#salt spray and gulls

[pretzel-box]

Summary: You're a mortal fisher that catches the attention of an ancient sea god without knowing it.

Tags: Some 'fluff', mortal reader, sea god sebastian

Words: 2,6k

There was a small village that was cradled on the edge of an unknown island like a forgotten secret among humans, made out of solid stone, earth and sand while being shaped by the restless waves of the deep ocean. Narrow cobbled streets would wound between the homes of sun-bleached woods and weathered bricks while fine smoke curled up from the going chimneys, mingling with the salty sea air. Many signs of a life gathered around this place despite its unknown status.

The endless ocean surrounded the village on all sides, an eternal sentinel, its deep blue waves gently lapping at the shoreline as if it were whispering ancient lullabies. The sun hung low in the sky, casting the world in hues of gold and lavender, where the horizon blurred into a seamless meeting of sea and sky. The sound of gulls crying in the distance echoed through the air, carried by the wind that rustled through the tall grasses and wildflowers growing at the island’s edge.

Farther out, where the cliffs rose jagged and defiant against the endless ocean, the waves crashed with a furious roar, sending white spray high into the air. Yet here, within the village, the sea was gentle—a mirror reflecting the sky’s fading light.

Small fishing boats bobbed in the harbor, tethered to wooden posts worn smooth by years of use. Their painted hulls were chipped and faded, yet they held a quiet dignity, as if they had borne witness to centuries of tides, storms, and the steady rhythm of life. Nets hung drying on the docks, draped like lace over the old wood, waiting for the morning light to send the fishermen back to the open sea.

The wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of salt and damp earth. A few villagers, their faces lined with age and the sea’s touch, gathered in quiet conversation near the docks, their voices low, as if unwilling to disturb the peace. Lanterns flickered to life in the twilight, casting a soft, golden glow over the village, like stars scattered across the earth.

As the day gave way to dusk, the village seemed to breathe, a living thing, connected to the ocean and sky in a way that was timeless. The sea, the cliffs, the forest—they were all one with the village, woven into its very being. And as the stars began to emerge, one by one, above the endless horizon, the island seemed to settle into itself, cradled by the ocean’s eternal embrace, waiting for whatever secrets the tides might bring.

"Listen, my child. Our story began long ago, when the gods still walked the earth and the stars were young."

Once upon a time…

The land was molded by the hands of glorious deities, their fingers painting the skies and carving the rivers. They placed the sun on the horizon and the plains upon the earth. The world flourished, but with its growth came envy, as some gods overshadowed others. To gain power, they created life—humans, born from their desire for control.

At first, humans worshiped their creators with devotion, pledging loyalty to one deity, then betraying the next. They defiled the divine in their thirst for more, striking down gods one by one. Until, at last, only humans remained, reigning over the world they had once been given. The gods, once mighty, were destroyed by the very hands that they had shaped.

The lesson was clear for the mortals: gods could not be trusted.

You grew up in the small village, cradled by the sea, raised between the wind and the waves as if you were a child of nature itself. The first thing you learned was your origin, that you were descended from the gods—gods who were flawed and fallible. Your grandparents told you stories of your ancestors, how they fought with their lives for the right to live on this island, battling forces far beyond their comprehension.

Ages ago, a fierce god named Solace ruled over these waters. His rage, directed at both his siblings and their creations, churned the oceans into relentless fury. Your ancestors tried to cross the waters for months, many drowned and many got sacrificed to soothe the will of the deity that ruled in the waters. His anger blinded Solace, his envy and his feelings were like a sharp sword, pointed at himself. Your ancestors tricked him, like they did with so many other deities before. They sealed him into the ocean, robbing him of his necklace that he wore. And after they triumphed over him, the ocean came to rest. All thanks to the necklace that secretly holds Solace his powers.

A necklace that rested around your neck, a family piece that was given down as the generations passed. It was a sea shell pendant, reflecting in beautiful blue-silver hues as if the sea itself was placed upon you. And you wore it with pride.

Your mother gave it to you the day you joined the family tradition, stepping into the life of a fisher. It was a simple gift, passed down through generations, as much a symbol of your heritage as the sea itself. You learned to live in harmony with the waves, to respect the life beneath the surface, and to take only what was needed. Your family had always been blessed by the ocean, and so would you. It was honest work—give and take—where you not only harvested from the sea but also protected it, keeping it clean and honoring its depths.

"Keep calm," you murmured to yourself, the words a quiet mantra as you sat in your small boat. The sun was warm on your back as you focused on tying the loose strings of your net, the gentle rocking of the boat a familiar comfort.

Your mother had taught you to knit the nets in the old traditional way, every knot a connection to your ancestors. Your father, in turn, had shown you the art of fishing—how to hunt with respect, how to make the death of the fish swift and painless, and how to use every part of it in reverence for the life taken. A true fisher never wastes, for the sea gives generously but only to those who understand its balance.

The rhythm of your hands, the whisper of the wind, and the quiet lap of the waves against the boat—they all wove together like a song. You were part of something much larger than yourself, connected to the ancient currents of the sea, just as your family had always been.

You lifted your finished net, admiring the neat knots with a smile of quiet pride. A rush of happiness filled your chest as you hugged the net, feeling accomplished. You had honored the legacy of your ancestors, crafting the tool with care, just as they had done for generations. It was a simple but profound joy, knowing that you were connected to something so old and enduring.

With a steady breath, you prepared to cast the net into the water, hoping for a good catch to feed your family tonight. The gentle hum of the waves blended with your thoughts, and as the net unfurled, you missed the soft snap of a string breaking. But the sudden blue shimmer at the corner of your eye did not go unnoticed.

Your heart dropped as you realized it was your necklace—the one your mother had given you. Somehow, it had tangled itself in the net, and as you began to fish, it slipped from your neck effortlessly, tumbling into the water before you could react. You watched in stunned silence as the delicate jewelry disappeared beneath the surface, swallowed by the depths in an instant.

The sea, ever so calm just moments ago, now seemed impossibly vast and unyielding. That necklace was more than just a piece of jewelry; it was a part of you, a part of your family. And now, it was gone.

It sank slowly, the glimmering stone catching the last rays of sunlight as it shimmered just beneath the surface, suspended in the water like a delicate promise about to be broken. You watched, helpless, as it drifted deeper, the blue hue of the ocean swallowing it whole. Your heart pounded in your chest, a heavy sense of dread filling you as the necklace—your link to your family, your ancestors—vanished silently into the dark water below.

Your hands slackened, the net forgotten, slipping from your grasp into the boat. Without a second thought, instinct took over. Before you even realized what you were doing, you dove headfirst into the water, chasing the fading glint of silver.

The coldness of the ocean hit you like a shock, but you didn’t care. You kicked your legs, your arms pushing against the water, desperately reaching for the necklace as it continued its slow descent. The light above you grew dimmer as you sank deeper, the world around you a muffled echo of the surface. You could barely see now, the shimmering silver reduced to a distant gleam.

The water pressed in on you, chilling your skin and constricting your lungs. Panic began to claw at the edges of your mind, but you couldn’t stop—wouldn’t stop. It was more than just an heirloom; it was the weight of your ancestors’ blessings, the legacy of your family, and it was slipping further and further away.

Your lungs began to burn, the pressure of the deep water pressing against your chest, but still, you reached out, fingers stretching into the darkness. The necklace was now just a faint blur, fading into the abyss. Desperation surged through you as your arms flailed in the icy depths.

The darkness was overwhelming, the cold water pressing in on all sides as you sank deeper, the faint shimmer of your necklace vanishing into the abyss. Your chest burned, lungs screaming for air, but your limbs were too heavy, too numb. The weight of the ocean dragged you down, and for a moment, you felt yourself surrendering to the pull, the necklace gone.

But then, something strange happened. A warmth surrounded you, gentle and reassuring, cutting through the icy water. A firm hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you upwards with a strength that felt both human and not. Yet, the darkness caught you and you passed out.

The first thing you felt was a pair of warm lips on yours, innocent, shy and yet somewhat dedicated. A wet hand was placed close to your throat. Then your head shot up as reality caught up to you, the water in your lungs creeping up your throat as you coughed it all out.

Coughing, disoriented, you blinked away the saltwater from your eyes, the world around you blurred. As your vision cleared, you found yourself being held by a man—no, something far more. His eyes, a deep and endless blue, locked onto yours. His presence was as overwhelming as the ocean itself, powerful and ancient, yet there was a softness in the way he held you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The stranger's arm was still wrapped around you, steadying you against the gentle rocking of the waves. His dark hair flowed around him, as though it were a part of the sea, and his skin, shimmering faintly in the light, seemed to glow with a quiet radiance. He wasn’t human, no, but he felt familiar.

“Breathe,” he whispered, his voice like the soft murmur of the tide, calming and steady.

You did, drawing in deep, shaky breaths, your heart still racing from the shock. “Who… who are you?” you stammered, your voice weak, barely above a whisper.

He gazed at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable but his eyes filled with something tender, something that made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear. "Sebastian," he finally said, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "I live within these waters."

You nodded slowly, still dazed, as you tried to comprehend what had just happened. The cold of the water, the rush of drowning, and now… this.

Then, the realization hit you like a wave crashing over your head. “My necklace,” you breathed, panic swelling inside you again. You turned to look down into the water, but there was no shimmer, no sign of the silverish blue. “It’s gone… my necklace… I lost it.”

Sebastian’s eyes followed yours, and for a moment, a flicker of something like regret passed over his face. “The sea does not return everything,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a kind of sorrow that seemed to echo from somewhere deep within him. "Not all that it takes can be given back."

Your heart sank, the weight of his words settling heavily inside you. The necklace—your family's necklace—was gone, lost forever to the depths. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you fought them back, not wanting to break down in front of this strange, beautiful man who had saved your life.

Sebastian’s gaze softened as he watched you, and before you could react, his hand reached up, brushing gently against your cheek, his touch feather-light. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and you could hear the sincerity in his voice, the sadness that lingered in his words. “I wish I could have saved it for you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, though the ache in your chest was still raw. “It was my family…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It was important.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, simply letting his fingers linger against your skin, his presence steady, grounding. “Your family's memory doesn’t live in that necklace,” he said softly, his eyes searching for yours. “It lives in you. In everything you carry with you. That cannot be lost, not to the sea or anything else.”

His words, gentle and warm, wrapped around your heart like a soothing balm. You nodded again, still feeling the loss, but somehow, in his presence, the grief didn’t feel quite so unbearable.

For a moment, you simply floated there together, the waves lapping gently against your bodies, the sun casting a warm, golden light over the surface of the water. Sebastian’s hand stayed close to yours, his touch lingering, as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to let you go.

“Why did you help me?” you asked after a long silence, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you wanted the answer.

Sebastian’s gaze flickered, his deep blue eyes searching yours. “Because,” he said softly, a hint of something more in his voice, something unspoken, “I couldn’t let you go.”

There was something in the way he looked at you, an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. You couldn’t understand it, the pull between you two, but it was undeniable. He had saved you—not just from drowning, but from something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name.

For now, you let the quiet peace of the ocean surround you, content in his presence, even as the necklace drifted farther into the depths, lost but somehow no longer the most important thing in your heart.

You finally took the time to admire his large form, he was as pretty as the mermaids from the childhood stories, as gentle looking as the ocean and his eyes, his eyes were like the ones of a god. You never saw someone like him before, but he mesmerized you.

He had placed you back into your boat, his hand lingered a bit longer on your cheek than anticipated and you could feel a mutual spark between you two.

[sweeterthanficstion]

— coast2coast (pt. two) || l.s.k

pairing: life guard!leon kennedy x surfer!fem!reader

tags: surfing au! set in malibu, 1998, i wrote this with re2 leon in mind but re4 leon works too, UNEDITED! fluff, fluff, fluff

summary: Summer is a fickle thing, sticky-sweet and fleeting, gone before you're ready. You've learnt to love it while it lasts. For you, every summer has been the same—surf, sand, salt-water tides and the hot Malibu breeze. But this summer brings a new sort of challenge, a spotlight your not so sure you're ready for, as well as a boy with golden hair, eyes as blue as the waves, and a way of making your heart rattle between your ribs like it’s desperate to break free.

word count: 2.8k

a/n: ngl yall this actually sucked the life out of me, i'm high on like 3 choccy milks and delirious and tired i have work tmrw i wanna sleep.... anyway thank u cressie for providing me with million ideas this ones to u cheers *raises choccy milk to u* --- also sorry i literally hate writing dialogue but this ended up being more dialogue than anything im so sorry in advance if anything sounds WEIRD </3

playlist⭑series masterlist⭑AO3 || part 1⭑part 2⭑part 3 (coming soon)

You have this recurring dream that feels like a distant memory. Washed in milky sunlight, somewhere in Santa Monica, you lost yourself to hot summer days and salt-water tides, sticky fruit juice running down your arms, and the sting of a sunburn peeling across your shoulders.

The year was 1986, August was young and so were you. You’d learn this year just how quickly it’d slip through your fingers.

Barefoot and sun-dazed, you’d escape to the beach each evening. There, you met a boy by the waves. Older, taller, with sun-bleached hair and sun-kissed cheeks. 

You remember a sunset that bled out over the water that evening, long and golden. His laugh echoed yours, and you smiled when he did. He must’ve been summer personified, you’d concluded. With his hair like sunshine and eyes like the ocean…

You never did learn his name.

You startle awake to the sound of your alarm clock blaring angrily atop your bedside table. Groaning, you slam a groggy hand down on it, killing the noise, and drag yourself out of bed in twenty minutes flat, your surfboard tucked under your arm.

You track the familiar path behind your old oceanfront home, the sandy trail winding its way down the bluff like a lazy ribbon, overgrown with beach grass and wildflowers that nod in the soft morning breeze. Thick sycamore trees stretch their sprawling branches overhead, casting the path in dappled shadows, leaving behind little islands of light that shimmer over the fine sand. It smells like salt and earth, and the faintest hint of blooming jasmine from somewhere you’ve never quite been able to pinpoint.

Ahead of you, at the base of the trail, your view opens up to the rocky cove that cradles your little slice of the coast. Tucked away from prying eyes, smooth stone outcrops rise like bones from the earth, their surfaces slick with sea spray. Between them, shallow rock pools glimmer in the early morning light, and if you look close enough, you’re sure you’ll find tiny crabs skittering to hide under the lichen-covered stone.

You leap from stone to stone, board tucked under your arm all the while. Your bare feet always know exactly where to land without slipping. 

The sandy shore calls to you in the familiar language of gulls overhead and the steady rush and retreat of waves against the rocks. That’s where Claire will be, you know—her board already waxed and her camera slung over her shoulder.

Claire’s love for the ocean has always been as steadfast as yours, but is her own secret language all the same. Where you see the waves as an escape to get lost in, she sees them as her muse. 

By the time she was twelve, her parents had bought her a little film camera, and she’d started seeing the world in snapshots and light leaks.  

Hopping down from the rock, with your board under one arm and your sandals dangling from your fingers, you make your way to the sand. 

You spot Claire easily, a blur of sun-kissed skin and red hair, crouched by the shoreline with her camera in hand.

She must hear you coming, or maybe it’s years of friendship that stirs the feeling in her chest and urges her to look up.

“Morning, sunshine,” she calls, grin as wide as the ocean behind her.

“Morning,” you echo, dropping your board on to the sand before you follow suit, knees bumping hers as you settle beside her. She hands you her wax wordlessly without a second thought, a quiet, easy rhythm of familiarity you’ve both fallen into over the years.

You think that’s why you love her, love this. Corral Beach is stagnant, always will be. Even the tides seem to move in a familiar pattern around here. After years of following your parents around the globe, constantly chasing something new, you think this is what you need.

“You’re slow today,” Claire hums after a while, bumping your shoulder with hers. “Something on your mind?”

You shrug your shoulders instead, unsure of how to put into words the strangeness in your chest after a lingering dream that feels more like deja vu. “Just savouring it. The water’s not going anywhere.”

“Good thing,” she quips, before leaning back on her hands. Her gaze fixes on the horizon for a moment, but Claire’s never been one for small talk, it’s not long before her eyes dart back to you. “So…”

Here it comes.

“Have you thought about that surf comp yet?” She asks, tilting her head at you in the way she does when she’s trying to be casual but failing miserably.

You groan in dramatics, dragging out the sound as your head falls back. “Claire.”

“What?” She feigns innocence. “It’s not like I’m saying you have to sign up right this second.”

“Not happening,” you sing-song, getting to your feet and taking your board with you. 

“Oh, c’mon! Don’t be like that,” she rolls her eyes, watching you make your way towards the water.

“Can’t hear you!” you shout dramatically, cupping your hand around your ear is if the waves are just too loud. 

She raises an eyebrow, her grin sharpening into something knowing. “Oh, you heard me.”

“Nope, not a word!” you call back with a shrug, and before she can press further, you break into a sprint, your feet kicking up sprays of sand as you rush toward the shoreline.

You can hear Claire laughing as you wade into the cool surf, the water rushing up eagerly to greet you. She doesn’t follow with her longboard in tow, and when you look over your shoulder, the rising sun warming your back, you see her still at the shore, camera held at the ready as she flashes you a thumbs up instead.

The ocean seems to move in whispers beneath you, gentle ripples that build into the promise of a wave. You see it first—a set forming, steady and clean, beckoning you like a siren's call you can’t deny. You paddle out towards it, letting the swell lift you effortlessly. The ocean is alive beneath you, humming its own rhythm, and you move with it. 

The wave stretches on, long and peeling, giving you time to cut back and forth across its glassy face. You dip low, almost touching the water with your hand, then push into a sharp turn, feeling the spray kiss your legs. 

As the wave softens, you coast to a gentle stop, stepping off your board into the shallow surf. The sand squishes under your toes, and it’s only then you see Claire waving her camera in triumph. 

“That’s the one!” She grins, as you wade back towards her, the waves still lapping at your ankles as if begging you to come back. 

Claire meets you halfway, tilting the camera to show you the screen: It’s the perfect shot of you mid-turn, your board slicing through the wave, sunshine filtering through and catching the spray just right, refracting in tiny rainbows like a million scattered diamonds. You have to admit, you do look killer. 

“Are you gonna upload that one?” you ask, brushing wet hair from your face. 

Claire looks at you like it’s a silly question. “Are you kidding? Look at this, it’s perfect. Surfline is gonna eat this up—and if they don’t, they’re insane.”

Her passion radiates off her in waves like the tide does. Claire’s been at this for months now, chasing every opportunity she can find to get her photos not just noticed, but seen. You’ve just about lost count of how many times she’s sent in shots to Surfline.

“Now c’mon,” she continues, “show me what else you’ve got.”

And you do. Over and over, the waves pulling you in, the ocean pulling you home. By the time the sun rises higher in the sky, Claire’s memory card is nearly full, and you’re sure you’ll be late to your shift at Bunny’s if you let yourself fall into the ocean’s allure for any longer. The cove has started to fill with other locals, the place a well kept secret between surfers wanting a quiet retreat.

Claire waits as you shake the last of the saltwater from your hair—or, well, try to—perched atop the sun-bleached remains of an old tree topped sideways. Her legs swing lazily, her tote bag by her feet.

Something must catch her eye, because suddenly she’s letting out a gasp.

“Holy shit.”

Her voice is nearly reverent. You pause, glancing over your shoulder just in time to see him. 

And yeah, Holy shit.

It’s then you see him again, and it feels like magic watching him cut through the wave he’s catching with the ease of someone who does really know what they’re doing.

Blue-eyed blondie from yesterday is out in the surf, carving through the water like he’s part of it, like he’s spent his whole life learning how to move with it instead of against it. He’s all ease, all instinct, cutting clean lines into the wave before it folds beneath him.

It’s hypnotic. Magic, almost.

“He’s good,” Claire murmurs.

“Yeah,” you breathe, unable to tear your gaze away from him. He is good. Too good for someone who claimed to be just okay.

And then, as if he sensing your gaze, he falters.

A hair-width miscalculation, a break in his rhythm, something or other. Then he’s toppling off his board and crashing into the whitewater with all the grace of a bird missing a branch.

There’s but a breath of silence before Claire cackles. “Poor guy.”

You bite down a smile, shaking your head.

“Do you know him?” Claire asks, jogging to catch up as you start walking back toward the trail, her longboard dragging behind her in the sand. “I’ve never seen him around, I wonder how he knows about the cove.”

“No,” you say too quickly before realising how it sounds, “yes? Sort of.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, as if catching onto something unspoken, and you wish all at once for the ground to swallow you up. “That’s not an answer.”

“I met him at the beach yesterday, he saved my board.”

“Oh,” she says, her tone lifting like something just clicked into place. Then, after a pause: “So…”

“So what?” You glance at her, sounding a little exasperated.

“So… what’s the deal? Did you talk to him? Does he live around here?”

You groan. “Claire, it’s nothing. I don’t know.”

“Mm-hmm,” Her grin spreads wider, brighter, knowing. “You’re antsy.”

“No I’m not!” you say firmly, picking up your pace like it’ll somehow leave this conversation behind.

“Sure,” she hums. “Whatever you say.”

The next time you see him is during the afternoon rush at Bunny’s. 

The late-afternoon heat hangs over Corral Beach, and the diner feels like it’s baking under the weight of too many bodies pressed into too small a space. The air conditioner rattles helplessly above the front counter, but it does little to cut through the syrupy warmth.

You’ve been working at Bunny’s long enough to know the rhythm of summer shifts like the back of your hand, the sound of the kitchen, the clatter of dishes, Claire humming along to the shitty little radio perched atop the front desk.

You’ve got a tray of iced teas balanced on one hand, weaving around chairs, tables, and sketchup sticky toddlers, when the bell over the door jingles.

“Welcome to Bunny’s!” Claire chirps from the register, her voice bright and automatic. 

And you don’t look up at first, mind too occupied on your tasks, but then—

“Uh, hi. I—oh, no, you first. Wait— oh, okay.”

That voice. It lilts over the chatter, low and sweet like something you’ve heard all your life.

You turn instinctively, and there he is—standing awkwardly in the entryway, looking like he’s just wandered off a postcard. Blondie, with his damp hair curling at the ends, a stripe of sand on his forearm, like he didn’t quite get it all off. He’s holding the door open for an older couple, sweet boyish grin across his face as they thank him.

He’s swapped out the lifeguard uniform for a thin cotton shirt, and a puka shell necklace.

You blink, fingers tightening around the tray. You wonder by what twist of fate you’ve managed to run into him again.

“Hey, table four’s waiting on their drinks,” Claire calls, snapping you out of it.

“Right, yeah.” 

You drop your gaze, forcing yourself to focus as you slip between tables, pretending the sight of him doesn’t tie your stomach into some ridiculous knot.

It’s not even like he’ll recognise me, you tell yourself as you weave between tables, dropping drinks off at one and sliding a basket of fries onto another. But when you glance back towards the door, you catch him talking to Claire at the register, and your pulse trips over itself.

You head back toward the counter, heart sinking with every step, trying to avoid his gaze, save yourself from any possible embarrassment, say you trip over your own feet or say something utterly stupid.

But Blondie’s perceptive, apparently, just as he’s about to turn away, he does a double take, like he wasn’t expecting you to be here, like maybe he’s not even sure it’s really you. His brows pinch slightly, lips parting as he huffs an amused breath.

“Guess Malibu’s smaller than I thought,” his voice is smooth where you feel jittery all over.

Claire’s brows shoot up, and you wish the ground would swallow you whole.

“Oh, so you two know each other?” 

He glances at you again, that stupid smile on his lips. “Yeah.”

“No,” you blurt at the same time, you turn to fiddle with the drinks machine to hide the blush on your cheeks. “Well not really,” you mumble.

Leon’s mouth quirks into the faintest of smiles, like you’ve confirmed some suspicion of his. “That clears things up.”

“I don’t know you,” you mumble, more to yourself than him, though it doesn’t sound nearly as dismissive as you’d hoped. It’s true in half, you don’t know him. Don’t even know his name yet. But why then does it feel like you’ve inexplicably known him forever?

“You could,” he offers, voice light, but his expression betrays him—like his own boldness catches him off guard. 

You bite back a smile. “Don’t push it.”

“You’re holding up the line,” Claire chimes in, all too entertained by whatever this is.

There is no line, unless you count the kids loitering by the counter, trying to nonchalantly steal more straws to build their makeshift tower.

Blondie raises his hands as if in surrender, “alright, well what do you suggest?” And he’s looking at you when he asks. 

God, damn him and those eyes. He has a way of making you feel like the center of the world. You clear your throat, slipping back into safe, scripted territory. “We have the best shrimp tacos on this stretch of the PCH,” you say, repeating the slogan on the chalkboard outside with practiced ease.

His smile softens, like maybe he finds your delivery a little more amusing than convincing. “Sure. Shrimp tacos it is.”

Claire rings him up, and he reaches into the pocket of his board shorts, presumably for his wallet, but before he turns away, he hesitates briefly. “Actually— I was wondering if I could ask a favour.”

You quirk a brow. “Uhuh?”

“Was wondering if you could, y’know… show me a few moves.”

You blink. “Moves?”

“Surfing,” he clarifies. 

“You don’t need my help, you’re already great.” You chuckle softly, not exactly sure what to do to hide the heat creeping up your neck now.

His mouth twitches, as if fighting another one of his stupid smirks. “How’d you come to that conclusion?”

“Oh… uh,” You rub the back of your neck, suddenly regretting your words. “This morning. At the cove.”

His lips part slightly before he lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “Malibu can’t be this small.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Anyway, yes or no?”

You narrow your eyes a little, “What’s in it for me?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “You owe me one don’t you, for your board? Unless you’re scared of a little challenge.”

You scoff at that. “Oh, watch it, Blondie.”

The grin lingers, easy and teasing. “It’s Leon,” and something about his voice softens. “You can call me Leon. And you?”

You don’t answer right away, caught up in the way his name rings around your head, the way it suits him somehow—like salt air and early mornings and something easy.

His lips press together, “Alright then,” he murmurs, pushing back from the counter, his eyes still on you. “Keep your secrets, sunshine.”

You roll your eyes but don’t fight the smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth.

His order is up in five, and when you slide the basket of tacos across the counter, there’s a napkin tucked underneath—your name scrawled across it in quick, slightly smudged ink, punctuated with a little smiley face.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[darlingdaisyfarm]

the river splits but still runs home (Stan & Ford)

twins. like light split in two, a star cracked open in the womb and made two hands of the same body, reaching for each other before they even knew what hands were

it starts like this

a house where the salt spray eats the paint off the walls. their mother, Caryn, is standing in the kitchen, wrists deep in soapy water, humming some song neither of them know the words to. the windows are open and the ocean breathes in, breathes out, just like she taught them

Ford is at the table with his glasses slipping down his nose, chewing on the end of a pencil, something half-sketched in the margins of his notebook. Stan is on the floor, legs kicked out behind him, tongue stuck between his teeth as he wrestles a knotted fishing line into submission.

“you're gonna snap it,” Ford says without looking up.

“no, i'm not.”

“you're holding it wrong.”

“you're holding your face wrong!”

Caryn sighs, scrubbing a plate with the practiced hands of someone who has done this a thousand times before and will do it a thousand times more. “boys.” she says

Stan gives the line a particularly aggressive tug and. . . snap.

Ford looks up. Stan looks down.

Caryn turns, raising her eyebrows.

“. . . Ford did it” Stan says immediately.

Ford's mouth drops open. “i did not!”

“you were distracting me!”

“you're the one who broke it!”

“okay, okay,” their mother interrupts before it turns into a wrestling match. she dries her hands on a dishtowel and comes over, kneeling down next to her son Stanley. “let me see.”

Stan holds up the ruined line, eyes downcast. Caryn takes it, carefully untangling what's left, making something whole out of something broken.

“not a big deal,” she says calmly. “i've got another one in the drawer.”

Stan sniffs, rubbing at his nose with his sleeve. “i wanted to do it myself.”

“i know, baby,” she murmurs. she kisses the top of his head softly. ”you'll get it next time.”

Ford watches, silent. Stan exhales, some of the tension leaving his shoulders, the need to prove something wilting under their mother’s hand on his back.

“help me with dinner?” she asks, gently ruffling his hair.

“yeah,” Stanley answers, already halfway to forgetting. he scrambles to his feet, following her like a little shadow.

Ford watches them go. he pushes his glasses up his nose. picks up his pencil. finishes the half-sketched drawing.

the ocean breathes in, breathes out

the first time Ford tastes saltwater, it’s because his brother dunked him under the waves. it’s a game kids play when they don’t yet know the world is full of real drownings. Ford comes up coughing, spitting out the ocean, laughing loudly. Stan’s grin is wide and reckless.

“gotcha, poindexter!” he crows, hands still in the water, ready to do it again.

Ford shoves him back, not that hard but it makes Stan stumble and splash into the shallows. their mother calls from the shore, “boys, don’t go too deep!” but she’s smiling, and the wind carries her words off over the tide.

their mother, so young. her dark hair twisted up in a scarf, her dress fluttering, hands on her hips. she worries, always, but right now she lets the worry go. the ocean is big, but her boys are still here.

Ford wipes salt from his eyes. “you’re gonna pay for that, Stanley!”

“you can’t even catch me, four-eyes!”

and then they’re off, kicking up seafoam, yelling so loud they could wake up every gull on the shore. Ford chasing, Stan laughing, the two of them running so fast they forget about gravity, about time, about the fact that childhood ends.

Caryn watches from the shore, hand shading her eyes. her boys. her impossible boys. her heart aches just looking at them.

years later, one name will be stolen, the other lost in a machine meant to swallow men whole.

but she does not know that yet.

for now, her boys are hers.

“boys! dinner!”

two twins, Stan and Ford are already running, tangled together, because that's what twins do. they spill into the kitchen in one motion, laughing, shoving, too loud, too much. Caryn shakes her head but she's smiling.

“plates,” she reminds, tapping the counter, and Stan groans but Ford grabs them both.

their mother watches them eat as she asks. “what are you going to be when you grow up?”

Ford swallows his bite too fast, too excited to answer that. “an adventurer!” he says, as if he's thought about this every night before sleeping. (he has.) “a scientist. a— a traveler, maybe. i'll see things nobody's ever seen before!”

“and you, Stanley?”

Stan taps his fork against his plate. shrugs. “i dunno,” he says. “but wherever he goes, i'll go too.”

Ford looks at him. like the sun looks at the moon, like gravity itself, like there is no world in which they are apart. “yeah, yeah, of course.” he smiles at his twin

their mother closes her eyes. she wants to believe it. she hopes. god, she hopes.

she has a feeling, deep in her gut, that one day, Ford is going to go somewhere Stanley can’t follow.

they are eight, they are ten, they are twelve.

“you think,” Stan mumbles one night. “when we're old, we'll still be like this?”

Ford snorts. ”old?”

“like, really old. like . . . like thirty.”

Ford laughs into his pillow. “yeah. of course. what kind of question is that?”

Stan doesn't know. it just. . . sometimes he gets scared, that's all.

years pass and they swallow them whole.

time is not kind to their dreams. it chews them up and spits them out on different shores.

Ford falls into another world, Stan falls into survival. they are no longer boys dreaming on a dock.

but here’s the thing about twins. you can split them apart, you can burn them down, you can throw them to opposite ends of the universe, and still they will find their way back.

years pass.

Stan's hands are steady on the wheel, the waves licking at the hull. the sky is full of bruises, pinks and purples spilling into each other, the last gasp of daylight.

Ford leans against the railing, wind pulling at his coat.

“remember when i broke that fishing line?” Stan asks suddenly.

Ford turns, squinting at him against the light. “what?”

“back when we were kids. mom fixed it for me.”

Ford blinks. then he huffs a laugh. “yeah. yeah, i remember that.”

Stan grins. “you were so smug about it.”

“because i was right.”

“no, you weren't.”

“yes, i was.”

mom's not here to stop them fighting. it's okay. they're not boys anymore

Stan rolls his eyes, but it’s affectionate. he looks out at the horizon, lets the boat sway beneath them.

Ford watches him.

the thing is, Stan was always like this. loud, quick-tempered, full of teeth. but he was also this. soft, sentimental, remembering things Ford never thought he would.

Ford clears his throat. “mom was good at fixing things,” he says.

“yeah.”

the sky darken and the stars blink awake. Ford glances down, at his own hands. at the scars, at the years worn into his skin.

“we turned out alright, huh?” he asks quietly.

Stan snorts. “speak for yourself.”

Ford rolls his eyes.

they drift. the boat creaks, the ocean sings.

Ford looks at stan. Stan looks back.

and then Stan reaches over. ruffles Ford’s hair. quickly and carelessly, just like their mother used to.

Ford freezes what makes Stan grin as he pulls away

Ford groans, swats at him. “you always do that—”

“mom did the same,” Stan says, laughing.

Ford rolls his eyes again, but he’s smiling. suddenly he gets too quiet, lost in his own thoughts and memories

“mom would love this,” Ford whispers. “us out here. she always liked the ocean.”

“yeah, she liked watching us in it.”

once, long ago, their mother sat on the shore and watched her boys in the waves.

now, the ocean stretches out before them, endless and unknowable.

“let’s head in,” Stanley says and pushes his brother lightly on the shoulder. ”before you get all misty-eyed on me.”

somewhere in the tide, in the wind, in the bones of the ship creaking beneath them, she is there. her boys are together again.

they sail on.

[novaursa]

Request: Baela and a dragonseed male fall in love with she is a ward on Driftmark and are in a secret relationship, even while she is betrothed to Jacaerys. During the Sowing of the Seeds, Y/N tells Baela that he wants to attempt to claim a dragon, specifically Vermithor, to help Rhaenyra in the war. Baela is understandably worried, but concedes. She watches along with Rhaenyra and Jacaerys as the Seeding takes place. Vermithor is claimed.

Sown in Fire

- Summary: You decide to answer the fire in your blood when the Sowing comes. For yourself. And for her.

- Pairing: male!dragonseed!reader/Baela Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial @literaturedog

The winds on Driftmark smelled of brine and old bones, of salt-stung spray and sea-washed stone, and the morning sky hung low and gray as gulls shrieked above the battlements. You found her in the gardens—though there were no flowers here, only the rustling leaves of a lone tree transplanted long ago, its roots buried in foreign soil. Baela stood beneath it, her silver-blonde braid lashing in the wind, her riding leathers half-laced, her gloves clutched at her side. She looked like a dragon in waiting—young and fierce and impatient—and when her eyes caught yours, dark as midnight and steady as iron, your breath caught like it always did.

“Y/N,” she greeted you quietly, voice barely rising above the sound of the waves crashing far below the cliffs. Her tone carried the kind of fondness that came from shared childhoods, shared secrets, stolen kisses behind driftwood doors and the warmth of her mouth on yours in moonlit stables. She looked like she knew you were coming. “You’re brooding again.”

You gave a half-smile and stepped closer, boots crunching on gravel and moss. “I’m thinking,” you said, eyes lingering on her face—storm-washed and flushed from morning training, a faint bruise blooming along her jaw where Ser Vaemond had landed a glancing blow with the training sword.

“You’re always thinking,” she murmured, then stepped toward you, brushing her hand along your arm. Her fingers curled into your sleeve. “Say it.”

You hesitated. The words felt like steel being forged in your chest—hot, heavy, and unrelenting. You had rehearsed them a hundred times, lying awake in the narrow bunk that served you on Driftmark, dreaming of flame and wings and glory. Dreaming of being more than a bastard. More than a shadow. More than her secret.

“I want to try for Vermithor,” you said at last, voice low and steady. “I’m going to claim him.”

Silence. Only the wind replied, threading through the weirwood leaves like whispering ghosts.

Baela’s brows pulled together sharply, and her grip on your arm tightened. “Vermithor,” she repeated, voice edged with disbelief. “The Bronze Fury? That beast is older than our grandsires. He hasn’t been ridden since King Jaehaerys.”

“I know,” you said. “That’s why I need to try.”

She pulled away then, pacing a few steps like she was trying to walk the fury out of her. “And what happens if he kills you?” she asked, her voice rising. “He burned the last man who came near him. Y/N, he’s—he’s not some hatchling or unclaimed yearling skulking in the Dragonmont. He’s Vermithor. He was a king’s dragon.”

You followed her, voice softer, quieter, the way you always spoke when you needed her to listen. “That’s exactly why I have to try. The war is coming, Baela. It’s already begun. Rhaenyra needs riders—strong riders. Not boys with cradle-names who think dragons are pets. She needs power. Fire. I can give her that.”

“You’ll give her your corpse,” Baela snapped, turning back to face you, eyes shining now—not with fury, but fear. “Why does it always have to be you? Why are you always the one running into danger like the gods gave you armor for skin?”

You looked at her, really looked—at the way her lip trembled despite how hard she tried to sneer, at the way her fists clenched at her sides. “Because I’m tired of hiding,” you said, voice catching. “Of pretending I don’t care about this fight. About you. About your step-mother’s claim. I’m not a lord’s son, Baela. I was born in a fishing village, a bastard of some hedge knight who never came back. No name. No legacy. But I have dragon’s blood. I can feel it, burning in my bones. Let me prove it.”

She stepped closer again, chest rising and falling fast, and when she reached for you this time, it was with both hands, clutching the front of your tunic like she wanted to shake the madness out of you. “We already live on borrowed time,” she whispered. “Every day we steal from the world—every night you climb into my bed and hold me like you won’t let go. And now you want to throw your life at a sleeping monster because you want to matter more?”

You leaned into her touch, forehead pressing against hers. “No. I want to fight beside you. I want to have a chance to stand at your side when the sky burns and the realm trembles. They will never let us be what we are, Baela. Not with you promised to Jace. Not with me being who I am. But if I ride Vermithor—if I ride him—they’ll have to see me.”

Her breath hitched, and you felt it—the way her resolve buckled beneath her love for you. Her lips brushed yours, once, soft and trembling. “And if he kills you?” she whispered. “What will I do then, Y/N? What’s left for me if you die?”

You cupped her cheek, brushing your thumb over the bruise on her jaw. “Then at least you’ll know I died trying to be more—for you, for Rhaenyra, for all of us. I won’t hide anymore. I can’t.”

She stared at you for a long, shattering moment. And then she kissed you again, harder this time, teeth scraping, breath ragged. A kiss like a storm. A kiss like goodbye.

“Then go,” she murmured, pressing her forehead to yours. “But if you come back on dragonback, Y/N… gods help me, I’ll never let you go again.”

The air at Dragonmont was thick with smoke and the bitter tang of blood. Ash drifted like snow across the blackened stones, settling in the folds of cloaks and the creases of armor. The sun had not yet risen, but firelight danced along the mountain’s jagged face, casting flickering shadows of men and dragons. It was the day of the Sowing, the day the realm would see who was worthy of flame and flight. One by one, dragonseeds had stepped forward—bastards of Targaryens and Velaryons, lowborns with silver hair or violet eyes, hopefuls with songs in their hearts and death waiting behind a dragon’s teeth.

You stood at the edge of the crowd, breath coiling in the cold air, watching as chaos unfolded before you.

“Another dead,” someone muttered near Rhaenyra, whose expression was carved from stone as the broken body of a young girl was dragged from the cratered clearing. Her name had been Aelinor, a stablehand’s daughter with pale eyes and trembling hands. She hadn’t screamed long.

Baela stood just behind Rhaenyra, her eyes burning as she watched the proceedings with a clenched jaw and a fire in her chest that no one else could see. Her hands were balled into fists beneath her riding cloak, and her gaze kept flickering to the western edge of the field—where you stood alone.

Jacaerys leaned in toward his betrothed, brow creased. “They’re not ready,” he muttered to Baela. “These people… they don’t understand the danger. We’ll burn through them faster than we’ll get riders.”

“And yet it was your idea to call the Seeds,” Baela replied coolly, though her voice was low. “Your mother agreed with you. The dragons are restless. They want riders. The war demands them.”

“She agreed out of desperation, not wisdom.” Jace turned his attention back to the clearing, where a boy no older than twelve was hesitantly approaching a silver she-dragon, who hissed low and predatory. “We need fighters. Not fools.”

Baela’s eyes found you again across the field.

You were watching Vermithor.

The Bronze Fury crouched at the edge of the scorched plain, massive and still as a mountain, his burnished scales glinting in the dim firelight. Steam hissed from his nostrils, curling like ghosts around his head, and his molten eyes swept over the dragonseeds with ancient, cruel awareness. Three men had already tried him. Two were dead—one reduced to charred bones, the other torn in half before the flame came. The third ran screaming into the caves, never to return.

But you had not yet moved. Not until now.

Baela’s heart stopped in her chest when you stepped forward.

Rhaenyra stiffened. “Who is that?”

Baela’s mouth opened—and closed again. “One of the Velaryon men, I believe. From Driftmark.” Her voice came out smooth, practiced. She did not meet Jace’s eyes.

Jacaerys tilted his head. “He looks familiar…”

You walked slowly, purposefully, every step heavy with heat and memory. The world dimmed around you, narrowed into the rhythmic thrum of your heartbeat and the enormous bulk of the dragon before you. Vermithor shifted, smoke rolling from between his teeth, a deep growl rumbling through his massive frame like the cracking of the world itself.

You did not bow.

You did not speak.

Instead, you stopped before him, close enough to smell the ash clinging to his hide, and locked eyes with the Bronze Fury.

He moved.

The crowd gasped as Vermithor reared, wings flaring like bronze sails, his roar echoing like thunder over the Dragonmont. The ground shook beneath your feet, but you held your ground. The blast of fire never came.

Instead, the dragon lowered his head.

Baela’s breath caught. Her hand flew to her mouth as she stared.

Rhaenyra rose from her seat in stunned silence.

Even Jace could only whisper, “By the gods…”

Your hand reached out, trembling now—less with fear, more with awe—and pressed to the warm, scaled brow of the beast before you. The heat singed your palm, but you did not pull back. Vermithor's eyes narrowed, and the deep rumble in his chest shifted from menace to something older, deeper—recognition.

He knew you.

And in that moment, the bond was made.

The cheering didn’t come at once. For long heartbeats, the crowd was stunned, silenced by the sight of one of the oldest, most feared dragons of the realm bowing to a nameless dragonseed. But then it came—a roar of voices rising like fire, like storm winds, as you mounted the Bronze Fury’s saddle, and Vermithor unfurled his wings in full.

Baela could not look away. You turned your head just enough to find her through the chaos, through the celebration. And when your eyes locked with hers, something unspoken passed between you.

You kept your promise.

I’ll never let you go.

Her heart thundered. Her hands trembled. But her eyes—those stayed fixed on you.

And in that moment, as Vermithor lifted into the sky in a maelstrom of wings and flame, Baela Targaryen knew something that terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.

You were not a bastard anymore.

You were a rider.

You were hers.

[nevadancitizen]

-> PROLOGUE: THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA

synopsis: you meet with a mysterious woman on an old californian dock.

word count: ~850

ships: Arthur Morgan/modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: inspired by @heart-of-gold-outlaw !! go read their modern reader fic i really like it. also we'll be getting into the actual time travel stuff after this teaser lololol :3

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

It’s a bracing, misty evening – supposed to be spring, but doesn’t feel like it. The waves are choppy and the gulls are huddled on the pylons with their beaks tucked under their wings, their feathers ruffling in the cold wind. 

Three hulking great ships, all freighters, are tied up on the beat-up dock. This isn’t one of those fashionable wharfs with dockworker unions or passenger liners – no pretty girls on their balconies, clinking champagne flutes to celebrate the start of the cruise. Just a couple of red-faced salts in pea jackets tramping by, trailing cigarette smoke, boots crunching on dried-up gull shit.

They spare you glances as they pass by, surely wondering what you were doing here in the early hours of the morning. Were you waiting for someone to get off work? Were you waiting for a drug deal? Or were you just admiring the way the waves spray water onto the dock?

(In reality, it was none of those. You’re waiting on something much worse.)

A woman, sleek and modern in style and rugged and worn in looks, approaches you. She has a quiet intensity about her — something about the way she squints against the ocean spray mixed with the permanent-looking scowl on her face. 

She tilts her head toward you, and you nod. You walk towards her and meet her halfway, leaning in close on her insistence. 

“You’re the one in need?” She asks softly. You just barely hear her over the waves crashing against the dock.

“Yes, ma’am,” you say, just as soft. “It’s my sister’s daughter. My eleven-year-old niece. She’s… she’s in a really bad way.”

“What does she need?” The woman asks. 

“A pancreas,” you say. “She’s got acute recurrent pancreatitis. There aren’t a lot of affordable child-sized organs lying around. God knows I’ve turned not just California, but the entire Mojave upside-down trying to find one. I’ve called hospitals in Arizona, Nevada, even New Mexico. I – I’m not asking you to kill a child! I just… I need the money for the operation. It’ll put her on the waiting list, and… once we show the hospital we have the money, I’m sure she’ll be okay. Somehow.”

The woman narrows her eyes. “Why don’t you just take out a loan? Or take on debt?”

“I can’t,” you say. “None of us can. I foreclosed on my last house. My sister has thousands of dollars in credit card debt, counting all the interest. Please, just trust me when I say I need this money. I don’t think anyone has nearly half a million dollars in their junk drawer. If I did, why would I be here, asking you for it?”

The woman looks you over and tucks her jacket closer around her. The outline of a gun at her hip becomes glaringly obvious – she wants you to notice it.

“Ma’am, I’m begging you.” You clasp your hands together as tight as you can. “I come from a family of deadbeats and addicts. I was an addict myself, and I quit just to save money for her operation, but it’s just not enough. I need this money. I won’t misappropriate these funds – won’t use them to pay off other debts, won’t use them for drugs. Just… please, miss.”

The woman holds up her hand. “Stop groveling.”

What the fuck else am I supposed to do?! You shout in your head. I need money, and you’ve got the money! My niece is going to fucking die if I don’t get it!

Instead, you just nod politely and put your hands behind your back. “Yes, ma’am. My apologies. I’m sure you can understand my desperation.”

“Uh-huh,” the woman hums. “I can get you the money. Just give me your banking details and I can wire it to you.” 

You pull out a pre-prepared index card with your bank information written down. The woman checks that it has your full name, address, account number, and routing number before speaking again.

“Do you have life insurance?” She asks, as if offhandedly.

“Uh, yes?” You say, unsure. “It won’t come out to a lot, so I couldn’t have an “accident” at work. Maybe just under 200,000 dollars? Nowhere near enough to cover her operation.”

The woman hums and tucks the card into her pocket. “I’ll get you the money.”

“Thank you so, so much,” you say. “You have no idea what this means to me – no idea what you’ve done for me and my family.”

“I have some idea.” The woman’s hand lingers at her waist. It takes you a few seconds too long to notice that –

A loud sound. A raging pain. The bullet hit something vital, but doesn’t grant you the mercy of dying in that instant. 

You stagger back, holding yourself. “What…”

“You’re dumber than you look,” the woman says, her voice fading in and out. “I’m just helping your family.”

You inhale shakily and take a step back. There’s a sense of falling, and something cold surrounds you, but you can’t make out much of anything in this condition. 

The last thing you think before the black takes you? It’s May. Who the fuck gets shot in May?

[hellinistical]

fem! reader x rafayel. royal! au. sea horror! au. heavy angst. minor and major character death. slow burn. romance. fluff. explicit smut. trauma. religious themes. gore; hinted torture, cannibalism, decapitation, self-cannibalism. violence. wc: 5375 a/n: ty for the support <3 additionally, there is now a map! its on the masterlist

masterlist | playlist | taglist | prev. | next

V: LOOSE BARREL

The northern beaches were a desolate expanse of jagged cliffs and weathered stones, where the cold wind howled and the sea churned angrily. The water, an icy shade of steel gray, lashed against the unforgiving rocks with a relentless fury, spraying salt into the air. There was no warmth here, no gentle sand to soften the harsh edges of the coastline—just sharp, uneven terrain that seemed to mirror the chaos of the storm brewing far in the distance.

The tide surged and withdrew, erasing any sign of life that might have dared to cross this isolated stretch of land. There were no footprints, no remnants of human presence. Only the sea claimed this place, its wild energy unchecked by time or tide.

Above, the sky hung low, cloaked in heavy clouds that promised no reprieve from the cold. Gulls circled high overhead, their cries swallowed by the crash of the waves below. In the distance, the faint silhouette of a ship bobbed on the horizon, but it was moving away, as if even the sailors knew better than to linger here.

The only sound was the relentless slap of the water against rock, an unending rhythm that seemed both soothing and ominous. This was a place that belonged to no one—untamed, unyielding, and as timeless as the sea itself.

Beneath the tumultuous surface of the northern waters, the world transformed into a murky graveyard. Twisted remnants of mankind's carelessness floated aimlessly, forgotten nets tangled with drifting planks, and rusted barrels spilled their secrets into the currents. Among the debris, a ship loomed in the shadows, its once-proud hull now a skeleton of rotting wood and corroded iron.

The ship's figurehead, once carved in intricate detail, was eroded beyond recognition, its haunting form half-buried in the silt below. Seaweed clung to every surface, swaying like ghostly tendrils in the cold currents. Portholes gaped like empty eyes, staring into the abyss of the deep.

Schools of fish darted through the wreckage, weaving around shattered beams and the skeletal remains of the cargo hold. Barnacles encrusted the jagged edges, and anemones pulsed with eerie life, taking refuge in the decay. The ship, forgotten by those who had once sailed it, had become part of the underwater ecosystem, a silent testament to humanity’s indifference and the ocean’s relentless claim over all that entered its domain.

Above, the faint shafts of light from the storm-darkened sky barely pierced the depths, leaving much of the wreck cloaked in shadow. But if one were to look closely, they might notice something unnatural moving among the ruins—something that didn’t belong to the sea or the remnants of mankind’s negligence.

The creature moved with an elegance that belied its brutality, each motion fluid and deliberate. A finned hand reached out lazily, snatching a fish with practiced ease. Its other hand deftly plucked the fins from the squirming prey, casting them aside to drift aimlessly into the watery void.

With sharp teeth glinting faintly in the dim light, the being bit into the fish. The snap of fragile bones and the crunch of cartilage echoed faintly, muffled by the dense water. A bloom of red blossomed from the wound, spreading like ink in the surrounding currents.

Its body moved like silk through the water, iridescent scales catching the faint light and shimmering in hues of blue and lavender. Long strands of violet hair floated around its head, framing its otherworldly visage like a halo of deep sea fog.

The creature paused mid-bite, its slit-pupil eyes narrowing as it surveyed the wreckage around it. The rhythmic motion of its tail was the only sound as it hovered silently in the darkened expanse, a predator perfectly at home in its haunting domain.

It cast aside the half eaten fish, moving along to inspect the ship more closely. 

The half-eaten fish drifted downward, its lifeless body caught in the slow pull of the ocean's depths. The creature moved on, its sleek form weaving effortlessly through the water, tail undulating with an almost hypnotic rhythm.

The rotting ship loomed before it like a forgotten monument, its decaying wooden beams splintered and overgrown with barnacles. Rusted metal fittings clung stubbornly to the remnants of the hull, and torn sails fluttered faintly in the water’s currents like ghostly shrouds.

It reached out, a webbed hand trailing along the wreck’s surface. Wood crumbled beneath its touch, breaking apart into a fine cloud of debris. The ship reeked of human folly—bottles, rusted tools, and broken chests lay scattered like remnants of a forgotten life.

The creature's gaze narrowed, sharp eyes scanning for something unknown. It paused to pry open a cracked crate, its claws making quick work of the weakened wood. Inside, a glint of metal caught its attention—useless trinkets to some, but perhaps not to it. The faint movement of a crab scuttling into the shadows drew no reaction; this was no scavenger hunt.

The ship was a tomb, but there was something here worth finding. Something it sought. It continued its exploration, movements purposeful and predatory, undeterred by the wreckage's quiet decay.

A series of sharp clicks and low chirps echoed through the water, reverberating off the broken walls of the sunken ship. The soundwaves danced through the gloom, painting a mental map in his mind—a predator’s sonar, seeking life or secrets hidden in the decaying wreck.

The clicks bounced back with muddled signals, disrupted by the ship’s rotting wooden beams and encrusted metal. But faint traces of movement flickered at the edges of his perception. Small fish, maybe, or something larger lurking in the deeper shadows of the wreck.

He moved closer, his iridescent scales shimmering faintly in the dim light filtering from the surface above. With a flick of his powerful tail, he swam around a broken mast, weaving through a tangle of seaweed that had claimed part of the hull. The chirps grew sharper, faster, as he honed in on the disturbance—a lingering curiosity gnawing at him.

The water grew colder as he neared the heart of the wreck. A shadow shifted, barely visible. Something had been here, recently. He clicked again, the sound bouncing back with clarity this time.

He paused, narrowing his piercing gaze, the eerie calm of the waters around him amplifying the tension. Whatever was here might still be watching. Or waiting.

A series of sharp clicks and low chirps echoed through the water, reverberating off the broken walls of the sunken ship. The soundwaves danced through the gloom, painting a mental map in his mind—a predator’s sonar, seeking life or secrets hidden in the decaying wreck.

The clicks bounced back with muddled signals, disrupted by the ship’s rotting wooden beams and encrusted metal. But faint traces of movement flickered at the edges of his perception. Small fish, maybe, or something larger lurking in the deeper shadows of the wreck.

He moved closer, his iridescent scales shimmering faintly in the dim light filtering from the surface above. With a flick of his powerful tail, he swam around a broken mast, weaving through a tangle of seaweed that had claimed part of the hull. The chirps grew sharper, faster, as he honed in on the disturbance—a lingering curiosity gnawing at him.

The water grew colder as he neared the heart of the wreck. A shadow shifted, barely visible. Something had been here, recently. He clicked again, the sound bouncing back with clarity this time.

He paused, narrowing his piercing gaze, the eerie calm of the waters around him amplifying the tension. Whatever was here might still be watching. Or waiting.

The sharp clicks reverberated once more, only to be met with a flash of movement. A female siren emerged from the jagged opening in the rotting wood, her sleek form twisting gracefully through the water. Her iridescent scales glimmered faintly in the muted light, but her toothy grin was anything but serene.

"Fancy seeing you here," she crooned, her voice lilting and sharp like the edges of broken glass. She twirled lazily, her fins brushing against the algae-covered hull as if mocking the ship’s demise.

He huffed, his irritation palpable, bubbles escaping his lips in a flurry. Clicking his tongue sharply, he folded his arms, his tail giving an annoyed flick that stirred up silt from the seabed.

"Do you ever have anything better to do?" he asked, his tone as cold as the deep-sea currents swirling around them.

Her grin widened, revealing rows of needle-like teeth. "Oh, but this is far more interesting than anything else. And you—you’re always so fun to watch when you’re brooding."

"Go play somewhere else," he snapped, his voice carrying the faint edge of a growl. "I don’t have time for your games."

She tilted her head, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "Always so serious," she mused, clicking her own tongue in a mocking imitation. "What are you even doing here, hmm? Looking for scraps, or just sulking by the wreck?"

He turned away from her, his patience already threadbare. "None of your business."

Her laughter rang out, a haunting melody that echoed through the water. "Oh, but it is my business when you’re in my waters," she teased, gliding closer. "Careful, or you might make me think you’re hiding something."

Her laughter softened, curling around her words like seaweed around driftwood. Gliding closer, she plucked the discarded fish from where it floated lazily in the water, its half-eaten form a morbid offering.

"Tell me," she began, sinking her sharp teeth into the remains, a burst of crimson clouding the water around her lips. "How has it fared, hmm? Your meals so graciously given to you by that man?"

He stilled, his broad shoulders tightening at her words. His gaze, sharp and unyielding, flicked toward her, annoyance flashing in his bioluminescent eyes. "What are you trying to say?"

She chewed slowly, her grin widening as if she savored not only the taste but his irritation. "Oh, nothing," she replied with mock innocence, flicking her fins playfully. "Just curious. You’ve been... preoccupied lately. Swimming in circles, perhaps hoping for something new to fall into your net?"

His tail lashed, and the water rippled violently around him. "You don’t know anything," he growled, voice low and dangerous.

Her chuckle was dark, almost conspiratorial. "Don’t I?" she cooed, brushing a strand of violet hair from her face with a taloned hand. "Oh, I’ve seen you. Darting around the shallows like a curious pup, chasing a shadow that doesn’t belong in the water."

"Stay out of it," he snapped, his voice cutting through the water like a blade.

Her grin only grew sharper. "Touchy, touchy," she said, tossing the fish’s hollowed carcass aside. "I wonder what would happen if that little secret of yours found its way to more... eager ears."

He moved in an instant, closing the distance between them with a speed that made her flinch, his hand gripping her wrist tightly. His face was inches from hers, his voice a venomous whisper. "You’ll keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you."

For the first time, her grin faltered, though she quickly masked it with a sardonic smirk. "Fine," she drawled, twisting free of his grip. "But you should know, secrets have a funny way of slipping through the cracks—just like water."

Above the sirens, vibrations rippled through the cold, murky waters—strong, deliberate, unmistakable. He froze, his sharp gaze shifting upward as the disturbances sent faint currents cascading around him.

A ship?

It wasn’t unusual for the occasional vessel to drift far from its intended path, but here? In these treacherous Northern waters of Chronosia? No human dared venture this close to the Anbusas coast, not if they valued their lives. The stories alone were enough to keep even the most intrepid sailors away—rumors of sharp rocks hidden beneath the waves, sirens with haunting songs, and ancient, cursed tides.

And yet, the vibrations were undeniable, the slow, steady rhythm of oars or an engine cutting through the water, bringing the presence of something very alive—and very human.

The female siren reemerged from the shadows, her earlier amusement replaced by curiosity. "Do you feel that?" she asked, her voice now low and wary, her playful demeanor vanishing like a ripple dissipating on the surface.

He nodded, his gaze narrowing as he tilted his head to the side, listening intently. The clicks and hums of the ocean around them were muffled by the heavier, alien sounds above—a steady thrum of wood and iron clashing against the restless sea.

"No human comes this far north," he murmured, his tone more to himself than to her. "Not willingly."

"Yet here they are," she replied, her own bioluminescent eyes gleaming in the dim light as she swam closer to him, tension vibrating in her every movement. "Brave, aren’t they?"

"Or foolish," he muttered darkly.

The vibrations intensified, and a faint shadow passed over the water above them—a long, hulking silhouette cutting through the waves like a predator stalking its prey.

"Should we?" she asked, her sharp grin returning as her fingers flexed, claws gleaming.

He hesitated, his tail swaying as he considered the possibilities. It wasn’t fear that held him back; it was calculation. A ship this far north couldn’t just be a coincidence.

"Not yet," he said finally, his voice firm. "We watch first."

With a flick of his tail, he moved toward the ship’s path, disappearing into the murky depths as the vibrations continued to rattle through the water, signaling the approach of something unknown—and potentially catastrophic.

***

Above the waves, a massive ship cut through the restless waters, its size and grandeur almost defiant against the foreboding backdrop of the Northern seas. The hull was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, each plank carved with intricate designs—swirling motifs of sea serpents, storm clouds, and gods in battle, their forms interwoven in a way that seemed alive, almost breathing with the motion of the ocean.

The ship’s grandeur was undeniable, its towering masts stretching high above the dark water, sails taut and glistening with rain. Ornate lanterns hung from the railings, their flickering flames casting ghostly reflections across the wet, polished deck. This was no ordinary vessel; it was a thing of beauty and power, a stark contrast to the hostile waters it dared to traverse.

The ship’s bow was crowned with a figurehead, a towering depiction of a siren—beautiful and terrible. Her carved expression was one of agony and wrath, her arms extended toward the sea as though in a plea or a curse. Gold and silver accents glinted in the dim light, betraying the wealth of those who had sent this ship into such dangerous waters.

The crew aboard moved with purpose, their shouts carried faintly by the wind. They weren’t simple merchants or fishermen; their uniforms, weapons, and coordinated movements suggested something more deliberate.

An air of tension hung heavy over the deck, the men glancing uneasily at the churning water below and the storm clouds gathering in the distance. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a weathered face, stood at the helm, his hands gripping the wheel with knuckles pale against the wood.

"The ship is too damn big for this," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, his eyes scanning the horizon.

"And yet here we are. Tell it to the captain." another man replied, his voice laced with dry humor, though his hand lingered nervously on the hilt of his sword.

The ship groaned as it pressed forward, the waves slapping against the intricately carved hull as if the sea itself were trying to push it back, to warn it away from the dangers it did not yet fully comprehend.

Marlon, a gruff man with sun-scorched skin and a permanent scowl, spat over the side of the ship, the wind catching the fleck before it disappeared into the sea. Rolling his strained shoulders, he muttered, "The captain won’t listen. Says it’s too good of a hunt waitin’ out here. Still don’t make sense why we took this boat—got imperial sigils all over it."

His tone was sharp, dripping with disdain as he jerked a thumb toward the intricately carved hull. "Like we ain’t already makin’ ourselves a big enough target just bein’ here."

The other man leaning against the railing with a hand near his sword, Ryder, chuckled humorlessly.  "A hunt, he says. As if the sea gives a damn about our quarry. Imperial sigils or not, these waters’ll swallow us whole if they’ve a mind to."

Marlon grunted, his brows furrowing deeper as he scanned the horizon. The heavy clouds above mirrored the unease in his chest. "Hunt or no hunt, I’m tellin’ ya, we should’ve stayed south. Ain’t no fish worth pissin’ off what lives under this stretch of water."

The other man didn’t reply, only tightening his grip on his weapon. The air seemed thicker here, heavier. It wasn’t just the threat of the storm—it was something deeper, something ancient. Even the ocean spray felt colder, biting through their thick coats like icy fingers.

Marlon’s voice dropped, almost a whisper. "And this boat? It’s too damn pretty. Too loud. If we’re not careful, it’s gonna bring somethin’ outta those depths we don’t wanna see."

Marlon turned at the sound of the low, gravelly voice, his eyes narrowing as Luke and Kieran approached. Their crow masks gleamed faintly in the dim light, polished beaks lending them an eerie presence.

"Gentlemen," Luke began, his tone cool and measured. "A problem?"

Kieran tilted his head slightly, the hollow sockets of his mask staring straight at Marlon, who felt a chill race up his spine despite himself. Ryder, the younger of the two men at the railing, cleared his throat nervously, but Marlon wasn’t one for being intimidated—not by masks, and not by men who thought them fancy.

He spat over the side again, the sound of it sharp against the restless waves. Straightening his back, he gestured toward the ornate ship with a rough hand. "Yeah, a problem. This whole setup’s a damn problem. I don’t like this boat, I don’t like these waters, and I sure as hell don’t like the captain’s obsession with huntin’ here. We’ve no business in these parts, imperial sigils or not."

Luke and Kieran exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable behind the dark visors of their masks. Kieran’s voice came low and slow, deliberate in its weight. "The captain’s orders aren’t up for debate. You’ll follow them, just like everyone else on this crew."

"And what’s the captain chasin’ that’s worth endangering us all, huh?" Marlon shot back, his tone sharp. "You can’t tell me he doesn’t know what’s down there."

Luke chuckled softly, the sound unsettling as it escaped the beak-like mask. "You think too much, Marlon. It’ll get you into trouble."

"Thinkin’s all that’s kept me alive this long," Marlon snapped.

Kieran stepped closer, his broad figure casting a shadow over Marlon. "Then think about this. You’re on his ship, in his waters. If you’ve got doubts, you’re welcome to take your chances overboard. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut and do your job."

The two masked men lingered for a moment longer, their presence suffocating. Then, without another word, they turned and disappeared into the ship’s shadows.

Marlon shook his head, muttering under his breath, "Damn fools are gonna get us all killed." Ryder, still tense, exhaled shakily beside him. "They might hear you," he whispered.

"Let ‘em," Marlon grumbled, though his eyes kept flicking nervously toward the dark waves below.

But just then-

A thunderous boom reverberated through the ship, sending Marlon and Ryder stumbling backward. The entire vessel groaned as if in agony, the sound of splintering wood rising above the waves.

"What in the hells was that?!" Marlon barked, clutching the railing for balance as the ship rocked violently.

Ryder scrambled to his feet, wide-eyed, his gaze darting over the edge of the railing. "Something hit us! Something big!"

The crew erupted into chaos, men shouting orders and curses as the ship listed dangerously to one side. The ornate carvings along the hull cracked and splintered, some breaking off entirely to be swallowed by the churning sea below.

From the shadows of the deck, Luke and Kieran reappeared, their crow masks gleaming ominously. Luke’s voice cut through the clamor like a blade. "All hands on deck! Arm yourselves!"

Kieran strode to the center of the chaos, barking orders with precision. "Secure the cargo! Watch the waterline!"

Another jarring thud rocked the ship, this time sending a shower of seawater and debris over the deck. Marlon gripped the railing tighter, his knuckles white as he scanned the dark waters below.

And then he saw it.

A shadow, massive and serpentine, slithered just beneath the surface, its form too large to comprehend fully. The water churned violently in its wake, glowing faintly with an otherworldly blue-green light.

"By the gods," Marlon breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. Ryder, standing frozen beside him, followed his gaze and let out a strangled gasp.

The shadow moved again, circling the ship with an unsettling grace. Whatever it was, it wasn’t human—or anything else Marlon had ever seen before.

From the depths, a deep, resonant growl echoed, a sound that sent shivers through every man aboard. The ship groaned once more, the ancient wood seeming to protest the presence of the beast.

Kieran’s voice boomed above the chaos, his calm veneer beginning to crack. "Stand your ground! Whatever it is, it bleeds!"

But Marlon wasn’t so sure. 

The crow's nest, high above the chaos, swayed dangerously with the ship's violent rocking. Its once-proud occupant, a large black bird, was nowhere to be seen—likely seeking refuge with the captain below deck, if not having flown off entirely.

Luke’s sharp tone snapped through the din. "You there! Secure the starboard side before we lose it altogether!" His crow mask turned sharply toward the men scrambling with ropes and barrels.

Kieran, ever the strategist, stood at the opposite railing, assessing the situation with an unshakable focus. "Reinforce the hull breach!" he commanded, pointing to where seawater was beginning to seep through splintered wood. "We’re not sinking on my watch!"

Another thunderous crash rattled the ship, the force throwing several men off balance and scattering loose cargo across the deck. The sound of grinding wood and the eerie groan of the hull filled the air.

Ryder stumbled, clutching Marlon’s arm to steady himself. "This thing’s playing with us," he muttered, voice trembling. "It could’ve sunk us by now if it wanted to."

Marlon gritted his teeth, his eyes darting to the waterline. "Don’t say that out loud, boy. You’ll give it ideas."

The shadow beneath the waves appeared again, circling slower this time, almost taunting. The glowing bioluminescence trailing behind it cast an eerie light on the ship’s underside, illuminating the intricate imperial sigils etched into the wood.

Luke’s head snapped toward the bow as the shadow moved. "Keep your weapons ready!" he barked. "No hesitation!"

Kieran turned sharply to face the gathered men. "We’ll lure it out," he said, his voice low but carrying over the chaos. "Make it show itself. Harpoons ready. Aim for the head or whatever it calls a heart."

"But what if it doesn’t have one?" a voice called out, trembling with fear.

Kieran’s masked face turned toward the voice, his tone icy. "Then we make one."

The ship groaned again, the vibrations resonating through every plank and rope. Whatever circled them wasn’t just a beast. It was something far more intelligent, something testing them. And it wasn’t finished yet.

A hand, slick and glistening with seawater, reached out and tightened its grip on the wooden rail, long claws digging into the soaked wood. The faint bioluminescent glow along the webbing pulsed like the heartbeat of the sea itself. With an eerie smoothness, it pulled itself up, revealing more of the creature that followed.

A scream tore through the night, sharp and panicked, as one of the crew caught sight of the intruder. "By the gods!" he cried, stumbling backward and tripping over a coil of rope.

The figure loomed over the rail now, its upper body humanoid yet alien. Iridescent scales shimmered in hues of violet and blue, reflecting the dim lantern light. Long, sleek strands of lavender hair clung wetly to its face and shoulders, framing angular features that were both beautiful and unnerving. Its eyes, slit-pupiled and glowing faintly, scanned the deck with an unsettling intelligence.

Luke and Kieran froze for a moment before snapping into action.

"Ready the harpoons!" Luke shouted, drawing his blade.

Kieran stepped forward, his stance steady even as the deck pitched beneath him. "Stand your ground! It’s just one. We’ve faced worse."

The creature tilted its head, watching the chaos it had stirred with an almost amused expression. Water dripped from its elongated fingers, each ending in a sharp claw, as it gripped the rail tighter.

Another man screamed, clutching a makeshift weapon—a gaff hook—and stepping back in terror. The creature’s gaze snapped to him, its lips curling into a sharp, toothy grin.

Marlon spat again, though his hand trembled as he held his harpoon. "Ain’t no fish I’ve ever seen."

The creature finally spoke, its voice resonating like the deep echo of waves in a cavern. "You... should not have come here."

The words sent a chill through the crew, the weight of their mistake crashing down on them like the waves below.

“Shuveyr… Shuveyr save us,” 

The hand, slick and glistening with seawater, tightened its grip on the wooden rail, long claws digging into the soaked wood. The faint bioluminescent glow along the webbing pulsed like the heartbeat of the sea itself. With an eerie smoothness, it pulled itself up, revealing more of the creature that followed.

A scream tore through the night, sharp and panicked, as one of the crew caught sight of the intruder. "By the gods!" he cried, stumbling backward and tripping over a coil of rope.

The figure loomed over the rail now, its upper body humanoid yet alien. Iridescent scales shimmered in hues of violet and blue, reflecting the dim lantern light. Long, sleek strands of lavender hair clung wetly to its face and shoulders, framing angular features that were both beautiful and unnerving. Its eyes, slit-pupiled and glowing faintly, scanned the deck with an unsettling intelligence.

The creature tilted its head, watching the chaos it had stirred with an almost amused expression. Water dripped from its elongated fingers, each ending in a sharp claw, as it gripped the rail tighter.

Another man screamed, clutching a makeshift weapon—a gaff hook—and stepping back in terror. The creature’s gaze snapped to him, its lips curling into a sharp, toothy grin.

Marlon spat again, though his hand trembled as he held his harpoon. "Ain’t no fish I’ve ever seen."

The creature finally spoke, its voice resonating like the deep echo of waves in a cavern. "You... should not have come here."

The creature's lips curled further, the expression both amused and terrifying, revealing rows of sharp, jagged teeth that gleamed like polished bone in the dim light. Her iridescent scales shifted with an unsettling fluidity, as if her body was part of the ocean itself. Her eyes—deep, endless pools of violet and pink—locked onto the man who had invoked Shuveyr, a slight glimmer of recognition flickering within them.

"Shuveyr?" Her voice was soft yet resonated with an eerie echo, as though the very sea had spoken. "A goddess to call upon in your desperation?" She tilted her head, her hair falling like strands of dark silk, glistening with droplets of seawater. "She does not dwell here... not where I reign."

The crew was silent now, the weight of her words sinking in. The terror among them was palpable, as if they were standing on the edge of something ancient and deadly. The deck creaked ominously beneath their feet, and the winds picked up, howling with the ferocity of a storm on the horizon.

"You’ve ventured too far," the creature continued, her voice lilting as she stepped forward, her webbed feet soundless against the wood. Her gaze flicked to the ship’s stern, where the rest of the crew stood frozen, some still clutching their weapons, others too afraid to move. "There is no safe haven in these waters. No gods, no prayers can protect you from the depths of the sea."

Marlon swallowed hard, his hands shaking as he gripped his harpoon tighter. "What do you want from us?" His voice cracked, and despite his bravado, the terror was evident.

The siren's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger. "Your lives are forfeit. A small price for trespassing in these waters... but perhaps," she mused, her tone shifting to something more calculating, "perhaps I could offer you a trade."

The men exchanged uncertain glances, some hesitating, others desperate to find a way out of the nightmare unfolding before them.

"What trade?" Luke dared to ask, his voice steady despite the fear twisting in his gut.

"Let me think," the siren said with a tilt of her head, her smile never wavering. "You can give me what you value most—your pride, your treasure, or perhaps... your very souls."

Her gaze swept over the crew, pausing on each man for just a heartbeat too long. "Choose wisely," she added, her voice softening into a whisper, "for I know what lies beneath your skins."

The wind howled again, drowning out the crew's responses, and the ship creaked louder, as if groaning under the weight of its impending doom.

A heavy silence settled over the ship, thick and suffocating. The men stood frozen, eyes wide, hearts racing, as the siren disappeared beneath the waves. Her haunting eyes, filled with unspoken promises, faded into the deep, leaving only the echo of her voice hanging in the air like a curse.

For a moment, there was nothing—no movement, no sound save the relentless crash of the waves against the hull. The men held their breath, waiting, uncertain of what would come next. The stillness was so profound that it felt as though time had stopped.

And then, the barrels, unsecured by the chaos, began to shift.

A low groan from the ship's timbers echoed, the sound growing louder as the barrels, laden with supplies, began to roll and tumble across the deck. The men, still in shock, moved hastily to prevent the containers from sliding off the ship, but it was too late—several rolled to the edge and crashed overboard, splashing into the water below.

From the depths, something stirred.

The water around the ship churned violently as if something large was moving just beneath the surface, circling, waiting. The men froze again, eyes darting toward the waves, but there was no sign of the siren, no sign of what was to come next.

Then, the sound of creaking wood—a deep, groaning sound—came from beneath the hull. It was as though the ship itself were buckling under some unseen force, its timbers straining against the pressure.

Luke, his face pale, looked toward the horizon, his voice barely a whisper. "We're not alone."

And before anyone could respond, the sea erupted.

Massive, dark shapes shot up from the water, enormous and terrifying, their forms shifting in the shadows beneath the surface. Tentacles, black and slick, coiled and lashed against the ship’s sides, pulling with unimaginable strength. The ship lurched violently, a deep, ominous growl vibrating through the planks.

The crew scrambled, shouting orders and fear-stricken prayers, but it was clear that whatever had risen from the depths was far beyond their control. As the ship groaned under the assault, the unmistakable sound of tearing wood filled the air, and the men knew—this was no ordinary storm. This was the wrath of something ancient, something that had waited in these waters for far too long.

The captain was here.

But  something else.

The raven had made its appearance, cawing. Heavy foot steps sounded- thud, thud, thud. 

“Grab the nets.  I want a siren.”

copyright © 2024 Hellinistical all rights reserved. no part of this story may be reposted, edited, or reproduced without the author’s permission.

[grimrevolution]

Words: 1,108 Characters: Davrin x Rook - Radhika (pre-relationship) Rating: Gen Summary: In the midst of chaos, everyone needs a break every now and then.

Deep in the depths of Arlathan Forest, Davrin could smell the sea. The creak of the people frozen by magic sounded like the ropes of a ship, lake water lapped at the shore of a beach, and salt sat on the tip of his tongue. Sunlight filtered, dappled, through the tree tops, spreading out a pattern of seashells across hunting trails long trampled flat by halla hooves.

He had been dreaming about the ocean lately. The spray of the water, the sight of waves rising and cresting, the sound of it brushing against boat hulls and beaches and naked feet racing across the sand. Brushstrokes painted the sky in aquamarine with swirls of cerulean.

On the lucky nights, he dreamed of long, black hair veiling the sunlight. Of fruit-stained lips pressed against his own. Of palms braced against his chest.

Davrin breathed in. The salt became dirt and decaying plant life, the call of gulls turned into the sharp singing of woodland birds. Squawking and chuckling tugged him from his thoughts. The peace not broken so much as changed.

He turned.

Rook—‘you can call me Radhika, if you’d like,’ she had told him quietly during their first walk through the woods, digging for truffles—was holding a length of twine away from a bouncing, chirping griffon. Freshly caught fish hung from it, rainbow scales catching the sun. Trousers were rolled up to her bruised knees, sleeves to her scarred elbows, and neither had helped keep her clothing dry.

Out here, in the golden light of Arlathan, Radhika looked like something enduring. There was no slim plate armor hiding her slant of her shoulders, no shield weighing down her arm, no everite sword in her hand. Just the twisting, ritualistic scarring up her left forearm, geometric lines tattooed across her face, and sweat-smeared kohl that hid the bags beneath her eyes.

She was smiling. A worn thing that reminded Davrin more of the brand-new post-joining Warden recruits than the boisterous Lords of Fortune. Assan bounded at her dirt speckled, bare heels, chirping, warbling, and crooning. The fur and feathers along his belly and legs were dripping with the river.

Davrin stepped a bit further into the trees, letting the shadows of the boughs and leaves hide him from view. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Radhika smile. Or perhaps he never had, and they were all stolen away by the attacks on Treviso and Minrathous.

“No, Assan,” she said, sternly but fondly. Her grip was gentle as she grabbed the griffon cub’s beak before it could catch one of the fish. “These are for supper. Besides, let me gut and debone them before you stuff your face.”

Ears and wings dropped. Baby-blue eagle eyes widened. If he was an elven babe, the damn beast would be pouting.

Good thing he was born with a beak and claws. Davrin hated to think what he would get up to if he had thumbs.

Radhika merely laughed. It was a tender, quiet sound, all lotus blossoms and mud-stirred water. “That won’t work on me as much as it does on Neve,” she told Assan, brushing her fingers gently across the speckled silver feathers on his forehead.

He warbled at her and nudged his head into her touch, giving up on the fish. For now. There was something divine in the way the sunlight fell across her hair that not even the so-called gods could touch. Up in the ruins, the shadow of Ghilan’nain’s likeness glared at him for his so-called blasphemy.

Mother of the halla. Mother of monsters. Davrin hadn’t given her much thought after taking his vallaslin. Not until recently when her hand dealt the death blow of a thousand wardens.

“Davrin?”

Turning away from the shadow of the tyrant, he glanced towards Radhika.

Her shoulder length black hair was pulled up into a messy bun. A white and blue lily stuck out of the tie holding it together; a gift from one of the younger veil jumpers they had rescued mere days ago. It looked like a guiding star.

It softened her. Not with the plushness of rabbit fur, but like how dusk lessened the heat of the day. Twilight wiping away blood and dirt and the horrors the light revealed to firesides, drinks, and steadfast company.

She had tilted her head to the side and was watching him, checking in that way she always did for injuries, then for anything else.

“I’m alright,” Davrin said stepping out of the trees. “Got caught up in my own thoughts.”

Assan bounded past to go wiggle underneath the tarps that had been set up. The camping idea had been shamelessly stolen from Harding. Or, rather, Davrin had mentioned his plan to Harding only to get it whole-heartedly approved.

They were still waiting on news from the Crows, information from the Shadow Dragons, as well as whatever Antoine and Evka could scrape together. They had a small bit of time. Not a lot, but enough to go camping out in the wilderness.

Take some semblance of a break.

“If you need to head back—”

“I don’t,” Davrin told her, firmly. He carefully took the twine and the fish. “You said gutting and deboning?”

Radhika watched him. Her eyes were not blue despite the fact that she smelled of the sea. Even out here in the dirt, even at Weisshaupt when they were surrounded by blight and blood and death. It followed her, a phantom dogging at her heels.

There were some who believed that humans had come from across the sea. Perhaps had even come from it. All dirt and bones and light. A heaving, churning reminder that everyone was filled with a deep, restless soul. Elvens born from spirits made flesh. Humans born from water made to walk.

Whatever Radhika was looking for made her expression soften. “Yes,” she admitted. “Preferably before Assan decides to try and steal one.”

Davrin glanced down and—sure enough. “You heard the boss,” he said to the griffon that was trying to slink through the trees, eyes on the fish. “Nothing until supper.”

Assan warbled and flopped down on the dirt with a huff.

“You—” Davrin almost started before shaking his head. They could deal with the filth later. Probably back in the river. He spared a second to glance back at Radhika.

She was no monster to track through the wilderness nor a halla that needed patient herding. Something old lurked beneath the surface and he was no fisherman but he could learn. He could try.

“Shall we?” Davrin motioned with the fish.

Radhika smiled at him. “We shall.”

[ravenwind-75]

Strawberries and Seafoam- for @ps-cactus

from your secret valentine 💘

Pt 1: as I had too many ideas for this to be short

Ft MC’s by

@espressoristretto-patronum - Tori

@savingsallow - Ale and Val

@acslytherpuff - Cassie, Alvin, and Alex

@leaping-toadstool-caps - Jaimsen

@theladyofshalott1989 - Damien

@girl-named-matty - Matty and Cal

Me @ravenwind-75 - Jo

Others coming soon

---

Amberlyn’s amber eyes glistened in the sunlight, shimmering a golden brown as she pulled back the curtains of her flat’s window. It was a beautiful day!

She was sure her cafe would get many customers today, as the summer by the ocean equaled thirsty people. It was early enough that she could still take a walk by the shore so she pulled on a pair of jean shorts, her favorite blue shirt, and a pair of hiking boots. She grabbed her favorite book as well in case she had a moment of reprieve at the beach after opening up her shop.

When she headed down the stairs she was greeted by one of her best friends, Tori. The girl’s dark brown hair pulled up in her signature bun. “Oh hey Alyn! Good morning! I hope it’s alright that I started prep this early but from the weather I am guessing that today will be very busy.” She was already wearing the signature pastel apron, quite a contrast to her usual darker academia garb. However, earning a free drink after work was worth it, as well as the compliments from her girlfriend that would turn the serious girl as pink as her pride pin.

Alyn originally had tried to run the shop by herself, a true workaholic up at the break of dawn to only burn out later. It got increasingly hard as she grew more popular and people started piling in. She couldn’t fill out and serve all the orders by herself. So she considered inviting some of the young college students that regularly visited the shop to work for her to earn a little towards their futures. Tori was one of them, studying law while her girlfriend Poppy worked at the zoo.

“Oh good morning Tori! Thank you! Let me help you with a few things.” The two girls worked together opening up the windows, setting the coffee to brew, and fixing a few things around the shop until Tori shooed her out the door. “Go Alyn! I know how easily you get antsy if you don’t get some air first. You always get the best ideas after a walk, I’ll handle the shop for now.”

Alyn laughed but didn’t protest and pushed out the door, making the bell ring and walking down the block and to the ocean, her favorite place in the entire world.

~

Moving near the ocean was probably the best thing she had done ever since graduating high school. Everyone had told her it was foolish to want to own a cafe. They said it wouldn’t pay well and wasn’t a good enough career to have especially when she was such a talented artist and occasional writer. But she had proved them all wrong. Over the past four years her little cafe, Moon & Stars Cafe, had gained a lot of traction. Not many cafes allowed pets and in their thanks customers left little positive messages and pictures of their pets that she pinned on a giant board behind the counter. It was hard at first but now that she had staff it was a lot simpler.

As the gulls circled high above she found herself closing her eyes, smiling at the sounds of their screams. She then removed her shoes and wandered near the edge of the water looking for any pretty stones, sea glass, or shells she could add to the little glass jars that decorated the cafe. Her warm blonde hair fluttered around her ears, the salt spray making it curl more than normal. She would have to work the knots out before she got to work. Amberlyn giggled and let out a squeal when a crab tried to pinch her toe and jumped away before making her way back up the beach towards the town.

~

There was a young man she didn’t know sitting on the steps up the dunes, deep in thought. “Hello there!” She greeted him. “Enjoying the sight?”

He lifted his head and she fought back a gasp. He had a few long scars across his face, one of his ocean blue eyes covered with a misty haze. He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his golden hair. “I’m enjoying it the best I can, I guess it’s a beautiful view.”

“You guess? The ocean is always beautiful.” She gently retorted, finding his cynicism odd.

He leaned back on his elbows studying her a moment before responding. “It kind of becomes the same old thing when all you have seen is rolling waves for four years straight. The sea isn’t always sparkling and warm darling. It’s cold and vicious. It rages and storms. The sea is unpredictable. And I like to know what’s coming next, so pardon, if I don’t find it as enjoyable.”

“I’m sorry?”

~

Ominis sighed at the puzzled and slightly hurt look on her bright and innocent face. He had come here to be alone and to wallow in his grief alone.

The vast and endlessness of the ocean made him feel small when he watched it long enough. It reminded him of the things he couldn’t control, the things he didn’t want to remember. But the wind that ruffled his hair, the taste of salt in the air also was calming. It reminded him of the only real home he had had, one he lost.

He hadn’t expected anyone to approach him or much less say anything.

She was still talking and he fought a groan. He just wanted some peace.

“Yes the ocean is unpredictable, but isn’t that the fun of it? Facing the unknown? You can just sail across the sea and start a new life. There are endless possibilities, you just have to learn to ride the waves into a new sunrise.” She smiled, nervously tucking a curl behind her ear.

How could she be so positive? Couldn’t she see that he wanted solace?

The ocean didn’t promise salvation. Not for him, not anymore.

Instead of asking why she was friendly like he wondered, he gave a short cynical laugh. “The ocean is good at making people think they can escape their lives. But it doesn’t work that way.”

She tilted her head, her expression softening. She could tell that the scars weren’t just on the surface, but that he had some deep emotional wounds as well. She wanted to offer some comfort to ease the quiet pain in his eyes. She didn’t want to press him though so she offered the simple honesty she always enjoyed. “I suppose it doesn’t solve everything. But it did for me. Coming here gave me a new chance for life. Perhaps you’ll find something here too. And it’s a space to breathe. Walking the beach always helps me think. I hope you find that as well.”

Ominis just stared past her still, out at the ocean as he considered her words. He wanted to believe her words, that new chances were possible. But it seemed like everything for him was hopeless. The waves crashing on the shore echoed the storm he felt inside.

“Some things are just gone,” he muttered. “There are things you can’t get back no matter how hard you try.”

Alyn’s heart ached at the raw pain in his voice. She could sense that this young man had endured so much already in his young life, probably tragedies beyond everyday lives. Even though he was pushing her away she wanted to offer some comfort and hope.

“You might be surprised. Some things have a way of coming back to you but just not in the way you expect, or maybe you don’t need those things back. Sometimes we need something new.”

He frowned at her. She had no idea what she was talking about. She didn’t understand the depth of his pain. How could she think that she could offer him comfort? But oddly her words were comforting. Oddly he didn’t find her incredibly annoying as he thought he would.

“Maybe,” he said gruffly.

“You’re new around here aren’t you? I haven’t seen you around here before.”

He rolled his eyes. “WOW, are you always this observant?”

“I try to be, you never know when you might miss something or someone important.” She sighed looking down at her watch, “Well I have to get going now but if you ever want to make a friend or get good food my cafe isn’t too far from here. It’s called Moon & Stars in case you ever want to stop in. I am always willing to listen.”

Ominis’s eyes flicked back to her, mild awe on his face. Why was she still being so nice to him? “I’ll think about it.” he found himself saying. “Thanks for the offer.”

“Any time, have a good day. I’m Amberlyn by the way.”

“Ominis.”

“Well have a good day, Ominis.” Amberlyn gave a small smile and wave and then hurried up the beach and away.

~~

Ominis hadn’t always been bitter. He hadn’t always been scarred. But life wasn’t as kind to him as most. Watching the churning waves on the beach reminded him of the days he spent under and on them. In a giant ship, a submarine, or hovering over the waters in a helicopter before dropping into the frigid waters below. A navy seal didn’t have the time to admire the beauty around them, they had to remain focused on the task at hand, to lock in on their target and fire before the enemy saw them first.

He hadn’t always wanted to be a navy seal, he just wanted a simple job,simple rank. Maybe as an engineer, something where he didn’t have to fight. It was just meant to be an escape from his family, a job that took him away from their abuse, and provided money, food, and a roof over his head. And he was protected. Yet while in training when they discovered what an amazing shot he was he was moved up, a sniper for the seals. Part of discrete missions going into some of the toughest places in the world.

He had seen more death and destruction than most 22 year old men could imagine. It was all he had ever known and now he was here, stuck in a civilian city living at a logistics base. At least he still had a job. After an accident of explosive shrapnel to the face he only had the use of one eye even though they had worked hard to save the other one. He could no longer shoot for them. So he’d been offered an honorable discharge, but he feared having to go back to his family and begged for anything they had. His family were all he had to go to and they would want him back. As long as they knew he was still in the Navy they would think he was still fighting and leave him be.

But did he know how to be normal? No he didn’t. He didn’t know what to do with himself when he wasn’t working, when he wasn’t shooting. Logistics was boring but what he had. America was also unfamiliar to him. Try going from being in an uptight English school your life, to the strict rules of the Navy to the carefree and laidback land where no one cared how they carried themselves. He was also very alone.

Ominis found himself thinking of the strangely positive girl as he watched the waves. He found himself wondering if the ocean could be beautiful. If he was really safe here, miles across the waters from them. If he could finally find the peace and healing that he was hoping for. Here in Norfolk Virginia, under a warm sun that promised a bright beginning. Perhaps she was right; perhaps the waters here that shone with an odd beauty would wash away his past, bring him something new while carrying the old away. He couldn’t get his innocence back, no but he could retrain himself to not think about those things anymore- the things he was ashamed of.

~~

It was later in the evening and Amberlyn was busy working hard when she saw him enter, his pale skin a bit pink from the sun. Val who was helping her serve a customer caught on to how her attention shifted from her customer to the door when it swung open.

“So is that lemon boy?” Val asked her green eyes sparkling with amusement, her pink bob bouncing on her shoulders.

“His name isn’t lemon boy Val,” Alyn sighed, returning her attention back to serving another customer. “His name is Ominis.”

Val shook her head, watching as Ominis took a seat at a table in a corner. “I think lemon boy is far more fitting don’t you Cal?” she said, turning her gaze to her boyfriend who was sitting at the counter booth so he could visit with her as she worked.

Callan thought for a moment, brushing a piece of black hair away from his equally dark eyes. “Hmm, blonde and bitter. I guess lemon boy could fit.”

Val chortled in victory, “See I told you.”

Cal hummed for a second, his eyebrows cinching in thought “You said his name was Ominis?”

She didn’t get to answer however because a flock of people entered all at once, laughing and talking amongst themselves. The squad normally came this day of the week to catch up and Amberlyn knew they would want all the tea and Val was not the type to keep anything to herself. She was grateful to have made great friends here but sometimes their overwhelming presence made the introvert feel drained. But she loved them and she couldn’t help but smile and wave back at Jo.

They consisted of Val’s best friend Cassie, who was studying cosmetology; Alex, her boyfriend; and his brother Alvin, both popular football players. Alvin’s girlfriend Matty the botanist was also part of the group, along with the law students, Damien, Sebastian, Alejandro, and Jaimsen. Jo and Poppy who worked at the local zoo, and Jo’s boyfriend Silas was an artistic medical student.

Val went to art school when she wasn’t working at the cafe. Tori was also a law student though, she was leaning more towards officer work then the others. They all took turns helping at the cafe though. Silas and Val helped decorate and design advertisements, Poppy and Matty contributed all the plants and Jo helped plan how to make the place pet friendly. Cassie helped her find the cute aprons and just always look her best, and Jaimsen and Alvin loved helping bake new recipes.

~~

After she briefly said hello to them she let Val and Tori serve their other friends as she went over to Ominis where he sat gazing out towards the sea again.

“Hello again Ominis.” She greeted him.

He startled a bit at her voice but quickly regained his composure, turning towards her.

“Hello.”

She pulled out a pen and a notebook from her apron. “What can I get for you?”

He hesitated for a moment before saying gruffly. “Uhh, a black coffee.”

She raised an eyebrow in surprise. “No cream or sugar?”

“I like it strong,” he said simply.

“Okay then, one black coffee coming up.” She turned back to the counter where she took her time brewing it, finding herself stealing glances at him. He was so stoic and closed off. Yet sometimes she got a glance of something in his eyes, a longing and a searching for hope.

When she returned to the table he was surprised to find her not only sliding a steaming cup of black coffee onto the table in front of him but also a slice of strawberry cheesecake.

“I only asked for a coffee,” he began to protest, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Don’t worry you don’t have to pay,” she assured him. “It’s on the house. I thought you could do with something sweet in your life,” she said with a soft smile. “You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to.”

Amberlyn could feel his eyes on her as she walked away. She hoped the move wasn’t too forward of her. They just had a bunch of extra sweets thanks to Jaimsen and Alvin. It couldn’t hurt. Besides, if he didn’t want it he didn’t have to eat it. But sweets always cheered her up and she thought he could do with a bit of cheer.

As she visited with the others their conversation often drifted into the background as she thought about him. Where had he come from? How could she help him feel comfortable?

Her attention was snapped back when Cassie waved her hand in front of her face. “Alyn, girl you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

Johanna and Tori exchanged a look.

“Okay then,” said Poppy. “What did Silas just say?”

“Uhhhh…”

Val groaned. “He was saying that with your artistic talent you could have a career if you wanted.”

“Yeah, your doodles are great but they would look so much better if they weren’t on a napkin.” Matty chimed in, leaning her head against Alvin’s shoulder as he gently rubbed her back.

“What’s wrong with writing on napkins?” Alejandro piped up suddenly, sharp green eyes flicking up from where he had been very invested in writing something on a small piece of notepaper.

“Nothing Ale,” Silas said, patting him on the back. “Just that with her artistic talent it should be recognized more. Put out into the world. Just like your poetry should be. It’s good.”

Val’s eyes widened and she leaned forward on her elbows. “You write poems?”

Alejandro straightened, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah I do, I like to think they’re good,” he said modestly.

“Can I read one?”

He nodded without hesitation, voice calm and confident. “Sure, I don’t mind.”

“Like that one?” Cassie asked, pointing to the paper Ale had now covered with his hand.

Alejandro met her gaze with a smile, eyes sparkling. “Oh exactly like that one.”

Jaimsen leaned across the table and snatched it up, waving it in the air. “I’m gonna read it!”

Ale went to leap up but stopped when Alex put a large steady hand on his shoulder. “Chill mate, we just want to hear it. Let him read it, you can read us one another time.”

As Jaimsen began to read, Alyn’s eyes drifted back to Ominis. He had begun to eat his shortcake, and a small smirk twinged his lips as he listened to their conversation.

When Jaimsen had finished reading it the cafe was dead silent for a moment. The poem was clearly about Val, speaking of cherry blossom hair with tenderness . Ale stood, his chest rising with pride, and gave a small nod of apology at Cal who was slightly glaring at him. “Yeah, it’s about her. Now you all know. I’m not ashamed of it either.”

Ale then calmly made his exit, confident but a bit nervous of Val’s reaction.

Jo went after him.

Val had a little twinge of pink on her cheeks, a bit flustered from his romantic prose.

“Always knew he was a simp. At least he’s a cute one.”

“Yeah,” Callan agreed with a sigh, his frown changing into a slight blissful look.

“What?” Val exclaimed.

“What?!” Callan echoed, ears burning.

~~

Ominis found himself lingering late into the evening, listening to the comfortable buzz of the cafe girl’s friends laughing and catching up with each other. He felt out of place but he also didn’t want to leave. He no longer had crew mates to visit with, and he hated how quiet his apartment could be at night. One of the men’s voices comforted him more than the others, oddly familiar.

The plate that held the cheesecake was now empty, and his coffee no longer tasted as good as it had when all he had was bland and bitter food for months. Military rations and the hospital food on the ship weren’t sweet. He had only recently gotten back into the swing of eating normally again. He felt deeply touched by her act of kindness, making something twinge inside him he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Ominis looked up when she approached, her soft amber eyes seeming to see right through him as she softly smiled, sending that strange sense of warmth through him again.

“Hey Ominis, would you like any more coffee?” she asked, her voice gentle and cautious.

“I’m fine,” he said a little more gruffly than he would have liked. “I was about to go anyway.”

She just smiled again, and quietly began to pick up his dishes.

“I uhh…thank you for the cheesecake. That was…nice.” he managed to call after her as she began to walk away.

She paused and looked back, “Of course. And my offer still stands, you know, if you ever want to talk.”

“I’ll consider it.” And for the first time in a long while Ominis found himself smiling.

~~

For the next few weeks when he wasn’t working Ominis found himself back at Moon & Stars cafe, always ordering a black coffee and ending up getting a cheesecake on the house. Always sitting at the corner table that looked out toward the ocean, finding it more beautiful daily.

He wanted to visit with her more, and perhaps her friends. But he hadn’t been around people much, at least not in normal conversation for years, so he didn’t feel worthy. He didn’t feel like he was as talented or funny as them, that he had nothing to contribute.

But little by little though her quiet presence began to crack through his walls, sometimes a gentle brush of fingers as she patted a cafe cat that had crawled into his lap, a smiley face or some other doodle she had drawn on a napkin (all of which he kept), or a simple joke shared.

He would occasionally share a bit of gossip that he overheard after he heard her mulling over something with her friends about what had been happening in town. Sometimes she got him to share a bit about himself, a favorite song, a hobby, books. Eventually he told her about the Navy and the scar that haunted him. How he struggled to fit into normal society when all he knew was war.

Amberlyn would take her breaks with him, and in those quiet moments he found the highlights of his days. Her gentle persistence paid off and he found himself beginning to feel at home there.

One day when he entered the cafe he caught a glance of someone he hadn’t expected to see that day. It wasn’t the normal day for her friends to be there. These days were just for them. He had always made sure of it. Did he miss something? Was it the wrong day of the week-?

He stiffened when he heard his laughing voice call his name, “Yo Ominis! Is that you?” Sebastian Sallow unwrapped his arm from around the tall blonde at his side, his brown eyes sparkling with excitement. “It IS you!!” He clapped the man on the back. “D look, it’s my old school pal, Ominis. The one I’ve told you so much about.”

Hopefully not too much… Ominis thought to himself as the short brunette hurried over.

Sebastian let out a whistle, crossing his arms and looking up at him. “Well you shot up.” He then gaped at where Ominis’s sleeve was slightly rolled up.

“Wow, and muscled up too. Where have you been buddy?”

Ominis rolled his eyes and fought a groan and as he went to speak, someone spoke for him.

“He’s been in the Navy.”

…

To be continued….

[fanfoolishness]

All Glory Be in Service to the Nine

(Spoilers for Severance, 2x08, “Sweet Vitriol.”)

-

If Kier’s winters were cold, the winters of Salt’s Neck were brutal.

Her nose wrinkled, taking in air so frigid that it burned. Ocean spray stung on the cutting wind, carrying faint familiar scents of brine and granite. Ice-crusted snow crunched beneath her boots.

She remembered vapor rising from the factory to spiral into bone-white skies. Remembered blisters cracked and swollen on her small hands. Remembered the taste of the Nine in her eager mouth, her high voice piping like a gull’s.

This town had once known a guiding hand. She had reached to it in supplication, her devoted heart shining in its shadow. She had scrawled theory and science and innovation on exercise book pages, sharing knowledge as Kier had intended. Her vision lived on in workers and test-floor subjects and senator’s wives, and not a one of them knew the truth of her contribution to the world.

She had made herself smaller in Lumon’s service, dimming her own light for the glory of Kier.

Harmony bit her lip and tasted blood.

Salt’s Neck rattled around her, death-knells echoing through an oxygen circuit, lungs fibrotic and failing. The very walls of the buildings peeled and warped and collapsed upon themselves, scarred with Lumon’s letters. The people, what she glimpsed of them, were ghosts who had not yet realized they had died. The corpses stank of ether.

All was decay. Weakness. Woe. Her mouth twisted. She was better than this ruined, shattered land; better than its shriveled specters. She was stronger than they knew.

And she would prove it to the fucking Eagans if it killed her.

[sylviesoothsayer22]

Lured Deep Beneath The Waves (Complete)

He Xuan x Wei Ying

In order to save their worthless lives, Wei Ying's village offered Jiang Yanli up on a silver platter to a beast, only for her little brother to step in and oh so nobly take her place. Forcefully whisked away from his -ahem- not so peaceful living situation, he now finds himself in a queer place, looking like the spoiled wife of a dotting lord, wondering what he ought to do with his new circumstances.

That sounds like one of those questionable novels I'd catch jiejie reading. Also, I didn’t exactly ‘step in’ of my own accord.

At least the clucking hens back at the village now have new writing material to work with.

Author's Note:

The idea for this work came to me when I had a mental health retreat by the sea a few months back. Told some discord friends about it and it sorta snowballed to this. Also, I was accused of having a Hua Cheng-bias and needed to clear my name. *shrug*

This fic may or may not have some Deadpool & Wolverine humour here and there. Oops.

Anyways! This whole premise will eventually turn into a series of instalments that deal with HeXian's marital life. Now, onto the first fic!

He would’ve done it had she just asked. Madame Yu really didn’t need to go through all the trouble.

Wei Wuxian had been kneeling for so long that his legs had already gone numb. The cliff he was on faced the roiling, blackened sea, stretching out as far as the eye could perceive, so much so that he was unable to differentiate between the darkened waters and sky. He could taste the bitter salt in the air, the sea-spray clinging to his clothes, the chilling breeze, which forced his body into sporadic shivers. Not a single gull dared to caw, no fishermen hollering at each other to go home before curfew or paddles splashing against the water’s pull. Aside from his own breathing, the only other sound Wei Wuxian’s ears knew were the roarous crashing of waves smashing into the rocks of the cliff that he was chained to. 

It was already nighttime, a smattering of stars splashed across the sky, the crescent moon hung high like an arced axe about to fall on his head at any moment, its subtle glow barely providing him any light for his surroundings. Not that Wei Ying could see much through the stupid veil.

All this over some moronic ritual that should’ve died out in a bygone era.

It all began with a rumour. Black Water Demon Xuan was looking for someone, a woman, with hair like shadow, a face as fair as snow and eyes so bright they reflected the night sky. Said rumour trickled its way into the tiny fishing villages located near the South Sea, where the fabled Black Water Demon Lair resides. This led many to believe that he was looking for a wife, a concubine or perhaps just a bed-slave. As you can imagine, it resulted in numerous families offering up their daughters to the Water Demon, praying that it would spare their village from the Calamity’s dismay. 

The act of ‘offering’ one’s daughter to Black Water had become so common among the five villages that, throughout the centuries, it warped and spiralled into a ritualistic sacrifice where, every ten years, one fishing village out of the five, Lianhua, Huīshuǐ, Lántiān, Rìluò and Jinyǔmáo, had to place a fair maiden, dressed in the most elaborate bridal robes each village could afford, upon the Weeping Cliff, named after the silently weeping brides who would be carried there. The most hysterical bride would find themselves chained to the cliff in order to prevent them from escaping or even finding a way out of the marriage by plunging themselves into the watery depths below. 

Each village has their own method of choosing a bride, ensuring that it was random to make it ‘fair’. For Lianhua village, it was through a single pearl. As soon as it was Lianhua’s turn to sacrifice one of their own, the unmarried women of their village would gather at the main square, there they would find a bucket filled with perfectly round white stones and an opalescent pearl hidden among the identical rocks. Upon the ringing of a bell, each maid was forced to step up and dig deep into the bucket, as it was forbidden to pick anything from the surface, until one woman was saddled with the unlucky pearl. This year’s chosen maid was unfortunately none other than his jiejie, Jiang Yanli. 

Well, she wasn’t Wei Wuxian’s actual sister, as the lovely Madame Yu was keen on reminding him every damn day. 

Wei Ying’s parents were wandering cultivators that got killed on one of their hunts while he was very young. By some miracle, Wei Ying managed to find his way back to Lianhua where village head Jiang Fengmian recognized the lost little boy as the son whom his parents helped the people of Lianhua deal with some pesky water ghouls a few months back and so, decided to take Wei Ying in as a way to pay his debt to the boy’s parents. 

Of course, the Dear Madame Yu didn’t like how her husband seemingly favoured Wei Ying over their son, Jiang Cheng. Going out of her way to belittle every single achievement Wei Ying ever made while growing up. Oh, Wei Ying far exceeded Jiang Cheng in their studies? Madame Yu would give Jiang Cheng a scolding so severe that Wei Ying started deliberately underperforming just so that there would be less friction between mother and son. Wei Ying tied fishing nets faster than Jiang Cheng? Any praise given to him by Jiang Fengmain would be met with an equal amount of derision from his lovely wife. Wei Ying caught more fish than Jiang Cheng? He would wake up the next day and find his fishing tools tampered with to which Wei Ying chose to keep his mouth shut and carry on with his day.  

Wei Ying can easily forgive and forget all these little transgressions. After all, he was just an interloper, an orphan who was saved from a life on the streets thanks to the Jiang family’s pity. The least he could do was keep his head down and not offset the delicate balance among his hosts. 

However, Wei Ying drew the line at Madame Yu’s ill treatment of Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze’s memory. The woman would go out of her way to stamp out Wei Ying’s tendency to emulate his parents, as in whenever he tries practising the cultivation techniques that the two wandering cultivators taught him. The same techniques that helped Wei Ying survive on his own until he managed to find his way back to Lianhua. Even going as far as to disparage any attempted meetings between Wei Ying and rogue cultivators that found their way into the fishing village. All Wei Ying wanted was to follow in his parents’ footsteps, but the mere idea of him being better than the blood-son in anything was enough to set Madame Yu off a bunch.

Needless to say, once he was old enough Wei Ying spent most of his days out of the Jiang household. Only ever using the residence as a place to sleep or shelter from harsh weather. Wei Ying only hoped that he could make it until he found a wife and finally moved out of that dreary house. 

Perhaps if Wei Ying was around more often, he wouldn’t be in this mess or at least spare his jiejie some grief. 

I could’ve convinced her to hide out in one of the neighbouring villages until the ritual was over. Her idiot betrothed would’ve certainly helped. Or tamper with the selection process. Or or-

Aiyah, he was overthinking again. Now, where was he?

Ah, yes. His current predicament.

To Madame Yu, it was bad enough that her husband barely paid attention to their son, but finding out that she’ll lose her only daughter to a Calamity of all beings, was the last straw. She secretly hired the Wen Gang to capture Wei Wuxian-Really, Madame? Really?! Of all the scum you could’ve hired to do your dirty work, you chose the bullies notoriously known for encroaching on the villages’ fishing territories and beating up the weak?! Come on, Madame Yu! Have some class! 

Anyways, the hired help managed to sneak up on him (Wei Ying blamed it on the wine he drank to drown out his sorrows), knocked him out by a swift log to the head, dressed him up as the bride and chained him to the damn cliff.

Shackled to this lonely rock while bedecked head-to-toe in wedding garb, Wei Wuxian resembled a royal bride shipped off to an ill-fated marriage. He wore scarlet robes with a long gradient train, the colour blending from crimson to sunset red, his shoulders padded and decorated with dangling golden chains, teardrop shaped lapis lazuli dripping at the tailends of the delicate metalwork. Water dragons stitched with silver thread, serpentine jaws open in defiance, their long bodies coiling around his front and waist. Each dragon sporting eyes embroidered with golden thread, glinting eerily. His hair was held up by two golden criss-crossing hair pins. The metal of the pins twisting and bending like roots, the stems cradling shining red flowers nestled within raven tresses. Were one to look more closely at the pins, they’d see that the ‘petals’ were in fact seashells painted in red lacquer, carefully arranged to look like blooming flowers. Hanging off his pale arms were long, billowing sleeves made of satin with a silk, semi-transparent outer layer, offering a ripple effect akin to low tide. The bridal veil had a similar, wave-like pattern at the edges. Underneath it, his ears sported red-pearl earrings with arced silver fishtails attached at the bottom end. Each fin studded with tiny diamonds. His fair face had a light layer of makeup. Bow-shaped lips coated a deep red, golden eyeliner emphasising the silver in his eyes and a soft pink blush dusting his cheeks, completed with the huadian of a lotus flower in full bloom, its soft petals unfurling, beguiling in its simplicity. 

For all their atrocious behaviour, Wei Ying had to give it to the Wen Gang. They knew how to dress up a bride. Top marks for their efforts. Truly.

The Madame spared no expense, he was almost flattered! Wei Ying knew he could never afford a single piece of jewellery on this accursed outfit were he to start saving up until he was ninety.

Except for one, miniscule flaw in this elaborate plan:

Wei Wuxian wasn’t a woman!

Sure, he looked like a bride befitting an emperor, but no amount of polish will turn a rock into a diamond! For the past -who knows how many- centuries, all of the sacrifices have been women . What’s stopping Black Water’s displeasure at finding a trussed up male dressed in wedding robes as opposed to a beautiful maiden? What’s stopping him from showing that displeasure to Lianhua village and -potentially- the other villages as well? Would he curse the village heads and all their future descendants? Would he stop providing them with fresh fish and clear waters, have the villages slowly starve to death as they lose their primary food source? Or would he simply drown them all in a fit of rage? 

Outcome after outcome flashed through his mind, each one worse than the last. The wound on his temple, where the idiots smashed it with a log, throbbed painfully. Wei Ying was about to slam the back of his head on the rock behind him to stop his spiralling thoughts before remembering the hair pins. Deciding it wasn’t worth stabbing into his scalp, Wei Ying lowered his chin in defeat and sighed.

With his luck, maybe the Water Demon won’t even bother showing up and leave Wei Ying chained here until he dies from thirst, turning the expensive wedding robes into his funeral shroud. Or maybe Black Water will take a liking to him and turn Wei Ying into a trophy wife. Forbidden from leaving the Calamity’s side until he was old and wrinkled, a used-up, shrivelled thing tossed into the sea like trash once his natural good looks fade with age. 

By the heavens, if this backfires, he’ll haunt Madame Yu for the rest of her miserable life.

Look on the bright side, he thought glumly, at least you finally got away from that house. Potentially forever.

Wei Ying just hoped that jiejie was alright.

Ignoring the pins and needles running up and down his legs, Wei Ying shifted into a more comfortable position and decided to pass the time by squinting through the veil, counting the stars. 

He was on star number thirteen when it suddenly disappeared, like a candle flame swiftly blown out. One by one, the stars winked out of existence, the shadows shaping the moon into a crescent drew back like soundless curtains, until it resembled a great, lone pearl stitched upon endless black cloth. The crashing waves slowly fell into a murmur and Wei Ying was left with his own blood pounding into his eardrums.

SPLAT!

He startled. Back going ramrod straight. 

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT!

Wei Ying felt his body break out in cold sweat. Adam’s apple bobbing painfully as he swallowed.

Someone or some thing was climbing up the cliff.

Wei Ying slammed his eyes shut and started doing what he hadn’t done in years. Pray.

Who should he be praying to?! The Flower Crowned Martial God? No. That doesn’t make any sense. He could hardly call himself a cultivator let alone a warrior.

Should he pray to Crimson Rain for luck? Best not. The Ghost King was pretty finicky and he might end up displeasing Black Water if he started praying to a rival Calamity.

Water Master Shi Wudu? Oh, now Wei Ying was asking for eternal torture. It’s no secret that Water Master and Demon Xuan had a rivalry as tumultuous as a ship caught in a malstrom. 

Which of the thousands of negligent, apathetic gods is more likely to show Wei Ying a shred of pity? Maybe-

An overwhelming coldness washed over Wei Ying, as if he had just been doused with seawater, the wetness seeping into his skin. Whatever breath he had in his lungs was viciously expelled.

He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that the figure had stopped just a foot away from him. 

Wei Ying felt more than saw the hand slowly reaching out towards his face, long fingers grasping at the sheer red veil, carefully moving it out of the way.

The flimsy barrier between bride and groom disappeared. Wei Ying blocked out the feeling of goosebumps rioting all over his skin. With one final prayer for strength, he cracked his eyes open.

What stared back at him had his heart hammering against his chest cavity, ready to burst.

Yellow eyes as bright as molten gold, ever-changing and malleable, reminding Wei Ying of the precious metal’s capacity to shift into whatever form or role the owner fancies. There was a cool temperance behind that hooded gaze, it bespoke of someone who witnessed centuries-worth of depravities, followed by the painstaking build of calculated viciousness to counterattack, of hard-won strength carried with ease, lurking just beneath the surface of faux-boredom. It made Wei Ying think of the sea during sunrise, when the yellow rays have barely touched the darkened waters, still and inviting. Teasing onlookers to take one little dip, since it looked so relaxing, so easy , only to stray too far and get struck by a sudden riptide, dragging down the ignorant into a watery grave. 

It was terrifying, it was beautiful . Doubly so when those eyes were all that Wei Ying could see. 

He couldn’t make out the being’s face nor his figure. Not when it was enveloped by a mist so dark that the only form of light capable of piercing through were those golden eyes. It wasn’t too dissimilar to squid-ink, now that Wei Ying thought about it. Plumes of blackish-blue clouds engulfing any unsuspecting swimmers, knocking them off course, unable to tell which way was up or down, to move forward or back. 

Wei Ying subconsciously leaned forward, a helpless moth in the face of an inviting flame, so enthralled was he by the sight, that he did not pay any heed to the brief flash of recognition, of disbelief, in those golden depths. Did not pay any mind to the smooth, pale hand faintly brushing against his cheek, achingly familiar. Long fingers traced the path of dried blood running down the side of Wei Ying’s head, until they were softly tapping at the wound on his temple. 

Wei Ying had been staring into the abyss for so long, he failed to register those two points of light blinking back into the shadows.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o

It took a while for his mind to crawl back to consciousness. Wei Ying fully expected for there to be a godsforsaken ache equivalent to a pickaxe slammed into his skull or a gnawing, persistent throbbing in his temples demanding attention the moment one opens their eyes. 

Instead, when Wei Ying’s moonstone eyes cracked open, he woke up feeling rejuvenated and fully alert. Like long-awaited rain washing over a cracked and withering field.

It was easily the best sleep of Wei Ying’s life. 

Feeling that both his hands were now free, wary fingers prodded at the bump on his temple, checking for any damage. 

Only to be met with smooth, unbroken skin.

Wei Ying shot up, pupils blown wide. Head veering left and right, wildly taking in his new surroundings. 

He was sitting on a bed covered with pitch black sheets made of satin, the canopy drawn, but Wei Ying could still see through the azure, silken sheets. 

It was a windowless bedchamber, five times the size of his pitiful, dingy room back at the Jiang household, with muted grey walls and flooring, seemingly made out of stone. 

The closets, nightstand, chairs and low table looked as if they were also made out of this mystifying grey stone, protruding from the walls and floors, completely carved from the material. The bronze mirror appeared to be the only piece of furniture not made out of stone.

Looking down at himself, Wei Ying finally registered that he was no longer wearing those suffocating wedding garments along with another peculiar observation.

To be fair, he didn’t put up much of a struggle, but his movements while chained did result in his wrists to turn raw and swollen, yet Wei Ying could only see unblemished, milky-white skin. 

Did… he heal me? He wondered, lightly stroking his fingers against the no-longer-tender skin. Why? To earn my favour? Ensure that I warmed up to him quicker?

Then again, if he was powerful enough to change the sky, healing a few bumps and bruises would be childsplay. 

Maybe Black Water just didn’t want any defects on his new merchandise. Wei Ying thought, distantly. Caught between incredulity and exasperation. Now realising that he was put into yet another fancy outfit.

Tentatively drawing back the curtains, feet now on the ground, Wei Ying crossed the cold, rugless floor to the bronze mirror, gauging his current appearance. 

Ocean blue outer robes with hints of seafoam green and inner robes the colour of midnight starting from the top, turning into lighter, daytime shades as it reaches the bottom. Leaping fish made of silver and dark blue thread were stitched on the outer robes’ wide sleeves and shoulders, some fish holding what looked like seaweed in their mouths, while the ends of the robe had more seaweed embroidery, appearing as if they were swaying with the water’s currents. He had on a bright blue belt with silver accents and…a fish’s spine overlaying the sash, the bones of its caudal fin curled around the start of the spine like a claw. Blue and grey tassels with white and black pearls dangling off the belt.

Carefully running his hands upon the spinal segments, Wei Ying felt a strange-yet-pleasant shock zap through his skin. As if he had just brushed against a metal pole whilst a thunderstorm was churning above him. 

Attempting to move past how off-kilter he felt, Wei Ying looked back at the bronze mirror. 

Still gawking, Wei Ying gingerly grazed his fingers against the new accessories cradling his ears. Pearlescent ear cuffs in the shape of fish with long curtain-like fins, the ones that only emperors and nobles would keep as decorations in their private ponds. Their billowing tails delicately wrapped around the shell of his ears, the fins resting beneath his lobes. Lightly turning his head to the side, Wei Ying noticed that his hair was mostly let down, only timidly gathered at the base of his neck, a seaweed-shaped hair clip practically draped across his nape. 

At least it’s comfortable. Wei Ying thought, perturbed and somewhat annoyed. To think that he was dressed up like a doll while unconscious, twice in one day. 

Is this to be his life now? Dress in whatever manner that pleased his new husband with no sayso? Hanging off his arm like a kept-woman, a walking art piece with no thoughts or opinions of his own, that wasn’t expected to do more other than breathe and warm his bed?

Husband…. His mind numbly echoed. Wei Ying tightly gripped the mirror’s frame to prevent himself from swaying on his feet.

Oh gods. He was married. And to a temperamental water demon at that. 

In order to protect their worthless hides, Lianhua village offered Jiang Yanli up on a silver platter to a beast, only for her little brother to step in and nobly take her place. Now whisked off from his -ahem- not so peaceful living situation, finding himself in a queer place, looking like the spoiled wife of a dotting lord, wondering what he ought to do with his new circumstances.

That sounds like one of those questionable novels Liu Mingyan would lend out to jiejie. Also, I didn’t exactly ‘step in’ of my own accord.

At least Mingming now has new writing material to work with. 

His thoughts were taking such a leap to the absurd, Wei Ying felt the unbidden laugh sputter past his lips before quickly slapping a hand on his mouth.

Silver eyes darted towards the only entrance to the room, almost waiting for some kind of demonic servant to knock on the stone doors to deliver Wei Ying to its master, like some prized cargo. 

Isn’t that how those stories go? Wait until your newest guest wakes up before sending them off to the host with no warning?

Okay. Stop….

One breath….

Two…

..three….

By the time he reached a hundred, Wei Ying’s white-knuckled grip around the mirror’s frame loosened. By a hundred and two, his body started uncoiling bit-by-bit.

No knock ever came. That didn’t mean he was going to drop his guard, though.

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, Wei Ying started pacing around the room. There was quite a lot of ground to cover. How generous of Demon Xuan.

Could…could it be possible that he was just…forgotten? Merely tossed into a spare, impersonal room, while his new husband had some pretty little concubine to keep him entertained? 

Did he already displease his husband before he even had the chance to greet him properly?

No. He wouldn’t have bothered healing me or letting me sleep if that was the case. Wei Ying thought, mind still racing. Not to mention the attire….

Wei Ying let out a long sigh, which echoed back to him in this grand chamber. Shoulders drooping, he leaned his forehead against the bed frame, its solidity grounding Wei Ying.

He didn’t ask for this! What he wouldn’t give to be back at the village, sitting on the beach with jiejie and her giggling gaggle of friends by her side, a pot of lotus pork soup simmering above a fire.

Maybe if I earn husband-dearest’s ‘affections’, he’ll let me visit her….

Only one way to find out.

Squaring his shoulders, Wei Ying marched towards the wide stone doors, hand poised to push them open, halting just a hair's breadth away at the last second.

Wei Ying instinctively knew that he stood at the edge of a precipice. That the moment he opens the door, he will be sent careening straight into uncharted territory.

A part of him wanted to stay. To keep floating in this pool of uncertainty, at least here, it seems as if he won’t have to keep swimming into the unknown.

But Wei Ying was no coward.

He layed both hands flat on the cold stone, ready to push the double doors with all his might -the stone looked incredibly dense, it would’ve taken at least ten men to make it budge!

Yet, as soon as his hands touched the lifeless grey surface, there was a faint grinding sound as the doors smoothly slid against the hinges. As though this unfamiliar stone recognised Wei Ying as its master. That the lightest of touches was more than enough to make it obey him.

The double doors gradually split open and what met his gaze beyond it seemed so vast and unfathomable that it took Wei Ying a moment to process what he was seeing. 

A sprawling hallway lined with numerous stone doors not too dissimilar to the main entrance of the bedchamber he was in.

The hallways were lit by large crystal formations growing out of the hall’s ceiling and floor, the shape and size reminding Wei Ying of some of the underwater caves he was reckless enough to explore, of stalactites and stalagmites, except unlike them, these crystals didn’t have a rippling limestone appearance, but bear more of a resemblance to frosted glass that contained their own soft, eerie light. Bright enough to illuminate his path, but dull enough to leave the high-ceiling and distant halls in shadow. 

It made Wei Ying compare these crystals to the ones he saw during one lonely winter night. After an argument he had with Jiang Cheng, what was the fight about, he can’t even bother to remember, all he knew was that he stormed out of the Jiang household to cool off and was met with a world of pure white. The entire ground was covered in soft powder akin to crushed diamonds, deep blue icicles dripping off the edges of every roof, the light of the full moon shining down and reflecting off the ice. 

Yet, unlike that night, where the subtle white light brought him peace of mind, these crystals gave off a more distant, melancholic feel. Of providing you with the false assurance of knowing where you’re going, but were in fact, wholly lost and directionless.

The more Wei Ying walked, the more it felt like he was treading a perpetual lane with the same doors, the same walls, the same crystals. Still , he was able to catch a few, minute differences that assured him he wasn’t going in circles. Each door was the size of a palace gate, likely the same width too, all with their own intricate carvings etched into the smooth grey surface. Ships caught in storms with waves as high as mountains aggressively crashing into them from all sides, giant sea serpents locked in territorial fights as they catch each other hunting the same prey, haunting imagery of the seafloor with decaying sunken ships, their wooden skeletons slowly overtaken by seaweed, corals and other forms of aquatic flora, nature gradually staking its claim on those lost vessels, providing a new hub for smaller, more vulnerable creatures. 

He took a left, then a right, then another left, climbed ten flights of stairs, turned one more corrido- and I swear to all the gods twiddling their thumbs up in Heaven, if I find any more stairs I’ll tear all my hair out! Then Demon Xuan will have a bald bride to deal with! Does this hallway even have an end?! Should I just take my chances and go through the next door I see? 

Why does Demon Xuan even need all this space?!

After walking for what felt like hours, Wei Ying finally found a passageway that wasn’t lined with gargantuan doors. The left side of the hall was a smooth, dull grey wall like any other, whilst the right appeared to be made of glass, from floor to ceiling, segmented by oddly-made pillars with strange patterns.

They seem familiar…. Wei Ying thought, running his fingers into the etches and groves of these pillars, images of stalactites and stalagmites flooding his mind once more. Of how the two halves would grow, one from the ceiling, the other from the ground, both simultaneously dragged downwards and reaching up, eventually meeting in the middle till they entwined as one immovable column. 

Only what was beneath his fingertips, what was meant to be dripping water, meant to show signs of steady growth, of life , felt cold, still and dead. Forever petrified where it stands, no longer able to evolve into something more. 

Unnerved by where his thoughts were heading, Wei Ying decided to shift his focus on the glass from which these odd pillars were attached to. The more he looked, the more Wei Ying felt disheartened. Keen eyes attempted to parse through the darkness. There were no signs of a faint moon glow or even the glimmer of a single star. 

No wonder this place seems so melancholic. If my mere existence would result in the sky blotting itself out, I would feel pretty gloomy, too.

Now wondering what time of day it was -perhaps he slept through the night- something…unnerving caught his gaze. It was bizarre, completely alien, so utterly outside the realm of possibility for an orphaned fisherman like him to see outside of exaggerated illustrations, yet there it was. 

A long, skeletal fish about the size of a cottage, slithered past the window. Its head was the ugliest thing Wei Ying had ever seen. Broad, pushed back and slanted with what appeared to be a highly flexible jaw, giving it the ability to swallow prey as big as a horse with one gulp, its teeth were narrow and sharp with large gaps in between, allowing it to slice tender meat between their lips to bits. The creature’s entire body emitted a sinister radiance, its hollow eyes housing twin spectral lights. The behemoth was followed by a school of smaller bonefish similar in appearance, presumably its brood. 

It was the cold press of grey stone onto his spine that snapped Wei Ying back to the present. Realising that he’d been backing away from the window that whole time, the reality of his situation finally sunk in. 

I'm not looking at a veiled sky. Wei Ying thought numbly. I’m at the bottom of the sea.

The chasm between all that he knew and where he was at now was only getting wider, to the point that Wei Ying wondered if he’ll still be able to leap back. If he would ever be permitted to. 

Just as when it seemed like he was about to slip into another panic-induced spiral, something cool and slippery licked the back of his hand.

Wei Ying could’ve sworn that his very soul jumped out of his skin and crumpled up like wet paper. He probably lost ten years of his life from how startled he was.

Praying that this wasn’t something that was sampling him, beads of sweat trickling down his brow, Wei Ying creakingly twisted his head to the thing’s direction, trying to make sense of what his eyes were telling his mind for what felt like the nth time in this bizarre place.

A glowing, iridescent, bell-shaped body, resembling water droplets capturing all the colours produced by the sun’s light, shrinking and expanding like the beatings of a heart at ease,  curly tendrils as long as a man’s legs swaying just beneath its body.

For the second time that night, Wei Ying felt a slight, hysterical laugh squeeze past his lips.

A jellyfish… floating in the air.

Sure. Why not? This place is chock-full of eccentricities. Best that I get used to it, since this seems to be my life now.

There have been far too many surprises for him to even care that it just brushed its potentially poisonous coils against his bare hand. 

Maybe Wei Ying should just call it a night and slink back to his new room. Crawl into that comfy bed and, with luck, he might be able to convince himself that this was all a dream.

The jellyfish was observing him (Wei Ying wasn’t sure how he knew that, it’s not like he can see the thing’s eyes ). It started floating around him in slow, languid circles. A part of him felt like he should still be on guard, but the way the creature was acting seemed guileless, dare he say almost child-like.

As it made its turns, the gelatinous surface glowed brighter, one dominant color sprouted from its head in misshapen splotches, spreading all over the creature’s body until it was coated in varying shades of blue. 

It stopped right in front of Wei Ying, wiggling its body back-and-forth, tendrils swishing in the air with every sway, as if it were showing off.

Is it…trying to say we match?

“Uhh…It looks good on you..?” Wei Ying mumbled, feeling ridiculous after saying that. Maybe he should get his head checked. Who knows if this thing even understands human-speech.

The jellyfish-thing-spirit(?) trembled excitedly, its bell-shaped body inflating the way a child would proudly puff out their chest after winning a silly game.

Its odd behavior felt somewhat endearing that Wei Ying couldn’t help the breathless chuckle from coming out. The tension between his shoulders easing. 

Finally, a moment of sweetness in the midst of all the muffled bitterness and uncertainty that threatened to swallow him whole.

The jellyfish drifted closer, gingerly wrapping itself around his arm, having learnt its lesson on not to startle him. 

It started tugging him away from the windows, Wei Ying let it guide him to a different hallway. Adding its own bright light among the dim crystals’ glow decorating their path.

Must’ve taken too long. Black Water probably sent this thing to come find me. He thought, studying the spirit. Whilst its body seemed wet and cool, none of that dampness seeped into his new robes and it seemed much more approachable compared to the other sea creatures under his new husband’s command.

Hopefully those bonefish weren’t also air-swimmers like his companion here. Wei Ying would rather have meters’ thick glass between him and them whenever they choose to grace him with their fleshless presence, thank you very much. 

“You know…out of all the grotesqueries I’ve seen in this place, you are by far the most friendly-looking. Maybe I can convince my lord husband to let me keep you.” Wei Ying mused out loud, mostly to fill in the silence. 

The creature appeared to approve of the idea, judging by how it eagerly squeezed itself around his arm, practically hugging the limb.

They eventually stopped at a set of doors that were easily double the size of the previous ones Wei Ying had seen. He took a moment to study the iconography, an emperor, his wife and what looked like their two daughters, in the midst of a grand feast. Oddly enough, the seat meant for the heir was left empty.

The dining hall. 

He’s in there. 

The jellyfish gently detached itself from him, hovering by his side now. Beads of sweat ran their cold fingers down his back. 

It wasn’t the journey that made Wei Ying’s heart constrict, but what lay waiting for him at the end. He took a deep breath and was about to knock on the door, to wait for the inevitable clipped voice to tell him to ‘enter’.

His new companion stopped him, softly nudging away his raised fist. The creature brushed one of its coils against the grey surface, taking cues from Wei Ying as if it were his own personal servant, wanting to open the door for him.

(You need not stand on ceremony nor feel like a stranger in your own home. His lord husband would eventually remark to Wei Ying later on in their marriage, a harsh edge lurking beneath whispered-tones. You are this Manor’s master just as much as me. Act like it.)

The colossal doors let out a low yawn as they split down the middle and Wei Ying was bombarded by an assortment of scents. 

The savoury aroma of smoked fish and chicken roasted on a spit, coupled with whiffs of enriching herbs and seasonings, their distinct citrus notes lively and invigorating, titillating Wei Ying’s vacant stomach. Traces of floral scents interwoven with the striking, yet delectable smell of freshly baked cakes that he could almost feel their honeyed flavours dance across the surface of his tongue. The heady fragrance of various wines, their familiar woodsy undertones tickling his nostrils. 

Wei Ying’s mouth started watering. Very much aware of the fact that hadn’t eaten in hours.

He clenched his hands, digging his fingernails into his palms to get himself back to focus.

A great, pillarless chamber capable of hosting a great army while also leaving plenty of room for servants to scurry around at their beck and call. Yet, there was only one Western-style long table as opposed to the standard low dining tables arranged in neat rows. 

And a lone occupant sitting at the helm.

Their eyes locked as his host stood and Wei Ying felt all mental faculties screech to a grinding halt.

Wei Ying needed a moment to simply take in this Calamity, this man, this husband of his…..

He had thought those molten pools of gold for eyes would be the most bewitching feature, he couldn’t be more wrong. Flawless ivory-white skin that would enrage even the most regal of princesses, a deceptively wiry frame that reminded Wei Ying of a fragile willow branch, but knew he should never take it at face value. A smooth mouth and brow with no laugh lines or forehead wrinkles to be found, perfectly straight nose, pointed ears and sharp angular features, as if he were an impeccable bust cut and carved from the purest of jades, straight ink-black hair that flowed downwards to the small of his back. 

The top of those dark locks were encircled by a golden dragon-shaped guan, holding a gleaming pearl between its jaws. The dragon looked as if it were swallowing the moon. A groom’s wedding robes that were mostly red, embroidered in golden thread were majestic phoenixes, their bright wings spread in triumph, a stark contrast to the vermillion outer robes, whereas the inner robe seemed to be made of a different material all-together, of small, rigid plates seamlessly overlapping each other, reminding Wei Ying of finely crafted chain-mail or fish scales. The top of the inner robe seemed to be a red that matched the outer, yet as it flowed downwards, the shade changed from vermillion to ruby, to mahogany until the slitted edges appeared as if they were dipped in ink. Completed with a pure black belt studded with squared-golden plates that had water dragon motifs engraved into the precious metal, red and white pearls artfully looped around the belt, their tail ends dangling from it like chains. 

The surface of Wei Ying’s tongue had suddenly gone dry, breath shuddering, struggling to swallow around the lump in his throat.

What the hell was that back at the cliff?! There…..there’s no way that this is what he actually looks like, right?!

Yes! Yes! That’s right! Ghosts and demons can be such vain creatures….only shifting into forms that suit their own self-absorbed tastes…. 

So caught up in his new groom’s appearance, he almost didn’t register the other man glide his way towards him till there was only a foot of space between them. Golden eyes meticulously studied his form. 

Black Water started speaking.

His mouth is moving! He’s talking to you! Snap out of it, Wei Wuxian! 

“-any discomfort?” 

Wei Ying blinked owlishly and in his infinite wisdom decided to reply back to the clear question with a:

“Huh…?”

That smooth brow furrowed in what looked like slight concern, but Wei Ying was sure it was annoyance. Their first exchange and he was already making a fool of himself. 

Wonderful.

Maybe he needs to start laying it on thick? Does he have to make himself look pitiful to this Ghost King and beg his forgiveness for not paying attention? Should he put on a coquettish mask? Start cooing and twittering like a brainless little bird?

Many men never tire from listening to songs that boast of how great and merciful they are. Was Black Water one of those men?

The older male stepped right into his space, close to the point that they were almost nose-to-nose. Wei Ying stiffened, biting his tongue so he wouldn’t dig himself a deeper grave.

He shut his eyes.

Might as well get it over with….

Fully expecting Black Water to steal a kiss -along with whatever else that was demanded of him- Wei Ying instead felt a slim finger delicately stroke his now-healed temple in what almost felt like a lover’s caress. 

Moonstone eyes fluttered open, confused.

Black Water wasn’t even looking at him. Too occupied in assessing whatever damage was left to meet his new bride’s perplexed gaze.

“I was asking if your injuries are still causing you any discomfort? Healing has never exactly been my specialty.” He answered Wei Ying’s poorly phrased question. His words quiet and rich with a touch of gruffness, the deep bass almost caused his skin to vibrate from how close both their faces were. 

Wei Ying’s breath hitched, goosebumps breaking out for a different reason now.

Frowning at Wei Ying’s lack of response, Black Water started reaching for his wrists to inspect them.

“No need for that!” He blurted, stuffing his hands inside the wide sleeves of his robes, like frightened snails ducking back into their shells. He rocked backwards, balancing his weight on his heels, hoping Black Water wouldn’t notice his ‘subtle’ attempt at giving himself more space. 

Doing what he does best, Wei Ying plasters on his winning smile and starts blathering:

“Lao Gong is so proficient! More than capable of erasing every scrap and bruise on this delicate wife!” 

“.........”

The longer the silence went on, the more Wei Ying could feel his very soul start wilting, like a plucked flower that was left to dry out in the sun for too long. 

The elder’s brow furrowed deeper as a complicated look crossed his face, but Wei Ying couldn’t possibly discern if Black Water was pleased with the compliment or not. He might have better luck deciphering the symbolic meaning behind every carving that he walked past in his nerve-wracking journey to get here.

Their sudden muteness could have gone on indefinitely were it not for the abrupt break in tension.

A mortifying gurgle rumbled through the lofty chamber, its echoes reverberating back to Wei Ying’s burning ears.

Wei Ying slapped a hand on his hollowed stomach, as if that would silence its cries for food. He started praying for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

Oh. Just put me out of my misery already…! 

“Pfff-!” Black Water just barely managed to stop his laughter from escaping. Covering his mouth and giving an utterly convincing performance of ‘Oh, dear! It seems I’ve suddenly got the coughs!’. 

Laugh it up now , you bully! Wei Ying mentally whined. What kind of host stuffs his gullet while leaving his guest, his new wife , to wander around his home without at least feeding them first?! 

If Wei Ying weren’t keeping himself in check, he would’ve thrown a fit and cussed out Black Water straight to his face. So focused was he on not vocalising his wounded pride, that Wei Ying couldn’t stop his lips from pouting slightly.

Noticing his new bride’s upset, He Xuan promptly wiped away any traces of humour on his face and cleared his throat. 

“What a relief. It seems I’m not the only one with a voracious appetite.” He gestures to the awaiting feast. “After you, Lao Po. ”  

End of Part I.

Worldbuilding Notes for this AU:

1. WWX DOES indeed have some cultivation training, but it's half-assed and incomplete. Essentially a hodgepodge between some techniques his parents taught him, tips that he got from some generous rogue cultivators and what he learned on his own. He barely has any knowledge of ghosts, demons and anything spiritual-beast related. Good thing he married a scholar!

2. The five fishing villages are a direct homage to the five clans in MDZS:

Lianhua = Lotus Flower/Jiang Clan

Huīshuǐ = Grey Water/Nie Clan

Lántiān = Blue Skies/Lan Clan

Rìluò = Sunset/Wen Clan

Jinyǔmáo = Gold Feather/Jin Clan

3. Before ya'll got on my case and ask how the hell did HX acquire all those expensive jewellery/robes, etc. The sea IS his domain. I can totally see him ordering his Bonefish to gather all the oysters and mussels they could find for the pearls. The rest have an in-universe explanation and/or HX just increased his debt to HC tenfold.

4. Lao Gong = Husband / Lao Po = Wife

My justifications for the jellyfish-spirit...? WWX needs a friend. Ya'll want him to wander around Nether Water Manor all by his lonesome while hubby's out..? Even XL can just go talk to Yin Yu and/or Ghost City residents whenever HC's not around!!

WWX is confused. WWX is panicking. He be asking: "Should I be wary of this man or jump his bones...?" Who knows?

Now. This whole thing was mainly setup, but there ARE plot-related reasons as to WHY there's a ritual and why HX seems completely okay with his marriage to WWX specifically. If ya managed to catch some of the hints, congrats. If not, stick around for the next instalment.

Hope you enjoyed! If ya did, please leave a like/comment! Many thanks~

[replicant1955]

Winter

I walk the dock in late afternoon

Dodging the moorings

The boats coming in

Surrounding me with in a world reeking of diesel

Wide eyed fish lie in plastic trays

Stacked on the quay,frosted with ice

Garlanded with screeching, thieving gulls

Roofed with a grey sky, pregnant with clouds

And icy with the wind from the sea.

I stand facing the sea, swollen with wind

White capped stinging with the taste of salt

The gulls scream above me dancing on the wind

Souls of lost fishermen begging to come home

I am empty like the day, wind, spray and screaming gulls

Behind me they are unloading the boats

But I am somewhere far away with no way

To come home

Doug

[marigold-hills]

Curlew’s Call

I am a woman living in the North Sea, surrounded by water, on an island smaller than some cities. We have a pub, and a shop. Once a week, if the weather is good, a boat comes with food. When the weather is bad it doesn’t come: that’s why I have a garden.

I raised my children here, wild children, with wild, tangled hair, taking half after me and half after their father. They play in the rolling hills and on the cliff side, swim in the water when it doesn’t beat the shores too hard, when the waves aren’t too tall. I know this, because this is their land – they respect the sea, they know the sea. The sea belongs to them.

The sky belongs to me. When it’s grey and low it is mine, when it pours rain for days unending it is mine, and in those rare moments when the sun comes out and warms the earth - it is mine.

When my children play, they could be gulls, curlews. They fly through the spray. The cold of water is nothing to them. I dress them in thick, woollen jumpers which I knit in the night.

When they come home, they warm their feet by the fire, dry their socks by the hearth. They bring me heather flowers and I put them in ceramic vases, or press them between pages of books until dry and crumbling. I brush their hair until the salt crystallises on the teeth of the combs, and the waves of them are soft again.

And they tell me things – stories of what they had seen, of what they had found. Sometimes, it’s a lizard’s nest, sometimes the treasure untold of a pirate who once came to bury it, then lost his way back. One time, and one time only, it was a cavern, deep and hidden from the eyes, accessible only at low tide, then flooded at high. The earth had come away in the storm, eroded into the sea.

 They told me about it then, too, in a curlew’s call, in a gull’s cry. They belong to the sea. I belong to the sky.

@hoje--aqui you were so lovely about the last one so here is another ❤️

this was inspired by an article on the presence of black people in the rural English communities but I’ve lost the article :(

[starqueensthings]

The Influx

Summary: Wrecker is down bad for the fisherman’s daughter, though he hasn’t been able to summon the bravery to approach her… until tonight.

Rating/WC/POV: Teen because of kissing, I guess? 5700ish, 2nd.

A/N: not proof reading before posting because it’ll take me 726 years until I’m happy. Damn my perfectionism.

Divider by the lovely and talented @saradika

The din of Kamino’s waves crashing against the towering spindles of Tipoca city had always managed to mollify him. The rhythmic lullaby of that treacherous tide licking the belly of the building was amplified even further if the ever-shifting cold front overhead had crafted a storm; that booming thunder providing a near-perfect percussion for the music of the sea, and it was a song that saw him snoring within minutes of tucking his toes into bed. Yet the stillness of the ocean here on Pabu somehow also commanded the power to soothe his soul, and it was a calm that he hadn’t initially recognized; the lingering repose that dichotomously accompanied the constant ebb and flow of the Pabuan sea was as foreign to him as the warm embrace and unconditional welcome from the island’s citizens.

If you asked him what it was that kept him returning to the pier every morning, he’d hitch a quirky smile to that scarred face, and toss his hand in a wave of casual dismissal before launching into a myriad of superficial reasons: the smell of the salt in the air, and the way the sun baked the taste into his lips so that every word spoken between departing the dock and stepping into the refresher tasted like the remnants of a pleasant day. He’d remark that the radiant warmth of the beaming sun never had him itching against the unwanted beads of sweat that had a tendency form in the center of his back, the breeze off the water mercifully preventing the heat from becoming all-consuming and rendering him uncomfortable like so many of his previous missions on desert planets. He’d point upward to the sky where the flock of gulls swooping overhead never abeyed their cries of delight as the salty spray tickled their webbed toes. He would tell you that the hobby of fishing had anchored him in a way that nothing else ever had, as his years of enlisted service had never awarded him the luxury of leisure time, the chance for a hobby, or the opportunity for quiet, reflective solitude. And it was all so foreign… so foreign and so wonderful, and he’d happily spend eternity dangling his feet over the end of that old, sunburnt pier if the universe would allow it.

And while all of the aforementioned reasons were undoubtedly true, and while Pabu’s casual ethos had offered him a sense of comfort that Kamino’s oppressive rigidity never had, the true reason behind his continued return was something he would continue to keep close to his chest.

It was you.

The sight of you. The thought of you. The ringing music of your laughter and how it relentlessly raised the hair on his arms despite the breeze having carried it several dozen feet down the pier. How the dazzling sunlight danced across the surface of the water and set your eyes aglimmer. The way you never failed to lose your footing and stumble as you stepped into the hull of your father’s boat, the goading churn of the water momentarily robbing you of the innate poise that had Wrecker nearly certain you were an angel. The way your brows furrowed in exertion as you unwrapped that weather-worn rope from its elegant coil around the wooden post anchoring your vessel to the dock and looped it carefully over the intriguing slope of your shoulder. The sound of that elated sigh pouring from your lips as you departed the pier for the solace of open water, arms thrown wide to embrace the wind as your father engaged the throttle…

But mostly it was the way his chest seemed to hollow and ache as your figure retreated toward the horizon. That unexplainable feeling of missing you despite hardly knowing you. The longing that lingered beside his heart in the wake of your departure. The potent elation that ignited like a fire in his gut as the bow of your boat reappeared amongst the orange glow of the setting sun, and the twitter of anticipation in his gut that simply refused to subside until your features were near enough to exude the pleasant exhaustion mirrored by your father.

Today, however, had brought an unprecedented and unwelcome deviation to Wrecker’s routine, and something near a debilitating disappointment sat heavily in his chest as the sun neared the apex of its journey across the sky. Despite the spotless curtain of blue overhead intensifying the enamouring hue of the water, there was no sign of you. Every gentle swell of the sea below the solemn swings of his feet saw your empty boat knocking rhythmically against the legs of the pier like a tantalizing reminder of your absence. The bountiful schools of exotic fish drifting merrily in the current below his perch only intensified his disdain as they refused to offer even a moment of consideration for the sparkling lure he’d lowered into their depths some hours earlier.

It wasn’t until the perseverant pangs of hunger swelled to waves of nausea did he finally concede to that sad sense of defeat and pull his bait from the water, shouldering his rod and retreating to the familiar cool, ionized air of the Marauder.

“What’s up with you?” Hunter probed upon his arrival, cocking an eyebrow at the chagrin ghosting behind his brother’s heavily scarred features.

“Nuthin’,” Wrecker fibbed with a halfhearted shrug. “Just overdue for some grub.”

His teeth sunk eagerly into the tangy flesh of the meiloorun Lyanna had tossed him from behind a stall at the market yesterday, but the sweet nectar pooling around his lips and dribbling down his chin only managed to only partially lift his sodden, dour spirits despite placating the emptiness of his stomach.

“No sign of your girlfriend at the pier today?” the sergeant jeered, leaning casually against the backrest of the navicomputer chair, folding his arms across his broad chest and surveying his brother with a knowing smirk.

“She’s not my g— wait, how’d you know?” Wrecker wiped the stray juices from his lips with the back of his hand before tossing the pit of the fruit out the open door of the ship, and into the seemingly waiting beak of a white gull.

“We bore witness to her participation in a tree planting ceremony this morning, down in the lower hills,” Tech offered from the cockpit, his interjection muffled by the abrasive whirring of the condenser perched precariously on his knees, his beloved spanner clutched tightly in a hand smeared with dark, oily coolant.

“Looked awful purdy too,” Hunter added with an infuriating wink, jestingly punching his brother's elbow before clunking down the ramp and into the last of the afternoon sunshine. “Woulda chatted her up myself if I didn’t think you’d knock me out for it…”

Wrecker’s lips had barely parted to confirm that violent notion when the sound of a sharp gasp sent his shoulders jerking in alarm, and a tiny hand immediately encircled the crook of his elbow, drawing his attention downward to the blonde bundle of joy bouncing up and down on her toes.

“Wrecker!” Omega shrieked, her free hand balled into a fist of glee and hovering in front of the radiant smile that had crinkled her big, brown eyes. “You have a girlfriend?! Who? Where? Can I meet her? Let’s go!”

“I would surmise that based on Wrecker’s continued, futile attempts at secrecy and the lack of colloquial interaction between parties, the female in question is not yet aware of his affection.”

As if the strenuous task of prying the cover plate from its position over the condenser's maze of copper tubing hadn’t rendered his features utterly demented by the duress of his efforts, Tech spoke characteristically passively. “And Wrecker,” he continued as the cover plate clattered to the floor at his feet, “You may be interested to know: Pabu’s current obtuse positioning in relation to its moon, combined with the planet’s 11 degree axial tilt, is due to largely shift the dynamic of the sea’s undercurrents. It is an anomaly known as ‘The Influx’ and it only occurs once every 12.63 years. While the effects of this deviation are negligible on land, the change in current will present a paramount opportunity for—”

“Ugghhh,” Wrecker groaned audibly, growing increasingly embarrassed that he hadn’t managed to conceal his crush as well as he’d intended. “Tell me later, Tech. I’m hittin’ the refresher.”

Ten minutes in the cool sonic and a mouth-wateringly fresh seafood dinner saw Wrecker nearly returned to the typical genial demeanor that had Pabu’s youth constantly prodding at his back. The intrinsic robbery of your absence that had simmered in his gut throughout the morning and mid-afternoon continued to dissipate the with diminishing daylight; the saturated hues of pink and orange sweeping across the sky as the sun began its nightly kiss atop the horizon felt like a divine reassurance that everything was precisely as it should be.

Barely an hour after their squad arrived in the courtyard for a much-discussed night of music and dancing, Shep and a handful of his closest friends emerged from behind the Tree of Life; their broad shoulders slumped under the weight of various musical instruments, and the smiles on their sun-kissed faces promised a evening of good tunes and wholesome merriment. A particularly mellow opening number saw Omega scooped into Wrecker’s large arms, her tiny hand enveloped in his as he waltzed them theatrically around in a circle, her giggles lost amid the obnoxious, off-key croon pouring shamelessly from his mouth.

“Wreck! 8 o’clock!”

Detecting the familiar urgency in his sergeant’s voice, Wrecker ceased his boisterous serenade and craned to peer over his left shoulder.

A tingle erupted underneath his skin upon seeing your figure retreat behind the tall, stone handrail of the grand staircase, and the serenity of which the sunset had endowed him was instantly swallowed by the ineffable desire to join you on whatever adventure had you bypassing a party and disappearing into the increasing darkness.

“Wrecker,” Omega whined, sending a sharp poke to his shoulder. “Why’d you stop?”

He shook the desire from his head and wrenched his unfocussed gaze away from the stone landing, and the contemplative hum pouring mindlessly from his lips as he hurried to redirect his thoughts into an excuse was, according to the blond bundle still perched on his arm, an inadequate replacement for his egregious singing.

“Because it’s my turn for a dance,” Hunter interposed, correctly recognizing the flummoxed expression on his brother’s features. “You can stand on my boots like last time. Wreck, why don’t you go down to the pier for a stroll?”

The implications of the wide-eyed, knowing glance that Hunter sent his way as he reached for Omega’s hands was not lost on the love-sick soldier, and Wrecker offered nothing more than an appreciative nod and a casual salute before lowering her to the ground and turning toward the stairs.

The pounding of his heart in his ears deafened him to the repeated clunks of his boots atop the stone, and the smattering of applause that succeeded the final ringing chord of the same song that had him unknowingly waltzing around the courtyard in front of your very eyes, offered a perfect distraction to slip, unseen, into the darkness.

But you were moving with intention, your purposeful strides hardly faltering in their cadence as you hopped down from the last step and headed along the same sandy pathway that Wrecker’s heavy boots traversed every morning. He stumbled slightly in his haste to catch you, adrenaline surging heavily through his veins as he recovered his footing and relaxed his grip on the handrail. “Cool it, Wreck,” he told himself, swallowing the lump in his throat and resuming his descent.

He, of course, knew your name, but he didn’t dare call for you; he wasn’t entirely sure what he would say if you acknowledged his summon and turned your beautiful eyes expectedly in his direction. Instead, he simply followed quietly in your wake, admiring the way the blossoming light of the full moon danced across your skin, and frantically trying to funnel the myriad of conversation starters whirling about his mind into one coherent salutation that he could offer when the time came.

“I thought that was you behind me, Wrecker.”

You spoke before he even had the chance, turning unexpectedly to face him when he’d reached a proximity near enough to hear you; the smile doming your freckled cheeks was a little too knowing to be effortless, though its unexpected emergence banished all hints of suspicion from his mind.

“Oh… uh…” he stammered, lifting to run a calloused hand along the back of his neck, his eyes darting away from yours and coming to rest upon the waistband of the cargo pants that hung just a little too nicely around your hips. “Yeah… I— I missed you this mornin’, and I saw you head down the stairs so I—”

“You missed me?” you interrupted.

He swallowed heavily again. Was it that tiny, innocent tip of your ear toward your shoulder that had his fingers fidgeting anxiously at his side? Or was it the gentle purse of those lips as you fought to repress that refulgent grin?

“Well… I didn’t miss you, miss you,” he digressed feebly, certain that the heat sending his cheeks aflame was also threatening to spout funnels of steam from his ears. “Well I did… but I didn’t see you this mornin’ is what I meant. I was here fishin’… and… and you were there… treein’.”

‘Way to be cool,’ he grumbled inwardly, only barely repressing a roll of his dark eyes as the music of your soft chuckle raised the hairs on his arms.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” you assured him with a shrug. “My father’s back was giving him grief this morning. I was hoping a little rest might get him back to normal for the influx tonight, but he’s still pretty sore so I’m just going to have to put on my Captain’s hat and hope for the best.”

“The influx?” Wrecker repeated curiously, watching you step clumsily down into the hull of your teetering boat.

“Yeah,” you agreed once you’d regained your balance, jabbing a thumb over your shoulder toward the open water. “The undercurrent’s shifted south for the first time in years. Apparently it’s going to bring in some big fish from beyond the bay, and if I can wrangle at least a couple of them, it’ll give my dad the break that he needs.”

The ghost of Tech’s image flitted across Wrecker’s memory; his brows furrowed behind his goggles while he simultaneously snipped a copper cooling line and launched into a seemingly unimportant info-dump about an anomaly brought on by Pabu’s moon, and Wrecker was flooded with the irksome notion that maybe he should pay better attention to his brother’s verbose rambling.

“Well I’m not doin’ anything,” Wrecker offered with what he hoped was a casual shrug. “I can give you a hand, if ya want?”

His breath hitched in his chest as you paused, slender hand poised halfway toward the rope wrapped expertly around the post on the dock, eyes alight and twinkling as if impervious to the deepening nightfall.

“I would love that, Wrecker,” you finally admitted with an encouraging smile that sent his heart somersaulting into his belly. “Hop in.”

The moment he left the security of the dock and stepped carefully onto the rolling floor of the boat, his hands darted outward to steady himself. The addition of his weight in the vessel sent a cascading series of large ripples atop the surface of the water, and that moment saw him eternally grateful that none of his brothers were there to guffaw behind their hands at the way his knees wobbled with every step.

“Actually, would you mind driving?” you proposed as he turned and headed for the stern of the boat. “It’ll be faster if I unload the perimeter rods and fill the Livewell, as long as you’re comfortable behind the wheel?”

“Uhhhh, I don't know if you want me drivin’ to be honest,” Wrecker chuckled through an apologetic grimace. “My brothers are always tellin’ me I’ve got the spatial awareness of a blind bantha.”

The laugh that stole through your chest as you ignited a small lantern and placed it on the Skipper’s seat damn-near hypnotized him; that small shimmy of your shoulders under the exertion of your joy, the way your eyes crinkled shut to permit the expanse of your smile to dominate your features, and that absentminded little slap of the knee that gave away the authenticity of your mirth.

“Never heard that one before,” you chortled, sticking the Captain's key into the ignition and kicking the engine into life. “But I think you’ll be alright. Inside the bay is a zero wake zone anyway, so we can’t do anything more than glide until we’re out on open water. Just make sure to avoid the Narrows and we’ll be fine.”

Wrecker followed your subtle gesture toward the horizon, his eyes quickly falling upon the mentioned pairing of dark, jagged rock walls only visible by their stark contrast to the beaming reflection of the moon atop the placid stillness of the water.

“I trust you,” you added with a smile and an encouraging nod. “Come here. I’ll give you the low-down on how it all works.”

Inflated by your seemingly unwavering confidence in him, he returned your smile and trod carefully toward your position behind the wheel. It was a simple set up really, nothing like the vast array of intimidating controls distributed across the entire cockpit of the Marauder, and your gratifying gaze felt drastically less oppressive than the burn of Tech’s narrowed eyes every time someone other than Echo reached for the copilot wheel.

The Captain’s seat perched behind you appeared both squashy and weathered, the leather seat cracking and peeling in several places as its integrity failed to match the powerful union of saltwater and hot sun. The steering wheel near-perfectly matched its seat counterpart, worn in the two places where your father’s practiced hands had undoubtedly spent decades navigating the vessel. Perched on the dashboard was a small, primitive compass, its needle timidly reorienting as every churn of the sea below them shifted the vessel. On the left was the throttle lever, and immediately adjacent to that, a sonar screen of-sorts was already depicting various subaquatic movements of which Wrecker could make very little sense.

“Give me your hand,” you requested kindly, reaching for his palm without even a breath of hesitation.

Your touch was mystifying; as mesmerizing and powerful as a bolt of Kaminoan lightning, setting his very nerves aprickle as if waves of electricity were coursing under his skin from the place your fingers had touched his.

“Right now we’re in idle—”

He could barely discern your words over the pounding in his ears, yet he hung on every syllable as you gently draped his palm over the handle on the throttle.

“—first gear is one notch down, second is down one more, and then reverse at the bottom—”

Surely you could hear his heart pumping so thunderously against his chest? And if that beaming moonlight wasn’t exposing just how flushed his cheeks had become, he’d eat his own boots. Yet you looked upward at him with that same adoring smile, as if there wasn’t a force anywhere on the planet that could deter you from keeping your hand atop his.

“—stay in first while we’re in the bay—”

Was his touch sending your stomach aflutter too? Were you as enamored with his eyes as he was with yours?

“—once we get past the rocks, change to second and we’ll head a few klicks west to get to where the rock shelf drops off—”

Was it painfully obvious just how much he was struggling to focus?

“—I’ll give you a thumbs up from the stern when we’re in the right spot. Sound good?”

“Glide while we’re in the bay,” he somehow repeated, his self confidence failing to reach the same degree of your implicit trust in him. “Second gear once we pass through the rocks, and then go until you give me the signal. Got it.”

With a level of concentration typically reserved for manning the tailgun amid a firefight, Wrecker furrowed his brow and steered the boat from the dock as you stumbled toward the starboard side of the boat and began unlatching several compartments.

Gliding across the still waters of the bay, where his reflection shone as clearly atop the surface of the water as it would in the refresher mirror, offered him a sense of glorious insignificance. The expanse of the sea felt nothing like the immensity of the sky where the utter lack of organic life often felt suffocating and restrictive. Below the tipping hull of this old boat was a world of its own, teeming with action and eternally unaffected by the ruination of war and destruction; a self-sustaining paradise for every ecosystem that resided amongst the currents, and he knew instantly this was a sensation that would have brought all of his brothers to their knees.

Yet nothing commanded his admiration quite like you did. He watched in pure adulation as you pulled half a dozen rods from a hidden storage container and laid them carefully on the floor. Horrified that whatever pitiful remnants of his composure might simply abandon him, he enthusiastically averted his eyes as you bent forward and disengaged the latch in the Livewell tank, filling it with the cool water needed to keep your bounty fresh and preserved until your return to shore. Once certain that your rear end was no longer pointed high in the sky, he risked another glance in your direction, only to have that devastating sense of longing surge through his chest. Framed by the dark outcrops of rock now flanking you on either side, your posture nearly stole his breath; arms thrown wide, head tipped back, and hair blowing wildly off your shoulders.

He stifled a grin and dropped his gaze to the throttle lever still casually anchoring his left hand. A little downward pressure had second gear activated, the engine roaring into life, and a genuine chuckle pouring from his salty lips.

The innocuous licks of the water tickling the sides of the vessel quickly turned deafening as each rolling wave saw the floor beneath his feet heaving and crashing onto the surface.

His arms were soon drenched in sea spray, yet he refused to shudder at the sensation as being on the open water, away from the shelter of shore and the stability of land was a feeling unlike anything else he’d ever experienced. It wasn’t isolating as he’d expected… he felt wonderfully small and truly free.

“You good back there?” you called to him, your voice almost entirely lost amid the power of the wind dancing across his ears and around his neck.

“I’m great!” he shouted back, savouring the way you beamed at him.

He’d never know if it was minutes or hours until he caught sight of your promised signal, the roar of the engine subsiding to nothing but a quiet hum as he returned the engine to idle.

“I think we’re in the right spot,” you sang, excitement triggering you to rub your palms together. “Can you help me toss the lines out?”

“Now that I can do,” he chuckled, cracking his knuckles before scooping the lantern from the skippers seat and departing the wheel.

“As far as you can,” you encouraged, taking the lantern from him and exchanging it with the nearest rod. “There’s holders every couple feet. We’ll cast out and then cross our fingers.”

The praise that you bestowed upon him after every broad toss of the line into the water swelled his chest and widened his shoulders. It wasn’t until each rod had been situated carefully in a holder, and the lantern placed delicately on the ground between your feet and his, did Wrecker’s gut begin to simmer with nerves once again.

“Where are you from?” you asked through the ringing quiet, the only discernible noises above the rhythmic licks of the water were the tiny clicks of each reel unspooling more and more line as the turbulent waves pulled the lures deeper below the surface. “I see you every morning at the pier but we don’t ever get to talk much.”

“I’m uh… from Kamino.” He tore his eyes from the nearest rod and glanced bashfully in your direction.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it,” you admitted with a snort, hands reaching delicately for the nearest rod and slowly cranking the reel to recoil the line. “But my father and I landed on the island when I was a little kid and we haven't left since, so… I’m a little bit sheltered. What’s Kamino like?”

Wrecker let a contemplative hum issue from his nose, his mind whirring as he tried to find words to properly describe the insufferable sterility of Tipoca City, and the complicated relationship he’d had with it before its obliteration. “It’s… Kamino,” he finally replied. “And most of it’s destroyed now. It used to storm almost every day. If we got even a splinter of sun, we’d all fight to get to the windows so we could look outside. It was a water planet, so the cities were built up on tall towers in the middle of the ocean. But it's weird… the sea there isn’t like here. It was rough and dangerous, and so cold that every time you got splashed, it felt like you were getting stung by somethin’...”

“Was there no land?” you asked incredulously, those enticing lips parting just enough to distract him. “How did you get your hands dirty as a kid?”

“Well… we found ways,” Wrecker shrugged, looking downward at his palms. “Me and my brothers were always gettin’ into somethin’ we shouldn’t have been. I’ll never forget the time Tech asked me to hang him upside down by the ankles so he could crawl into the garbage chute. He… uh… he likes researchin’ things, and there’s not much else to research on Kamino. I could hear him gibberin’ on about compost while he was hangin’ there, but Nala Se snuck up behind me and scared me so bad that I let go.”

“Let go?” you snorted, eyes wide and sparkling. “You dropped him into the trash?!”

“Not on purpose,” Wrecker defended with a reminiscent smirk. “But yeah. It’s alrigh’ though. He was only mad for a few hours, then he paid me back by lecturing me about fruit flies and their ‘growth cycles’ for a week.”

“I like him already,” you grinned, turning your attention back to the spool in your hands. “He sounds kinda… different.”

“He is,” Wrecker affirmed with a nod, failing to stop that smile that always peeled across his face when he spoke of his family. “All of us are in our own ways.”

“Well, can I meet them?” you queried, glancing back at him with your eyebrows raised.

“You— you want to?” he stammered back.

“I’d love to… if that’s alright with yo–?”

A loud gasp fractured your sentence, the rod in your hand having lurched nearly entirely from your clutches as something below the rippling surface of the water bit down on the lure and took off. Your body leaped into almost masterful action, your hands intensifying their grip around that graphite pole while your left leg lifted to brace yourself against the powerful tug toward the water. Wrecker froze in place, his mind still twirling happily with the notion of you wanting to meet the people he loved most, and it wasn’t until you muttered a string of undignified curse words did he reawaken to the challenge at hand.

“Maker,” you gasped as you lost your balance, your foot slipping from its position perched on the side of the boat and sending your hip crashing into the wall. “Wreck! Can— can you grab the net?”

Wrecker swallowed at the sight of the rod in your hands bent nearly in half under the duress of the unseen prize still desperately fighting for its freedom in the depths of the dark water. “Wrecker! Net!” you urged as you stumbled again.

“Net…” he repeated frantically. “Right.”

It must have only been seconds… fractions of seconds since he stooped to snatch the tool from the floor, but by the time he’d straightened up, the entirety of your torso had disappeared over the side of the boat, the muscles in your legs still seizing in an effort to keep you upright despite that unrelenting pull downward.

“This— this fish is… huge,” you managed to choke out.

The next several seconds played out in half time; each moment lasting two, each movement lagging as if the events were truly happening in slow motion. Your feet departed the floor, the soles of your shoes rising to waist height… then higher… as your body teetered over the edge of the boat, anchored in place only by the bend at your waist, and even that feeble grip began to diminish as the struggle to subdue your monstrous catch continued. Wrecker acted without coherent thought, darting forward and wrapping his arms around your waist to secure you, lest you tip any farther forward and disappear into that surging sea.

Your addition of your weight was nothing to him, even combined with the efforts of the still unseen aquatic beast, but now free of the risk of toppling overboard you seemed to funnel every ounce of energy into rigorously cranking the line back onto the reel. He took a step backward and away from the water, determined to keep you safe and dry, but a foreign object had found its way into the path of his retreating boots, and his heel knocked heavily against something before his ears were met with a deafening shatter. The boat was thrown into darkness, and the pair of you toppled with a thunderous crash to the floor.

There wasn’t the time or the wherewithal to relish in the feeling of your body against his. He saw his hands clutching tightly at your hips before he even felt them under his fingers. He could smell the pleasant aroma of your hair in his nose before he’d even realized he was sprawled onto the damp floor with your body perched awkwardly atop of his, and that musical laughter began pouring from your smiling lips before any semblance of understanding returned to him.

And when it finally did? Panic… erupting inside of him like a volcano. He was holding you. You were on top of him. He could feel every swell in your body, every subtle shake of your laughing shoulders. He could count the freckles on your back. He could feel your hand placed gently atop his. The rear end that he’d deliberately avoided ogling at was now nestled securely in his lap and it threatened to utterly destabilize him.

“Maker, we botched that one didn’t we?” you chortled as you shifted your hips and tumbled off of him, rolling onto your back beside him and nudging the now shattered lantern out of your space. “I think I lost the whole rod.”

He attempted to clear the shock from his throat, yet his lungs seemed to be completely void of the breath required to complete the task and nothing but a strangled choke left his lips. His skin was on fire. Spiked adrenaline was threatening to set his hands atremble. Surely this is how he would die… lovesick to the point of suffocation. Not falling from a towering height like his nightmares had always imbued him with, but laying side by side with someone who he cared for so deeply that even breathing felt like a challenge.

“Thanks for saving my ass, Wrecker,” you spoke, nestling your head against his arm.

You shifted your gaze to look upward at him, that beguiling twinkle in your eyes somehow even brighter now that the lantern had been extinguished; those stunning glassy orbs sending his mind spinning near-painfully as he fought to find the cognition to answer you.

“You’re… you’re ass—” he stammered, feeling his face burn red hot. “I mean, you’re welcome!”

A delicate snort was your knee jerk response, and the silence that ensued afterward was so stifling… so insufferable… that Wrecker was half a heartbeat away from clambering to his feet and pitching himself headfirst into the water to escape the embarrassment.

“Wrecker…” you mumbled suddenly, breaking into his panicked thoughts. “Why did you come find me tonight?”

“Because…” he started quietly after swallowing heavily. “Well because I— I wanted to see you.”

“Do you maybe want to see me more often?”

He snapped his head in your direction, brows furrowed together as the implications of your questions flitted into his brain. “I want to see you all the time,” he answered, his gaze betraying him by darting back and forth between your eyes and your smiling lips.

“Me too.”

His lips fell open as those freckled cheeks drew nearer, your sparkling eyes disappearing as your lids fluttered closed. He froze, his own sight disappearing as your hand reached forward and cupped around his jaw, your lips descending slowly and tenderly onto his. An explosion unlike anything he’d ever crafted went off in deep in the part of his stomach where only the deepest and most intense feelings emerged; euphoria had him utterly floating. There was simply nothing else. No one else. No fish in the sea. No stars in the sky. Nothing but the warmth of your hands on his skin, and the gentle swipe of your tongue along his lip. His hand found the curves of your body without coherent thought, pausing to linger at the curve of your hip for only a moment before trailing softly up your back until his fingers wove themselves into your hair.

But it was over before it began. You pulled from him abruptly, head snapping around as three more rods suddenly began to whir and noisily unravel their tightly coiled spools of line. “Oh, Maker,” you sighed. “How about you reel them in this time, and I’ll net and tank them?” you proposed.

“Deal,” Wrecker answered, shaking his head in complete disbelief as you stood up and darted towards the farthest rod.

ragu list: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @starrylothcat @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @freesia-writes @sev-on-kamino @littlemissmanga @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @echoqk @drafthorsemath @jediknightjana @moonlightwarriorqueen @starstofillmydream @trixie2023 @mooncommlink @multi-fan-dom-madness @wizardofrozz

[lady-phasma]

Hen embār masti (From the Sea We Came)

Part 1 of ? 2.7k words

Daemon Targaryen x Elaenya Targaryen (ofc) additional characters and family tree here

Warnings: none yet, slow burn, will be 18+ in future chapters

Prologue: In his 25th year, Prince Deamon Targaryen, with Corlys Velaryon, arranged to take the Stepstones from the Triarchy. Their forces succeeded and by 109 AC Daemon, age 28, styles himself Daemon Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea. He is to be crowned by Corlys, the Sea Snake, and then return to the Stepstones to take possession of the island Bloodstone. The coronation is to be held at Driftmark, celebrating both Daemon’s and the Sea Snake’s victory.

The sound of the waves crashing against the cliffside calmed Elaenya when her thoughts wouldn’t settle. She could listen to the raging water for hours, watching the fishing boats in the distance, the gulls swooping and swarming around them. She would slip away at the first opportunity, before her morning studies or while the rest of the castle lunched. She and her older brother had duties and obligations, but were allowed free rein of Driftmark and its shores. Her mother, Maela, was the youngest of Corwyn Velaryon’s four children, and Elaenya and Laerys, his youngest grandchildren. They had fewer expectations thrust upon them. There were times when their station demanded they behave as a prince and princess ought, but that didn’t hinder them from exploiting unsupervised moments.

She thought back to times she and her brother had explored the cliffs and caves along the beach, how they would return to the castle with sand covering them from head to toe, pockets filled with pebbles and shells. She had a fortunate childhood in some ways, though not perfect, and had been spared the boring days at court in King’s Landing and the machinations of the royal family.

She stood up from her seat on the rock and dusted the sand from her breeches. The wind caught her silver hair and lashed it around her. She closed her eyes and relished the salt spray on her face. The sun was low on the horizon and the air had become chilled.

Elaenya turned back to the castle, walking slowly up the beach. She still wore the leather pants and thick tunic from her training that afternoon. Being far from King’s Landing had many benefits, not the least of which was the small glimmer of freedom she was allowed. With a plethora of male cousins and her brother she had fought, quite stubbornly, to learn everything they learned. When her mother had finally acquiesced to Elaenya’s demands to learn swordsmanship, she had been inwardly overjoyed and outwardly unbearable for weeks. She wasn’t allowed to train as frequently as the boys, nor as fervently, but she had a natural talent and practiced on her own. She had held a sword in her hand nearly every day since she was three and ten years of age. She fingered the grip of Elēdrar as she started up the stairs. They were rough-hewn on this cliff face and weather worn and there were many of them. She took her time climbing, enjoying the changing hues of the sky presaging sunset. Well before she reached the top, a screech jerked her attention skyward. Crimson, almost black, against the orange sky, Caraxes dove and announced his arrival. Elaenya bounded up the remaining steps, paying no attention to the exertion.

The stair landing opened onto a flagstone courtyard. She was dizzy from her strained breathing but had room for only one thought. Daemon turned at the sound of her footfalls

“Cousin!” she nearly squealed, sounding much younger than her eight and ten years. He smiled at her as he removed his helmet. He ran a hand through it, mussing it after having his helmet on for hours. Elaenya stopped short.

“Yes, cousin?” Daemon grinned at her.

“Well, you,” she stuttered, then smiled back at him. “You seem to have lost some hair, my prince.” She winked at him. He closed the distance between them and scooped her up in an embrace that lifted her feet from the ground. She hugged him back. Still trying to catch her breath, she looked toward Caraxes. He was eyeing them both passively. The dragon was exhausted.

“Shall we get you both settled?” She took his helmet from him, freeing his hands to unpack his saddlebags. She looked at the soot and blood on it and smoothed the plume down. It too was filthy. She would summon a squire to take care of his armor for him.

Daemon patted Caraxes’s snout as they walked off. Their hair and clothes whipped in the air as the dragon ascended and left the courtyard. He would find plenty of sheep or goats to eat before he rested. Elaenya walked ahead of Daemon as they entered the castle.

She doled out instructions to a waiting maid and requested a squire to assist the Prince with his armor. Daemon watched her with a prideful smile, but his eyes were tired. The journey was two days by dragon.

“I’ve had a bath and supper sent to your room. I trust you remember where it is?” she asked. She beamed upon noticing the way he looked at her.

“You’ve become quite a Lady since I saw you last. It wasn’t so long as a year ago though it seems much longer,” he was genuinely impressed, but teasing Elaenya was something of which he would never tire.

“Lady!” she scoffed. “Hardly.” She grinned and gestured to her filthy clothing. “I suppose I need a bath as well. I forget how to be a Lady unless we entertain guests. And if the rumors are to be believed, we will be having quite a few guests tomorrow.”

“Perhaps.” Daemon’s mouth twitched up at the corner. “I shall see you when we break our fast tomorrow?”

“Of course,” she replied. She kissed his cheek before departing for her chambers.

The fire helped to dispel the chill in the room but not entirely. It must have not been lit long. Steam rose from the bath water. Elaenya undressed impatiently. The evening sea air had seeped into her bones. She loved the way the water felt as if it burned when she first stepped into it. As she sank down into the tub, letting the day slide off her, she mulled over Daemon’s comment. She supposed she had become more confident with the servants and had learned more from her mother about her duties this year. This was inevitably the result of her mother’s intention to make Elaenya a desirable prospect as a wife. She groaned. She glanced to the corner near the hearth where Elēdrar was propped. Her Valyrian steel sword. It had been her father’s. There weren’t many in the family so when her brother had given it to her for her eighteenth name day she had been speechless. By all rights it should be Laerys’s.

It was a bit small for him. It had more sentimental value to him as he could remember more time with their father. However, Laerys had been bequeathed his own. His had come from the Velaryon lineage; Elaenya’s from the Targaryen’s. It fit her perfectly. She could wield hers one-handed if needed and could do great damage with two hands.

She let her eyes close as she rested her head against the back of the tub. She would wash when the water was cooler. For the moment she wanted to feel the heat. She gathered her silver hair behind her head, keeping it from the water and using it as a makeshift pillow. An unbidden memory floated behind her closed eyes...

Elaenya remembered how her sword had stopped midair, striking an unyielding object. She had turned around immediately and almost dropped it.

"Well, what do we have here?" The Dragon smiled down at her. All black armor and silver hair. He let the blade slide down his forearm, then gripped it, keeping it from falling to the ground. It had struck his vambrace when she had swung inexpertly.

She swallowed and was too embarrassed to respond. She could only blink up at him, then down at her sword in his hand and his helmet in his other.

She had been ten years of age the first time she had seen Daemon Targaryen up close. He tossed the sword in the air, flipping it to catch the grip. He turned it, making a show of inspecting the blade.

“They let you train with this, little one?” He flipped it again and handed it back to Elaenya, grip-first.

“Yes, only a bit, my Prince,” her mouth was dry. He seemed overlarge and certainly his reputation contributed to that.

“You’d do well to pay attention to your surroundings, cousin,” he grinned. “Watch where you swing such a deadly blade.” She laughed at this. They both knew it was a training sword with the dullest blade imaginable. “I shall leave you to it.”

He left unceremoniously. Young Elaenya watched him walk away until he entered the castle.

Elaenya made her way to break her fast the next morning. Her excitement propelled her down the corridors. The skirts of her pale blue dress flowed out behind her as she walked.

When she arrived at the hall, Daemon and her uncle weren’t present. She hid her displeasure with a genteel smile and walked toward the table.

“Good morrow.” She greeted her good sister, Rhanora, and brother, Laerys. She took her seat next to Rhanora as a servant brought her meal.

“You welcomed Prince Daemon last night, sister?” Laerys asked as he reached for the bread. He broke a piece off and handed it to his wife before taking some for himself, then handed the loaf to Elaenya. His eyes sparkled with a bit of mischief as they met hers.

“Thank you. Yes, I was on the beach when he arrived.” She gave him an exaggerated reproachful look. “How is the babe this morning?” Elaenya nodded toward Rhanora’s rounded middle.

“He was quite restless last night, but seems to have calmed today. I am ready for the little prince to make his appearance.” Rhanora stroked her belly as she spoke. It would not be much longer. Perhaps only a month’s time according to the Maester.

“Hopefully you may both have some rest before the festivities this afternoon.” Without meaning to, Elaenya rolled her eyes. She immediately flushed, praying neither of them had seen.

“Do you not approve of our cousin’s new title, El?” Her brother graciously winked at her, relieving her of the guilt that had begun to creep in. Laerys chuckled but it was clipped off when he looked up.

Their mother, Maela, had entered the hall. She smiled at them as she approached the table.

“Good morrow, Mother.” Elaenya and Laerys spoke almost in unison. Elaenya giggled. They had acted like they were still children, caught up to no good. Her mother kissed her fondly on the forehead before she sat.

“Good morrow children, Rhanora. Was something amusing, my son?” Maela didn’t look up from her task of buttering her bread.

“Well… yes, Mother, in fact, El thought Daemon’s coronation a bit of a farce.”

“I-“ Elaenya began in a huff, but her mother and brother laughed.

“Perhaps you should keep your opinions of your cousin confined to this dining table, El, lest someone mistake you for an usurper.” Her mother smiled at her.

Maela was a delicate woman but strong and fierce and kind. Her outward appearance and demeanor were every bit as regal as was required to marry a Targaryen prince. Before their father had died, Maela had smiled more often. Since then these intimate moments were the only times she seemed to slip off the twelve years of mourning which she wore like a cloak.

Maela had loved Gaemon Targaryen, their father, regardless of the marriage having been arranged. She was devoted to her two children, often seeing their father in their humor and playfulness.

“You look lovely today, El,” she said as she appraised Elaenya’s hair and dress. “More excited for the festivities than Laerys would lead me to believe?” She smiled mischievously.

Elaenya shot a sour look at her brother. She would find a way to repay him for exposing her to their mother.

“They will be historic, Mother,” she replied, not attempting to hide her smile.

Daemon and Corlys didn’t join them. Elaenya excused herself after she had finished her meal. She decided to go to the terrace to watch the arriving ships and the dragons. They, too, needed to break their fast and could be seen diving in the sea for fish that they rarely had access to at their homes.

She walked the corridors in no hurry. As she passed the library she heard voices. The doors were closed and she didn’t enjoy eavesdropping but she couldn’t help but hear Daemon’s agitated voice interrupt Corlys.

“-to Bloodstone. Tomorrow.”

Elaenya heard boot heels approaching the door. She moved away quickly, on through the corridors.

The ocean breeze was warmer than she had expected. She took a seat on a stone bench near the parapet. The dragons keened above and below her. Caraxes dwarfed her Saelys by half. Saelys’s teal coloring shifted between blue and green as she flew in the morning light. She watched Caraxes dive and reappear. A couple of newcomers circled and dove with them.

Bloodstone. Elaenya thought. She supposed it had not occurred to her that Daemon would go away so soon. Of course he would. Driftmark was not his home and only the war with the Triarchy had caused him to visit during the last few years. He and the Sea Snake would convene here when they needed to regroup or plan a new offensive. Those times were rare. None of the visits were long but she had spent every possible moment she could listening to them discuss strategy and tactics. More than once she had been their cup bearer in these meetings. The years had seemed to pass slowly with nothing remarkable happening between Daemon’s appearances at Driftmark.

He had spent most of his time there focused on his duties but after the councils he would walk on the beach with Elaenya. He would ask her questions about her training or Saelys or walk in comfortable silence. She didn’t prattle like young women were wont to do. Yet in all that time she had never thought about where he would be after the war ended. He had been a constant part of her life for three years and three years could feel like an eternity when your days were monotonous.

Elaenya gazed out at the ocean and let her mind wander. Soon she would be required to attend her mother and brother. Alongside them she would represent the Targaryens at Driftmark. What an odd predicament, she thought, to be loyal to her uncle and cousin and yet claim to be loyal to the Crown. Surely Daemon’s and Corlys’s actions were treason but she would heed her mother’s words and keep these thoughts to herself.

That afternoon, Elaenya took her place next to her brother in the hall. They stood to the side of the dais. Their uncle Corlys Velaryon sat on the driftwood throne. Every Velaryon who resided at Driftmark was present. The hall was buzzing with conversation. A few younger men laughed, the sound echoing through the rafters. The celebratory mood overshadowed the fact that Daemon and Corlys we committing a minor act of treason. Looking at the faces around the hall, she didn’t see any that showed displeasure. Everyone in attendance reveled in the victory.

A voice was heard above the others, asking for silence, and a wave of shushing flowed through the crowd. Heads turned to watch the young prince enter. His short, silver hair was raked to the side. His violet eyes focused directly ahead, not looking at the spectators. He looked smug even without a grin, but surely that grin lay close to the surface, Elaenya thought. She allowed herself a tight-lipped smile.

Her cousin stopped at the dais, not mounting the stairs. Silence fell completely as the Sea Snake stood. He walked to the edge and a servant met him, holding out the crown. The polished bones curved like those of a man’s ribs. Elaenya swallowed dryly at the unsavory thought. Daemon didn’t kneel, only bowed his head slightly.

“Let all present bear witness,” Corlys spoke loudly to the onlookers. “Daemon Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea.” The Sea Snake placed the crown upon Daemon’s head. Cheers and applause sprang up from the crowd. Elaenya wondered if it wasn’t a bit forced, overly enthusiastic. Surely not everyone was excited to see her cousin become a king.

Daemon raised his head and began to turn to face the crowded hall. As he did he caught Elaenya’s eye and proffered her a smirk that fell away as quickly as it had arrived. Heat rushed to her face but Daemon had already looked away. That single look had confirmed her suspicions: he knew exactly how much of a farce this had become.

To be continued...

[balladofthewhitehorse]

Weekly Rituals

After Scotland is swept out to sea, England is taken by some kindly villagers to the sea every week; It is equal parts to grieve, as much as it is to ensure that he does not fear the sea.

‘’It’ll be okay, lad.’’ Sighed the sea, as it lapped patiently against the boat, in his brother’s voice.

The sky was drawn across the horizon like a woollen shawl, and the wind ran icy-fingers through his  hair. The wood creaked beneath the white of his knuckles - England’s eyes drawn and as miserable as oysters; watery, grey and dire. The miserable soul huddled at the end of the boat simply looking wretchedly towards the waning land - as they were both slowly swallowed up by the sea and sky (two halves of a jaw closing around them). Gulls wheeled overhead, lazy and lofty as they skimmed the bobbing waves with raucous cries, England propping his chin in the palm of his hand as they continued to sail through this world of blue, grey and white. A net strewn out from the side of the boat, lazily gathering reams of silvery fish that moved in sinuous, almost-hypnotising motion; The rivers had been dwindling lately, and England’s taste of fish was beginning to become increasingly confined to midday daydreams of carp and trout. ‘’Ælfric…’’ He whined plaintively, swaying from side-to-side as the boat rocked in the sea’s drifting motion, salt clinging to his cheeks. ‘’...I want to…I need to go back. Please.’’ They had been hunting for oysters and mussels and whelks, for samphire. And now…

The fisherman looked on solemnly, as the cliffs slipped further and further away. ‘’It’ll be okay. Just…’’ He sucked in a draw of air between his crooked teeth, as his passenger whined from the bow, a weariness set deep into the furrows of his face. ‘’...Just keep looking at the sea, Edmund.’’ It had only been a few weeks since the boy’s brother had been lost, swallowed in the night by pitch-dark waters. They weren’t farmers, not since the fields had been burned. ‘’Isn’t it beautiful, lad? Keep looking, it’s important.’’ A pale-white sun pierced the clouds, lifting the early morning drizzle from the surface of the waters, revealing a mosaic of greens and blues. ‘’Keep-’’ 

England squeezed his eyes shut, trembling. ‘’Take me back, Ælfric’’ Puffs of sea-spray tousled his hair, and the boat slowly took on a more brotherly motion (perched on Scotland’s shoulders, as they walked by the river - swaying lightly from side to side, the sunlight golden on their cheeks). ‘’Please.’’ England clenched his fists, nails digging into the soft palms of his hands, as the sea continued to roll the boat gently from side to side (his brother - walking again, telling him about the lines upon lines of neatly arranged soldiers he had faced down; Silver swords and brassy confidence) Most likely a story, some fib Scotland had told him to make him seem cooler - but, England missed those right now, with a stone-heavy ache in his ribs. ‘’I need to go back-!’’ 

An unexpected sob caught England in the chest, like knuckles meeting his heart.

‘’You can’t hide away from the sea forever-’’ Ælfric began with a grave frown, the keel of the boat cutting through the waves like a knife through butter, a silvery trail unspooling from behind them both. ‘’-Come on, Edmund.’’ The fisherman tutted, watching the young boy’s face shift from weariness to a bitter frustration as the sea sighed around them. ‘’It’s always going to be a part of your life, you’ve got to be able to face it.’’ Salt clung to peppery hair as the fisherman adjusted the rudder, turning the boat in a slow, lazy arc towards the pale, northern sun as it drifted by. ‘’Edm-’’ 

 England’s eyes flashed like a burning field, embers sparking in the green of his iris. ‘’I’m not hiding.’’ He hissed sharply, teeth bared in a snarl. His sister had told him, clutching the back of his shirt as she squeezed him tight, that they weren’t like other people. England had asked her what she had meant, but the woman had simply gone very quiet (a dragon, retreating to its lonely cave with a hiss of red scales). He hoped that it was something good - something that would keep the breath in his brother’s lungs a little longer. ‘’I need to find him!’’ He spat, nose wrinkled with fury. 

The fisherman regarded him with sad, grey eyes. ‘’He’s not there anymore, lad. He’s dead.’’ The sea burbled in agreement, dark swirls of malevolent green and white sending the boat drifting across the choppy waves. ‘’He’s dead.’’ The man repeated once more, frustrated strain making his words creak like age-old wood. ‘’Stop shouting at me. You’ll rock the boat.’’ Ælfric drew in a weary, impatient breath as Edmund’s expression contorted into anguish, then into anger. ‘’Calm down.’’ A strain crept into his voice, impatient (a sudden swell of wind that pulled the air from beneath a bird’s wings; England froze, transfixed and trembling with ire). ‘’Sit down. Calm down.’’ Look at the sea. 

[lasudio]

VeronaHills, Round Fourteen: Traveller

"So, Hamilton - how's beach life treating you?"

The face of Trisha's friend became wider and brighter. The most wonderful words poured from his mouth at a mile a minute: sun, sand and surf, peace and quiet, a change of pace without being in the city. Trisha admired Hamilton for being so animated at their age - there must be something in the water of Desiderata Valley, she thought. The must-see destination magazine articles were intriguing enough without such a glowing review! Up next: a visit to determine if the beach was really her next best move.

Hamilton was right, about everything. Trisha had to pause on the beachfront boardwalk to breathe it all in: fresh air seasoned by salt spray, the occasional call of a gull, the chorus drifting from inside the karaoke bar. She'd had a go on the mic herself but couldn't beat Rocky for charismatic crooning (Hamilton did say his son was a tune master, and like everything else, he was right about that too).

Most of all, she'd forgotten how invigorating travel could be. Exploring a place without such insistent cloud cover, where her skin could become golden again... she knew in her toasting bones that it was the right move.