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creative-type · 4 years ago

Text

a still, small voice

AN: Wrote this in December when I was hit with some dark and angsties and never got around to posting here. Probably because I was annoyed that I’d forgotten pre-canon Thistle’s name would not be Thistle until after I’d finished and had to go back and edit the whole thing. Can also be found on ao3 if you prefer reading there

Violet didn’t know where she was going, but she ran anyway.

Bare feet pounded against the hard, frozen ground—there hadn’t been time to find her boots. Her shirt, half pulled over her head in a vain effort to hide her face. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes and her heart thudded in panicked rhythm.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. She was all wrong.

The only good thing was that it was dark, and her pursuers were human. With a new moon and an overcast sky, Violet was able to sprint across an open field into a thin strip of timber that acted as the boundary between one farm and the next before the mob could light its torches.

Of course, only monsters and beasts could see in the pitch black night. Even if one could look past the claws and teeth, her eyes were proof enough to show that she belonged in the shadows like some dark, creeping thing.

Violet tried to push the thought away as she gasped for breath, her back pressed against the trunk of a tree. She didn’t have to look to know it was elm, the life she felt under her clawed fingers muted in the winter cold. Even the trees had their chance to sleep. So why couldn’t she find rest?

And what have you done to earn such a luxury, you ungrateful brat?

Violet clutched her head with her hands, shrinking down as her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. She needed to think, needed to move. She was not safe here. She wasn’t safe anywhere, but it was especially true now. The farmer who owned the barn she’d spent the last week calling home would soon raise his neighbors. Depending on how much he hated her, he might even send a message to town. As she wiped the tears from her cheeks, Violet remembered that he’d had dogs.

Frigid air made the teartracks sting. There was no snow on the ground, but it was cold, and she’d left her shoes behind like an idiot. Without a good disguise or money she’d be forced to steal, proving once again her duplicitous, criminal nature.

But she could only do that if she lived through the night. Violet was terrified to leave the cover of the wood, but the sound of baying dogs made that choice for her.

Bending low, Violet whispered the spell that would hide her tracks and scent. Assuming the farmer and his friends didn’t have any spells of their own, it would confuse the dogs long enough for her to escape, provided that she didn’t leave behind any damning evidence. As Violet moved, branches and shrub brush instinctively pulled away, letting her pass without scratching her face or pulling at her clothes.

Too soon she was in the open again, the wind cutting through her layers. Violet didn’t dare call on her magic to warm herself—heat too often brought light, and she wasn’t practiced enough to call one without the other.

For a moment, helplessness almost swallowed her whole. Violet knew she needed shelter, but there was no safe place for her to go. Even the environment was hostile and unwelcoming, the magic of spring and growth unsuited for the barren fields and cold, unfeeling winter.

There was something almost ironic at the thought of dying of exposure to the elements after the exposure of her true nature, but Violet didn’t have time for morbid self-deprecation. She took the only path available—forward—crossing a plot of uncut pasture until she reached a small creek bed. It wasn’t quite cold enough for the water to freeze, and she followed its winding path until it ended in a small pond meant for cattle and horses.

The pond marked the end of Violet’s knowledge of the local countryside. Everything that lay behind was unknown, and therefore frightening. She paused a moment to listen, extending her magical senses.

Relief washed over Violet when she realized she was alone. That relief quickly turned into dread that settled like lead in the pit of her stomach.

There was no one she could count on but herself. And the voice whispering in the back of her mind made it very clear that she was not up to that task.

Swallowing hard, Violet ripped two pieces of cloth from her shirt to wrap around her feet and took her first step into the unknown. The nauseating buzz of apprehension and anxiety pushed her forward another step, and then another and another, until she was almost running. Violet’s lungs burned with the cold even as her face flushed hot, sweat rapidly cooling at her neck and temples.

She alternated walking with running to preserve energy. Every once in a while she would stop at a strip of timber, try to orient herself without the guidance of the moon or stars. A cave elf’s night vision wasn’t anything like how she saw during the day, and it didn’t take long for Violet to become disorientated. All she knew, all she could hope, was that she was getting away.

The fields blended with one another, some large harvested crop ground, others overgrown pasture for free range cattle. Packed dirt roads and humble homesteads were avoided like the plague, Violet moving as best she could away from any signs of civilization. Wind whispered through the grass and the trees, but beyond that was the silence of desolate emptiness. Exposed and in the open, Violet only became more aware of her own smallness.

But as the miles past and the first promise of sunrise pierced through the oppressive blackness of night, Violet knew she needed to stop. Thin cotton strips were poor protection for her aching, bleeding feet, and the cold that she’d once been able to force away was starting to seep into her bones. Everything felt heavy, from her eyelids, to her legs, to the effort it took to expand her lungs.

The acute jolt of energy that came with being discovered had long-been expelled, leaving a deeper, more primal fear that left her slow and jumpy. Hazy fog clouded the edges of her vision and thoughts dripped sluggishly from her mind like frozen syrup. Violet forced her aching knees up one, final hill, promising herself that once she reached the other side she would stop for the night.

Only that promise made her go forward, and she wasn’t sure she’d have the strength to set up adequate shelter after she made it that far, or lay the spells that would protect her before falling asleep. At that moment she didn’t particularly care. Anything for a blessed moment of rest.

Lazy, stupid, do you want to be found…

Violet huddled against herself as she crested the hill, unsure if she was trying to protect herself from the wind or the Echo whose voice was becoming increasingly difficult to discern from her own.

On the other side, the slope dipped gradually down to a narrow road that didn’t look like it had been used since Hym had been made a Wizard. The road, or lane, or path, or whatever it was, ended at a small, one-story building that had been white before the elements stripped it of the majority of its paint. The roof sagged inward, a young tree sprouting through the hole that might have once been a chimney.

The windows were thick with dust. From the road, no one could see in or out, and clearly no one had been inside in a long, long time.

It was the perfect hiding spot.

Violet took a moment to stare, unable to believe her own good fortune. She staggered forward, tired and hurting, not bothering to make sure that no one was coming from father up the road. Soft, predawn light edged at the horizon as Violet circled around looking for the entrance. A simple wooden door sat above two stone steps, settled under a faded sign that proclaimed the decrepit building to be Elk Chapel.

Tentatively Violet extended her magic, but there were no protections guarding the property. When she jiggled the handle it snapped in her hands, and after years of disuse the wood had swollen in the door jamb, making it stick shut.

Growling with frustration, Violet tried to shoulder it open, but it was no use. Angry tears pricked at the corner of her eyes as she slammed against the door with an almost childlike, impotent helplessness. It wasn’t fair! After all she’d gone through, all that stood between her and safety was a stupid door that wouldn’t open. It wasn’t fault she was a monster. She couldn’t help that no one would let her in. She tried and tried and tried so hard to be a good person, to help people, and it was never enough.

She would never be good enough.

Violet didn’t have the strength to keep trying. Overtired and overwrought, she pressed her forehead against the door and cried. There was nothing left for anything other than the outpouring of emotion, the surrender to all the grief and pain she often ignored in the name of survival. There at that abandoned chapel deep in a forgotten wood, Violet bore her soul, not caring who might see or hear.

“Please,” she sobbed. “I can’t do this anymore.”

A force stirred deep within her. Violet was familiar enough with her magic to know that whatever she felt, it didn’t come from her. Warmth spread through her body, embracing her with the comfort of an old, familiar blanket, or a pair of loving arms. Frightened and confused, she whipped her head around, but there was no one but the wind.

Violet was still alone when the echo of a memory whispered in the depths of her heart, mind, and soul,

Be not afraid.

Taking a half-step back, Violet pressed herself against the chapel door, willing herself to disappear. There was the groaning of wood, then a sharp crack that punctured through the peace of the morning like a rocket, and the door snapped from its hinges.

Violet stumbled backward and was unable to keep her balance before falling hard on her behind. Heart pounding she scurried as far backward as she could, but the feeling was gone, leaving only a deep, pulsing ache.

“I’m actually going insane,” Violet whispered. Without bothering to stand up, she craned her neck backward to see where the young sapling had managed to break free to the open sky. The musty smell of earth and forgotten things filled the single room of the chapel, both the walls and floor covered with hoarfrost.

As far as shelter went, Violet had had better. She’d also had much, much worse. She crawled the corner that seemed warmest and removed the wrappings from her feet, wincing as the dried blood pulled the scabs open anew.

How much had she left behind? Enough for the dogs to track her? Violet squeezed her eyes closed and tried to remember the spell that would seal the broken skin, letting her breath out in a low hiss as her magic knitted the tissue back together imperfectly. She’d need to study more, or at least not be stupid enough to leave her shoes behind when she ran.

With her feet taken care of, Violet finally turned to the matter of getting warm. Reluctantly, she left her sanctuary just long enough to find a good-sized rock and lug it back inside, before settling herself at the base of the tree. Oak, her mind uselessly supplied. As if the leaves and acorns at her feet hadn’t told her that much.

Violet laid her hands on the stone, trying to ignore the barbaric claws that extended past the edges of her fingers. Her hands shook with exhaustion as she tapped the last dregs of her endurance to call heat to the heart of the rock, enough that would last her the hours it would take her to recover from the night’s escapades.

Blue light flashed. Violet screeched in alarm and pulled her hands away, having succeeded a little too well at her spell. The stone glowed cherry red, instantly melting the frost at her feet and heating the room as well as any stove.

She let out a breath shaky with relief and buried her face in her arms. She wouldn’t cry again. Not for something as stupid as a little warmth.

As exhausted as she was, it took Violet longer than expected to drift asleep. The immediate need of shelter taken care of, she realized just how hungry and thirsty she was, and not knowing where she could find either food or water wound her tighter than a two copper watch. She was too tired to think of a plan for getting shoes and clothes and too confused by how she’d opened the door of the chapel to try to fight through her fatigue.

Probably a coincidence, Violet thought, the excuse unconvincing even in her own mind. Instinctively she reached for her bag and pulled out her journal—which she had managed to take with her—finding a stubby bit of pencil amongst the detritus of the bottom of her pack. She flipped to a familiar page, reading and rereading her entry about that night, eyes skimming the words she’d long-since memorized.

Be not afraid.

With everything that had happened, knowing the monster that she was, how could she not?

Sighing softly, Violet turned the page and scratched out another name. Maybe next time would be different. She tucked the journal away again and tried to get comfortable at the base of the tree. A cluster of acorns poked against her hip and side. Violet brushed most of them away, saving one to add to her growing seed collection.

Nearly sick with dread and exhaustion, Violet finally allowed herself to drift to sleep as the first rays of dawn crossed the horizon, the memory of a promise she still didn’t understand leading her to a deep and dreamless slumber.

#daughter of the lilies #daughter of the lilies fanfiction #thistle #someomes gotta answer those hard hitting questions #like where the heck thistle got the acorn she used to seal a pit to hell #today is reread your old fanfiction and realize it’s not as terrible as you thought day

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maxwell-grant · 4 years ago

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Your Top Five Pulp Heroes that you wish were better known? By Pulp Hero fans, I mean. Since pretty much all of them except Conan and Tarzan are fairly unknown.

It’s actually quite hard for me to narrow it down to just five, because I’m having to choose between characters that are my favorites that I wish were more well-known and appreciated (which is all of them), and characters that aren’t quite my favorites but I very much think should have achieved great popularity for a myriad of reasons. So instead I’m going to pick some of each. These are not necessarily ranked by their importance or my personal taste, just 5 characters I felt like highlighting in particular.

Honorable mentions goes to characters I already talked about prior and don’t want to repeat myself on. These aren’t “lesser” picks, just ones that I already talked about: Imaro (who in particular definitely feels like he could, and should be, a pop culture superstar if he was only more well-known), Kapitan Mors (who’s got a lot in common with one of my favorite fictional characters, Captain Nemo, but also has a lot of interesting things going on for him as his own character). Sar Dubnotal (a character that appeals a lot to me and I think should be included much more often in pulp hero team-ups). The Golden Amazon (again, definitely a character that feels like it’s just begging to have a pop culture breakout, even comic books rarely if ever have female supervillains this ruthless and over-the-top), The Mexican Fantomas (who absolutely deserves a better name than what I’m calling him here, because he’s incredibly awesome and leagues ahead of just being a knock-off). And of course my homeboy, The Grey Claw, whom I would consider Number One of the list if it wasn’t for the fact that his obscurity has left him untouched by copyright and I got plans of my own for the character that wouldn’t be possible if he was more well-known, so I guess I’m ultimately glad he’s obscure (even if I’m still bothered by how little he’s known).

Allright let’s go:

Number 5: Sheridan Doome

Sheridan Doome appeared in fifty-four stories and three novels from 1935 to 1943. As chief detective for U.S. Naval Intelligence, Lieutenant Commander Sheridan Doome’s job was a grim one. Whenever an extraordinary mystery or crime occurred in the fleet, on a naval base, or anywhere the navy worked to protect American interests, Doome was immediately dispatched to investigate it. Fear and dread would always precede Doome’s arrival in his special black airplane. For, in an explosion during WWI, he had been monstrously disfigured.

He was six feet two inches tall; had a chalk-white face and head. It appeared as though it had once been seared or burned. For eyes, he had only black blotches; glittering optics, that looked like small chunks of coal. His nose was long, the end of it squared off rudely. He had no lips, just a slit that was his mouth. His neck was long, as white and as bony as his face…. Sheridan Doome looked more like a robot than a human being. He was tall and ghastly; his uniform fitted him in a loose manner. Long arms hung at his sides; his face was a perfect blank. He had no control of his facial muscles; consequently, his countenance was always without expression, chalky and bony.

But behind the ugliness was a brilliant mind. Sheridan Doome always got his man. Before Sheridan Doome became a staple in the pages of The Shadow magazine, two Doome hardcover mysteries were written in the mid-1930’s by acclaimed hard-boiled author Steve Fisher (I Wake Up Screaming) and edited by his wife Edythe Seims (Dime Detective, G-8 and His Battle Aces). Age of Aces now brings you both books in one huge double novel, presented in a retro “flip book” style. This book is currently Out of Print.

I sadly don’t have any more information on the character other than this. The book is unavailable for me to acquire in any capacity, and the text above is taken from the Age of Aces website as well as Jess Nevins’s personal profile for the character. I’m not even sure if any of those 54 stories even exist anymore, since although he was published as a backup in Shadow Magazine, there doesn’t seem to be reprints of them anywhere, at least as far as I can find, and the original Shadow magazines have largely turned to dust by now.

A character who combines aspects of The Phantom of the Opera and The Shadow, whose adventures are set in a backdrop that can easily lead to ocean adventures? That’s like, what, three of my favorite things in the world combined. I really, really wish I could at least read the stories this character stars in, but as is, this description is all I can provide. Again, time really has been cruel to the pulp heroes.

Number 4: Harlan Dyce

This is another character I’ve only been able to learn about through Jess Nevins’s archives and have not been able to attain any further information on, which is sadly the case with a lot of pulp heroes that nowadays only seem to exist as footnotes in his Encyclopedia or records in libraries. I don’t post more about these characters because I really would just be copying the stuff he wrote without much to justify me quoting him verbatim, and I hate the idea of doing that.

I especially hate that in Harlan Dyce’s case though. Here’s his description

“Dyce had brains, taste, money, ambition, and a total lack of physical or spiritual fear. But—

“Dyce was thirty-three inches tall and weighed sixty pounds.

“That was all the world could ever hold against him. That was what had made the world, most of it, in all the countries of the world, stare at Harlan Dyce, billed in the big show as “General Midge.””

Harlan Dyce is a misanthropic and venomous private detective. He has an “amazingly handsome face,” and the aforementioned brains. But all anyone sees is his stature, and he hates that and turns his cold eyes and acid tongue on them.

The only person Dyce likes and gets along with (besides his dwarf wife, a former client) is his assistant, Nick Melchem, a six-foot tall former p.i.’s assistant with bleak eyes and a strong body. Melchem ignores Dyce’s stature and treats Dyce normally, which Dyce responds warmly to.

Dwarfs may be the single most maligned group of people depicted in pulp magazines, even more so than the Japanese in the war years or the Chinese during the peak of the Yellow Peril’s popularity. Evil dwarfs, murderous dwarfs, sexually depraved dwarfs, they are all loathsome, ugly cliches that are, sadly, the only instances you see of dwarf characters being represented at all, with the only ones who are awarded any measure of sympathy are doomed henchmen or tragic villains. Even outside of the pulps, the only other examples of heroic, protagonist dwarfs I can think off the top of my head are Puck from Marvel Comics and Tyrion Lannister from Game of Thrones.

I’m not gonna say Harlan Dyce is great representation because I’m not a little person and can never make that kind of claim for a group I’m not a part of, but Harlan Dyce may be the first time I’ve ever seen a dwarf character in pulp fiction who was not a villain or a murderous goon or a victim, but an actual person and a heroic protagonist, and that definitely counts for something. I’m not sure how popular this character was or could be if someone picked up the concept and ran with it (and I’m pretty sure he’s public domain), but I definitely think this is a character that should exist and should be popular.

Hell, this character has Peter Dinklage written all over it, give it to him. Maybe then he will get to play a smart, fearless, cynical, misanthropic but good-natured and heroic character in something where he actually gets to keep these traits until the show ends.

Number 3: Audaz, O Demolidor

Audaz is a Brazilian character who was created and published by Gazetinha, the same publishers of Grey Claw as well as properties exported from elsewhere like Superman and Popeye, and much like The Grey Claw, he is also completely unknown even here. I’ll get to Audaz more in-depth sometime but here I’m going to provide a quick summary:

Audaz, The Demolisher is a gigantic crime-fighting robot controlled and piloted by the brilliant scientist Dr. Blum, his close friend Gregor and the child prodigy Jacques Ennes, who pilot the giant robot from a massive laboratory inside it's head rather than a cockpit. He takes on a variety of ordinary human criminals, mad scientists, supervillains and invading armies, towering over skyscrapers and grappling with jets.

Audaz was created in 1939 by illustrator Messias de Melo, a year before Quality Comics's Bozo the Iron Man and 5 years before Ryuichi Yokoyama's Kagaku Senshi, and decades before the debut of Mazinger Z. Although he is not the first giant robot of science fiction, he is the first heroic giant robot piloted by human pilots, and thus the first true example of "mecha" fiction.

Number 2: Emilia the Ragdoll

This is another Brazilian character, although nowhere near as obscure as Audaz as even a cursory Google search can show. Although Brazil did not have a “pulp era” in the same way the US had, we’ve long gotten past the point of sticking to it as a definitive rule, and I’m including Emilia as a pulp hero because she’s a 1920s fantasy literature character who was created under a publishing company that released pulp stories, because she doesn’t quite belong in the mold of fantasy literature characters she takes after, and because I like her and if I was putting a bunch of pulp heroes together in the same story, I would definitely include Emilia in it. It’s not like she really has anywhere else to go, now that she’s public domain and she’s outlasted her franchise.

As you can tell by the above image, Emilia’s had a lot of variations over the years and that’s because the work she was created for, Sítio do Picapau Amarelo (Yellow Woodpecker Ranch/Farm), has become a major bedrock of Brazilian fantasy literature, one of the only works created here that you can find substantial information about in English if you go looking for it. Here’s some descriptions of Emilia’s character:

Emília is a rag doll described as "clumsy" or "ugly", resembling a "witch" that was handmade by Aunt Nastácia, the ranch's cook, for the little girl Lúcia, out of an old skirt. After Lucia takes her on an adventure and the doll is given a dose of magic pills, Emília suddenly started talking, and would never stop henceforth.

Emilia has a rough, antagonistic personality, and an independent, free-spirited and anarchist behaviour. She is rogue, rebellious, stubborn, rough and intensely determined at anything she sets her mind on, eager to take off on just about any adventure. She is often immature and behaves like a curious and arrogant child, always wanting to be the center of attention.

She is extremely opinionated even when she constantly and confidently mispronounces words and expressions. Her attitude often gets her into trouble, and she very often has to fight against the villains who attack her home on the Yellow Woodpecker Farm and mistreat her friends.

In the stories, Emilia often takes the role of a heroine who travels through different realms and dimensions, as the books include not only figures from Brazilian and worldwide folklore, but also several characters both real and fictional, such as Hercules, King Arthur, Don Quixote, Thumbelina, Da Vinci, Shirley Temple, Captain Hook, Santos Dumont and Baron von Munchausen.

She's fought scorpions and martians and nymph hordes, her arch-enemy is an alligator witch, she rescued an angel from the Milky Way and tried to teach it how to become a human, and once shrunk the entire population of Earth to try and talk the president of the United States into ending war forever.

To little surprise, she has become the most popular character and the series’s mascot.

It’s a little strange to consider Emilia underrated considering she is one of the most famous original characters of Brazilian literature, but hardly anyone outside of Brazil even knows who she is, and regardless of the quality of the original stories (and Monteiro Lobato’s views on race that tar much of his reputation), Emilia definitely feels to me like a character that should be a lot more popular globally.

She is the only character from Yellow Woodpecker Ranch that has transcended the original stories, since she was always the most popular character and there’s been a couple of stories written about her that usually separate her from the ranch and just set her out on the world by herself. The latest story about this character has been a series called The Return of Emilia, that’s about her stepping out of the books in 2050 and discovering a Brazil that’s been ruined by social and ecological devastation, and traveling back in time via a flying scooter in order to try and prevent this calamity.

Now that she’s public domain, I definitely think there’s some great stories that can be told with the character that just about anyone could get to, and I definitely think she’s a character that deserves more appreciation. Anything goes in stories starring her and it’s that kind of free-for-all freedom that I think can benefit future takes on pulp heroes. I would be very happy to place Emilia among them.

Oh yeah, and there was one time she kicked Popeye's ass by tricking him with a can of mouldy cabbage instead of spinach, making him sick and then beating him, which possibly puts her as one of the all-time badasses of fiction, except she would be pissed at not being number one and likely embark on a quest to beat everyone else just to prove she could, because that’s how Emilia rolls.

Number 1: Luna Bartendale, from The Undying Monster (1922)

Not necessarily my favorite of the bunch, but one who sort of epitomizes what you asked, a character who is both incredibly obscure and incredibly underrated in every sense. Despite the book being somewhat known, mainly thanks to the movie, the character is so obscure that I don’t even have an illustration of her to display here, not even fan art, just one of the book’s covers that I think best conveys it. Luckily, the book is also available freely online, so you can all go check it out here. The movie adaptation does not feature the character of Luna Bartendale which makes it pointless to talk about.

To not spoil it too much, The Undying Monster is a very fascinating book, ahead of it’s time in quite a few ways. You expect it to just be a detective story centered around a werewolf cursed, except the subtitle of the book is “The Fifth Dimension” and then it goes to talk about dimensions of thought and post-WWI trauma and love and hypnotic regression that travels through time and ancient runes and Norse mythology. It’s not exactly an easy book to get through in one setting, but I’d recommend it much the same if only because it’s got supersensitive psychic sleuth Luna Bartendale, literature’s first female occult detective, and she’s an incredible character who absolutely feels like she should have become a literary icon.

She lives in London but is world-renowned for her many good deeds. She is a small, pretty woman, with curly blonde hair, dark eyebrows and a high-bridged nose, and a slight build. She has a voice described as a light soprano that "does not make much noise but carries a long way".

Petite, bedimpled and golden curled, Luna is completely in charge of events, dominating every scene that she appears in with her welcoming disposition and cleverness.

Bartendale has various psychic powers, including mind reading. She is well-versed in psychic and occult lore, is a “supersensitive” psychic, and has a “Sixth Sense” which allows her to trace things and people through both the Fourth and the Fifth Dimension. (The Fifth Dimension is “the Dimension that surrounds and pervades the Fourth–known as the Supernatural”).

Her extensive knowledge of occult rites and practices puts John Silence, Carnacki and Miles Pennoyer to shame, and she beats them all with her "super-sensitive" gift of being able to psychically connect with troubled souls and hypnotize them.

She uses a divining rod for various tasks, including psychic detection and tracking, and distinguishing between benevolent and malevolent forces. She has various (undefined) powerful psychic defenses, can carry on seances, and can even cure a person of “wehrwolfism.” And she can always rely on her massive, intelligent dog Roska for help.

Luna sadly doesn’t show up in the book as often as I’d hoped, but everything about this character is so delightful. In a lot od ways she hardly feels like a pulp hero, at least the ones I usually talk about. She feels like a lost protagonist from an incredibly successful kid’s adventure series where a kind and eccentric detective witch and her giant dog go around solving occult mysteries and encountering all sorts of weird supernatural beings while counseling and helping people, like Ms Frizzle meets Hilda. Like this character is just waiting for Cartoon Saloon to make a film about her.

Its not so much “this character should/could be popular but it’s clear why that didn’t pan out”, it’s more me being confused as “why the hell isn’t she super popular? This character should have had a franchise ages ago, holy shit put her in everything””

#pulp heroes #pulp fiction #answer tag #sheridan doome #harlan dyce #audaz #boneca emilia #luna bartendale

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tragedynatural · 3 years ago

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Hey I know you posted it like a month ago but I would love a detailed song-by song reasoning/annotations for your Sam/jake mix. If you have time it would be great to hear your thoughts!

anon i've never jumped so hard at the chance to explain my totally normal thought process in depth before. thank you! yes of course! i will try to be as brief as possible! but probably not!

the first caveat i have to give you is that this mix was based mostly on a concept where cold oak lasts for ~2 weeks. so there's time for complicated relationships and despair to set in and a lot of this won't match the like..two days? it takes in the show. also this tracklist might be different from the post. i was editing.

we must be killers (mikky ekko) - "children of the wild ones" - references demon blood and my loose interpretation of what it might feel like to have these burgeoning powers, and then the "killer" refrain is because imo a key part of boyking4boyking is about how they both Know one of them is going to die, probably by the other's hand. also i'm compelled by similarities i see between jake and sam and both have spent their adult lives (hunting, military) being trained to kill. and i think neither of them want to do that, and in this situation they're forced to consider killing their peers..oof. thinking about jake's face when he has to kill ava, thinking about how sam and jake have been in situations where they've needed to kill someone in order to ensure the safety of someone else (in the logic of spn universe's approach to hunting & military)

like real people do (hozier) - this is abt that sense of knowing i was talking about. in the 2 week cold oak au jake and sam both find out from azazel early on how things are supposed to go. and they spend a week not killing each other! but they don't know each other very well and each fears that the other will snap first. "i will not ask why you were creeping / in some sad way i already know" - a sense of like, scorpion-and-frog anticipation that the other's going to turn on you but wanting to prolong the peace before it happens. also this dynamic is a product of a horrible time for them, they know that they probably won't both make it out - the "kiss like real people do" refrain is about an idle wish of like, what would it have been like if we were normal?

damn these vampires (the mountain goats) - i just like this song i think. this was rlly about the atmosphere, capturing the sense of being changed against your will that jake is reckoning with for the first time and sam is still struggling with. also, you know, there's a little bit of a defiant feel to this song. "scream when captured... let this whole town hear your knuckles crack." at this point they think maybe they can refuse to play along with azazel, and that it might be possible to get out anyway.

our time is short (gang of youths) - look, you know, rn they've been here for a ~week? they're not sure if they're ever making it out. the other kids died in the first couple days so it's just jake and sam and i think they're going through 'last 2 people on earth' feelings at warp speed. this is .... a moment of feeling good b/c they know it won't last very long, and there's a bit of last hurrah energy. "so let's drink the best wine now..before lightning strikes us down" etc.

another place (bastille) - the jake/sam connection is a genuine feeling but it's also very much....a foxhole thing to quote bobby. they like each other genuinely but both are aware this is the result of an extraordinary situation. even if they were both getting out alive...they live completely different lives. this song is about, don't make this more than it is because even though maybe we'd both want it to be, it's not attainable.

heavy in your arms (florence + the machine) - "who is the betrayer? / who's the killer in the crowd?" is absolutely my concept for the 2 week cold oak. sam and jake being plagued by dreams from yellow-eyes, and they don't want to suspect or betray the other but. well. they'll be stuck here forever. this is both of them wondering who'll crack first. also "heavy in your arms" is a little foreshadowing for when jake stabs sam and holds him while he bleeds out. thanks!

as the world caves in (matt maltese) - look. they're going to nuke each other up boys till old satan stands impressed...on their final night alive it's YOUUU that i lie with.... this is last few days of peace before Inevitable Conflict as the tension hits a peak. it's about "i like you and i care for you and i know eventually one of us is going to kill the other but i can't be the person to pick up the knife first. so every night i sleep across the fire from you and hope you fall asleep before i do." and azazel is there.

no one would riot for less (bright eyes) - "everything is eclipsed / by the shape of destiny" - the fact that the lives of the special children have been counting down to this moment! their hopes, dreams, personal morals, affections for others are eclipsed by fate baby! inescapable! the whole "little soldier" section is again about how both of them have been made into weapons to fight for various causes, and now they're being. pitted against each other. "love me now / hell is coming" and "help me out / hell is coming / could you do it now / hell is here" is obviously about them knowing shit is going to go down soon and also this sense of like. just kill me if you're going to. don't prolong the inevitable.

have to explode (the mountain goats) - similar theme here, feeling like you're counting down to the inevitable - "the stage is set / someone's going to do something someone else will regret" sam and jake are pieces in a plan that's been in motion for years and everyone's just waiting for them to buckle down and play the role. "the fuse will have to run out sometime / something here will eventually have to explode" - dean only finds sam once sam's been stabbed and jake has 'won'. if no victor emerges they stay here until one does, and they know that they can't hold out forever.

tusk (fleetwood mac) - i put this on every playlist sorry about me! also it's, okay, jake wakes up in the night to see sam stuck in a nightmare and he knows the demon's visiting both of them. what's it saying to him, he thinks, what's sam going to do? this is about creeping dread, and this sense that the person you're with maybe knows something you don't. that they're planning to betray you, that they already have. and musically the frantic melody and vocalization just ups the tension.

bite the hand (boygenius) - jake's pov. sam is the one who pushes for a truce and holding out for another option out of cold oak, and jake is on board. at first. but as time kicks on he realizes that there's no other option whereas sam is still a little bit in denial. so the "i can't love you how you want me to / i'll bite the hand that feeds me / you want what i can't give to you / who do you think you are / who do you think i am / maybe i'm afraid of you" - is about him doing a heel turn where he realizes like, i can't do this (stay indefinitely here to find a dubiously-real other way out for a guy i just met) and sam can't do it either, and one of us is going to snap, and i'm afraid it'll be sam first.

i bet on losing dogs (mitski) - sam's perspective on ^ - he does know how it's going to end but he can't quite. give up on hoping that it won't. he doesn't kill jake when he has the chance. he must know jake'll kill him if he's not dead or knocked unconscious, but he hopes. that he won't. anyway. and he's wrong. he knows he'll be wrong, i think he can sense that jake is doing a heel turn but also, they're getting played by azazel who's planting seeds of doubt and they're stuck in this depressing place alone, and sam's not sure how much he can trust himself. he's betting on losing dogs.

samson (regina spektor) - "you are my sweetest downfall / i loved you first" - jake's pov on a guy he genuinely likes who he knows he's going to kill. before the fight & the cemetery they cared for each other. "we couldn't bring the columns down / we couldn't destroy a single one" - in the end trying to hold out against azazel does nothing, the gate opens, the apocalypse happens. it's futile. and the story never mentions jake or cold oak again - i think the fact that sam tried to like, help & protect the special kids & then had to watch andy, ava, and lily die, & then jake tried to kill him, & he had to kill jake is like. pretty fucked up. those are the last people like him on this earth man he was 23!

heaven or hell (digital daggers) - vibes! also: "i’ve got the same deep wounds as you / my love can double as a weapon too" - jake and sam's similarities are so key to me. either one of them could have been the person to turn first. i'm anti-trying to make jake into a bad guy for stabbing sam! he wanted to go home! "show me the side no one else sees / turn it back on me" - what's it like for sam to be around other special kids? does he feel more normal or less than he does with dean? thinking about that "it doesn't matter if we believe it only matters that they do" scene- SO interesting! what a cool moment of jake and sam connecting on a level of both being leaders, both knowing what a lose-lose situation looks like, both knowing how to keep the hope alive, and do what has to be done. of course this is also the trait that leads to jake killing sam / sam killing jake. they're the same.

old college try (the mountain goats) - this is specifically like, night before jake stabs sam. he knows he's going to kill sam by now. "i want to say i'm sorry for stuff i haven't done yet / things will shortly get completely out of hand" - jake thinking about this last like, goodbye. and "i will walk down to the end with you / if you will come all the way down with me" - seeing it through till the end, sam has a burgeoning sense of something wrong.

it seemed the better way (leonard cohen)- again i literally just put this one on everything i can. also you know, it's jake thinking about listening to azazel and killing sam. it seemed like the better way then, but now, when azazel's threatened his family and he realizes he can't get out of it, it's too late to go back in time and do it differently. he has to obey azazel + play along. "i better hold my tongue / i better take my place / lift this glass of blood / try to say the grace". yes i know this is about religion i'm not trying to make light of the song i just think. i'm squinting okay.

don't let me be misunderstood (nina simone) - LISTEN! JAKE'S INTENTIONS ARE GOOD. this is like, meeting in the cemetery and sam is alive and they both know what's passed between them and what can never be and where it has to go now, and jake's thinking "just remember that i'm not evil. just remember i have a family that i wanted to come back to like you, don't let where this went eclipse the fact that you cared about me, that you know i'm a good person." it's also me holding a large stick and pointing it at everyone in supernatural so that they remember that he did nothing wrong.

say goodbye (fleetwood mac) - okay bear with me. in my version. of cold oak jake doesn't get killed by sam. he kills azazel and sam and dean let him go. this is a retrospective on the whole thing for both of them. "i let you slip away / there was nothing I could do / that was so long ago, yeah / still I often think of you" and "so don't let it get you down / just a time within a time / just a scheme within a scheme / a little world within a world / yes, a dream, just a dream" are the thesis lyrics for this song. cold oak's done, azazel's nuked, back to the real world now. it's a bitter way to say goodbye to a person you cared about after they killed you/you killed them, even though you both sort of. expected it to go that direction. by this point i was just like IT FEELS RIGHT (adds to playlist).

#THIS IS SO LONG? i've never felt more charlie_day_pepe_silvia.png in my life #anon. i...this is a little deranged. i hope it was what you were looking for #mevoice why don't i make a playlist chiefly about an au that i will never finish or post!#boyking4boyking #long post #if this shows up without a readmore on mobile i'm so desperately sorry

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princesscas · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! I have watched the show for 15 years since the very first episode aired on WB and I was hooked. I was always a Dean Girl until Cas' entrance, and he has meant so much to me over the years because I see a lot of myself in Cas (strict religious upbringing, ace/demisexual, had to learn how to let myself express emotions). I have lurked near-daily for years and I want to thank you for your lovely blog! It has helped me through some tough times to have posts to look forward to. (1 of 2)

First off, hi fellow ace!!! *blasts ace of spades* Omg really?? Yay!! Thanks :3 I’ll still be here after the end. I’m not leaving anytime, if not ever pfft.

I am still in shock because I have always seen how much Cas cared for Dean and hoped upon hopes that this would happen. I am VERY excited for the final episodes, and optimistic. :) I am writing my first tumblr asks now because I love your blog and am interested in your insight! I don't see people talking about this, but I had a couple thoughts last night. (2/3)

I love asks!! Send ‘em in whenever you want :D

Me too, usually my shock wears off by by day 3 but I still feel exactly how I did soon as the credits rolled. Can Thursday get here already? I can’t believe we’re 10 days away from the very last episode. Before 15x18, I was dreading the final, not looking forward to saying goodbye. But now? Bring it on Dabb, show me what you’ve got. I think a lot of people have more hope ever than before.

Heck, I always thought if they were ever going to make Destiel canon (or even address their feelings) it would’ve been Season 8. And you know how that went. So by Season...10? 11? ‘All Hope Is Gone by Slipknot plays in the background’ Is how I felt.

(1) I can't find it but when the crew (?) said "To his face. Twice!" on Twitter, where do you think the second "I love you." was? I thought this might refer to them watching two takes, but surely they did more than two. I’m not versed in television production so maybe it was just two takes, but I have a feeling they edited out a second “I love you.” You?(2) When Misha said that they told Jensen a couple months before filming, do you think it was before or after his hip surgery in December? (3/4)

I’d have to scrounge around the depths of Tumblr to find it but I swear I saw either @sunforgrace or @mittensmorgul talking about that the other day. Maybe someone else, the fandom is very active now so I can’t keep track haha.

Ohh it would be sad but if there was going to be a second ILY, I’d think it would be right as Cas gets sucked by the Empty. Just...Dean’s laying there in shock and Cas screams out a final ‘I love you’ as he gets taken away once more, saving the one human who changed his perspective on the world. AWH CRAP I’VE MADE MYSELF SAD.

Quick, someone write that, I crave angst every now and then lmao.

Uhhh was it before?? I can’t remember, think I saw a post talking about it at some point too.

(3) When Misha was talking in front of the Bean before his surgery, he said had Tylenol PM and was thinking of his ideal version for Castiel’s final moments on the show and crying. He kept saying he “thinks” he knows where the story's going and that it's really sad. It could have been the love confession, but I think there will be a happy ending that is also a tear-jerker. (3)I hope for Human!Cas in the end and can’t stop thinking about what a flirty drunk he was. :3 Thanks for being great blog!

I hope there’s a happy ending on the way. Killing everyone off...seems odd to me. I really, really hope they get their peace when they are done. I too would love to see Human!Cas. Canon Destiel with Dean talking about his feelings but Cas loses his angel powers? Good enough for me. uGH now I want a domestic scene of them in the bunker just having drinks and having fun. I’m literally counting on Dabb here.

And thank you for sending these amazing messages!! :D

#mandy answers anon #long post for ts #spn spoilers #destiel #Anonymous

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hptriadfest · 5 years ago

Text

MASTER LIST REVEALED

Title: Those That Move <- Clicky

Author: @hippocrates460

Rating: Explicit | Throuple: Hermione Granger/Ronald Weasley/Viktor Krum

Summary: “All mankind is divided into three classes: those that are immovable, those that are movable, and those that move.” - Benjamin Franklin.

How Ron and Hermione decide to figure out what they really want, how they come to realize that it is Viktor, and how all of them choose to move.

~*~

Title: In The Dying Light <- Clicky

Author: @marshmallowmcgonagall

Rating: Mature | Throuple: Harry Potter x Ginny Weasley x Tom Riddle/Voldemort

Summary:

Six years after Dumbledore died, Harry appears to defeat Lord Voldemort but everyone flees the battlefield in the wake of a magical storm. In the depths of the nights which follow, someone unexpected arrives at the door of Harry and Ginny’s safe house in Godric’s Hollow.

~*~

Title: NEVER ENOUGH <- Clicky

Author: @big-draco-energy

Rating: Explicit | Throuple: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter/Blaise Zabini

Summary:

Established couple woos a third party for a one-night stand. However, it’s not that simple, and nothing is what it seems.

~*~

Title: The good things in life <- Clicky

Author: @harrypotterfanfictionwriter

Rating: General | Throuple: Hermione Granger/Luna Lovegood/Severus Snape

Summary:

Severus reflects on his life since two witches came into it.

~*~

Title: Yes, My Loves <- Clicky

Author: @cheekytorah / @hptruefan-cheekytorah

Rating: General | Throuple: Hermione Granger/Luna Lovegood/Severus Snape

Summary:

For years he served an evil bastard, and now he only wants to serve his women.

~*~

Title: Three To Be Free <- Clicky

Author: @gremlin-writing

Rating: Teen | Throuple: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin/James Potter

Summary:

With his wife dead and a toddler in his arms, James Potter shows up on the Black-Lupin doorstep.

~*~

Title: One Of Our Own <- Clicky

Author: @themadmage-fanfiction

Rating: Teen | Throuple: Ginny Weasley/Astoria Greengrass/Luna Lovegood

Summary:

Five years after the war, Astoria asks her wives about having a child of their own.

~*~

Title: The Sweetest Question <- Clicky

Author: @aneiria-writes

Rating: Explicit | Throuple: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott

Summary:

After a bad day at work, Hermione’s Slytherin lovers know exactly how to soothe her anxious mind.

~*~

Title: Company For The Waiting <- Clicky

Author: @parsley_sage_rosemary_and_thyme4tea <- clicky @non-binarypal7

Rating: General | Throuple: Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter

Summary:

green light the promise of connection and commitment burning impressions, questions, passions

a short exploration of life, death, and love

~*~

Title: Three’s Company <- Clicky

Author: @Snarry5evr

Rating: Mature | Throuple: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter/Severus Snape

Summary:

Ready for a change after his divorce from Ginny, Auror Harry Potter accepts a position in America. Discovering his new charges were none other than the living Severus Snape and his housemate Draco Malfoy was only the beginning of the changes in store for Harry.

~*~

Title: Starting Anew <- Clicky

Author: @lillymoid

Rating: Mature | Throuple: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle/Severus Snape

Summary:

Harry Potter couldn’t accept how the war ended, so he tried again but this time helping Voldemort and changing everything.

~*~

Title: Ron Weasley and the Triad of Support <- Clicky

Author: @littlebozsheep

Rating: Teen | Throuple: Ronald Weasley/Blaise Zabini/Neville Longbottom

Summary:

When Ron stresses over the 10yr school reunion and seeing Hermione for the first time since their disastrous split, his partners take it on their shoulders to cheer him up.

Taking an ansty situation, removing the angst and adding fluff.

~*~

Title: Even Chasers Get The Blues <- Clicky

Author:

@neontinkerbell

Rating: Teen | Throuple: Katie Bell/Alicia Spinnet/Angelina Johnson

Summary:

Alicia and Angelina are saying goodbye to Hogwarts after completing their seventh year, but their girlfriend Katie still has one year left. When the dreaded conversation about long-distance relationship woes finally catches up with them, will they be able to all agree on how to navigate it?

~*~

Title: my girl, my girl, my girl <- Clicky

Author: @klarogasms

Rating: Mature | Throuple: Hermione Granger/Luna Lovegood/Pansy Parkinson

Summary:

They all looked quite different and had vastly varying senses of style, but they looked lovely together, all beautiful in their own ways. And the matching necklaces they wore - golden with a star, a sun and a moon pendant respectively - tied it all together.

or Pansy, Luna and Hermione being adorable for 5k words straight

~*~

Title: Before We Say Goodbye <- Clicky

Author: @cheekytorah / @hptruefan-cheekytorah

Rating: General | Throuple: Rose Weasley/Polly Chapman/Marisa Thomas (Original Female Character)

Summary:

Rose Weasley, Poly Chapman and Marisa Thomas have one more thing to do before they say goodbye to Hogwarts.

~*~

Title: Harry Potter and the Witches of the House of Ill Repute <- Clicky

Author: @hippocrates460

Rating: Mature | Throuple: Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes/Emmeline Vance

Summary:

“One for the money, two for the show, three to make ready and four to go.”

If by go you mean disrupt all the carefully laid plans in order to be good and kind to someone in need. That’s just how they do it.

A story of how three becomes four, and how love is essential, and some very fictionalized accounts of what it might be like to run a sex shop.

~*~

Title: maybe I just wanna be yours <- Clicky

Author: @fleurting

Rating: Teen | Throuple: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter/Ron Weasley

Summary:

Harry’s always had a place in Ron and Hermione’s bed. He’s the only one of them who doesn’t see the spot as permanent.

~*~

Title: Enchanted Encounters <- Clicky

Author: @ischa-posts

Rating: Explicit | Throuple: Teddy Lupin/Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Summary:

James decides he wants to go on a road trip with his brother and Teddy, of course Scorpius and Albus’ girlfriend tag along. But also: James is scheming, Scorpius is pinning (and maybe sulking) and Teddy is fighting a losing battle.

It’s really just a friends to lovers story with magic (and sex).

(More on the Ao3 Post)

~*~

Title: Love To Give <- Clicky

Author: @kittycargo

Rating: Explicit | Throuple: Harry Potter/Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy

Summary:

Neville and Harry are in a relationship when Draco moves back from Italy and needs a place to stay. Neville never knew how much love he had to give.

~*~

Title: Sealing Their Bond - Clicky

Author: @articcat621

Rating: Explicit | Throuple: Regulus Black/Hermione Granger/Rabastan LeStrange

Summary: After the Marriage Law spell revealed her two wizards, Hermione had been looking forward to her wedding night. Finally, it was here.

~*~

Title: Stay With Us <- Clicky

Author: @thunder-of-dragons

Rating: Mature | Throuple: Sirius Black/James Potter/Lily Evans

Summary: A week before the Fidelius Charm will be cast over the Potters’ home in Godric’s Hollow, Sirius has a suggestion to keep the Potters better hidden, and it’s one that does not include Peter Pettigrew.

~*~

Title: The Chasers and their Gold Digger <- Clicky

Author: @gaeilgerua

Rating: Teen | Throuple: Marcus Flint/Hermione Granger/Adrian Pucey

Summary:

Reading the gossip column in the Daily Prophet these days is usually good for a laugh.

~*~

Title: Studious <- Clicky

Author: @lilithshadefanfic

Creative Medium: Fan Art

Rating: Mature | Throuple: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott

Summary: Fanart created for HP Triad!Fest 2020.

Prompt #54 by GaeilgeRua

A group project in Eighth year leads to a new friendship.

~*~

Title: How To Impress Your Muggleborn Lover; Texting Edition <- Clicky

Author: @littlebozsheep

Rating: Teen | Throuple: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson

Summary:

It has been a couple of months since Hermione had started using positive reinforcement to get her partners to use Muggle technology. So far, it was getting some humorous responses. This month, they had started texting, and Draco was determined not to be beaten by Pansy again.

~*~

Title: Drive Me Wild <- Clicky

Author: @cheekytorah / @hptruefan-cheekytorah

Rating: Mature | Throuple: Neville Longbottom/Charlie Weasley/Viktor Krum

Summary:

While on a trip searching for a rare plant, Neville finds himself in the company of two wizards that can help him. How will Neville ever repay them?

Prompt #59

Prompter: GaeilgeRua

~*~

Title: Dining Under Duress <- Clicky

Author: @cheekytorah / @hptruefan-cheekytorah

Rating: Explicit | Throuple: Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter

Summary:

Dining under duress was a theme in their lives.

~*~

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coffeebeannate · 4 years ago

Text

Taken from @werebearbearbar

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works (fics, art, edits, etc.) you’ve created this year and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world in 2020. If you don’t have five published works, that’s fine! Include ideas/drafts/whatever you like that you’ve worked on/thought about, and talk a little about them instead! Remember, this is all about self-love and positive enthusiasm, so fuck the rules if you need to. Have fun, and tag as many fellow creators as you like so they can share the love! <3

I started writing fic years and years ago. And have done so in other fandoms before taking a long hiatus from the writing world in general. I stuck with written roleplay only. For what I assume to be around four or five years, I did not write a single fic. (I also wrote short stories in childhood, teen years and young adult years)

(I want to point out though that this absolutely does not negate roleplay writing, and that writing with another person, or in a group is a lesser form) My break from fanfic came with one of the worst periods of my mental and physical health, and everything I had written was purged from my Ao3 account in a single night.

I started writing for The Old Guard in August, and below, are the things I like a lot that I’ve written for it. To do this, I decided to use the criteria of ‘fics I like the most’ instead of what seems to be the most popular to read. For me, if I really love a piece of work, I recall the creative process fondly, and have lines and bits of dialogue I truly adore within it.

1. Precision Mission Fic. Gala. Post-Movie. Current Group (Nile, Andy, Joe, NIcky)

Rated M (Mature) 4846 words

My second fic for the fandom that I published, but the first I actually conceptualized. This one is just..so special to me. I have phone notes typed at five am. I can recall the excitement as I was so eager to share this story and get it off the ground. I wanted to see this complete so bad. I loved nearly every second of writing it, and it’s always going to hold a special place in my heart as a result. There’s so much overdone clothing talk and I can only think of it with fondness.

Excerpt:

None of them are comfortable. Except Joe, it seems.

Joe makes it look easy. Simplistic, even, judging by the way he effortlessly glides and charms his way through the expansive ball/congregating/entertaining room. Something that never failed to fascinate Nicky was the way Joe could integrate himself almost seamlessly into any scenario, situation, or environment. Neither Andy nor himself had that ability. Not when it came to cavorting, anyway. Nicky more quietly reserved, Andy lacking in the ability to care enough to fake it.

Nile seemed to be more in the middle. She did not appear overly comfortable with the mingling, but she had enough personal grace and adaptability to make it seem somewhat effortless to have a decent time.

All their eyes remained sharp on the surrounding area, awaiting the arrival of their target. And for all his schmoozing, Nicky knew Joe’s surveillance was tack-sharp, multitasking to a degree no one he was currently conversing with could have possibly noticed.

“You going to move at some point, or have you taken up permanent resident status here?” Nile asks, appearing at his side where Nicky has spent the last half-hour molded to the furthest left corner of the solid black bar. “I know you have an excellent view, but.”

Nicky snorted, though only Nile could actually tell, “Why waste a good opportunity?”, momentarily ceasing his Joe watching to stare back into the depths of his glass, which currently contained some horrifically shocking pink abomination, Nicky’s second drink, since he was letting the bar tender dictate them, too utterly distracted to care what was touching his lips, and curious with the way the bar tender had delighted in being given free reign to make whatever he desired.

To be fair, it didn’t taste that bad-something frighteningly sugary and weirdly noxious smelling, but it’s not exactly ‘crime against humanity’ levels of alcoholic nightmares.

2. Old

Post-movie. Current Group. (Andy, Nile, Joe, Nicky) Mortal Andy. Character study.

Rated T (Teen and Up Audiences), 2903 words.

My first attempt at Andy-centric writing. Andy is a character I consider a challenge to write, and that makes me want to write her more. This fic centers mostly around her and the others trying to come to terms with how much has happened, within day to day life and taking the comfort that they can in one another.

I really like this fic. A lot. Sure it’s short. Sure maybe not much happens, but Andy’s character fascinates me, as does her relationship with her family.

Excerpt:

Old.

Old

So motherfucking old.

Someone is calling out to her, her hearing and senses long fine-tuned to knowing. It’s Nicky- she can easily pretend she can’t hear him, he knows when she doesn’t want to talk to anyone, after all.

She’s being petty, and she knows it’s unfair. That the nearly untouched plate and nights spent not sleeping gives them reason to be at her. But facing them with that fact feels about as ideal as jumping into a flaming volcano right about now. They’re just worried. It makes her stomach turn, sour and vicious. Venom in the gut, acid in the heart.

Said volcano would be kinder.

3. Spice it Up (Or Not)

Joe and Nicky. Pre-Movie. Fluffy Lovings

Rated: E (Explicit) 3030 words

This one was just fun. I am such a sucker for banting, and the most established of established relationships that Nicky and Joe have going on. This one is indeed not safe for work, and honestly, the opening paragraphs are what came first, and I actually had to build the story around it.

Something that I think makes this fic fun to me as well is that, just because something that sounded like a good idea fails, it doesn’t make it an ending. Healthy communication, knowing each other..it’s so blissful to think about.

Things aren’t always perfect, but that’s okay. And it’s not always a threat. Oh and because this is me, what was supposed to be fairly light hearted gets all sappy and reflective mid-way.

Excerpt:

He knows Nicky in every way. He knows his scent from battle, from sex, from showers and from sleep. He knows his eyes in darkness, in light, in dread, excitement and worry. He knows his grief, his love, his sadness, and adoration. Excitement, passion, fear, and pain.

He could count each tear that Nicky has shed, could recall each tone of his voice in every language they know. From the first he heard to the current. The sweet harmony of song and the rough gasp of drunk intoxication. He’s heard him yell, heard him scream. Heard his shouts and his cries.

He knows how Nicky tends to favour his left shoulder even though there’s no reason beyond psychological to do so. A spot Joe stabbed so long ago. So far back in another life. He knows how he likes to pause and do surveillance before they enter any new location. Knows he likes vehicles that move fast and has a fondness for roller coasters.

He’s seen those hands, so large and skilled break bone, wield a sword and cut vegetables and fruit. Seen them card through his hair, felt them map out each knot and ridge in his spine and ribs, felt them so deep inside himself he can taste it. Rolling into it. Demanding, needing.

“Yusuf.” Nicky’s not calling him back, Nicky’s just as far gone. So often they seem to share thoughts.

Nicky knows Joe in all ways and more. Knows that Joe still sometimes seems to speak ancient by-gone languages in his sleep. Knows that he tends to carry the strongest personal scent in the dead of night. That no shower, no soap, no life experience or battle has truly ever masked the delightful musk he has to himself. There could be a cologne out there that would modify it, and Nicky would bite and lick it away. Demanding and asking, why take this from me? How dare you try to alter what I know and love so furiously?

4. Touch Before Heart

Historical Kaysanova. Early Years. Pre-Movie. Getting to Know Eachother.

Rated E (Explicit) 5030 words

As is pretty obvious by now, I write a LOT of early years Kaysanova. A lot. I am addicted to it.

This one..I love it. This might be one of my favourite pieces of writing of all time. If I was doing these numbers strictly in order preference, then I’d put it as number one I bet.

I think the summary I made for it sums up well just how much I love it. And maybe why.

The first moment they’re able to have a bath, they resolutely do not look at each other. Picking opposite ends of the small stream bed, backs turned to one another. A strange show of both trust and distrust; their backs were exposed, but it was up to their tentative mutual agreement to not partake in the opportunity to stab each other for it.

The..idea that they had so much to learn, so much to understand. So much confusion, anger mistrust..I just really really adore this fic and I think I did a good job with it.

Excerpt:

He curses in unison with Nicolò, both holding fast and steady as the thing finally rights itself, Nicolò letting out a slow, shaken breath of relief.

“Are you alright?” Yusuf asks, both to break the silence and mend the irritating gap they’ve created for themselves.

“Better. Thank you.”

Yusuf wants to scream.

He wants to grab Nicolò, shake him until he can do nothing but give him answers.

Why do you drive me to the brink of madness?

Why do I know your touch, but not your heart?

Why do you tempt me, consume me?

What does it mean?

Why are we here?

Why!?

It is an unfair desire; he’s hardly given the man any more clarity.

5. Curated

Post-Movie. Current Group (Nile, Andy, Joe, Nicky)

Rated G (General Audiences) 1807 words

Alright, I admit it, I had trouble picking number five. I picked Curated because it’s just..so fluffy. But it’s so sweet I always feel so sugary when I think of it. The softness that I tried to convey, and I think I succeeded.

Nile is another character that fascinates me, that I just do not explore enough, and this is all the comforting goodness I could ever hope to create.

Excerpt:

She’s grown used to the easy intimacy they all share, but the sight before her, Nicky’s eyes half-lidded, face a perfect serenity she rarely see’s on it, Joe lost, far-away in reciting but still wholly present, creates an odd, near-throbbing ache in her chest. Something powerful and raw. It’s hard to imagine that people who have been alive this long can be this content.

Everything they’ve seen, experienced and done. All the stories they’ve regaled her with. All the prep, the anxieties, the concerns, and curiosities. None of it seems to exist in these moments. Joe speaking in a language the world might think dead, the true master of softness within the room.

And there we have it! I have so much more I want to write, I have so much more I want to explore, and I thank you all for sharing in these journey’s with me. May there be more writing in our future!

#nate does writing #end of year fic thing #self positivity #things nate has written #long post

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lihikainanea · 5 years ago

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The Dangerous Forest Excursion Part 2

Author’s note: I kept very, very quiet about this. I didn’t mention to anyone that I was working on it--I was sneaky, sneaky, sneaky.

Partly because I really was completely fucking devastated when Tumblr deleted the original and I stupidly didn’t have a back up copy, and partly because it was such a daunting task for me--I really, really did think that the original was perfect. And the more I thought about attempting to re-write it, the more I broke out into a cold sweat.

Eventually, though, I decided that I just...couldn’t leave this part unwritten. It’s too important of a juncture in their relationship--it’s the first time tiger realizes what she needs from Bill and asks for it, it’s the first time they incorporate punishment into their dynamic, and it’s the first time Bill starts to understand tiger much better. It was too pivotal to not have still around.

Ultimately, though--I also decided that it was too difficult for me to re-write it as it once was. Because in my brain, my tiresome little perfectionist brain, it would never be on par with the first version--I really do think it was probably my most favourite thing I have written, ever.

The original was posted back in August, and 3 days later--when I was just editing a stupid tag for it--Tumblr just up and deleted the entire thing without a trace. If you were lucky enough to read it while it existed, then I’m glad. It was my peak. But for everyone else, I hope this slightly different version lives up to all of the hype you might have heard about it.

You can read part one of the dangerous forest excursion here. If you have trouble with it, or if you need some hindsight as to where my mind was at, you can read my director’s (author’s?) commentary.

I love you guys. Thank you for your enthusiasm for this two-parter, and your very kind demands that I take another stab at this piece. ***

You hadn’t meant to run, to leave. You hadn’t meant to do the very same thing that had gotten the both of you into this mess to begin with. But it was too much, all of it was too much and it was more than you could handle. It had been days since you had gotten lost in the minefield that was that forest, days since the first promise you ever broke to Bill, days since you were on the receiving end of his fury—fury that was still too fresh in your mind, still weighing on your psyche, still ripping you apart. You didn’t know what was happening, how to make sense of what you were feeling, why his anger was still crushing your chest. Why the guilt you felt from it burned like acid through your veins, why you couldn’t reel your emotions in.

Bill, for as passionate as he was, never carried things for long. He would feel an emotion intensely, let it ruin him for the moment, but when it was done…it was done. He had been furious with you that night, enraged enough to ignore your need for his help. His own emotions had exploded, clawed their way out of him until he was yelling at you… until you used your safe word. He had paused, horrified, stepping outside to regain his composure before coming back in. It was the maddest you had ever seen him, but within a few minutes—after exchanged apologies, softer words—it was done. You were forgiven, and the chapter was closed.

For him.

You still needed more. It weighed too heavily on your mind—his anger, his disappointment in you. You couldn’t put words to it, this feeling of dread still nagging in the back of your mind, this lack of closure over it all. The lack of feeling forgiven.

And maybe that was it, maybe that’s what this ache burning into your mind was. A lack of feeling forgiven. You had done something wrong, put yourself in danger, broken a promise to him, and after a few exchanged words…it was done. You were forgiven. It lacked the depth that you needed, it lacked all of the components that you didn’t know you needed in order to feel forgiven. It lacked…consequence. Your actions had only merited his anger, his disappointment with you, and just as suddenly as they appeared, they had vanished. Without a single consequence.

It felt fake. And even though he told you that he forgave you, even though he made sure you understood, it still somehow lacked the validity you needed. Consequence, you realized, was what you were after. Wrong doings and punishment. Action and consequence. It was the balance that had lacked, and what had played on your mind to make you believe that you still didn’t have his total forgiveness.

You struggled with it, wrestled with the idea. You wanted to bring it up to him, you wanted to ask for his help, but you didn’t know how.You still couldn’t articulate the feeling properly, or tell him what you needed that would help. You wanted consequence, wanted a little absolution, but you didn’t know what that looked like. His words weren’t enough, you needed something a little more…concrete. Physical.

Punishment, you realized, but in that exact form: physical. He had spanked you before but it was strictly under the guise of pleasure, as part of something you both enjoyed, and you didn’t know how he would react to your request to use it as a form of exoneration.You struggled with it, struggled with how to ask for what you needed, and the more the days wore on, the more you withdrew. The more your mind got away on you. And it culminated one night as you were both reading on the couch, when Bill suddenly shut his book and turned to you, taking yours from your hand and placing both on the coffee table.

“Tiger, what is it?” He asked with a heavy sigh, “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” You feigned confusion, but it didn’t work. He rested his hand on top of yours in your lap.

“You know what I mean,” he coaxed, “Something still isn’t right with you. And I need you to be honest with me, so that we can fix it.”

You squirmed, avoiding his gaze and fidgeting. Taking both of your hands in his, he ducked his gaze until he caught your eye.

“Please kid,” he pleaded, “Whatever it is, we can fix it.”

You let out a long sigh, meeting his eyes when he brought your hands to his mouth and kissed them.

“I don’t feel forgiven,” you whispered.

“What?”

“What happened between us. I don’t feel forgiven,” you said, “Bill, I can’t even explain it. I don’t know how. But there is just this….this weight on me, this nagging in my brain. This nagging that needs closure. Somehow. I need something that will just…something that will confirm to me, beyond shadow of a doubt that I’m forgiven. Because right now, I still feel like you’re mad at me. I still feel your disappointment, your anger, I feel everything except your forgiveness and it’s just very…heavy.”

There was a long pause, a lingering silence as he took in your words.

“Tiger,” he started gently, “I’ve forgiven you. It’s done for me. You’re forgiven. You need to know that.”

“I do know that,” you interjected, and he grabbed your face in his hands.

“Say it then,” he ordered. You sighed.

“I’m forgiven,” you mumbled.

“Not just that,” he implored.

“You forgive me,” you clarified, “You forgive me. Bill, I can say it as much as I want. For whatever reason, I don’t feel it. And I need to feel it, for me to be able to put this behind me. I need something to help me feel forgiven. Some form of absolution.”

“And do you know what that is?” He asked. You bit your lip and tried to take back your hands from his, but he held on, “Kid, it’s me. You can ask me for anything, I’ll give it to you.”

“I need you to spank me,” you whispered.

“Okay….is that it? Because tiger, we do that already. If you want more of it, just—”

“Punishment,” you interrupted, “I need you to punish me.”

He went still, releasing your hands from his.

“What?” He asked.

“I need you to punish me,” you repeated, “Action, and consequence. I let you down. I disappointed you, I broke a promise to you. And even though you’ve told me a million times that I’m forgiven, I don’t feel forgiven— because there hasn’t been a consequence. And I need you to give me some proof or confirmation, some kind of consequence to my actions, that cuts through this mess in my head. So that I can move on from it.”

The silence was deafening, and you glanced up from your lap to see his eyes boring into yours.

“No,” he said definitively, “Tiger, no.”

Your chest constricted, your lungs tightening as he stood abruptly from the couch. He paced the living room, raking his hands through his hair as you fought the urge to cry.

“No?” You whispered, and swallowed hard, “Why no?”

“Because,” he spat, “Because just no, tiger. You’re forgiven. I’m not going to hurt you just to prove that to you.”

“You spank me anyway, what’s the big difference? It’s the same thing,” you argued.

“I spank you because you enjoy it, because it gives you pleasure. What’s you’re after is not pleasure kid, it’s pain.”

“I thought I could ask you for anything,” you murmured, and the sob in your throat was threatening to break. You felt humiliated, embarrassed, and foolish for even asking.

“You can,” he stopped his pacing, turning his attention on you as he rubbed his hands over his face,”You can ask me for anything. But this— this isn’t anything. You’re asking me to hurt you because you think you deserve it, all to get confirmation on something you already have. Tiger, you have my forgiveness.”

“I’m asking for absolution,” you tried.

“No, you’re asking for penance. You’re asking for pain,” his voice was thick with barely controlled emotion.

“It’s not pain, Bill,” you tried again, “At least not more than what I can handle. And it would help.”

“No,” he shook his head definitively, “It’s no, tiger. Find some other way to repent, some other way to get the penance you think you need.”

You sniffled, nodding your head as fat tears rolled down your cheeks. The hot flash of embarrassment crept up your chest, burning its way into your mind to join all the other feelings of shame and disappointment you had felt crushing you for days.

You heard him take a deep breath, felt the couch dip under his weight as he sat down beside you and took your hand in his.

“Tiger,” he said softly, “Hurting you is a hard limit for me. I can’t.”

You nodded, swiping at your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he continued. You shrugged and tried for a half hearted smile, but you knew he saw through it.

“Limits are limits,” you told him, “We both have them. I won’t push yours.”

He nodded, still looking a little unsure, but leaned forward and pressed his lips softly to yours.

And that’s where you had left it. But when the next day felt even heavier, and the one after that was worse, you shut down. You needed…distance. You needed to clear your head, to forget the conversation, to get over your humiliation, try and deal with the mess in your head by yourself. So you sought solace the only way you knew how.

By running.

And so, you fled. You waited until he stepped out for groceries, knowing it was at least an hour there and back each way, giving you enough time to pack up the few things your had taken with you, and be on your way. Not wanting Bill to panic when he couldn’t find you, you took a second to scrawl a note on a torn piece of paper, leaving it on the kitchen table for him to find.

Gone in search of penance. Need space.

I love you,

Tiger

And you grabbed the duffel bag you had packed, and left. The area was remote, no cabs available, but over the course of a few days you had become friendly with some of the fishermen by the harbour. They left in the early afternoon to ride back into town with their haul for the markets, and you planned to hitch a ride with one of them. The wharf was 2 miles from the house, a slightly winding road, but one that was impossible to get lost on. You heaved the bag over your shoulder, and set out.

It took two hours for the calls to start coming in, his name popping up on your screen. You ignored them every time, but the texts followed soon after.

Tiger, where are you?

Are you okay?

Come back, kid. We need to talk about this.

You ignored those too. And once back on the mainland you headed to his apartment for the rest of your things, before getting a cab to the airport to change your flight home for the soonest one available. The texts continued and you ignored them as best you could, but a last desperate plea came in before your plane took off.

I love you, kid. But you can’t keep running.

With a heavy sigh, you shut off your phone.

You only let yourself break when you unlocked the door to your apartment, inside the comfort of your own home it all came crashing down onto you and you let it. You cried as you started a hot shower, kept crying as you brushed your hair out, and cried just that much harder when you pulled one of his shirts on over your head and curled up to try and get some much needed sleep. You hesitated when you reached for your phone, wondering if you should turn it back on and worried at what you might see, but with a deep sigh you caved. The messages were no surprise.

Please kid, come back.

I love you tiger, and I’m sorry.

Sniffling, you shoved the phone under your pillow and tried to sleep. It was in vain and you had a feeling it would be, the night dragging on as you held onto your pillow, your eyes barely closing for longer than a blink. It was too much, it was still too much, and now the added weight of Bill’s refusal to give you what you told him you needed just drove you further into your head. You couldn’t escape it anymore.

You tried to get comfortable, tried to relax enough to just get an ounce of the rest you needed, but it was completely futile. So when the first hints of dawn broke on a sleepless night, you rubbed at your eyes in frustration, wincing as they burned. Resigned to your fate, you threw back the sheets and stood. You eyed your phone as it dinged with a new message, but you left it there on the bed as you went to get a pot of coffee on.

You heard it ping with a message—then again a second later, and on the third one, you sighed and gave up. Reaching for it, the message tugged at something in you.

Tiger, please. I’ll give you space. Just please, kid—send me something to let me know you’re safe. It doesn’t even have to be a word. Just something. I need to know you’re safe.

You knew he meant it, and you knew that he was probably still going out of his mind with worry even though you left a note. You started typing out your response—a brief, curt sentence of just barely two words—but a noise from the front porch stopped you dead in your tracks.

A key. In the lock. The door opening. There was only one other person in the world who had a key to your apartment.

“Tiger!” You heard him bellow, and your blood ran cold. His footsteps thundered up your stairs, taking two and three at a time, and you raced to the front door just in time to slam the deadbolt across. He jammed his key in the lock, turning it and throwing your door open—only to have it come to an abrupt halt when the chain for the bolt caught.

“Tiger, open the fucking door,” he growled, squeezing his hand through to try and undo the chain.

“No, I’m not ready to see you,” you said meekly.

“I don’t give a fuck what you’re ready for kid, we’re going to talk,” he pulled the door forward before pushing it again, trying to jimmy the chain loose.

“No,” you said sternly, but he wasn’t having it.

“We tried it your way kid, now we’re going to do it my way,” he snarled, “Open the fucking door.”

“Go away, Bill,” you pleaded.

You heard his deep breath, followed by the sound of his footsteps retreating down the stairs and the front door slamming. You thought—just for a brief moment—that maybe it worked. Maybe you had convinced him.

Until you heard a commotion from the kitchen.

He had taken a running leap up the side of your apartment, balancing his foot on a drainage pipe for just a second to gain enough height to latch onto the stone ledge beneath your kitchen window. Tossing your screen open, in a feat of incredible strength—God, you forgot how strong he was sometimes—he pulled himself up. You ran to the kitchen just in time to see half of his upper body coming through the window, a leg following close behind and landing in your sink as he folded himself in half, squeezing through the frame. His limbs tangled and he couldn’t get a good angle so you watched, eyes wide, as his other leg came jutting through and he tumbled to the floor in your kitchen.

You stood there, stunned.

He looked up at you from the floor, his eyes blazing, as he slowly pushed himself upright. He didn’t break your gaze, didn’t even blink as he slowly advanced on you. His shoulders square, stretched up to his full height, he towered as he took slow strides towards you. You took one back for every one of his forward.

“Why do you run?” he growled, “Why do you. Always. Run.”

You were powerless, and as if to emphasize his point— because your mind was on survival mode–you turned and bolted. Tried to make it down the hallway but you barely got two steps away before his hand closed on your arm and he hauled you back with a force, slamming your back into the wall. He leaned down to be in your eyesight, placing his palms flat on the wall on either side and glowering at you.

His jaw ticked, and you gulped.

“Tiger, enough,” he growled, “Look at me.”

When you kept your eyes downcast, he took your chin in one of his hands and tilted your head up roughly.

“Look at me, and tell me why you ran,” he said, and it was that tone of voice—that authoritative, commanding tone of voice that even thick with emotion, had your knees almost giving out. The knot, that pit of fire that had been burning in your stomach for over a week, was starting to uncoil. Just barely.

“Because I was scared,” you mumbled, “I was embarrassed.”

“Why?” He demanded, and you looked down for a second before he was wrenching your chin up again “Look at me.”

“Because I asked you for something,” your voice shook and your lip quivered, “Something that I needed, and you told me no.”

“Why did I tell you no?” His eyes bore into yours.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled pathetically, a few tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Tiger.”

“Because you didn’t want to hurt me,” you sniffled. And for the first time, you saw him soften. You felt his warm breath fan over your face as he sighed, releasing the vice grip on your chin to cup your face instead.

“Tiger, do you understand that?” He asked gently, “Why I said no? Why I didn’t want to hurt you?”

“I guess,” you shrugged, “Even though it wouldn’t hurt me. You spank me anyway, and I—”

He placed a finger over your mouth, and you stopped.

“Punishment is different. Punishment implies that I’m inflicting pain on purpose, hurting you on purpose. And I didn’t want to do that,” he said. You huffed, trying to push him away but he didn’t move.

“We had this conversation two days ago Bill,” you snapped, “I’m not having it again.”

“I’m not done,” he put his knee between your legs, placing a flat hand on your chest and keeping you pinned to the wall, “I didn’t want to hurt you. I still don’t. But I…I looked into it a bit more. And I understand a little better now, why you might need this. Some kind of punishment to set your mind back right again. I understand you a little better now.”

“What?”

“Tiger, I don’t need this. I forgave you a long time ago. But I understand why maybe it’s more…complicated, in your mind. Why you’re having more trouble with it. And if you still need what you asked me for, then I’ll give it to you.”

You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze as you struggled to find words.

“You will?” You asked.

“Yes,” he said, and he took your cheek in his hand, “Do you still need it? Will it help?”

“Yes,” you answered without an ounce of hesitation, “Please, Bill. It’ll help.”

He nodded once, bending to press his lips to yours in a lingering kiss.

“Go wait for me on the bed, then. Clothes off,” he took a slow step back, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

It took you a second to realize that he was serious, but then you got your feet under you and pushed off from the wall. You stopped on your way out the kitchen, turning around and walking back to him to pull him in for another kiss.

“Thank you, bud,” you whispered. He nodded again, jutting his chin down the hallway to get you moving again before he lost his nerve.

Once you were out of his sight, he took a few calming breaths—deep and steadying, before heading to the cabinet where you kept your liquor. Finding the Swedish one you never drank, he popped the cap off and downed a gulp right from the bottle before shaking his head to clear the fog. Swiping his thumb across his lip, he headed to your bedroom.

You were sitting cross legged on the bed, waiting for further instructions.

“Come here,” he called you over as he stood at the foot of the bed, “Get on all fours, kid.”

You did as you were told, and his hand stroked up your back. Knowing he’d ask for it, you turned to meet his eyes before the request left his lips.

“Tiger, this is for you. I don’t need this but I understand why you do, and I want to give you what you need.”

You nodded.

“But once it’s done—it’s done. You’re forgiven, and we’ll both put this behind us, okay? Promise me.” He continued.

“Yes,” you agreed, “I promise.”

“You’re going to get 5 kid,” he explained, “Count them out loud. What do you say if you want me to stop?”

“Pineapple,” you said, and your heart was already tripling in beats. You could feel it there—the absolution you needed, the one you craved, right at your fingertips.

“Or?”

“Red,” you replied obediently. He nodded, pushing your top half further into the mattress before reaching for a pillow, placing the corner near your mouth. You looked back at him in confusion.

“To bite down on, if you need to,” he explained, “Ready?”

You nodded. Gritting your teeth, you waited—and when the first strike hit you, your mind went blank. It hurt, it stung a lot more than when he would do it for pleasure, but all you felt was….relief.

“One,” you counted out. The weight, that devastating weight that had been crushing you for days was suddenly….dissolving. Disappearing. His hand pulled back, landing another hard strike on the fleshy part of your ass and you inhaled sharply, melting more into the mattress. You felt all of it—the guilt, the disappointment, the heaviness of the last few days just dissipating, replaced with the sweet resolution that punishment brought. The absence of thought. The quietness of it all, and the lightness of finally feeling forgiven.

“Two,” you squeaked out through gritted teeth. He pulled back, landing another hard one and you gasped, biting into the pillow that he had put for you. The absence of that guilt was giving way to something else, something you hadn’t felt since before you wandered into that forest alone—it was giving way to arousal. To the thrill, the feeling of finally getting what you need from the person you needed it from, the freedom of it all.

“Count, tiger,” his loud order broke through your thoughts, when you failed to call out the following strike.

“Three,” it was a deep groan, pain mixed in with pleasure as you wound your hands in the sheets. It was building, deep in your gut. Coiling tightly as every bad feeling, every bit of anxiety you had struggled with gave way to something much more intense, much more pleasurable.

His hand retracted, landing the hardest one yet as you tensed. Your entire mind was blank, pulsating with nothing but the absolute absence of everything that had been crushing you for so long, the thrumming of pleasure building. He knew, and he marvelled at it—he could smell your arousal, see the sheen of it between your legs as he brought his hand down hard. He saw the blush creep down your back, felt your muscles tense as you writhed slightly before him, saw the way you inched your legs closer together.

“Four,” you mumbled. Somewhere in the midst of it all, you had started to cry. It wasn’t out of pain, but out of just…relief. Tears soaked the pillow and you winced, but the pain brought the peace that you knew it would. The peace that you needed, the pleasure you craved, the relief.

He pulled his hand back a final time, landing it with a resounding slap as your back arched.

“Five,” you breathed out, and then you were being gathered in his arms.

“Good girl,” he murmured, “We’re done kid, we’re done.”

Wrapping you up in his embrace, he gently flipped you onto your back as you cried openly. He waited for your move, tried to see if you would reach for him or if you needed distance, but your hands immediately sought him out—grabbing at him until you had enough traction to pull him forward onto you.

“Bill,” you pleaded, grasping onto him as hard as you could, “Please…”

He knew what you needed, what you were asking for. He watched you as he glided his hand up your inner thigh, taking his time to gauge your reaction to make sure it was what you wanted, what you needed. You inhaled sharply when his fingers passed over you, stifling a moan as he ran them through your wetness, spreading you wide.

“Tiger, look at me,” he whispered as he kissed a few of your tears away. He ran his hand gently over your slit, pushing two fingers into you as you groaned. You opened your eyes to his.

“It’s done kid,” he pumped his fingers gently, “You’re forgiven.”

He crooked his fingers and you stifled a cry as he pressed them to the front of your walls, rubbing gentle circles. You were so wet, your arousal soaking his hand as he ground his palm into you. You were overwhelmed, every sense on fire—you could feel his fingers, long and slender, moving inside you. You could hear the obscene sound, wet and warm, as he moved his hand against you. You could smell him, feel his lips on your face, his warm breath on your cheek. You felt everything good, everything that had nothing to do with the emotions that had crushed you before.

“Bill…” you croaked, and he shushed you lightly.

“I know, sweet girl,” he praised. You cried out as his thumb found your clit, pressing down softly as his fingers continued to work you over.

“You did so well for me kid,” he purred, “You took it so well. And it’s done now. I forgive you.”

You sobbed as his fingers quickened just barely, hitting all the spots deep in you as you writhed. But you wanted more—you wanted to be greedy, ask for just a little bit more, to throw you over the edge.

“You can come for me, tiger,” he murmured as he kissed you, “Any time you need to.”

But you grit your teeth, tried to stave it off as you grabbed his hand between your legs to stay it.

“With you,” you begged, your voice cracking, “Please Bill, I want to come with you.”

His eyes flicked over you, his gaze intense and searching—but then he kissed you again, all tongue and teeth and passion, before gently removing his hand. You whimpered as he brought it to his lips, sucking both fingers into his mouth as he groaned at your taste. He raised up on his haunches, undoing his pants and shoving them to his knees before he made a move for you again, but you rested your hands on his chest.

“All of it, bud,” you pleaded, “Please, I need to feel as much of you as I can.”

You didn’t have to ask twice, he kicked his pants the rest of the way off and lifted a bit to pull his shirt over his head before he was reaching for you again. You kissed him hard, grabbing hold of his length and lining him up at your entrance as he pushed in slowly. Moaning, he grabbed your hand as he rested his forehead against yours.

“Tiger,” he moaned against your lips, “You’re forgiven.”

Your other hand raked down his back and he jerked forward, as your abdomen tightened in impending release.

“Yes,” you sighed against his mouth, keeping his gaze.

“Do you feel it now?” He whispered, “Is it more clear now?”

He kept his pace, his hips slowly rolling into you before dragging back in delicious friction, then pushing forward again.

“Yes,” you whimpered, closing your eyes for a brief second to capture his lips in a searing kiss.

“Say it,” he urged, sucking his breath in through his teeth when you clenched around him, “God you feel so good. Say it for me, kid.”

“You forgive me,” you cried, bringing a hand up to rake through his hair. His eyes stayed on you the entire time, green orbs bore into you as your muscles started to tighten, your breath started to hitch.

“Good girl,” he praised. He rolled his hips with a bit more force, burying himself deep inside you as you gasped. You tilted your chin up, shutting your eyes briefly as the pleasure slammed into you.

“Keep looking at me, tiger,” he pleaded, and with a gentle hand he brought your face back to his, “I want to see it, when you come for me.”

You whined, a pathetic whimper as you felt everything start to clench. You were so wet, so warm around him, and every time he pushed forward he rubbed further down on your clit. The pressure was building, your stomach tense and tight as everything started to go blank.

“Let go, sweet girl,” he coaxed, “Give it to me.”

And with your chin in his hand, his forehead on yours and your eyes locked with his, you let it slam into you. The white, hot flash of extreme pleasure, building for a few days and culminating in an intense release. It was emotions, it was physical, it was everything you had held way too deep inside for a few days. You cried out, clenching your teeth and eventually closing your eyes as you spasmed around him, surging forward. You bit into his shoulder to hold back a scream, your hand squeezing his as you let out a guttural groan when all of your muscles released. His own resonated in your ear soon after as he pitched forward, driving you hard into the mattress as his hips worked against yours. He moaned, his breath coming in rasps as he held onto your hand, the other one gripping the sheets. A few more thrusts, slow and lazy but deep enough to still have you pleasure drunk, and he collapsed breathless on top of you.

You laid there for a long moment, all of your limbs wrapped around him as tears flowed freely down your face. It was silent except for your cries, small sniffles and whimpers that you couldn’t control, as you buried your face in his chest.

“I love you, kid,” he murmured in your ear, “It’s done now. Yes?”

“Yes,” you nodded emphatically, kissing any part of him you could reach, “It’s done.”

He raised slightly, kissing first your ear, then peppering them along your jaw eventually resting his lips on yours for a soft kiss.

“You feel forgiven?” He asked.

“Yes,” you sighed, tilting up to kiss him again, “Yes.”

“Good,” he rested his forehead lightly against yours, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You reached your mouth for it, kissing it lightly and nipping the pad of it playfully. He laughed, pulling you into his chest as he rolled over onto his side. But then you remembered something, something you had wanted to ask him about, and your brow creased with confusion.

“Bill,” you started, his thumb still resting on your mouth and warbling your speech, “Before, you said that you…looked into this more. And that you understood it better now. What did you mean?”

His lips pursed thoughtfully as he contemplated his response.

“I just read up on some stuff,” he murmured.

“What stuff?” You prodded. He sighed.

“I just read up on…subs. Submissive dynamics,” he explained cautiously, “And what they need. How guilt and punishment comes into play, and why it’s sometimes necessary. For them to feel better.”

“Oh.”

He eyed you carefully, tapping his thumb against your lips and you opened for it readily. You took a second, sucking on the pad of it and looking up at him.

“But…I’m not a sub,” you said, your words muffled as you sucked on it. A wry smile quirked up the tips of his mouth.

“Okay,” he acquiesced. You adjusted his thumb in your mouth, using your tongue to push it into your cheek as you glared at him.

“Bill, I’m not a sub,” you insisted. He nodded, his lips twitching as he fought to conceal a smile.

“Right,” he said, “You’re not a sub.”

Satisfied with his response even though it was slightly insincere, you moved forward to tuck your head under his chin as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Thank you, bud,” you mumbled. He kissed your head, stroking your back.

“I need to check you over kid,” he murmured, “Make sure you’re okay.”

“We have a lot of time,” you mumbled, your eyes getting heavy, “Right now, just keep holding me.”

His arms tightened around you, a hand weaving its way into your hair, as you finally exhaled for the first time in days.

#BFF!Bill #sub tiger #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard fic #bill skarsgard drabble

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anikkis-fantasirealities · 3 years ago

Text

“Misty Meets, the Valued Rocks and Seas”

② Travelogue ┊ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᵃʳᵉ ᵗʳᵉᵃᵗᵉᵈ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵗʳᵃᵍᵉᵈʸ ᵃˢ ᵗᶦᵐᵉ ᵗʳᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ··· ᵗʳᶦᵖ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵇᵉᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗᵃᶜᵗᶠᵘˡ ᵗʳᵉᵃˢᵘʳᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ᵗᶦᵗˡᵉᵈ ᵗᵉˢᵗᶦᵐᵒⁿᶦᵉˢ·

꒰⁺˚₊·₍₍loading...₎₎ ✎...۪۫❁ཻུ۪۪ -ˏˋ 🗺 ˊˎ- ༘✶ ㊉㈦〘 ⅯⅯ 〙⋆｡˚𓆟 ༉ ║ Posted : ０６/１５/２１° ｡༄ ‧₊˚ ๑ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ •ଓ.° ｡❍ ㈩㊇

- - ——— ꒰ An article by Nicole “Nikki” Elaine S. Chua ꒱

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ ࿐ྂ—͙❬₊° ᶦ ᵃᵐ ᵃ ᵇˡᵒᵍᵍᵉʳ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵃˡˡ·“= ‹⸙͎

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ❐ · ⸰ㅤ ㅤ ⋇ · ◦ ㅤ ㅤ ⁕⸰ ㅤ ㅤ ☁

⊹ ㅤ ㅤ ⋇ ㅤ ㅤ ·⁕ ㅤ ㅤ ◦ ❏ ⋇

ㅤ ㅤ ◦ ⸰ ㅤ ㅤ ◍ ㅤ ㅤ ⊹ ⁺

· ㅤ · ⊹ㅤ ㅤ ⋇ · ◦ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ · ❏

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ · ⁕ ㅤ ㅤ ⋇ ⸰ㅤ ㅤ ❐ ⊹

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ❐ ⊹ ·

ㅤ ㅤ ❐ ⊹

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ · ⊹ ⋇ · ◦

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ · ❏

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ· ㅤ ㅤㅤ⁕ ⸰ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ⊹ · ⁕

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ❐ ⊹

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ.ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ .

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ. ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ.

“Wait, it’s about to rain?” I can vaguely remember saying something similar to those impulsive thoughts, as I look up into the gray skies and those monotoned clouds steadily sailing in mid-air. I felt the raindrops on my face—the mix of awe and worry from my father, mother, and sister who were about to trek on those rocky grounded fields of the wild Yehliu. The other visitors, whose language I could not understand, fiddled through their belongings. They opened umbrellas and covered themselves in pastel-like colored jackets, transparent in design, as I observed their casual clothing for a supposed sunny adventure. This was about to be one of the greatest family travels out of the thousand places I’ve visited—one that was like no other.

Welcome to 𝙔𝙚𝙝𝙡𝙞𝙪 𝙂𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙠 𝙞𝙣 𝙏𝙖𝙞𝙥𝙚𝙞, 𝙏𝙖𝙞𝙬𝙖𝙣! For this article, I’d like to tour you around one of the most memorable and breathtaking travel destinations that my family and I visited during our second vacation in Taiwan. To be honest, the Chuas loves to stroll around new locations together—whether we linger the Pearl of the East, or the rest in the Heart of Asia. Whenever there is time to escape from the world of academics, we break out from that comfortable 3D box to walk to the outskirts of recreations, entertainment, and sights to behold. Dad, who was always our captain on the steering wheel of our adventures, would schedule the perfect itineraries during our summers. Mom tends to take pictures and post mementos of our times together on Facebook—as my sister and I enjoy the blissful moments noted in our own book of life.

This geopark, however, gave a different kind of atmosphere to our typical visits. The humidity has been thickening and the cold crisp air swept through the open area. A geopark is molded by nature’s wonders. There are no futuristic buildings, leaning towers, nor brilliant inventions of men standing uproot, rather, jaggy rocks and murky land persists in this long-cape landscape. It has 1,700 meters of earth carved from top to bottom—shaded by bland hues of brown and green. However, such a scenery cannot be underestimated just because there is nothing but bumpy stones, flimsy pathways, and barren holes on the crust. This is the sole reason why it is visited, for Yehliu Geopark is not only a tourist attraction, but also a habitat for rich ecological resources and thriving fishing communities. The entirety of Yehliu’s cape runs through a sea—yes, you read it right, a 𝙨𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙚 of soothing waves that compliment the greenery of the mountains above.

╭⋟──────────────────────────────────────╮

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ❝dissolve into seafoam. ❞

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Do you know the story of how Yehliu Geopark became to be in its present form? Each rock and stone structure in this site has its own character, as if they are interacting with one another. The locals here in Yehliu witnessed how nature refined itself with its own miracles. Hence, they are also the ones who shared the geopark’s origins to tourists like us. The landscape was crafted by marine erosion, because it so happened that the seashore’s layer is made out of limestone. Because of the scientific method of weathering and movement by the Earth, the limestone crumbled over time—dissolving slowly by the seawater bashing itself into land. It resulted into those eerie, yet interesting sea-water eroded holes on the ground. What’s even more amazing is the fact that because of the flurry winds, blinding sunrays, salty water, harsh rains, and dreadful northeastern monsoon paths, the rocks gained identity and almost became celebrities due to their unique figures.

It is truly a work of God, that these elements who continuously burdened stones to rapidly change and adapt to the impact they cause, made them into what they are today. It is like humans, who also tolerate, endure, and persevere from pain to transform into better people—tested by time, yet surviving with resolve. The day my family and I visited the geopark, the rain drizzled from the heavens. There was the thought that I could slip over wet ground and plunge into the sea if I was not careful, but looking around, I figured that this peaceful nature will not allow anyone to be taken by its mystical works. It embraces you, like there’s nothing to be scared about. Instead, it greets you hello with open arms—wanting us to continue our plans despite the misty dewdrops.

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ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ❝ bridge to terabithia. ❞

╰──────────────────────────────────────⋞╯

The chilly atmosphere was actually quite relaxing, especially when nature desires its visitors to breathe for a while after an industrious environment in the urban society. My family and I walked with our umbrellas on our heads with smiles on our faces—the waves from the sea yearning to approach us, only being stopped by the sturdy ground that we walked on. If ever you visit Yehliu Geopark, you must get ready to meet some of the rocks in this travel destination! There are candles, mushrooms, a cute princess, that arch-shaped gorilla, some kind of marine bird, ice cream, tofu, and the main attraction: the Queen’s head. Just like the other tourists, we did not hesistate to take home souveniers of our adventures from the unwinding views we’ve seen. Even though more than 1,000 meters is a big horizon to explore, we walked around—hoping to spot more rock formations.

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ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ❝ uniting the cynosure’s roads. ❞

╰──────────────────────────────────────⋞╯

Imagination is what created those rock formations’ attributes and parts in this still story of Yehliu. If you have tons of imagination of both the possible and impossible, then your sightseeing will be plenty of fun to commit to! The 𝙈𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙢 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙨 are like little children sitting on the seashore, except they were not just two but 180 of them all together in one area. After stepping with caution across the slippery rocks, you will notice a familiar figure that looks like a woman with a large headdress. She wears it with all honor and responsibility as the star of Yehliu. Oh! You guessed it, we found the 𝙌𝙪𝙚𝙚𝙣'𝙨 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙! We captured a shot with her hazel beauty which you can see in my cover edit. Mission accomplished, now let’s look for the other rock characters, shall we?

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ㅤㅤ ❝ ephemeral angst, nefarious epiphany. ❞

╰──────────────────────────────────────⋞╯

After walking for a while over bridges and stairways that connect the geopark together, we discovered the 𝘾𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙨. They were soaked in sea-water, so its usual beige color like all the rocks we’ve seen so far has dimmed to pitch black. Though, you will be surprised that they are shaped like short candles—with their wicks sticking out in the middle, as if it has already melted deeper into its center. According to the brochure we held before entering the tourist spot, these rocks were originally ball-like concentrations with softer surfaces, before they were completely scoured off. So, that must be the magic of Yehliu, huh?

Then, we noticed an unique rock formation that was not documented on boards or printed material by the management. It was like an animal, laying down on a rock—resting with pride and confidence. I wanted to call this the 𝙇𝙮𝙣𝙭 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠, because it looks like a feline who is about to hunt, perhaps the marine bird from meters away. It’s not the official name of the rock formation, though, I felt closer to it when I made the connection. I felt chills all over my body when I heard the tiny pitter-patters hit my navy blue umbrella. It was definitely a fateful encounter—the calm rain, the rushing of the sea ridges, and a new found friend. When you come over to Yehliu, do say hello to Lynx for me! I terribly miss her, after all these years that I haven’t picked up my suitcase for another trip.

╭⋟──────────────────────────────────────╮

ㅤㅤ ❝ the serendipity of tranquil encounters. ❞

╰──────────────────────────────────────⋞╯

There is apparently an anecdote documented in Yehliu’s history about a certain fisherman, namely “𝙇𝙞𝙣 𝙏𝙞𝙖𝙣𝙯𝙝𝙚𝙣.” In 1964, a group of students were visiting the scenic charm of the rocks and sea, when one of them unintentionally fell into the sea. Without thinking twice, Lin Tianzhen showed his courage and jumped into the raging sea to save the helpless pupil. Sadly, none of them were able to come back to shore alive—devoured by the depths of the salt water, unaware of its crime. When the news came to the attention of President Chiang Kai-Shek, the first president of Taiwan, he quickly ordered for a monument of Lin Tianzhen to be built in Yehliu. That’s why if you would see a marble sculpture of a man in baggy pants, that is the heroic fisherman in the stories of the locals here.

Throughout the rest of the adventure we’ve challenged to carry on despite the moist surroundings, we faced the 𝘾𝙪𝙩𝙚 𝙋𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙨𝙨 and her adorable figure, like she was posing her bent head to the camera. We found the arched-shape 𝙂𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙖 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠, who stood still, yet to our surprise, it was a literal arch! You can see the Gorilla in one angle if you do it correctly, though, you could also look at it in another angle to realize that it has a hole through its structure. We raised our peace signs in eagerness of the enticing discovery while the camera flashed. The 𝙄𝙘𝙚 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠 and 𝙏𝙤𝙛𝙪 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙨 made us hungry, because they looked like actual food enlarged and hardened in their positions—though, of course, they never expired! I could imagine that famous Taiwanese ice cream brand scoop on that jar-like rock, and the dream of tofu soup, for the Tofu rocks laid in two rows within the middle of the sea.

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ㅤㅤ ❝ a pluviophile soaked in hyperborean aqua. ❞

╰──────────────────────────────────────⋞╯

Since we were hungry, we looked for a place to fill our tummies to satisfaction. Thankfully, Yehliu Geopark still has facilities to accommodate tourists’ basic needs. A visitor’s center is established for dining, renting of wheel chairs & baby strollers, and inquiries of guests to the staff of the geopark. You can also ask for assistance from the friendly tour guides of the travel destination—if you are able to speak in Chinese, that is! Don’t worry—they are able to understand and speak basic English. Just make sure to pack your skills in speaking the foreign language if you’d like to talk more with the locals here, then! They also have a nursing station & lost and found section in the center in case of emergency or urgency, which is useful for scenarios such as the unexpected rain when we visited.

Because Yehliu Geopark takes care of the reefs and water ecosystems nurtured in their location, they also have a oceanpark in the geopark! It is called “𝙔𝙚𝙝𝙡𝙞𝙪 𝙊𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙,” though we were not able to spend time taking a peak into the realm of sea creatures and corals freely living in the pictures of exhibits. There are diving performers in the oceanpark, too, that make visitors astounded by their splendid act. Oh, and how can we not forget the souvenier shop for merchandise from Yenliu Geopark? It’s always great to show your loved ones how much you enjoyed Yenliu, its stories, and the sights you’ve seen! It also supports the geopark’s operation, so that it can continue its goal and mission to keep sharing the wonders of this valued scenic area by the Heart of Asia.

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ㅤㅤㅤ❝ iridescently frozen in an ethereal epoch. ❞

╰──────────────────────────────────────⋞╯

There are also many earthy figures here that were molded by weathering. They are known as “𝙃𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙮𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙙 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙨,” that possess an artistic style like that of a solidified sponge. Through these rock structures, Chinese culture is shown—an example being the “𝟮𝟰 -𝙛𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙡-𝙥𝙞𝙚𝙩𝙮 𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙡” that presents the importance of superiority and inferiority relationships to Chinese people. The hill of rocks have 24 men-like figures standing nearby each other, revealing a picture of hierarchy based on the positions of each men.

Additionally, the geopark has fossils scattered across its long cape. We only found this urchin fossil in the picture above, plaqued like a prized possession with the proud mark of Taiwanese tourism. The words, “Tai Power,” reminded me of the rest of the adventures that my family and I had in the warmth of this country. Even though the distress comes, it fades away with the power of bonds to go against the negativity to be refined everyday—that’s Tai Power, the ability to touch hearts wherever you are right now!

╭⋟──────────────────────────────────────╮

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ❝ petrichor at selcouth midday. ❞

╰──────────────────────────────────────⋞╯

Before I forget, if you’re looking for extreme activities, you can try tracking down the caves of Yenliu that were also crafted by nature’s power. They are placed in spots that are hard to reach by visitors—including me and my family who did want to risk getting harmed. Do try it out, however, if you’re looking for the thrill! There are other rock formations to uncover in Yenliu Geopark aside from the ones we were able to locate. You can trace down the footprints of a fairy in the 𝙂𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙨 and notice the 𝙁𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙮'𝙨 𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙚 was left behind before it has taken flight again. The locals here believe in a legend that this fairy sent by the Jade Emperor, from Taoist beliefs, cursed a turtle elf who troubled the seas and caused many shipwrecks back in the day. So, if you see white smoke coming from the mountains, locals will exclaim that the turtle elf is taking its last breath. It��s a motivating tale to conclude this article, and our visit to the geopark.

Most importantly, I’d like to remind everyone who plans to visit Yehliu Geopark to obey and respect the guidelines given by the management of the landscape, as well as the North coast and Guanyinshan National Scenic Area Administration! If you observe red warning lines on the ground, do not pass that zone—always stay on the path, because it is for our own safety. Let’s 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙩 these astonishing wonders offered to us by the beloved nature we owe daily. We need nature, but nature does not need us. We should not touch nor damage these creations of Mother Earth. Climbing & tagging on the rock formations, smoking, biking, wading, swimming, fishing, littering, or disturbing the plants in the location is strictly prohibited! Otherwise, you might need to pay for a fine when caught.

Our duty to look after Yehliu Geopark, while saving the environment in our own way, is for the sake of the next generations whose imagination will also be aroused by these treasured beings and narratives of this place. The staff would like more people to enjoy the unique scenery it offers to the world. The rock structures in this geopark are still actively developing and dynamically changing with the tides of our times today. So, it is only rightful if we give them the same amount of growth they need, as much as we do.

At the end of the day, the trip I had in Yehliu wasn’t too bad at all! It was beautiful, stunning scenery to keep in my memories as I move forward to the present. Through my travel to Yehliu Geopark, we were able to unveil the mist and take a glimpse of the true colors of ordinary rocks and common seas. We got to know many stories of still stones, and the amazing people who make the geopark the apple of the eye for more tourists. A part of nature—to witness its ability and wonders through an alleviating journey to find peace—Yehliu Geopark can surely be described that way. If you’re interested in travelling to Taiwan, Yehliu Geopark is a tourist spot that you absolutely must consider in your own bucket lists! Maybe not now while the pandemic is still ongoing, but someday, hopefully! I’d love to hear your own experiences in visiting the geopark in the comments!

╔ ———————————————————————————— ╗

Yehliu Geopark is open from 8 AM to 5 PM. One entry ticket costs 80 NTD or New Taiwan dollars for one adult tourist. On the other hand, kids aged 6 to 12 can avail an entry ticket half its price. In the Philippines, 80 NTD is 139.54 pesos, while 40 NTD is 69.77 pesos, as of June 15, 2021. However, you can get a 20% discounted group ticket if you are a group of 30 or more people. The geopark is located in the Heart of Asia—Taiwan! Its exact address is No. 167-1, Kantung Rd., Yehliu, Wanli, New Taipei City, Taiwan.

If you are already in Taiwan, you can get to Yehliu Geopark either through bus or car. There are four routes that you can choose from if you will ride on a bus. Meanwhile, if you choose to arrive at the geopark by car, there are five dispatch options that are possible to use, depending on your starting point. You can check this link for more information regarding a planned trip. Safe travels, and thank you for reading! Let’s meet again in another blog where my fantasies become realities! A Nikki reminder: find passion in your work, and you’ll never tire from it! See you!

╚ ———————————————————————————— ╝

· * ✫ * ⊹ * ˚ . . 　　· ⋆ * . * . . · . · . * · . · · + . ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ· ** ˚ . . + 　　· ⋆ * . * . . · . · . *

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ. . + 　· ⋆ * . * . . · . · .˚ ⊹ · * ✧ ⋆ · * . · . · · .. . .

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ· + ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ· * ✫ * ⊹ * ˚

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ · ** ˚ . . + ㅤㅤ　· ⋆ * . * . . · . · .˚ ⊹ · * ✧

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ⋆ · * . · ㅤㅤ . · · .. . . · + .

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ. · + . *

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⋆ * . * . .

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ . · ·

ㅤㅤ﹙dedication. ﹚ ୨˚୧ ˚ ༘♡.↳ ₊˚‧

This blog is dedicated to heroes who stay to be ordinary, because they glisten the most when their humbleness is that of the rocks and seas. You are truly the ones who give Rising Hope to all of us.

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callmethehunter · 4 years ago

Text

Maggie and Robert

Here’s a new chapter! I hope you like it. Thank you to @firethatgrewsolow for feedback and help with editing. As always, there’s a recap of the previous post, followed by the new material. RECAP: After a passionate and funfilled night on the beach with Robert, Maggie now has to face the music…aka her old man, Steve

End of Part 3: As Robert’s silhouette grew smaller in the distance, she knew that she needed to see him again. She simply HAD to see him before he left for the UK on Saturday. He was magical. The passion and connection that she had felt with him during their brief encounter was exactly what was absent with Steve and what she deeply craved.

When she lost all sight of Robert, her eyes swept over the skies. The sun was beginning to rise, dispersing the quiet darkness of the night...a night she would treasure always. She sighed wearily, turning her back to that golden sunrise as she headed back home to a man she did not truly love or even respect.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Part 4: Steve and Schemes

Maggie slowly made her way back to the Bahia Mar just as the dawn lightened the skies. It was as if the sun was awakening from the depths of the sea to continue it’s restless journey. There was something about the light and the retreating darkness that made her feel exposed, unable to hide from others or from herself. With each step, closer to Steve, her dread mounted. She replayed the moments with Robert, reliving them as she put one foot in front of the other. It distracted her from the looming anxiety about having to face Steve and explain where she had gone off to the previous evening.

While she believed that honesty was the best recourse, she decided to make an exception in this case. Just this once, she thought. She rationalized that it was none of Steve’s business how she chose to spend her time, given that they weren’t married and he had no claim on her.

They had shacked up for convenience sake. Their initial arrangement had been that each of them paid half of all expenses, which then gradually became Steve paying a larger share. She had quit bartending at the Elbo Room back in January so she could attend community college.

But Maggie knew his cash flow came from dealing in weed and acid, not from a 9 to 5 job. In her opinion, it was easy money since the hippies had started congregating at the northern end of Fort Lauderdale Beach where housing was cheaper, granting Steve access to a booming clientele.

It was the age of tuning in and tuning out. Timothy Leary advocated the use of psychedelics such as acid as a means to spiritual and personal growth. The drugs practically came with an endorsement, for crying out loud and added to the Free Love movement that was spreading like wildfire especially now that the Pill was in greater use. In fact the media was touting last summer of 1967 as the Summer of Love.

Her internal dialogue was interrupted when she heard her name being shouted repeatedly. She spotted Steve sitting in the shiny red Camaro, his prized possession. It was one of the only vehicles in the lot this early in the day. He started the loud engine and practically peeled out of the parking space headed towards her.

Oh fuck!, she cursed under her breath. Here he comes... The smidgeon of peace that had remained from her magical evening with Robert went flying out the window, replaced by a deep annoyance at having to explain herself to Steve.

“What the fuck, Maggie!” Steve barked as he pulled up next to her. “Where have you been all this time? I was worried about you out there trippin’ all by yourself.” He gestured wildly towards the beach. “One minute you were there, then the next time I looked you were gone. Man, I thought you drowned! I sure hope it was worth it to keep me hanging like that,” he berated her.

Maggie’s tactic when he became this belligerent was to placate him and act contrite. “Steve, I know...I am so sorry you had to go through all that. That purple microdot was so strong I don’t even know what all I did, I just remember being at the Jetties, and laying down somewhere looking at the sky...probably for hours. The stars looked as if they were dripping wax from candles on the beach and the colors were so bright!”

She ventured a glance at his face, which appeared calmer. “You know how it is, babe, I didn’t mean to worry you.” See? she said to herself, telling half truths was not really lying, she rationalized again. But in her heart she knew that she was skating on thin ice.

“Yea, I know, that shit’s groovy, man, but you can’t just walk off and not tell me what you’re doing or where you’re going for hours!” The fact that his voice was back to a normal decibel was promising.

“C’mon man, get in the car. I’m starving thanks to having to sit there all fucking night waiting on you.” As usual, the crisis had become all about him.

“Steve, seriously, who are you kidding? You know damn well you and your friends were partying all night... You barely missed me, seeing as Shannon the chipmunk was hanging on your every word when I left.” She wasn’t buying his ”holier than thou, concerned boyfriend” crap. It might work on Shannon but it wasn’t going to work on her.

That must have been what happened, because Steve did not respond as he sped down AIA towards the House of Pancakes. By the time they pulled into the lot, they had toned it down. Steve had a short memory, probably from all the weed he smoked, and now that they were going to eat, his self-righteous attitude diminished. After they were seated, he studied the menu, commenting on what he should order.

Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. She had been right in only revealing where she’d been and not who she was with...Only the sexiest and most intriguing man she had ever laid eyes on, she said to herself. Had she divulged that small yet crucial detail, she would not have heard the end of it.

Yet Steve was the one who had brought up having an open relationship when they shacked up the year before. They were more like friends on equal footing back then but somehow he seemed to have developed a sense of ownership. Nowadays he acted as if he was her sugar daddy or had some claim on her. The longer she allowed Steve to finance her life, the longer she would be in this rut. She had become lazy and complacent. The realization deeply troubled her and she vowed to take action, once and for all.

After ordering a breakfast platter, Steve mentioned he had been looking at a boat that was for sale at the docks near the Bahia Mar. It was last year’s model, a 1967 Chris Craft Cavalier, he said, as if that would explain it.

“Well, tell me more about it. I don’t know much about boats,” she added, “except that some have cabins and some don’t.”

“Man, I gotta teach you about the finer details of boating! if I can get this dude to go down on the price. I think he will, seeing as I fronted him 100 hits of acid and some weed last week and he still hasn’t paid me.”

“You know what, Steve? One of these days somebody’s gonna screw you over so bad or you’re gonna get busted by the fuzz, man,” she chided him. “You gotta be more careful, people talk…”

“Maggie, shut the fuck up, you don’t know what I do or don’t do.” He spat out bits of the omelett he was chewing, with how forcefully he replied. “I've been doing this shit since I was 16, so for over 10 years now, I ain’t never had a problem...well, except with a Cuban dude that tried to rip me off one time. But anyway,” he continued, “I don’t have to do shit, you hear?”

She hated when he spoke to her with disdain, belittling her intelligence, sometimes right in front of his friends. Most of the time, she sucked it up and went with the flow, letting it roll right off her back. But lately, this type of behavior angered her and she had been growing increasingly resentful towards his snide remarks.

“Fuck you, too, Steve” she countered, setting her toast down on the plate, suddenly losing all appetite.

“Whatever...Look, Maggie, do you wanna go see the damn boat or not? You’re lucky I’m even asking for your opinion seeing that we’re gonna be spending a lot of time on it.”

“Oh really?” she replied, “what if I don’t like boating, did you ever think of that? What if I always get sea sick, huh?” she asked but he just looked at her, mouth agape.

“Steve, you know I don’t like it when the water’s really deep, you can’t just assume I’m gonna feel comfortable on that boat day in and day out…”

“Why not?” he asked incredulously. “You should see the cabin, Maggie. It’s got a full sized bed, mini bathroom and little kitchen. It’s sweet, baby, you’re gonna forget all about that you’re on the water...It’s gonna be like being in a camper on land. You’ll love it, baby.”

She cringed at the familiar way he disregarded her feelings, bulldozing over them and then pretending she had been the one to suggest whatever it was he manipulated her into doing. This was insanity! He’s never gonna change!, she realized.

Almost in a defeated tone, she answered “Yea, maybe you’re right, Steve. Let’s go take a look when we leave here.”

He reached over the table and patted her hand, “Thata girl. We’ll go right after I pay.”

With that, he signaled to the waitress to bring the check, took a wad of cash out of his pocket, and glanced over the bill.

Maggie looked out the window and realized they were only a few minutes away from Tugboat Annies.

She mustered up all her courage and nonchalantly asked “Hey, sweetie, if we were to get the boat, could we dock it over by Tugboat Annies? It doesn’t cost as much as the Bahia Mar and you can pull up through the intercoastal, dock it in the back, and you’re right at the bar....There’s actually a really good band playing this weekend,” she continued, “if we had the boat, we’d look so cool pulling up in it, right?”

She knew Steve well. He was a show off and loved to appear important. The idea that the hip people at Tugboat’s would notice his latest purchase was irresistible to him. His growing smile told her everything she needed to know, and her heart soared as she thought about seeing Robert again. She ached with longing for him. That gorgeous blonde, that sexy man.

She smiled back sweetly at Steve, proud of herself for having turned the tables and being the one who manipulated the outcome, making him feel he was still in control.

Her self-congratulation faded as a tinge of anxiety surfaced. Steve was a narcissist, that much was true, but he was no dummy and he was extremely possessive of her time. How was she going to manage making contact with Robert while Steve was hovering nearby? How was she gonna pull this one off?

Different scenarios ran through her mind. She suddenly realized that the answer lay in having distractions... Lots of distractions. They would put the word out and invite all his cronies out to the concert, in part to celebrate and party on the boat. People could step out onto the marina behind Tugboat’s and score, getting their stash for the week in the privacy of the boat’s cabin. She’d wait to suggest that part later…

After the waitress brought back the change, she grabbed her bag from the back of her chair, stood and followed Steve out of the diner, this time with a light heart and a bounce in her step.

To be continuied at Tugboat Annies....

#maggie and robert #robert plan fanfic #fan fiction #part 4 #chapter 4 #Steve and schemes #next up #the show at Tugboat Annies #will Maggie's schemes and plans actually work?#will she get another chance with Robert?

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monstersandmaw · 5 years ago

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Male each-uisge (sea kelpie) x reader (sfw) - Mermay story #6

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This started out as a hippocampus kelpie, but upon being reminded of the glorious and vicious 'each-uisge ' of Scottish legend, that fitted him so much better. There's room for a Part Two in the future, so don't let me forget about this one!! It’s been up on my Patreon for a little while now, so it’s time to share it with you folks!

Content: near drowning, brief descriptions injury and blood (not to reader), gender neutral reader, sfw.

***

Inky water coiled around you the instant that your back hit the sea. The squall had swept in off the open Atlantic, and the deck of the tiny boat vanished as the waters closed above you. It took immense mental strength to force your mouth to stay shut before you sucked in a gulp of water in place of the air that your body was already craving as the adrenaline surged.

Panic, hot and searing and in total opposition to the bitingly cold waters, coursed through your veins and you fought off the wild, flailing fear as best you could. Clawing your way towards the surface, your clothes dragged at you, and as you tried desperately to kick off your shoes, you realised with a thrill of horror that something cold and slippery was coiling around your ankle.

The surface had slipped a long way away now as you sank under the weight of your own clothing, and your futile kicks only used up precious air without propelling you upwards.

You risked a glance down and your stomach turned over with horror.

There, wrapping black fronds like slick kelp around your ankle, was a creature you could never have dreamed up, even in your strangest nightmares.

The black head of a horse stared out of the depths at you with wild, white eyes, and strands of black, wafting hair and weed waved in the water around its head and neck. Below, its sinuous, eel-like body tensed and contracted, and as you opened your mouth to scream, forgetting the pressing tons of water on all sides, it latched another tendril around you and yanked you not up but down.

Your ears popped and you fought and twitched and struggled like a bird in netting as the thing from the deep pulled you down and down. In what felt like minutes, but what was in reality more likely to have been seconds, you found yourself being dragged into a dark opening in the craggy rock beneath the roots of the kelp surrounding the shore.

A moment later, you were thrust out onto a hard surface, and you were coughing water from your lungs.

Blinking and dazed, you looked around and discovered that you were lying on a bed of hard, damp sand, cradled in the hollow of an underwater cave. And there was air. The walls of the strange, rocky bower were illuminated by ethereal, glowing weeds and plants, and to your right was a pool of water that led out into the sea beyond. It lapped vigorously at the hard sand like ink in a shaken bottle. You were in an air pocket, and like a conical flask thrust underwater, it held the air for you to breathe. You blinked, vision blurred from the stinging salt and raging panic, trying to calm your breathing and the burning of the salt water in your throat.

You heaved and wretched the remnants of the seawater from your lungs and mouth, bedraggled and weak, but as you shifted your legs, a flash of memory seared across your mind and you recalled the horrific creature who had dragged you here.

Had it drawn you underground to keep you prisoner, or to keep you alive?

You whipped your head around to stare once more at the midnight-black water that pulsed rhythmically, as though the sea’s troubled heartbeat throbbed in the deep, and there, just breaking above the water, was the creature with the large ears of a horse. Its dead-white eyes were fixed unblinkingly on your face.

“What the hell are you?” you hissed, more to yourself than to the thing in the water as you scrabbled backwards and left scars in the smooth sand.

The creature rose above the waves just enough to reveal its mouth, and to your horror, you observed that the split of its mouth ran far up its skull, almost to its ears. This was not the head of an ordinary horse; this was the head of a predator, of a creature that hunted with those jaws and with the canines of a killer. Its long black tongue slipped free of that deadly maw for the briefest of instants, and then it hissed, in a voice like crunching sea salt, “I will not harm you.”

With your blood pounding in your ears and your breath hard to catch, you tried to swallow as you stared at the milky eyes of the horse that had spoken to you. “What are you?” you repeated.

“I am… an each-uisge,” the strange creature said, still not coming nearer to you. “I will not harm you.”

“What do you want with me?” you blurted, a violent, almost spasmodic trembling spreading through your already shivering limbs as the biting cold and choking terror caught up with you.

“Want?” it said, its strange, ageless voice echoing dully in the sea-hewn chamber. “I saved you. When you are recovered, I will take you to shore.”

“Oh…” you said, feeling only a little less afraid. “Why… Why did you save me?”

The creature bobbed amid the frothing water, and you noted how the coal-black coat on its neck gleamed in the odd light cast by the otherworldly corals and plants. “You were going to die,” it said simply. “Humans cannot breathe the sea like we can…”

“What are you?” you repeated, not believing that a creature from folklore could have come to life like this.

The being in the water blinked and said rather slowly and patronisingly, “I am a each-uisge… A water spirit, like a kelpie, though my herd makes its home in the sea.”

“But… you’re not real… You can’t be real…”

A braying, wild laugh answered your breathless statement. “Do I not look real to you, human?” it jibed, and then it swam a little closer, putting its weed-wreathed fore-hooves on the sandbar on which you lay sprawled like a piece of flotsam. Its eerie jaw clicked shut and its dead eyes rolled. “This is no fairytale, no folk-tale to frighten the children.”

Without warning, your blood pulsed in your temples and suddenly blackness closed in around the edges of your vision, and you collapsed onto the sand beneath you, unconscious before your head even hit the earth.

When you woke, you still lay on the sandbar, but the water was much closer to your feet, and you were alone.

You struggled to stand, fighting the waves of nausea and vertigo that swept through you from the lingering taste of the sea in your mouth and the exertion of your ordeal, and you turned your gaze warily to the dark waters beyond the hard sand.

The scuffed hoofmarks at the edge of the water told you that the creature had been there not long ago, and your heart threatened to beat its way out of your chest as you stared at them. You’d lived all your life by the sea, if not here in this town, and you knew the fish-wives’ stories as well as anyone. Your own mother had told them to you to frighten you out of going swimming beyond the safety of the lifeguard’s buoys, but as you’d grown older, you’d seen the tales for what they were: warnings to avoid the sudden currents and moods of the sea. That was all. They were not supposed to have a grain of truth to them.

Your sodden, salty clothes still clung unpleasantly to your skin, and gooseflesh washed over you again as you shivered. You had to get out of here before that creature with the eel’s tail and the horse’s torso and head came back. You couldn’t shake the image of those predator’s teeth, nor those cold, misty, dead eyes.

Just as you turned around to see if there was a way out of the air-pocket, perhaps upwards into the rocks and up to the safety of the surface, a gentle splashing disturbed the regular breathing of the sea in the cave, and you turned with dread billowing thick and acrid in your stomach.

The creature had returned.

Clenching your jaw to stop your teeth chattering, you turned slowly and sure enough, floating there like a scrap of weed-bound driftwood, the horse’s black head glistened in the water. It blinked its dead eyes at you, then broke the surface and champed its unnerving jaw a little. Finally it said, “You are leaving.”

It wasn’t a question, but it drew a flickering frown from your brows. “Yes. Will you let me go?”

The tapering, almost elegant, black ears of the monstrous creature swivelled back a little. Not flat to its head like an angered mount, but almost sadly, like a kicked puppy. It nodded once and rasped, “Of course.”

“You say that like it should be obvious,” you said, “But I know a little about kelpies and each-uisge from the stories… You eat humans. You hunt humans.”

“We do sometimes,” the creature replied steadily. “But only when we’re desperately hungry. And I’m not.”

Its blunt words sent a fresh thrill of fear through you.

“Besides,” it said rather conversationally, “Seals are much better. Personally, I don’t see the attraction to human flesh. The taste is… awful.”

“Right,” you whispered, feeling faint.

The creature sighed, air bubbling through the water. “If you climb up the rock there, it leads to the shore. It’s far from human houses and the stone wall of the harbour, but you’ll get home alright.”

Something in its tone made you pause. “You don’t want to keep me, but you don’t seem all that enthusiastic about letting me go either…”

At that, the creature snorted a laugh - a sound like a horse’s whinny - and half reared out of the water, making you stagger back over the sand, arms flailing as you fought for balance. “I was not made for traversing the land, human,” it sneered at your reaction. “You don’t need to worry about me lumbering after you like a beached seal.”

You nodded slowly, feeling your rapid heartbeat in your throat.

The each-uisge braced its powerful equine forelegs on the sand, propping up its upper body and revealing a sleek, muscular figure, with an incredibly long mane tangled with seaweed and starfish. Its lower half was the murky, muddy green of an eel, with a long, papery-looking fin running the length of its spine. There was an odd beauty to the mottled skin of its sinuous tail, at odds with the joints and individual muscles of the horse’s chest, forelegs, neck and head.

It spoke to you in that strange, deep, rasping voice, and you found yourself inclined to listen, despite your instincts telling you to run from the predator. “I’m curious about you, I suppose,” he said. “My herd usually hunts squid and the like in the deep. I’ve only seen humans from a distance.”

“Seems like you’ve been close enough to taste one,” you blurted combatively, and to your surprise, the creature laughed again.

“True, though in my defence, he had drowned all on his own already.” When your lip curled in disgust, the each-uisge sighed. “Go on, go. You should go.” A second later, it added, “So should I.”

“Your ‘herd’?” you asked as a thought occurred to you, and it nodded. “Are… Are there many of you?”

It gave a kind of shrug, its weedy forelock flopping across one of those dead, white eyes before it tossed it out of the way again and said, “It varies. We are not so numerous as we used to be, but my herd is strong. We number about twenty.”

Your eyebrows rose, and it laughed softly at your surprise.

The thought of twenty of these predators surrounding a person in the water like teeming piranha and tearing them to ribbons with their sharp teeth suddenly made you feel sick to your stomach, and you turned away, squinting at the rough cave wall behind you. It was still illuminated by the soft glow of those mysterious corals, but now daylight filtered through the circular space above you, and as you neared the rock face, you looked up and saw that this was an old blow hole in the rocky shore.

The creature had been right and all you had to do was use the natural hand-holds in the stone to pull yourself up. It was a fair few metres, but with one last look back at the creature who was still mostly beached on the sandbar, watching you with a dolorous expression, you began to climb.

The encounter with the each-uisge stayed with you, and you found yourself researching them in your spare time. You didn’t have a huge amount of that, but what free hours you had, you dedicated to mythology and folklore of the region. There were newspaper accounts of the area, going back centuries, of men and women being lured out to sea by what they thought was a drowning horse, only to find themselves with its dread jaw clamped around them, their body straining as it dragged them down into the depths. To your surprise, however, you discovered one or two tales of kelpies falling in love with humans and using their equine strength to help their chosen love. Admittedly, these were all the kelpies who supposedly lived up on the higher moors inland.

You found no tales of the each-uisge falling in love.

And yet something eventually made you return to that submerged cave one afternoon.

The autumnal beach was deserted as you strode across it, the base of your jeans quickly soaking up the puddled seawater from the retreating tide. A piece of sea glass caught your eye, lying on the ribbed sand, and you stared at it. It was white and frosted with the battering of the sea against the sand, and it instantly reminded you of the each-uisge’s blank, milky eyes, set like two full moons in its inky face. You stooped and pocketed the rounded piece of glass and continued back along the rocky shoreline, skirting deep rock pools and crevices that would lead to a broken leg at best if you slipped into one. For all its beauty, this part of the coastline was treacherous.

With trepidation, you stared at the blow hole in the dark rock for a long time before you mustered your courage and descended into the blackness below.

The sand was smooth and unmarred, the corals still glowed merrily, and the slap of the freezing water against the rock still filled the small, tomb-like space. Other than that, it was lifeless.

You stared at that small stretch of dark water for a long time, half expecting that the creature would burst up through it like a crocodile from a river and seize you like hapless prey, but nothing happened. It seemed that you stood in a timeless space between the underworld and the earth above, waiting for some wraith to emerge. Feeling suddenly foolish, you took out the pebble of sea glass and turned it over in your hand. With a sigh, you bent and left it on the sand before climbing back up and into the daylight.

That was not the last time you found your feet taking you back there, and the next time you went, you found the sandbar as empty as you had the first time, your little sea glass pebble nowhere to be seen. You thought it must have just been swept away by the rising tide, and you left another piece there, higher up this time, and when you returned for your third visit, it too was gone.

You hadn’t managed to find a third piece of glass to leave there this time, so you descended empty handed. To your shock, halfway down, you found not the empty sandbar, but the curled figure of an each-uisge slumbering atop it like a story-book dragon atop a hoard of golden coins.

Its wheezing, rattling breath reminded you of the wind whistling through the rigging of ships, and you froze like a spider on the wall, torn between continuing and returning. It had all been real after all.

Before you had the chance to decide, the creature stirred and raised its head. At the sight of you, its large, elegant ears pricked up and it whickered softly. “You came back,” it murmured. “I don’t believe it.”

Taking a deep breath for courage as fresh fear, and a small trace of relief that this was ‘your’ each-uisge, you asked, “Am I still safe with you?”

The creature bowed its head and snorted. “I swear it, human. No harm will come to you from me.”

Taking that on faith, you nodded and continued your descent until your soles hit hard sand. Completely out of the water like this, the creature was much bigger than you’d realised. Had it been a normal horse, it might have reached sixteen or seventeen hands high; a mount fit for a king or a cavalryman. But this was no ordinary horse.

You let your eyes drink in the full length of that mottled tail, and the each-uisge watched you with amusement as you stared openly at it.

Finally, you asked, “What’s your name?”

Its lips curled softly, as much as its strange jaw would allow, and it said in a low voice, “Rhion.”

“Is that a male or a female name?”

“Male,” he said gently. “May I know yours?” You told him, and he nodded, repeating it. The echo of it on the walls of the cave made you shiver and sent a cold, scraping finger down your spine.

You stepped a little closer and he watched you intently, tilting his head slightly to one side in a manner that reminded you of a young and wary dog.

“Why are you here?” you said. “I thought your kind lived in the deep?”

He smiled again in that subtle way. “I… I thought… perhaps foolishly… that you might come back.” That surprised you, and when it showed on your face, he rasped another laugh. “And here I thought it was you leaving me these little tokens… Was I wrong?”

“Tokens?”

He shifted slightly, parting the forelegs that were folded neatly beneath his equine chest, and you recognised the two milky pieces of sea glass you’d left behind on your previous trips. When he saw your expression, he laughed and said, “I was right then. Why did you leave them?”

Embarrassed and awkward, you mumbled, “They reminded me of your eyes.”

He raised his head at that, and then shook it in soft disbelief, sighing cavernously. Then, to your surprise, he lowered that big, dark head and placed his chin on the sand like a big dog waiting on a porch. His eel’s tail twitched and thumped disconsolately once against the sand.

“What is it?” you asked, stepping nearer before you’d even thought that it could be a trap or a ruse on his part to get you to go close enough for him to snatch you away into the water.

In fact, he didn’t move at all, and only watched you approach. His ears drooped softly, hanging out to the sides like a horse at ease, and you felt so emboldened that you actually knelt down in the damp sand beside him. He kept watching you, but didn’t speak.

You raised your hand and, with only a slight tremble in your fingers, asked silently if you could touch him. He blinked slowly, which you took for assent, and he permitted your hand to rest on his head, just below his ear. He rumbled a wheezing groan, like a wounded animal, at your touch, and his lunar eyes rolled closed.

After that, you explored his body with your hands, stroking his soft, dark coat that was now dry and shone like black silk, and when you came to his belly, where the eel’s tail began, you looked once more to his face for permission.

He just jutted his nose at you in a ‘go ahead’, gesture, and you took a breath and passed over the transition from fur to skin. Where you had perhaps expected it to be slimy, his skin was smooth and dry, tough and leathery, with little bumps and rough patches like sharkskin where the pigmentation differed. He must have registered your surprise, because he admitted sheepishly, as though it were a sin, “I shouldn’t stay out of the water much longer. I’m at risk of drying out completely, but I’ve recently discovered that I love the feeling of the air on my skin…”

“You’re… not what I expected,” you said as you shuffled back towards his head.

He brought his nose to your shoulder and pausing there for a moment, he then began to nuzzle you. His eyes rolled shut again and he blew out a long, slow breath as he tipped his flat cheek against you. “Nor are you,” he said, experimentally inhaling your scent and moaning again. “I was taught that humans would hunt us and lop off our heads to stick on their walls as grotesque trophies, or stuff us and send us to a museum of curiosities…”

“I’m sure some would,” you said quietly.

A beat later he said, “And you think we’re barbaric for hunting you…”

“At least you do it for food… even if you enjoy chase too…”

He laughed and nodded. “Tell me about where you live,” he said, changing the subject to a less grim topic. “I’d like to hear more about your world.”

So you described the walk up from the harbour, past the shops and the pub with the broken compass on its sign, past the blazing pink geraniums in the window boxes, and then onto the narrow, cobbled streets of the town beyond. “I actually chose my house because of its lovely red door,” you laughed. “I had to have it. It’s a tiny old fisherman’s cottage I think, and there’s barely enough room for me in it, but it’s pretty cute. It’s the only one with a red door on the whole street. The man who owned it before me liked to buck the trend, I think…”

Rhion had been sitting with his head in your lap while you talked, and you played with his coarse forelock, untangling it and gently plaiting a strand into it with idle fingers. Suddenly, he lurched up and scrabbled away from you, his huge hooves nearly clipping your thighs, his ears straining, his gaze locked on the inky pool that led down into the depths of the sea.

“What?” you asked, ready to stand, body tense. “What is it?”

He cocked his head, all his focus on listening. Then he cursed. “You need to leave. Now.”

“What is it?”

“My herd. They’re hunting in the shallows. They…” he broke off and you heard the faint sound like a whale’s call, only shriller. It had the echo of a horse’s whinny to it. “Oh no,” he said, and he shoved you hard with his nose, a desperate gleam in his wide, white eyes. “Go! Please… They’ve caught your scent. They’re coming. If they find you here with me they’ll… they’ll…”

He was scrambling to get back into the water, his tail thrashing and sending salt spray everywhere as it hit the shallows. Water splattered across your face in a cold chain of fat drops and as it ran down your cheek you were reminded viscerally of the time you’d hit your head as a child and blood had run down your face. You rose and reeled backwards until the rough rock was at your back and he was staring at you. His jaw opened and he made the unearthly sound a horse makes in immense distress. It struck you to your core and as his mouth opened in that guttural scream of pain and anguish, you froze.

“Go! Please! They’ll kill you if they find you here. Go, and don’t ever come back!” he said in a horrible rush.

You scuttled back up the rock as fast as you could, but your muscles locked when you heard him scream.

You looked down and saw that another each-uisge had breached the surface beside him. It lunged for you, but Rhion jostled his shoulder against it and it stumbled, rounding on him with a vicious snarl. It opened its immense jaw full of sharp teeth and latched onto Rhion’s neck. Thrashing, Rhion was dragged screaming below and the waters seethed, empty and broiling, until you finally fled.

His was not your world, and you tried to put it behind you as you sped back up the beach towards the town. You couldn’t shake his final scream from your mind and it haunted you long into the night.

Too unsettled, it was long after midnight before you’d even thought of going to bed, and as you finally rose from the sofa, you heard an irregular scratching at your front door. Frowning, you stood, thinking perhaps it was a cat or even a fox, but even as you stood there, the scratching became a weak thudding.

Peering through the peephole revealed nothing, so you opened it cautiously, nerves thrumming.

Half collapsed on the step was the naked figure of a scrawny, wiry young man. In the moonlight, you could see that his pale skin was green and mottled like dappled shadow on fallen leaves, but it was slashed with cuts and - horrifically - deep puncture wounds arranged in an arc. Bite marks. Blood tracked down his torso and thigh in thin ribbons to his bare feet.

And as he looked up at you, you saw those dead white eyes from behind a curtain of lank, wet, black hair. “Rhion?” you asked, darting forwards as he swayed, half doubled over already.

He smiled, though it was weak and obviously pained. “I knew you’d recognise me,” he said, pitching forwards as his balance failed him and his legs wobbled. “I didn’t know where else to go. I remembered your story… I… I found you…”

“Come on,” you said, hooking an arm under his and guiding him inside. Blood dripped onto the flagstones as you led him towards the kitchen and eased him into a wooden chair. You had emergency supplies, and told him you’d be right back as you darted upstairs to fetch lint dressings and bandages. You were no surgeon, but they didn’t look deep enough to need stitches. You couldn't exactly take him to a hospital anyway.

When you came back he was just sitting there, staring around.

“Rhion?”

He turned vaguely and smiled at you. “Thank you,” he said faintly. “I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” you asked as you got to work on cleaning and disinfecting the wounds. He hissed at you in protest at the antiseptic, but let you continue.

“They said I should have caught you and brought you to them. They said I was a disgrace. They said I betrayed my own kind.” His chest heaved. “I barely got away.”

“I didn’t know your kind could take a human form,” you said carefully as you encouraged him to lean forwards a little so that you could wrap the bandage around his ribcage where the worst of the bite marks were. Luckily he wasn’t bleeding through the dressing. Each-uisge it seemed were much tougher than humans. You wiped up the blood that had trickled down his skinny legs with a kind of clinical detachment, despite your growing curiosity about him. You wondered if it felt strange for him to have legs now.

He huffed a rather sharp laugh and said, “It’s… It’s not something we can do as easily as our kelpie cousins,” he said. “It nearly killed me to shift. I won’t be changing back for a while.”

“What will you do?” you asked. “You can’t stay here…” you added, easing him back against the chair so he could catch his breath and running your thumb across his gaunt, unusual face. “We don’t tend to get too many humans with green skin like yours…”

Rhion laughed bitterly. “I don’t know. I just had to get away. I suppose I’ll go back to the sea and find a new herd somewhere far away.”

Your heart lurched at that and you thought that perhaps he saw a little of your emotion because his pale greenish-grey lips twitched softly.

“You should rest a while first,” you said. “Come on, you can sleep in my bed.”

His thighs trembled as you helped him up and tried not to stare at him. Anatomically, he resembled a biologically male human in every way except for the colour of his blotchy olive green and grey skin, and you wanted to afford him at least a little dignity as you supported him up the stairs and into your bedroom.

Rhion eyed your bed warily as you looked about for some clothes and found a baggy t-shirt that you usually used to sleep in. You dressed him in it so that he wouldn’t get cold and would at least be a little covered, but when you eased him down onto the mattress, he groaned with pleasure and sank gratefully onto it, moaning as you drew the sheet up over his body.

“Where will you sleep?” he asked, his words softly articulated and almost slurred with his exhaustion.

“There’s a sofa downstairs,” you said, but he frowned.

“Stay?” he said. “I… I’ve never slept on land before.”

“You’re afraid?”

He didn’t speak for such a long time you thought he might have passed out. “Yes,” he said very quietly without looking at you.

With a smile, you crossed to the other side of the bed and undressed. You felt his eyes on your back, but he said nothing. Wearing your pyjamas, you climbed into bed beside him. He kept his distance, lying very still, and you weren’t sure if that was because of his injuries or because of his manners.

It took a long time for you to fall asleep, though Rhion was unconscious in mere seconds, jaw slack, delicate fingers softly curled beside his sharp features, eyes tracking back and forth behind his closed lids. His long black hair flowed all the way down his back and it was still damp. The braid that you’d plaited into it while you’d told him the story that would later save his life, probably, was still there and you fought the urge to touch it. You thought vaguely that you should have washed the seawater out of it before letting him sleep on your pillow, but somehow you couldn’t muster up quite enough energy to care.

When dawn came, sensation filtered slowly back into your awareness, and you opened your eyes to find him trailing his fingers along the inside of your wrist. You smiled up at him and he jumped when he realised that you were awake.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t meant to disturb you.”

You inhaled thickly and shuffled slightly. “You didn’t,” you said. “I still can’t quite believe this is real though…”

Rhion’s smile was sad.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” he admitted, shuffling his mottled green torso experimentally. “And… I’m scared.”

“You can stay here as long as you need,” you said, reaching for his skinny, pale green fingers and clutching them suddenly. “You don’t have to face them yet.”

“Thank you,” he rasped, his milky eyes swimming with tears. Were it not for the accuracy of his gaze, you might have thought those eyes were sightless.

You brought his knuckles to your lips and kissed them softly. A shaky breath escaped him and his smile broadened, crinkling his eyes and bringing little curving dimples to his gaunt cheeks.

“I don’t scare you any more, do I?” he asked.

You shook your head just a little and kissed him again.

“When I’m better,” he said, “I’d like… I mean…”

“I know,” you grinned. “I think I’d like that too. For now, rest and heal. Everything else will come afterwards.”

His tired eyes fluttered and he allowed himself to fall back into a healing, dreamless sleep while you watched over him for the time being.

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#exophilia #kelpie #each uisge #male monster #gender neutral reader #sfw #monster x reader #male monster x reader #sea monster

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