#seagull bath bones

[ponkfurb]

…look who dropped off the face of the planet (again)

…oops? I have several new furbies now,,, some of which are on my furby instagram (chirpsfurbs.png) but I haven’t posted my newest one anywhere yet

I’m absolutely swamped with school stuff so I will be returning to the hole i just crawled out from. bye and have some furbs

oh yeah and i longified seagull pics soon maybe

[missisjoker]

Into the Storm

Pairing • Cregan Stark x Wildling!Reader

Tags • mentions of violence, threats of violence, smut.

Rating: Explicit - 18+

The reader infiltrates the Night's Watch castle with a purpose, but it doesn't go according to plan.

Wind-swept mound of the Eastwatch-by-the-sea creeped up on the horizon, dwarfed by the solemn colossal of the Wall stretching as far as the eye could see as you steadied the swaying boat and stepped on the shore.  The grey and green waters of the Bay of Seals were snarling at your feet, treacherous whirlpools dancing and sea foam licking the salty rocks, and the horizon darkened in anticipation of a storm.

You dragged the dingy boat between the boulders ashore, fastened the knot to a nearby tree, and huddled your leather coat tighter around your chest. The soft sheepskin protected well from the summer chill, but the cold winter gusts bit right through it and gnawed at your bones. You downed a sip of water and started climbing up; there was no time to waste idly, unless you wanted to freeze to death and have your eyes picked by seagulls.

Track to the crows’ nest took less than half a day – the dirt road was still dry, pine needles making your walk springy and fast, and you met no stray fishermen or men of the Night’s Watch patrolling the coastline.

Your heart ached- the plan was borderline suicidal, to sneak into the Crows castle and steal the maps of the Wall – but you had no choice; the merciless King-beyond-the-wall deserved to die, and your resolve to see it through settled in your bones like cold settles in the dead of winter.

You waited until dusk, hidden away from the prying eyes and piercing winds behind rotten logs and piles of stone at the castle’s foothill, watching centuries on the walls change and working out the pattern.

When the moon came up, full and pale like goat’s milk, you climbed up the wooden walls past the sleepy guards and hid yourself in the overhead crawlspace above the pathways. The space was narrow, musty and muddy, but you were called the Wild Cat for a reason.

Stealing food from the kitchens was fun no matter how meager and disappointing the bread and stew was; but even more entertaining was taking a hot bath in the cellar while you could’ve been discovered at any minute- and then gleefully watching two young crows fight about the missing hot water.

The outlay of Eastwatch was simple to remember- four watch towers marking each side, training yard and stables in the middle, the great keep with an armory adjacent to the dining hall, a kitchen, a medicinal room, and sleeping quarters squared around them in the form of a horseshoe, all connected by the timber walkways. And, most importantly, the study. A vaulted room in the southern tower, full of dust, books, scrolls, and maps of all kinds.  

It took you three more days of lurking in the shadows like a ghost to learn the shifts and movements, the change of guards, and to single out the “Maester” – a fat, bald man with a flock of greasy white hairs sticking out of his double chin that spent most of his time looking through books and drawing maps in the study. He, too, was easy to learn- after days of work and bossing younger crows around, when the sun set beyond the sea, he’d take a cup of spiced summer wine and a bowl of stew and leave the study empty until the morrow, giving you enough time to roam through the piles of scrolls in search of your target.

You perched in your hiding space, tasted the salty air on your lips, and shivered; the unmoving stillness that stayed in the air for the past few days dissipated; the harbinger of the storm left, and in its place, the winds were picking up again, relentless. The thin, dark line on the horizon was rolling closer, growing and covering half of the sky; even the daylight seemed to dim a little as a winter storm slowly crawled in from the sea.  

A sound of horses neighing and men talking in the yard tickled your ear and your curiosity peaked, but you couldn’t see around the dark logs of your hiding space, and decided not to crawl closer to look – the walls of the castle were wet, century-old pine logs weeping under the prickly wind, and with each dewy tear the movements became more and more unforgiving. Likely, it was nothing to worry about- perhaps they all were feeling the approaching storm and, just like you, were uneased by it.

Finally, the twilight followed the grey, muted dusk, and when the first torches lit up the courtyard, you went in for your target.

The heavy wooden door of the study didn’t have a lock, just a hook from the inside- and the bald master brazenly kept a stick right below the step to pry it open. You creeped into the room and squinted, trying to see in the dark.  By this time, you already knew the room well enough to move around without a light, you could still make out silhouettes and shapes in the dark once your eyes adjusted; an extinguished fireplace at the furthest wall, a heavy table and chairs in the middle, shelves covering the perimeter, and a sleeping bench near the window. Something felt different though, wrong, and made the hair on your neck stand up. It wasn’t just the sweet and mushroomy smell of the old parchments, spiced berry whiff of master’s summer wine, and smoke from the dead fire; no - you felt a faint hint of fir, rosemary, cedar, leather and something unfamiliar that made your heart beat faster. You reached out for a flint when a pile of furs on the bench shifted slightly, and a voice rough from sleep grumbled,

“What are you doing here?”

You froze for a brief second, blood rushing to your face and throat, then took a deep breath and conjured the most soothing and lulling voice you could master, a sweet lullaby tone you heard from women putting their babies to sleep;

“I’m but a dream, my dear, a shadow in the moonlight. Pay me no mind, precious child, lay your weary head to rest and sleep.”

Your feet tip-toed backward toward the door, heart hammering at your ribs, and for a moment, you heard no movement; you breathed out, thinking that your little trick worked, until your back hit something solid and the same voice, clear and fully awake now, growled right above your ear, sending goosebumps across your skin,

“Do you think me a dimwit?”

You yelped and tried to bolt- but your arm was caught in a vicious grip.

You pulled and twisted, tried to wriggle yourself free, but it did nothing; the grip only hardened, surely to leave bruises by the morrow- if you were to live that long - and the man started to pull you closer. So, you twirled on your heels and swung your free arm to slap him - he caught it effortlessly, cuffing your wrist with his hand, but released your other arm in the process- and you gleefully clocked him with it. The impact him stagger backward a step.

All that rowing did make my arms stronger,

You chuckled to yourself, but the humor was short-lived, as the man launched forward and grabbed you again, harder this time;

“Do not hit me again, boy, or I will break your arm.”

You did what you were told and bit him instead.

He cursed and released you again, more out of surprise than pain- but that gave you the needed moment of freedom to dash for the door.

You almost made it when strong arms snatched you by the by the scruff of your neck and hauled you back as if you were a ragdoll; the bastard was too fast and too strong and seemed to see perfectly in the dark, like an animal.

 In desperation, you reached for a knife and put the blade to the man’s throat.

“Unhand me at once.”

“Nay,”

The man grabbed the blade and twisted the knife out of your hand with ease, as if he was prying a toy out of a babe’s grasp, kicked your feet from under you, and threw you on the floor.

Your back hit the hardwood; you winced at the impact and a cracking sound your head made, and then choked out a whine as you were pinned down, the heavy weight crushing your thighs while an iron grip forced both of your arms above your head.

One hand.

That heathen was holding you down with one hand.

You felt anger and fear swirl together into acid, setting fires to your veins.

“What is this, a toothpick?”

His voice was laced with irritation as he examined your knife and ran a thumb along its dull rigged edge,

“An arse scratcher, perhaps?”

Fury rushed through you like boiling oil, as you thrashed and tried biting him again,

“Release me, and you’ll find out.”

You heard him chuckle as he shifted his legs and pinned you down harder,

“Settle down, you little waif.”

You allowed contempt to seep into your voice,

“I’m do not fear you.”

You could hear a grin on the man’s face as he spoke in a low, husky, taunting whisper laced with a touch of amusement,

“Now that is foolish”.

The knife thudded on the floor as the man threw it away like a broken toy and put his free hand on your throat, not enough to strip you of air, but enough to keep you fully under control.

“How many of you are there?”

“Just me.”

The fingers on your throat squeezed harder, pushing you deeper into the floor,  

“How many more?”

“It’s just me! Why do you need more? You can’t even handle one.”

A thumb pressed into your jugular vein, blocking the flow of blood and sending the sound of your own heartbeat echoing in your ears,

“I’m handling you well enough”.

Your fingers twitched with want to free your hand and scratch that arrogance off his face.

“How did you get in here?”

“I walked…”

The man’s hand suddenly left your throat and started roaming your body. You let out a hiss through gritted teeth,

“That desperate, are you, for a free folk to warm your bed? Your crow brothers don’t pleasure you enough?”

The man tsked disapprovingly and continued patting you down.

“I’m looking for weapons.”

His hand was big and warm, and you hated how it burned a trail of heat through the thin leathery coat and pants, barely suppressing a shiver when it slid down your chest right across your tit.  

It suddenly stopped on your waist.

“A woman?”

Realization barely a whisper from him, but it made the blood in your veins run cold, and you coiled, bracing for an assault that never came.

The weight suddenly shifted off your legs, still restraining, but not enough to hurt, and the man flickered something in his pocket and threw it into the fireplace.

You turned your head on instinct at the crackling sound of emerging fire and watched as the first licks of flame ate away the darkness until a strong hand forced your face straight.

You stared at your captor and, oh, the bastard was handsome.  Strong, sharp features framed by a mop of silky brown hair tumbling down broad shoulders that looked like they could shrug off a mountain, corded muscles, soft lips, and piercing eyes that changed color from blue to the stormy grey.

In another life, you would’ve fought other spear wives for a piece of him.

He grabbed your chin and tilted your head to the side, then to the other, observing;  his eyes traced over your body, you felt a traitorous blush creep up your cheeks, as if you were laid out naked under him, at his mercy and under his touch, and you hated yourself for the reaction. Your body was a wild thing, just like you- and it wanted to live, even if your mind has made peace with soon being dead.

“By the sea, then.”

“What?”

“You have salt marks on your boots. Did they run out of the men to send up here, so they risk a woman?”

“Busy with important things,”

His brows furrowed,

“Like what? Getting piss-drunk and fucking wild goats?”

Your eyes narrowed in frustration as you stared into his steel blue ones,

“As if you’re any better, fraternizing with the enemy in the middle of the night.”

“Aren’t fraternizing yet, lass, just getting acquainted.”

Your stomach did a weird jump at the way words rolled off his tongue, and you noticed a faint blush dusting his cheeks.  

“How did you get across the wall?”

“By flapping my arms.”

He braced himself on the free arm and bent closer to you,

“Why are you here? And do not jest; you’re at the end of my patience, a woman that you might be.”

“I need weapons.”

“How much can you fit into your coat?”

“It’s more spacious than it looks.”

He considered you for a moment while you tried not to move, and definitely not to think how the heat of his body was warming you up from head to toe. You must’ve hit your head too hard, because all you could think of was how good he felt on top of your thighs, and how much better he would’ve felt between them.

“Why not trade with the townsfolk?”

 “They don’t have enough castle-forged steel. And yours are better, sharper. They sing when they hit other steel. They sing when they hit the ice. What’s the secret? What do you put in them, crow?”

“Virgin blood. And I’m not a crow.”

“Must be hard to come by.”

He nodded in agreement,

“Aye, very toilsome. And what do you want them for?”

 “Winters are unforgiving. Bet you know nothing of how hard the winters can get up north.”

His mouth tightened, voice sounded controlled, which made it frightening for the lack of emotion in it.

“I know enough, and your hardships are of your own making.”

The fury bubbled in your chest again as you hissed back at him, craning your neck so your noses were almost touching,

“Yes, we were banished beyond the Wall by the Starks simply because we didn’t want to live on our knees.”

He threw you a dirty look,

 “Instead, now you live on your back.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks, and in a newly found bout of strength, you bucked your hips violently enough to throw him off on the floor. 

He landed with a surprised thud as you scrambled to your feet and rushed to the door, but he was faster, again, and stronger - always has been. He grabbed you by the waist and pushed you into the wall, brought you face to face, his arms and his body caging you in. 

You felt goosebumps of fear crawl over your skin as he snarled at you,

“You think you can just prance in here, take what you desire and leave with impunity? Perhaps I should give you to the guards; they will whip the right answers out of you.”

You braced on the wall as your knees almost gave up under you;

“Please don’t” – barely a whisper.  

His sneer was taunting,

“Afraid of a little pain?”

You suppressed a shiver and looked him straight into those cold eyes, battling back treacherous tears,

“Half of your crows are rapists and murderers, whatever they do to me, it won’t be whipping.”

He froze for a second, then his features darkened as he straightened up, a full head taller than you, muscles rolling under the shirt, dwarfing you by his presence. His voice dropped lower,

“I would never allow that”, and for a brief second, you believed him.

Which gave you a crazy idea.

A violent roar of thunder rattled the glass window, and that was enough for you to slip from his hands and dash away, but not to the door.

You sprinted to the table in the center of the room, grabbed a piece of stale bread from the plate the maester left behind, and started vigorously munching.

The man stopped in his tracks and stared at you with undiluted confusion, 

“What are you doing?”

You chewed faster, and then grabbed a cup and gulped it down in one go.

 This is not summer wine.

Your throat burned, your voice coming out as a rough hiss,

“What’s in there?”

“That’s my chamber pot.”

You choked while the bastard had the audacity to laugh.

“I invoke the guest right.”

Now it was his turn to choke.

“You what?”

The incredulity looked funny on him, almost endearing, the crease between his brows smoothed, leaving behind a pleasant, handsome face of a young man as he tilted his head and looked at you like you’ve just grown a pair of horns.

“You’re uninvited.”

“I invited myself. “

“This is not my house.”

“And yet you move around like you own it. So, will you honor it or not?”

He mused on it for a moment,

“Alright. But it goes both ways. You will answer every question I ask of you truthfully, yes?”

“Agreed.”

“And, don’t try to run again,” – his voice dropped lower yet again, sending a shiver through your spine,

“Because I will catch you.”

There was a hint of a threat in the tone, but also something else – amusement, perhaps, or even enjoyment, as the corners of his mouth trended upwards in a barely concealed smile.

An unexpected knock on the door.

You jerked at the sound and looked back at the man, fear flooding your chest again, as he looked at you for what felt a very long second, then made a decision and motioned you to come forth;

“Here, now!”

You moved closer and allowed him to grab you by the shoulders and gracefully move you around the room as if in a dance,

“Not a word.”

He maneuvered you behind the doorframe while holding your wrist, shielded you out of sight with his body as he talked to the man on the other side.

“M’lord, the preparations are done. Stables locked; food lockers secured. Orders?”

“Double the centuries, wake up the captain, and send a patrol through the castle, we might have uninvited visitors.”

“Yes, m’lord”.

As the heavy door screeched shut, you stared at each other.

“M’lord? I’ve never been with a Southern Lord before.”

“Southern?”

“We are south of the Wall, yes.”

A lord, here, at the wall? The Eastwatch… Must be… Lord Umber? What a strike of luck.  

His hand was still on your wrist, thumb rubbing a careful circle on your pulse. You felt your cheeks color again under his gaze, and heard yourself speak before you could stop your own mouth, fighting to keep yourself from purring;

“I heard all southern lords are wanton, have some… strange pleasures, quirks even. Are you one of those? Or the opposite, boring and unbending?”

He leaned in, hot breath tickling your ear,

“I’ll gladly bend my knees for the right woman.”

You steadied yourself with a hand on his waist and gods be damned if that small contact didn’t make heat coil between your legs.

“What is your name?”

“Cregan.”

He didn’t resist when you pushed him into the wall… and thrust a dagger you kept well hidden from his curious hands into the wood right next to his neck.

“Impressive”, he gritted out a little less composed as he pretended to be.

“You should’ve checked better, my lord. “

 Steel bled into your voice as your knife traced a scar on his cheek, then went lower, blade scraping his jaw and following the line of the vein on his neck, pricking the skin just enough to make a dent but not enough to draw blood.

He watched you with an unreadable expression, eyes dark and gleaming. He could easily snap you like a twig, he’s fast and strong enough to do that with ease. Yet he stood there unmoving, like a living statue, steady deep breaths making his chest rise and fall, something akin to hunger burning deep inside the stormy eyes of his, following your every move like a wolf watching his prey.

Excitement thrummed through your veins as you saw his carefully crafted façade crack, little by little.

“You’re threatening me again, guest.”

You traced your fingers over his cheek and jaw and his lips parted in a quiet sigh.

“I have much more to offer.”

He caught your free hand and pulled you even closer,

“You’re going to play a wench now, while you hold a blade to my throat?”

“And what if I’m not playing? Why are men allowed to want and have but gods forbid a woman does the same?”

“Because men can fuck and forget about it the next morning while you might die on a birthing bed.”

There was pain and sorrow in his voice even though his stoic face betrayed almost no emotion, and you wanted to reach out and cup his cheek again to give him comfort.

“Fear of death shouldn’t stop you from living.”

You pulled the knife away from his neck,

“Now, please allow me to explain, I have a lot to tell you.  Think you can do that with a free folk, Lord Umber?”

You flipped the blade in your hand and offer him the hilt as he arched an eyebrow at you. It was a huge gamble, it could easily end up carved into your heart, but…

He took the hilt and nodded.

 “I can do that, yes. What is your name?”

“Y/N, but everyone calls me Cat.”

“A little feral Cat? How very fitting.”

“I’m not little.”

He tilted his head to the side and moved into your space, making you angle your head to look up into his eyes as he almost dwarfed you.

“But you are.”

You flinched, and he moved back, motioning you to move,

“Sit down, say your piece.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and moved to take a chair at the heavy oak table at the center of the room. Your heart was racing, trying to hammer its way out of your chest, and you had to take a breath to steady your voice. This Lord was a blessing sent by the gods, a strike of luck you never dreamed of getting, and you had to make it work no matter the cost.                

 You told him about your people and the new King-beyond-the-Wall Merzymir, the reason of your visit, and the target of your plan.  Merzymir was unhinged and violent man, cruel beyond measure who took pleasure in unrestrained and public brutality. You told Cregan About his sacrifices “to the Others” - gruesome and unforgivable, little suckling babies left in the carved-up mouths of the weirwood trees in the night, with nothing left of them by the morrow but some bones and a red paste. Whole families fed to rabid bears or left outside to freeze to death, doused in water. Men tied up to trees and ripped limb from limb for speaking up against him. About your own family and what he did to them, and how he made you watch. About his plan to find a tunnel under the Wall and cross South, spreading chaos and death wherever he went.  

Cregan remained silent, face betraying little emotion but his fierce eyes were now soft, with a certain gentleness to them, with a trace of sorrow hidden in the deep of the blue and grey. He was hard to read, this lord, so you pressed on with another argument to get him on your side.

“The King-beyond-the-wall has a farther reach than you think. He’s been negotiating with your own kin, and while you sit idly in your pretty castle and think you are safe, the war is coming to you.”

His brows furrowed as he leaned closer,

“I need names.”

“I don’t know the names, but when they met with him, spoke about flaying the Starks and making new coats out of them.”

You watched his lips twitch into a barely concealed snarl and his hands curl into fists; his lithe body twitching with barely restrained fury. 

Suddenly, your heart filled with dread,

“You’re not one of them, are you?”

“No, I’m the one they want to flay”.

You blinked.

Then you blinked again, and twice more, while the cogs in your brain turned faster and then screeched to a halt.

A Stark.

He is a Stark.

A fucking Stark.

He noticed your stare and chuckled,

“I never said I was an Umber.”

You finally closed your mouth,

“Right.”

“What do you want of me?”

“I need a map”.

“Of what?”

“The wall. The tunnels beneath it.”  

“That doesn’t tell me much.”

“I want to get him into a tunnel and kill him there. I want to watch him choke on his own blood, I want to watch his life go out in his eyes, and then I want to piss on his grave. Does that tell you enough? You should want the same, Stark, for he will get across one day, and on that day, your people will be in for rape and slaughter.”

“And you want me to believe you didn’t know I was coming here? That it was all a coincidence and not some wretched plan of yours?”

You let out a tired sigh,

“Some would call it fate. And no, you were not in any plans of mine, but I’m glad you were here.”

He looked at you with those eyes that changed color in the dim light of the fireplace, his fingers tapping on the blackened wood of the table, and you felt like you haven’t convinced him.

“You’re safe now; why risk going back?”

“I made a promise.”

“You promised the dead, they will forgive you for staying alive.”

 “He has my little sister.”

The silence thickened and draped around you like cold summer fog. He looked away for a long moment as the room fell quiet, silence broken only by cracking of the fireplace and your own heartbeat.

Finally,

“So, you were going to steal the map, and get him to cross the Wall, and then what? How would you escape?”

“I didn’t plan that far.”

He stilled.

“Your plan is shite. You’ll get yourself killed before you even reach him, and your sister won’t be any better off for it.”

“I’m not you, m’lord, I can only risk my own life to do justice. Don’t have an army to do my bidding for me.”

“You do now.”

“What?”

“I won’t allow a savage to cross the Wall, nor would I fight on two fronts. You will have your map.”

He got up and dug a map from a pile of scrolls, rolling it out in front of you, and motioned you to come closer. 

“Here’s a tunnel we can lure Merzemir in. There is another tunnel ten miles to the west, but it is well-protected by the Umbers, stay away from there. I will not give you the others. But this one, this will be perfect. It is far enough from the manned castles to be watched properly, and it is not collapsed in, yet.” 

He guided your hand to a small dot on the parchment, and you burned under his touch. His hands were big, rough and calloused but warm and surprisingly gentle, and you wondered how they would feel like caressing your breasts, and thighs and what’s between them.

By the gods, I want to survive, I want to live.

You swallowed a lump in your throat and watched instead how his hair fell off his shoulders and blocked half of his handsome face. You barely restrained yourself from moving the hair out of the way,

 “You should braid that.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Pay attention.”

“So, this is where I kill him?”

“This is where you lead him.”

You threw him a confused glance as he started explaining.

 Cregan’s plan was so simple and yet so clever, and you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry- you shouldn’t have expected anything less; Starks didn’t hold the North for over 8 thousand years because it was given to them, but because they could keep it. You thought when you first saw his face that he was green as the summer grass and never seen the war- but now you knew there wasn’t a mere boy in front of you, but a ruthless and seasoned warrior, and it filled you with dangerous hope.

He sat beside you, the wooden bench creaking under his weight, explaining the plan further. You couldn’t help but steal glances, saving his face, his voice to your memory. The room was cold yet you feel burning, as if he were a furnace, enveloping the space around you into a warm embrace. It was almost suffocating, but you couldn’t get enough, you wanted to roll yourself in it, rub it into your skin until it seeped through your pores and became a part of you.

Was it because he was so easy on the eyes and his rough hands handled you with ease, making you feel alive? Or was it because he just threw you a lifeline and gave you hope that you could actually win?

Perhaps, both.

He broke you out of your daze by reaching behind him and putting a hunting knife next to your hand.

“What is this?”

“Your weapons are shite, but this is castle-forged steel. Take this with you to the Wall to protect yourself. Or, give it to your sister. You said she’s too soft for the wild space, too kind? Then send her to Winterfell with it so my men know who she is, and she will be safe there.”

The emotional turmoil in you picked up, promising to swallow you whole, and you barely bit back the tears.

“You would have her?”

“I would have both of you.”

He reached out and grabbed your chin between his thumb and index finger, and stared through your eyes down into your very soul.

“You’re a little feral Cat, are you not? Then use one of your nine lives and bring it back to me.”

The true meaning, the weight of it all, made you close your eyes to stop your head from spinning, and you can feel his thumb gently caress your jaw and trace along your lower lip.

You shifted back, and take a full breath of air, without looking at him,

“I will do my best, I promise.”

The moment was broken, Cregan lowered his hand and moved back, giving you space, as your body cried at the sudden lack of warmth. Hope was addicting. He was addicting, this Lord Stark.

“I will get going now,”

“The storm ‘s not over.”

A roll of thunder shuddered against the castle walls as if to give the truth to Cregan’s words, but you persisted;

“I’ve already overstayed my welcome,”

“Is everything going to be a battle with you, lass? You’d know by now I will not hurt you, so what are you afraid of?”

That if I stay much longer, I might not leave at all.

He considered you for a moment, then sighed in surrender,

 “Fine, here.”

A black wool coat wrapped around your shoulders as you threw Cregan a confused glance.

“It’s one of the watchmen’s, cover yourself and walk fast. I’ll lead you out.”

***

The mother of all bad ideas slammed into your face with the first gust of wind; the storm outside was raging, painting the whole world around you dark grey. The torches were all blown out and the rain slashed at the walls relentless. You hid behind Cregan’s back as he shielded you with his body, and followed him through the passage way.

You didn’t get far when the beams above you cracked and moaned and buckled under the weight of the storm, and crashed down onto you.

You threw yourself forward, pushing Cregan out of the way and down the stairs; you both tumbled and landed hard on the lower platform.

“Y/N!”

“I’m alright,”

And you were, except for your right foot that was now screaming in pain. You tried to move, but every time you put even a little of weight on it, a scorching bolt of pain shot through, making you hiss. Wind didn’t help either; you were swaying on your feet like a young silver birch, failing to find your balance.

“We’re going back.”

“I’m fine, just go, I’ll find my own…”

He hauled you up into his arms as if you weighted nothing, holding you so tight you couldn’t wiggle your way out of his grasp even if you wanted to,

“I wasn’t asking.”

His commanding tone left no room for arguing, so you kept silent and wrapped your arms around his neck instead.

He placed you carefully onto the bench and discarded both of your coats. You wheezed  in pain as he took off the boot and examined your ankle, kneeling in front of you and placing your bare foot on top of his thigh. You leaned backwards, allowing him to work his hands over the sensitive skin, kneading the muscles and soothing away the soreness.

“It’s just a strain, but you shouldn’t walk at least until tomorrow.”

Then he noticed a bruise from the rope sneaking and coiling around your calve, old and faded, already turning green and yellow, and traced it with his fingers up to your knee.

“He did this to you?”

“It’s almost healed.”

“He will pay for it.”

The silence thickened while his hands were firm on your thighs, your skin burning through the clothes under his touch. He hesitated,

“Do you…”

Your hand cupped his cheek and caressed his face, making him look up at you, and smiled,

“Do you want to take me up on my other offer?”

“And if I do?”

Your eyes flickered to his mouth and you felt like a desperate, starving woman, the need to touch and to taste crawling under your skin and curling in your chest; his hands rested on your waist now, caging you in, and you wanted to be caged, to be taken and devoured, you wanted him to place you underneath him and do whatever he desired, without mercy. And when your eyes met his, you saw your desperation mirrored in them; you were both starving animals that wanted to feast, so you finally snapped.

The first kiss was angry, but almost chaste; just pressing your lips into his, melting into the warmth. You let out a sigh and ran your fingers along the side of Cregan’s face.  That was enough to get him to move, to grab the side of you neck and maneuver you to deepen the kiss. His mouth ravaged yours, tasted your lips, your tongue, placed a careful nib on your lower lip, traced your jaw and the side of your neck. You felt ablaze, alive, by the gods, you were trying to survive so hard and so long you forgot how to live. You wrapped your arms around him, curling your fingers into his hair to keep you steady, and tilted your head, letting him kiss the other side of your neck down to your shoulder.

You gasped in protest when he suddenly pulled away and drew a steadying breath, avoiding your gaze.

His body vibrated with barely controlled restrain as he finally looked up at you,

“If you want me to stop, say it now.”

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt and leaned back onto the bench, wrapping your legs around his waist and tugging him on top of you, looking into his eyes with pupils blown with lust you were so eager to satiate,

“Don’t you dare.”

That’s all it took to break the last of his resolve. Cregan pressed his mouth into yours, much rougher than before, licking and biting moans out of you, your mouths molding into the shape of each other.  You sighed and arched into his touch, pride swelling in your chest for you just did the unthinkable- you set the stoic, composed Lord of Winterfell free from his lordly chains.

You didn’t have to be quiet, thank the Old gods, the storm outside drowning your moans from unwanted ears, so you let it pour out. Cregan’s hold on your waist tightened as he kissed you harder and nipped on your bottom lip, then pushed your legs open wider with his knee, rocking between your thigs with his arousal, creating perfect friction and stealing another moan out of you.

His nimble fingers made a quick work of your coat and shirt, and then your pants, and you were splayed bare, blushing as he ran his hands over your sides and looked over your body with something akin to reverence, taking it all in.

You grabbed onto his shirt and tugged,

“Take it off”.

He complied immediately, pulling the shirt off in one swoop and lowering himself back into another deep kiss, his chest rumbling with an approving groan as you whined into his mouth at the contact.

He’s burning hot, and your body curled into the heat and melted under it, nipples perking up at the friction of skin on skin as you ran your nails down his back.

He wrapped his hand around your throat and tilted your head, giving himself full access to your neck, kissing all of it, hot breath tickling your ear and lips sucking at your pulse. He pecked on the sensitive skin in the crook of your neck, making you whine and buck your hips, and went lower, cupping your breast as he slowly kissed his way down to the other one.

You wriggled underneath him, wetness pooling between your things and your cunt clenching at the emptiness so desperately it was borderline painful.

“Just fuck me already, what…”

Cregan ran his tongue over your nipple cut your protest short; sucked on the little bud, and wrapped his lips around it, making you whimper louder underneath him.

“Patience, my little cat, we have time.”

 His kissed a trail lower, to your belly, to the dips of your hips, to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.  You shuddered as his fingers finally reached your folds, inquisitive, sliding through the damp heat as he cursed,

“Fuck, you’re dripping wet,”

“Damn, Stark, I’m not one of your blushing virgin maidens, I don’t need you to… “

His tongue lapped at your folds and you let out an obscene moan, hips involuntarily jerking up but he pushed them down and kept them in place as he licked and prodded and nibbled, circling your pearl in a teasing repetition, sending shock through your spine, making your back arch and hands desperately grab the furs.

You slapped your hand over your mouth to keep you from moaning louder as the pleasure crested and your body tingled in anticipation. Suddenly, he reared back, watching you whine and struggle at the loss of friction from between your thighs.

“Why’d you stop?”

You protested in an outraged whine, but he just smirked, lifted himself up and entered you in one move, the burn of the stretch and the sudden fullness making your mouth fall open and you letting out a string of curses. You buckled your hips against him like you couldn’t stop yourself, grinding and pushing yourself split open on his cock as he stilled your waist with a heavy hand and simply watched your desperate thrashes. The friction was enough to send you over the top, and you clenched violently around him, your thighs struggling to close around his waist while your heels kicked on the furs, riding your orgasm. As you came down, he rubbed your belly and kneaded your meaty thighs and buttocks.

’t was to your liking then?”

“you bastard!”

He was smiling, and it was the most beautiful thing you’ve seen in a long time.

He ran his hands over your body, thumbs playing with your nipples, caressing your waist, rubbing your thighs as you slowly adjusted to his girth inside you;  he was big, almost too big, but your cunt sang being filled up to the point of bursting.

He whispered, “spread ‘ll more for me, love” and you immediately spread your legs wider, allowing him to sink deeper in you. He moaned quietly, sheathing himself fully in your body, and it’s the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard.

His hands grabbed your waist and lift your butt up to rest your thighs on his. He picked up an achingly slow pace, savoring every moment, making you feel every inch of his cock sliding in and out of you, sweet torture with each claiming roll of his hips. You tried to mirror his movements, arching your back and pressing into him, as he let out a soft appreciative laugh,

 “Such an eager thing,”

 He picked up his speed, sinking himself into you with fast, powerful thrusts, reducing you to a moaning, whimpering, withering wench fully under his control.  You dragged your nails over his bare chest, his arms, his back, as the sound of wet skin slapping skin filled the room. The sensation was maddening, but you couldn’t get enough of it, of him, of being filled up and being alive.  

Cregan dipped his body onto yours and caged you between his arms, kissing your mouth, your jaw, your neck as he continued  to thrust inside of you, until the pleasure coiled and burst and your vision whited out. You felt his hips stutter, losing the rhythm, shortly after, as he chased his own pleasure, cursing and moaning your name into your ear.

He dragged his nose along the line of your neck, inhaling deeply, voice rough and raw,

“You’re here to steal my sanity, aren’t you?”

You ran your hand on the side of his face, looking into his eyes,

“Would it be such a bad thing?”

He looked at you almost in awe, the sheen of sweat glistening on his brow, and then pressed his forehead to yours,

“No, it would not.”

You curled closer to him, soaking his warmth and feeling his heartbeat echo under your skin, as he caressed your face and your jaw,

“You have to stay alive, y/n.”

The softness of his voice clawed at your heart and made it bleed,

“Cregan, I…”

Your eyes met his, full of understanding and resolve, as he whispered against your lips,

“I know.”

He said nothing else for a while, just tracing his fingers along the lines of your body, rubbing his thumb over a spot where he sucked on your skin just before.

“Admiring your work?”

Your tone was teasing, but he replied in absolute seriousness,

“And what if I am?”

That prickled you and your brow arched at his shamelessness, as you pushed him down and crawled on top of him,

“You know, two can play this game.”

His hands instinctively grabbed your waist while you wasted no time and started kissing his mouth, his jaw, down to his neck, and then sucked a hickey onto it.

A deep sigh he let out encouraged you to continue,

“You shouldn’t”.

“What? You don’t like it?”

You felt him writhe under you and knead your ass as you peppered his body with kisses and small nibbles in revenge,

”Kitten, stop.”

You persisted, kissing and sucking as his hands roamed your body, and then found the tender skin in the crook of his neck, and bit down, not enough to draw blood but hard enough to leave a mark by the morrow,

“Fuck!”

Cregan suddenly surged up, lifting your hips and lowering you on his hard cock, drawing a maddening moan from both of you,

“Oh, so you do like it”.

 “I do.”

His voice was rough as he started fucking you face-to-face, at a frantic pace, almost desperately, hands gripping your waist as he moved you back and forth on his cock.  You mirrored his movements, griding down on his hips, grabbing a fistful of his hair, cupping his face to kiss.  He fucked you like he owned you, or like you were out of time- and he was right at both.  You threw your hands around his neck and brought the two of you even closer, bracing on his arm and pulling his head down to your shoulder, letting his soft moans fill your ears as his hardness mercilessly filled your cunt.

“You are as feral as I am,” you whispered, realization hitting you hard and his hot breath tickled your ear,

“You’re right in that”.

The admission was open and vulnerable, and you forced yourself to look into Cregan’s eyes, at his face, beautiful and disheveled, and thought for a second that maybe he was as much gone for you as you were for him, even if only for just one night.

Cregan lifted you up once more and lowered you on your back, pushing your legs to your chest, allowing him deepest access. Your toes curled as he fucked you senseless, each stroke getting harder and faster, and you came with his name as a prayer on your lips.

When his movements became erratic once more, you wrapped your legs around his waist and pushed him deeper into you, grabbing him by his hair,

“Spill in me, Cregan, I want ALL of you. Make me yours.”

He groaned at the sound of it and closed his hand around your neck as he slowed down his hips and savored every thrust, filling you with his hot seed and sending you over the edge, again.  

You’ve never been on such a high before, body floating, mind whiting out in euphoria like an open field shining in the sun under the first cover of snow. Cregan draped over you, keeping you caged in and warm, and you curled into him, soaking it all in, taking his warmth, his smell, his voice to memory for future cold-biting nights, catching them in your mind like you’d catch fireflies to keep you company in the dark.

You knew by then, that whatever the future held for you, he ruined you for any other man. It would never be enough; nobody would ever be enough - and you made your peace with that.

As you both drifted to sleep in each other’s arms, your fingers found their way into his hair.

“’t are you doin’”

“Braiding your hair.”

“Hmm… I’ll allow that.”

You barely stopped a laugh as he nuzzled into your neck and let your fingers do their job.

***

You left at dawn, while he was still asleep, taking a moment to look over his peaceful sleeping frame and take his handsome face to your memory, placing a soft kiss on his brow.

The storm had lifted up, but the gusts of wind swept through the air, making you stumble.

You hid in the forest for a while, waiting for the last whirls of the storm to dissipate and yearning for… what?

Him.

You finally saw him ride out the castle with a small group of men, with your braid still in his hair. It made your throat itch and eyes sting, but then you took a deep breath and straightened up.

You were the Cat of the North. You were going to do what you planned, you would survive it, and then you would make your way to Winterfell.

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 3.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

a former ward of alicent hightower and aemond's childhood companion, shera stark, returns to king's landing after ten years. ten years after the incident at driftmark that left her and aemond permanently disfigured. after so many years apart, shera and aemond are almost strangers. almost.

shera's voice sounds like blue diamond in this clip. a soft, dreamy whisper.

wordcount: 4.3k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence

story playlist

Shera didn’t waste much time getting back to her chambers. She was overwhelmed, confused and overall exhausted— and the day wasn’t even over yet. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she padded the stone to her rooms, hoping to the Gods, the old and the new, that someone wouldn’t stop and speak to her. 

“A bath, please,” Shera asked the chambermaids hastily once she reached her solar. “Scorching, as hot as possible. And… my oils, from my chest— if you please…”

They brought in the large copper tub and filled it with hot water, all the way near the top until Shera could see the wisps of steam billowing from it. The maids poured in vials of oil that she brought with her from Winterfell— lavender oil, rosemary oil and sweet honeysuckle oil. The concoction swirled into a lovely light purple color. 

“Will you need help undressing, miss?” one of the maids asked. 

“N-no,” she murmured. “Thank you— you may go. Return just before sunset.” 

Then she was alone. She could finally breathe. Wasting no time undressing, she shed her veil and choker and outer layers until she met the hard exterior of her corset. Fuck. Mayhaps she should’ve asked for help. Unwilling to call them back in, she grabbed a cheese knife from the small dining table near the balcony, slitting through the bindings of the corset like a lovely aged bleu. 

Moongeist nosed the latch to the balcony, prompting Shera to open it and let in the breeze from the sea. Nude at last, she all but jumped into the bath, which to her delight, was still scorching. She watched as the wolf sat on the terrace, nose poking out through the stone barrier. He took in the scent of the sea, the salty spray and lingering aroma of toiling waves— and of course, barked at a few seagulls. 

Her bones relaxed as she unpinned her hair, tossing the pins astray into the room— to either be stepped on later, or never found again. Shera let out an audible sigh, feeling her skin soften from the oils. This was the pinnacle of her days— she was very fond of baths and made her own bath oils. She loved the warmth, the enveloping heat of the water soothing her worry. It was like the most comfortable of blankets and she loved to get clean, to be clean. It was a ritual and a must for her to have a bath at least every other day. 

Her love for baths started because of Helaena, she supposed. When Shera arrived in King’s Landing all those years ago for the first time, she was a grimy and dirty child, wild to the bone, and detested baths. The maids didn’t know what to do with her, until they bathed Helaena and Shera together. They weren’t far apart in age at the time, Helaena being the polar opposite of Shera— but somehow she reeled her into normalcy. The princess would bring her wooden toys into the bath, much to the chagrin of her mother, and play with Shera, blow bubbles and tell stories. It was odd to everyone around them, as the two seemingly switched personalities when they bathed together. Helaena, usually a quiet child, would tell grandiose stories, while Shera would sit quietly, giving her complete and rapt attention to the princess. 

The girls bathed together until they were both eight and ten years of age respectively, but even then, they would be in the room with one another while they did— reading books out loud, gossiping, or just sitting in silence, enjoying one another’s presence. 

Shera’s undoubted companion in the Keep was Aemond, but she had a very close and special friendship with Helaena— a friendship that the both of them very much missed, subconsciously. It wasn’t as huge of a blow to Shera as losing Aemond, as the Lady of Winterfell and the Princess frequently wrote one another throughout the ten years apart. It was one of the only reasons Shera wasn’t completely mad. But, even so, letters can only do so much, can’t they? 

As much as she loathed this marriage and the ramifications of it… she would still be closer to her family, her real family, upon Dragonstone than in Winterfell. She laid in the bath until the water went cool, her mind wandering back to the encounter in the Godswood. Why would Daemon speak to her and with such a… driven attitude? What did he want? 

Her thoughts continued to flow, a finger tracing patterns in the mingling oils that lived atop the water. Did Helaena still like baths? If she so asked, would they be able to bathe together like old times? 

No– that would require… forgoing her veil and choker. Even if it was Helaena– she doesn’t know if she could truly bare herself to her– to anyone.

—

The hours stretched on until dinner, Shera pacing back and forth, working herself up to a point where Moongeist tugged on her sleeve with his teeth as an indication to calm down.

The maids who’d been assigned to her flittered around her like a flock of ptarmigan hens, pleading with her to let them dress her. She shied away from their touch, only allowing them to dress her in a new corset and skirts. 

She stayed in her veil, accentuating it with a few strings of pearls so mayhaps she wouldn’t look so haunting– a hope that always went unfounded, people found her so very terrifying either way.

Shera preferred to wear dark, muted colors and always had on some item of fur upon her; tonight’s being a gorgeous black and white mink stole, which Cregan had gifted her for her seventeenth name day four years ago. It was accompanied with one of her newly tailored dresses, one she sewed herself just a few moons ago and making some last minute alterations on the journey to King’s Landing. It was black lace, falling down to her feet and dragging behind her like a ghostly shadow. Coupled with a laced black veil, she looked in the mirror. 

The maid behind her glanced at her warily. “Are… are you in mourning, Lady Stark?” she asked timidly. 

“... no?” Shera blinked, taking in her appearance from her reflection. Ah. So, this is why people consist with the ‘Banshee’ title. Shrugging her shoulders, she wrapped the stole around her snugly

Letting Moongeist guide her to the dining hall, to which he followed the smell of roasting meats, she mentally prepared herself. Princess Rhaenyra was to attend, and with Rhaenyra was her brood of children and her rogue husband and the extended clutch of hatchlings– Baela and Rhaena amongst them. She felt sickly at the fact that she would be seeing the twins again, the former of whom was who disfigured her.

Walking into the chamber, the music was in full swing and everyone was already seated. Had she really been so late? All eyes turned to her and Shera scanned them with a bowed head, the tips of her fingers shaking as she locked gazes with Baela. A reminder of the pain that she’d caused, how she wielded the knife that cut Shera’s throat and blinded her in one eye. 

The wolf to Shera’s side let out the tiniest of whines, pushing Shera towards the table, and her seat between Helaena and Alicent– thank the Gods for small mercies. Although, she was directly across from Aemond, who hadn’t even blinked since she entered the room. 

“Oh, it's so good to have you here again, my dear,” Alicent hummed, taking one of Shera’s hands into her own. The queen was so warm, where Shera was cold. “It is just like old times, hm?”

“Beautiful pup, Shera,” Helaena whispered to her, a hand outstretched to Moongeist. “You see so well through him.” she cooed, a smile plastering upon her lips as the wolf licked her open palm.

“Yes… old times,” Shera responded softly, adjusting her veil. She looked to Helaena, who returned with a knowing gaze. “Hel?” she murmured, lower than usual. 

“Yes, dovey?” 

“… I’ve missed you dearly.” Shera whispered, offering her hand to the princess— to which they interlocked fingers. The two separately were considered touch-averse, with Shera shying away from touch and Helaena cringing at it. But the two had a deeper understanding of one another, it seemed. They always had, their bond only outshined by Shera and Aemond’s. 

But now, it’d be different, wouldn’t it? Aemond was a hot and cold mess to Shera— but Helaena welcomed her like no time had passed. It made her chest ache in a nostalgic way, tears threatening to spill. The good thing about her veil is that no one could see her cry. The whole day had been terribly overwhelming, taut with too many people wanting something from her, needing her to be someone she didn’t wish to be— is this how Helaena felt when she was married to Aegon? 

Tears did fall and Shera let them drip down her face, sinking and sliding from the mink stole to her legs. Helaena tugged on her hand. “Don’t cry, dragonfly,” she hummed. “Dance with me?” 

Shera blinked the tears away, even though they were replaced by new ones right away. “I… would love to. I will not be the most coordinated, though— will you guide me?” 

“Always.” the princess replied, pulling Shera from her chair and guiding her with a gentle hand to the space in the hall set aside for dancing. The music was lively and jaunty, with a lovely tune strummed from a fiddle, accompanied with a wooden flute. Helaena placed a hand on Shera’s waist, then kept their other hands interlocked. “Put your hand on my shoulder. I will lead— you can pretend I’m a gallant knight.” 

Shera snorted a giggle. “I do not want to dance with a gallant knight,” she mused as they began to sway. Helaena kept her upright and indeed took the lead, allowing Shera to stay close and follow her movements. “I want to dance with the butterfly princess.” 

“Ah, the butterfly princess!” Helaena cooed. “I suppose that can be arranged. What will that make you? Oh— my little wolf spider.” she giggled in return. 

It was the first time the entire day, mayhaps the entire fortnight, that Shera felt… happy. She felt weightless dancing with Helaena and felt like crying again— damn the emotions. “Please don’t leave me, Hela,” she murmured, almost silently through garbled tears. “I’ve been so alone.” 

Helaena led the dance off to the further corner of the room where they would have more privacy to speak, still swaying. “I wouldn’t leave you, Shera. The wolf spider’s been so alone— so alone in the cold,” she hushed. “Now you’ve come back to play with the dragonflies and the butterflies— but we must watch out for the birds, the black tailed magpies, and oh, the hawks and gulls, my sweet.”

“May I steal Lady Stark for a dance, sister?” Aemond suddenly cut in, so silent in his approach that Shera hadn’t even heard him at all.

“I don’t know,” Helaena looked to Shera. “Say the word, and I shall release a clutch of spiders into his bedchamber.” she whispered lowly, as if telling a secret. 

Shera cracked a smile. “It’s alright, Hela. If he is untoward, Moongeist shall bite him.” 

Helaena embraced her once more before giving her brother a mock threatening glance. Aemond swiftly replaced her, putting his hands on Shera’s waist. It felt… different. Different from how Helaena had them, and how Daemon had touched her earlier in the Godswood. It wasn’t friendly, nor slimy— it made her want to turn tail and run away, but it also made her chest warm, heart thumping like a rabbit’s. 

“My lady.” he greeted, putting one hand on her lower back to help her posture. “I do hope you won’t sic your dog upon me– yet.”

“My prince,” Shera responded, looking up at him. “Mayhaps I won’t, we shall see.”

“Does it haunt you? That they’re all here in one room?” he leaned down to whisper, swaying back and forth to the music, albeit a bit rigidly. He wasn’t nearly as good of a dancer as Helaena.

“I am always haunted,” she echoed, blinking slowly. She wondered if he could really see her face under her veil. He was looking so intensely at her and she was unsure if he was putting her together or picking her apart in his mind. “Are you?” 

“It’s an agitation, like a brood of mosquitoes.” Aemond answered gruffly, looking away from her now. He wasn’t telling the whole truth, she noted. His lone pupil wavered, looking everywhere but at her.

“Do you have nightmares about it?” she asked, fingers prickling under one of the buckles of his doublet absentmindedly. “I haven’t outgrown them. Not even after this long.” 

He scoffed. “Nightmares? I’m not a child.” 

Liar. Liar. Liar.

The servers interrupted as they began to serve the first course— Aemond helped guide Shera back to her seat. 

“Thank you for the dance.” she murmured as he pushed in her seat. 

“Hm.” 

The dinner continued, Shera staying quiet while she prodded at her food. She preferred to eat alone and only ate enough, slipping it under her veil to not seem rude. Cregan was having a jolly time down the table, talking the ear off of Jacaerys. Baela and Rhaena were whispering to one another, as were Rhaenyra and Daemon. Shera’s skin crawled as she stole looks at the four of them– the twins hadn’t said a word to her, nor did it seem they would, merely whispering like mice. Aegon had excused himself after the first course was served and did not return. Aemond remained staring at Shera the entire time.

Blinking, Shera stared back at him finally, raising her head to lock gazes with him. The subtle shift of her veil indicated she had cocked her brow, as if to say ‘Why are you staring?’

The motion wasn’t lost on Aemond, as they fell back into their own silent communications that they were so well versed in as children. He cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders, responding in kind, ‘You know why.’

Alicent stood up, “I would like to propose a toast– to the return of our beloved Shera, as well as the visit of her brother and warden of the North, Cregan Stark. I cannot imagine it was an easy journey, but we are so blessed that you’ve made it, especially to finalize something that has… been in the making for a few years,” she held up her cup of wine, to which everyone else held up theirs, including Aemond. “Princess Rhaenyra, Cregan and I have been in much talk of betrothals and the like. I would like to announce, formally, the betrothal of Shera Stark,” she paused, taking a breath, “And Jacaerys Velaryon.”

Shera’s breath caught in her throat, her nails sinking into the soft of her palm. She focused solely on Alicent, even if she could feel the searing brand of Aemond’s stare on her. She refused to look, she couldn’t— 

But her sole eye betrayed her, her head turning ever so slightly to gauge Aemond’s reaction. He looked like a statue, his lone pupil narrowed to a slit, like a dragon’s. His hands were placed together dutifully, but the veins near his knuckles were bulging with strain, the fervor of what could only be described as fury coursed through him. The look in his violet iris scared the hells out of Shera. ‘Twas only a moment they locked gazes, but she felt, she saw the barely contained rage, the burning of the city and beyond from Vhagar’s back— 

And then it was gone, as if the candle of ferocity had been snuffed out. He sat up straight, giving Shera one last eyebrow raise before turning his attention solely to his mother. It terrified her how quickly he was able to turn it off, to bury deep as if it never existed at all. 

Perhaps she had imagined it. Surely she did– he didn’t have such a volatile temper as a child, if she could remember correctly.

Clearing her throat, she raised her glass higher as Alicent finished the announcement, gesturing in Jacaerys’ direction, who did the same in return to her. She wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of living upon Dragonstone, nor did she feel she was fit to be the wife of Rhaenyra’s heir. But, ‘twas the way of things. 

She thought Jace, as he had insisted she call him, was well and fine. He was a bit taller than she with a boyish charm and curled brown locks. Their few meetings as adults, where he had so gallantly rode all the way up to Winterfell upon his dragon, he always kissed her hand and smiled at her. It was easy to forget that he was a part of her and Aemond’s maiming when she turned her mind off and became the little puppet Lady that she was supposed to be— but then she would wake up crying in the middle of the night, begging for them not to kill her—

“I would like to propose a toast,” Aemond’s voice cut through Shera’s thoughts like a sharpened blade, the horrid screeching of his swiftly kicked out chair causing her to cringe. “A toast— to our lovely banshee, and her strong husband-to-be. I do hope that Jacaerys is keen on sleeping on the floor whilst a dog warms his wife’s furs– and let us pray for Shera’s health once they ruminate over Dragonstone. Do you still get sea sick, my lady? I cannot imagine a wolf gaining sea legs any time soon.” 

“It’s none of your business, uncle–,” Jace countered, pushing back from his chair to stand.

“Aemond, don’t,” Alicent hissed quietly, gripping her goblet with an iron fist. 

“I’m merely expressing my joy for their coming union, mother. Seems the issue is a bit touchy, hm, Jacaerys?” Aemond’s mouth twitched into a toothy smile, but it was nothing of joy. It was like the open maw of a dragon, daring anyone to walk near, lest they be snapped into smithereens. 

Jacaerys walked a bit closer to Aemond, his hackles equally raised in a challenge. Shera’s observation of the two was quickly surmised; Jace was soft where Aemond was razor-edged. A fight between them would be of little challenge. The underlying rage in Aemond was apparent once more, simmering and bubbling in the pot, threatening to boil over and scald everyone within his reach. His words didn’t sound like he was about to fly off the handle– he was in complete control of every carefully placed barb, every pause in his speech was intentional for added dramatics, to piss off Jace– and Shera, it seemed.

“Do you really expect your nuptials to be fruitful, nephew? Have you ever seen her without her veil? I must say,” Aemond nodded his head toward Shera’s direction as he got closer to Jace, whispering in his ear as if not to let anyone else in on their conversation– Shera heard, though. “I’m quite curious myself– do you think that our dear cousin’s blade,” his lone eye looked to Baela, who was arm-in-arm with Rhaena, Daemon looming behind them like the Dragonmont itself, “Was sharp enough, for a clean cut? Mayhaps it’s a mangled mess under there. Best to keep the covering on for your wedding night, hm?”

“I dare you to say that again,” Jacaerys growled, his hand itching as he flexed and unflexed his fist. “You can say what you’d like about me, but you shall hold your tongue before my betrothed.” 

“Jace,” Shera murmured lowly, feeling for Moongeist as she got up from her own chair, shaking. The wolf pressed to her leg, guiding her to where Jacaerys was at arm's length. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder, whilst trying to quell the quiver of her bones, while keeping her eye upon Aemond. “‘Twas merely a jest– in poor taste… but a jest.” she had her head lowered diminutively, biting the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. Sure, the ‘jest’, as it was, hurt immensely to her already fragile psyche– but she had to keep a level head, especially here. 

Still holding his own goblet, Aemond’s nostrils flared as he watched Shera caress Jace, as if they were truly close. The tip of his brow twitched as he hardened his jaw, lowering his cup and proverbial feathers, remembering himself, remembering where he was. “A jest— of course. Though, I never was the jester of our group, was I? Once upon a time, it’d been you, Jacaerys.” the second son exhaled, eye still trained on Shera. But he approached Jace, hand outstretched. “Congratulations.” he said, his voice clipped. Once again, the rage had been shoved deep down and quelled for the time being.

Jace tentatively took his hand, nodding slowly. “Thank you, uncle,” he squeezed Aemond’s hand before pulling back. “You’re better with a blade than a joke, that is for certain.”

“Mayhaps we shall spar sometime, then?” Aemond suggested. Everyone in the room knew it was a chance for him to kick Jace into the dirt like he desperately wished to do presently. 

“Yes– on the morrow, uncle,” Jacaerys nodded. “Lord Stark should join us, yes? Let’s make a proper gauntlet out of it, then.”

Shera’s hand, in turn, retreated from Jace’s shoulder as she rested a hand on Moongeist’s head. Turning to Alicent, who looked on the edge of an anxious breakdown. “Thank you for the dinner, your grace. I am… feeling quite faint, so I fear I must retire,” Shera whispered, curtsying as best she could. Turning to Rhaenyra and Daemon, she bowed her head. “Princess, prince.” 

Rhaenyra gave a wry smile. “Feel better soon, dear.” 

Daemon said nothing, just nodding his head as his finger traced the rim of his cup. 

“Allow me to escort you, sister,” Cregan was at her side in an instant. 

“It’s not nec—,” 

“I insist.” 

It wasn’t a lie— Shera did feel quite faint from the events and excitement. Letting Moongeist guide her, she escaped the dining hall mostly unscathed, despite feeling a gnawing pain in the pit of her stomach. 

Keep the covering on during your wedding night– mayhaps it's a mangled mess under there.

“O-okay,” she responded monotonously, as if she wasn’t even in control of her own body, her own words. 

Cregan held her in his steady grip, guiding her out of the hall. He was quiet until they entered Maegor’s holdfast. “Dragons are quite tempestuous, aren’t they?” he began.

“… yes.” 

“Your childhood companion— the prince— he certainly had a lot of great things to say about you, didn’t he?” 

“… Cregan.” 

“Listen to me, Shera,” he said as they entered her chambers. “They’re not your friends— not anymore. They’re strangers to you.” 

“But—,” 

“They don’t know you anymore, they only knew who you used to be.” 

And you’re a shell of who you used to be. But that was left unsaid. 

“You shan’t waste your tears any longer on them, on him,” he continued. “And do not give me that look, don’t think I don’t hear you crying at night.” 

“Mayhaps I cry at night because you shoved me into something I am unfit for!” Shera shouted, her voice cracking, followed by a hiss of pain. Something I do not wish for. Jacaerys helped make me this way, Cregan. Don’t you care? Does it matter more than your fucking oath?

Cregan wanted to bite back, but instead furrowed his brow. “Are you alright? Shall I fetch a maester?” 

“N-no…” she whimpered, her voice broken and full of gravel. She pressed a hand to her throat, swallowing a cough. “… tea.” 

“Of course,” Cregan murmured, guiding his sister to sit on the loveseat near the fire. “I’ll get a maid… and… and the tea.” 

Shera nodded, watching him leave. She didn’t care for the pain, even if it felt like someone was dragging a brush of thorns inside of her throat— she felt like she was falling apart at the seams mentally, akin to her old mended dresses, the threads wilting and falling away. 

She felt lost. Lost in the fact that… she wasn’t sure she belonged anywhere. They thought her not cut out for Northern life from her delicate sensibilities— and she wasn’t cut out for King’s Landing for the same reason, except it wasn’t the physical environment, but the barbed tongues, the venomed words, the games of the mind. 

She didn’t belong. 

Would it even matter if she wasn’t part of the equation? Rhaenyra would get her alliance with the North somehow, Cregan would fulfill his oath, Jacaerys would have a number of other betrothal options. 

It mattered not that she was here. 

Didn’t it?

Keep the covering on during your wedding night– mayhaps it's a mangled mess under there.

Her jaw clenched all night as she nursed her tea to soothe her throat– but every other part of her was purely on fire. The one person in the entirety of this Gods forsaken world who knew what she felt, what she went through– the one other person who was there, who was on her side, who she… she lost everything for– was keen to jest at her disfigurement. 

She stood up from her chair, hours after Cregan had left her, throwing the porcelain at the wall. The teacup smashed into bits and pieces and she sunk her teeth into her own lip until she tasted copper. The kettle was next, hocked upon the mantle of the fireplace as it too, split apart. 

I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.

Her damaged vocal cords mustered her wails they best they could, forlorn and haunting and low– 

Where was home? She wanted to go home, home– but she didn’t belong anywhere. Where was her home? 

The banshee yowled like a creature with a broken leg, echoing against the walls, ever enclosing.

[dailymolars]

I love being an art student cause we needed to take photos for an art thing so I brought my long furby and now I have really nice photos of my long furby. also my dog took a nap on him

(pssst. tumblr followers. he has a blog on here. it's @seagull-bath-bones. don't tell the Instagram crowd it's our secret)

[49-ibr]

12 DAYS REMAINING!

49: VOLUME 01 is out on May 7th 2024!

THREE UNIQUE TALES. ONE FANTASY WORLD. A SECRET TO UNCOVER.

Aveline, the princess, wants freedom from her gilded birdcage.

Chrysanthemum, the hero, trusts too many vile villains and beasts.

Lucah, the pirate, will follow his blood-drinking captain until the end.

How will their love destroy them?

And, just in case that isn't enough, here is a oneshot set in the world that I've only just begun to explore! An introduction to Chrysantheum when she was but a hero-to-be!

How does it relate to the book coming out? You'll see...

(NO CONTEXT NEEDED)

Chrysanthemum quaked in her boots, like she was stood on the edge of a mountain, draped in a blanket of snow. The chill was sharp and unbearable to her core, ice piercing every muscle and vein. 

Inescapable. 

But Chrysanthemum was not on the edge of a mountain, nor was she draped in a blanket of snow. 

Chrysanthemum was at a bustling port, bathing in the sunbeams of amber sunrise, warming her trembling limbs. A sea-salt scent filled the air, accompanied by the mud-and-wood scent of the forest and village that stood behind her. Seagulls cawed overhead. 

“Pirates! Pirates! Pirates!” they cheered. 

The seagulls did not know Chrysanthemum could understand them, could understand every non-word that spilled from their beaks. But ones with that Beast-speaking magic of hers were rare nowadays, and Chrysanthemum was not quite ready to expose herself just yet. 

Her shoulders heaved with heavy breaths, her eyes momentarily fluttering closed, before she straightened. 

With long strides, and a confidence her still-teenaged body did not hold, Chrysanthemum stepped onto the docks. Planks of wood squeaked below her every step, and she cringed each time, as if that would draw all eyes to her. 

In reality, no one cast her even a glance. 

Chrysanthemum held her bag closer to her side, squeezing the straps with a strength she was still somewhat unused to. Her hand slipped inside, checking every paper-wrapped sandwich and leather-bound fairytale and clumps of homemade bird-food. 

Everything remained in place. 

Chrysanthemum bit down on her tongue, and ducked her head to hide her marigold-yellow eyes from the closest passers-by. Those feline irises were a dead giveaway of the magic that lurked in her bones, and she was… not quite ready for this just yet. 

She bit down on her tongue, and cast her gaze across the docks once again. Lips parting, she tried to call to one trustworthy sailor, but he hurried past as if he had not noticed her at all. 

A woman dressed in the coat of a noble did not cast her a glance, even as Chrysanthemum reached to tug on her sleeve. 

Chrysanthemum’s hands dropped, and a sigh of frustration slipped through her dry lips. Her tongue darted to wet them, and she straightened further, looking over the surrounding ships with a false confidence in her wide-eyed gaze. 

Someone would help her; of that, she was sure! 

They would take her somewhere else, somewhere new. They would bring her to her new home, or even to the quests she so vibrantly craved, just as canvases craved paint and dirt craved emeralds and bronze. 

Chrysanthemum’s spine straightened. 

She was going to be a hero. And she was going to do anything she could to twist fate into doing her bidding. 

Her eyes fixed onto the nearest vessel, filled with intoxicated pirates and splatters of gore. They were cruel and untrustworthy, there was no doubt about that, but one of them called something to those that loitered on the docks, called that they would take anyone anywhere. For the right price. 

Not for coins, silver and blessed, but for entertainment. If Chrysanthemum could beat their captain in a duel, she could get passage to anywhere in this part of Ungode. 

Her hands tightened into fists. 

Hopefully they would provide the sword. 

[magnus-sm-writes]

“Sea-Longing” appears in The Lord of the Rings as an affliction that makes the Eldar yearn for their ancestral home of Valinor. It’s said that, when an elf hears the cry of seagulls, they start to long for that home across the water. Thus the name.

I will be the first to admit I’m not an elf. Nowhere close. I’m short, clumsy, and I have terrible senses at best. I’m the epitome of a Tall Man. Well, Short Man. But I do find that Sea-Longing really affects me. Maybe more than for most people.

I’ve been coping with depression since I was pretty young. As a lonely kid who was different from the rest of the kids in ways I didn’t understand (but they understood plenty well), I never fit in. I had this intense feeling of loneliness that still settles in my chest sometimes. It’s like the giant maw of a cavern.

During these periods of emptiness, my depression is at its worst. I don’t do anything. I lay in bed and either sleep or rot. I can’t easily get out of the slump. And, more than anything, I want to be near the water.

I used to think that this was out of some misplaced urge to drown myself. It almost happened when I was a kid. My deadname means “of the sea”—fitting, and ironic.

Following that train of logic, I never, ever went near a body of water for fear of l’appel du vide’ing myself into the abyss. And since I can’t swim, that would be it. No more Magnus. Just bones in the ocean. Which is a terrifying idea.

Last year, after my husband and I moved in with my parents, I was in a major depressive rut. Nothing was pulling me out of it. I felt completely directionless, like a boat untethered in the ocean. No matter what I did—go out into the sunlight, do skincare, take baths—, it just wasn’t working to help me. I was reading a lot of Lord of the Rings fanfiction at the time because it was an old comfort of mine, and I came across the wonderful fic rebuild your seawall (brick by brick) by DeHeerKonijn.

I was… startled. It felt like Legolas was feeling exactly what I was. An emptiness so deep and wide that it was as impossibly big as the ocean.

So I looked more into the concept of Sea-Longing. And though it might seem silly to become so attached to a fantasy ailment, I got really emotional. I didn’t feel alone anymore. Even to attach a name to the feeling made it seem less overwhelming.

And I knew: I had to go to a body of water.

There’s this lake about an hour from my parent’s house that we used to visit sometimes. I still have dreams about it, and in them, the clouds surround the lake in such a way that there’s nothing else. Just the lake and the fingers of land that curl into it from the edges. Something about it is magical. True, real magic.

The very next day—because I’m impulsive like that—, I packed up my ham-shaped bag with my poetry journal, a book, and my phone charger, and I drove to the lake.

It was a foggy day. Sprinkles of rain came down from the sky. Not enough to even have my windshield wipers on the lowest setting, but just enough that I had to turn them on every couple of minutes. I had a chai latte in my cup holder and a dream.

When I arrived, it was still foggy and overcast. It wasn’t the dazzling blue lake I had wanted. But somehow, it looked just like it felt in my dreams. Otherworldly. Perfect.

I finished my chai latte while gazing out at the lake. Then I slipped on my backpack and made my way out to one of the curls of land. Seagulls cried out.

Lake Saint Mary’s is a manmade lake. That doesn’t make it any less beautiful. As I made my way along the rock-lined path, it was like I was being hypnotized. My breath settled heavy in my lungs like the fog over the water. Geese waddled away from me grumpily.

The only way I can describe it was as though everything else was gone. It was me and the lake. I stood at the edge of the path and watched the gray waves. Fog obscured the horizon. For the first time, I understood how sailors felt when they were on the edge of the world. Peaceful. Terrified.

I only feel that way when I alleviate my Sea-Longing. It’s a freedom unlike any other. When that void is filled, I feel so wonderful and safe I just want to freeze that moment and hold it in my hands.

Sea-Longing is a very strange thing to have. Now that I have more structure in my life, it doesn’t come around so often. When I feel it coming on, I go to great lengths to keep it at bay. But it also is a reminder that I, too, am a living creature.

Maybe my Sea-Longing is a callback to the first fish that walked on land. I wrote a poem about that, how wonderful and strange it must have been to be something brand-new. I think it might have felt a lot like standing on that finger of land looking over the gray lake. Surreal. Wonderful. Right.

[infinitesplinters]

Slide Down The Rockface

Down pour, digging the four round lighthouses: crunching the ever needed blindness from an unknown. Would it ever cascade, calling a barricade into question, the ceiling's a lover lost, a puppet on play lists, whichever agony makes the darkness sing into me like the weather of Georgia. The likeness of crawling, beyond whatever my hands pull from the mooted snow or these Ritz Carlton bones. I can't recall who your face looked most of. I was on fire side. I was imbibed and afraid of my bullshit. This passion for sharp thorns. So much ignominy, so apropos, it seems. Likewise appearing slow, such a life of leaves and trickling creeks and running home from the cries in the sky. Another loner to tame your soul, to merit skulking on, another leg, another spirit to anoint with all the dusty calligraphy of pleas. Forever went to the dogs. Some horcrux or colophon, coupons for winged symbols of how my pain mixes into stones that I must carry into this ocean of grief. They piled them on top of each other, round, smooth, hung like jealous seagulls on the wind. Abeyance bathes the front yard, where there is some paralyzed hope left by the grandmother oak tree.

[small-chaos]

Hey guys! I was feeling creative, and I wrote a little something about a weird, spiritual feeling I had when I went on a night swim a couple of nights ago! I wouldn't exactly call it a poem, but it might be?

Anyway, have a read if you would like to!

Untitled, I guess

My friends and I went for a night swim at the ocean baths a couple of nights ago. 

This is usual for us. 

I end up being the only one out of the three of us who gets in the water. 

That’s fair. 

The cold chills their bones and the wind whips their hair, so there they stay at the pool's edge as the water swirls around their ankles. 

I move further, descending into the centre, finding myself at the very heart. 

The cold wraps around me like a blanket 

and it sinks into my bones,

I am warm.

I look to the ocean and I whisper a hello to the sea gods. 

I thank them for their presence, for their love and for their pain. 

They breathe life into this world.

They’ve looked after me since I was young. 

I love them. 

I tell them as much, with my head tilted up and my arms spread wide. 

The currents dance around me, fold me into their embrace, and I let them. 

The stars make themselves known, specks in the inky blackness behind.

I close my eyes. 

I breathe in

Somewhere, someone laughs. A dog barks. The seagulls sing. Children splash and play.  

Even in the dark of night, this place is 

Vibrant. 

Alive. 

I open my eyes. 

I breathe out. 

Two sets of blocky stairs descend into the water in front of me, and they are illuminated by the bewitching combination of moonlight, starlight, and the LED spotlights that shine down from the four corners of the pool. 

I am convinced that these stairs would take me somewhere incredible. They alight with hope, and their light mingles and dances with the darkness on the surface of the water.

They promise me safety, they promise me adventure.  

I do not heed their song. I do not follow their call.

Instead, I turn around

and slowly make my way back to my friends. 

They watch me approach with eager eyes, and I smile. 

[v-thinks-on]

In the morning, I go out to bathe in her waves. The undertow sucks at my toes, inviting me in as I wade out into the breakers. She knows me well, better than I can ever know her fathomless depths. I dive into her waters and she caresses me, her tendrils flowing through my hair, tugging at the strands, freeing the sand and flushing it with her salt. As I surface, her waves tease at my neck and beckon me deeper still.

She knows how I long to follow to join her in an eternal dance, but though I love her, I know she is a dangerous beast, far beyond my comprehension. I see it in the debris which washes upon the shore; planks and casks, and the occasional jewel, the spoils of an unending war, smoothed and worn by her relentless tide. She tries to hide the bones of those that have been drawn too deep and drowned in her depths, but I know they are there.

Sometimes she even betrays her own creatures, tosses them out when they earn her ire. Once, when I was young, I saw a whale beached on the shore. Its immense flank bore countless scars and a score of giant circular marks that spoke of deep-sea battles older than time itself. All creatures fight for her favor and I am no exception, though I know she loves me in her capricious way, and I would have no other.

When I have been scrubbed clean by her salt, she releases me with a final tug, and I gather my things to set out into her open waters and hope that she favors me with some of the spoils of the timeless battle, though I know she flirts with all sides. As I push my little boat out into the waves, scanning the sky for seagulls to lead me to my catch, I drop a flower upon the shore as my own little favor; a token of my love.

[ponkfurb]

hello!!!! it's been a while!!!! I got really busy with school and honestly forgot about this blog. But I'm back!!! and I have a new furb!!!!!!!! His name is Seagull Bath Bones, he/they pronouns.

he is almost dry as I type this post. hope everyone is having a good day :)

[littlefreya]

Blue

Prompt:  Hi, I came across your posts about Henry's gray hair (somehow that makes him more 🔥🔥🥵🥵) Anyway, I was thinking of a prompt where Henry's babygirl calls him "old" after he goes a little soft on her and Henry shows her what her "old" daddy can do🙈🙈...just saying, if you ever wish to write!

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Female Reader (no description of race or body type).

Word count: 964

Warnings: 18+, RPF, boat sex, slight oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, soft sex turns rough, doggy style, a bit of Male!Dom vibes, slight ass smacking and pussy spanking, creampie. No daddy kink in this one, decided to go without it.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

A/N: Not beta’d I’ll die on my mistakes like August slipping off a cliff, kissing a hook and crushing into a blast. Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics​

Title: Blue

Soft ocean waves rocked the sailboat from side to side, whispering a tidal lullaby amidst the chill sea breeze.

Henry was at peace, but then the velvety draping blue always had a calming effect on him. The great nautical unknown, reducing a man as vast as oak to a puny fish.

Bathing in the setting sunshower on the polished deck, you watched him while he began preparing the boat for the evening. Crimson rays cascaded his tone muscles, a dust of freckles kissing the wings of his back after weeks of travelling under the sky. Collecting a bountiful loot of fish into a bucket proudly, he grinned at you and made his way into the cabin.

“Are you joining me, sweetling? It’s getting late.”

You lifted your spine from the panel and rolled on your torso, observing him while he threw the fresh fish into the freezer.

“20 minutes?...”

Henry stood straight and looked at the horizon with his fists pressed into his waist. “There is no sun,” he lifted one lengthy arm and pointed at the sunset, “c’mon, I’ll treat you something nice,” he suggested and then strode toward you.

The entire boat rumbled under his heavy steps, and before you could even make a protest, you were squealing wildly with your legs hanging from his shoulder and your face heading toward the sparkling dark waves.

“Hmm...” Henry hummed, “Do I throw this mermaid back into the ocean? Or do I take her back into my cabin to plunder?”

“You wouldn’t dare!!!” you warned and squealed once more as he bounced you on his shoulder menacingly.

His laughter thundered at your petrified hiss, and with a heavy smack on your backside, he began pacing toward the cabin while you squirmed in his grasp like some stolen maiden. Once inside, he led you toward the bedroom and threw you on the bed; your legs were assailed by his lips within seconds, his fingers unlacing your bikini and throwing it away.

“You taste like the sea,” he hummed as he kissed up each of your thighs and forced your legs asunder, diving to kiss the pearl hidden above your cove.

“You smell like fish!” You teased but were hushed by your own moans at the tender flick of his silken-tongue around your clit. Henry moaned to entice you but only lingered for a shy moment before he climbed between your legs. Within seconds his shorts were rolled down to his knees, and while burying his maw at the crook of your neck, he guides his rock-hard cock inside your dripping crease.

The harmony of your groans mingled with the soaring Atlantic seagulls and the hymn of the sea. 

Slow as the tide, he stretched and dove deep inside you, bathing in your hot canal. He rose his head from your throat and leaned on his hand while fucking you gently, grinding his pubic bone right against your clit while bottoming out.

“Fuck, you are so deep!” you chanted, sinking further into the honey-sweet pleasure with each profound thrust he made inside you. Though he took his time, making sure you’d feel every ridge, every tendon of his pulsating cock, his pacing measured yet a tad rough.

Peering at him desperately, your eye caught the silver shine of new greying curls falling over his temple, and you reached a finger you brush it.

“Oh...new greys,” you mewled and smiled provokingly while your head rocked on the pillow with the push of his thrust, “Is that why you are growing... soft on me, old man?”

Henry stilled all of a sudden. His dark, thick brows fell on his glare, and he growled at you like an angry bear.

Faster than your accelerating breath, you were flipped over and forced to your knees. One firm handheld your waist while the other squeezed around your nape.

“Hold onto the headboard,” he warned.

You barely managed to turn your head to ogle him when the sting of his slap rung between your wet, swollen lips and he pushed his fat cock all the way in.

“Henry!!!”

“Old, ha?” he grunted and rammed your pussy in hard, quickened jabs. You felt the drag of his cock, slipping back and forth, the arrowhead tip bumping against your cervix with each stroke. Smoothing his hand from your hip to your pelvis, he grazed the hood of your clit with his index finger while his palm pressed to your lower belly.

“I love feeling myself move inside you,” he spoke as he lowered his torso against your sweaty spine, covering the rest of your body with his furry hide and reaching one arm to hold over yours. His fingers wrapped around your hand, holding it onto the headboard to keep you in your place while it slammed back and forth with his aggressive ruts.

You were helpless beneath him, unable to fight back and that same feeble sensation was the one who always felled you. Arching your back, you came with a loud cry, your snug sleek milking his girth in blissful currents of ecstasy. Henry continued to fuck you through your tightens, grunting loud and husky, his meaty thighs slammed into yours urgently, his hips made your ass rattle until, with a final thud, he shouted and painted your womb with creamy ribbons of hot cum.

Rising to his knees, with his twitching cock still engulfed in your oozing cunt, he smacked your cheek playfully and chuckled at your dishevelled sight.

“Still think your man is getting old?”

You narrowed your eyes and turned your face to grace him with a stink-eye. 

“Depends, how long before you are hard again?”

Henry huffed at your question, his cock already hardening between your battered walls. 

“Be careful, sweetling. No siren can survive the legendary Kraken.”

[ppnuggie]

　　　　　　𝙐𝙃 𝙊𝙃

　　『　gender neutral human reader + g1 decepticons 』

　　— 001

　　-> injury warning

　　— heres the first chapter to this story !! :D hope you like it !! this is a slight introduction to the main thing ,, though you dont really meet the cons yet :) thats in the next chapter !

　　＜　two , three , four , five ＞

wheels rolling against the rough road, small bumps along the way, music blared from the car. windows were rolled down, and wind blowing harshly in the person's face; yet, they paid no mind to it, only jamming out to the song playing. lips singing the lyrics to the song, melodies flying through the air. the ocean waves crashed at the shore below them, before reeling back into the mass water.

a smile adorned the person's lips, cheeks dark from the cold chill of the breeze. the sun, however, blared high in the sky; its rays beaming down onto their (s/c) skin. excitement ran through their veins, blood hot and filled with joy.

            winding around the mountain side, they slowed to a stop. in the distance was the beach house they had rented; a getaway from their miserable job. day and night they were worked to the bone, and recently, they just needed a break. it was difficult, putting up fake smiles and small waves to crowds. having to be forced to work with those who do nothing but fill you with rage.

ignoring the intrusive thoughts, the person drove down the smooth road. seagulls called through the air, communicating with one another in the open breeze. the smell of salt drifted through the air, filling their nose with the scent.

          the car pulled in the driveway, blue coat shimmering against the sun's blaze. the car beeped as it was locked, said person stepping out. they grabbed the suitcase from within, carrying it inside as they entered the living room. blue and white adorned the interior, cushions clouding the couches and light baby blue island in the kitchen. it felt comfortable here, as though they could stay here forever and not have to worry about a thing.

          they set their suitcase down on the couch, fishing out their swimsuit from within. they'll put everything away later, but for now, they only wished to swim. after all, they did get a spot close to the beach for a reason.

walking to the bathroom nearby, they quickly put their bathing suit on. they had also smeered sunscreen on their skin, walking out and grabbing their beach bag that was already packed and ready. strolling towards their back door, they opened the slide door, walking out in the warm weather. the sun already felt hot as they stood under its gaze, flames blazing from afar.

          they walked along the sandy shore, making quick work to find the perfect spot so they could set their stuff down. taking out a towel, they laid it down on the sand, before setting their bag to the side. they fished out their sunglasses, putting them on so the sun wouldnt burn their eyeballs. the ocean moved in and out, waves splashing against little kids.

          people were running along the shore, screaming with laughter, others splashing around in the water as they played games or just swam. the saltiness of the ocean filled their senses, convincing them to leave their spot and venture into the ocean.

cold water splashed against their skin, chilling them to the bone as they shivered, trying to work through the coldness to get further in the water. though it only got colder, and finally getting used to it, they started to swim out from the shore and into the vast sea.

swimming and looking into the clear sea, they started to see a strange object. as they got farther out, the clearer the thing got. it seemed to be purple, and it looked as though it was some sort of strange building. it sent a chill through their spine, how the structure was strangely different from anything human. of course, though, it was probably a building for marine biologists. that made sense, other then thinking irrationally.

          however, they couldn't stop the feeling they got, as though something was very wrong. their breathe hitched when they saw something swimming from the building, as though it was heading for them.

          blood rushing through their veins, their heart plummeted against their chest as they started to swim away from whatever was nearing them. their arms hurt from how hard they were panicking, swimming away as best as they could. water rushed about them, as though they were in a fast current. they choked against the water, entering their mouth and headed towards their lungs.

          a silent scream left them as they gasped and flailed about, a harsh grip caught on their foot. they tried kicking at whatever had them, but it only ended with more pain then before. they could feel the snap of their ankle, the bone cracking under the pressure. tears welded in their eyes, ready to try and call for help as best they could with their quiet voice.

          though the moment they opened their mouth was the moment their vision went black, and their senses failing to help them as they fell unconscious in the deep waters.

[esuemmanuel]

Antes de escribirte, me pongo a pensar en ti. Me es inevitable no sonreír y suspirar. Cierro los ojos... Ya estás aquí. Me acompañas en silencio, con los labios prendados de una sonrisa suave y nada pretenciosa, miras al espacio mientras Yo te miro a Ti. Te aferras a mi mano temiendo a que te suelte... ¿Soltarte? ¿Cómo? Si mis dedos se han hecho hogar en tus manos de arena celestial. Andamos con la mirada vestida de cielo, con las mejillas bañadas de Sol y el cuerpo perfumado de sal; así, yacemos en el mar. De pronto, un par de gaviotas, haciéndose el amor en el aire, con las alas abiertas y sus voces, impregnando al ambiente de libertad. Nos miramos en ellas. Nos llenamos de su algarabía. Nos apretamos las manos. Nos besamos las mejillas. Nos unimos en un abrazo. Nos apretamos tanto, tanto, que nos dolemos, pero no importa. Es el dolor el que nos recuerda que estamos ahí ¿Cuánto tiempo estaremos ahí? ¿Cuánto tiempo estaremos así? ¿Será esto interminable? Es por la obvia respuesta que nos seguimos abrazando. Nos sentimos los huesos. Nos quejamos, pero no nos soltamos. Nos amarramos los cuerpos en un apretón que nos hace gritar. Impregnados de ese dolor, de esa desesperación, nos enfundamos en un beso agitado, nervioso, trémulo y angustiado, y nos fundimos con el mar. De nuestros labios nace la sal de ese mar que ha comenzado a agitarse con el compás de nuestras bocas, mientras el sol calla y mira. Navegamos en el letargo angustiado de nuestros besos, de esas lenguas que se queman al roce de la saliva. El cuerpo se nos agita. Cada latido vibrante de nuestro pecho hace de nuestros besos un canto que forma eco en las olas del mar; nos moja, tanto nos moja, que nos deshacemos en partículas de arena, formando cristales que resplandecen al roce de ese sol que nos desnuda de calor. Las fibras caen. Los cristales se funden. El agua nos baña. El viento nos seduce. Las gaviotas cantan. El mar nos engulle... Y, en ese terco ir y venir de las olas, nos revuelve las entrañas, nos transmuta, arrastrándonos a las profundidades de un abismo sin retorno; uno que nos traga, precipitándonos a otro mundo; nos une y nos separa, convirtiéndonos en un títere dentro de un sueño vagabundo. Nos ata cuerdas de hilos diamantinos que hacen de nuestras partículas un espectro de luz y sombra, bajo ese océano de sal cautivo. Danzamos, al final, bailamos. Nos dejamos llevar por esos hilos que nos traducen, que nos describen, que nos transcriben..., y nos viven.

Before I write to you, I start thinking about you. I can't help smiling and sighing. I close my eyes… You are already here. You accompany me in silence, your lips caught in a soft and unpretentious smile, you look into space while I look at you. You cling to my hand, fearing that I will let go… Let go? how? if my fingers have made themselves at home in your hands of heavenly sand. We walk with our eyes dressed in the sky, our cheeks bathed in the sun and our bodies perfumed with salt; thus, we lie in the sea. Suddenly, a pair of seagulls, making love to each other in the air, with their wings open and their voices, impregnating the atmosphere with freedom. We look at them. We are filled with their noise. We squeeze each other's hands. We kiss each other's cheeks. We joined in an embrace. We squeeze so tight, so tight, that we hurt each other, but it doesn't matter. It is the pain that reminds us that we are there. How long will we be there? How long will we be like this? Will it be endless? It is for the obvious answer that we keep hugging each other. We feel our bones. We complain, but we don't let go. We tie our bodies together in a grip that makes us scream. Impregnated with that pain, that desperation, we embrace each other in an agitated, nervous, tremulous and anguished kiss, and we merge with the sea. From our lips is born the salt of that sea that has begun to churn with the rhythm of our mouths, while the sun is silent and watches. We sail in the anguished lethargy of our kisses, of those tongues that burn at the touch of saliva. Our bodies shake. Each vibrating beat of our chest makes our kisses a song that echoes in the waves of the sea; it wets us, it wets us so much, that we melt into particles of sand, forming crystals that shine at the touch of that sun that undresses us with heat. The fibres fall. The crystals melt. The water bathes us. The wind seduces us. The seagulls sing. The sea engulfs us… And, in that stubborn coming and going of the waves, it stirs our entrails, transmutes us, dragging us into the depths of an abyss of no return; one that swallows us, precipitating us into another world; it unites us and separates us, turning us into a puppet within its wandering dream. It binds us strings of diamond threads that make our particles a spectrum of light and shadow, under that captive ocean of salt. We dance, in the end, we dance. We let ourselves be carried away by those threads that translate us, that describe us, that transcribe us…, and live us.

— Esu Emmanuel©

[thoraway125]

almost every song Sara Quin has recommended

A Playlist

AFI

A Flock Of Seagulls- I Ran

Again Me!- Boyfriend

AHOHNI- Drone Bomb Me

Alex Lahey- You Don’t Think You Like People Like Me

Allison Crutchfield- Dean’s Room

Allison Weiss- Runaway

All Of This- Perera Elsewhere

ALMA- Chasing Heights

Alvvays

Alycia Keys- Try Sleeping with A Broken Heart

Ani DiFranco

Annie Lennox

An Horse

Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion  

Bangles

ASTR- Operate

Atari Teenage Riot

A Tribe Called Red- R.E.D

Austra- I Love You More Than You Love Yourself Babes in Toyland

Bancks- Gemini Feed

Baths

Baybee- Jay Som

Beach House- Sparks, Lemon Glow

Bebe Rexha- Meant to Be

Bec Sandridge- In the Fog, in the Flame

Ben Folds

Betty Who- You Can Cry Tomorrow

Beyonce- Lemonade

Bikini Kill

Billy Idol- Mony Mony 

Bleached- Wednesday Night Melody, Can You Deal?, Flipside

Bleachers- Don’t Take The Money

BLK- My Hood - Stormzy

Blood Orange- You're Not Good Enough, It Is What It Is 

Bob Marley

Body- Julia Jacklin 

Bone thugs and Harmony

Bon Jovi- wanted dead or alive, you give love a bad name 

Bowie

Britta Phillips- Mistress America

Broken Social Scene- Hug of Thunder, Almost Crimes Bruce Springsteen- Im on Fire, Dancing in the Dark, The River, Live 1975-85 (this particular version https://youtu.be/gg3DleXrT-o) Bryan Adams

Bjork- I've seen it all 

Buck 65- Square Two

Cake

Carrie Brownstein

Caribou- Can’t Do Without You

Cassie- Me & U

Chairlift- Romeo

Charli XCX- Track 10

Charlotte Day Wilson- Work

Chloe x Halle0 Drop

Christine and The Queens- iT, Saint Claude 

Chris Walla

CHVRCHES

Classixx- Borderline

City and Colour

Cold Specks

Collide- Krasnoyarsk

Corey Hart- Sunglasses At Night

Couer de Pirate

Cyndi Lauper- The Goonies Are Good Enough, Time After Time

Cypress Hill

Dallas Green

Death Cab for Cutie 

Debbie Wiseman- Wolf Hall

DEDE- Faultline (Single Edit)

Deradoorian- A Beautiful Woman

DIANA- Confession, Perpetual Surrender

Dinosaur Jr

DJDS- Trees On Fire

Dolly Parton

Doveman

Drake- No Tellin Dream- Love/Hate

Diana- Perpetual Surrender

Electrelane - Rock It to the Moon, no shouts no calls

Empress Of- How Do You DO It

Emylia Argan

Erasure

Eugene Francis Jnr

Everything but the Girl

Fatima Al Qadiri- Hip Hop Spa, Szechuan

Feist- Pleasure album

Fever Ray- Mustn’t Hurry

First Aid Kit

FKA Twigs- Good To Love

Four Tet

Francis and the Lights- May I Have This Dance

Frankie Cosmos- Sinister, Accommodation 

Frank Ocean Thinking About You

Friends- I'm His Girl 

FUN Fugazi

Future Islands- Ran

George Hill

Gilligan Moss- It Felt Right

Girlpool- Chinatown

Glass Animals

Gogol Bordello 

Gossip

Green Day

Grimes- Flesh Without Blood

Grizzly Bear

HAIM- Want You Back

Halsey- Now Or Never

HANA

Hank Williams

Hannah Georgas- Don’t Go, Needed Me

Hayley Kiyoko- Girls Like Girls

Hole

Holly Miranda

Hot Hot Heat

IDER- Face On

Jack Johnson

James Ilha

Jamie xx- Girl

Japanese Breakfast- Machinist

Jeremih- Pass Dat

Joanna Newsom - Have One On Me 

John Hopkins- I remember

Johnny Cash

Joni Mitchell

John Hopkins- Abandon Window, I remember

Jonathan Coulton

Justin Bieber- Purpose, Runaway Love Justin Timberlake-  FutureSex/LoveSounds Kaki King

Kate Bush

Katy Perry- Chained To The Rhythm

Kathryn Bostic- Love Theme

Kelela- Rewind- Sporting Life Remix

Kieran Hebden & Steve Reid - The Exchange Session, Vol. 2

Kelly Lee Owens- Birds

K.Flay- Black Wave

Kid Cudi- The Commander

Kieran Hebden & Steve Reid - The Exchange Session, Vol. 2

Kimya Dawson- So Nice So Smart

Kinnie Starr

Korn

KraftWork

KT Tunstall- Hard Girls

Kygo- It Ain’t Me (with Selena Gomez)

Kylie Minogue

Lapsley- Hurt Me

LCD Soundsystem- Tonite

Leonard Cohen- Came So Far For Beauty

Leo Kalyan- Fucked Up

Led Zeppelin

Light Asylum- Shallow Tears

Lily Allen 

Lorde- Green Light

Lou Reed- Satellite of Love

Lowell

Lower Dens- To Die in LA, Real Thing

Lucius- My Heart Got Caught On Your Sleeve 

Lupa J- Numb

Neil Young

New Found Glory

New Kids on the Block

New Order

New Skin- Torres

No Shouts No Calls

Nick Jonas- Jealous

Nicolas Jaar- No

Night Terrors

Nirvana

Noname 

Nothing to be Frightened of by Julian Barnes

Now Now

Madonna- Holiday

Majid Jordan (ft Drake)- My Love

Mapei- Don’t Wait

Mariah Carey

Matthew Dear

Melissa Etheridge

Mica Levi- Death

Michelle Branch- Hopeless Romantic

Mike Elizondo

Milli Vanilli - Blame It On the Rain

Miriam Culter- Ethel Main Title

Mitski

Montaigne- Because I Love You

Moonriser- I’m Not Something Special

Moses Sumney- Doomed

Mother Mother

MUNA- Winterbreak, I Know A Place, About You album

Mykki Blanco- Loner

My Bloody Valentine

My Midnight Heart

My So Called Life

Paramore- After Laughter, Told You So

Passion Pit

Paul Williams

Peaches

Porches- Anymore, Be Apart

Partner Band- In Search of Lost Time

Patsy Cline

Pattern Against User 

Perera Elsewhere- All of This

Perfume Genius- Slip Away

Phantogram- Answer 

Pheonix- J-Boy

Phil Collins- Groovy Kind of Love

Post Pavillon

Prince- I Could Never Take the Place of Your Man, Little Red  Corvette

PWR BTTM- I Wanna Boi

Q Tip

Rachel Cantu

Rachel Portman- Vianne Sets Up Shop

Ra Ra Riot

RAY BLK- My Hood

REM- Sweetness

Ria Mae- Ooh Love

Richard Marx- Right here waiting

Rihanna- Russian Roulette, Umbrella, Higher, Love On The Brain

Robyn- Do it Again, Love is free (moon boots remix) 

Rolling Stones

Röysksopp- Something in my Heart

Rufus Wainwright

Ruth B- If This is Love Ryan Adams

Santigold

Samphaaa- Process Album 

Sample- Blood on Me

Shamir- If It Wasn’t True 

Sharon Van Etten- Everytime The Sun Comes Up

Serena Ryder- Electric Love

Shondells

Shura- What’s It Gonna Be?

Simple Minds- All The Things She Said

Sinead O’Connor

Siya- Automatic

Smashing Pumpkins- Siamese Dream

Snailmail- Thinning

SNAP!- Rhythm Is A Dancer - 7” Edit

SOHN- Hard Liquor

Solange- Mad

Spoon- They Way We Get By

Speak

Steel Train

Stereogum

Stevie Nicks

St. Vincent, Actor

Supertramp

Supreme

Taylor Swift- 1989

Teenage Fanclub

The Bangles

The Beaches

The Black Keys

The Courtneys

The Cranberries- Dreams on My So Called Life

The Dream- Love Hate, Love vs Money

The Enemy- Bigger Cages, Longer Chains 

The Jezabels- Hurt Me

The Killers

The Lemon Twigs

The New Pornographers

Theophilus London

The Pretenders- 500 Miles The Police- Roxanne- I Could Never Take the Place of Your Man, Little Red Corvette The Ramones

The Reason

The Regrettes- Hey Now

The Rentals- The Man With Two Brains

The Replacements

The Smiths

The White Stripes

The xx- xx (2009), Say Something Loving

Thingamajig- Miya Folick 

Tracy Chapman- Fast Car

Tom Petty

Tom Cochrane

Tony Bennet

Too Attached 

Torres

Tove Styrke- Say My Name

Tragically Hip

Tribe Called Quest

U2 - Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horse

Us- Empress of

Vagabon- Fear & Force

Vector Xing- Bubble King

Vanbot- Collide, Krasnoyarsk, Not That Kind, Moscow Veckatimest Vivek Shraya- Part Time Woman

VHS or Beta

Violent Femmes 

Warpaint- Whiteout

Waters

Waxahatchee- Silver

Weavves

Weezer

When I’m with Him- Empress of

White Lung- Hungry. Kiss Me When I Bleed

Whitney houston- I look to you, million dollar bill, I will always love you

Wrabel- Bloodstain

Yaeji 

Yeah Yeah Yeahs

[dearestgojo]

My Love by maye for @princessatoru

A/n: I truly enjoyed writing this, I honestly had forgotten how good this song was. Thank you for allowing me the chance to write this for one of my favorite characters <3. Also sorry if this doesn't make complete sense I wrote most of this between the hours of 12-2 am after some long days.

Wc: 1.4k

Part of my One Year Event

The warm water of the salty ocean washes onto the shore, wetting the soles of your feet. You watch as the white foam forms and washes away with every turn of the waves. The sand underneath your hands is starting to heat up, the sun above is blistering hot and making it insufferable. Yet you find yourself seeking the heat of the day, stepping out of the hotel after spending most of the day inside the room.

Closing your eyes you lean back, the sun highlighting from your chest to the bridge of your nose where the hat no longer protects you from while you bathe in the heat. With your eyes closed the rest of your senses are heightened. You can hear the ocean water washing up to the shore, and the seagulls squawking above as they search for food. You can sell the salt of the sea, and feel every grain of the sand beneath you.

What you don’t expect is to taste vodka and spearmint on your tongue. You snap your eyes opening, catching white tufts of hair in your vision before they disappear the moment the sunlight hits them. Running your tongue over your lips that now tingle with the sensation of another pair pressed against them, recalling the warmth of the soft pair that had been pressed against them a few nights ago at the bar. You can’t recall a face, but you remember the sound of the man’s ringing laughter that soaked into your bones and sent chills up your spine. You remember that the white hair on the top of his head was as soft as his laugh. Letting out a frustrated groan you bring up your legs to your chest and press your head onto your knees while pulling the ends of the hat to your face.

“Why y/n? Why are you thinking of him now? It’s not like you're going to see him again. He probably doesn’t even remember you,he was probably just as drunk as you and doesn’t even remember what you look like,” you speak out loud.

“Talking to yourself again?”

Letting out a scared yelp you look and see Utahime, the friend who had dragged you to this beach five days ago, walking towards you, tote slung over her shoulder. You pout, turning your attention back to the sea, “No.”

Utahime sits beside you, adjusting her dress so that it rests underneath her knees, “Sounded like you were.”

“And if I was?”

She shrugs, pulling out the sunscreen from her bag, “I guess nothing. I think I have a general idea of what, or who, it might have been about.” There’s a pause in the air, the ocean breeze blowing your hair out of your face, you gulp down as you wait for the same ridicule the rest of your friends had given you after catching you as your mind wandered to the first night of the day you arrived, but it never comes. Instead she offers you the bottle, and continues to talk to you, “I hate that I’m even saying this because honestly that guy got on every one of my nerves even while drunk, but do you think you’ll run into him again. You seem kind…hung up on him.”

You shake your head, “I don’t think so, barely remember what he looks like because of the alcohol we drank.” You make the best puppy eyes you can and look at her, bottom lip jutted out, and grabbing onto her arm, “Do you remember?”

“No, of course not. I was just as drunk, if not more than you.” Utahime rubs her temples in annoyance,”Only thing I remember about him was his irritating laugh.”

Letting out a sigh you rest your head back on your knees, watching the blue ocean, and for a second you see a pair equally as blue eyes. “He had really pretty eyes though.”

~

It’s late when you step through the threshold of the door into the coolness of your hotel room. The moonlight is pouring in through the window, shining onto the white sheets of the bed. Your body tingles from the amount of alcohol in your system after another night at the bar, and your brain feels fizzy, numbing the sensation of pain when you bump into corners.

You can barely stand, but you're adamant on showering and washing the sand and sweat from the beach away, along with the smell of cigarettes from the bar. So kicking off your shoes and dress, after making sure that the door is locked, you make your way to the large hotel bathroom. You step in before the water even warms up, the cold water hitting your back, and a shiver traveling up your spine.

You feel refreshed. Reborn. The cool water washes away the day’s fatigue and the bar’s stench. Letting out a sigh you lean back, letting the water hit your face, closing your eyes. Behind your closed lids you see the same pair of blue eyes and soft teasing smile that have plagued your mind since that drunken night.

You wish you could remember every small detail of his face. That you find a way to soothe the yearning in your chest that wants to meet him again. But you're only stuck with the ghost, warm touches along your skin and flashes of images. It was one meeting, a one night stand, you should not be feeling these strong emotions. Maybe your friends were right to tease you about this.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you climb out of the shower, wrapping a towel tightly around your body. You don’t bother dressing into your slip pajamas and lay only wrapped in the towel on top of the white sheets, listening to the ocean water wash up onto the beach from your hotel room. From your bed you can hear the shuffling of people outside your room, the door of the room next to yours opening. You feel your heart skip a beat when a familiar laugh carries through the walls followed by the sound of the door closing. You lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for more of the sweet sound that you heard to travel through the walls so that you can know for sure, but in never comes.

Instead you lay there in bed, eyes open, until the sun is peeking through the horizon, painting the ocean water in oranges, pinks, and purples, longing for a forever with someone you don’t think you’ll ever see again.

~

It’s midday when you climb out of bed and slip into a light baby blue dress that stops right underneath the curve of your butt. Your head is pounding and stomach turning, the day feeling like it’s already going to drag on. Your phone dings with a text from Utahime, letting you know that they’re all waiting for you in the lobby of the hotel.

Not bothering to answer, you take the key to your room and open the door, double checking your list before locking the door. You jump a bit while mumbling to yourself when the door next to you opens, but you remain concentrated in making sure you have everything and don’t look up.

“Hurry Satoru, we don’t have all day,” a man with a low bun calls back into the room, ignoring you and making his way down the hall towards the elevators.

“Technically we have all the rest of the week, the only reason we’re in rush right now is because you made plans without letting me know,” another voice carries from the still open door. You finally look up when the door next to you is closing, breath catching in your throat when you see the man your being has been longing for.

And then you see the full pictures of the images that have been flooding your mind. Ocean blue eyes that reflect the light back at you, and white hair that looks like it would be soft to the touch. And then there are his lips, shining from the lip balm he is holding in his hand and the boy-like smile that spreads from one corner of his ears to the other.

His smile seems to grow when he sees you,, door clicking shut behind him. He raises one single finger and points to you, “Hey, It’s you.”

[loneberry]

panta rhei

I did start to tear up, in the sound bath, on the full moon. I had seen the great wave slowly folding over everyone I love, melting their flesh as it does when time becomes an acidic solution that dissolves the skin. The water keeps swelling mindlessly as it strips my loved ones of everything but the bones. With the backwash the heaving liquid withdraws its cold malice. It was the same wave that Bernard proudly pitched himself against at the end of Woolf’s The Waves. The vision faded and my attention turned quickly to a sensation of pain radiating from my lower back. It was not a kundalini bolt of energy shooting up through my core. No. It was simply my agitated sciatica.

*

Again, I see the wave of time, as I am walking by the sea at sunset, thoughts drifting from the light limned pile of beached seaweed, the coronation of the kelp, I think, what a strange coiled sentience. Again, the Pacific sand crabs perform their synchronized dance with the ebb and flow of the sea, it is the inconspicuous mysticism of the swash zone, that moving border between land and water. A seagull plucks a sand crab and swallows it. A dog runs into the sunset. Nearby a Rastafarian is waking from a nap, with both hands he holds his guitar in front of him as he slowly rises. Kites of all kinds are flying high in the sky: two birds, a jellyfish, and a shark. The woman emerging from the sea appears mythic, like a goddess that parts the spume while a low mist drifts across the surface of the water. Another dips her feet in the water, turns back, her white dress blowing in the wind. I smile to myself as I catch another trying to photograph the antennae of the sand crabs and the patterned dance of light refracted by the ripples. How happy everyone looks, except a little girl with a sourpuss face, but upon closer scrutiny, that sulky mood may be partly feigned, for she seems to be playing a game with herself, running up to the water, then shrieking when it catches her feet. Two children are dragging boogie boards behind them. How many potent memories are being formed in the minds of children at precisely this second? Will they dream, decades from now, of that soft golden sun over Venice Beach, the buckets of sand and salty hair?

Closeup of the sand crab feelers

All the faces, how beautiful they look to me. Then in my mind God is turning the dial of time, all the people on the beach fade into non-being, there’s just the constancy of the sea, when all of us are gone, and we will be gone, one day, the waves will keep rolling in, until they don’t. For a second, we’ve all died, and I’m an angel floating above it all. I cry thinking about that day, when all who are on the beach are dead. But we were here. On this gentle day, this day that will always have been, we lived this sun to the last drop, then turned, and trundled toward the night.

The mood of the sea changes at twilight. The water seems somehow heavier. I remember the dream from this morning, all being flowing toward the sea, here we will all end, in the place that does not end. I woke with my mind saturated with the infinity of the sea. As I’m walking with my feet in the water, I remember, not long after C’s suicide, visiting her mother in Ashfield, MA. The mother was drunk and beset with grief. Between stories of her dead child, the tears would come on in waves. She told me a story about how, when C was 6 or so, they were flying together on an airplane. C looked out the window, at the river far below, and said “all flows toward the ocean.” In that moment her mother knew she had a child of staggering intelligence. Did C know that little bits of her, too, would flow from the French King Bridge, down the Connecticut River, to the Long Island Sound estuary, where her dematerialized being would meet the Atlantic Ocean?

A quote from Paul Bowles’s Sheltering Sky, a book I read over a decade ago, comes on my headphones. It's a sound clip from the Bertolucci film adaptation, which appears at the beginning of the Ryuichi Sakamoto song "fullmoon."

“Because we don’t know when we will die, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens only a certain number of times, and a very small number really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, an afternoon that is so deeply a part of your being that you can’t even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four, five times more, perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps 20. And yet it all seems limitless.” ― Paul Bowles

I remember my strange dreams of the moon, which keep recurring lately: the orange harvest moon, the hyperreal moon, the moon whose surface radiates a mystery hidden in its craters, the obscure chiaroscuro of the dream, its nooks and crannies. The moon grows to eclipse the sun, then shrinks suddenly—I had the feeling I had to catch everything before it disappeared. The moon winks. Will other’s believe I saw the moon of expanded dimensions? It may be an optical illusion, some mysterious alignment of Earth, moon, and sun. It may be a simulation of the moon, lasers from Disney World that paint the night sky. Now the moon is a xeroxed picture of a moon, cut out and pasted on a black canvas. I’m unsettled by the universe’s sudden disorder, the wild instability of the cosmos, which mocks me like a shapeshifting trickster who appears on a peyote trip, mischievously guiding me through the kaleidoscopic confusion.

How many times will you watch the moon flicker in a dream?