging my friends!

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THE DIMENSIONS AND THEIR RULING SPECIES

Get ready for an unnecessarily long lore dump about my Minecraft AU: CAELORIA, THE LAST ISLANDERS.

Before we begin however, I'd like to give credit to the person who inspired this tweet + the layout of this post in general! @oldmagerambles! Go check out their stuff for some more cool Minecraft world building stuff! :]

Now, let us begin...

THE FIRST REALM: OLYTHOS (The Overworld)

(Pronounced "Oh-LITH-ohs")

A vibrant, earth-like realm of large grasslands, scattered islands, and hidden gemstone veins buried underneath the surface. Olythos is the world of creation, full of life and endless possibility, a monument to creation and creativity themselves. It was once a paradise, but its people’s greed led to war and destruction, and by modern day (Classic MC) the world is no longer the lush paradise it once was, now divided into scattered biomes and islands.

By the time of Minecraft Legends: three main species had overtaken Olythos.

SPECIES ONE: THE AEDARI (The Builders)

(Pronounced "Ah-DA-ri")

These were the pioneering artisans who shaped the very world into what it is today. The Aedari were once the dominant race of the world, their mastery over magic and creation making them unrivaled. Their downfall came from their own hubris, overharvesting the land of its resources and angering the primordial forces. Banished to the Isles of Nysithea, they now exist as the mutated Abysswalkers.

Before their unwilling exile to The Isles of Nysithea, they had split into three great nations:

The Xilathari also known as the Vinebound.

A jungle-dwelling people who built hidden temples and hunted massive beasts such as The Great Sniffer. Inspired by the vine-entwined jungles and the militant, temple-building cultures of ancient Mesoamerica and Africa.

The Khetraim, also known as the Sunforged.

Desert dwellers who sought the secrets of life and death itself, worshipping the celestial Hosts of Foresight, Action and Knowledge. Their massive pyramids still stand as evidence of their grand rituals. This subset is based on the cultures of ancient Egypt and the Middle East.

The Pelagonites, also known as the Deepwardens.

A once-great maritime people, their monuments and war fleets were drowned in the Maelstrom. Heavily inspired by Mediterranean culture.

SPECIES TWO: THE KHARI (The Villagers)

(Pronounced "KAH-ree")

A second subset of humanoid beings that seemingly sprouted after the builders did. They're a peaceful, agrarian people who learned to coexist with nature rather than dominate it. They are a settled society, unlike the Aedari, which were nomadic.

They're a tribe made up of a religious, vegetarian series of craftsmen, scholars, and hard workers who work together to keep the village stable. As mentioned previously, they learned to live alongside the land and not against it, and that's the reason why they're the largest surviving race as of modern day. Also, something happened genetically which led to all villagers (and subsequentially, Illagers), having distinct larger noses and unibrows, a trait not shared by builders.

These traits might have become adaptive, helping villagers detect hidden dangers or even suspicious activity in their environment. The builders, being nomadic and exposed to a wider genetic diversity, simply didn’t experience this same bottleneck, keeping their features more varied compared to Villagers.

SPECIES THREE: THE VOL'KAR (The Illagers)

(Pronounced "VOLL-kar")

The first and only evolutionary(?) subset of the Khari. They started off as weaker villagers, whose immune systems hadn't exactly adapted as well as other villagers, which meant that when builders arrived, all their viruses came with, which led to illagers gaining slightly greyer skin.

Eventually, when the war against the Nehen’Vur's Boargrims rose up, they had learned how to be violent, fighting alongside the Aedari to protect their home realm from this invasive species. They now saw themselves as the priests of The Hosts, divine cleansers who were brought on this realm to purge the Olythos of all those unworthy and weak. This caused a sort of blood lust, and so, they begin tampering with violence, even following the path of the Aedari and experimenting with magic capable of controlling life and death, and they succeed, creating totems of undying! Their magical discoveries led to allyships between the Aedari and the Vol'kar in the construction of things like the Trial Chambers and Ancient Cities.

Eventually, this subset was kicked out of villages due to unspeakable activities featuring the use of Lapis Lazuli and the construction of Ravagers. These outcasts turned to war and dark magics, fully developing a taste for conquest.

Now that we've covered the three ruling species of Olythos, let's move on to our second dimension.

THE SECOND REALM: NEHEN'VUR (The Nether)

(Pronounced “Neh-HEN-vur”)

The polar opposite to the realm of Olythos. While Olythos is a land of vibrance and life, Nehen'vur is a dimension with no love, no joy, no creativity at all! The land is segmented into multiple floating islands and mountainous, desert-like landscapes separated by seas of boiling lava. However, the existence of Basalt Deltas implies that this place used to be hospitable, even frozen over! However, any remnant of that ice age is long gone by now. Only one civilization stands high and proud, ruling the Nether with an iron— or more fittingly— a golden fist.

SPECIES ONE: THE BOARGRIMS (The Piglins)

The Boargrims are a militaristic civilization that has not only survived but thrived within the blazing hellscape of Nehen’vur. Despite the brutal terrain, the choking heat, and the endless threats lurking within the infernal realm, the Boargrims created a semi-successful structured society. They are not mere brutes, they have warriors, miners, chiefs, butchers, and even musicians, having created the only known music in the Nehen’vur: Pigstep. However, this isn't how it always was.

The Ice Age of Nehen’vur predates its current infernal state by many years. This environment is where the Boargrims first came to be. Life was difficult, sure, but it was survivable. It was the Boargrims, in their relentless drive to dominate Nehen’vur, who changed everything. As their civilization advanced, they turned from mere warriors into an industrial powerhouse, forging machines of war, great bastions, and smelteries that churned out Netherite weapons and armor in unprecedented numbers. Their rise to power was accompanied by rapid expansion, massive blackstone factories, soul-fueled engines, and vast industrial zones scarred the landscape. But with progress came consequence. The very machines that propelled the Boargrims to dominance also choked the sky with smoke and fumes, flooding Nehen’vur with greenhouse gases. The glaciers that had once defined the realm began to crack and melt, and the permafrost that coated the ancient terrain turned to slush. Rivers of ice became floods of molten lava, entire ecosystems collapsed, and in mere generations, Nehen’vur was transformed into the blazing hellscape it is today.

The Boargrims had succeeded in reshaping their world, but at a terrible cost. The cooling balance that had once allowed them to expand vanished forever, leaving behind a land of eternal fire and suffocating heat. The industrial empire they built could no longer sustain them, and their ambition to rule pushed them toward their next goal: Olythos, the realm beyond.

But they were met with bitter resistance. The Aedari and Khari tribes united against them, casting them back into the fiery hellscape of Nehen’vur. With their attempt at spreading their empire failed, the Boargrims were forced to retreat to the ruins of their former empire, struggling to reclaim even a fraction of what they once held.

Their once-thriving empire now lies in ruin. The Boargrims were not always in this post-apocalyptic state. They were once the undisputed rulers of Nehen’vur, constructing blackstone fortresses, towering obsidian citadels, and weapons of pure Titanite, the strongest material known to boarkind. Unlike the Aedari and Khari, who relied on magic, the Boargrims mastered machines, steam-driven war engines, great smelteries, and monstrous siege weapons. But, now all of that is gone. The Titanite they once used is now scattered deep below ground, and in small Titanite scraps. Now, they only have the next best thing: Gold. Gold holds an almost sacred value among them, not just as a resource but as a symbol of status, wealth, and survival. Their entire trade economy revolves around it, and they adorn themselves with golden armor and ornaments, marking their hierarchy and distinguishing themselves from the mindless Goretusks (Hoglins), feral beasts that share their brutish ancestry but none of their intellect, behaving like wild animals.

Their society has definitely fallen from its glory days, even if they're still surviving and thriving within Nehen'vur. However, they're not the only society to fall from grace...

THE THIRD REALM: NYSITHEA (The End)

(Pronounced "Nih-SITH-ee-uh")

Once proud architects of Olythos, the Aedari fell to their own hubris, unleashing an ancient horror that shattered their world apart: The Wither. As punishment, they were exiled into Nysithea, an abyssal void painted with floating desaturated islands, the end of the line, where they were stripped of their humanity and reshaped by the realm’s natural magical telepathic and telportation properties.

The Aedari's obsession with escape led them to slaughter all but the final of the great dragons, harvesting their wings in a futile attempt to break free from Nysithea. This act of desecration sealed their fate, binding them eternally to the abyss and mutating them into the creatures that now haunt the void: The Abyssdwellers, also known as The Voidwalkers.

SPECIES ONE: THE ABYSSWALKERS (The Endermen)

The Abysswalkers are the only living remnants of the Aedari, their bodies elongated and warped by centuries of abyssal exposure. Silent and watchful, they retain some manner of their old intelligence, though it is now buried beneath eons of mutation, only able to communicate through warbled and distorted speech. They are obsessed with structure, instinctively rearranging blocks in a futile attempt to reconstruct the homes they lost. They have the ability to warp across landscapes and dimensions, constantly teleporting in a final near futile attempt to return home. Some manage to teleport back to Olythos successfully, but unfortunately, most are left to wander the vast desaturated isles of Nysithea until the day they die.

SPECIES TWO: THE UMBRITHALLS (The Enderlings)

The broken, malformed children of the Abysswalkers, mutated further into monstrous shapes. Their minds have fully succumbed to the abyss of Nysithea, driven by nothing but hunger and rage. Unlike the Voiddwellers, the Umbrithralls are purely predatory, their forms grotesque and unstable. They have multiple variants, such as: The Veylkin, The Thrynnkin, and The Nyzokin (The Watchlings, The Blastlings, and The Snarelings from Dungeons). These beings infest the ruins of the Shattered Bastion.

SPECIES THREE: THE DREADSENTINELS (The Endersents)

Carved from the bones of The Isles of Nysithea itself, the Dreadsentinels are eternal guardians, each charged with protecting a Severed Eye (Eye of Ender), a relic that could potentially re-open the gateways to Olythos. Unlike its lesser variants, the Dreadsentinels retain individuality, each bearing a name and a function within the abyss.

- Vorr’kaal : The Savage Eye

- Kyrox : The Ravenous Eye

- Xyrrith : The Blight Eye

- Tza’laar : The Reaping Eye

- Velmuth : The Binding Eye

- Druun : The Spiked Eye

Each Dreadsentinel is bound to their Severed Eye, and should all six be gathered, they hold the power to reopen the Rift of Olythos.

SPECIES FOUR: THE VOIDSPAWN (The Endermites)

The Voidspawn are more than mere pests, they are larval forms of Voiddwellers, a part of themselves released from shattered Void..pearl? (I still haven't come up with a satisfying name for them.) Each Voidspawn is an embryonic Abysswalker, a piece of an Enderman’s soul splintered into an insectile form. Over time, should they consume enough of the void’s essence, they undergo a metamorphosis, shedding their hard purple shells and growing into a full-fledged Voiddweller. This process is slow, but it is the key to the Abyssdwellers' asexual reproduction.

SPECIES FIVE... Kinda... : THE RESTLESS HEART (Heart of Ender)

The Orb of Dominance itself. Some say it is the abyss itself, an unfathomable intelligence that lurks beneath the fabric of reality. Others claim it is the very entity the Aedari sought to destroy in Olythos. Some call it god. Some call it power. And should the Severed Eyes ever be reunited, the Restless Heart will stir once more, its waking heralding the return of something far worse than exile... annihilation.

SPECIES FIVE (ACTUALLY THIS TIME:) THE FINAL ASCENDANT (The Ender Dragon, aka Jean)

Before the Aedari's exile, Nysithea was ruled by a pantheon of Ascendants, primordial dragons that flew in the dark night sky. The Aedari, in their arrogance, hunted them down, believing they could harvest their power to return home. With her kin slaughtered, the Last Ascendant sealed herself within the Abyssal Crucible (that weird bedrock portal in the End), a chamber deep within Nysithea where it lay in waiting, guarding the last gateway between realms. The Voiddwellers now seek to finish what they started (hence the achievement if you slaughter the dragon being "Free The End"), but the Last Ascendant will not fall so easily. Will the Last Islanders slaughter the last of these fabled dragons, or will they too succumb to the abyss? Only time will tell.

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

natlancan map

i'm just gonna dump the info under the cut

dark dirt grey area that encircles the green is the mare jivari! it actually exists here. i'm aware of the leaks and what seems to be about to happen to it in-game but like. cmon. for the longest time it was the thing we knew the most abt natlan and you want to tell me it had already been gone for twenty to thirty years??? and nobody informed us?? so i'm sure we can all agree hoyo just ditched the mare jivari halfway through or changed plans, i don't think that's an outrageous thing to propose

making it wrap around natlan both for lore purposes and to explain why tf nobody comes in or comes out (i'm ditching the night kingdom). the fucked-up-ness extends to the sea as seen in the fog covering it so it's not a well-traveled maritime route, and they only have one port. so the only ships that pass come down from snezhnaya in the north going to port ormos, but they don't make the trip back (they continue on to the sea of clouds, around dragonspine, and back north to dorman port)

places of interest: -Loray Port: de-jure capital, Natlan's only port, the ruling council is headquartered here, the 'elite' live here -Runallaqta: ancestral capital, about as populated as Loray Port -Samap K'iti: small remote mountain village, nice hotsprings but since it's hard to get to it doesn't receive many visitors -Q'ellubamba: farming village, the most famous hotsprings of Natlan are here, and so is the Volcanic Research Institute -Pakana: current gathering place of the shamans -Kiri Sima: the ruins of a proper village, abandoned thirty years ago after being overrun by Abyssal contamination -Gathering Temple Ruins: the previous gathering place of the shamans, abandoned during the Cataclysm -Qhapaq Tanpu: central chaski outpost -Uchpa Tanpu: closest chaski outpost to the Mare Jivari, so it doubles as an investigation camp for those researching it -Mare Jivari: do not enter -White Apu: dormant volcano, Q'ellubamba's great soil and hotsprings are due to its activity during the Archon War -Sun Staff: small monument built around the petrified battle staff that saved the center of Natlan from being destroyed by the Mare Jivari's creation

why is it not all volcanoes and red dirt? -have you ever been in an irl volcanic area. no greener shit than that. all fertile soil. there is one volcano there and it's the White Apu but since it's Big and Tall it has snow on the top. yknow as most mountains work

why is it so green isn't it supposed to be hot? -temperature is not a color have you ever been to the rainforest

[lieut-john-irving]

Exam results (Royal Naval College)

For this, I am not 100% sure if it is our John. Only because some dates don’t line up exactly: with Bell's book (1881) saying that John entered the naval college in Portsmouth on the 25th June 1828. If John graduated in 685 days as written below, then that would have made his enrolment date the 6th August 1828. However, I realise this excludes weekends, holidays, and perhaps some time to settle etc. So it’s a little messy to establish concrete confirmation with the given dates! But the timeframe is reliable, the high results — especially in maths — are consistent with what we know about his academic career (high midshipman’s scores and gained full numbers in maths!), the college title and location is consistent, and as far as I know there was not another John Irving who was the same age and in the same school. So it could simply be a date mix up due to the lack of detail.

Here’s my transcription regardless, because if it is him it’s so cool! And if solid information is found I will be sure to provide updates.

Source: RUSI/NM/243 Greenwich National Maritime Museum (& much appreciation to @cdr-edwardlittle for finding the entry 🫶!!)

"Royal Naval College, 22nd June 1830.

Mr. John Irving

Finished his Mathematical Education at the Royal Naval College in 685 days; being 45 days less than the Two Years; and made the following Progress,—730 being the full numbers.

[Days at College; or, Numbers expected in that Time], [Numbers gained], [Remarks = N/A for all].

- Mathematics = 685; 730

- English and Classics = 685; 690

- History and Geography = 685; 600

- French = 685; 600

- Drawing = 685; 630

Gained the following numbers at the Midshipmen‘s Examination.

[Value of full Answer a], [Value given a], [Remarks], [Value of full Answer b], [Value given b].

1. 10. 10 —- Geometry. 40. 35

2. 10. 10 Course & Distance. —-

3. 10. 10 Parallel Sailing. Arithmetic, & [S] —-

4. 10. 10 Current. —-

5. 30. 28 Days Work. Algebra. 50. 47 1/2

6. 10. 10 Time of *s on Merid: —-

7. 10. 10 O's Merid: Alt. Trigonometry. 50. 46

8. 10. 10 [symbol]‘s Merid: Alt. —-

9. 10. 10 *'s Merid: Alt. Astronomy. 50. 40 1/2

10. 10. 10 * under Pole. —-

11. 10. 10 Pole *. Navigation. 280. 278

12. 40. 40 Double Alt: —-

13. 30. 30 Chronometer. Instruments, —-

14. 40. 40 Lunar. —-

15. 10. 10 Amplitude. Mercator‘s Chart, —-

16. 20. 20 Azimuth —-

17. 10. 10 Tide. & Surveying. 40. 34 1/2

18-21. —- Gunnery & Fortification. 50. 35

Total = 280 / Total = 278

Total = 560 / Total = 516 1/2

Examined on the 22nd June 1830, and allowed Two Years Time of Service at Sea, being found Qualified to be Discharged into His Majesty‘s Navy.

Thomas Foley - Admiral and Commander in Chief.

[Michael Seymour?] - Commissioner.

Wentworth Loring - Lieut. Gov. Royal Naval College."

Context =

Source: Lieut. John Irving, R.N. of H.M.S. “Terror,” in Sir John Franklin’s Last Expedition to the Arctic Regions: A Memorial Sketch with Letters. Edited by Benjamin Bell, F.R.C.S.E. (1881): https://ia801404.us.archive.org/31/items/cihm_29830/cihm_29830.pdf

[caba-111]

i'd love to know some stuff anout the coldsider's lore and culture if you have any to share, they seem facinating

The Coiled Republics A federated democracy in a windswept western region of the cold side. It's a nation that formed by referendum, which is one indication of how much they love voting on things. Once they were relatively poor shepherds and fisherman. But these days, their economic fortunes have sharply improved. They are a maritime power with a strong navy and an oversized influence on international trade.

Greater Syma is a former queendom located in the agrarian center of the coldside. Though in the midst of a messy revolution, they remain and industrial champion and formidable land power. They're locked in an intensifying conflict with the Coilies, who busy pouring their resources into funding and supplying counter-revolutionary forces.

Agogy (or the Ottar Empire) is the nub of an ancient, theocratic empire ground down by numerous defeats. Though the height of their power has long passed, their cultural and religious influence protects their relevance in international politics.

The plot:

To Expand the Scope of Coldsider Knowledge (i.e. to one-up the Symans and make themselves rich), the Long Coast Trading Company launches a bold new expedition to the Warm side. Captained by failson and hier to the company fortune Iwin Cade, this mission will....... something something something one paragraph summaries are hard! (also thank you I'm glad you like it!)

[loveanddeephistory]

A Bouquet for Bitter Ends

A Bouquet for Bitter Ends: Trowels and Scales Chapter 2

On Ao3

About: Petunias for anger and resentment, Datura for deceitful charms, Tansy for hostility, Thistle for misanthropy, Wormwood for bitterness.

Flowers for a wedding, flowers for a funeral. Flowers for hatred, flowers for love.

You manage to find stability in the chaotic aftermath of the botched Lemurian excavation, but the mystery continues.

Contains spoilers for: Just about all of Raf's lore lmao

Word Count: 19k

A/N: I did not expect this to be as well received as it was! This will be an ongoing fic, though chapters will likely be spread out. I never envisioned myself being one of those fic writers to have dramatic life updates between chapters, but here I am with a chapter that took over a month because my dad had a heart attack -_-' He's okay!!! I am literally growing grey hairs though lmao

Divider credit: @thecutestgrotto

Summer slipped away like the sands of an hourglass. Each day brought something new, be it in information, relationships, or work. The temperatures continued to rise, until the peak of summer came and went. With summer came more pierside carnivals and games at sunset, swimming at the pool or in the ocean. And while you were both busy people, you finally managed to find time for an official first date with the infamous artist.

Jobs came and went. Finding stability after the events of the Lemurian excavation was... difficult even on your best days. Rafayel's confirmation that Ever was behind it all only made you more determined. You needed to get to the bottom of this, to find them, to help them. If they were still even alive, that is. The concern consumed many of your days. When you weren't working, you were researching. Digging. Trying to find anything and everything you could on Ever and its past. You didn't find much. Hardly surprising, given its shady involvement with a lot of things. You qualms were more focused on ethics and the environment, but you knew there was more under the surface.

You got lucky to secure another contract with the same museum you had been working with the past couple months, this time a grant to focus on research of the maritime artifacts in its collection. A surprisingly large collection had been donated a few decades prior by an eccentric man, boldly proposing they were Lemurian artifacts. Weapons, remnants of clothing, from thousands of years ago. As your eyes scanned over the documents in front of you, it was hardly a surprise to find the museum director at the time discounted most of the man's assumptions. But with the rediscovery of Lemuria, the museum wanted to take a second look. 

You put down the file, looking over the series of artifacts laid before you. From your years of experience, at first glance they certainly did look Lemurian to you. They also resembled the artifacts recovered from the very first part of the excavation, which showed Lemuria existed in the first place. But just because they looked like Lemurian artifacts that didn't mean they were. You needed to verify. You put on your goggles and set the documents to the side. With all the preparations necessary, you began to take samples of the different items to send to a lab. Check the composition and compare them to the other confirmed artifacts. Radiocarbon dating was an option to check the dates on these, but you'd need carbon matter to do so. Something that had once been alive. But even then to have a suitable sample size that could harm the integrity of the artifact, so you'd need to discuss options with the current museum director.

You assembled the baggies of what you needed for lab testing, turning back to the list of items the old man had donated. Weapons, some scraps of clothes all listed out one by one... Your eyes fell upon the last item on the list. A shiver ripped up your spine, almost making you physically jump. Bone.

It wasn't specified what kind. You turned back to the table, looking over all the artifacts again. You hadn't noticed a piece of bone on the table, so you gave everything an even closer look. Your eyes trailed over every artifact, getting as close as you safely could. While your eyes were focused, your mind wandered. Over tea, on a rainy day, Rafayel told you about Raymond. The obnoxious man who begged Rafayel to sell that painting to him. 

Blood in the water.

You were hardly at liberty to name Rafayel's artwork, but you had already given it a name in your own mind.  All those images had been woven together. The painting. The skeleton of a Lemurian. The skeletal hand in your nightmare. Rafayel said people didn't know if Raymond's 'art piece' was truly that, or if it was a real skeleton. Knowing what you know now? You had a feeling you knew which one it was. Your eyes finally fell on it. A small bone. A metacarpal. You carefully picked it up, even more grateful you had your proper gloves on. Even touching it felt wrong, but as you carefully turned it over in your hands, you found some marks on it. It wasn't like an animal had nibbled on it. The cuts were clean. Like a well aimed strike of a weapon.

You carefully returned the bone to its place, hurriedly writing some notes. You'd need to report to the museum director, but as you checked the time you were surprised it was close to closing. You needed to clean up and lock up. The room the museum had given you to analyze the findings had a locked door, so you could safely leave all the artifacts in the room, albeit you would feel better returning them to their proper homes anyway. You carefully began to put the artifacts back in whatever archival storage had been used for it. It was slow work, making sure you used two hands, moved slowly... it was always jarring how different the museum world and the excavation world were. But both had their reasons to exist the way they did. As you finished putting away the last piece, you peeled off your gloves right as a familiar song began to fill the air. Enya's Caribbean Blue. The ring tone you set for Rafayel filled the air with melodic singing, as well as a light buzz from your phone vibrating. You scurried to the counter where your personal objects rested, answering the phone.

"Hey cutie, did you forget? I'm outside!" Rafayel's voice filtered through the phone, a welcome warmth to end the day.

"No! No, I didn't forget. I was just packing up the artifacts they had me looking at."

"I thought that contract ended?"

"They renewed it with another grant, they have me looking at some potentially Lemurian artifacts."

"You don't say! Why not just sneak me back there and I can gave you a yes or no, huh?" You could practically hear the grin in his voice.

"Rafayel, no, I can't do that." You shot him down. You grabbed your bag and headed out, locking the door behind you. "Buuut, I could ask the museum director if it would be okay. I don't think she'd mind having the master artist Rafayel look over some stuff."

"Yeah, yeah." You held your phone to your ear as you made your way through the halls. You dropped off a copy of your end of the day notes for the director to read in the morning, as well as organizing the baggies of samples in the right place. They would be transported to a lab as well. The work day was over, so it was time for your official first date with Rafayel. Your schedules made it nearly impossible to find a good time, so up until now it had been some calls and texts back and forth. "But what were your thoughts? On the artifacts?"

"Oh they certainly look Lemurian to me. I did some swabs for chemical analysis so we can get a better idea of what they were made of, and we might have a chance to do carbon 14 dating."

"... cutie, less science."

"We can do some testing to see roughly how old they are." You chuckled as you clarified. "Carbon is organic matter."

"I knew that one."

"But it breaks down over time. By testing the amount of carbon, knowing how many years it takes to break down, we can do the math to figure out roughly when the living thing died, and thus roughly what time the living thing came from. Be it animal, plant-"

"Person?"

"And person." You pushed the front door open, finding the familiar mop of purple hair not far away. You went ahead and hung up. He immediately lifted his head, briefly looking irritated, until you called out to him. "Raf! Over here!" He turned his head to face you. His expression lightened, and walked quickly to join you. Summer's evenings were steadily becoming cooler, so he was in a crisp white shirt with a cream, red, and blue cardigan hanging off his shoulder. The setting sun made him look even more ethereal than usual. You picked up the pace, hurriedly joining him as he wrapped his arm around you for a brief hug. He hadn't been as nearly as touchy as he was on ebb day, though you figured it was for the best to take things slow. "How was your day? Thomas still on your back?"

"Always." He chuckled, beginning to guide you down the sidewalk. "When isn't he? He's trying to talk me into hosting another gallery exhibition day in a few weeks, I've got another collection he thinks that would do well. Timing isn't right, though." You cocked your head, falling in step with him.

"How so?"

"Ah- I have a familial obligation. My aunt's getting married. She'd understand if I couldn't make it, she knows how crazy things have been." Rafayel said it casually, as if a wedding in the family was no big deal. You grabbed the sleeve of his cardigan, lightly tugging on it. 

"No way! Congratulations to her. You totally should go! It isn't every day a relative gets married. Are you two close?"

"I guess you could say that." He hummed, looking forward. "Yeah, we're kinda close. She's the one who got me into singing, but I decided painting's more my style."

"Still, I think you should go. It'll be nice. I'm sure Thomas would understand, a familial obligation absolutely comes first. A gallery exhibition can be rescheduled, a wedding is a bit harder to move around." His arm slowly slid off your shoulders, instead held outstretched between the two of you. You lift your hand and intertwine your fingers, your calluses rubbing on his. The calluses of a hand holding a paintbrush, and the calluses of a hand wielding a trowel. But calluses nonetheless. As you both walk through Linkon, you could hear the distant laughter of children playing in the green spaces. Young couples flirting and playing games. It was the perfect time for some summer games.

"I'm still not sure, but I'll see if I can go." Rafayel was trying to play it cool, but you had learned enough about him to see through a part of that mask. You nudged his rib with your elbow, offering him a smile when he looked down at you.

"Do it. I don't think you'll regret it." 

Once you two approached the ongoing festivities, the first thing to catch your eye was a tank full of fish. You made a beeline for it, dragging Rafayel along with you even as he loudly complained. Unlike the day you first encountered Rafayel on your old college campus, the fish in the tank were all red flammula. You grin, tugging him closer by his hand. "Rafayel! I think I ran into this same stand walking home after I saw you in the college cafe. There was a little blue fish here- but now I'm only seeing red..." The owner of the stall looked over, appearing confused.

"Oh? Perhaps you are misremembering. I have never had blue fish here."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "Really?" You lifted your free hand to your mouth. "I distinctly remember it being blue..."

"I see you have the memory of a fish." Rafayel exchanged something with the owner of the stall, getting a little paddle. He offered it to you, his lips slowly curling up in that boyish grin. "Maybe you just were thinking about that book of legends too much." You carefully unwove your fingers from his, taking the paddle. You peered over the edge of the tank, spotting multiple fish curiously darting around near the surface. You looked back at the small paddle. You were used to maneuvering equipment underwater, but that didn't necessitate catching fish. "You've got five shots. Let me know if you want the help of a professional, my little archaeologist."

You scoffed a laugh. Challenge? Accepted.

"Little archaeologist? That's a mouthful." You teased, accepting the paddle from him. He didn't respond. He just cocked his head, watching with his characteristic smirk.

Attempt one. You waited, still as a statue, until the fish seemed to calm down. One was swimming near the top, so with a single, quick flip of your wrist you tried to capture it. Only for it to dart out of the way at the last millisecond. That's fine! Not every move will be a winner. Attempt two. You switched tactics. You held perfectly still, the paddle already in the water. The fish took a minute to settle themselves, but eventually did. One fish curiously approached the paddle, and the second it hovered over it you tried to scoop it up. It panicked and flopped off. You looked at the stall owner, who shook his head. Didn't count, it didn't stay on the paddle.

Rafayel clicked his tongue, leaning in over your shoulder. "Why don't you let me have a turn? I might have better luck."

"Gimme one more try, and the stage is yours." You repositioned the paddle, still using the second method. Except this time, not a single fish would approach the paddle. You stood still as a statue. Seconds painstakingly crawled past, until you finally gave up. You groaned. "Okaaaay, stage is yours." You offer him the paddle. He took it between his fingers, deftly twirling it until the base hovered over the water. He tapped it, causing ripples to spread across the water. One little red fish darted around, and with a simple scoop, Rafayel caught it in one try. He extended it to you, the fish wriggling but not seeming to panic. You lit up, grinning as he showed off his prize. You clapped your hands as the stall owner gathered the supplies to package the fish up to take home.

"Soooo, whadya think of my skills, cutie?" He leaned in, obviously fishing for praise. You put a finger to your lips, mock humming in thought.

"Hmm... Overall? Decent technique and skill, nice flick of the wrist. Well done!" Rafayel beamed as he handed the fish to the man, who gently put the little fish in a bag with some of the water. "But... what are we gonna do with this little guy?" The stall owner handed the bag to Rafayel, who took it gently. He held it up to eye level, making you peer up into it. The fish seemed right at home, calm between the two of you. "I travel too much, though I guess I could ask a neighbor to take care of him."

"I could take him home. Fish and fish care are right up my alley." You shifted your gaze to his face, giving him an expression that screamed really? "I am!" He defended himself, the tips of his ears a touch pink in the early evening glow. 

"You travel a lot, too. It might be easier for me to get someone to take care of him in my apartment building. I'm friendly with my neighbors."

"Nope, he's gonna come home with me." He held the bag higher so you could no longer peer into it with such ease. "We can coparent."

"Woah, I'm too young to be a parent!" You teasingly protested, gently nudging one of his ribs again. He stuck out that bottom lip, rubbing his assaulted rib with one hand while the other still held the bag. "And besides, isn't that a little forward? Adopting a child on our first date? What're we even gonna name him?"

"It's fiiiine, he's a fish. He'll feel right at home with me. And you'll have a reason to come to Whitesand Bay more often." He lowered the bag again, allowing you both to get a good look at him. The little red fish flicked one way and then another, curiously watching the two of you as you puzzled over a name.

"Flame?"

"Ew, too basic. Gloriosa? For the flame lily? Still has flame in it."

"Too extravagant. Something simple but not basic."

"We could do something from Lemurian folklore."

"Nah, that's too try hard. How about..." Rafayel hummed in thought, before snapping his fingers. "Reddie."

"Reddie?" You looked between Rafayel and the fish. You wanted to complain. But the longer you looked at the fish, the more you liked it. You cocked your head. "Okay. Reddie. Hi, Reddie." You bent over to look into the bag, without getting too close. "You don't think I'm crazy for seeing a little blue fish in that tank, do you, Reddie?"

"He doesn't." Rafayel confirmed. He extended his hand, that playful, boyish grin on his face. "Let's pick up some pet supplies for Reddie here, we can go back to my place to set something up for him. Get a proper tank going, the right nutrients he needs... Maybe grab some takeout for dinner together?"

"So long as it isn't sushi. Don't need our son here wondering if he's next." You grin at the bag again, before your eyes cut up to Rafayel. "But... the wedding. Won't someone need to look after him if you do decide to go?" Rafayel slipped his free hand into yours all over again, beginning to gently guide you down the familiar area, slowly making his way towards the parking lot where he had left his car. That same, beautiful car you two had hidden in after being followed on campus. You still couldn't believe the tax bracket difference.

"I think I know a thing or two more about flammula than you." He teased, opening the passenger side door for you to get in. You weren't as hesitant to just hop in as you were the first time. At least, dressed for the museum rather than using old field boots, you weren't as concerned about dirtying up the interior. "I'll set up a way for him to get the food he needs even when I'm out of town for long periods of time. Reddie will be fine. If you're really all that worried, you know my door is open, you can just swing by."

"You really need to stop doing that. I know your fire evol makes you pretty powerful, but still." You buckled in as he went to the driver's side, carefully handing you Reddie so you could hold him for the ride to his new home. "What if someone breaks in to hurt you? Clearly you and I have both had our fair share of not so admirable secret admirers." 

"Eh, it’s fine, no one's given me trouble yet." The engine purred to life again as he pulled out. He looked effortlessly ethereal and beautiful doing anything. Including driving. You reached under your shirt, pulling out the necklace he had given you. For the sake of the artifacts you kept it under your shirt so there was no way it could bump into anything by accident. As it rested against the top of your shirt, it caught Rafayel's eye, making him glance over. His lips turned up, and he caught that familiar glimmer. "You're wearing it." 

You looked down, admiring the pearl pendant and the fishtail clasp attaching it to the chain. You ran your thumb over the tail, that old habit prevailing even with the new necklace. "I always wear it. The old one reminded me why I do this, why I should keep going. This one?" You lifted the pendant up with your thumb, bringing it to your lips to kiss. "It reminds me of a new reason. Of our agreement." Rafayel's eyes returned to the road, but even his side profile showed off that dazzling, sincere smile. "Speaking of... so... this aunt of yours. She's a Lemurian too, isn't she?" The sincere smile dropped. Like a stone in the ocean. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, stiffening for a moment. But the light caught on the pearl again. His muscles relaxed the moment it did.

"Yeah." He confirmed. "She is. My Aunt Talia." You smiled reassuringly, nodding your head.

"All the more reason you should go, you know. I know I'm preaching to the choir, but keeping these kinds of ties is important. Especially with everything going on."

"Yeah, yeah." He grumbled. "No need to preach."

"Then I won't. But I think you should go. Not like you have to stay if you don't want to. Go get her some pretty flowers, stay for the ceremony, then head out." It was left as a simple suggestion. A comfortable silence fell over the car as Rafayel mulled it over. He seemed conflicted, going back and forth over the whole ordeal. But his heavy, grumbled sigh told you everything you needed to know.

"Fiiiiiine. I'll have to tell my aunt if I say or do something wrong to blame you."

"I can be your scapegoat, I'm not worried about it." Off in the distance, you saw a familiar little pet store. Likely your first destination before heading home to set up Reddie's new home. "But don't forget flowers. They hold more meaning than some people realize."

A Bouquet for Bitter Ends

Petunias, for anger and resentment

Rafayel had packed his bags as soon as the two of you were done setting up Reddie's new home. He knew a florist, so he'd be discussing flower options with him to surprise his aunt. You sat on the edge of his bed as he debated between suits, while you pointed out something more simple would fit an outdoor wedding. Something light and loose since it was still summer, something easy to dance in. He packed two extra suits anyway, alongside the outfit you had suggested. It was a casual night in with takeout, but a perfect first date nonetheless.

Albeit, much too short. The very next day was back to work, back to life as usual. Rafayel didn't disclose where the wedding was going to be, nor was it really any of your business, but you figured it must be out of town since he didn't text you as much in the coming days. So it was back to life as usual, the occasional phone call and text to check in on each other and share information where necessary. The museum director had given her explicit consent for you to use the bone for radiocarbon testing. But as you gingerly held the metacarpal in your hand, gently turning it over, your lips pressed into a thin line.

As Dr. C liked to say, archaeology was a non-renewable resource. And a destructive science, as well. While advancements had been made it would still take a few milligrams of bone matter in order to date it. Whatever part of it you used would be destroyed. You let the bone rest in the palm of your hand, looking it over. It hadn't been treated with any chemicals, and this museum had always been good about keeping all resources in safe, archival storage. It was a good contender for testing. But it just didn't sit right with you. You gingerly put the bone down, letting it rest. You pulled off your safety gear, grabbing your phone and stepping out.

Lemuria has been found. Now, it is your responsibility to help protect it.

You didn't know the first thing about burial rites, or beliefs around death, or how to properly treat remains in Lemurian culture. So the right thing to do would be to ask a member of the community. You stepped outside, the warm sun beating down on you as you pressed on Rafayel's contact picture. A new picture of him and Reddie. You held your phone to your ear, leaning against the wall outside the museum in a private area. It was the middle of the workday, not many people were out and about. Good. The phone rang a few times, and for a moment you prepared yourself to leave a voicemail. But finally, his voice entered the call, groggy from sleep.

"Huh...? Hey cutie."

You couldn't help but smile. "Hey, Rafayel. Did I wake you?"

"Nuh uh, no..." A yawn interrupted him. You just laughed. For someone who calls you cutie, he was adorable himself. 

"If you say so. I had a few questions based on some things I'm finding at the museum." He hummed to acknowledge what you said, so you continued. "There's a piece of bone. Metacarpal, finger bone. I got the all clear from the museum director to do carbon 14 dating on it. But... that would destroy the part of the sample I send in. It would only be around 20 to 50 milligrams, probably on the lower end of the scale, but then that part of the bone will be destroyed." You could hear the slight hitch in his breath, then rapid rustling, as if he was sitting up quickly. "I don't know..." You looked around. "I don't know about Lemurian burial practices or how the dead are supposed to be treated. I don't know for a fact that its Lemurian, but I have a hunch. What... what should I do? What do you want me to do?"

A silence hung in the air. You kept your phone close to your ear, glancing around to ensure no one was hanging around or eavesdropping on your conversation. Finally, a heavy sigh came from the other end of the phone.

"Don't do the testing." His voice was firm. He was clearly awake now. "Don't mess with it. Put the bone back where it came from. And leave it alone."

"I can do that." Your voice softened. "I won't do anything to it. I'll tell the director there was new carbon matter on too much of it and it wasn't as good a candidate for testing as I thought."

"Make whatever excuse you need to. Just leave it alone."

"I will, I promise." You gently assured him.

"Swear on the sea." His sharper tone caught you off guard. "Human promises mean little to me. They aren't known for keeping their promises. Swear on the sea you'll leave it alone."

"I swear on the sea and on our agreement to leave the metacarpal alone." You confirmed. Your free hand thumbed the chain to the necklace again, the charm hidden under your shirt. You had agreed to help him, promised it to him. And you would hold yourself to that. If Lemurian culture would not allow the radiocarbon dating of a piece of bone, then you wouldn't do it. It'd save the museum the money anyway, it wasn't a cheap test. Win win, in your eyes. "That's why I wanted to ask you, first." There was a long, heavy sigh on his end of the phone. Followed by a brief silence.

"Thanks, cutie." His tone was one of genuine appreciation, but mild hesitance. You cracked a smile, glancing at the picture on your screen. The goofy face he made at Reddie immortalized. "Maybe I owe you a Lemurian culture lesson when I get back. That way we're on the same page."

"That sounds great. You still owe me some more amendments to the Lemurian Legends book anyway."

"Forget that book. I'll just tell you the real versions of the stories. At some point." 

"I'd love that. We'll make it a date." A notification popped up on your phone. Something about breaking news. You didn't look at it, mindlessly dismissing it. But as you did so you glanced at the time. "I'll go ahead and let you go. Thanks for the help, Rafayel. I'll leave the bone alone and report to the director with my excuse. Sorry to wake you."

"Don't mention it, cutie." His tone took on that familiar teasing lilt. You could already see the smirk on his face. "You did the right thing, y'know."

"Calling you? Yeah. I know." You confirmed, your smile widening. "I've got your back. I gotta go back to work now. Hope you enjoy the wedding, and feel free to use me as your scapegoat."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. See ya, cutie."

Your playful farewells finalized the call, so you hung up. Once you did so the same breaking news notification popped up. You briefly skimmed over it, before the name caught your eye.

Raymond.

You pulled the notification back and opened the link.

Breaking News; Former Scientist Found Dead in Home

You sat up a little straighter, scrolling down to skim through the article. It was short. Only the facts were listed, and at the bottom it said the Hunter's Association was suspecting foul play. The man was only 39 years old, found dead in his bathtub with a delirious smile on his face. He had been suffering from hallucinations, both visual and auditory. He had met with his primary care physician multiple times, the renowned Dr. Zayne. But even he couldn't pinpoint the cause of his newfound hallucinations. Any and all information on potential suspects were to be reported to the Hunter's Association. You leaned back against the wall.

That bastard from the art gallery was dead. You figured you should be somewhat grateful. Rafayel was right, his hubris got him in the end, one way or another. You shivered, remembering the way he spoke to Rafayel, the way he made demands and touched him so casually. And the mental image of a Lemurian skeleton flashed before you. Wait. You stood up fully. The skeleton Raymond had. Rafayel mentioned it. You did a quick search on your phone, though no one had any pictures of it. Made sense, Raymond likely wouldn't allow photography, and his family likely wouldn't either. Rafayel said people didn't know if it was real or just a piece of art. But he said that before you knew he, too, was Lemurian. 

There was a very real chance the skeleton itself was once a Lemurian. The shudder ripped through you, from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. Every cell of blood ran cold. You started to scroll through suggested reports, though most said the same thing. The facts were the facts, and the Hunter's Association would be handling it. That, admittedly, surprised you. Why would the Hunter's Association be involved? Wouldn't it be the police? Unless Wanderers or Metaflux were involved, that is. But as you scrolled, you found a comment expressing your same exact concerns. The official Hunter's Association social media account responded to the comment.

"We are currently investigating the death of Raymond due to the metaflux fluctuations consistently occurring in his home. It is unclear whether a Wanderer or person may have been involved. However, Raymond's home will be closed to both family and the public until the metaflux fluctuations have been brought under control. Please report any suspicious sightings of either human or Wanderer to either law enforcement or the Hunter's Association."

Metaflux. You'd been lucky to have never been exposed to large quantities of the stuff. Work kept you on the move, so you weren't in Linkon for some of the biggest fluctuations or attacks. But you had felt it before. That uncomfortable feeling in the air, the way it would shift. The way your skin would crawl. Much like the way you felt when staring at the blood in the water. Your eyes slowly turned down, back to your phone. You continued to search furiously, and a loose timeline began to form in your mind. It appeared Raymond's odd behavior began shortly after he got the piece of artwork from Rafayel installed in his home.

The blood in the water. The one that had you captured. The one you began to hallucinate from.

The phone nearly slipped from your hands, but you quickly caught it. The sudden chill coursing through you, much stronger than the one before, had you rushing back inside. The inside of the museum was much cooler than the hot late summer sun, but you just needed to move. No. The timeline is too perfect. He wouldn't. That's insane. It had just been a nightmare, and the painting reminded you of it. There's no way. You went ahead and went back to the original news story you read, forwarding it to Rafayel in a text. You didn't caption it. No emojis. No teasing jokes. Just the news report. 

You were left on read. 

You tucked your phone back into your pocket, reentering the museum. The front desk workers side eyed each other as you walked past, drifting to the back room where you had been working. It wasn't uncharacteristic for you to step outside to call and ask someone for a second opinion, or call a lab ahead of time, or whatever else. This was different. You re-entered the room, shutting the door behind you as your eyes became dead set on the bone. You put your phone alongside your personal belongings, then washed your hands thoroughly according to protocol. With the right tools, you tenderly returned the bone to its archival storage. 

"You won't befall the same fate." You murmured to the bone, tucking it in its archival storage away. The skeleton on display in Raymond's home was a clear image in your mind, even if you had never seen it. The skeletal hand of your vivid nightmare plagued your mind, even all this time later. You turned, glancing at your phone and other personal belongings in the corner of the room. Rafayel didn't leave you on read. Ever. Up until now. You wet your lips. Your corkboard all of a sudden had a new component. 

Raymond was more than an obnoxious art aficionado. He had to be.

Datura, for deceitful charms

Finding information on an ongoing case run by the Hunter's Association was difficult to say the least. It took days for the pandamonium to die down, and they certainly wouldn't be releasing any information during the panic. There were murmurs online of the sea monster murders off in Verona, that took place a few years back. The serial killer had vanished without a trace, but it was odd that Raymond died in a way much too similar to the final victim. 

You sighed. Your first day off from the museum in a while, yet you find yourself working and researching all the same. You looked up at your cork board before you. The missing archaeologists. Ever. E.D.A.S., court case 896318. Lemuria. Rafayel. You tilted your head, looking at the post it note of his name you left up there. All of this began when you two met. You took a slow, deep inhale before turning back to your computer. He should be back soon, he promised to text you when he got home. Try to find time for another proper date. You scrolled through more information, feeling like your eyes were going to glaze over when you found an old archival website.

Ever's past employees. You blinked. You specifically were looking into Raymond. There's no reason for him to be here, unless... You clicked the link. Thankful you were using a VPN and a couple layers of protection for all of this. The website loaded, and on an old webpage, there the man was. Standing front and center around a team of fellow Ever researchers. Multiple segments were heavily redacted, with notes from the archive site's admins noting that this information was initially redacted and nothing they could do would reveal it. But it was enough. You ripped off a sticky note, abbreviating some notes.

Raymond. Ever employee. Old projects. 

On another sticky note you added the sea monster murders. Raymond's death appeared all too similar to the last of the murder victims- dying with a smile. But the other person was at an opera show. The opera singer, Mo, had vanished without a trace the very same night. You frowned. Mo. Wasn't that a Lemurian term? Meaning homeland, if you recalled correctly. You grabbed the Lemurian Legends book from its place on your bookshelves. In the margins, in his artistic handwriting, Rafayel had denoted that exact thing. You sigh, putting the book back down as your phone lit up. Once, twice, three times.

You scooted your chair back over to look at the messages, finding Dr. C's contact photo popping up. You opened her texts, finding a link to an announced maritime excavation in Verona itself. You quickly look down at her other messages.

Dr C: This looks cool!!! I can be a reference

You: Sorry doc, I've got a contract with the museum right now. Besides, I've had bad luck with excavations these past few months :(((

Dr. C: All the more reason to break that streak. Good pay, housing provided, stipend for food, and it's just a phase one. Talk to your museum, maybe they'd be willing for you to start researching remotely?

You paused, thinking this over. It might be worth it. The few things you did have to send off to the lab would take a few weeks to get back to you, and you had a copy of all your notes so you could do research on the side. You switched text messages, texting the museum director to ask what she thought. You were lucky enough to get an immediate emphatic yes. The original donator of the supposedly Lemurian collection was from Verona. There'd be plenty of ways to do some additional research while there, plus it meant you could spread out your contracted hours covered by the grant. Perfect. You immediately switched back to Dr. C.

You: Museum director is cool with it, I'll apply today!

Dr. C: Good! Best of luck, I'll send in a reference letter.

You switch from your phone to your computer, pulling up your updated resume. You scanned through the application and everything looked good, it didn't need a cover letter this go around. So you submitted your materials, thankful to see a note on the application that they would ideally get back to applicants in less than a week. With that done, you turned your gaze back up to the corkboard before you. Sans the typical red string seen in movies and shows, it certainly looked the part of a detective's messy board. Pictures, names, context clues. They were slowly forming a web.

One that you found yourself trapped in. 

Raymond. Ever. E.D.A.S. The excavation. Lemuria. The archaeologists. Raymond’s death. The skeleton in his home. The bone in the museum. Rafayel.

Each piece of the puzzle brought more questions than answers, and soon it felt less like you were someone watching the web, but an insect trapped within it. Seeing the signs, but no spider in sight. Not yet. 

Your phone vibrated again, that silly picture of Rafayel with his cheeks puffed up while looking at Reddie popping up on your phone.

Rafayel Qi: Home now! U wanna come over?

The text was accompanied with that same yellow chick, his little wings wide open with a heart between them. You smiled, picking up your phone again.

You: Ofc! Be there soon! 

You: I need to see our son

You: Oh and u 2

Rafayel Qi: how dare u!!!! 

Rafayel Qi: u need 2 see me first 

The text was then accompanied with said yellow chick stomping his feet. You couldn’t help but grin at his antics. With how playful he was being you figured the wedding went well. But then again, sometimes he was hard to read, even more so through text. He had a knack for being able to hide his true feelings from you. A survival tactic, but one you hoped you could show he didn’t need. Not with you. You shut down your computer and grab your things, typing a response back with one hand as you got what you needed.

You: Leaving now!!! See u soon!!

In response came the yellow chick with a heart again. Your boyfriend's favorite emoji set always made you smile. You grab your bag and throw it over your shoulder, leaving your apartment for the bus stop. Off to see your man.

The bus ride was quiet. Only the odd quiet conversation went on around you. Fine by you, you were buzzing with anticipation to see Rafayel again. He did appear to be in a good mood. As the bus came to a shuddering stop in Whitesand Bay, you hop off and beeline to the familiar white house in the distance. The polished marble nearly blinded you. But the familiarity of it at this point meant that could be overlooked. As usual, Rafayel left the gate unlocked. You made your way to the door, which was also unlocked. For sake of manners you knocked as the door opened. As the door swung open you found Rafayel's back to you, facing his large easel in his workspace.

He turned around the second the door creaked, and a warm smile bloomed across his face.

"There you are, cutie. I was waiting for you forever." His exaggeration only made you laugh as you shut the door behind you. You made your way in, taking your shoes off at the door. You joined Rafayel, who immediately reached to ruffle your hair. "And you said you were gonna see Reddie first. Glad I managed to intercept you." He smirked in that quintessential Rafayel way. You could only laugh, thankful to have him back.

"It's good to have you back. How was the wedding?" You turn to walk to the fish tank where Reddie was swimming around. He looked well fed. You could hear Raf's unhurried footsteps behind you. He leaned in over your shoulder, watching the red fish.

"It was fine. Caught up with some old friends, got to see my aunt. Gave them my blessings and called it a night. Thanks for the outfit recommendation, I ended up going with what you suggested. There was more dancing than I thought." He finally planted his chin on your shoulder. You watched his reflection through the glass of Reddie's tank. He seemed more relaxed now that the wedding was over. No more weddings or impending art gallery deadlines meant some more time to hang out. "How's the museum?" 

"Fine." You looked back at Reddie. "Got cleared to look at a different excavation. Here's hoping I'll have better luck with this one, compared to the last two..." You shot him a look. He cleared his throat.

"Yeahhh... sorry about that first one, Ever's a bitch." He rubbed the back of his neck. Though he didn't seem particularly apologetic for his own role. "And the second one, too."

"Eh, oh well. I'm just happy to have lost their interest for now." You turned back to Reddie. He seemed perfectly content. His tank was decorated with seashells and plants, a well curated home. While it wouldn't compare to his natural habitat he was right at home anyway. As you admired the home you two created for the fish your mind drifted back to that phone call with Rafayel before the wedding. About the bone. A fake skull sat in the tank as well, and Reddie darted in and out of the eye sockets.

You took a deep breath.

"Could you tell me about Lemurian burial customs?" The question prompted Rafayel to raise his eyebrows. He looked at you through your reflection, his eyebrows then settling into a furrow.

"Why? That's hardly a welcome home baby I missed you kind of conversation."

"I'm sorry, it's not, but it is a conversation based on our agreement." You lifted the necklace he gave you with your thumb. The mark of your covenant. "I need to know what I should do, if anything." Rafayel took a slow, deep breath of his own. His eyes slowly shut. He took a moment to himself. His chin remained planted on your shoulder, and you didn't try to make him move. He moved on his own a few seconds later. He straightened his back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Humans aren't typically allowed to know these kinds of things." He began slowly, his voice taking on that deeper octave he used when dead serious. "Are you sure?"

"I need to know what I should do with the bone. Do I wrap it in a specific cloth? Do I not even look at it? I... admittedly don't even know if it's really Lemurian, but I have a hunch." He raised a hand and shook his head.

"No, no. Don't doubt yourself now. I agree." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "We... without divulging too many details, death isn't inherently a bad thing for Lemurians. When the time is right, we return to the sea in its purest form. We become seafoam and be one with the water forever. There's a whole ritual, the Sea Moon ceremony. There shouldn't be any bones left. Nothing." The loss in his voice was a stark contrast to his words. While death was supposed to be neutral, if not positive, his tone filled with anger and remorse. 

He lost someone.

You opened your mouth, wanting to reach out, to comfort him. But his shoulders were tense. He wasn't looking at you anymore. You took a single step towards him. You lift your hand, like you did during Ebb day, and hover it over his cheek. Not too close. Close enough he could feel the warmth of your skin. His nose twitched. Close enough he could smell your skin. Without even looking, he slowly, hesitantly, closed the gap himself. He pressed his cheek into your hand but still didn't look.

"I'm sorry." You murmur. He cracked his eyes open, those blue-pink eyes landing on the necklace that fell between your collar bones. The pearl that caught in the light, the wire fishtail wrapped around it and connecting it to the chain. He lifted a finger, touching the charm before looking up at you.

"For what? This isn't your fault."

"I'm sorry this has happened to you and your people. I'm sorry archaeology and anthropology as disciplines have been so cruel to you. I'm sorry I can't do more." You murmur. His eyes narrow. He drops the charm, snaking his arm around your shoulders instead. He pulls you to his chest, and all you can do is put your hands on his biceps to steady yourself. This wasn't a hug trying to comfort you. No, this was for him. How could you deny him that? You wrap your arms around him right back. You lean in, just holding him. "You all deserve better than all of this. I'm sorry, Rafayel."

The room fell quiet. Only the low hum of the motor for Reddie's tank, the distant roar of the ocean, and your breaths filled the space. But the moment was necessary. Overdue. So long overdue. His strong arms, he definitely had the physique of a swimmer, curled around you. Not holding too tight. His touch tentative. As if he, too, was trying to figure this out. You don't make him move. You just keep leaning in. Finally, after a few long moments, he pulls back. He puts a bit of distance between the two of you. His eyes bored into yours. As if he was searching for something. For understanding, for recognition, for memory. 

His lips finally curl into a smile. The veil had lowered once again. He slowly, carefully lifted a hand... before mussing up your hair. You gasp and whine, lifting a hand to swat his away as he breaks out into laughter.

"Okay, okay, that's enough of that." He grinned, watching as you tried to fix your hair. "Stay for dinner? My treat." You finally look back at him once your hair had more or less been smoothed into submission. His teasing grin disarmed you from any real frustration that may have been there. You just sigh, but your lips betray you by widening into a smile.

Of course you would. And he knew you would, too.

Tansy, for hostility

Thus far, this excavation had been the most successful one you had been on in months. No missing archaeologists, no EVER offers, nothing of the sort. Nothing but good work. Thankfully, the dig site wasn't far off, so you and your team could dive yourselves to do the work. The ocean welcomed you back, and it felt like you had finally regained its good graces. Good weather and tame tides kept everything on track. Which meant you could enjoy your days off without guilt.

The scent of seawater mixed with various local goods, and the waft of espresso from a local coffee shop added a sting of acidity to the air. Somewhere in the distance someone must have just finished a cigarette. Your footsteps reverberated on the cobblestone path, an accompaniment to the street performers lining the paths. Laughter, conversation, shouting, singing. The air swirled with it all. A beautiful symphony of sights, sounds, and scents. You approach the doors of the library, letting yourself in with a self indulgent laugh.

“Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,”

You spoke the verse aloud to yourself, smiling at your own reference before another voice chimed in.

“Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife."

The voice was deeper. Lower. You turn on your heel and find an older man standing near the bookshelves, his back to you. His voice held an edge, the depth of age and experience sharpened with the experience of an actor. He recited the prologue with ease and smoothness, as though he was merely holding conversation. "Romeo and Juliet. Prologue."

"I- yes." You stammer for a moment, taken aback. You take a step forward, tucking your journal under one arm while offering your hand to him. "I'm one of the archaeologists in town, I-"

"Yes, yes." He finally turned. Everything about the man carried both strength and anguish. Deep lines were etched into his forehead, though under his sensible clothes it was clear he had the physique of a fighter. He waved a hand dismissively. "I know you nuisances are in town." 

Ah. 

You get used to less than warm welcomes in this field. You drop your hand, instead rubbing the back of your neck. "I also am here on behalf of a museum in Linkon. A man donated a significant number of supposedly Lemurian relics some years back, and I'm helping them research it. He was originally from Verona. I was hoping to do some research on the history of the area, and check family histories and birth records." The man finally fully turned to you. Despite his age, his eyes were sharp. Full of wit and intelligence. Though there was a deeper fire in them. A black fire. A fire all consuming, all encompassing. Not like Rafayel's, a fire of passion. Not like Rafayel's, a fire of creation.

His fire was that of destruction.

Blood in the water.

A flash of light recaptures your attention. A glint on his metal nametag- Amund. "I was just looking for the section on local history, and wondering how I'd get in touch with the people who run the local archives. Every time I go, it's closed." You explain yourself while sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck. Being unwelcome in town is one thing, being unwelcome in the very library was something else entirely. "I'm just trying to help the museum get to the bottom of it. Radiocarbon dating isn't an option, we don't want to damage anything. And we want to know as much as possible about the donor. He didn't offer his full name, he was just known as K."

Amund tensed. He clicked his tongue, picking up a book to point down an aisle. "Local family histories... I'll let the archives know. We all know K. Why he donated anything in Linkon..." His brow furrowed and he grumbled his words. "Local history down that aisle, on your right. Be careful. The books are old."

"Of course." You confirmed with a polite nod, hurrying down the aisle he pointed to. Anything to escape the awkward and heavy air that had just formed. "Geez." You murmured it in as low a voice as you could, pulling out your journal as you walked to a table. There were only a few scattered around, so you just grabbed the first one you saw. You set yourself up with journal and pen, then began to navigate the library aisles to pull a book or two that looked promising. You weren't sure how much work you'd be able to get done with the mildly hostile librarian. It didn't take a mindreader to know he didn't particularly want you here. You opened your journal, beginning a new entry on your notes as your phone vibrated suddenly from your pocket. You mindlessly fish it out, looking over the names of the books before you, noting the author's name and the title, before turning your eyes to your phone. 

A video from a popular gossip account on social media. Just a typical social media notification. Typically you wouldn't bat an eye at it, but the photo attached caught your eye. You'd know that familiar mop of purple hair anywhere. You tapped on the notification and the social media app loaded, before revealing the video in question. You recognized the scene. Raymond's house. A crowd of people dressed in mourning attire stare as a middle aged woman screams at Rafayel, the only person not dressed for a funeral. He seemed entirely unbothered, his steps measured and calm as he walked away.

You had your phone on mute, you're in a library after all, but the caption clarified what the women said. Raymond's mother, the woman shown, was accusing Rafayel of killing her son. Your eyes widen. You open the comments, finding a slew of commenters ridiculing the woman. A painter, one as well known as Rafayel, killing a scientist? Impossible. Besides, Rafayel was nowhere near the man the day of his death. While news had leaked about the metaflux and Rafayel's painting being connected, the Hunter's Association hadn't pressed further. As far as the legal system was concerned Rafayel was wholly and entirely innocent. You took a screenshot, save it to a hidden file on your phone, then shut your phone off.

Why would Rafayel go to his funeral in the first place? It was clear the two didn't get along. Was it a final 'fuck you' to Raymond? You sit back in your chair, pondering it. Sure, Rafayel was petty enough to pull a stunt like that. But... why? Why would he when he likely knew people were drawing connections between him and the painting? He was far from stupid. So if he went, it was for a reason.

You turn back to the books before you. 

It takes you back to the day you met your now boyfriend. It all began in a library, after all. That fateful day. Honestly, you should thank your lucky stars. Sure, he admitted the first meeting was an accident and everything after was calculated. But there was still something that stirred your heart when you thought about that first interaction. An archaeologist and a Lemurian, what an odd couple. You put these thoughts to bed as you gave your full attention to the books before you. Amund agreed to speak to the archives on your behalf. Hopefully you could get to the bottom of whoever K was. It seemed promising, since Amund himself said "we" all knew K. He and other local elders must have known him personally. So long as you're speaking of the same person.

Book after book, you made your way through the aisle. This was merely a preliminary check, noting books that sounded and looked the most promising based on chapter titles and brief skims. You didn't have all the time in the world so you ought to make the most of it. The windows to the library allowed sunlight to come through, and soon the bright sun's rays went from a clear radiance to the glow of golden hour. Your journal was filled with notes, with the best books underlined and starred. You return the rest of the books exactly where you found them, for fear of the wrath of the librarian, before grabbing your stack and returning to the front. Amund sat there, reading some other book.

"I would like to check these out, please." He cut his eyes up. He slowly closed his book, taking the books on the counter. He grabbed the stamp and marked each of the books. Gods, when was the last time you watched someone do that? In this age of rapidly changing technology every library used some kind of scanner or digital interface. It was incredibly nostalgic. 

"One week, or two weeks?"

"Two, please. I'm not sure I'll be able to complete them and archives research all in one week." Amund turned, lifting a pen to write this information in a register.

"I expect them in perfect condition."

"Of course." You confirm hurriedly, nodding your head. He turned his eyes to you, scanning you over slowly. Before settling on your eyes once more. He slid the books over the counter. That was confirmation enough. You gather the books and safely tuck them in your bag. "Thank you." You express your gratitude before making your way out of the library. If the streets were lively in the afternoon, they were bursting with energy on the verge of night. Street performers danced, sang, whistled, and played their instruments. The streets filled with their symphony. You turn in the direction of your lodging, already heading down the road. In spite of the mild hostility from the librarian you would call that visit a success. And you would have plenty of time to continue these visits. Plus, it was hours to log for your work at the museum. 

As your footfalls joined the general ambiance of the area a woman's voice, as rich and melodic a voice you'd ever heard, came over you. It was coming from the a little cafe you had stopped by a few days ago. It had lovely outdoor seating. A woman sat with another figure, shrouded in shadow. The woman looked familiar, with her perfectly styled purple hair. She wore a rich black and white dress. Likely custom made. Your footsteps caught her attention. She turned to look at you, and an immediate knowing smile came over her.

"Rafy! You should have told me." Rafy? You glanced back over to the man shrouded in shadow. As you got closer he became clearer. And, indeed, it was Rafayel. He was standing still as a statue, a flower in his hand. As your eyes settled on the flower he gently closed his fingers around it and tucked his hand behind his back. The woman stood up, gently smacking at his arm. "Oh, don't be shy now, Rafayel. You know I wanted a proper introduction!" Rafayel winced, though the overexaggerated grimace revealed he was just being dramatic.

"Auntie! I didn't know, either!" He whined.

"Rafayel? What are you doing in Verona?" You cock your head, approaching the duo now that you know Rafayel is there. He turned to you, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I had to leave my aunt's wedding early on in the reception to handle business, so I wanted to come and visit her to extend my final well wishes and blessings." You put two and two together, so you turn to the woman and smile. She didn't look like she was much older than you. But you recalled your conversation with Rafayel in the car. She was a Lemurian, too.

She smiled in return, everything about her radiating composure and grace. She was beautiful. Her groom was one lucky man. "You can call me Aunt Talia, dear." 

"Auntie." Rafayel turned, his voice revealing surprise. His reddening ears revealed embarrassment. "We just started dating-"

"Nonsense." Talia patted his arm. "Your beloved is family. No arguments." The affection in her voice made your own cheeks redden. A far cry from your reception at the library. "Rafayel was just telling me all about you. You know, I was so excited to hear he finally found someone. He speaks highly of you. What are you doing in Verona?"

"I have the same question." Rafayel jutted out his bottom lip, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked away from the scene. You grab your field notes and wiggle the book in the air.

"Got a job off the coast of Verona. The museum cleared me to come and do it, they were just excited for me to come here so I could do some extra research for them on the side." You explained. Rafayel peered at your field notes, before extending his hand. You hand over your field notes without concern. He opened the journal, beginning to skim through the latest editions. "You were so busy with Thomas I didn't want to bother you, I did text you to let you know I'd be out of town. So far it's the most successful excavation I've been on in months."

"Ahhh." Talia hummed sympathetically. Your eyes cut over to her, and her expression alone told you she already knew of the events of the past few months. "My condolences. I imagine it was frightening, hearing about your colleagues." You nod your head, looking back over to Rafayel. He was offering your journal back. Now that he wasn't being sheepish, you could see what he had tried to hide. A flower. Hawthorn, it looked like. Rafayel followed your gaze before shaking his head.

"Aunt Talia wanted me to have a piece of her bouquet." He explained with a nonchalant smile. "Hey, the sun's setting. Aunt Talia needs to go home anyway. Why don't I walk you back to wherever it is you're staying? You can tell me all about this dig."

"With no interference?" You shoot him a teasing smile. His aunt turns to give him a pointed look, but he laughs anyway. 

"No interference. This dig's all yours. Promise." He displayed his palms, only holding the hawthorn with his thumb. He walked over. In lieu of his usual dress clothes, he wore a loose white shirt embroidered with grain on the collar. Loose black pants, and a pair of shoes fitting the warm climate. He hovered an arm over your back, prompting you along as you bid farewell and congratulations to his aunt.

Finally, the two of you begin to walk down the path towards your lodging. You take the moment of quiet to look up. The beauty of the architecture struck you. You tilted your head, admiring the shadows dancing on the buildings in the golden hours' light. Rafayel follows your gaze before cracking a lopsided smile.

"Into architecture too? Nerd."

“No, I just recognize the style. I've seen it in pictures and videos before. This kind of style is unique to this region and has a long history. It was featured in one of the Assassin's Creed games.” Your eyes remained fixed on the beautiful buildings. You fondly recall being handed a controller and jumping and climbing around these kinds of buildings in game.

“I didn’t take you for a gamer.” His brows lifted in a sign of momentary surprise.

“One of my best friends is a gamer. She got all As in history class specifically because of that game series.” 

“Are all your friends nerds?” His surprise faded into light hearted teasing, nudging your rib. "Egg head." You reach out and gently smack his arm. He winced, but his barely restrained grin clued you in that it was all in jest. "No! How could you? That's my painting arm! If I can't work for the next two weeks I'll have to tell Thomas it's all your fault."

"Oh wow, you really are taking my scapegoat offer and running with it." 

"Yeah, you're an archaeologist, you've got dues to pay for all the stuff your kind have put mine through." He huffed, again being overdramatic. Though there was a grain of truth. You walked a little closer to him, nudging his hip with your own as you walked side by side.

"Speaking of your kind..." You drop your voice. A melodic singer accompanies a street band, joining the crash of waves and call of birds. "Verona. Your aunt. All the street musicians. The librarian. He was kind of..." You drift off, trying to find the most polite way to say this. Rafayel's expression twisted into a grimace.

He rubbed his face with one hand. "Okay. Yeah. First off, yes, I know what you're asking. Not everyone, but yes." He looked at you through his fingers. "And Amund was what? Ornery, rude, pissy?"

"I wouldn't say any of that..." You drawl out your words, but Rafayel shakes his head.

"Nope. You might not, but I will. Because he is. All of the above. And more." Rafayel ran his fingers through his hair before sighing. "And yeah, I already confirmed my aunt." He dropped his voice this time. "But some of the others as well. Survivors."

"Amund mentioned that everyone knew K... That was the only identification of the man who left the Lemurian collection with the museum." You prodded him gently. His nostrils flared.

"K. I should've known it was K." He murmured. 

"What do you mean?" You tilt your head. He turns his head towards you, and cracks a smile. He reached over and ruffled your hair. You swat at him, but he just laughs at your halfhearted hits.

"I bet you can guess. We knew him. Me, Aunt Talia, Amund... I didn't know he was the one who donated that stuff. Now I really wanna see that collection you're working on. Small world, huh?" He tilted his own head with that boyish grin. A hint of a teasing smirk taking over it. "Maybe some repatriation is in order?" You reach up to fix your hair after he thoroughly messed it up.

"That's a lot of paperwork, and you'd have to admit that he was Lemurian, and that you're one, too." You clarified. "Plan on outing yourself to the whole academic community?"

"Nah." He shrugged. "Sounded nice, though. Didn't it?"

"Trust me, if it was my call alone I'd gladly let you. But it's not my stuff. And K entrusted it to the museum for a reason. I hope so at least. Now that I know he's confirmed to have been from here and people here knew him, I'm hoping the archives will finally let me look through some records." Rafayel's eyebrows furrowed.

"Were... they not letting you before now?"

"The archive would be closed or just about to close if I stopped by, and there wasn't any way for me to call or contact them to ask for a time to come by. I didn't really get the warmest welcome." You drop your hands. Your lodging was just up ahead. You could see and hear your fellow professionals milling about, cleaning the house, preparing dinner, laughing and talking. "None of us did. But I could tell I wasn't really welcome in the archives or the library." Rafayel didn't respond with words this time, simply humming. You took a few more steps, not breaking the silence that fell. 

"I'll be in town for a few more days." Rafayel was the one who broke the moment of quiet. He was walking you all the way to the door. "Can't promise I'll be able to see you, we'll probably have different schedules. But maybe we can grab something to drink after your work day." You look up at him. He was smiling again, but it felt unnatural. His mind was elsewhere. You cracked a small smile of your own. At the door, after verifying no one was looking out the window, you lean up and press a little kiss to his cheek.

"Please. I'd love that, Rafayel." You lean away again. His eyes widened, and the smile vanished. The tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks bloomed red, and he quickly looked away.

"O-okay, cutie. I guess it's a date." He immediately cursed under his breath at his own stutter. You don't stick around to tease him this time. He was flustered enough as it was, and while it was fun to tease him, you weren't sure how open you were to being teased by your coworkers. Besides. How public did Rafayel want this relationship to be anyway? You open the door, and he must have shared your thoughts. He began to walk away, almost in a slight daze, one hand lifted to touch his cheek.

"It's a date, Rafy."

Thistle, for misanthropy

The following days of the excavation went well. As well as they could, anyway. While you're all professionals that doesn't mean technology won't sometimes mess up, leaving to spend more time taking manual measurements. But if that was the worst thing to happen during this dig then it would be a smashing success. Especially compared to the last two. 

You peel off the layers of your scuba gear, finishing taking some videos and pictures of the excavation for the day. Your fellow crew members were chatting it up, someone mentioning going to the cafe for a pick me up before they closed. Another asked if they could tag along. You weren't really listening all that closely. You dried your hands once you freed them, grabbing your field notes to document some details before they slipped your mind. The scribble of your pen on the waterproof pages became the main sound in your mind. Until a hand appeared before your eyes, snapping once, then twice, to gain your attention. Your eyes dart up and one of your colleagues looks down at you with a smile.

"Hey! We were all gonna go to that cafe in town after we get all the gear put away at the house. We were asking if you wanna come." Jason grinned down at you. A well meaning albeit overbearing supervisor. You shake your head, lifting your journal. You got one specifically for this excavation. Waterproof pages that could be used immediately after work, before you even finished drying off. You'd copy your notes over to your personal journal during some free time.

"Not this time, guys, I need to update my field notes. Some of the pictures weren't matching up with the numbers we had originally so I'm gonna compare them." Jason leaned in over your shoulder, peering at some of your immediate off the top of your head notes. His thick brows were drawn tight.

"Ooh, good catch. You don't have to do that, though. I can stay behind to handle that. I'll catch up with you guys."

"Nah, I'll handle it, I was on photography duty today so I noticed more things." You wove him away. While what you said was true, it wasn't the whole truth. You had a date. You'd handle the official work first, then head off to meet with Rafayel. You weren't embarrassed or trying to hide your relationship. But discretion and tact were the name of the game, especially given the otherworldly details of your relationship and agreement. Best to just be subtle for now. Though it wasn't easy. Rafayel was an internationally famous artist, paparazzi were bound to catch wind eventually. But you both agreed you wanted control over how and when the news gets out. It was time to be subtle.

As everyone made their way back to the house you tucked your journal away for the moment. As one of the divers you only took in the equipment you immediately used while the others brought in the rest of it. You got to strip, shower, and change to begin your official work. You pulled out older pictures from days and the week previous. With everything laid out you got to work puzzling out the discrepancies, adding details and notes to your field notes as you went. The talk and laughter of your teammates faded to background noise as you got in the zone. It took a few minutes, but you successfully located the discrepancy. Underwater markers were always more difficult than on land markers, and one of the rods that had been placed seemed to have been moved. It was a negligible change, but after crunching some numbers you identified it to be the problem. Probably just some loose sediment and underwater currents, or a curious critter, that knocked it about.

You documented your realization just as your phone vibrated. You grabbed it off the corner of the table. You glanced outside, a blur of movement catching your eye. As you came back to the real world mentally you hear the distant laughter of your comrades. They must be heading out. You turn back to your phone.

Rafy <3: Still up for our early-dinner date cutie?

You grin the second you read the text. 

You: Yup!!!!!! So excited!!!! See u in ten?

Rafy <3: c u then cutie ;)

The short exchange was everything you needed. You tuck your phone back away, gathering everything you had laid out to put it back where it belonged. The physical copies of photos put back in the supervisor's room, your field notes safely lodged in your shared room. You change out of the t shirt and shorts into something a bit nicer for a casual date night. You grab your set of keys to the house, locking everything up since you were heading out. You grab your bag with some personal belongings to best carry the keys, your phone, your journal, and your knife.

With everything squared away you lock the door and head out. It was a beautiful day, as usual. You hadn't experienced a bad day yet in Verona. It was almost fairytale like. The architecture, the view, the scent. Everything about it was just beautiful. A part of you had to wonder how much of that was due to its inhabitants. Not everyone. But a few. A few of the people you saw out on the street were Lemurians. Was it the antique shop owner? The street performers? The man leaning against the wall, smoking while giving you passing glances? The woman dancing with a small child, or the baker shaking his head at a squabble outside his shop? Multiple of them? All of them? None of them?

You snap out of it. Truly, it's none of your business. You focus back upon the path before you, your footfalls echoing on the cobblestone. You look up to hunt down the sign of the restaurant Rafayel had asked you to meet him at. Soon enough you find it, right outside an alleyway. It was small. Easy to miss. But as you turn into the alley the scent of local cuisine washed over you. You followed your nose more than the path, the various spices and scents guiding you to a restaurant tucked behind the other buildings. Hidden away from tourists and guests, known only to locals and friends.

Rafayel was already waiting, pouring over a menu with sunglasses perched atop his head. He wore a loose white shirt that hung upon around a black tank top, black pants to match. As your footsteps came closer he finally looked up, grinning as he saw you. "There you are, cutie." He welcomed you, standing up. He pulled out your chair with an overdramatic flourish, before beckoning you to sit down. "My darling."

"Good to see you too, Raf." You laughed your greeting, but his flattery still made your ears turn red. You approach and sit down, letting him tuck your chair in. "Someone's in a gentlemanly mood." 

"Nothing but the best for my cutie." He sat back down, passing his menu to you. "My treat. Catch of the day is usually the best, everything's fresh."

"It smells amazing, Raf, thanks for telling me about this place. It's obviously not for the tourists." You glanced over the options. The chatter around you in two distinct languages. It was tucked away, a 'if you know you know' kind of place. And Rafayel brought you here. Your heart jumped. You decide to go with his recommendation. You put the menu down, and give Rafayel your full attention. He leaned back in his chair, perfectly at ease. "So, how's your visit going? Spending some time with your Aunt Talia?"

"Here and there." He shrugged. "She's perfectly smitten with her husband, they're spending more time together than anything. I'm catching up with some other friends while I'm here."

"Oh, are you from here originally?"

"Not really. But I did live here a few years." He shot you a smile. "My aunt was my vocal coach, but I decided painting was more my thing. Moved to Linkon, and... well. You ought to know the rest. Only a few years later I met you." He winked.

"Not a conventional meet cute, you know." You don't specify, not knowing who exactly was around you. But Rafayel knew exactly what you meant. He laughed.

"No, no, not at all. But distinctly us, don'tcha think?" Rafayel's eyes trailed down your outfit. Settling on the necklace draped across your neck, laying between your collarbones. Just seeing the pearl seemed to make his gaze soften. The elusive Lemurian and an archaeologist, meeting at the library, by pure chance and fate. Distinctly you, indeed. You looked away, but your lips curled into a grin all the same. He doesn't need to hear you confirm it. He had a knowing smile, like he could read you like an open book. 

A waiter approached, immediately greeting Rafayel in a different language. Rafayel took your menu and handed it to him, carrying conversation until he ordered for the both of you. His body language shifted, switching to whatever was appropriate for the regional dialect. His hand gestures became more exaggerated, his eyes even more expressive. The waiter laughed at whatever he said, clapping him on the shoulder before vanishing back into the main restaurant. Watching him speak another language was wildly attractive in its own way. The way his words flowed so smoothly, like velvet. The way his accent shifted effortlessly. How his body shifted to match his words. You watch him with admiration until his eye caught yours. His lips curled up into a smirk, his eyes shining with mirth.

"Hear something you like, cutie?"

"Yeah. You." You wink. "Your voice... you sound beautiful. You absolutely could've made a killing as a singer." He shrugged, but you could see how he was preening at the praise and flirtation.

"Yeah, could've. But painting is my passion."

"How many languages do you speak, anyway?" You tilt your head, perching it in your palm. He leaned back in his chair to think. 

"I can speak just about any romance language. Lemurian, obviously. The language we're speaking in currently. Mandarin and Cantonese." He listed off. "I know some latin." You scoffed a laugh. 

"Okay, now you're just showing off." 

"You asked!" He nudged your ankle with his foot, grinning at you. 

"Yeah, yeah, I asked." You laugh. You were impressed, obviously. "Lemurian. I've heard you talk about it, but I've never heard you really say a word in it." His smile dropped. There was a glimmer in his eye.

"Oh? Do you want to hear something?"

"Sure. Indulge me." You lean forward, curious if he would. He put a hand to his forehead, leaning his head down as if he was thinking hard about what he wanted to say.

"Bulshee'ahgan.1"

Your eyebrows furrowed. It was beautiful. It made your cheeks turn pink and your heart skip a beat. But you weren't sure what was said. "What does that mean? Blushe- blushee-ah,"

Rafayel didn't even bother to hide his grimace as you attempted to recreate the sound. "Don't hurt yourself, cutie." He patted the top of your hand. "I'll tell you later. See if you can find it in that Lemurian language book."

"It's not that advanced, and even then I don't know how what you said would be spelled." You mildly protest, but he just pats your hand again.

"If you can't figure it out or find it, then I'll tell you. I thought your nerdy little brain would love a puzzle." 

You huff softly. "I'm an archaeologist. Not a linguistic anthropologist. Different subsection of anthropology." A waft of cigarette smoke settled over you, and a man walked past to get a table on the opposite side of the patio. "But I'm not opposed to a challenge."

"There you go." Rafayel grinned. It was perfect timing, with that your food came out. The identical plates of fish and vegetables made your mouth water, and as soon as the waiter left you both began to eat. The food was so good, so well seasoned and spiced, the fish flakey and not overbearing. You hummed, caught up in your own little world. You almost didn't catch the way Rafayel was watching you. The way his lips were curling into a real smile. You paused.

"Is there something on my face?"

He hummed, lifting his napkin and wiping a bit of the sauce off the side of your mouth. The sudden touch and proximity caught you off guard. You watched him, big eyed. His eyes were focused on your lips, dabbing away the sauce. As he remained close to you, his eyes drifted to the side. Looking somewhere past you. He then looked back to you. "You're cute all pink, you know that?" You lift a hand to your cheek, feeling the warmth radiating off of it. He chuckled, giving you your personal space back as he put his napkin down. "Consider it payback for the cheek kiss."

"What? Mad it didn't land somewhere else?" You manage to quip back, grabbing your fork again as you tried to calm down. He tilted his head.

"What if I am, hm?"

"Well, tough. We're both eating fish. So no kisses." You point to your plates with your fork, earning another laugh.

"Okay, okay, that's fair. No fish breath." He grinned. 

Dinner continued without a hitch. Between bites you'd discuss work or Rafayel's visit. His Aunt Talia had married a dressmaker. Her black and white dress was designed and sewn specifically for her. He tried to be aloof, but the way his eyes would momentarily brighten or he'd smirk when recalling his aunt's joy and pride gave him away. He was trying to be tough. But he was happy for her. 

As you finish your meal Rafayel excuses himself to go inside and pay. You take the moment to sit back and enjoy the ambiance of the little restaurant. The chatter in different languages, the birds crying overhead. It was just far enough away from the hustle and bustle of the main path, but it didn't lack its charm. You fold your napkin, suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of cigarettes again. You look up and find the same man that had come to the restaurant stealing Rafayel's seat. You sit up straighter. "That seat's taken, I'm waiting for my partner." You speak clearly and firmly, grabbing your bag. The young man leans forward.

"Relax, just wanna talk." His voice alone sounded like nails on a chalkboard. "I know you're one of those archaeologists. I just wanna talk about whatever you've found."

"I, under contract, cannot discuss that." You reiterate.

"Not the one in Verona." He clarified.

You slip your hand into the front pocket of your bag. "Which one, then? Unless it's one I've published research on I likely cannot talk about it, and if I have I'd recommend you read the research rather than ask me now, however many months or years later." He rolled his eyes, leaning in across the table.

"Relax-"

You lean back, grabbing the knife and pulling it out. It wasn't fully open, but you'd had enough experience to do so quickly if necessary. Would this guy be stupid enough to try to pull a stunt here in front of so many people? "No." You were ready to stand up. "You're being weird." The man grumbled something before his hand darted out, reaching for your wrist. You jump up and out of your chair, flicking the knife open. The sudden movement accompanied by the loud scrape of the chair against the ground drew attention to you. You weren't usually this jumpy. But all the events of the past few months had certainly made you more wary. You heard measured footsteps behind you, and a flicker of pink in your periphery clued you in.

"Stop." Rafayel wasn't requesting it. No, he was commanding it. The man before you looked up, clicking his tongue.

"Stay out of this, I just had a few questions." Rafayel kept walking forward, soon standing right by your side. You could feel eyes all around you. An audience of restaurant patrons- and potentially others. 

"No. If you're harassing my cutie you're gonna have to deal with us both. Got questions? Go on. Ask. If you can ask the professional alone you can ask with me here, too." He spoke slowly, easily. The man clicked his tongue.

"Just wanna know what happened to that little expedition to Lemuria. You were supposed to go too, weren't you?" Your blood ran cold. No one outside of the management team, Rafayel, and Dr. C knew that. Rafayel scoffed.

"Last I checked everyone who went on it vanished without a trace." He wrapped an arm around your waist, easily pulling you into his side even though you stood ready with your blade. "And yet, my cutie is right here. Sounds like you're getting people mixed up. I get it, some of them start to run together after a while." You momentarily shoot him a pointed look. "But not my cutie." He quickly clarified. The man huffed.

"Bullshit."

"I don't know what your problem is." Rafayel held you a little closer. "But if you're following my cutie we're gonna have a problem. Leave." You kept a tight hold on your blade, staring the man down. You could handle yourself, but damn you'd always appreciate backup. You slowly tear your eyes from the standoff, eyeing the rest of the patrons. Many of them watched with interest. Some with disgust. Though, for once... it wasn't pointed at you.

It was pointed at the man that smelled like cigarettes.

He held his hands up, beginning to walk away. "Sure, sure. I won't touch your cutie." He drawled it mockingly. "Just had a few questions, no need to get all macho."

You take the moment to take in the man's features. Scrawny. Skinny frame, very wiry. Thin hair. The tips of his fingers yellowed from smoking cigarettes. He didn't look familiar. But you'd burn him into your memory now. As the man backed away you took the moment to make a point, throwing your knife.

It flew through the air and embedded itself in a wooden noticeboard right by his head. The man flinched. You and Rafayel wore matching looks. A simple message conveyed from both of you.

Try me.

He finally buzzed off, turning and jogging off down the alley to enter the area. Rafayel keeps you close, both of you waiting until his footsteps fully receded before relaxing. You sigh, shimmying out of his grip to go and get your knife.

"Good aim." Rafayel's compliment hung in the air. You yanked the blade out of the wood, checking it for any damage. 

"Thanks. And thanks for stepping in."

"Wasn't about to let you handle that creep alone. You're just a magnet for that type, aren't you?"

"Ew, don't make this my fault." You grimace, flipping it shut again before putting it in your front pocket. Easily accessible. You turned back, rejoining him before picking up your bag. Rafayel was looking at the other patrons. He didn't look sheepish or apologetic. Just serious. Everyone else was quiet, trying to figure out how to respond. They didn't get the chance. Rafayel turned on his heel, wrapping his arm around your waist again and pulling you out. You eagerly join him, falling in step with him.

"Fucking humans." Rafayel dropped his voice to a disgusted grumble. 

"So he's not-?"

"Nope. I'd know if he was one of mine." He looked down at you, eyebrows furrowed. "Noticed that he was watching you after he came in. I thought I smelled cigarettes when you first spoke to Talia and me." He shook his head. "Should've known." You run your fingers through your hair, blowing an exasperated raspberry.

"Think..." You hesitate, looking around as you walked to verify no one else was around. "Think he might be with you know who?" Ever. You really couldn't understand why they were so interested in you. The Lemurian excavation, sure. But you didn't go. You didn't see the dumped weapons. As far as Ever knew, you were just an archaeologist that had qualms with the ethics behind their company. Plenty of groups did, you weren't unique in that regard. 

"Maybe." Rafayel grunted. His eyebrows were drawn tight. Gone was the mirth and humor from dinner. Now he was determined. Focused. And absolutely pissed off. His one word answer didn't bring you any comfort. You lift your hand, resting it on the one on your waist. You brush your thumb against his knuckles.

"Hey." You softened your voice. That caught his attention. You pulled him out of his thoughts. When he looked at you, it felt like you were looking at a whole different person. The light in his eyes was gone. Only pure determination there. But as you squeezed his hand his gaze softened for a moment. And as his eyebrows lifted the light returned to them. "He interrupted our date. Let's not let him get the best of us, though. May I ask you about... your people?" You hesitated again, almost drifting off, but steeled your resolve and asked anyway. His lips turned up again.

But it wasn't the same as the smiles from before.

"Go on."

"So... Amund." You start with that. "Grumpy old librarian. But Lemurians are known for looking young for a long time. Just how old is he?" You end up on what you hope is a lighthearted question. Raf's snort confirms it was.

"The answer isn't that simple, cutie." He nudged your hip with his as he walked, but you keep pace with him with ease. "Can your scientific mind even handle the magic of Lemurian blood and reincarnation?"

"Sure. I'll bite." You shrug. Even if he's pulling your leg, it's just nice to spend time with him. He hummed.

"Okay, just stick with me, then." Rafayel peered around, making sure you were both alone. The sun was just about to finish setting, and most shops were closed for the evening. Tourists had gone to whatever other restaurants were open or were heading to their lodging, so the streets were yours and yours alone. "We're kind of at a disadvantage since we're literally fish out of water here. We can handle it and survive, but we'd all be better off back in the ocean. Amund is pretty old. We do exist in a reincarnation cycle. Believe it or not I have some passing memories of mine, and Amund has most of his memories. With that in mind, Amund has witnessed thousands of years. But his body itself isn't that old."

You listen intently, taking all of this information in. You did have a scientific mind, yes. And a part of you wanted to question it. But another part of you strangely resonated with what he said. A feeling washed over you. The warmth, the right-ness that washed over you the first time you read a fairytale that featured Lemuria. It felt like something was here for you. 

"Define thousands of years old. Are we talking two thousand, or are we talking the collapse of the bronze age?"

"Collapse of the bronze age." Rafayel confirmed with a laugh. "Amund's never been fond of humans, but he's been around for a while and knows a thing or two." Your eyes widened. You stop dead in your tracks, making him stop as well.

"Amund witnessed the collapse of the bronze age? Seriously?" You grab both his arms, eyes boring into his. "Tell me. Are. You. Serious?" Your sudden change in tone made his eyes widen, and he held up his hands to placate you.

"Don't hurt me."

"No, I'm serious." You hold him still. "Are. You. Serious? Amund was alive for and witnessed the bronze age collapse?" The intense eye contact held him still. He nodded his head. You let go of him, laughing. "No. No way! Seriously?!" You turn to him again with a giddy grin. He was flabbergasted. But he nodded. "Rafayel, that's one of the biggest mysteries of humanity! Holy shit!"

"Don't get your hopes up, he's never liked humans, he might not even know. And if he did he probably wouldn't tell you." He put his hands on your shoulders but you keep going.

"Rafayel do you know what this means?! Some of your elders know what the first songs sounded like! They may know about the invention of language in regions near the coast. Holy shit. The invention of writing. Of storytelling." You run your fingers through your hair. Rafayel gave you a gentle shake.

"Woahhh, sloooow down." He spoke slowly. "Not everyone has memories of the time. Not everyone has full memories of their past lives. And a lot of Lemurians didn't interact with humans all that often, especially not in the earlier stages of humanity. Calm down. Don't get your hopes up." You do take his advice, taking a deep breath. But the excitement still burned bright within you. Your cheeks hurt from grinning. While Rafayel looked like that shifty eyed monkey meme at the moment, your excitement did rub off on him. He cracked. And he smiled at you. He lifted a hand, ruffling your hair again. "But you're cute when you get all excited. Nerd."

You don't bother to smack his hand away. You just let him touch you however he pleased. "It's not every day I meet someone who could just... know the answers to some of my biggest questions." He finally tugged you along again. It was a welcome break from the tensity the interaction at the restaurant brought.

"I get that much." He agreed. You looked up. He was walking you back to the house again. What a gentleman. You leaned into him while you walked, just enjoying the steadiness of his presence. "You know, I didn't really have the best view of your profession before I met you. And Dr. C, admittedly. It's... kinda neat to know we have someone on our side." He nudged you, and you nudged him right back.

"Of course. I've got your back, fishy, and from what you've done for me ever since we've met I know you've got mine." You smiled up at him. He looked over. The moon reflected in your eyes, the distant sound of waves... He smiled. Warmly. Truly.

A proper, genuine smile.

You lift the pearl around your neck, pressing a kiss to it right in front of him. "I guess this is a mark of our agreement, huh? Our covenant, I guess you could say." Your thumb trailed over the fishtail again. The comfort your old necklace brought amplified tenfold by the meaning and intention behind the new one. His eyes flashed for a moment. In the low light of the night they appeared more blue than pink.

"Yeah... a covenant." He agreed. He reached out, his finger tracing the pearl as well. "I guess that's fitting for us." 

Up ahead you could make out the outline of the house. The lights were on, and you could hear laughter and talking. Rafayel stopped walking. He turned to you, and you to him. He slowly brought the pearl to his lips, pressing a kiss to it just as you had done. He needed to bow his head to do so. When he lifted only his eyes to you once he was done your heart skipped a beat again. 

"We have to stop doing this." You murmur. "Stopping just outside. One day, I want to invite you in."

"But not tonight." He finished the thought for you, his voice low and soft. His eyes trained on yours, still bent down. You lick your lips. You're close. You're both so close. His fingers twitch, sliding up the chain of your necklace, trailing up your neck before settling on your cheek. 

"Not tonight." You agree breathlessly. Each rise and fall of your chest, each heartbeat. He was feeling it. Experiencing it as if his own. "Do you want them to see you?" 

"No." He murmurs. "Not yet." 

You lick your lips again. You understood. You felt the same. So close. You're both so close.

A particularly loud laugh from inside make you both jump. You turn to each other. Waiting. Before quietly, breathlessly laughing. Not tonight. He stands up straight. "Don't be a stranger, okay? We've got a covenant after all." He points to your necklace with a cheeky smile. "I'll be heading back to Linkon soon. Thomas is gonna have my head if I don't start on some paintings soon. Let me know if something happens, okay? I'll get over here quick if a creep comes after you, and send some friends or relatives if I can't get here fast enough."

"I can handle myself." You gesture to your blade. "But I'd appreciate that. Thank you." You clasp your hands in front of you. Even though he was standing upright now, he didn't seem to want to be the first to walk away. You didn't, either. But your phone began to ring in your bag. You quickly fish it out. It's Jason. You didn't tell anyone where you were, a bit of a no no especially given what just happened to you. They were probably worried, wondering where you vanished off to. You didn't tell them you'd be out. You turn back to Rafayel. "Good night, Rafayel."

"Night, cutie." He nodded, bidding his farewell in turn. You answer the call, going up the stairs, telling Jason as much. You look over your shoulder, finding Rafayel doing the same. Each time you paused, he did, too. Until finally you kicked off your shoes and opened the front door. You turn back one last time. You caught Rafayel staring not at you, but at the house you were living in. A faraway look in his eyes. Some deep seated frustration, or anger. But you don't have time to comment. When Rafayel feels you staring, he looks at you. His eyes soften. He smirks, and waves one last time. Before turning and walking away.

Wormwood, for bitterness

A month passed. You and your crew had gathered all the information you could on the site, and your sponsors were pleased. The excavation was a success, and barring the odd encounter while on a date it was a flawless dig. Even with technology malfunctioning, teammates arguing, and mild hostility specifically from the librarian and archives, you couldn't help but feel satisfied. You tug the bag of equipment up and onto the deck of the boat. The company that had contracted all of you was paying for your trip back to Linkon. Most of the equipment came from various universities and scientific institutions in the area, so you and a few of the others were managing the return. 

Jason was one of the others joining the boat trip. He grabs his bandana, wiping his face as the sun beats down on all of you. But after a brief survey, he nods his head. Everything was ready. A thumbs up to the crew on the ground sends the rest of the people who lived closer to Verona off. You take the moment to pull out your personal journal again, reviewing your notes from the archives. Whatever Amund and or  Rafayel said to them worked. They let you in and had some information on K available. It wasn't much. It was just information on when he first moved to Verona, when he left for Linkon City, any family... It was more than what the museum had. You'd need to reach out to any surviving family for permission to use this information in the museum's database. And it was very possible they would say no. But it was worth asking.

"Hey." You nearly drop your journal as Jason suddenly appeared before you. He lifts his hands, smiling sheepishly as he realized he startled you. "Sorry- thought you heard me walk over. I was asking if you were ready to go."

You tuck your journal back in your bag, flashing him a thumbs up. "Yup, I'm ready!" Jason turns and waves to the person driving the boat. With that, final preparations to set off began. You make your way to a seat, sitting down inside near a window. Jason and a few others follow you, joining you in other seats. Finally, other passengers boarded, and the boat was off. You take the time to look over the notes you compiled for the museum. It wasn't much, but it gave you a better picture of who K was. You had texted a picture to the museum director, letting her know you would digitize your notes and share them with her. She hadn't gotten back to you in a few days but she was probably just busy. The bonus of the pay from the excavation and the additional museum hours when you went to the archives would be helpful. Every little bit helped.

The journey back to Linkon was quiet. Other passengers and your crewmates laughed and chatted around you, and you'd join in where you felt so inclined. Memories of the dig, of scuba diving for leisure in other areas, exploring the beautiful Verona... and, of course, your more private memories of a date night with Rafayel. In spite of an intrusion, the date overall went well. You got to enjoy a good dinner and a lovely walk. Not to mention, you learned another new nugget of information about Rafayel and his people.

The internet connection wasn't great on the boat. You spent time talking with people or glancing over notes in your journal. The hours slipped by, and soon Linkon was in sight. The closer you got to the city, the stronger your signal got. The boat docked, and you got to work. You all waited for the other passengers to get off first before helping get the gear on the trucks awaiting you. They would be taken back to the institutions you had gotten them from. It took a good hour, on top of the long boat ride. Your phone was occasionally buzzing in your bag but you just figured it was your phone finally catching up with any messages you got during the trip.

You waved off one of the trucks with Jason as your phone began to constantly buzz. A phone call. you fish your phone out, seeing it was the museum director, and gladly answer. You grin, putting it to your ear.

"Hey! I just finished up here at the dock-!"

"Please tell me you're with someone who can verify your presence at the dig." Her voice was firm. You freeze. You slowly look up at Jason. He raises an eyebrow, and you pull your phone away to put it on speaker.

"I just put you on speaker with one of the supervisors from the dig, Jason Yasuhiro."

"Jason, nice to meet you. Can you verify this person was with you in Verona for the entirety of the excavation, with no possible way to be in Linkon at all during that time?' Jason shared a bewildered look with you.

"Uh... yeah? There's no way anyone could get to Linkon and back in the few times we weren't together. What is this about?"

"Good." She sounded immediately relieved. "There was a break in at the museum. We're still trying to check everything. No footprints, no fingerprints, no alert from the security system, all of our video footage wiped... this was a professional."

You gasp. "Ohmygods- I'm so sorry! Is everyone okay?"

"Everyone is fine, it was a week ago at night. No one hurt. The only thing missing right now is that metacarpal you were working with in the potentially Lemurian collection." She sounded downright exhausted, but also relieved. "I didn't suspect you, but the police might reach out to ask you some questions since so far the only thing missing was from a project you had been working on. You were the last person to see the bone." Jason again looked to you in shock. You put a hand to your head. 

"Do the police-"

"No. And I told them they shouldn't suspect you, you were out of town when this happens. Besides, you have access to things much more valuable. And you have a damn backbone. I know you better than that." She reiterated firmly. "I'm just giving you a heads up. Jason, you may need to speak to the police as well to confirm the alibi. Sorry to scare you just after getting back home."

"No, no... thanks for letting me know." You run your fingers through your hair. A break in. A break in that so far, targeted a bone that had been a part of the donation by K.

You clench your teeth. No. It couldn't be. Rafayel wouldn't. Would he?

You take a sharp breath. "I'm gonna head home, now." You fib, slinging your duffel bag over your shoulder. "I'll see you Monday back at the museum."

"Okay, perfect. Since that's the only thing missing you should be good to resume research. You just won't be able to enter the room you had been using, the evol police still have it taped off." The poor director sounded exhausted. You could only imagine the hell she was going through. Talking to the investors, the police, assuring donators the museum was still a safe place to donate to... What a nightmare. "I'll see you Monday."

With this farewell you hang up. You drop your arm, staring off towards Whitesand Bay. It wasn't far. This dock was just a few miles up the beach from Rafayel's private strip of it. You look up. The sun had already begun to set. Ideally, you should go home. Shower, unpack, do a load of laundry. Flop face first into bed to take a nap. 

You tuck your phone into your bag again.

"Hey..." Jason rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you need a ride? My truck is parked nearby, got permission to leave it here while we were in Verona."

"Sure. Think you can drop me off near Mo Art Studio?"

You were lucky Jason wasn't pressing for details. You didn't feel like outing your relationship at the moment. But you had questions that needed to be answered. Rafayel. Was he the one who did this? Did he take the bone? You didn't want to falsely accuse your own boyfriend. But something was fishy here. You rub your face, staring up at the familiar gallery as Jason drove off back towards Linkon. You push the gate open, taking steady steps towards the door. You pushed it open as you always did. 

"Rafayel?" You call out his name, taking a brief look around. He wasn't painting. And the door to his bedroom was wide open, so he wouldn't be in there. You walk past Reddie's tank, briefly stopping to at least say hi to him and sneak him a little fish food. But you finally find the back door leading to his private strip of the beach. It was wide open. You sigh, placing your bags on the floor near the door. You walk out, following the footprints in the sand. The necklace bounces with each decisive step you take.

You weren't going to accuse him of anything. Just ask if he knew. After all, if he didn't, he ought to be just as concerned as you were. You follow the footsteps, taking you pretty far up the beach. The sun was rapidly setting, replaced by the moon and stars. You don't need to pull out your phone for light. His footsteps guided your feet, leading you straight to him.

When you finally found him, the moon had reached its higher point in the sky. How had that much time passed? You lift your hand to your head. You look down.

His footsteps were gone. How did you get here?

You look up. Silhouetted in the water, Rafayel stands waist deep. He outstretches his hand. A small, off white object glowed in the moonlight.

Bone. A metacarpal. 

Your eyes widen. But you don't say a word. You watch, standing just beyond the waves. Rafayel slowly lowers his hand into the water. The bone fizzes. Before turning into seafoam, slowly drifting out of his hand. He reaches out, as if trying to catch some of it, but it evades him. His arm drops. Splashing in the water.

You wait. You look at the seafoam. You slowly bow your head, your fingers coming to the pearl again. You weren't sure what you were doing. But you knew, somehow, you needed to be quiet for a moment. You hear another splash and look up. Rafayel is closer to land now, but his back was still to you. You give him a few seconds. Before clearing your throat, hoping not to scare him.

He whips his head around with inhuman speed, eyes wide in a furious expression.

Much like the merman of your nightmare.

Blood in the water.

Rafayel's gaze immediately relaxes upon seeing you. He smiles, wading to shore. "Hey, cutie." His voice was soft and melodic. You put a hand to your head again.

"That was the metacarpal." You don't ask. It wasn't a question. It was an observation. His smile doesn't waver. He comes out of the water entirely, wet clothes be damned, and opens his arms. He isn't denying it. But you can't deny him, either, can you? You walk over and lean against his chest, letting him hug you. This wasn't a hug for you. It was a hug for him. "I'm sorry." You murmur. The sea moon ceremony. You suddenly recall your conversation with him about burial rituals, and throw your head back to look at the moon. You turn back to him. Instead of frustration of confusion, you felt sudden understanding. You throw your arms around him. "You laid them to rest."

He stiffens for a moment. Before slowly, steadily, hugging you tighter. "Hope I didn't get you in trouble." He murmured against the top of your head, pressing his nose against your hair. You don't stop him. You just squeeze him.

"I'll be okay. Next time, just... tell me. Let me help you." You lift a hand, tracing his cheek. He flinched.

You drop your hand. 

But before it could fully drop to your side, he catches it. He presses your hand fully against his cheek. This time he nuzzled into it. "This is my responsibility. Not yours."

You remove one hand from his back, lifting your necklace again. He lowered his eyes to it, watching it closely. "No. I'm a part of this now, too." You protest. "You asked me to help you. So let me help." You drop the charm, but his eyes remained glued to it. His eyes only slowly lift, taking you in from bottom to top. His eyes locked on yours. There was no light in them. The moon and the stars couldn't reach them. "Don't shut me out of this. Let me help you."

Rafayel laughed. Not mocking, no. But low. Dry. 

"Sure, cutie." He stood up straight, but you just threw your arms back around him. Hugging him tight. That caught him off guard for a moment. He stood still. You could feel how tense he was. But as he wrapped his arms around you again, he squeezed you tight. "Okay. Okay, I will." You didn't see his eyes as he said this. And a part of you didn't believe him anyway. But you just took a deep breath.

He needed time. 

He slipped a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

"I got you some welcome home flowers." He murmured. "Flame lilies. They're nice. They're in a vase back at my place. Why don't we head back there?" He slipped his arms around, one around your waist as the other removed your arm around his neck. "And I'll make us dinner. I didn't eat lunch today, so I hope you're hungry." You look up. Light had made its way back into his eyes. And you could see the love in his gaze. It was real. It was true.

You manage to smile. "Flame lilies. Do you know what those represent in the flower language?"

"Yeah, I did some digging after you mentioned it." He winked at his own cheesy archaeology pun. "Flame lilies. Passion, pride, rebirth, honor... and love." He guided you forward his hand on the small of your back. Your footsteps intertwined on the sand, kissed by the waves almost reverently. "I want you to have them. They make me think of you."

1: Touring in Love reference. Not written out in game subtitles, recreated the sound in letters as best I could! 

[ooklet]

winterhold is the worst and here's why: riften was burnt to the ground at around the same point in the lore as the great collapse. and while riften has entirely rebuilt since then, winterhold still remains nothing more than a crappy tiny village 80 years later. it sucks and i hate it. fuck winterhold

very true. i figure that is meant to show how scared everyone is of the mages cuz they blame them for the great collapse but it doesn't make a ton of sense that they would completely abandon the capital of skyrim. like. just move it. literally just move to the huge empty space directly to the south, onto solid ground. or combine w/ windhelm into an even bigger, more annoying city. (windhelm still has maritime trade access. so you can't rly make the argument that solitude makes more sense on that basis.)

and if you are meant to factor the influence of the empire moving the capital somewhere more politically advantageous, why solitude? yeah it's supposed to be the empire's seat of power but that doesn't make any sense EITHER, cyrodiil is closest to falkreath. but fine. whatever. solitude. so, they pulled that off in just 80 years? without immediately kicking off a civil war?? given that stubborn traditionalism and hating magic are the two main personality traits of nords, there's no way they wouldn't just storm the college, kill all the mages & rebuild slightly further south.

which imo would've been a much cooler backdrop for skyrim, w/ everyone divided over what the actual capital is, all the mages actively in hiding, etc. not that i particularly want to play another "mages are an oppressed class" video game, but it would certainly make more sense.

man it also doesn't make sense that ulfric wouldn't latch onto that and use it to push his agenda. like if he had made winterhold his base and used the narrative of "they're trying to take talos AND our capital" he probably could've pulled in a lot more "moderate" nords who aren't really that into talos (which has gotta be several given the polytheism of it all). "no guys see it's not just about the white-gold concordat, it's not that we're trying to create an ethnostate on land that we violently colonized from the reachmen, we just don't want the empire stealing our capital from us, surely you can see how reasonable that is."

yeah i think in terms of lore winterhold wins for suck. good points anon 👍

[dilly-dahlia]

"if y’all want more on specific characters just drop an ask i will gladly answer because it forces me to think about it" Okay.

Vylad.

(please)

guys i’m being so serious but Vylad has actually been so hard for me to figure out because he has such a pivotal role in my rewrite (even if he doesn’t show up for the beginning part) and i need to get like. that good feel for him which I DONT HAVE 😭😭

anyways. as opposed to the more sure “this is Vylad” post like I did with Garroth and Laurance and Dante and whoever else, this is kind of gonna be me throwing stuff at a wall and seeing what sticks. it’s also gonna be me going over some concepts i have for him, even if they’re ones i decided not to go with. you will see me connecting dots in real time. but i promise Vylad is so important and i want to get him to a point that feels right for me!!

okay so we keep the basic mcd lore. affair baby, shadow knight, brought Adelaide (Aphmau) into the world, all that. but i’m gonna start at the beginning

okay, affair baby. i very briefly entertained the thought of Vincent being his birth father, especially since I think the two could have some neat parallels and like obvious similarities yk. plus (and this is more minor) there’s the fact that like, all of the Ro’Meave kids have a name that starts with the same letter as their parents, so like… V and V. ykyk. i decided not to do that cause i feel like that’d be a useless plot line anyway. i’m thinking more like Zianna sort of had a fling with a maritime merchant that often visited O’Khasis

so it’s obvious that Vylad is an affair baby. not only because of his very different appearance compared to his brothers but also because Garte literally announced it and humiliated Zianna. i haven’t figured out the exacts of that but he publicly humiliated her to teach her a lesson

it’s also widely known that Garte hates Vylad. however despite this, Garte took Vylad in as a subtle manipulating “look how kind i am taking in a child that isn’t mine” kind of way yk?? and in the public, at least when Vylad is young, Garte seems to treat him like his own. but in private it’s clear that Garte does not see Vylad as equal to the rest of the Ro’Meave line and kind of shuns him. like he doesn’t give Vylad the same resources his brothers had, especially in academic fields. so Vylad is kind of pushed to the side. Zane kind of plays into that to appease his father

he spends a lot of time with his mother, and with Garroth when Garte allows. Zianna and Garroth actually taught him to read, which is something he’s thankful for because he doesn’t think he would have learned otherwise. Garroth was also the one that was always protecting Vylad from harsh punishments, and a large conflict for Garroth about going to the guard academy was leaving his brother to fend for himself

but Vylad and Zianna spent a lot of time together. their favorite place to frequent is Zianna’s palace garden, where she teaches him the meanings of all sorts of plants and stuff. and when Garte locks Zianna away for whatever “lesson” he’s teaching her, Vylad always finds a way in to keep talking with her. that’s how he got so good at sneaking around later as a shadow knight

okay so as he got older he was sort of excluded more and more from public events. his absence kind of solidified in peoples heads like “oh Garte DOES NOT like this kid…” but Vylad doesn’t mind because he wouldn’t consider himself to be made for these events like the rest of his family

okay so his death. it was something that was semi-planned?? so this kind of serves as a double purpose to also build tensions with Tu’la and all that. so what had happened is that a Tu’la spy infiltrated the O’Khasian guard. and that spy rose through the ranks and became one of Garte’s most trusted and Garte was eventually confiding in them that he wanted Vylad gone, even bringing up a premeditated assassination. the spy took it as an opportunity to kind of put O’Khasis against itself and took it upon themselves to kill Vylad. so his death wasn’t exactly planned, but it was on its way.

so Vylad died when he’s about 16. and he’s actually one of the reasons i have shadow knights age the way they do because I considered having him be like forever sixteen, but i didn’t really like that. i don’t remember why though because i think that’s a fire idea now i might change it…

anyway he’s 16 when he dies. that’s also another reason Garroth isn’t very happy about his marriage to Nicole, because she’s the same age his brother would be, but that’s another topic i’ve already yapped about

back to Vylad!! so he was turned into a shadow knight because it was known that he’s a Ro’Meave, or at least introduced as one. because of this, Gene and whoever else (i haven’t decided who’s in charge) resurrect him assuming he has the blood of Esmund the Protector. when they discover that he doesn’t, they also kind of discard him and hide him away

Vylad eventually breaks out. idk how. but he does. and the thing is he had devised this entire plan to start a new life for himself because he was getting tired of constantly being pushed to the side because he isn’t who people want him to be. so when he breaks out, he steals an orb and herbs that Gene had been working with to plant false memories in someone. Vylad steals this stuff, goes to the Overworld, realizes he doesn’t have a clue what to do, and goes into the sacred forest seeking the help of Hyria

his plan is to give himself a new slate. erase his memories and fabricate a new life for himself to live—one where he would never disappoint anyone or be tossed away. he asks Hyria to help him, and she agrees

before she does that, though, she starts talking to Vylad about the Divine Warriors, warning him about dangers that may come with the memory change. she kind of sort of manipulated him into instead reincarnating Irene, and she kind of used the fact that Vylad is a people pleaser that just wants to be Vylad to convince him to take Irene.

he agrees. with the help of Hyria he created a fake life for this reincarnation to have lived and experience and hides those memories in the orb he stole. and then he starts his journey to find where to place her

now obviously we know he chose near Phoenix Drop. he chose this place because he had been scouting it out for a while beforehand and actually had the suspicion that the head guard was Garroth (who had faked his death at this point, but Vylad didn’t know). so he places the staff or whatever nearby and is absolutely appalled when a whole person just comes out of it. he panics and then she starts waking up and Vylad doesn’t know what to do and he remembers the orb and very quickly does the spell Hyria told him to do

and when she wakes up the first thing Vylad says to her is “Good morning, Adelaide. How did you sleep?” and he comes up with this whole story that she’s a mercenary and then whatever else i decided that i can’t remember now

and. Vylad named her Adelaide, and he named her that because it was a name his mother loves. she always said that if she had a daughter her name would be Adelaide, so to put some goodness into this new being he named her what the most good hearted person he knows would have

and until we get a proper introduction to him in my rewrite, Vylad will be a recurring motif. i haven’t decided what exactly he’s going to mean, but he will often come to Adelaide in dreams or Adelaide will often talk fondly about the person she travelled with before settling in Phoenix Drop

overall Vylad is very insecure. he has this looming fear that everyone he comes across hates him and in an attempt to get people to like him, he ends up being a people pleaser or quiet altogether.

and that’s all i have for him 😢 i wish i had more for you anon because i love Vylad so much and he’s so important to me but alas. i hope you enjoyed this regardless

once again if you wanna know about a specific character just drop an ask! if be happy to answer :)

[eph-em-era]

the inclusion of covid in this week's doctor odyssey seems to imply interesting things about the nature of the pandemic in the world of 9-1-1/doctor odyssey

in this essay i will...

no fr, i think there's interesting meta things to think about here, cause 9-1-1 had a covid season and then it was just done - absolutely completely gone. characters don't even refer to it in the past tense.

it was mentioned a lil bit on lone star, but didn't really become a thing there either

so i presumed, like most shows did, that the pandemic happened for a year and was done - the ideal pandemic situation and not one that happened in our real life. i had presumed that it wasn't ongoing

but you get to doctor odyssey, where max was patient zero and clearly has lingering covid trauma. i did also think that covid was done here too because the characters don't seem overly concerned by it

but on this week's episode of doctor odyssey, one of the characters gets covid, and then max does too. and there's a lot of concern about isolation, but otherwise, the characters are mostly fine, there's not a huge amount of sickness there. even the nurses

so i submit that the lore of covid in the 911/dody world is that it was a nightmare hell period for about six months and then the infection greatly decreased in both transmission and strength (ie only max and the passenger get it in this episode)

cdc and maritime rules still stayed in play, no-one dropped the ball, and people still care about covid, but it's not as dangerous as it is IRL, and it doesn't ever really spread outside certain circumstances, caring about it hasn't really become a culture war thing

something i could maybe compare it to would be norovirus - ie: highly contagious in certain circumstances like cruise ships, but far less free-wheeling irl

or even like flu - ie in this week's ep of dody max brings covid boosters in, but people treat them like a lot of people treat the flu vaccine - ie something that's only maybe necessary, and something that has a season each year

-

obviously these are things that are done entirely due to television restraints and that people don't want to write covid storylines for years, but i think it's interesting to explore

especially since covid has become a culture war issue in our world, and is still actively deadly despite people not wanting to care about it.