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just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace · 4 months ago

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Tides of fate (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which your newly returned husband is unsure of the path ahead, and the sea itself tries to deter you from the one you choose together

Warnings: evil!reader, smut (sneaky handjob in a public place, brief descriptions of p in v), probably inaccuracies of canon geography/lore to suit the fic, somewhat repentant Sauron stands a teeny tiny chance of being better but reader is an ‘I can make him worse’ kinda girl

Note: part of the evil!reader collection. If you’re new, reader has been married/soulbound to Sauron since before Adar killed him and infiltrated herself in Eregion as a smith while she waited for his return, but came to find him when his presence became strong enough through their bond again.

Mature content below the cut—minors DNI!!!

Halbrand.

Whilst the other passengers on the ship are asleep, he lies awake with his new name and his new face, heading into what is to be a new life. He has yet to decide whether it should be different from the one before, but one thing he knows beyond all certainty—you shall be by his side, body and soul, until existence itself is no more.

You lie in his arms as he sits reclined against a pile of cargo, with your head resting upon his heart. Even aslumber, you seem to cling to him, your fingers ever so slightly curled in the ragged shirt he wears. Halbrand himself refrains from tightening his hold around your waist to the point where he might wake you, and contents himself only with soft caresses of your hair as he cradles you close. Weeks after you had nursed him back to his solid form, there are still times when you feel you must convince yourselves that you are together once more, and the long wait is over.

It had taken a while for the frenzy to pass, once he had been remade. For his newly woven flesh to find relief, if only in part, from the yearning with which it burned for yours.

The first time he’d had you in this body is a blur in his mind, nothing left of it but white-hot flashes of rampant breathing, wails and growls, skin slapping against skin. No sooner had he breathed the air into his new lungs than he had claimed your mouth, fell with you to the ground on the very spot where his new feet had first touched it, and begged to have his wife. A beast rutting into his mate in the snow is what he had been reduced to. On an open trail, beneath the open sky, he had ploughed into you with wild abandon, searing the pleasure of every thrust into his soul as if it would be the last he ever tastes.

He had not known, when last you had been by his side before Adar’s betrayal, that you would be out of his reach for centuries to come, that the very memory of his beloved’s embrace would slip from his grasp with the long years, sunk into the black depths of a rudimentary shape which had forgotten what it was to feel at all. And so the moment he had at last regained a form that could, he had grasped, seized, clawed the feeling of being one with you back into himself.

And you had sunk your nails into his new flesh, christened it with scratches, marking it as yours. He remembers your tight heat, your shrill moans, your tears as you begged him for more, even after your peak. He remembers his frustrated curses when his fresh, tragically human form had softened beyond his control after spilling inside you only once, and your sweet laugh in his ear, nowhere near judgmental as you reassured him that with time, his Maia prowess shall return to spare him such tedious whims of a mortal’s flesh.

“You are still extraordinary, my love,” you had praised with an adoring nibble of his humanly round ear. “A true mortal man as starved as you would not have even made it all the way inside.”

It was, perhaps, for the best. For you might have fucked the very life out of yourself on his cock in those first few days, if not for the occasional need for respite. His partial oblivion, though nothing short of agonizing, had stripped him, at times, of the knowledge of what he was missing. Your longing for your husband had shredded your heart through every single moment of the centuries you had been apart, vivid as ever in your mind and soul. The hollow in your bond had never subsided into anything less than a freshly severed limb, forever bleeding from an open wound. The only reason you had not withered away was that last glimmer of feeling, barely there but undeniably real, that your husband had not passed beyond your reach completely and forever.

For weeks you had remained in those woods, unwilling to do anything but be together. Even if you weren’t making love, you were hardly ever not touching, and it cost you even to pry yourselves away to hunt or gather wood—an effort that much greater since his prowess did gradually return, as you had been most certain that it would.

As you lay in his arms, you spoke to him of the world, all the ways it had changed and all the ways it had not. The dealings of Elves, Dwarves and Men nowadays. The life you had secured for yourself in Eregion, the opportunities it held. A power over flesh. All it did was remind him of the last words he had spoken to Adar’s wretched Orcs before they had butchered him, and the only power he found himself craving was that of feeling your flesh, beneath, against and around his. And you were oh so willing to grant it to him.

The last night before your voyage, you had looked so beautiful, bathed in moonlight and the warm glow of the fire beside you as you rode your husband slowly, savouring every drag of his cock within you. He sat up, holding you close, watching in awe as you took what you needed, and gave him all he craved. His tears do not spill easily, but they had burned behind his eyes as you threw back your head and cried out your release, bringing forth his own. You were everything. His wife. His soul.

His Queen.

He had once sworn he would not rest until the whole of Middle-Earth had been brought to its knees to worship the pair of you, side by side. That nothing less would ever be enough.

Lying beside you by the fire, he was not so certain anymore.

“My love,” he had whispered as you ran your fingers through his unruly hair, “where do you wish to go?”

It was the first time either of you had spoken of your heading, rather than acting as though where you were now was all there was.

You had frowned ever so slightly, as though surprised he even had to ask, and murmured, “With you.”

The following morning, you began your journey. Eregion was your destination, as you had anticipated all throughout his long absence. To follow his weak presence through your bond and find him in Forodwaith, you had left your false life with the Elves claiming to be visiting distant kin. He had yet to spin a tale justifying his joining you upon your return, and he found it more difficult than usual to do so when he didn’t seem to be sure of his goal once you had reached the Elven kingdom. You noticed, of course, but kept your mind at a thoughtful distance, knowing he would speak his in his own time.

When a group of Men crossed your path, it was the first time since his return that you were in the presence of others. With the bit of shape-shifting ability received from your husband upon the forging of your bond, you had made the pointed tips of your ears recede into a round shape to match your husband’s current one. You were to pass as human travellers, unworthy of a second glance.

But an old man, whose name Halbrand had later learned to be Diarmid, halted to inform you of the danger ahead. You must have spent longer in Forodwaith than you thought, for you had not encountered the armies of Orcs described by Diarmid when you had come seeking your husband. The man had spoken of embracing the uncertain tides of fate in hopes of a brighter future—a sentiment embodied, in his view, by a piece of heraldry he wore which had belonged to kings long gone, whose mighty path had crumbled as easily as a less fortunate one might prove to lead into a better place.

This belief of the man touched something in Halbrand, birthed a dim spark of a feeling akin to hope. You, on the other hand, did not seem as affected by his words, or his warm invitation for you and your husband to join his people on their intended voyage to a new life across the sea. No sooner had he moved on than you began to scheme.

“A symbol of royalty with no one left to claim it? That might prove useful,” you said under your breath as the two of you remained standing by the passing group of Men. “We could take it, and their ship. Sail to Lindon instead of risking a run-in with Orcs on the way to Eregion. I have quite enough connections there as well.”

You didn’t need to speak the details for him to know the exact intent behind your words. He was stronger in his power now than he had been when this body was fresh, and you were a force to be reckoned with yourself. The two of you fighting as one could cut through the humans like butter, leaving only enough to man the ship to your desired destination under your forceful command. It would have been easy enough, nothing you hadn’t done before.

“Or perhaps we might sail with them,” Halbrand suggested instead, driven by a sudden impulse.

“Into the West?” you asked quizzically, trying to figure out a purpose of which he was not sure himself. “Is there something you wish to achieve in Númenor, or thereabouts?”

“What I wish,” he said, meeting your eyes, “is for you to come with me.”

Like you’d said you would.

And you did. With but a curious look and a slight furrow of your brow, you placed your hand in his and joined him on this new path, though neither of you was sure where it would lead.

After the weeks—or had it been months?—spent in a near perpetual embrace in the wilderness, the lack of privacy on the ship proved quite the challenge. For plain communication, your bond would have sufficed, but even there a certain veil of concealment had fallen between you. For the more you began to suspect where his intentions might be straying, the less eager you were to breach the subject.

But you hardly ever left one another’s side, and spent each night in the closest embrace appropriate to the rather crowded circumstances, as you are doing now. He never sleeps, and pretending to do so would be a most tedious chore for the sake of avoiding suspicion, if it weren’t for his wife nestled comfortably within his arms. Some nights, however, he finds himself too deep in troubled thoughts for his eyes to remain closed, and that hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“Nightmares again?” Diarmid questions, lifting his head from his own makeshift pillow closeby. He lowers his eyes to you as he says with a knowing lilt, “One would think such a warm embrace can bring peace to even the most troubled of minds.”

His remark lacks any trace of envy, his gaze on you admiring without coveting, and so Halbrand is not enraged by either. He looks down, his eyes following the soft trails drawn by his fingers as they caress your hair.

“She is all the peace I know,” he murmurs.

“But you are haunted still.”

His fingers halt, resting upon your head.

“I’ve done evil,” he confesses. We have done evil, would be the more truthful statement. But so charming and joyful you had made yourself appear to your fellow passengers, he would be taken for a liar. He can only imagine how loved you are in Eregion—how loved you would be anywhere.

“All of us have done things that we care not to admit,” Diarmid replies, seemingly unfazed by Halbrand’s grim admission. How naïve for a mortal man of his age, the Maia thinks, to so easily give the benefit of his doubt to a near stranger.

“Not like I have,” he presses on. What is the purpose of this conversation, he wonders? To test whether he would be cast out? To hear the man lie again, that there is another path for him than that of suffering he has known so far?

Is that a lie?

Diarmid ponders his words. “Your wife,” he says then, as if in answer to his inner musings. “How did you come to be wed?”

You had maintained that much truth in your façade, for obvious reasons. It is a piece of truth Halbrand reveals now as well.

“We were undone,” he says in a dark rasp, “and we remade ourselves by swallowing each other whole.”

A hoarse chuckle escapes the old man. “What a way you have with words, lad. Isn’t that a most dreary manner of saying you have healed one another?” When Halbrand looks at him, guarded, he thankfully knows better than to insist upon the details. “And she knows of this... evil you say you have done?”

Halbrand gives a nod.

“And yet,” Diarmid says, voice softening with a kind of wise tenderness, “she looks at you as though you hold the very sun above her head in the palm of your hand.”

A most uninspired metaphor. Sunlight had become too bright for your eyes, after years spent in the dark heat of Morgoth’s fortress. You do not thrive in it, but rather under grey skies, with cold air caressing your cheeks. But the sentiment he means to express is perfectly true.

“And it is plain to see,” Diarmid adds, “that you love her a great deal as well.”

There is not a single false word in that sentence. You give the lightest stir in your husband’s arms, softly nuzzling his shirt in your sleep, and Halbrand, Sauron, Mairon—everything and everyone he had ever been burns with adoration as he holds you just that little bit closer.

“You cannot imagine,” he murmurs, with nearly as raw a sincerity as only you can draw from him.

Diarmid laughs warmly. “Oh, I can, lad,” he says with a trace of wistfulness. “I can.”

His eyes drift to the distance, as he no doubt remembers some past love of his. And a great one it may have been, but he shall never know what it is to bind his very soul with another’s, to be so inextricably intertwined as the pair of you have made yourselves to be.

Halbrand says nothing, leaving the old man to his imaginings. But Diarmid soon returns from them, and gives his supposed younger a sage look.

“So, you see,” he goes on, “whatever you’ve done in your past, she has forgiven it. Now, you must find forgiveness within yourself. You are alive, holding the woman you love in your arms, because you have chosen good.”

“What of tomorrow?” Halbrand asks, almost a challenge.

“You have to choose it again.” Diarmid gives a small chuckle, as though the answer is most obvious. “And the next day, and the next, until it becomes a part of your nature.”

His nature. Good had been his nature. Once.

He wonders, had you met him as Mairon, whether your souls would still be as one now. Whether you might have lived as Melian and Thingol did, rulers over a kingdom of light, protectors against Morgoth’s darkness rather than partial cause of its spread.

But it feels like a betrayal to imagine a love any different than the one he has known with you, even if it’s still a version of you with whom he contemplates such a thing. Because in the end, it would not be you. Morgoth had stripped you of the Elf you had been as brutally as he had disposed of the once Mairon, though with the Maia, he had made the pain seem so much sweeter in the beginning. You had not fallen in love with songs and poems, with you dancing in a field of flowers and him finding himself struck dumb by your beauty. Your bond had been forged in the hottest and cruellest of flames, and was all the stronger for it. This all-consuming passion, this ruthless obsession of yours, which scorches everything and everyone in its path—nothing less would ever suffice.

Seeing that Halbrand has become lost in thought upon hearing his words, Diarmid gives him one last friendly smile and pat upon his shoulder, then turns away to settle back to sleep. Not long after, quiet snores begin to leave him.

That is when you give a light hum, and shift so that your cheek rests on your husband’s shoulder and your eyes meet.

“What a way you have with words, lad,” you tease softly.

The slightest smile tugs at Halbrand’s lips. “It isn’t proper to eavesdrop.”

“It seemed as though you were having a moment.” Your teasing smile dims as you add, even more quietly, “It seemed as though you wanted it.”

You bring your hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb through the light stubble that now adorns it. You seem to like this form of his, imperfectly human as it is, and nothing pleases him quite like pleasing you. His eyes fall shut as he leans into your touch, taking your wrist in a gentle hold and pressing his lips to the palm of your beloved hand.

“My love...” he begins, but you rest your fingertips upon his mouth.

“I know.” You sigh, letting your hand fall back to his chest. “I know. You’ve been... different, since you have returned. Not only in body. After all this time, what you have endured... I know you are faltering. That you lack direction.”

“And yet you followed me blindly.”

“Always,” you smile, though it’s short-lived. “But... if forgiveness is what you seek... from them...” Your brow creases, voice becoming pained as you lift your head from his shoulder to meet his gaze properly. “My love, we have been here once before.”

“I know,” he says firmly, wrapping your hand in his. “I would not take such a risk again.”

Like he did at the end of the First Age. When, in the wake of Morgoth’s defeat, he’d had a mind to seek pardon from the Valar rather than await their retribution. He had witnessed their might as they decimated his master’s dark forces, and Sauron himself now lacked an army with which to retaliate, should they seek him out. All he had was you, and in his wish to keep you, and in the haze of his new-found freedom from Morgoth’s clenched fist, he had entertained the thought that perhaps the Valar might consider your union, a defiance of Morgoth in itself, to be proof of your renouncing his authority even since before his defeat. Surely, they could be persuaded that all, or at least most of your vile deeds, had been for the sake of each other, to spare your beloved from Morgoth’s wrath. And to a certain extent, it was true.

But the opposite happened. The Valar had deemed your bond unnatural, volatile, forged in too deep a darkness to be anything but a force of destruction. If you truly wished to be pardoned, you were to allow it to be undone. He was to return to Valinor whilst you remained in Middle-Earth, serving to rebuild what Morgoth had destroyed until you had proven beyond doubt you had put your foul ways behind you. Only then would you be allowed passage into the West to be rejoined with your husband, should your love endure such prolonged distance and transformation from the beings you had been when you met.

Servitude would already have been nigh impossible to swallow. But separation—that was unfathomable. It was cruelty beyond imagining, from beings who had the audacity to claim they were righteous and fair. You and your husband had been left with no choice, then, but to seek out a power which would make you gods in your own right. Power over flesh, power over Middle-Earth.

Separation came anyway, only in a different form, the path you had most wanted to evade forced upon you by Adar’s treachery instead of the Valar’s so-called justice. But as great a blow as it might have been, the aftershocks of it spanning over so much time, it didn’t break either of you beyond repair. As Sauron, he has known many setbacks, failures, betrayals. He is not afraid. Even when he sought pardon before, he tells himself, he was being cautious, practical.

But he is, perhaps... tired. So tired.

“You told me you have no wish to return to your life with the Elves,” he breaks the silence you had let fall between you, patiently awaiting the further words you sensed he had to say. “Númenor is said to be a paradise, ripe with opportunity. A smith of great skill and his equally gifted wife are most likely to thrive in such a place.”

Though he speaks in statements, you hear the question they conceal. You had long suspected he had been harbouring such thoughts, and your eyes shift uneasily upon hearing them.

“I can’t say I haven’t thought of it,” you confess in the end. “That perhaps we might simply... be together, as so many others are, and that would be enough. But even if we could find it in ourselves to put Middle-Earth behind us and let Adar go unpunished for what he did...” Your hand grips his painfully as you shut your eyes for a moment, striving not to raise your voice above a tense whisper. “I cannot bear to live in fear any longer. Wondering whether or not the Valar will finally deem us worthy or harmless enough to leave us be. Seeking to appease a higher power whose breath is constantly at the back of my neck even when I cannot see it, like... like he was. Is that not why we put such thoughts aside before, and sought to claim the power that we did? To gain control, bring about a new order—our order?” You lean in closer, the despair in your eyes giving way to determination as you stare into his with each and every searing word. “You know we are meant to be more than this. The Valar may not favour us, but fate does. It’s why our paths crossed in the first place, and why we found our way back to each other time and again, despite Morgoth, and Adar, and all who would have seen us apart. It’s why we will prevail.”

It’s so taxing, keeping the intensity of your words’ sentiment quiet, that the release comes in the form of tears slipping from your eyes. Your husband’s brow creases, leaving your hand to lie upon his quickening heart as he cups both of your cheeks.

“All this time...” he whispers, thumbs brushing your tears like they are priceless gems, “all these centuries, you have kept your faith in our vision. In us.”

He knows all too well how strong you are, how ruthless in your resolve, but sometimes, the sheer might of your devotion to him still knocks the breath from his lungs.

A teary chuckle escapes you. “Had you not spent all those centuries as a barely sentient liquid, I’m sure you’d have done the same. Not to mention,” you add, seeking to lighten the mood with a touch of coyness, “you promised me a crown, my love. And I shall not let you rest until you have put it upon my head, and I have known what it is to be a true Queen, worshipped by all beings,” you lean so that your lips ghost over his as you whisper alluringly, ��and by her King most ardently of all.”

He gives in with a subdued groan, catches your lips in a fleeting kiss—then presses a thumb to the soft flesh beneath your chin to better his hold on you and keep you at bay.

“My love,” he rasps out in warning, eyes roving over your face, “do not tempt me so when I cannot have you as I please.”

A wicked smile spreads across your lips, and your softly-spoken words are the sweetest siren song, calling him to his doom. “You can have me, my love. We can have anything we wish.” Your hand begins a most audacious journey down his chest and along his tensing stomach, disappearing beneath the blanket covering the both of you above the waist. “They are nothing,” you go on, nimbly working open his trousers. “What they see, what they think of us now, will be nothing once we have brought them under our rule.”

Even with the blanket covering you, if someone were to look closely, they would likely be able to discern the precise location and intent of your hand. Quite frankly, Halbrand cannot bring himself to care if they did notice either, not when his wife takes his flesh in a nearly cruel grip. His cock grows and hardens in helpless answer to your beckoning, and this, he thinks for the one thousandth time, is the sole kind of helplessness which sets his blood aboil with desire rather than rage. It takes but a few strokes, dry and curt, and he is swollen, aching, the veins in his neck straining as he bites back a growl.

As for you, it’s a struggle not to rub yourself against his leg like a warg in heat. But it is his pleasure you wish to achieve, not your own. You press your lips to those captivating lines of tension on his neck, and swipe a thumb over the tip of him to find it wet. He remains discreet in sound, if not in expression, but you feel the spike of his pleasure through your bond as you keep caressing that most sensitive part of his cock. All of a sudden, his hand is at the back of your neck, and he pulls you down so that your cheek is pushed into his chest, his chin resting the slightest bit too heavily upon your head. Like this, you feel his rampant heartbeat, his ragged breathing, the tremors you send throughout his body with each and every stroke of his length.

It’s an illusion of control, he knows, crushing you to his chest whilst the heart within it contorts and threatens to unspool back into a pile of black slime, taken apart by your words and touch. He lets you break from his hold the moment you rebel out of it, and plant your chin upon his shoulder.

“I kept my faith, because I could see us,” you whisper, your hot breath in his ear plunging straight to his cock as you pump him into a silent frenzy. “I can see what we will become, and it is so... so beautiful. Do you see us, love?” you all but whimper, as though your words alone bring you as much pleasure as the glide of his length within your fist does him. “Can you see your Queen, spread upon our throne... wearing nothing but the jewels you have given me and the crown upon my head... as your tongue swears fealty between my legs? Can you see me do the same, on my knees before my Lord and King?”

Oh, he can. So many times he’s had you, in so many ways, but the thought of you worshipping each other whilst you are being worshipped across all of Middle-Earth, taking pleasure in one another as well as the symbols of your power... That had always wrought a particular kind of havoc upon his loins, proportionate in might to the high brought by the prospect of victory in itself. And you know that damn well, as well as all the right ways to caress and graze and squeeze and knead to play his body like a harp into the very melody you wish to elicit, regardless of the form he takes, for you might as well be nestled beneath his skin, living and breathing among the strings you so deftly pluck with your ruinous fingertips. Your touch, your words, moulding his mind as you please—is this what one feels like, he wonders, when Sauron the Deceiver slithers his way into their unsuspecting thoughts?

But this is no deceit. This is his wife, his soul, reminding him of his true self, just as you did when you first found what had been left of him in Forodwaith, and put him back together. His hips jerk into the movements of your hand, seeking you out, uncaring of the people who might wake and see him being undone by your touch. You are right. They are nothing. You are all there is, and all there ever shall be.

You chuckle as he chases his breath, and bite his earlobe—hard. It may not be the sensitive tip of an Elf’s pointed ear, but the jolt of pain lights a fire beneath his skin that scorches everything in its path, and no amount of control over his form could have prevented him from spilling his seed right there and then. The growl he lets loose would have surely roused those sleeping closest by, if not for your sudden grip on his throat and lips covering his, swallowing his rough breaths. He spills and spills as you stroke him through his release, until the exquisite throbbing in his cock has finally run its most fulfilling course.

To think there was a time he knew not what it was to crave another, nor did he care to know—and then he had known you. The pleasure of his flesh might as well have your initials engraved into it.

You loosen your grip on his throat as you break the kiss, and that hand goes instead to tenderly brush a lock of dark hair from his temple. You seem awfully pleased with yourself when he opens his eyes into yours, and he doesn’t shy away from admitting that you very well should be. The hand with which you had pleasured him emerges from beneath the blanket with his spent glistening on your fingers, and you hold his gaze as you rest the digits on his bottom lip. The tip of his tongue darts out slightly, tasting what you have done to him. What you always do. He wraps his lips around your fingers, scrapes them lightly with his teeth, and something softens in your eyes.

“I want more,” you whisper, nothing short of a goddess reduced to her most vulnerable self. “I want everything. But I need only for you to want me.”

His new heart lurched in his chest. As if he could ever stop. As if there could ever be more, be anything, if there was no you and him.

He knows much better than to take your words as an admittance of defeat, however. If he truly were to demand that you renounce your aspirations, you would be furious. You would fight and fuck him in every way you could think of to change his mind, but you would follow him wherever he went. As he would you. There is no such thing as choosing to leave one another’s side, unless you have reason to believe that your temporary separation shall serve to make you all the more fruitful in your shared endeavours upon your reunion.

Your shared endeavours is what they still are. What they always have been. He sees that now, clearer than ever.

Having released your fingers, his mouth claims yours in a bruising kiss. You moan into it, too loud, too desperate, but neither of you cares. He truly abandons all caution, pulling you into his lap by your waist, and you grind your clothed core into his newly hardening cock as soon as you are astride him, and damn these people, damn your ruse, he is going to have you, fully and unrestrained, right here in their midst. It matters not, for most will be dead soon either way. For you will take the ship for yourselves, just like you first suggested, and sail back to Middle-Earth to claim it as your own. And he means to tell you this whilst you ride him, just as you are reaching your peak, and send you careening into it with this sweetest promise like you had done him—

Something’s wrong. Even in the heat of passion he feels it, and every muscle in his body stiffens. You break away at once, alarmed by his alarm.

“Hold on to me,” is all the warning he has time to give you.

Not a soul on the ship remains asleep when it takes the first hit, water flooding into the hull through shattered wood. It’s everywhere, bursting through holes in the walls and pouring down the stairs from the deck, and you barely manage to scramble to your feet before the next blow lands, and the next. You do try to keep your grip on each other, but end up bracing yourselves against the pile of cargo on which you had been resting so you don’t get knocked off your feet. At the very least, he manages to hastily refasten his trousers. Not that anyone would care if they caught a glimpse of a man’s privates at a time like this—but in his flailing circumstances, it isn’t quite the power move it would have been if he were shamelessly buried to the hilt inside you for all to see.

“Was that—?”

“Yes,” he answers you gruffly. “Sea worm.”

“Is that a problem?” you ask urgently, ever so pragmatic even as your chest heaves through the sudden panic.

He isn’t sure. He feels recovered enough, but he can’t say whether his ability to sway the creature’s mind is good as new until he’s come face to face with it. He’s about to go and find out, when a voice screams, “Help me!”

It’s Diarmid who cried out, trapped beneath a wooden beam that had collapsed upon him. Bleeding from a head wound, he looks to Halbrand in despair. No one else even stops to look, the other passengers scurrying around in a frenzy, as if there is anywhere to run.

Halbrand and you make no move. Your gazes meet as you wait with bated breath for his choice, even in the midst of chaos.

Whatever you’ve done in your past, she has forgiven it.

If anything, you should forgive him for ever faltering in his resolve. There is no such thing as a man called Halbrand, or as you and him disappearing in the crowd. You shall be everywhere, standing above everything and everyone, as you were always meant to.

He leans over Diarmid, grabbing hold of the fallen beam atop him—only to snatch the pouch bearing a king’s symbol from his neck, the Maia’s pitiless eyes staring into the man’s terrified ones. He turns to the beautiful sight of your smile, proud and relieved, and a smirk blooms on his own lips. Screams fill the ship as it is ripped to shreds, but you put your hand in his and pull him towards the deck with an exhilarated “Come on!”, and for a moment he suspects this feeling in his chest might be akin to what a young man would experience, if he were being whisked into the unknown by a rebellious first love.

And like the folly of such youth, it doesn’t last. Your hand slips from his as the ship falls apart, swallowed whole by the ocean, and he is submerged into an underwater field of shattered woods and floating bodies. He has lost you from his sight, but he knows you’re alive. He knows he is still lord over beasts as well, when the sea worm obeys the command in his eyes and abandons its attack, swimming away. Perhaps the effort of imposing his will on such a great creature is still too taxing. Perhaps that’s why the pulse of your life is as vivid as ever within your bond, but feels further away. The water is dark, and you are strong—he feels is. You are soon to surface.

But when he emerges from the sea, grabbing hold of a floating piece of wood, you are nowhere in sight.

He waits. Waits, then dives back in.

The bodies he finds are all corpses.

You are alive.

But you are gone.

His scream is lost in the black depths of the sea.

*****

As soon as you break through the surface, gasping for air, you know something is terribly amiss.

For one, there is no one in sight. No ship, no people, no sea worm. Then, there is the rising sun, when moments ago it had been little past midnight, and land in sight when you had been most certain you were in the middle of the sea. And most poignant of all, there is distance—great and sudden, between you and your husband.

He is well, though, and even more so now that he has felt you reaching out to him. The spark of relief echoing through your bond is the only reason you do not immediately despair. You have an inkling of what might have occurred. But you save your energy for swimming towards the distant shore, channeling your ire into each kick of the water.

How do the Valar expect you to renounce your bitterness towards them, when they do their very best to fuel it with every given occasion?

*****

He breathes easy at last. He had known you were alive all along, but the gnawing emptiness where your consciousness should have been had not ceased to churn within his chest until he’d felt you, aware and present in your bond once more.

For you to have drifted away, so quickly and so far... it was no natural occurrence.

There’s a presence he’d felt. A watching. Sickly familiar, and he knows not how, but—they knew. Perhaps you had invoked them one too many times, and Ulmo himself had reached out with a watery tendril of his power to snatch you from your husband’s reach. Whether in punishment or warning, it matters not. For in his haste to part you, the Vala had failed to prevent a great opportunity from landing right into his great enemy’s lap—or rather, swimming her way onto his raft.

Galadriel.

He knows her name. How could he not? Sister of Finrod, daughter of Finarfin. A mighty Elven warrior, hailed as the fairest of Elven women, the very light of the Trees of Valinor supposedly snared in her tresses. It’s hard to tell, with her golden hair soaked and clinging to her shoulders. But her beauty concerns him little. Once he has taken Middle-Earth, he thinks, he shall have the tongue of any being who dares suggest another might be fairer than his Queen.

You’ve reached the shore, he senses, back in Middle-Earth. To Galadriel, he speaks half-truths of hateful Orcs that chased him from his homeland, but within himself, he smiles. So, they dare not kill you, still, especially after they were proven right to hesitate in doing so before—when the Orcs had robbed him of his form, his power had burst from the remains of him with such anguished fury, Forodwaith had been reduced to an icy wasteland. Should your bond be severed as violently, there is no telling what horrors that gaping wound might unleash. The Valar have revealed their fear once more, and it serves to remind him why the two of you have nothing to fear.

You were right, my love, he thinks. The message may not reach you word for word, but he knows it will be crystal clear in your mind. Though some may seek to part us, the tides of fate are flowing ever in our favour. Make for Eregion. Await me there. I shall return to you soon, having made great progress towards our end.

From you, there comes the anger and the grief of your parting, which he shares—but stronger than that is your faith in him, further solidified by his determination.

“Around your neck,” Galadriel says. “Is that the mark of your people’s king?”

She had noticed, then. He’d been careful to fiddle with it earlier, tucking it into his shirt when she thought he hadn’t seen her scrutinizing him. You had been right, of course—that pouch would prove useful, after all.

Thank you, my love, he thinks fondly to you. For reminding me who I am. Who we are.

Your devotion caresses his soul, and the Deceiver begins to worm his way into an unsuspecting mind once more.

Previous fic with same reader -> Remade

Next fic with same reader -> Reunion

#halbrand x reader #sauron x reader #halbrand smut #sauron smut #the rings of power

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orangeocelotmartyn · 5 months ago

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The start of something new (Garbage Rat, Martyn, and Ren triangle)

trancript under the cut

Oli: Have you seen a Rat-tic around here, because I told one of them there would be one. Water: I don't know what that is-- Eloise: No, but you know who I have found? I found Mratyn-I found Mratyn, and Will! Oli: Marty! Eloise: Everybody's here, yeah, Marty-- Oli: Marty's here. Marty from the good ole days! (begins playing a quiet clip of applause) Eloise: He looks a bit different, though, he looks a bit different, and I think he's got-I think he's got a boyfriend. Oli: (shuts off the sound of the applause) Wait, what. Eloise: I don't know, he just kept calling him all these pet names like "Big J" and "Captain," but I might be misinterpreting that. Oli: But he didn't call him anything like "O-Dawg," or-or "Garbage Rat," did he? Cause that's my names, he wouldn't use those on someone else. (he plays a clip of an audience 'aw'ing) Eloise: No, he didn't call him that. Oli: Oh, well, that's good, that's nice, I'd love to see Marty.

---

Oli: Don't worry guys, I'm gonna free you! Bek: Help me! Martyn: (through disbelieving laughter) You've gotta be joking--you've gotta be kidding, Garbage Rat! Oli: (joyously) Marty! Martyn: (laughing) What are you doing here! Oli: I've been here the wh--two weeks now, getting drunk on wine! And forgetting stuff. Martyn: What is the--right-- Oli: What happened to your eye? It go the same way as mine? Martyn: I don't wanna talk about it. Captain, if we're gonna recruit anybody, this is our guy-- Ren: Who is the loud one? Martyn: --This is our guy! Oli: You've not found another-- Ren: Reveal yourself loud one! Oli: Hello its me the Garbage Rat I eat the garbage. And what is your name sailor? Ren: Hello Garbage Rat, I am Admiral Jaque Levy La'rat. Oli: No way. And what are you doing with my boy? Ren: (clears throat) He's the Lieutenant on my-my vessel. I picked him up a few weeks ago out in the middle of the ocean, he was in half a tennis ball floating around and it was quite pathetic. Oli: No way...that's quite the step up from being a highway rat. Martyn: Ehh--that's the first time you've described it as pathetic, I don't think I like that. Bek: Bit embarrassing Martyn. Ren: Highway rat, what--? Oli: I actually never called him pathetic--

---

Oli: -friends everywhere we go-- Martyn: Garbage Rat! Oli: Oh my god, Captain, my Captain. (Martyn: Oh.) Hello. Ren: It's the Garbage one again, hello! Martyn: Oh, two seconds, Will! (Will: Okay!) Oli: Hello, you found yourself--you guys find yourself a ship to commandeer yet, you found yourself a highway to man? Martyn: Ah, we-- Ren: We find ourself a perfect spot to rebuild. Martyn: Yeah, we found a plot. We got home and a plot. We're gonna go to the kitchen with Will, wanna come? Ren: I would like, I would like to add, Mister Garbage, that you look magnificent on our boat. I mean, look--the three of us together, side by side, as the pirate crew is there no better-- Oli: Yeah...ey, ey now, I love pirating, I love stealing, I love robbing, I love eating. I'm all those things, but water is not a thing that I enjoy, my sweet croissant. Yeah. Water-- Martyn: Yeah, he's got a past with, uh, flushers. Oli: Drowning, flushes, the whole-- Ren: I understand. Oli: --nine yards, yeah. I shall not be going anything that could have whirlpools. Ren: Out on the high seas, some might call you a Coward. Martyn: Ooh. Oli: Well. In the garbage bin, somebody might call you a corpse. But I ain't gonna make it happen. (Martyn laughs in surprise) Martyn: Yikes. I should step in here, but I don't wanna, I wanna see what happens. Ren: My words. I've never heard such intimidation before. Oli: It's been a good few years. I've faced a lot of creatures in my time. I remember when we were-- Ren: Alright, well Mister Garbage, I'd be happy to have you as an ally on shore, in that case. Oli: I would love to be an ally on shore. And if you--

#theorionsound #oli theorionsound #rendog #inthelittlewood #video #transcribed #ripsmp #rats in paris #ratchanting #treebark

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masseffectholidaycheer · 2 months ago

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'Twas the Night Before the Reaping

🚨REAPER HORN NOISES🚨

What you need to know!

Reaping Posting will begin tomorrow and be open through January 31st

To submit your post you MUST fill out the Google Form

Physical gifts MUST be in the mail by tomorrow and you must email us proof of shipping. We start chasing people down after tomorrow who have said they're shipping something and haven't contacted us.

Digital gift posts are made and submitted by the gifter.

Gifters will submit their digital gift post to us via the Google Form.

Physical gift posts are made and submitted by the giftee.

Giftees will submit their physical gift post to us via the Google Form.

All posts will be queued and posted throughout the day.

All posts will be tagged with the name of the gifter and giftee to make them easy to find

If you have any questions or concerns, please email us ASAP.

Remember the Google Form. Please. For Minion Keeper's sake.

This is who you're hurting if you forget The Form.

FAQ

My digital gift isn't ready!!! What do I do????

It's okay! Tomorrow is the START of posting, but you're not late! The last day to post is January 31st. After that, if we haven't heard from you, we start breaking out the laser beams.

I haven't gotten a gift 😭

Tomorrow is only the start of posting. You will get a gift - Minion Keeper's spreadsheet knows all. Remember to check our blog for your username - your gift will be tagged with the same username as in the "minion you're making a gift for blorbo" email. If by January 31st we haven't heard from your giftee, we break out the lasers and failing that will ensure that a pinch hitter is found. It might be a little late, but EVERYONE gets a gift. Every year. No husk is left behind.

...I don't actually like my gift? What do I do?

We expect everyone to be respectful of the time and energy it took to create a gift. If you have specific concerns please reach out to us privately via email, but we expect that everyone here to be kind. Unlike certain pesky N7s who shall not be named.

Something has happened and I'm going to be late posting or have to back out

Life happens. Things happen. Shepard happens (unfortunately). All we ask is that you email us ASAP and communicate what's going so we can have a plan and make sure that your giftee is taken care of.

When can I start to panic about not getting a gift or my giftee not getting their mail?

You don't need to panic - unless you see an M35 Mako around. Then we recommend running. Fast. But seriously, don't start to worry until after January 31st. And even then, everyone will get a gift. No one has been or will be forgotten. We've got a pretty good track record of this. We'll post updates as the exchange winds down that will include information about how many gifts are complete, what's still in transit, if there's pinch-hits or known delays, and tagging anyone we need to get a hold of. You can go back through the "harby speaks" tag to find examples. Minion Keeper's backpack of power and spreadsheet will sustain us for another year.

GO FORTH AND GIFT MASS EFFECT HOLIDAY CHEER 🎉🎉

#harby speaks #minion keeper speaks on behalf of the great overlord #minion keeper is banging pots and pans together #the sheet will go live for responses in ~4 hours

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rosaharazu · 8 months ago

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Merlin Mysteries

This is the most genius title, I swear you guys, Im so proud of it.

Anyways....Magister Merlin.

First off, let's just appreciate the premise given to them.

A powerful, well-respected, legendary mage for as long as history can remember. But the twist is...they're amnesic. I think it's such a high stepping stone in making AFK Journey's MC a standout to other MC's of games alike.

Thanks to that, we aren't even Merlin's actual form, hence being able to customize our character to our liking as Merlin is using disguising spells.

But let's see their past shall we. Second:

So like, have you ever looked at the very tiny text at the bottom whenever you load into the game? There are like, two things about Merlin. I'm sure someone else has pointed these out, but I'll list it anyways. (i think there's three, but I've seen to have forgotten the third one and I ain't checking it out)

Merlin harnessed the leftovers of powers from the War and named it 'magic'.

Merlin was a part of the council in discussing terms of after the Immortal War.

So from this....Merlin may or may not be immortal themselves. Or, if we take a look at the opening sequence of the game, someone pointed out that Merlin may be reincarnated throughout time over and over again. Someone on youtube even thought Merlin could be a hypogean.

If that's the case...it's really tragic.

Merlin is a...wait, lemme check from AFK Arena. WAIT-DIMENSIONALS WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!

There's also a huge plot in Arena's Merlin, but none of this makes sense to me. Let's ignore that~ O-O

Furthermore, whatever they are...they must be immortal or something like that. And that's harsh.

You know that one storyteller in Holistone? He describes Merlin as, some feared them, some respected, but their journey is a lonely one. That's just...implies that Merlin's missing something.

I'd like it if Merlin's quote is, "I feel like I'm missing something."

I'm in Remnant Peaks, and like, I have two more areas to go. It may or may not have something to do with Merlin, so as of I'm writing this, I have no idea.

Third. Now, what I would like to write is....Merlin's relationships.

I mean, yeah, you can ship them with Valen, Mirael, and so on. But...considering Merlin's possibility of being immortal, it would be sad really.

I feel like Merlin won't engage in romantic relationships because they know so well that her partner won't be able to stay as long as they do. Maybe that's why she has Chippy and Hammie by her side, which I searched up, that familiars live as long as their masters live.

I'd like to think that Merlin chose familiars to love, and while it's only platonically, I think that love is the most special thing to have for Merlin. Because at the very least, Merlin won't have to wake up one day and find that their familiars are gone.

Maybe she's lost a loved one before, and over and over again, and they're traumatized by it. You know, at this point you can just assume I'm talking about my version of Merlin.

Even if Merlin were to engage romantically, they would probably sought for immortals like them, hence Celestials or...Hypogeans, maybe. (for me at least)

(I mean, Wilders and Maulers also probably live for hundreds of years, but they still die- WHY IS THE LIFESPAN AND TIMELINE SO CONFUSING?!)

The idea of Merlin not wanting to lose their partner is kinda engraved in my mind and you can't stop me.

What I'm saying is, Merlin has done so many things over the years. Being recognized as Esperia's greatest mage. One of the professors at Casseedee's Academy. Their stories go all over the lands....

and in return....

Merlin lost something more valuable. Possibly their mortality and memories. I dead set that Merlin may have traded those in order to become the most powerful, and before they know it....they've lost quite a lot.

And as of present day, Merlin forgets again and again, and deep inside them, an immense sense of regret, longing, lost and hopelessness. So they try to focus on the present, and the people around them.

You know, it would be nice if Merlin's amnestic side is shown sometimes, but I guess that's too much work. Oh well. Would be a little interesting, though. Like, maybe more of Chippy and Hammie comforting us. Yes, please. I'd like that.

Man...the game started a few months ago, so Merlin's lore isn't exactly much...why did I even do this...?

Thanks for your time! Have a lovely day!

#afk journey #afk journey merlin #magister merlin #have a lovely day #i love my merlin you guys have no idea #i feel like its better if this was a commentary video #but i have no knowledge in video making whatsoever #byeeeeeeeeee

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justanoasisimagines · 5 months ago

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History

Summary; Being Pirate Jack has heard plenty of stories, most he only paid half attention to. However, when he sees your scars for the first time, he's never paid more attention. Pairing; Captain Jack Sparrow x Female Reader WordCount; 1,395 Requested by; Anon A/N; Requests are open for everything except fics! Credit to cafekitsune for the ban rand the divider!

Jack knew you were something special from the moment he laid eyes on you. The Black Pearl had docked to gather supplies, Jack had been in search of some rum and a place to rest his head.

His boots clinked on the wooden flooring as he pushed open the large doors. Greeted by several familiar faces, he greeted them accordingly. Yet his eyes fluttered to the woman in the corner.

Your crimson red shirt sculpted your body perfectly, Your sleeves pulled up, revealing several intricate bracelets leading down to hands adorned with beautiful multi-gemmed rings. Jack remained frozen in the spot, as he examined you. There weren't many female pirates, many preferred to hide, yet you were bold as brass.

"Oi, who's that?" Jack questioned as he swayed toward the closest table possible.

"That's Captain Y/N, got a bit of a name around these parts. Captain of the Troubled Oak. She's a good Captain, fair, but if ya cross her, she'll cut ya down before ya can blink."

Jack smirked, as he raised himself from his chair, stealing a bottle from a nearby table, a large gulp later, Jack prepared to flatter and win you over. Jack needed to know you, surprised you had not already graced paths.

"Ello love my name's Jack, Captain Jack Sparrow." You glanced up eyes twinkling in the candlelight, mischief written on your smirk. Jack mirrored your expression as he moved to sit across from you.

"I've heard all about you, Captain Sparrow. What is it you want?"

"To get to know you love that's all."

From that moment, Jack appeared to follow you wherever you went. He sailed where you sailed, sought out the same treasure. Although for the first time in Jack's life he wasn't interested in fine jewels and gold coins.

You became the treasure Jack desired the most. Almost as much as he desired to Captain the Black Pearl.

Almost.

"If I didn't know any better I would think you were following me?" You questioned as you jumped down from a nearby rock. Jack smirked as the sand kicked up and landed.

"I wouldn't have to keep following you love if you'd join me." The two of you circled each other, challenging one another to see who would fold first.

"I've told you Jack, I'm not giving up the Troubled Oak. I've worked too hard to get where I am." Jack closed the gap between you, snaking an arm around your waist, and pulling you close.

"Then don't. See I've been thinking, perhaps neither one of us has to give up our beloved ships. We could join forces. Think about it. We'd be unstoppable, you and I."

An eyebrow raised questioning Jack's idea. Was he not remembering the one crucial detail?

"What shall we do? Shout at each other across ships?" Jack brought his mouth millimeters away from your own.

"We flip a coin and take it turns to Captain a ship. See I've thought of everything." With a roll of your eyes, not willing to fuel Jack's ego you were met with a raised eyebrow.

"So what do you say, love? Sail the seven seas beside me?"

You and Jack sailed the seas together as one united source, the stories already began to spread. One day the stories would become legends when no one alive was able to confirm.

If you had questioned Jack, he would tell you he'd never been in love with another person before. He loved rum, treasure and the Black Pearl. There were a few he cared for like Gibbs, Will and Elizabeth. Not that he would ever admit that to them of course, yet he never came to have loved before.

Lust undoubtely. Yet never love.

It changed with you. He hated it whenever you needed to be apart, his heart skipped a beat whenever you approached him. For the first time in Jack's, he desired something more than treasure.

He desired you and your happiness. He craved to see you smile and hear your laughter. Your laughter could brighten up Jack's worst day. Jack would protect you with every ounce of will he held in his body.

The day anyone dared to hurt you, would be the day they signed their death warrant. Make no mistake Jack would not stop until they were dead. He would not make quick.

However, Jack had noticed something about you. Something he believed to be curious and if Jack was being truthful he was a tad suspicious. You never changed in-front of him.

Jack was a patient man. He didn't mind. For the first time in Jack's life he wasn't looking to leave abruptly, but despite what others may believe Jack was no fool. He knew why you were hiding from him.

He'd see the slithers of raised skin on your body. He'd seen the scar tissue. He'd seen it peaking from under your collar. Jack didn't know how long it was, or how much of your torso was covered he scars. But he wanted to know. The pull on his heartstrings knew he needed to know.

There was a list of questions Jack needed answering; who did this two you? How did you get those scars? Where? Most importantly, the names of those who did this to you?

Jack was walking into your chambers as your bareback faced him. Jack froze on the spot your back was littered with raised scars, all varying in shape and length. Some jagged and some clean. Jack's jaw tightened, fists clenched.

It was worse than he ever believed; were their scars elsewhere on your body? Why? How? The questions once again circled his mind like a vulture circling a carcass.

"Jack, I didn't hear you come in?" You rapidly threw on your shirt allowing it to cascade your body.

"You don't need to hide from me love." Jack cautiously stepped into the room. His body moved with the waves rocking under the boat.

"You don't need to hide from me." Jack placed his hands on your shoulders giving them a tentative squeeze. "What happened?"

Jack felt your shoulders deflate as you stared out of a small round window, looking into a past you longed to forget.

"Most of them are old battle scars. I've run into many a pirate. You know how it can be, it's a flip of the coin. If you're chasing the same treasure fights are bound to break out. Those don't bother me." Jack frowned as he turned you around forcing you to look at him for the first time. He couldn't miss the distant look in your eyes. You were somewhere else and Jack desperately wanted you home.

"Which ones bother you Love? Are they why you choose to hide from me?" You maintained looking through Jack rather than at him as vivid memories flashed through your mind. You nodded.

"Several years ago, I got caught. One of my crew ratted us out on the belief of false words. They threw me in a cell. Who knew being locked in a cell would be the least of my problems?" You shook your head as if attempting to rid yourself of a memory.

"The guards decided to make an example out of me. They'd come into my cell and beat me down. At first, it wasn't so bad, I've been in plenty of fights. I can handle myself…but then they grew tired, and started using weapons. Used anything they could get their grabby little hands on." A stray tear ran down your cheek, you immediately moved to rid yourself of it, and Jack beat you to it.

"Smithy saved me…broke me out…still don't know how he did it…owe my life to him." Jack leaned down and pressed his head to yours. Jack took a moment to compose his thoughts. It was unlike him but he saw your pained expression. He knew what they had done had scarred you.

"I don't know much love, but I don't know this. No one's gonna touch you again. Not unless they want to deal with me." Jack pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"Do you know if these men are still alive?" You finally glanced up at Jack meeting his gaze with a single nod.

"We're venture course and head towards them. They're gonna know what happens when you mess with Captain Jack Sparrow's girl."

#pirates of the carribean imagine #pirates of the carribean imagines #pirates of the carribean oneshot #pirates of the carribean #captain jack sparrow one shot #captain jack sparrow x reader #captain jack sparrow oneshot #captain jack sparrow imagines #captain jack sparrow imagine #Fic #Requested #Requests are open

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smittenwithsmoker · 1 year ago

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she’s got oceans tucked away in her hair, poems swim under her skin -Sanober Khan

Sanji x fem mermaid!reader

The chef had many dreams. He would become the greatest chef in the world. He would find the All Blue and finally cook with ingredients from all four seas to create the most delicious dishes the world had ever known. He would travel around the Grand Line with his friends in pursuit of his dreams and theirs. But perhaps the dream he’d held even longer, a dream which graced him every night for as long as he could remember, was to meet a mermaid. In his sleep, an ethereal voice called out to him with a siren song, whispered his name in his ear so clearly that he awoke thinking she’d be right beside him. He could envision her silvery tail, the eyes as blue as the ocean she lived in, the long flowing hair that floated around her in the water entirely weightless. Despite having never met the woman in his dreams, Sanji was so entirely sure she was real and that she was calling out for him.

He met her in a storm. The Thousand Sunny was conquering waves that seemed impossibly large and navigating through the swells with ease. Sanji stood at the helm, following Nami’s directions until he saw a flash of silver in the water. At first, he thought it was a trick of the light, lightning reflecting oddly off the sea surface. However, Sanji knew at the second glance exactly what it was. So without a second thought, the chef yelled to his crew mates to take the helm and he dove off the side of the ship.

Sanji found her quickly, the silvery tail shimmering even in the murky, tumultuous waters. As he got closer, he heard his name being echoed through his head in a soft lilt, song like in its cadence. Her tail was caught in a net that had likely come undone from a fishing vessel in the storm and she was thrashing, trying to free herself but only becoming more tangled. She saw him approaching and he swore that when her eyes met his, that he knew her already. Her hands reached out to his and he clasped his larger ones around hers and held on as a current pushed against his body. Pulling himself closer to her, he reached for the small knife in his pocket and began to cut the net.

Once freed, her hands found his again. She looked at him, a soft smile on her face as one hand moved to caress his cheek. In his surprise, Sanji released the air from his chest and his lungs began to burn. A frown overtook her features and began to swim with him. A mermaid was the fastest creature in the ocean and within seconds, they were at the surface and approaching the Thousand Sunny.

Sanji gulped in breaths of air but did not let go of her hand as he made sure the woman of his dreams did not escape him. Her hand rested on his neck as she leaned in, first kissing both of his cheeks and then pressing her lips to his. As her lips moved with his, he could hear her voice in his head.

“You found me my love. My Sanji. My pirate. Thank you for saving me as I once saved you. I have to return to the sea but I shall find you again some day. Until then, we will meet in your dreams. I love you.”

Sanji stared at her as their lips parted and a wave crashed over the two of them. She held on so tight to him and his hands hurt from the biting cold of the water and how tightly he was grasping hers. Luffy reached down to him to pluck him from the water and his hands finally slipped from hers. She smiled up at him and blew him a final kiss before disappearing under the surface of the ocean, a swish of her silver tail the last thing he saw.

The crew thought he was hallucinating. They had seen no mermaid, only saw Sanji fall overboard and then surface before Luffy rescued him. It must’ve been a dream they told him. He almost believed them until he went to bed that evening. In his sleep, he heard the empyreal sound of her voice ringing through his head as she said his name before she appeared before him, silvery tail splashing as she made her way to where he sat on the beach.

“Who are you?” he asked the shimmering goddess before him. She smiled and reached out to clasp his hand.

“I am yours, Sanji Vinsmoke,” she retorted with a delicate smile. “I have been since I saved you when we were both children.” He remembered nearly drowning as a child and the months starving on that island with Zeff, but he doesn’t remember getting to that island. Had she saved him then? “Yes, that was me.” His eyes widened when she answered his thoughts and her hand moved to his cheek. “I know your every thought my love. I always will.” She pulled herself closer to him, resting her forehead against his. “Mermaids have only one mate in their lives and know them instantly. You are mine as I am yours.”

Sanji’s eyes widened again. Mates? He thought that was a myth but here was the woman of his dreams telling him it was true. She looked away from him and frowned as the horizon started to glow with the impending sunrise. Turning back to him, she pressed her lips to Sanji’s again and he melted against her, pulling her closer onto his lap. The apples of her cheeks flushed as she pulled away and tucked her face into Sanji’s neck. She nibbled there and he hissed as she bit into the flesh.

“I have to go,” she whispered and a sudden sadness had entered her tone. “I will always be near to you Sanji and if you need me, call out to me. In five years, I’ll be able to walk on land and I will never leave your side again. Wait for me my love.”

Sanji awoke with a start, breathing heavily and sweating in his bed. It was a dream. One that blurred the lines of fiction and reality and he had a difficult time understanding. Wandering to the bathroom to get ready to cook breakfast, Sanji gasped when he looked in the mirror. A small red mark in the shape of a mermaid’s tail had appeared on his neck in the same spot she had bit in his dream. A heavenly voice in his head whispering out, “Mine”, as Sanji realized his dreams might just all come true.

#Sanji x reader #sanji x fem reader #Sanji vinsmoke #mdni #this is so self indulgent #I just want to be a mermaid and be with sanji #is that so much to ask for?#one piece x reader #opla #opla sanji #Sanji vinsmoke x reader #one piece

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ruins-of-tragedy · 19 days ago

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Going to continue the RWBY watchalong textposts. 'Cause I will probably need them to cry over simpler times once I finish the show.

Thoughts on just the first three episodes of season one here because I had too many...

Season 01 Episode 01: Ruby Rose

- Very reminiscent of "I will show you fear in a handful of dust."

- That crime boss was in Yang's trailer. Now we know why he was there. He wanted it to rain men.

- The way Ruby made sure to check in with the shopkeeper before leaving. 🥹

- OOOOOOooooooooh! NOICE fight scenes!

- Hmmm. Villain with an obscured face. A mystery is being developed. Betrayal imminent.

- Blonde huntress. I too would want her autograph. She looks so pretty.

- The way she goes, "If it were up to me..." somehow reminds moi of both McGonagall and Snape.

- Silver eyes are worth calling attention to. Huh. If I remember what my sibling had mentioned once, this is important. Professor Ozpin notes it as well. I can't recall why though. Good thing, I guess.

- Cookies be so good Ruby can't help but stuff her face. Relatable.

- Ahhh. Uncle Qrow. I hope he didn't get too bullied for his name.

- Ruby is freaking precious. I love her. Noble little kiddo. Plus that high-pitched excitement... Cinnamon roll alert!

- Professor Ozpin's glasses are so extra. The heart monitor like thing beside the frames. The small little spectacles. The arch between the viewing bits akin to a parabola. I MUST HAVE THEM.

- Yang. Such a great sister. Almost suffocating her sibling with her love. Adorable!!!

- Ruby doesn't want bees knees. Do bees have knees?

- Yang coming in clutch with the truth. Special ladies, the both of them.

- I can't. Love how the headshots for Roman Torchwick look like the sketch equivalent of our world. Gave me a good laugh.

- Faunus rights. Must be important. Don't like the White Fang's disruption of the peace, but their logo is cool.

- From Signal to Beacon... They really want to shine a light on the guiding forces. Appreciate it.

- Blonde huntress is Glynda Goodwitch?! Is Elphaba coming too?!?!

- "Our world is experiencing an incredible time of peace..." Way to jinx it. Now we know where it all went wrong. 😂

- The ending credits song is so gooooooood!

- Looks like the vomit guy has a legacy to live up to. At least his team has his back. That's nice to see.

- "Victory is in a simple soul." Really honing in on the simple part. The introductory bit also stressed on it.

- Consider me intrigued. Who will Ruby and Yang meet in Beacon? How shall the peace be discarded? And will "Vomit Boy" ever get rid of his initial impression and nickname?

- Wait. Is Ruby the youngest because 'Little' Red Riding Hood is her character backdrop?

Season 01 Episode 02: The Shining Beacon - Pt I

- This opening song. Ugh. So good. Chef's kiss!!!

- Beacon is here. So are Yang and Ruby. And fangirl Ruby as well.

- Her weapon is called Crescent Rose?!?! 🤩👏🏻😍

- Pulling Ruby by the hood of her cape. Using it to cover her face and be an annoyance. Yang knows exactly why it was made and how to use it.

- Oh my Gods. Yang left Ruby spinning and she fell for Weiss. Well, her suitcases I guess. But still. Meet-cute!

- My bad. This is a meet-disaster. I love it! Plus, Weiss' points sank in a little too well. Both for Ruby and her. That sneeze proved it.

- Blake being buried in a book and finding the vial of dust with what can only be the Schnee logo. Huh. It's the same one which was present on the boxes Adam and her were looting. Snowflake. OOOOOOooooooh!

- Ruby is not just a dolt. She is a "complete dolt."

- Listen. Ruby called Weiss princess. Of course I am shipping it. TriMberly in a different bottle... Jokes aside though, I can't wait for Yang and Blake to meet soon!!!

- Whoa. Blake is really giving it to Weiss. NOICE!

- Weiss is pouty heiress baby, as well as a lowkey bully. Blake left. And Ruby is sad and lying on the floor. What a day.

- Vomit guy is Jaune. Ahhh. Motion sickness really out here kicking his arse. And now he is thinking of giving Ruby a nickname; "Crater-face." Is this what they call banter?

- Jaune wants the ladies to love him. Samesies my dude.

- The sword and shield fall out of Jaune's hands. That's what they do. 😆

- Wait. Ruby made that weapon?!? Holy mother of shirtballs. Does that mean Yang also forged hers? Coooool!

- Jaune does not only seem like a good guy, but also someone who has a name to live up to. Hmmm. Is he okie?

- "Strangers are just friends you haven't met yet." So sweet! Jaune's mom should consider adopting me.

- Basically Ruby and Jaune are those biatches who look at each other and go, "Exactly!"

- The end credits song... 😍

Season 01 Episode 03: The Shining Beacon - Pt II

- Opening song. Love you always... Ruby is behind a white caped lady emitting white roses. Her mum am assuming. Also, the winged figure and other assorted monsters with what I think are bones at their back are giving major zombie vibes.

- Yang saved Ruby a seat. Of course. She be a good sibling. The cycle of leaving folks behind continues... Jokes!

- Poor Jaune though. He really be complaining out loud. Someone heard him it seems. Maybe she is "nice and quirky."

- Yang really thinks Ruby is dramatic enough to call a possible meltdown an explosion. LoLL! I can see it.

- Ruby's snort was cute and now she is recalling her encounter with "a crabby girl," while said crabby girl is right behind her... Why is this so funny. It's been done before. But this is somehow better.

- "Oh my God. You really exploded." That line delivery was goooood.

- Weiss just carries a pamphlet titled "Dust for dummies and other Inadequate Individuals" on her at all times?! And of course she has the disclaimer memorised.

- Jaune is catching strays, Ruby is a sweet bean who cannot understand sarcasm and Weiss needs to be not so mean.

- Why did I just realise Professor Ozpin is supposed to be the Wizard of Oz? Still don't know what fairytale character Jaune is though...

- This isn't a first day toast. It's a roast paired with an almost sinister call for action. Hmmm. Maybe Ozpin sounding like he isn't there will play a major role later.

- Jaune. You lovable dork. Who questioned your natural blondeness?

- Sleepover alert!!! Ooooooh! Love Ruby's eye mask.

- Not the boys showing off and preening. Ugh. At least Yang likes it. Also, Jaune is actually wearing a onesie?! Little baby!!!

- Ruby writing a letter to her friends back home is ADORABLE!!! Awww. She is also feeling lonely.

- Yang's pause when trying to describe Jaune isn't fooling anyone. And Ruby. You precious kiddo... Negative friend. 😆

- "You just made one friend and one enemy!" Yang really does not pull her punches. 😂

- There should have been a drinking game going on in that hall for every time Yang gets hit by a pillow. The doggie cushion was extremely cute though.

- Yang giving good advise. Love to see it!

- Oh my Gods. Ruby is the reason Yang meets Blake for the first time here?! AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! If this somehow parallels to Weiss and Ruby also getting together, I will throw a party.

- Just realised Blake is reading by the candlelight. This girl. What a nerd. (said as affectionately as possible)

- On an unrelated note, I really like both Yang and Ruby's tanktops. And what Blake's wearing. The fashion in this show is on point.

- Ruby was so nervous she almost asked Blake to call her Crater-face... Been there.

- Yang is extrovert extraordinaire. Blake will not budge. War of attrition, anyone?

- This "lost cause" will be your future girlfriend Yang! Funny how that works... 🤩

- I would totally read the book Blake's reading. Sounds pretty interesting. Is it a real thing?

- Awwww. Ruby has such a good heart. Happily ever afters for everyone. Gods. I hope she never loses her belief system.

- The fact that Yang used to read to Ruby as a kid reminds me of how the blonde practically raised her sister. She should be proud. Of both Ruby and her own self.

- Weiss and Yang saying the 'you again' dialogue together, while aiming it at someone else entirely was so good. Made me laugh.

- "...that's how I met your mother. And aunt." Blake someday, probably.

- Different ending song. Featured only Weiss. I want to hear all of it. Why did it stop like that?

- Wait. Is Jaune supposed to be Joan of Arc?! If so, NOICE!!!

Edit: If you saw the original 'Juane,' which I then proceeded to turn into Jayne here and there when I tried to fix his name... No you didn't.

Edit Edit: Added the 'Season 01' prefix along with episode names to each header of them thoughts, and changed their colours to blue while turning them bold... 'cause am nice like that.

(Don't spoil stuff pwease! Or I will find you, and I will make sure you witness my not-so-particular set of skills that will end with you having an existential crisis. Toodle-oo!)

#RWBY #Ruby Rose #Weiss Schnee #Blake Belladonna #Yang Xiao Long #Uncle Qrow #Professor Ozpin #Glynda Goodwitch #Jaune Arc #Hope you have a day that's as amazing as the fashion portrayed in RWBY!

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tytarax · 1 year ago

Note

I see you open Requests. So i shall ask.

No romance. But comedy. How will Alastor act when he meets gn reader who is pirate ex-overlord. Im talking pirate slang and everything. They are the captain of their ship. Having a funny crew and everything.

Thanks for this request, I really enjoyed writing it!

Also gave me a reason for reading the book my brother gifted me last year, "A General History of the Pyrates" (Recommended btw)

I wrote a "short" one-shot with some hcs at the end.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

Context: You are an ex-overlord, the pirate demon to be exact. You tend to sail through hell with your trusty crew on their ship, Sapphire, a ghost ship like the Flying Dutchman. When you were an overlord that was your way of announcing yourself, ready to conquer a new territory of the pentagram. Now, you only cause panic, and all the demons flee before your presence, even though you no longer cause wars or collect more souls.

-Some years before the Hazbin Hotel opened-

The salty breeze whistled through the ethereal sails of the Sapphire, the flying ghost ship that sailed the skies with an otherworldly grace. Its crew, a spirited bunch of specters and souls, worked together under the command of their captain, a lively and charismatic demon named Captain _____, with a sense of camaraderie and mischief that echoed through the ages.

As night fell, the crew gathered on the deck, surrounded by the glow of ghostly lanterns. They raised their spectral tankards in a toast to their latest adventure, the echoes of laughter mingling with the creaking of the ship.

"Arr, me hearties!" The captain exclaimed, their voice carrying over the sound of the wind. "Another successful raid, thanks to this fine crew o' mine!"

The crew cheered, their voices filled with the thrill of the chase and the promise of plunder. They gathered around a makeshift table, laden with ghostly grog and ethereal food, and began to swap tales of past escapades.

"Do ye remember the time we outsmarted ol' Davy Jones himself?" one crewmate exclaimed, raising a tankard.

"Aye, that we did!" another replied, clapping the speaker on the back. "And what about the time we stole the moon's reflection from the sea?"

The crew erupted into laughter, the memories of their adventures bonding them together like family. They drank and sang, the joy of the moment banishing the shadows of their past lives.

Captain _____ joined in the revelry, their laughter ringing out like a bell. They regaled their crew with stories of their own, of battles won and treasures found, each tale more fantastical than the last.

As the night wore on, the crew's voices grew hoarse from laughter and song. They staggered to their hammocks, spirits high and hearts full, grateful for another day of freedom on the high skies.

Suddenly, a mysterious figure appeared on the deck of the Sapphire—Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon. Despite the supernatural nature of the ship and its crew, Alastor seemed right at home, his charismatic presence filling the air with a crackling energy.

The captain greeted him with a knowing smile. "Well, well, well, look who's decided to join us on our little jaunt through the skies. What brings ye to our humble haunt, Alastor?"

Alastor chuckled, his radio-like voice blending with the wind. "I couldn't resist the allure of the legendary Sapphire and its crew of spectral scallywags, along with their powerful overlord captain. I must say, you're quite the spectacle. I was just passing by, dear."

“Oh, 'kay then, make yerself comfortable.”

The crew, intrigued by their guest, gathered around as Alastor regaled them with tales of his exploits from the land of the living and the dead. They shared ghostly grog and spectral snacks, swapping stories long into the night.

As the moon rose high in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the clouds, Alastor bid the crew farewell, disappearing into the night with a promise to return. The crew watched him go, their ghostly forms shimmering in the moonlight, filled with a newfound appreciation for the enigmatic Radio Demon.

And so, the Sapphire continued its journey through the skies.

---

Years had passed since the Sapphire last touched down on solid ground, but the flying ghost ship remained as majestic and mysterious as ever. _____ guided their crew through the skies, seeking adventure wherever the wind carried them.

One day, the Sapphire descended upon the grounds of the infamous Hazbin Hotel, its ghostly form shimmering in the light of the setting sun. The crew, eager for a change of scenery, followed their captain as they disembarked, their laughter and banter filling the air.

As they entered the hotel, the crew's antics drew curious glances from the residents.

“Oh, hello there! You must be the pirate demon! I’m Charlie-”

“Oh, yer Charlie Morningstar, aren’t ya? Nice to meet you, lady.” _____ said. Right before, an angelic spear was pointing to their head. While all the crew prepared their weapons, _____ stopped them.

“What do you want?” Said the young girl who was holding the spear.

“Don’t worry yerself, lily-livered landlubber! We’re just passing through, seeking for a place to rest for a while” _____ said as the crew laughed at the nickname. One of the crew guys, Mackra, yelled from his spot “That’s right, we're not going to fight ye, woman!”

“How can we trust you?” She answered back. “Hahaha, dead men tell no tales, lady! I’m not longa an overlord!”

Alastor watched from the shadows, initially taken aback when encountering _____, the pirate ex-overlord along with their spirited crew. He approached _____, a sly grin on his face, but maintained his aloof and mysterious demeanor.

"Ah, the captain of the Sapphire graces us with their presence," Alastor said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "What brings you to the Hazbin Hotel, I wonder? Seeking redemption, or just passing through?"

______ smiled, shaking their head. "No redemption for me, I'm afraid. Just a brief respite from the skies. Besides, I hear your hotel is quite the... lively place."

Alastor chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Indeed, it is. Well, enjoy your stay, dear. And should you ever tire of the skies, you're always welcome here."

As _____ settled into the Hazbin Hotel alongside their crew, they couldn't help but feel grateful for the adventures of their past and the enduring camaraderie of their spectral companions. And though the skies still called to them, for now, they were content to rest and revel in the company of their new comrades.

Some hcs:

Alastor may make a few sly comments or observations in his characteristic style, but he doesn't fully engage with pirate slang. “Avast ye!”, “Landlubber”, “Hornswaggle”, that sorta thing.

Despite being an ex-overlord, you have a rather peculiar and humorous crew. Alastor greatly enjoys the chaotic and extravagant interactions of the crew. He may offer a few dry remarks or sarcastic quips about the crew's behavior.

Alastor respects your leadership abilities but doesn't attempt to mimic them. Instead, he observes how you handle your crew and situations, perhaps offering subtle advice or commentary when asked.

You have sometimes invited Alastor to take rides on your ship, which he gladly accepts.

The adventures you and Alastor embark on are more subdued and focused, with Alastor using his skills and knowledge to help navigate challenges more seriously, albeit with a hint of dark humor.

While Alastor maintains a mere professional relationship with the reader, he may develop a begrudging respect for your abilities since he has more respect for the overlords or ex-overlords older than him and occasionally shows a more lighthearted side.

Overall, Alastor retains his mysterious and enigmatic nature while still allowing for moments of humor and camaraderie with you.

Masterpost

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

@22carolina08

#no romantic relationships #no romance #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #alastor headcanons #radio demon #the radio demon #alastor the radio demon #pirate demon x alastor #overlords #hazbin hotel x reader #request #pirates #pirate slang #pirate ship

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starlightcleric · 2 months ago

Text

From the Here to the Beyond

My @secret-st-waidwen-exchange 2024 gift for @xhinc!

Introduction

Before you lies a selection of my research into the divine. Specifically, I have collected stories from across Eora about our gods. Though they may go by different names in different cultures, there is no mistaking our eleven deities as anything other than themselves.

I bring to you today five stories, painstakingly collected. Some traditional, some oral legend, at least one dug out of the bottom of a truck that was buried in a bog for who knows how long.

If I may ruminate upon my own collection, the unifying theme is that of inevitability. Time and again, mortals try to trick, bargain, or otherwise outwit the divine in their area of expertise and come up short. Is the take away, then, the fickleness of man, or of the immutability of the gods? Yet, if I may lean slightly heretical, will not even the unmoving mountain be changed over time by the pecking of short lived, migratory birds?

In the end, we can only understand the divine through the lens of our mortal lifespan, and my hope is that these stories shall prove, if not enlightening for some, at least entertaining.

- Heather Bramble, Priest of Wael

Berath - Old Vailia

Long ago, across the sea in the Grand Empire of Vailia, lived a wealthy merchant. History–or Myth–remembers him by many names, but we shall call him Adelmo.

Adelmo was a successful man. His trade deals were good, his wife faithful, and his children plentiful. He built himself a grand villa on a cliff overlooking the sea, so he could watch his trading ships sail in and out of the harbor.

He was a fair man, but a miserly man. As the years went by, his trade empire grew, and so did his pockets.

“Adelmo,” his friends said, “what is it all for? You cannot take your riches with you when you go.”

“I will not go,” he replied. “Everyone has a price, even Cirono.”

“You are a fool, Adelmo,” they said. “You cannot cheat Death.”

“I will not cheat the Usher,” said Adelmo, “I will strike a bargain. I will see my grandchildren’s grandchildren grow up to be happy.”

His friends shook their heads, but it was no use. Adelmo continued to amass his wealth. But suoles cannot stop the march of time. His face wrinkled, his hair turned grey, and he lived to see his grandchildren grow up to be happy. As he tottered, his back bent over, with his cane, he grumbled, “I shall have to have a word with Cirono.”

“You are a fool, Adelmo,” his friends said. “You cannot bargain with Death.”

“Everyone has a price,” is all he would say as they wagged their fingers.

But one year, in his advanced age, as he had lived to see his grandchildren’s children grow up to be happy, Adelmo caught a fever.

As he lay in his bed, after three days and three nights he had a visitor.

The aged, delirious man squinted up at the woman in black armor. “I am sick, I cannot conduct business right now, talk to my son.”

The woman stared impassively down at him. “My business is with you,” she said in a voice that echoed like a grave.

Adelmo started to become afraid. “I will give you anything you want,” he said, “just go away and let me be.”

“What do you think you have that I would want?” asked the Pallid Knight.

“I have money,” said Adelmo, “a vast ocean of golden obles, I will give you however many you desire.”

“I have no need of money,” said the Pallid Knight, taking a step forward.

Adelmo started to sweat. “I have mountains of trade goods: furs, silks, velvets.”

“I have no need of these goods,” said the Pallid Knight, taking another step forward.”

Adelmo backed himself into a corner. “Now, wait just a minute! I have vast fleets of ships that travel all over Eora! Surely I have something you want!”

“You do, Adelmo,” said the Pallid Knight, taking another step forward, but this time Adelmo, using the little strength he had left, flung himself out of bed towards the door.

He ran through the villa in his nightclothes, startling servants as he bolted outside. Adelmo stood on the cliff edge, gasping for breath. If he could not bargain with Death, he would outrun it.

“There is only one thing I want, Adelmo,” came the Pallid Knight’s voice over his shoulder.

Startled, he tripped, falling over the edge of the cliff. The wind rushed past him as he hurtled down into the arms of the Usher.

From above, the Pallid Knight’s voice still echoed, “Your soul.”

Ondra - The Deadfire

Sing to me, daughters of lament, and remember the stories of those who have forgotten. Those that only the Lady of Memories remembers.

Once upon a time, among the islands not so far from here, lived a couple named Kailani and Tama. Everyone agreed they were made for each other, perfect complements. They never argued, and remained fast friends as well as lovers. Their blissful happiness should have lasted forever.

However, not all kith can remain so happy. The Kahanga went to war against the Wahaki, and Tama was called away to man the war canoes. Kailani prayed to Ngati each night to keep him safe upon her back. But the whims of Ngati are knowable only to herself, and Tama was lost at sea.

When Kailani heard the news, she was inconsolable. Distraught, she threw herself at the base of Ngati’s shrine. “Oh great Lady of Lament, I know not why you cause me such suffering, but I ask for relief. If I cannot have my husband back, then take all of him from me. Remove him from my memory so I know not what I miss.”

And Ngati smiled upon her, and Kailani forgot her life with Tama. Eventually the ragged wounds in her mind healed, and she found love again.

But that which is lost can occasionally be found again, and such is the case with Tama. For while he had been lost at sea, he had not died, and after many long years he finally made his way home to Kailani.

His hair grew long and scraggly, his eyes bloodshot as he dropped to his knees in front of their home. “My love!” he cried. “I am returned!”

Kailani peered out the door. “Who’s there? What’s your purpose?”

“Kailani, it’s me! Tama!” He went to hug her knees but was beaten back with a broom.

“I know no one with such a name. Now begone, or I will call my husband on you.”

And Tama knew she did not love him anymore. For all of Ngati’s whims he had suffered to return, it had been for naught. Even if Kailani’s memory was restored, it would only bring sorrow into her current life.

So Tama, heart heavy after so much hope had been lost, cast himself into Ngati’s embrace, so that she could fully take all that was left of him.

Kailani lived happily, never dwelling upon the day with the strange man, and if there was to be any happiness for Kailani and Tama it would not happen until the next turn of the Wheel.

Rymrgand - The White that Wends

My husband’s mother told this to me, so I know it to be true. The Beast of Winter had walked the wilds ten times ten, when to the Glamfellan was born a young girl called Hekla. On the day of her birth, the moon blocked out the sun and the ground trembled.

“This girl is destined for terrible things,” said the clan leader. “For she has the attention of mighty Rymrgand.”

“This girl is destined for great things,” said the wise-woman. “For she has the attention of mighty Rymrgand.”

“She is a child,” said her mother. “And I will hear no talk of destinies.”

So Hekla lived in the clan with no knowledge of her fate to come. Would her fate have been any different if she had known? She grew up into a comely maiden, her beauty famed. She had many admirers, and if this made her a little flighty, well, who can say? But on the eve of her sixtieth winter, she had a vision. The land went dark, and above all towered the Great Aurochs.

Troubled, she went to the clan wise-woman. “What could such a thing mean?”

The old woman smiled. “The Beast of Winter has come to claim you, you are to be his destined bride.”

But Hekla was young and full of life, and had no desire for a groom of endings. “I will run away North, farther than he can reach.”

“He will find you,” said the wise-woman.

“I will turn into a bird, and take to the sky,” said Hekla.

“He will find you,” said the wise-woman.

“I will end my life before I let him take me,” said Hekla.

“Then he will surely find you,” said the wise-woman.

Hekla returned to her home in tears, and began to make plans. She would not sit quietly and wait for the Ending of Endings. She packed up her things, and journeyed to the end of the ice, where she caught a ship.

But as she attempted to travel away from the lands of her birth, the ship was caught in a sleet storm. For ten days and ten nights it rocked, with no ending.

“It is the strange woman,” the sailors muttered. “Throw her overboard.”

They bound her delicate wrists, but as they had her on the plank, she could see the depths of the endless eyes of Rymrgand in the flows of ice. Desperate, she turned herself into a bird and took aloft, fighting against the wind.

Hekla was caught in the wind and buffeted about, pelted with ice and snow. Many spans she traveled, but when she at last found land again it was the White that Wends. The breath of Rymrgand shook her wings. Exhausted, she had to land.

But her landing point was far from any clan, any civilization, and so she sat by herself in her dug out shelter of snow, freezing. She had no food, or water, and very poor shelter to protect her from the Endless Winter. So she sat, her eyelashes freezing, waiting for the end.

She did not move as the Great Aurochs approached, for she had no strength left. “I cannot run from you,” she said to him, “I tried, but you always found me in the end.”

He said no words, simply touched his nose to hers, and she was gone.

That is how my husband’s mother’s father found her, perfectly frozen in the snow with crystal tears in her eyes.

Wael - Eir Glanfath

Long ago, before the men came on ships from the West, there lived in the forests of Eir Glanfath an orlan named Tesni. Tesni was lazy, but clever. Whatever she could avoid doing herself, and instead trick someone else to do for her, she did.

Orlans in those days were known for their long, bushy tails, and Tesni was very proud of hers. At the turning of the seasons, when the rest of her tribe was preparing for the long winter to come, Tesni sat combing her beautiful tail.

Wael was taking a walk through creation when they chanced to spy her. “Oh ho!” they thought. “While all other kith are busying themselves, this one sits idle in vanity. Perhaps I can play a joke.” Wael turned themself into a fox, with a glorious bushy tail to rival Tesni’s, and sidled up to her.

“Miss orlan,” Wael the fox said, “I could not help but notice your beautiful tail, which almost rivals my own.”

Tesni looked at the fox, and had to admit it was possibly true, the fox might have a more wonderful tail than she. Still, she scoffed, “Your tail may be more vibrant, but mine is assuredly softer.”

Wael the fox snorted. “I’ll have you know my tail is so soft, it could be used to wrap a slumbering babe.”

Tesni would not be outdone. “My tail is so soft and fine, that if you were to weave it into a fabric, it could be pulled through a ring with no resistance.”

The fox grinned viciously. “I will take that bet. And the loser must proclaim to all their inferiority, and the virtues of the winner.”

Now Tesni started to become somewhat worried, as she had just been boasting and had not expected to actually have to test her statements. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly take a bet on something so lowly.”

“Are you afraid?” asked the fox.

“Not at all,” lied Tesni, “except that there really are no stakes. How can I just neglect my duties getting ready for winter for something so petty?”

Wael looked at where she sat, with nothing but a comb for her tail, and grinned viciously. “Then let’s raise the stakes. The loser loses that which they prize most.”

“That’s vague,” said Tesni.

“That’s what makes it fun,” said Wael.

Tesni did not like this deal, but was also proud enough that she couldn’t believe she could lose to a fox. “Alright, I'll take your bet.”

“Excellent,” grinned the fox. “Let us return with our tail fabrics tomorrow morning to see who can pass theirs through the middle of a ring.”

“Fine,” sniffed Tesni. But as the fox walked away, she began to worry. She was not an accomplished weaver, and everyone was busy with real work. She tried to get Alda, the village weaver, to help her, but she was shrugged off for the importance of making blankets. She next tried to get help from the spider queen, but the spiders too were busy preparing for winter.

So Tesni sat on her stump and thought until she had an idea. She sat up a tiny frame made of sticks, and took six hairs from her tail. With three on the warp and three for the weft, she wove a teeny-tiny “fabric” from her tail. For neither she nor the fox had specified how large the fabric had to be.

So Tesni and Wael-as-fox returned to the clearing the next morning. The fox had with them a beautifully woven, deep russet fabric that shimmered in the light. Tesni, producing a ring from her finger, was able to easily pull the fox’s fabric through. However, when she reached for her own, the fox stopped her.

“If you measured my fabric with your ring, it is only fair that I measure your fabric with my ring.”

Tesni had to concede this was fair.

“Now here is a gift from my friend the bumblebee,” said the fox, producing a miniscule ring.

Tesni produced her miniscule fabric.

Wael laughed. However, they were able to pull the fabric through the ring, but not without resistance. “It seems I am the winner,” they said.

“But, but, you cheated!” protested Tesni.

“Only after you cheated the spirit of the challenge first,” said Wael. They turned into a large aumaua and grabbed Tesni by the tail. “Now I shall take that which you value most, as you have proven that orlans do not deserve their tails.”

Tesni tried to protest, but the god took her tail, leaving her as if she had never had one in the first place.

“In fact I believe I shall take them from all your kin,” said the god, and it was so. “But do not worry, Tesni. You are cunning, and that cunning will serve you well, now that you have less to be vain over.”

And that is why orlans have no tails, and also why they are the favored of Wael.

Woedica - Aedyr

Not so long ago, across the sea in the Aedyr Empire, lived a man named Aedelstan. For many years he was a well respected judge, but the many long years of viewing the worst of kith hardened his heart. Where once in his heart burned the fires of justice, now only smouldered the embers of selfishness. While his reputation maintained him as an honorable man, he began to take bribes. Under his watch, as long as you had enough gold, murderers began to walk free while the innocent went to the noose.

People began to whisper, but no one dared speak out against him until the case of Wynnflaed. She was a young widow with a young child, who brought a case to court against her maid. Myldreth, the maid, had long been stealing silverware and other small valuables, but had finally been caught red handed. The case was straightforward, there were multiple witnesses, it should have been open and shut.

But Myldreth the maid came to Aedelstan and seduced him, with body and riches, and convinced him to judge the case in her favor. Aedelstan ruled that the young widow Wynnflaed was in the wrong, and to silence her, sent her to the gallows.

Wynnflaed did not go silently to her death, instead screaming out before all present, “Oath breaker! The Oathbinder shall punish you! Never sleep tightly, for this perversion of justice the Strangler shall end you!” Then her life was cut short.

Aedelstan paid her no heed. She was not the first to curse him, nor did he expect she would be the last.

As evening fell, he walked to his home, down his usual path. He did not notice, but the usually bustling streets were empty. The sound of kith was replaced by the sound of the wind. But Aedelstan ignored these portents, for his pockets were full.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement, but dismissed it. There were plenty of stray animals on the streets. He continued on his way, down a street where the streetlights had gone out. Behind him, he heard the slap, slap, slap of bare feet on cobblestone. He did not turn around. There were plenty of orphan children who played in the streets, and they were no problem of his. He did not turn when someone reached out for his shoulder. There were plenty of beggars in the city, and he paid them no mind.

Only when the crooked fingers began to close around his throat did he turn around. An old woman in tattered fineary, her face badly burnt, squeezed his hands around his throat. Aedelstan tried to cry out, but his windpipe was crushed, and the streets were empty.

The last thing he saw was those piercing dark eyes, as he learned too late that the Burned Queen sees all transgressions, and does not forgive.

#pillars of eternity #pillars of eternity fanfic #secret st waidwen #fanfic #my writing

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sapphire-writes · 2 years ago

Text

Winter Rose

pairing: Aemond x Stark!Reader

summary: Raised among wolves, and raised among dragons; throughout time Targaryens and Starks seem to find their way to each other.

warnings: mentions of death

word count: 2.3k

note: this is mostly fluff! enjoy my loves 💙

You had been a small child when your father died; when your elder brother Cregan was named Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North. Though he was just a boy of three and ten at the time. You remembered the funeral of your father, the way Cregan held your small hand in his own.

“You need to be brave, sister,” Cregan had whispered in your ear.

Your eyes were wide as saucers, gazing upon the still body of your father. You expected his chest to rise and fall, as though he were simply in a deep sleep. He remained motionless. You had only seen one other corpse in your life, that of your mother.

The image of her flashes in your mind. Beautiful, wild, and gone. Petals in the wind. Your father would lay beside her for eternity in the crypts of Winterfell. The thought comforted you, your parents in the earth below you, and your brother. Simply sleeping beneath the mighty fortress of Winterfell.

Cregan squeezes your hand.

Your uncle, Bennard Stark, was to rule as regent until Cregan came of age. A feat that does not bode well when Cregan reaches adulthood. But Bennard succeeds nonetheless.

You grow alongside your brother, both of you fierce, both of you spitting images of the First Men. Both are haunted by the ghosts of wolves before you. You and Cregan are one and the same until you come into your maidenhood.

That is when things seem to change between you, suddenly you are thrust into the role of a soon-to-be mother, though still unwed. Lords vie for your hand, present themselves to your brother for the chance to bed, and breed you like a prize mare. You are having none of that.

“Lord Umber is a fine choice!” Cregan yells, running after you as you flee from the great hall.

“You heathen!” you snap at your brother.

You stop, causing Cregan to nearly run into you, glaring at your brother.

“You’d ship me off to Last Hearth, is that it?” you accuse, “who’d do your booking then hmm?”

Cregan flushes with embarrassment.

“I’d make do without you,” he says.

“You’re shit at bookkeeping,” you accuse.

“You’re a lady, it’s your duty-”

“My duty!” you scoff, “How very convenient to you!”

Cregan frowns, visibly frustrated by your angry disposition.

“You like Lord Umber.”

You look at him incredulously.

“He is my friend, Cregan, it does not mean I wish to bed him.”

“Sister, you must listen!”

But you are off already, across the yard, angry tears wet on your face. They do not last long as you hastily wipe them, crystalized in the cold air they fly like diamonds to the gravel below.

The news comes to Winterfell when House Stark is invited to the capital to represent the North at King Viserys nameday. Evidently, all the great houses are to feast in the capital, with tourneys and celebrations to last for several days.

“Allow me to represent our house, and when I return I shall not fuss about marrying Lord Umber,” you tell him, bile rising in your throat as you panic at the thought.

Cregan senses your hesitation. Brothers are like that, sensing your lies.

“You shall?” he asks.

You roll your eyes.

“I shall.”

The journey to King’s Landing is long and tiresome, taking the better part of a month. Layers of clothing are shed the closer you get to the capital, as the air around you warms, snow melts and flowers bloom. It is as though you are blooming as well, pushing through the soil and towards the sun.

You are presented at court, as unwed ladies often are, to the king and the royal family. Though King Viserys is not in attendance, represented by the Hand instead.

The first of the festivities you attend is a tourney.

“You do not wish to participate, my prince?” you ask, out of courtesy.

“I do not care for tourneys, my lady,” the one-eyed prince tells you, “I believe them to be a foolish waste of time.”

You smile slightly at his honesty.

“They are said to prepare men for the battlefield,” you tell him, “though I do not know whose enemy would wait for his opponent to pick up his sword.”

Aemond glances at you as you take a sip from your cup. He glances at the tourney field, understanding your jest as he observes two knights waiting to fight. A flicker of a smile appears on his chiseled face.

“Most knights simply wish for the attention of those of court,” Aemonn tells you, “Fame and glory; to be a page in a song.”

“To have the favor of a pretty girl,” you agree.

Aemond looks at you once more. A pretty girl. You meet his eye, smiling. Aemond looks away quickly, clearing his throat.

“Have any of these knights won your favor, my lady?” Aemond asks.

You shake your head.

“No, I am afraid not,” you tell him, “I prefer a real warrior to a pretender.”

Aemond watches as you excuse yourself and walk away, a curious expression on his face.

The feast later that evening is boisterous and full of merriment and delight. It makes you miss home, an ache appears in your chest that you cannot shake. No matter how many lords you dance with, how many ladies you chat with. Though you wished for an escape, you so miss the walls of Winterfell. Cregan’s hand in yours. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps the North is where you belong. Winterfell, Last Hearth. Did it matter which castle, truly?

“My lady,” the voice of Prince Aemond pulls you gently from your thoughts.

He is kind, you can tell. Though his exterior is cold, reptilian almost. Like the snakes that slither in the greenhouses of Winterfell, searching for warmth and life in the frozen ground. Simply trying to survive. Aemond bows to you, offering his hand, violet eye scanning your face.

You want to ask him about it. But you bite his tongue. You know all too well how people enjoy poking the bruises of others, teasing out the memories of pain a person holds inside them simply for their own selfish curiosity. You shall not be like them.

You take his hand and allow him to lead you to the dance floor. You cling to the young prince for the rest of the evening, finding calm in his cool presence. It is nice, standing beside him feeling as though there is no silence you need to fill. Feeling as though he simply enjoys that you are there.

When you return to your chambers, a blue winter rose rests its petals on your pillow. You pick up the flower, inspecting it carefully between your fingers, the cerulean petals catching the moonlight. A reminder of home.

The remainder of your visit to the capital is spent on Prince Aemond’s arm. In the library, on walks through the gardens. He even entertains your passion for hawking, joining you as you travel into the Kingswood. It is nice to have a friend among so many dragons. Someone to talk to, someone who enjoys your company.

As the days pass, you have collected a bouquet of winter roses; they sit beside your bed in a glass vase, the first flower only just beginning to lose its petals. They scatter across your chambers like freshly fallen snow.

A raven arrives, confirming your brother’s visit to the capital. Cregan is often impatient and comes to the conclusion that he must join his sweet sister in the capital, bringing Lord Umber with him. A determined pup, your elder brother can be.

Aemond senses a shift within you as you wait in anticipation, though he cannot quite figure out what the cause is. When your brother arrives, you avoid his presentation at court entirely. Though Cregan is relentless, and spots you as you attempt to escape to the gardens. In your haste, you nearly run into Aemond. You clasp his arm.

“Quickly,” you say nervously, shifting on your feet, “I must go, quickly.”

“It is your brother,” Aemond says, looking over your shoulder, “why do you wish to run from him? Have you not missed him this time apart?”

Aemond knows you have been missing him, missing home. It is why he took such care with the flowers left in your chambers. He had enlisted Helaena for help; winter roses are fickle plants that require delicate care outside of the North.

“Of course I have,” you tell him, trying but failing to hide behind his tall frame.

Aemond smiles slightly as you grab his arm. Cregan has spotted you, a determined grin on his face. Lord Umber has joined him on his journey to King’s Landing. He has brought the wedding to you. There’s nowhere to run anymore.

“Then why do you hide little wolf?” Aemond asks, chuckling.

“He wishes to marry me off,” you tell the prince, “ship me off to Last Hearth.”

Aemond’s face falls slightly, he glances over his shoulder as your brother comes closer with each passing second. Aemond turns back to you, eye scanning the distressed expression on your face.

You bring your gaze back to the prince, an idea coming to you.

“My prince,” you say suddenly, “do you trust me?”

Aemond frowns, not fully understanding what you are asking.

“Of course my lady-”

“Then kiss me.”

Aemond’s jaw slacks as he looks into your eyes.

“Quickly, please,” you beg, “Aemond.”

His eye flickers from your lips to your eyes.

“Trust me,” you say softly.

The one-eyed dragon prince needs no more convincing. He bows his head to your height, and you stand on the tips of your toes, hand caressing the back of his neck bringing his lips to yours. Aemond is gentle with the kiss, as though he has never kissed someone before. He nearly pulls away after the first peck, but you secure your hand on his neck, opening your mouth against his, deepening the kiss.

Something comes alive in Aemond as you slip your tongue into his mouth. Fire curls in his belly, desire lodges at the base of his spine, and his cock strains against his trousers as your nails scrape his scalp.

You pull away when the sound of someone clearing their throat pulls you from the prince’s trance. Lips reddened by the hasty kisses, Aemond’s violet eye is wide as it meets yours.

“Sister,” Cregan says awkwardly, “It is good-”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Stark,” Aemond interrupts, nodding to the young wolf.

“Your grace,” Cregan says, bowing slightly.

“Delightful to be surrounded by kin,” Aemond tells him.

“Kin? I do not understand,” Cregan tells him.

“My betrothed has missed her brother for too long now,” Aemond clarifies, much to Cregan’s and your surprise.

“Betrothed?” Cregan asks, looking between you two.

“Yes,” you tell him, sliding next to Aemond, pressing your body against him, “Prince Aemond has asked for my hand. And I have accepted.”

Cregan’s eyes narrow, ever so slightly.

“Without informing me?” he asks.

“We wished to surprise you,” Aemond says softly, “your sister was so excited by your arrival, she wanted to tell you in person.”

You nod eagerly as Aemond speaks, and Cregan raises an eyebrow at you in question. You smile widely, showing too many teeth. A she-wolf, daring him to question you aloud.

“Tis true, brother,” you tell him, “Who am I to deny a dragon prince?”

“I suppose if you did not want to, you would not,” Cregan says, sighing, “A stubborn woman, my sister is.”

“One of the many reasons she is so charming,” Aemond agrees, his words causing your heart to flutter inside your chest.

Warmth pools in your belly as the prince smiles down at you. Cregan raises an eyebrow, nodding in approval.

“I dare ask, what else has entrapped your attention, my prince?” Cregan asks, “It is my understanding the Queen wished for you to take a wife for some time now, to no avail.”

Aemond nods.

“Your sister is a rare find, much like a winter rose south of the Wall,” Aemond begins.

Your heart leaps in your throat. Though you had expected it, now it is confirmed. It was he who left you the flowers. He who took such care with them.

“However, did you do it?” you ask, eyes wide.

Aemond smiles at you knowingly.

“Precious flowers take time to bloom, they require special care,” he tells you, “but they are well worth it.”

You flush at his words, believing he means more than just the flowers.

“A marriage must be treated with such care as well,” you agree, lacing your fingers through his.

Aemond’s hand is rough from training with the sword, but your hand fits perfectly in his. The warmth of his palm settles the flurry of nerves in your stomach.

“Are you prepared to give this union such care?” Cregan asks, his voice hardening, “This is my sister you are marrying, and she deserves nothing but the best.”

Aemond smiles, looking down at your intertwined hands. His thumb rubs against the back of your palm.

“I would gift her the world if I could,” he admits, “I promise you, I shall spend the rest of my days devoted to making her happy.”

Your eyes well with tears and your heart swells with pride at his words. You tug him closer to you, taking his other hand in yours.

“You must excuse us brother,” you tell Cregan, “though I have missed you, I require a moment with my betrothed.”

You lead Aemond away from Cregan, away from the curious eyes of court, until you are in a secluded area of the castle.

“Where are we going?” Aemond asks, a smile playing on his lips.

You tug him closer once more until you are pressed up against him.

“I wish to kiss my betrothed unwatched,” you giggle, bringing his mouth to yours once more.

This time, you do not stop.

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